The velvet blackness of the Egyptian night was almost total, the shifting sands illuminated only by flickering pinpoints of light from stars that seemed close enough to touch.
Deeper shadows blocked the faint light where the towering bulk of the Great Pyramids stood in the distance like angular mountains on the flat, parched land. The quiet purring of a BMW motorcycle filled the still air, seeming to come from everywhere at once, the motorcycle only visible by the weak beam of its headlight piercing the darkness.
For days, Darla had felt a strange, inexplicable restlessness. It was almost as if she was being called, urgently summoned by a power that invaded not only her mind, but her heart as well. She struggled to shake off the feelings, but the desert night only served to intensify them, drawing her farther into their grasp. Even as she slept, her dreams were entwined with the lives and passions of the ancients who once ruled the Valley of the Kings. The nightly sojourns on the BMW that had been “liberated” from the Nazis helped to dissipate the anxiety that filled her subconscious mind with visions from time immemorial.
“Do you think tomorrow will be the day?” a quiet voice beside Darla asked.
Her soft green eyes were invisible in the darkness as she turned them toward the sound of the voice. “Maybe. We’ve had to go slowly to prevent damage to the area, and to any artifacts we may find in the outer chambers.”
She shifted slightly, her khaki shorts making a rustling sound as she adjusted the position of her hip in the soft, warm sand. A small sigh escaped her at the question. “I know this is your first dig, but you’ll soon learn patience, if nothing else, Carl.”
The pipes on the big bike made tinny clicking noises as they cooled beside her.
“Patience.” He repeated the word almost silently. “It seems like everything takes forever in this barren hellhole. At least you’ve found something to take you away from this ever present sand,” he said, pointing to the silhouette of the Beemer. “You’d think that better accommodations would be available in 1944 that what we have in this backward place! Maybe things will improve when the war ends, but that doesn’t help matters now, does it?”
Reaching out in the darkness, she laid her hand gently on his thigh, her fingers warm on the bare flesh below his shorts. “Not everything, remember?”
She could not see the smile that flitted across his lips as he reached out to slip his fingers into the softness of her raven hair, still damp with sweat from the oppressive heat of the afternoon sun as he pulled her closer to him.
“You are the only saving grace in this God-forsaken country,” he whispered.
He buried his face in the damp cascade of her hair, his lips finding the sweet, salty skin at the hollow of her throat. His teeth tugged gently at the soft flesh, bringing a low moan from her parted lips.
“What about the artifacts?” She whispered, her breath warm in his ear. “And the thrill of discovering treasures that haven’t been seen by man in thousands of years?”
He chuckled, slipping a hand under her shirt, his calloused palm rubbing across a pert nipple, causing it to harden at his touch. “You’re the best treasure I’ve discovered since our arrival, but I hardly believe it’s been that long since you’ve been seen by man.”
His hand slipped away from her breast, trailing down the gentle swell of her stomach. His fingers found the waistband of her khaki shorts, and slipped between the damp cotton and the soft, warm flesh beneath.
Her lips found his in the darkness, parting to let the tip of her tongue flick out to entwine with his as his fingers explored the wet outer folds of her hidden treasure. He slipped a finger inside, exploring the wet center of her femininity. She gasped, her teeth nipping painfully at his lower lip as he pressed his hand harder against her, his palm flat against the wet, sticky folds of flesh.
Reluctantly, Carl pulled his hand away from her, giving her a gentle nudge. He unfastened the top button of her shorts and slid the zipper down as she raised her hips to release the material from beneath her.
He had just begun to work the damp, clinging material down her thighs, when the glow of a lantern bobbed it’s way down the adjoining dune, followed by a panting laborer.
“What the…?”
Carl worked her shorts back over her hips, and she quickly buttoned them before the beam of the laborer’s flashlight fell on them. He pulled the tail of his shirt out to conceal the erection straining at the front of his pants just as the Egyptian stumbled to a halt beside them. The man stood bent over for several seconds, his hands on his knees as he struggled to catch his breath.
“Miss Sanborne…” He panted, turning his face toward her. “You come with me? We have broken through the stone sealing the tomb, and will be ready to enter soon. Reza say you should be first to enter.”
“Yes,” she said, lurching to her feet in the soft sand.
“Just… Give me a minute, okay?” She straightened the waistband of her shorts, and ran her long, slim fingers through her damp hair.
“Thanks for letting us know, Hakim,” Carl said, trying to keep the bulge in his pants out of the bobbing circle of light. “You can start back, now. We’ll be there straightaway.”
Hakim’s yellow teeth showed faintly in the dim glow as he grinned at Carl. “Okay, Mister Danforth. You don’ get lost out here, now. We’ll be waiting for you.”
After the glow of Hakim’s lantern had faded from sight behind the dunes, Darla grabbed Carl’s hand, pulling him through the sand toward the dig site. He trotted along behind her, feet slipping in the sand.
“Think Hakim knew what was going on?” he chuckled.
She turned, barely able to make out his silhouette in the darkness. “Yeah,” she called over her shoulder. “I think he had a pretty good idea.”
Great chunks of sandstone lay scattered about like a child’s discarded toys, as Darla led Carl through the maze toward the entrance to the tomb. Several natives were working with picks and shovels to enlarge the hole that led into the bowels of the unknown Egyptian’s last resting place. Lights strung on drooping wires cast an eerie glow over the site, making shadows dance along the ancient walls painstakingly carved from native rock.
Reza, the foreman who Darla’s father, Professor Daniel Sanborne, hired to oversee the dig was waiting near the jagged entrance, his big hands on his hips.
“Ah, Miss Sanborne,” he said, his voice a bass rumble as it tumbled over impossibly white teeth set into a wide face the color of burnished leather. “I am glad you were not sleeping. I knew you have been anxious to enter the tomb, but I instructed Hakim not to wake you…”
“That would’ve been fine, Reza. Anything I may have been doing is of secondary importance to this,” she said, bending to peer into the dank, impenetrable blackness beyond the entrance.
“Thanks a lot,” Carl whispered into her ear as she straightened. He reached out to slip an errant strand of raven hair back behind her ear with a gentle finger.
She winked at Carl as she positioned a helmet with miner’s lamp on her head, then took one of the hooded lanterns from a pin driven into the sandstone and thrust it inside the black opening. She dropped to her knees, and Carl watched with rapt attention as her shapely buttocks disappeared inside the tomb. Without a second thought, he followed her through the opening and into the enveloping blackness beyond.
The chamber was untouched since the death of its occupant, and Darla stood, transfixed by the opulence and depravity that surrounded her. The walls were adorned with scenes of couples and groups having sex in every way imaginable. Rich tapestries hung from the walls depicted scenes of orgies that glowed with realism.
The harsh light of Carl’s lamp revealed a strange glitter in Darla’s eyes as she held an artifact cradled lovingly in her hands. Its weight, and the dull gleam of the surface told them without doubt that it was made of pure gold.
Carl reached out, taking the artifact from her grasp. He held it at arm’s length, directing the beam of his miner’s lamp along the surface of the impossibly large golden phallus. “Kind of makes me feel inadequate,” he chuckled.
“Carl…” she gasped, “Look!”
The urgency in her voice made him turn quickly, almost dropping the golden phallus. There before them was the life-sized statue of an Egyptian priestess, fashioned from gold, and set with countless precious stones.
As Carl stared in awe, he became aware of the resemblance of Darla to the golden priestess who stood before him, wearing only the patina of time beneath her jewel encrusted collar and headdress.
Reaching out, he slipped the jeweled collar from the neck of the golden priestess, and placed it over Darla’s head, settling it on her shoulders, the weight almost causing her to stagger.
As soon as the headdress, with its ruby-eyed serpent settled onto her raven tresses, Carl saw a shudder run through Darla. Her emerald eyes seemed to hold the secrets of the ancients; tiny sparks of pure energy flickered across her dilated pupils as she stared into the distance.
Without a word, she tugged her sweat-stained shirt from beneath the jeweled collar, and tossed it aside, her bare breasts glistening in the meager light, her nipples erect. She bent as if in a trance, and slipped out of her khaki shorts and panties, kicking them aside.
Carl gasped as Darla stood beside the golden priestess. Their bodies were exact duplicates in every detail, from the gentle swell of their breasts, to the tangle of dark hair at the confluence of their thighs.
“You’re… You’re…” He gasped, unable to comprehend the reality of what lay before him.
Almost inaudibly, Darla began to chant in a strange language, the silken sound of her voice absorbed by the stone that surrounded them.
“Darla… Are you okay? Your eyes look strange!”
She reached out with fingers that seemed to hold the strength of ten men, and took Carl’s hair in her grasp. With her head thrown back, lips parted in pure lust, she forced him to his knees before her, pulling his face between her legs.
She released him suddenly, leaning heavily against the golden priestess for support, her knees weak.
Several minutes passed in silence, when suddenly, Darla reached out, her fingers cupping the back of Carl’s neck, pulling him close. He hesitated at her command, given so urgently in a language he didn’t understand, but sensing his confusion, she repeated it in English.
“Take me now!” she said, her voice hard edged, yet almost pleading.
Turning, she lay across the sarcophagus of the ancient priest, her breasts smearing the centuries of dust that coated its richly carved surface. She reached out to caress the carved face lovingly, her fingers tracing the eyes, and the line of the cheekbone, her fingertips pausing to gently touch the carved lips as she spoke soothingly in the ancient tongue of Pharaohs.
Tears flowed from her eyes as Carl took her from behind, and The golden priestess seemed to glow as Darla lay across the old priest’s coffin, her body rocking with the force of Carl’s thrusts.
Darla could feel the passion of a thousand lonely years within her as her climax began to build, her fingernails now digging into the carved surface of the sarcophagus. Beside her, the golden priestess began to lose the glowing sheen, as Darla’s breathing began to return to normal.
Suddenly, the weight of the jeweled collar and headdress seemed far too great, and Darla struggled to her feet, slipped out of the priceless jewelry, and returned it to its place on the statue.
She bent and retrieved her dirty, stained clothing, slipping into them as Carl dressed beside her, and wordlessly, they started back toward the now cool air of the Egyptian night.
Carl stopped to wait as Darla returned to the statue of the Golden Priestess, kissing her gently on the cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered.
As they turned once again to leave, neither Darla nor Carl noticed the shadow that detached itself from the wall just inside the cave entrance as Reza quickly moved to survey the riches contained in the burial chamber.
The first crimson glow of dawn found Darla and Carl headed for the ancient tomb. As they neared the entrance, Reza stepped forward to meet them. “It will not be necessary for you to enter, Miss Sanborne,” he said, his white teeth gleaming. “I now take possession of the riches of this tomb to further the cause of the Third Reich!”
As he spoke, several Bedouin mercenaries stepped from the shadows to join him, their Scimitars held aloft in open threat.
“You… You have no right!” Darla stammered…
“Ah, but I do,” he replied, once again showing his straight white teeth. “Might makes right, as your countrymen say!”
Reza turned to one of the laborers who handed him the jeweled collar from the Golden Priestess’ neck. “As you can see, the treasure is being loaded as we speak. I will give you five minutes to gather what possessions you can and depart with your lives.”
He turned and walked away, the Bedouins at his side, and Carl took Darla by the arm, steering her back to their tent.
“Carl, we have to stop them! We can’t let the treasure fall into the hands of the Nazis!” She buried her face in her hands and her body shook with rage.
“Well,” Carl sighed, “I was looking for something to ease my boredom. I guess I should have been more careful of what I asked for!”
He knelt beside his trunk and unlocked the hasp. Opening the lid, he uncovered a M-3 “Grease Gun” machine gun and several fully loaded magazines. He inserted one, working the bolt to chamber a round.
He took Darla in his arms. “If I don’t make it through this, get away the best way you can. Just keep your head down while I take these guys on.” He turned on his heel before she could argue, and stepped through the tent flaps into the harsh glare of the desert morning.
The rattle of the M-3 shattered the still, hot air as Carl ran toward the tomb entrance, firing from the hip at the Bedouins who ran at him with their wicked swords held aloft. Three were dropped in the fusillade when the M-3’s bolt locked back on the empty magazine. Carl pulled a full magazine from his pocket, but before he could insert it, he heard the sharp crack of a Lugar pistol, and felt the 9mm bullet impact just below his right elbow, the M-3 tumbling from his numb fingers. A second bullet struck him in the left calf, sending him to the ground as more bullets sailed harmlessly overhead.
Before the remaining Bedouins could reach him, he heard the roar of the BMW as Darla sped across the sand toward him, bent low over the handlebars. As he sat up, the now reloaded M-3 clutched in his left hand, she leaned and grabbed the collar of his Khaki shirt and dragged him beside her, the bulk of the motorcycle shielding him from Reza’s fire, bullets striking the rear fender of the bike and shattering the tail light with jarring impacts. Spinning the bike in a tight circle, she dropped it onto its side and sprang from the saddle to hide behind the bike as Carl opened up with the Grease Gun.
Reza’s mouth opened in a silent scream as the stream of hot lead found its mark, stitching him from crotch to sternum. The two Bedouins tried to flee, but Carl cut them down as their feet sunk into the clinging sand.
Carl stood, blood trickling from his forearm and thigh, and surveyed the area. A truck was parked a short distance away, the bed already brimming with the treasures of the tomb. As silence enfolded the area, the laborers emerged from the tomb and scattered to the four winds, afraid of assuming the consequences of Reza’s actions, and Carl let them go, knowing they had no choice but to obey Reza’s commands.
Darla reached Carl’s side, and seeing the blood seeping through his clothing, whispered, “You’re hurt!”
Carl picked up the jeweled collar from the sand near Reza’s body and placing it over Darla’s head, he answered with a grin; “just a couple of scratches, love. What I think we should do is go check on the Golden Priestess. You really look great in her wardrobe!”
Photos from the Bob T. Collection
