Page 51 of Major

For years, his wife had hounded him about working harder, putting himself out front during press conferences. Perhaps he should write a book, she would say. It wasn’t about him and his success. It was about her wanting more. More money. A bigger house. Nicer clothing. The only person who was happy was Elena.

Satisfied with a new pair of dig trousers, a new trowel or shovel, she never complained. One year, he gave her a sifter that he’d made himself for three dollars. She squealed with delight and immediately went out to sift the sand.

His wife glared at him, shaking her head.

“I gave you forty dollars, Aasad. You said you would buy her something nice.”

“I needed the money for something else,” he said, grabbing his hat and briefcase. He opened the front door then turned to her. “Besides, I’m certain you can find more where you got that. Your grocer is a very generous man, isn’t he?”

He’d known that she was seeing him for years, but he honestly didn’t care. She stayed out of his way, and he had the freedom to do what he loved. But she was right. He allowed others to take credit for his work, often to the detriment of his career.

When the dig started to yield possible clues as to what was inside, he became more excited than he ever had before. This would make him world famous. And hated. And loved. He would make millions on movies, books, lectures. But he couldn’t do that with a family.

When Yasmin discovered the sarcophagi, she did the right thing by clearing out the tunnels. She wanted no one inside except the two of them.

Six boxes surrounded the bodies. They were filled with simple things. Cloth, pieces of wood, spices, and the most perplexing thing he’d ever seen. A thorny crown.

The two of them agreed that no one could know about it. No one could see this. They would dig through to the back, find another route out of the tunnels, and remove the sarcophagi from prying eyes.

They were a small, close-knit team. But even that made him anxious. What if someone told their wife or their friend? What if word leaked out? He couldn’t risk it. When they planned the explosion, he knew what he had to do.

The treasure was moved to the far end, near the second entrance. Once that was done, they set the charges and agreed to move to the other end. Except not everyone could. Aasad blocked them in. Everyone was dead.

As his paranoia rose, he realized that not everyone was dead. Three people remained that might cause him issues.

Roderick was such an easy one to silence. Desperate for money and a way out of his predicament, he immediately bought into tricking Elena. Aasad recognized early on that his daughter was a good archaeologist. Very good. Perhaps better than he was. Getting her out of the dig sites was important in order for him to move around.

He should have killed him when the job was done. He’d have to rectify that situation later. He regretted hurting his daughter, but sacrifices had to be made if you were going to be successful.

Suddenly, he looked around one day, and he had no one that could help him. He decided to finally trust his old friend, Efram. Thrilled to see him alive, Efram was excited to be working with him again. At first, Aasad lied to him, telling him that he’d been in touch with Elena. But when Efram pressed to know more about her new life, he finally told him the truth.

It was his first of many mistakes with Efram.

He felt bad for his family, but he would rectify that when he received his money from the auction house. He’d been smart submitting the sale under an alias. He had all the documentation, the studies, the DNA samplings, everything. They would tout him as the greatest that ever lived.

But first, he needed to find the crates.

When they arrived, there were lights inside the warehouse. He and Efram were concerned that the workers were still inside, but there were no cars. Entering using a stolen key card and code, the light was nearly blinding. Then suddenly, it was pitch black.

Quietly, they searched the entire place, finding no one and, more importantly, finding nothing. His crates were gone. Surely, the warehouse had security cameras. Perhaps the man claiming to be his daughter’s husband took them. Maybe she knew about the find all along.

“No,” he said, whispering to himself. “No one alive knew. No one except me.”

“And me.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

“That’s it up there,” said Sebastian, pointing to the apartment. “It’s got frilly curtains.”

“Maybe he likes it that way,” said Major.

“It says here the apartment is registered to Anele Keyaf. Sounds like a woman,” said Garr.

“Uh, sirs, this is Spencer. Anele Keyaf is Elena Fayek spelled backwards. He’s using his daughter’s name.”

“Holy shit,” smirked Forrest. “He’s right.”

“Of course I’m right, sir.”

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