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Read chapters one and two below:

Chapter One

Sunday

A subtle shaking of my shoulder and someone calling my name made me stir. I tried to remember where I was. Oh yes, on a privately owned jumbo jet heading for Egypt. Could that be true?

Nawww, this is a dream.

I rolled over and went back to sleep. I got shaken again.

I opened my eyes and tried to adjust to the low lighting. Jake, a flying buddy of my husband’s, came into focus. He seemed concerned about something. Or was I projecting? I’m not a plane person. I mean, what keeps these things up, anyway? Certainly not Newton’s Law.

I hissed, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” he whispered and then smiled at me.

Jake continued smiling at me in a convivial manner. I hate convivial smiles when I am fighting off hysteria. They seem so out of place.

He noticed my nervousness and became the professional, the captain of an airship. “It’s nothing. Gurn wants to have a little talk with you. I’m going on a break for a few hours, take a snooze. So now is a good time for you to go to the cockpit and visit with him.”

Jake gave me a friendly salute and headed for the rear of the plane. I threw back the covers of the first-class sleeping pod I was in, a tight fit but comfy, and looked at my watch. Ten minutes after three. Holy Chamoli, I thought. What could Gurn possibly want at this hour? He wouldn’t ask Jake to wake me up unless it was important, no matter how Jake had put it.

I did a quick glance around me. The rest of my family was sleeping either in like-pods, on sofas, or overstuffed chairs converted into beds. The entire main cabin, which would normally have contained dozens of rows of passenger seats, was filled with luxurious living-room-like furniture spaciously arranged, including modern knickknacks here and there.

Hanging on the cream-colored walls were paintings by impressionists, expressionists, and cubists. How did I know? It’s amazing what you retain in your memory banks when you date an art major in college. What I remembered surprised me. The guy himself, good ol’ what’s-his-name, was pretty forgettable.

The dining room was behind another set of walls, as were two private bedrooms, which we were asked not to go into. The rooms were also locked. I know. I unlocked them and glanced inside. Bottom line: don’t tell me I can’t go somewhere. The creed of a private investigator is to find out why.

The plane’s décor was done in shades of tan, amber, and rust, set off by touches of hammered copper. The copper flitted about on the walls and furnishings, tying things together nicely. The results looked like a combination of a home, a modern art museum, and a plane, only very fancy-schmancy.

I strained my eyes in the dimness of the main cabin. Across the room, little Steffie, my darling eighteen-month-old niece, slept in her travel crib. Curled up beside her were the two cats. They had left me several hours previously for her—the traitors. That’s what munching on potato chips and watching Barbara Stanwyck in the movie The Lady Eve will get you. Abandoned and catless.

My entire family was aboard this plane: mother, uncle, brother, sister-in-law, niece, and two pets. My husband was in the copilot’s seat. In short, everyone I loved in the world was here. If Gurn was calling me to the cockpit to tell me the plane was going down in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, I was going to kill him.

After all, it was his bright idea to be the son of parents who invited us to join them at the last minute on an archaeological dig in Egypt. Or maybe they commandeered us. I was still trying to figure it out.

I rushed to the front of the plane, pushed at the door, and barged into the cockpit. There I faced dozens of white, blue, yellow, red, and green lights set within gewgaws of the control panel or overhead. Every danged one of them looked important and lethal. If one of those lights started flashing, did that mean the plane would crash?

Whoa! I thought. I have to stop this. Not everything is a harbinger of danger just because it’s on a plane. Even if you‘ve been commandeered.

 I drew in a sharp breath, looking out the pilot’s window. No panoramic view of fluffy white clouds and blue skies but dark and foreboding. Oh, that’s right! It’s nighttime. You know, I’m beginning to suspect I should take a few classes on how to deal with the fear of flying.

I tried to quell my beating heart and called out to Gurn, who was fidgeting with something. “Hi, darling,” I said, keeping my voice upbeat.

He turned around and looked at me briefly. I couldn’t tell if he was smiling, crying, or terror-stricken, because his face was backlit by the lights from the panel.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he said, oblivious to my thoughts. “Come on in and sit down.”

His voice sounded easy, but not warm and loving like it usually does. More professionally calm.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, his voice now a little perplexed.

“You’re sure?” I took a deep breath and exploded with, “You can tell me the truth. I’m a big girl. I can take it. We’re going into the drink, aren’t we?”

“Where did you get that idea from? Nothing’s wrong. I just wanted to talk to you about something. Something I just learned from a conversation I had with the hotel manager of the Blue Nile.”

“Okay.” My voice was casual, but I sat down stiffly. “What’s up?”

“I don’t want to alarm you—”

“What do you mean you don’t want to alarm me?” I jumped up. “Consider me alarmed.” My voice rose several octaves higher. Right below E above birdcall.

“Sweetheart, love of my life, mi cielo, calm down,” he said. “The plane is fine. We’re fine.”

Whenever he calls me “his sky or heaven” in Spanish, I know it’s time to worry. And when he tells me to calm down, it’s time to hit the panic mode. However, he did say the plane was fine, so I figured I would sit for a moment and wait to hear what he had to say. Then I’d panic.

“The manager of the Blue Nile just informed me that one of the waiters is missing.”

“Missing? As in no one knows where he is?”

“Yes. Baahir, fifteen years old. Said to be a sweet kid. He’s been missing for over twelve hours. He’s never done anything like this before.”

“Oh my God.”

“His parents are frantic. This was his first summer job. His parents say he took this job very seriously. But he didn’t show up for his shift, and his bed wasn’t slept in. That’s not all.”

“That’s not all? Are you sure we shouldn’t turn this plane around and head back home? Abort this mission?”

“We can’t. We passed the point of no return about an hour ago.”

“That sounds ominous.”

“It merely means if we turned around, we would be traveling more nautical miles home than if we continued on to London to pick up the rest of the crew. And remember, I am obligated to get this plane to Cairo.”

In exchange for Gurn copiloting this aircraft at the last minute, the Alvarez clan had been able to hitch a free ride from San Francisco to Cairo. In Cairo, the plane’s owner, a minor sultan, his four wives, extended family, pet python, and llama would load up for a flight to Papua, New Guinea. Such is the life of a sultan.

From Cairo we would take public transportation to Luxor where the Blue Nile was moored. Such is the life of a normal person.

“Okay.” I let out a deep breath, trying to be reasonable. “We’re past the point of no return. I can deal with it. Let’s get back to ‘and that’s not all.’”

“In speaking further with Ibrahim—“

“Keeping the cast of characters straight, Baahir is the kid who’s missing. Ibrahim is the ship’s hotel manager, right?”

 “Right. He told me that there have been some odd things happening aboard the Blue Nile.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Not dangerous, he stressed, but odd.”

“Such as?”

“Strange voices and footsteps heard in the middle of the night. Small things gone from his office or out of place. The chef has reported there is food missing from his galley now and then. Ibrahim’s got round-the-clock guards watching, but so far has found nothing.”

“Has he notified the police?”

“Yes, and that’s something I feel better about and why I think we should proceed as planned. The policeman in charge happens to be an old friend of mine, Karim Abdelaal, now living in Luxor.”

“I remember you mentioning him.”

“Karim’s someone I worked with way back when, in Afghanistan. He’s a former member of the El-Sa’ka Forces.”

“And what’s that?”

“El-Sa’ka is home to the elite military force known as Force 999 Fighting.”

“Sounds impressive. Sort of the Egyptian version of the Navy SEALs?”

“Right. I think you know that Egypt and the United States have been strong allies for over a century. I’ve worked with Karim on several sensitive missions, and he always had my back. He’s a good man. He’ll get to the bottom of whatever’s going on, if there’s anything to get to the bottom of. I’m not worried, I just wanted to fill you in. Full disclosure.” He gave me his lopsided grin. “Don’t worry. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“So, I’m not to worry even though you’ve said not to worry three times within the last ten seconds?”

Gurn was silent for a time, either thinking about how he would answer or how he really felt.

“Darling,” I said, my voice filling the silent airwaves. “If my mother were in this cockpit right now, she might say you sound as if you are circumventing the truth. What I’m going to say is just tell me what’s going on. It’ll save us both a lot of time and aggravation.”

“You’re right,” he said, with a relieved laugh. “Honey, I am slightly worried about this whole venture. Maybe we jumped into this vacation too soon without investigating things more. I’ve got a call into Karim, but he hasn’t gotten back to me yet.”

“You called him because…?”

He took a deep breath before saying, “I just found out that Baahir is not the first to disappear recently. Another man disappeared about three weeks ago, another waiter. Of course, it was a little different. He was older. He had a reputation for not being dependable. And it is said he might have taken off with a woman. But nonetheless, Baahir is the second who worked aboard that ship whose whereabouts are unknown.”

“And in less than a month,” I added.

Chapter Two

I sat next to Gurn in the copilot’s seat looking out at black nothingness, digesting what I’d learned. I couldn’t help but reflect on how the entire Alvarez clan got to be where we were. Past the point of no return, over a large, wet ocean, and riding on a jumbo jet that’s home to a billionaire sultan and his pet python.

Only twenty-four hours before, I’d stumbled up the stairs to our garage apartment, fervently wishing we had an elevator, escalator, or chairlift. The idea of being taken upstairs on a stretcher by two burly EMS guys didn’t sound bad, either.

This was due to having been one of nineteen counselors in charge of a week-long summer camp called Youth Finds the Martial Arts. Based an hour and a half north of Palo Alto in Lagunitas, the camp was for one hundred sixty underprivileged children, ages nine to fourteen. They were there to become B&BP: or bigger and better people. Whether or not that happened for them, I couldn’t say. As for me, I was a mere shell of my former self.

This debacle came about because, for a few minutes into a staff meeting, I sneaked out to the ladies’ room. Or is it snuck? Anyway, when I returned, I discovered I’d been unanimously elected to teach these underprivileged kids the ancient martial art of karate at this camp.

As a black belt in the art form, I watched twenty adorable children put on the dogi uniform and turn into killers. Kicking, biting, and hair pulling were just part of their winning strategy. Allow me to thank my mother, Lila Hamilton Alvarez, for the experience.

Our family-owned detective agency, Discretionary Inquiries Inc., is headed by my mother, better known as She Who Must Be Obeyed. The lady may be my mom, but she is first and foremost the CEO of DI, what we call the biz when she’s not around. Mom has a rep for showing no mercy, especially when it comes to pro-bono work for kids. Lesson here: Do not drink two full cups of coffee before a staff meeting.

But the nightmare was over. The drive back from Lagunitas was an hour and a half of listening to ABBA full blast and reveling in my freedom. I got home after 10:30 p.m. That’s when the real trouble began.

On arriving at hearth and home after seven days and nights of absence, I expected to find a loving husband and two adoring cats waiting anxiously. What I didn’t expect to find was a living room filled with my entire family.

Reading from left to right, and looking mightily pleased with themselves, were previously mentioned mother, Lila; retired chef and beloved uncle, Tío; DI’s IT computer genius, my brother, Richard; and Vicki, much adored sis-in-law, momentarily minus offspring, Steffie, the world’s cutest kid. Said family sat or stood scattered around the room but nonetheless turned and looked at me as one.

The focus of their attention had previously been in listening to the man of my life talking on the phone in our bedroom. He was speaking in Arabic, so I haven’t a clue what he was going on about. But even with the door closed, his voice sounded loud and happy with the occasional burst of laughter.

I took a deep breath about to ask my blonde-haired, blue-eyed mother what-the-hey, when she put one finger to her lips and shushed me, ever so ladylike.

I looked at my brother. Richard has our mother’s coloring, but not her manners. His shush contained spittle followed by a burp.

Glancing at my Mexican-born Uncle Mateo, nicknamed Tío, he merely smiled and shook his head, more or less indicating the same thing.

I swallowed the question and turned to Vicki. Her red curls bounced as she, too, shook her head with more gravity than her green eyes belied. She then gave me a shrug, a big smile, and blew me a kiss.

Everyone was being noncommunicative but friendly. That’s when I realized whatever was going on had nothing to do with me. I wasn’t in deep doo-doo about something. How refreshing.

Letting me know I was still loved, Tugger and Baba came running to me meowing like crazy. I set down my duffel bag and scooped them up in my arms, one sleek orange-and-white male and one long-haired gray-and-white female. Smothered in cats, I sat down in the remaining vacant, overstuffed chair. I covered the two purring felines with kisses while wondering what was going on in my own home. I decided not to pursue it. Being territorial in the Alvarez family is a complete waste of time.

Five minutes later the phone call ended, and Gurn opened the bedroom door and entered the living room. “Okay, here’s the latest scoop, everyone. I—”

When he saw me, he stopped speaking, and a broad smile came to his face. “Sweetheart! I didn’t know you were home.” He rushed over to me, arms extended.

I stood up, nearly tossing the cats off my lap. But both leapt with grace to safety. Cats have no need for martial arts. They are martial arts.

Gurn and I went into a quick but satisfying embrace. After we broke free, I said, “I got here a few minutes ago. What’s going on? Who were you talking in Arabic to?”

“The hotel manager of the Blue Nile in Egypt. I’ve been talking to him on and off all day, even with the ten-hour time difference, working things out. And I’ve also been talking to Mom and Dad. Listen, sweetheart, why don’t you sit down? I have a few things to bring you up to speed on.”

I sank down again in the chair, knowing something big was about to land in my lap and it wasn’t a cat. “What’s going on?”

In answer to my question, everyone in the room started talking at the same time. Trying to top each other in volume, they ultimately said I know not what. I put two fingers in my mouth and blew a long, ear-piercing whistle, something Pascal, one of my ten-year-old students, taught me to do on the second day of camp. A stunned silence followed. I took advantage of it.

“Everyone, please. I don’t mean to be rude but just stuff a sock in it for a moment.”

“Liana!” my mother chastised.

“A figure of speech, Mom. Sorry. Why don’t we do this one at a time? Him first,” I said, pointing a finger at Gurn. My family sat in dutiful silence, but I could see it was hard for them. I rushed on, taking advantage of their cooperation.

“Darling, when I left for camp only seven short days ago, your parents were in Egypt as volunteers on a dig in Alexandria.”

“Right. Searching for Cleopatra’s tomb. A search that invited amateurs to join them, providing they paid a fee for the privilege, like my parents.”

“Has something changed?”

“That’s what the dig started out as, but a few days ago the dig director had a falling-out with the head conservator. The dig director has subsequently been fired, and the original dig has been canceled.”

“Oh no! Your poor parents. How awful for them.” I reflected. “Wait a minute. I didn’t think the dig director could be fired. I remember from our sojourn to Guatemala; the dig director was in charge of everything.”

“Not always. The head conservator carries a lot of weight, too, especially if he’s the one with the cash behind him. He and the dig director bucked heads over a change in the direction the excavation should take, as well as the location.”

“Uh-oh.”

“The dig director wanted to stay in Alexandria continuing to look for Cleopatra’s tomb. The head conservator wanted to go to Dendera in search of Cleopatra’s real mother. Something about the translations of hieroglyphics on a cornerstone of a recently discovered temple. He’s determined to discover one of the most elusive mysteries about the last queen of Egypt: who was Cleopatra’s mom?”

“I had no idea nobody knew,” I said.

“Well, they know who her father was, Ptolemy XII. Her mother? They’re not so sure.”

“So,” I quipped, “I’m guessing looking at a copy of her birth certificate wouldn’t work?”

Richard let out a whoop of laughter. “That’s pretty good, Lee. I’ll have to remember that.”

 Gurn picked up the conversation again. “The dig director is now trying to find funding to continue the original project outside Alexandria. But the London Museum and several philanthropists are backing the head conservator. He managed to obtain permits for a new dig in Dendera. However, he lost most of his original crew and volunteers who opted to stay in Alexandria.”

“I would think getting a new crew at the last minute would be difficult,” I said.

“Not really,” my brother said. “The head conservator owns the Blue Nile. He’s offered its use for getting to Dendera from Luxor and as housing for new heads of departments and volunteers joining this dig. Most of the workers in the field will be locals from Dendera. The temple is less than fifteen minutes by car from the Nile, so it’s perfect housing.”

“You mean the Blue Nile is a boat?”

“A ship, Liana dear,” Mom put in.

“Ship, boat, bath salts,” I said, suddenly annoyed. “Will someone please tell me where this is going? What has any of this to do with us?” I looked at both Gurn and my brother.

Richard burst out, “Why, isn’t it obvious? Thanks to Gurn’s dad, we’ve all been invited to join the dig as volunteers for the next two weeks aboard the Blue Nile.”