Buried Secrets Kristi Belcamino (uplifting novels .txt) 📖

about Cairo, it was dubbed the City of a Thousand Minarets because it contained so many beautiful mosques. Across the world, people spoke about the amazing skyline dotted with minarets that could be seen from any high rooftop.

“Coooool,” Dallas breathed out the word quietly.

The driver met her eyes in rearview mirror.

She couldn’t stay for sure, but the way his eyes crinkled, it looked like he was smiling at her. Either way, she smiled back.

Finally, she felt like she was in Egypt.

From that point on, everything looked exotic—from the squat stone apartment buildings with the narrow rectangle openings for windows to the elaborately carved square archways leading into park areas.

As they crossed a long bridge that appeared to lead into downtown, Dallas spotted another mosque dotted with cupolas. This one only had one long thin minaret, but it stretched a dozen stories higher than any surrounding building.

Before long, the driver pulled up at her hotel—the happiest hotel on earth—as she called it in her head.

Within twenty minutes of checking in, hanging up some shirts and spreading her meager toiletries on the small bathroom counter, Dallas was ready to go.

Grabbing her cross-body bag, she put a bottle of water, her camera and some protein bars in it before she headed out, eager to explore the city before dark.

She’d chosen her hotel for its location, which according to her map, was about twenty blocks away from the Nile. At some point during her visit, she wanted to cross the Qasr El Nil bridge that spanned the Nile.

As she set out, a tour bus passed her with pictures of the pyramids. It took all her willpower not to flag it down. She’d save that type of sightseeing for another trip. Because if all went well, she’d be spending a lot of time in Egypt in the future.

There were a lot of things to see within the city of Cairo itself. She wanted to check out the French neoclassical architecture at Talaat Harb square, an area once known as “Paris on the Nile.” After that she’d explore the Abdeen Palace where the president lived, and grab a bite at an Abdeen Square restaurant.

But first, the most important visit—to Museum of Egyptian Antiquities and then the next day, visit the Minister of State for Antiquities Affairs to get permission to visit the temples.

She ignored the nagging doubt that questioned whether gaining permission would be so easy. But right now, she had to have faith, to believe that all the pieces would fall in place.

Dallas figured she’d start at the temple furthest away and then narrow it down based on proximity to Alexandria.

But right now, she was excited about the exhibit at the museum. It held some of the other artifacts found by David Caldwell and Malcolm Land that Egypt refused to let out of the country for the traveling exhibition. It didn’t seem like a very safe place to keep them, if you asked Dallas.

Priceless artifacts at the museum had already been lost to history a few years before. Dallas had read that during the 2011 revolution, the museum was broken into and two mummies were destroyed, more than 50 objects lost, and dozens more damaged. It was astonishing to imagine people destroying such priceless artifacts, she thought.

Weaving her way through the maze of streets that led to the museum in Tahrir Square, Dallas mentally prepared to meet with the minister the next day, rehearsing her pitch.

Suddenly, the museum was before her.

Hours later, Dallas emerged into the darkness of the night, blinking, stunned and emotionally exhausted from taking in the treasures. She must’ve stood for an hour in front of the gold death mask of Tutankhamun and then the sarcophagus. The mummy of Ramses the second and the statues of Khafre, Khufu, and Menkaure.

The Cleopatra exhibit had taken her breath away. It held a porcelain bust. Tins that were believed to have held the kohl that had painted Cleopatra’s eyes. And some massive, thick, gold necklace archeologists believed the queen had worn for special political ceremonies. It was breathtaking.

Finally, when Dallas realized the rest of the museum was quiet and dark, a woman approached her and told her the museum was now closed, and had, in fact, closed an hour before. The woman gave her a sympathetic smile, saying she had to get home to her family now. Dallas reluctantly pried herself away.

Reeling from sensory overload, euphoria, and jetlag, Dallas stepped outside the museum and paused on its steps to get her bearings. She was disoriented from being inside so long and so caught up in the exhibits, but now she was in a hurry to get back to her hotel. Not to finally crash into bed, but because she had things to do. She had to call Colton. She was bursting with the good news of what she’d realized in the museum. She had to double check her notes. She had to call the airlines and cancel her flight for Friday.

Initially, she’d planned to methodically visit each of the temples. But all that had changed. She’d seen something in the exhibit that made her certain she knew just which temple housed the Queen of the Nile’s body. Now to convince the Egyptian Minister of Antiquities.

Caught up in her excitement, Dallas was slow to realize that the square before her was eerily deserted and full of long shadows. She’d been there so long she didn’t think she should walk around in the dark looking for a restaurant to eat. She’d go directly back to the hotel and order room service. Tomorrow, in the daylight, she’d eat out.

As her eyes adjusted, she saw a shadowy figure dip into a doorway. A sliver of apprehension raced down her spine. But she stood straight, pulling her shoulders back. If someone thought she was some dumb tourist, they were wrong. She was street smart. Savvy.

There was a sound she couldn’t place. A slithering, scraping noise that echoed throughout the square. Was it her imagination?

She was tired. But not