The Book of the Dead by Douglas Preston, Lincoln Child Page A

theft. He was right about those things, and it makes me think he might be right about everything else.”
    “D’Agosta messed up big-time!” Singleton snapped. “He betrayed my trust, and yours. I’ve no doubt that the disciplinary trial will confirm his dismissal from the force. You really want to tie your wagon to that star?”
    “I want to tie my wagon to the truth. I’m responsible for putting Pendergast on trial for his life, and I’m the only one who can undo it.”
    “The only way to do that is to prove somebody else is the murderer. Do you have a single shred of evidence against Diogenes?”
    Hayward frowned. “Margo Green described her assailant as—”
    “Margo Green was attacked in a darkened room. Her testimony would never hold up.” Singleton hesitated. “Look, Laura,” he said in a gentler voice. “Let’s not bullshit each other here. I know what you’re going through. Hooking up with someone on the force is never easy. Breaking up with them is even harder. And with Vincent D’Agosta in the middle of this case, I don’t wonder you feel a touch of—”
    “D’Agosta and I are ancient history,” Laura interrupted. “I don’t appreciate that insinuation. And for that matter, I don’t appreciate this visit of yours.”
    Singleton picked up a pile of papers from the guest chair, placed them on the floor, and sat down. He bowed his head, propped his elbows on his knees, sighed, then looked up.
    “Laura, “ he said, “you’re the youngest female homicide captain in the history of the NYPD. You’re twice as good as any man at your level. Commissioner Rocker loves you. The mayor loves you. Your own people love you. You’re going to be commissioner someday—you’re that good. I didn’t come here at anyone’s behest, I came here on my own. To warn you that you’ve run out of time on this. The FBI is moving ahead with their case against Pendergast. They think he killed Decker, and they aren’t interested in inconsistencies. What you’ve got is a hunch, nothing more… and it’s not worth throwing away your career on a hunch. Because that’s what will happen if you go up against the FBI on this—and lose.”
    She looked at him steadily, took a deep breath. “So be it.”

10

    T he small group descended the dust-laden staircase of the Tomb of Senef, their shoes leaving prints as in a coating of fresh snow.
    Wicherly paused, shining his light around. “Ah. This is what the Egyptians called the God’s First Passage along the Sun’s Path.” He turned toward Nora and Menzies. “Are you interested, or will I be making a bore of myself?”
    “By all means,” said Menzies. “Let’s have the tour.”
    Wicherly’s teeth gleamed in the dim light. “The problem is, much of the meaning of these ancient tombs still eludes us. They’re easy enough to date, though—this seems a fairly typical New Kingdom tomb, I’d say late XVIIIth Dynasty.”
    “Right on target,” said Menzies. “Senef was the vizier and regent to Thutmosis IV.”
    “Thank you.” Wicherly absorbed the compliment with evident satisfaction. “Most of these New Kingdom tombs had three parts—an outer, middle, and inner tomb, divided into a total of twelve chambers, which together represented the passage of the Sun God through the underworld during the twelve hours of night. The pharaoh was buried at sunset, and his soul accompanied the Sun God on his solar barque as he made the perilous journey through the underworld toward his glorious rebirth at dawn.”
    He shone his light ahead, illuminating a dim portal at the far end. “This staircase would have been filled with rubble, ending in a sealed door.”
    They continued descending the staircase, at last reaching a massive doorway topped by a lintel carved with a huge Eye of Horus. Wicherly paused, shining his light on the Eye and the hieroglyphics surrounding it.
    “Can you read these hieroglyphics?” asked Menzies.
    Wicherly grinned. “I make a pretty good