Vargas glanced at his watch. Zulawski looked at his own.
“It’s past your lunch break,” Zulawski said. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
Vargas had already examined his sandwich and seen that the crusts were firmly back in place. “No,” he said. “I’m not hungry.”
“Do you mind if I eat my lunch?” said Zulawski.
“Not at all,” Vargas said graciously. “Go ahead.”
Zulawski took a bag from under his desk and removed an apple, a small container of potato salad, and a turkey sandwich. The crusts were gone.
Vargas looked away, terrified. Had Zulawski magically transferred the turkey crusts onto his sandwiches? That was the only explanation. Well, there was another one, but he didn’t want to examine it too closely.
I’ve completely lost my mind.
11
In was early in the morning when the phone rang. Or maybe it was very late. Coop wasn’t sure because his head felt like a box of nails packed in a box of cotton balls, which itself was packed in an even larger box of nails and clamped into one of those paint-mixing machines you see in hardware stores. The kind that take the cans of paint and shake them like a cast-iron terrier with an extremely unfortunate rat. In this state, he lurched for his phone on the nightstand and kept going, rolling onto the floor with a thud.
Coop thumbed his phone on. “Ouch. Goddammit,” he said before his alcohol-soaked brain remembered the more traditional phone greeting. “Hello.”
There was no one on the line. His head and back hurt. And the damned phone rang again, insistently, it seemed, to him.
He heard Giselle roll over in bed, then the beep as she turned on her phone. “Hello?” she said.
He listened for a moment to confirm that the call wasn’t for him. Then he tossed his phone on the floor and crawled back into bed.
“What? Really?” said Giselle. “Okay. Great. Thanks. Bye.”
“Who’s great thanks bye and why did they call at such an idiot hour of the morning?” Coop said.
“It’s not morning anymore. It’s after noon. And great thanks bye was Woolrich’s secretary calling to say that he wants to see the whole team from last night. You know what I think?”
“What do you think?”
“I think he might be giving us a commendation or something. I mean, has there ever been a smoother operation in DOPS history? Maybe it’s a promotion.”
“A promotion. Yippee,” said Coop into his pillow.
Giselle swatted him on his ass. “Get moving, you. I’ve waited a long time for these people to recognize how hard we work.”
Coop sat up blearily. “I thought we were taking the day off. Job well done and all that crap.”
“You can sleep after Woolrich kisses our butts. I’m going to take a quick shower. You wake up Morty and put on coffee.”
“Okay. I hate everything right now, you know.”
“You’ll hate everything a little less once you’ve had coffee.”
Coop staggered to his feet and frowned. “Someone threw my phone on the floor.”
“You did. In a fit of pique. Now go make coffee.”
“I don’t have fits of pique. I dispense swift, hard justice.”
“Yes, dear.”
As Giselle disappeared into the bathroom, Coop got to his feet and went into the living room, where Morty was asleep on the couch. He started to wake him, but it seemed too cruel right then. Instead, he went into the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee. When it was close to done, Morty sat up.
“Is that coffee I smell?”
“It better be or I put oatmeal in the coffeemaker.”
Morty pressed his hands to his forehead. “I think I’m hungover,” he said.
“We’re all hungover,” said Coop.
“Then why are we awake?”
“Woolrich is giving us blue ribbons for being the prettiest pigs at the county fair.”
Morty looked at him with red eyes. “What?”
Coop turned off the coffeemaker and got down three mugs. “It’s a commendation or something for the bang-up job we did last night.”
Morty smiled. It clearly hurt, but he kept on anyway. “Wow. I’ve never gotten a commendation before. Is it a piece of paper or a plaque, you think?”
“I think coffee is ready is what I think.”
“Maybe it’ll be a bonus.”
“Coffee.”
Morty came over and dropped down onto a stool by the counter. Giselle soon joined them. Later, they decided that no one was in shape to drive, so they called a cab to take them to DOPS headquarters. Giselle put the ride on her company credit card. Why not? It was their day and she was going to make the most of it.
Coop was feeling a bit more human when they got off the elevator on the management floor, but his mood had turned a little sour. He hated being summoned and his head still hurt enough that the mazelike corridors were more aggravating than usual. He took a small penknife from his pocket and made a tiny slice on the corner of the hallway junctions each time they turned. If he couldn’t memorize the layout, then he’d leave a trail of bread crumbs for himself. Each cut made him feel a little bit better. He might never need the trail, but he was vandalizing government property and that was satisfying all by itself.
Like last time, when they reached Woolrich’s office, Giselle opened the door and walked in without waiting. The others followed and Woolrich politely ushered them to seats by the desk. Giselle and Morty were all smiles. Coop tried to join in, but the best he could do was a pleasant grimace. Dr. Lupinsky stood by the window. The cat on his screen jumped up when he saw them and walked back and forth meowing quietly.
“How is everyone today?” said Woolrich. “All rested up from last night’s adventure?”
“We’re feeling great, sir,” said Giselle.
“Never better,” said Morty.
Coop quietly shielded his eyes from the light and wished he’d brought welding goggles or a sombrero.
Woolrich raised his eyebrows. “What about you, Cooper? Feeling bright-eyed and bushy-tailed?”
Coop nodded. “Are rats bushy-tailed?”
“No.”
“Then I feel like a rat. A hungover rat.”
Woolrich’s smile broadened. “It’s nice to see that you were celebrating a job well done. Even Dr. Lupinsky here.”
They gave me some extra mice to play with. It was fun.
“Have you heard anything about the museum?” said Giselle.
“Oh, they’re going quite insane,” said Woolrich brightly. “Heads are rolling. Insurance companies are having nervous breakdowns. They’ve brought in new security. The press is having a field day, of course.”
“Well, as long as you’re satisfied, sir, that’s all that counts,” said Morty.
Coop sat back and tried to keep his eyes open, waiting for the spiel about what a credit they were to Uncle Sam, puppies, and the baby Jesus. He’d heard similar things from the warden while he was in jail. It was the main reason compliments of any kind put him in a bad mood. What they usually amounted to was a vague homily, extra pudding at dinner, and then an ass kicking by everyone who hadn’t qualified for the nice dessert. However, instead of a speech, Woolrich laced his fingers together and stared down at his desk.
“Satisfied? Well, you see. There’s a small problem with that.”
Coop felt an unpleasant jolt of energy. Woolrich’s tone didn’t sound remotely like a commendation or extra pudding, unless the latter was laced with arsenic.
“There was an incident with the mummy last night,” Woolrich said.
“Oh? What kind of incident?” said Giselle.
“It left.”
Left? appeared on Dr. Lupinsky’s screen.
“Yes. Quite abruptly and with an overabundance of violence.”
“Can you go into a little more detail?” said Coop, not really wanting to hear any details at all.
“Of course,” said Woolrich. He picked up a remote from his desk and pointed
it at the wall, which slid away to reveal a large flat-screen monitor. On the monitor was a lot of smoke and people running around screaming, which was followed by a number of loud bangs, a little more screaming, a lot more running, and then a final hollow thud.
“The sound at the end, that’s my favorite,” said Woolrich. “Do you know why?”
Morty started to reply and Coop said, “Don’t answer. It’s a trick. If we all stay very quiet, maybe he’ll forget we’re here.”
Dr. Lupinsky’s cat walked offscreen and was replaced by the test pattern.
“Where do you think you’re going, Doctor?” said Woolrich. “You’re as much to blame as anybody.”
“Blame for what? What happened last night?” said Giselle.
“About an hour after you brought Harkhuf to us, he reanimated. Once he’d done that, he appeared to remember that he had business elsewhere. The final thud you heard on the video? That was him breaking through a wall and out into the street.”
“Where is he now?” said Giselle.
“We have no idea,” said Woolrich. “We think he was using some sort of ancient Egyptian magical system, one we aren’t familiar with. Once he was out of the building, we couldn’t track him.”
“So, he could be anywhere,” said Coop.
“Exactly.”
“So, do we get the promotion now or after lunch?”
Giselle looked out the window. Morty tried to make himself very small. Dr. Lupinsky remained out of order.
Woolrich set down the remote. “Not only won’t there be any promotions, the reason I wanted all of you here today was to emphasize how incredibly much this is all your fault. Especially you, Cooper. And you, Dr. Lupinsky.”
Coop sat up. “How is this my fault? We took the mummy you told us to take.”
“Yes, but obviously it was the wrong one.”
“It was the one you wanted.”
“But it was the wrong one,” said Woolrich, shaking his head. “I don’t see why you can’t understand that.”
“If it’s the wrong mummy, then what mummy is it?” said Giselle.
“We’re not sure. The Harkhuf we wanted was an engineer from one of the later dynasties, supposedly knowledgeable about the ancient forms of temporal and spatial folding the Egyptians were famous for.”
“There’s a dry cleaner around the corner from our place that will fold anything you want. Maybe you should talk to them,” said Coop.
“Don’t make things worse for yourself, Cooper,” said Woolrich. He leaned back in his chair. “Dr. Lupinsky. Do you have any thoughts you’d care to share on the matter?”
Dr. Lupinsky’s cat poked its head around the corner of the screen. Slowly, it slinked out and sat down, its tail wrapped around its feet.
I’m not sure what to say.
“Why blame us?” said Coop. “The doc was there and he said the mummy was all right.”
“Is that true, Doctor?” said Woolrich.
The cat cocked its head to the side. Its tail twitched.
The cartouches were all correct. They indicated that the mummy was Harkhuf, an engineer of high social rank.
“Then why is my mummy gone, Doctor?”
There was more tail twitching. Coop felt a little sorry for Lupinsky right then. First an Egyptologist. Then a cat. Then a TV. Then an octopus. And now being told he’s no good at any of them. Still, him getting grilled for a while gave Coop time to think. Mostly what he thought about was getting out of there, but in between fantasies of running a one-minute mile, he went over everything that had happened the night before.
Perhaps the sarcophagus markings are a forgery. Or, more likely, the sarcophagus is real, but the mummy isn’t who we thought it was.
“Forged by whom?” said Woolrich.
I have no idea.
“And why would someone do it?”
I don’t know.
Coop looked at Woolrich and said very quietly, “Maybe this is your fault.”
“What was that?” said Woolrich.
Coop cleared his throat. “You don’t know what’s going on now, so maybe you never knew what was going on. Maybe the guy in the box was the real Harkhuf. Maybe he wasn’t. Whoever he is, if he busted out, I bet there’s been something he’s wanted to do for a long time and he’s doing it right now. Maybe that’s why you’re blaming us. The DOPS didn’t do its homework.”
Giselle put a hand on his. “Why don’t you calm down a little, Coop?”
“Yeah. We’re all friends here,” said Morty. “We can work this out.”
Coop didn’t want to work anything out. He wanted his hangover to kill him, but it refused to do anything but make his eyes hurt.
“Dr. Lupinsky,” said Woolrich slowly and precisely. “You didn’t see anything unusual when you examined the sarcophagus?”
Nothing.
“And, Cooper, there weren’t any snags when you were relieving the museum of the mummy?”
“No. It hopped right out of the case like a Pop-Tart from a toaster.”
“After we cut him out,” added Morty.
“Right. After we cut the stuff off his hands and feet.”
Dr. Lupinsky rose up on his tentacles.
What kind of stuff exactly?
“You know. Loops of that mummy wrap held together with wax.”
Was anything written or printed on them?
“Yeah,” said Morty. “There were pictures.”
“One was a dog,” said Coop.
Anubis. And the other?
“It had kind of a long snout,” Morty said.
“It looked like an anteater in a dress.”
Set.
The cat lay down and put its paws over its head. Coop wanted to do the same thing.
“Are those names significant, Dr. Lupinsky?” said Woolrich.
The cat didn’t move, but at the bottom of the screen it said, Whatever Harkhuf is going to do, it’s going be very bad.
“And why didn’t you notice anything amiss when you were at the museum?”
I . . . I don’t know.
“Maybe it was his batteries,” said Morty.
Everyone looked at him except for Woolrich. He was looking at Coop.
“You didn’t change Dr. Lupinsky’s batteries before taking him into the field?”
Coop had a sinking feeling in his stomach. “No one told us to.”
Woolrich raised his hands and dropped them on his desk. “It’s basic procedure when working with a Class Three necro-mecha system this old.”
“Remember the part where I said that no one told us?”
“Don’t try to make this somebody else’s fault.”
“But it is somebody else’s fault. That’s exactly whose fault it is,” Coop said. He looked at Dr. Lupinsky. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
My batteries were low. I forgot. I’m sorry.
Woolrich tapped a pen on his desk. “So, to sum up. You, Cooper, brought us the wrong mummy . . .”
“We brought the wrong mummy. We,” he said.
“So you admit it. Good. And you didn’t even follow standard procedures to ensure that the one person who might have helped to avoid this mess— Dr. Lupinsky—was in working order.”
“Once again, I have to point out that this is a we situation.”
“I don’t have to explain to you how grave this is, do I?” said Woolrich.
“Grave? Which part? The building exploding, the killer mummy escaping, or how you’re trying to make this all our fault?”
“Your fault.”
“A minute ago it was Lupinsky’s fault, too.”
“Clearly the doctor was impaired. That leaves you.”
Coop opened his mouth, but Giselle put her hand over it. “What can we do to fix things?” she said.
Woolrich took a folder from a desk drawer and dropped it on the desk.
“Another folder. Great. That’s how this all got started,” said Coop.
Woolrich gave Coop a fatherly smile. “Be nice now
. This is your lucky day.”
“That’s what everyone says right before they try to sell you the Grand Canyon.”
“I had a meeting with the folks down in thaumaturgic antiquities . . .”
“The people who had us steal the wrong mummy? That’s encouraging.”
“That said that in cases like this, there will be certain charms, sacred objects, and whatnot with significance to the mummy. And the right one will be able to control it.”
Coop closed his eyes. “And you want us to get it.”
“No. I want you to get it. But you’ll need help, so you can bring your miscreants along. Just try not to drag them down with you again.”
Coop slouched in his chair. “What is it you want?”
Woolrich opened the folder and laid out a photo of an amulet.
“That,” he said.
“Where is it?”
“That’s the one bit of good news in all this mess.”
Coop slouched a little lower. “Please don’t tell me it’s in the museum.”
“It’s in the museum,” said Woolrich. “Near the sarcophagus.”
Morty picked up the photo and studied it. “I think I saw this the other night. We could have taken it then.”
“But we didn’t need it then,” said Woolrich.
“Which is also our fault?” said Coop.
“Yours. And yes.”
Coop took a long breath and stood up. “No. That’s how I met you people. Stealing that damned box over and over. I’m not going through that again.”
“But you’re not stealing the same thing,” said Woolrich. “You’re stealing something different, just from the same place.”
Coop ran a hand through his hair. “We just did the best, cleanest job of our careers and you want us to go back and do it again, only now the security setup is going to be different, there might be cops around. Maybe even new curses and wards.”
“Wonderful. Those are your specialties, aren’t they?”
“Yes, but we have no idea what to look for.”