“One of Pharaoh’s drones,” Ryan explained. “He came on us while we were making the amulets. He’s been in the locker since last night.”
“I suggest you leave him where he is,” Doc said. “Once the body of Mimses is found, another squealer won’t make much difference to our overall situation.”
Ryan nodded grimly. “Let’s split up, lose ourselves in the crowd. If anyone comes looking for us, they’ll have a hell of a time finding us.”
Doc frowned slightly. “Where and when should we meet you?”
“This evening, at the southwest corner of the pyramid. If anything goes wrong and I’m not there, you’ll have to find your way back to Fort Fubar…and to Dean.”
Mildred gazed at him worriedly. “What’s your plan?”
Ryan shook his head, face contorted as if he tasted something sour. “I’m hoping one will occur to me…eventually.”
THE SUN WAS HOT on his face despite the shade provided by the brittle bush he lay beneath. Sand fleas hopped along his exposed hands and face, biting him. Dean didn’t slap them away. He was watching the towering walls of the city of Aten, less than half a mile away. It lay bathed in golden glory of the midafteroon sun.
Beyond, seeming to block half the sky and the horizon, a massive monument reared from the sands. On the very top of it, supported by a wooden framework, a smaller version of the pyramid glistened and sparkled in the brilliant light, as if it were coated with diamonds.
Dean had never seen anything like it as he peered through the telescopic sight of the Steyr. The gates of the city hung open, and people milled to and fro, seeming to leap, caper and dance. Faintly, he heard the shrill piping of flutes, the blare of horns and ceaseless, distant roar of many raised voices.
He had departed Fort Fubar at noon, like he had vowed. The chariot clicked and carried him away from the forlorn collection of buildings and the forlorn figure of Danielson, standing in the street and watching him go.
He felt bad about leaving the old man, but not bad enough to go back on the promise he had made to himself—to find either his father or his fate.
He had draped himself in a bed-sheet burnoose and carried plenty of water, then followed the tracks cut by the chariot that had conveyed Ryan and his friends away four dawns earlier.
The wag maintained a steady twenty-five miles per hour, even over some treacherous sand drifts. It wasn’t quite two o’clock when the desert turned into a road and he sighted the lofty ramparts of Aten. Parking the chariot in inadequate cover in a patch of weeds, he had walked the rest of the way, the rifle beneath the burnoose.
Dean had been checking out the zone for the past ten minutes. He had no idea what was going on in the city, but the activity seemed celebratory, like a big wild party.
He figured to devote another few minutes to screwing up his nerve, then he would stroll right in and crash it.
AKHNATON STOOD on a balcony, staring down into the feasting hall. Hanging draperies obscured him from any eye looking up from below, but he could see clearly through the gauzy material.
His court staff lay sprawled on nests of cushions and pillows, forming a semicircle around platters of delicately spiced mutton, chilled goblets of wine, mounds of fruit and pastries.
Sinuous serving girls slid among the men, allowing themselves to be caressed, fondled and groped. Their tawny, oiled bodies were naked except for a few jeweled bangles.
His eyes scanned the slack, drunken faces. He didn’t expend any energy on probing their minds. Their feelings were displayed for even the most unperceptive of creatures to recognize.
He had awakened at dawn and dressed himself in ceremonial robes dyed with thirty contrasting colors. The heavy golden collar of state rested on his broad shoulders. He wouldn’t don the king-cobra headdress until it was time for the processional march to the pyramid.
The bioaural field in the balcony shifted ever so slightly. Without turning, he asked, “Is my bride prepared?”
“Yes, Pharaoh,” Nefron answered meekly. “You have chosen well. She is every inch a goddess.”