Page 87 of The Stolen Queen

“I’m fine for now,” said Charlotte. “Let’s go inside and I’ll call Omar.”

In the back room of the Farid Gallery, Heba stood against one wall, arguing in Arabic with two policemen. Jabari was explaining something loudly to what looked like the head cop, everyone speaking over each other. Charlotte phoned the museum and the chaos finally came to a halt when Omar burst through the front door, followed by another man, a conservator, who pulled on a pair of gloves and carefully lifted the King Tut mask statue that Charlotte pointed to out of the box. As he placed it on top of a small table and began unwrapping it, Heba asked a question. Although Annie couldn’t understand the words, her tone was one of confusion.

“Take her out of here,” instructed Omar.

Once Heba had been escorted away, the conservator examined the statue. Charlotte showed him where she’d chipped away at the underside, and he took out some tools from a bag and began gently scraping off the plaster. A large chunk dropped onto the table, and Annie spied a section of shiny blue stone. As another came loose, the curved lips of the queen emerged.

The technician murmured something to Omar, who turned to Charlotte and Annie.

“He’s certain it’s the Cerulean Queen. You’ve found it.”

Annie let out a loud whoop, which made the policemen laugh. “We did it!” she said to Charlotte.

“We certainly did,” answered Charlotte before turning to Omar. “Where does it go from here?”

“For now, they’ll transport it to the Egyptian AntiquitiesOrganization, where our conservator will resume freeing it without damage.”

“Just think, you’ve discovered two queens,” said Annie to Charlotte. “Not bad for your first time back to Egypt since the dark ages.”

Charlotte smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I suppose so.” She turned to Omar. “What about Heba?”

“She’ll no doubt be charged with smuggling and theft of a major artwork. If Ma’at is behind this, it means we have a big lead.”

Annie pictured Heba in jail, her manicured nails chipping and her hair undone. Her face, as she’d been led out of the shop, was filled with anguish. Not exactly what Annie would’ve expected for a hardened Ma’at disciple.

“Thank you for everything you’ve done,” said Omar to Charlotte. “The moment we identified Hathorkare will no doubt remain the highlight of my career. Second only to this.”

“And mine as well,” said Charlotte.

They’d done it. They’d located the Cerulean Queen. Even though there were moments when Annie had been confused or even terrified, it had been wonderful having a purpose in the world. She envied Charlotte’s life. Not that Annie wanted to unearth any more mummies anytime soon, but to have a job that made you want to go to the ends of the earth to figure out the truth, or pursue something beautiful? That sounded like a pretty good way to spend one’s days and, sadly enough, reminded her of her time with Mrs. Vreeland.

Charlotte lingered, speaking with the conservator, and a wave of fatigue settled over Annie. They’d been going nonstop since they’d arrived in Egypt, and now that her adrenaline had subsided, she was beginning to feel the physical effects of being tossed around like a rag doll. Her right side, especially, ached from the brawl.

Annie took a seat at Heba’s desk, happy to be off her feet. A bunch of manila files were stacked in a pile, and she glanced through them,imagining the elation in Charlotte’s eyes as she held the missing research file aloft. But that would be too much to ask for. They were just sales receipts or boring forms in Arabic.

A policeman came over and asked Annie in English to not touch anything.

“Ana asfa,” she answered, pleased with herself for remembering the phrase for “I’m sorry” from her guidebook.

As she rose out of the chair, she accidentally bumped into the desk—her klutziness getting the better of her again—and a framed photograph that was sitting on the other side of the stack of files fell over. Annie reached over to right it, apologizing again to the policeman, but froze when she understood what she was looking at.

She blinked twice. It couldn’t be. But somehow, it all made sense.

The mastermind behind the theft of the Cerulean Queen was staring right back at her.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Charlotte

The plane carrying Charlotte and Annie chased the sunrise back to New York, landing in a wash of yellows and oranges. Charlotte was distraught she’d had to leave Cairo so quickly; the timing couldn’t have been worse. There were still so many unanswered questions about Henry and Layla—his whereabouts, what had happened the night of the sinking and in the intervening years, where on earth Layla was—but at the moment, capturing the thief of the Cerulean Queen had to come first. They would only have one chance, and retaining the element of surprise was of the utmost importance.

Back in Egypt, after Annie had shown Charlotte the photograph at the Farid Gallery, Charlotte had looked at her in confusion. But when Annie explained—and once again Charlotte thanked her lucky stars that the girl had invited herself on this trip—it all began to fall into place. Charlotte had spun into action, talking rapidly to the police and Omar in Arabic, making several calls to New York, and then sprinting to their hotel to collect their things before taking the next direct flight out.

After passing through customs, they caught a cab and proceeded to the Met. At the information desk, Charlotte wrote a quick note, and then she and Annie walked to the Met’s auditorium. Inside, the curator of the Arms and Armor department stood behind a dais on the stage, describing an Italian suit of armor from the fourteenth century to a room that was only about a quarter filled, mainly with women. Charlotte handed the note to an usher standing at the back of the room, and Annie pointed out to whom it should be delivered. As the intern strode down the aisle, Charlotte and Annie slipped out of the auditorium and proceeded to the Temple of Dendur gallery. They weaved around the rope and stanchions that blocked the entrance with a “Closed to the Public” sign attached and waited, tucked behind the huge stone gate that stood directly in front of the temple. The once brilliantly painted walls and columns had long ago faded, leaving only the outlines of bygone pharaohs and gods carved in sandstone.

Less than two minutes later, a woman walked into the gallery.

“Hello?” she called out. “Is anyone here? I was told to report to the Temple of Dendur?”

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