Simon Walker met with Dr. Pierce and her excavation team at seven thirty the next morning, in front of the shuttle bus that transported tourists from Cairo to Giza. The bus would be leaving from the shadowy canopy, which couldn't entirely shut out the morning heat, of the station shortly, giving them just enough time to do a head count and get on.

  They weren't a large group; they weren't expected to do any hard work after all; it was mainly just securing the western entrance and its annexed gallery, make them safe for visitors. Simon had other things in mind, of course. Now that he had the pendant and his grandfather's records, he would penetrate further into the pyramid than any man of the twentieth century had ever done before.

  He could count his team (as he liked to think of them) on one hand. There was Dr. Pierce, a short, middle aged woman in sandy capris and a green blouse, the head of the team. Left and right next to her stood two sturdy men with expectant expressions, who were chattering in low voices and were collectively known as The Twins. The Twins carried heavy cameras and cataloguing equipment to document their endeavour.

  And then there was Simon's little cousin.

  Morgan Lafeye, shorter than Simon by far, had soft, delicate features and light brown curtained hair that fell into his forehead and over the corners of his vivid blue eyes. A multitude of tiny freckles were scattered across his pointed nose and pale cheeks. He wore a fine straw hat, a dark navy-blue shirt that matched the colour of his eyes, and a pair of hunter shorts from whose pockets protruded a multitude of pens and a pair of magnifying glasses.

  Simon, who had spent the night in his usual hostel, far away from his little cousin, rolled his eyes when said cousin smiled at him cheerfully, revealing perfectly straight, white teeth under his nearly always upward curving lips.

  “Good morning,” Morgan greeted him happily, his eyes flickering over Simon's uncombed hair uncertainly. “How did you sleep?” He clapped him playfully on the shoulder. Simon's nostrils caught a pleasant whiff of sunscreen from his cousin. “You know it wasn't necessary to hole up on your own,” Morgan finished a little reproachfully.

  “I have my reasons,” said Simon shortly, ignoring the scrutinizing stare.

  “No doubt,” said Morgan, and he led the way to the waiting shuttle bus with a thoughtful smile.

  Several other people were already seated inside. No doubt tourists, thought Simon, judging by the look of their white three-quarters, white hats and white shirts, on their way to take pictures.

  Simon would be taking much more than pictures today. He knew it. He could feel it in his veins, that prickling sensation of foreboding. Something big was going to happen today, something he had been waiting and training for all of his life.

  For once, nobody would pay perfect Morgan, who had finished EMT training at the age of fourteen (and had worked as an assistant EMT at the Great Ormond Street Hospital in London ever since) and was, on top of that, a top archaeology student now, any attention. Instead, Simon would be in the center of things for once, and no one would be able to steal this moment of fame from him.

  Simon took a seat near the window and propped his bag up on the seat next to him. While on their twenty minutes journey to Giza, he wanted to peruse his grandfather's map again, and he had no intention to let anybody skip a glance at his notes. He kept the pendant well concealed underneath his button up shirt, too, knowing what Morgan would say if he saw he had it with him. He wasn't very keen on being lectured again.

  The bus took off, and Morgan had taken the seat in front of his after frowning at his bag. It wasn't ideal for Simon, who chided himself for not waiting until his cousin was seated before taking his place. It was too much trouble to relocate himself now, too, especially on the sandy dust road with all its holes and bumps, which nearly sent them flying around the bus as it was.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “Did you bring a hat?” said Morgan, some ten minutes later, turning around in the seat in front of him when they had almost reached the first stop on the east side of the Great Pyramid, where the official entrance was open for tourists. Simon snarled irritably, having been interrupted in his thoughts. (He couldn't have taken out his map to consult, not with Morgan in close proximity.)

  They were going all the way around to the other side of the three pyramids, where their digging site awaited them.

  “It'll be hot out there today,” Morgan continued, oblivious to his cousin's displeasure. “Forecast said more than 40° Celsius, and that's in the shade.” Simon found his cousin's raised eyebrows revolting. He became even more irritably when Morgan pulled a spare hat, a blue and white striped, touristy bush-hat, out of his bag and held it out for him. “You'll get sunburn if you don't do anything about the sun,” he said gently. “Put that on when we get out, Sime.”

  The tourists were now leaving the bus, and a wave of stiflingly hot air flooded the vehicle's inside. Simon saw the point of covering as much of himself as he could before he went outside again, but that did not mean he had to like his cousin's interference.

  “Thank you,” snarled Simon from between clenched teeth, taking the hat. Why was it that Morgan always thought about the things he didn't? And why did he have to force his superiority into Simon's face on ever occasion? Another ten minutes later, the bus halted at its final stop on the other side of the Great Pyramid, and the driver waved them off one by one.

  The site was just as they had left it a week earlier. There, in the shadow of two large boulders, was the barrier-tape-sealed doorway to the western gallery. Over the course of the last week, rock bits and pieces and sand had yet again obscured the entrance, a situation which took several minutes to undo. This endeavour was not simplified by the blinding brightness of the sun, the burning heat in the back of their necks, and the fact that sweat was dampening their sight after mere minutes outside. Of course, this only confirmed what Morgan had predicted, making the boy right again, a fact that did nothing but infuriate Simon.

  He had never been able to stand the hot, dry, southern climate very well, and the site on which they worked was in direct range of the rising sun. After five minutes of nearly getting his brain fried by the aggressive rays, he decided that he could not care less about Morgan's fulfilled prediction, and put on the striped bush-hat grudgingly. At least, its shadow kept his head cool and the flare of his lenses to a minimum.

  “So I was right then, you didn't bring a hat,” said Morgan amusedly from where he was working on getting rid of the streamers next to him, and the smile immediately vanished from Simon's face.

  While he worked on removing the debris, Simon hardly noticed the physical hardship. This was it, this was the day, his day. If, from today onward, this day was called Simon Walker Day, he would not have been surprised in the least. If he was perfectly honest with himself, he even sort of expected it to be.

  And then, after what seemed like several hours (instead of mere minutes), the passageway was finally clear of rubble. One by one, the members of the excavation team trooped through the narrow gap in the pyramid's limestone wall and into the gallery beyond. Simon wiped the sweat off his forehead and glasses, took off the bush-hat to stow in his bag, and followed Morgan inside.

  The gallery, a vast hall with decoratively painted walls and a central walkway lined with hieroglyph-inscribed pillars, was mercifully cool after the sweltering heat outside. Within seconds, the archaeologists were all shivering and their teeth chattering in the cold draught. Simon embraced the breeze. It would keep his head cool for the task at hand.

  “Everyone knows their job?” barked the voice of Dr. Pierce from somewhere deeper inside, eliciting non-committal grunts from her team.

  Simon grunted too, although he had no intention whatsoever of doing what he had been told. He waited until everyone had settled down at their respective stations, then made his way to his own assigned and roped-off stretch of crumbly pillars. He did not stop at the end of the corridor, as his instructions would have him. Instead, he took a careful look around to see whether anyone was watching his progress, but the team was occupied with their own work.

  Dr. Pierce and Morgan were trying to move a large, ornate vase to the left, the twins were setting up their equipment in the far right corner, from which they could overlook the whole of the gallery – well, except the part behind which Simon was now disappearing.

  With one last look at Morgan's olive-clad backside, which stuck out behind the large vase, Simon produced a torch from his bag and stepped sideways into a narrow passage to his left. This passage, he knew, led toward the exerted spike trap and the dead end wall behind.