Chapter Ten: Discovery

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Jonathan sat in the armchair in his small room, a small corner room on the second floor of the brownstone many resistors called home. It was quiet, and he liked to sit in solitude by the window.

If he closed his eyes, and let the soft breeze float in, and the quiet sunlight caress his face, he could almost imagine that he was home. That he was sitting in the living room of the English manor, in his father’s red velvet armchair, by the window that looked out over the small garden. That in the distance he could hear Evy in the kitchen, that he could faintly hear the sounds of Alex and Rick teasing each other, that all around him were the sounds of the normal life he had lost.

If he sat there long enough, memories would come back to him, more vivid then ever. Evy’s laughing face, Rick’s mock anger, Alex’s joy at discovery. He could relive moments–like the time Evy found out that Jonathan had passed all of his exams. She had such shock, such exuberance and joy for him on her features. All for the brother she loved.

He remembered with perfect clarity what she had said to him, her small arms wrapped around his neck. “Jon, I’m so proud of you,” she had whispered into his ear.

He had never felt that good, not even when he had learned that he had passed all of his exams. Her happiness for him was all that he needed.

He wanted so desperately to make her proud of him again. But as they grew up, at each step he was a disappointment: he drank too much, he gambled more than he should, he sometimes kept the truth from her. He never doubted her love for him. But he loved her so much and wanted to care for her so badly, he never wanted to hurt her or disappoint her. She was his little baby sister, the rock in his life who gave him reason to live.

And because of her he had gained a true friend, Rick, and a wonderful nephew, Alex. She broadened and enlivened his life. Was there any way he could repay, and save her?

He ached to do something, but he was afraid that he would be helpless forever. That he would devote his life to fighting a pointless cause, that he would never see Evy or her family again. That her absence would take all meaning from his life.

His thoughts drifted to Imhotep and Anck-su-namun, the real causes of all his misery. He was so conflicted about them. At times he would fall into a mindless, terrible rage, screaming and wanting to hurl things about, wishing for nothing more than base vengeance.

And then there were the times when he was reflective and quiet and he could almost sympathize with them. More than most, Jonathan knew the strength of the bonds of love, and understood how much one would sacrifice for the one they loved. He would throw himself in front of a thousand bullets to save Evy’s life.

While Jonathan wished he could condemn and hate Imhotep and Anck-su-namun, they had done what he might have done. They had killed to be free and to be together. Jon had shot and killed men who had threatened his family in the jungles of Ahm Shere. Maybe they were not so different, after all.

He was so absorbed that he did not hear his door open softly.

“We have found one of your books.”

Jacques voice broke into Jonathan’s thoughts.

Startled out of his reverie, Jonathan sat up abruptly, his eyes flying open and coming to rest on Jacques face. “What?” he gasped.

The words were a catalyst to his lethargic system, and his body moved excitedly, as if of its own free will, to the edge of his chair. Did he just hear what he thought he heard? Was he delirious?

Jacques, nodded, his face serious. A small smile of irony tugged at his lips. “You’ll never guess where.”

Jonathan was too stunned to think coherently. He slowly rose from the chair in the beginnings of excitement. “We’ve found it?”

The older man smiled fully at Jonathan’s shock. “Yes.” He walked over and clapped Jon on the back. “Shanghai. And it seems that you were right all along.”

Jonathan could only gape at him. “I was right?”

Jacques laughed, the hope and joy from their discovery finally showing on his face. “Yes. I’ve got the telegram right here.”

Jonathan stared at him, delight blossoming on his face. “Shanghai?”

Jacques nodded, a grin spreading across his usually somber features. “Wanna take a trip to China?”

With that Jonathan jumped in the air and screamed with joy, a cross between a shriek of disbelief and a yelp of excitement escaping his lips. He began to dance around the room, tripping over his own feet as he moved, shouting meaningless phrases of happiness. He grabbed Jacques and gave him a big hug, surprising the other man with a show of affection. Then Jonathan put his arm on Jacques waist and started to ballroom dance with him across the small bedroom, the two large men stumbling and singing resistance songs in their exuberance.

With a final cry, Jonathan collapsed again into the armchair, the grin plastered onto his face, a grin from the old Jonathan. “You have to tell me everything!” he exclaimed, moving again to the edge of the seat to listen to Jacques. “Which book did they find?”

The older man wiped his forehead, shiny from their athletic exertions. “The black book, the Book of the Dead.” Still smiling, but becoming more serious, he seated himself across from Jonathan to tell the story from the beginning.

“As you know, we alerted all of our contacts, other cells in the movement, around the globe of the importance of both books. We included your descriptions of both–the gold and black covers, the inscriptions. We left the descriptions slightly vague, of course, so we could tell if certain responses to our plea were traps set by Imhotep or his sympathizers.”

Jonathan nodded, the early exuberance fading slightly to give way to thoughts of the future–the difficult trip to Shanghai, the near impossibility of gaining the book and getting it to the Med Jai while remaining undetected by Imhotep. He shook those thoughts from his mind as he listened to Jacques recount his story.

“One of our contacts in the Orient just replied this morning. As you know, my brother works in the telegram office on Michel street. All messages are screened by Imhotep’s guards, but he managed to hide this one away.” Jacques took a deep breath before continuing.

“According to the note, the black book was discovered in an antique shop in Shanghai. We do not know the names of most of our Eastern accomplices, but they sent a coded telegram matching your exact description. What clinched our trust in them was the description of its weight. The note describes the book as being supremely heavy and made of obsidian. You told me that–but we did not include that detail.” He paused, to give more weight to his words. “We think we can trust them.”

Jonathan nodded, and the two men sat in silence for a moment, a stark contrast to the loud noises of triumph that had filled the room moments before.

“Let me see it,” Jonathan asked, and held his hand out for the ordinary, marvelous slip of white paper.

He read the telegram carefully, several times. “It sounds like the book I know,” he said softly, with a hint of bitterness as old memories resurfaced. He handed the note back.

“They describ it perfectly, Jon,” Jacques said, looking over the few black lines again, in his voice a mix of disbelief and awe. “The scarab beetle on the cover, the five pronged star…it’s all there.”

Jonathan smiled humorlessly. “That cursed image is burned into my memory. There is no way I would ever forget it.”

“How it got to Shanghai, we will never know,” Jacques continued unthinkingly, re-reading again the slip of hope they held in their hands. “According to your stories, it should have been in Egypt, buried in the deserts of Ahm Shere.”

Jonathan turned his face slightly away, considering the implications of Jacques careless statement. How had the book gotten to Shanghai? He suspected that he, nor anyone else, would ever know. How does a book supposedly buried in the middle of the Egyptian desert, a book as powerful as The Book of the Dead, end up in Shanghai, half a world away from the ruler of the world and from the men fighting him?

An ironic, flicker of a smile crossed Jonathan’s face. What games the Gods play!

“The book was handed over to Pierre, one of our agents in China and an old friend of mine from the service.” Jacques continued.

Jonathan looked up at Jacques hesitantly, and the Frenchman answered his unspoken fear.

“He can be trusted.”

Jonathan nodded, an uneasy sigh escaping him. If anything else, if he could trust anyone, it would be Jacques.

Jonathan had not had this much hope in a long time. The possibility that the book existed, and was in the hands of people they could trust, gave him a new hope that he desperately clung to. He began to excitedly make plans. “We must go and get the book, and then go to the Med Jai.”

Jacques nodded noncommittally, pausing as he considered the other man’s words.

Jonathan saw Jacques hesitation. “Imhotep’s powers are not of this world,” he insisted. “The Med Jai know the ancient secrets. Without them, we are nothing.”

Jacques looked at him carefully. “You are sure these desert warriors can be trusted, and will not use the book for their own purposes?”

Jonathan stood adamantly. “They can be trusted. I fought with them twice on the side of good. You know that.” He paused. “Their purposes are our own purposes.”

Jacques nodded firmly and stood also. “I will trust you and them as well.” He reached out his hand, and Jonathan took it. They shook hands, gripping each other and one grips the lifeboat that promises safety.

As their hands parted, Jacques hesitated slightly before speaking. “You know that there is still the possibility that this a trap.”

Jonathan paused. He had been a coward his whole life. He had run from everything–Pygmy mummies, police officers, even Evy sometimes. But this was when it really mattered. “I know,” he said softly. He looked into Jacques eyes. “This is something I have to do, something I have to try to set right.”

Jacques nodded, perhaps understanding just how personal this journey was to Jonathan. “May God be with you, my friend.”

Jon nodded seriously, then laughed as he thought of himself as the hero, the Rick O’Connell. “I’ve never had to save the world alone before.” And in his words there was self-mockery, and doubt, and utter fear.

But there was also iron resolve.

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