By Elizabeth Peters
Althea Tomlinson says she has again to Egypt to determine the attractions, and to chaperon a spoiled teen via this unusual and breathtaking wilderness land. actually extra complex...and harmful. Ten years in the past, whatever right here led to her father's smash and next demise -- and Althea intends to transparent her disgraced parent's identify and lay a dismal earlier eventually to relaxation. yet there are a few mysteries top left buried within the moving sands. And a faithful daughter's look for solutions is stirring up forgotten stories virtually too painful to suffer, and propelling her onward towards historical tombs, mythical treasures, magnificent discoveries...and ever-closer to her personal possible doom.
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Additional info for The Jackal's Head
I am Achmed, Abdelal’s son. ” I studied the plate of bread, as if deciding which piece to take. I loathe the stuff, actually—it tastes like rancid butter—but I had eaten many a loaf of it before, and the pause gave me time to think. It was now my turn to introduce myself. I preferred anonymity, but it was possible that Abdelal had left some message for me, and in order to receive it I would have to identify myself. “My name is Tomlinson,” I said, taking the smallest piece of bread. “Althea Tomlinson.
The Jackal's Head / 47 He stood with one hand on the doorjamb, his brows drawn together in a scowl. I was painfully familiar with that expression; he and I used to have little interviews in his office periodically, especially after Mike had found a spider or an inkblot. He had gotten himself all dressed up for Bloch, but not for me; he wore his working outfit of grubby cotton pants and a wrinkled shirt. The rolled-up sleeves and open collar displayed skin as brown as an Arab’s. Without saying a word or waiting for an invitation, he strode into the room and threw himself into a chair.
I’m not talking about junk like the scarabs these peddlers market. They’re lousy fakes, a baby could spot them. Jake could turn out forgeries which would pass the most rigid tests. It’s been done before; hell, half our museums still contain questionable objects, so well made that they could, and did, fool experts. ” The Jackal's Head / 57 “I don’t have to try. That statue wasn’t a fake. ” The cigarette tasted foul. I stubbed it out, and swung around to face John. ” The silence lasted a long time—long enough for Mike’s astounded expression to turn to horror, long enough for the sickness churning in my stomach to rise to my throat.