The Einstein Prophecy by Robert Masello

symbols, some of which resembled Egyptian hieroglyphs, had been incised into the sides of the stone. One looked like a diamond tilted on its axis.
    To top it all off, the box had been bound shut with several crudely wrought iron chains. Cutting through them, Lucas thought, was not going to be easy.
    “You know what’s inside it?” Delaney asked.
    “Bones, for sure. But maybe something else, too. Coins, jewelry. Judging from the glyphs, this one’s probably Egyptian. But ossuaries found in the Roman catacombs have contained everything from the occupant’s cosmetic tools to her house cat.”
    “We’re going to need a blowtorch or a hacksaw to get these chains removed.”
    “I’ve already put in a request to the campus maintenance department.”
    Lucas’s instructions from Colonel Macmillan had been to gauge the age and origins of the box, employing Delaney’s latest research into radio isotopes wherever useful. Any organic remains inside would be especially susceptible to his techniques. But he could see, just from the expression behind Delaney’s scruffy beard, that something was bothering him. “You okay?”
    “Yeah, sure,” Delaney said, though he had promptly removed his hand from the cold stone. “I just had kind of a weird feeling.”
    “Of what?” It was comforting to Lucas to hear that someone else felt it, too.
    “The calm before the storm. When I was growing up in the Midwest, you could always tell when a tornado was brewing. The air would get really still, the birds would stop singing, and the sky . . . the sky would turn this kind of sickly green.” He rubbed his fingers together, as if to remove any residue from the stone.
    “How much of a sample are you going to need?” Lucas asked, and it took Delaney several seconds to refocus. “To do your carbon-14 tests?”
    “Oh, right—not much. Just a sliver or two of bone, whatever you can spare. Desiccated flesh, too, if there’s anything left of it.”
    “There probably won’t be much. Traditionally, corpses in northern Africa and the Middle East were first thrown into a ditch and left there for wild animals and the elements to strip away all the meat. When only the skeleton remained, the pieces were picked up—the skull most importantly—and consigned to the box. You should have plenty of bones to choose from, especially given the royal treatment these remains received.”
    “Do you mean that literally?” Delaney asked. “Was this the sarcophagus of a king?”
    “Hard to say. There’re a lot of markings on it—a lot more than you usually see on these things, so I’ve got my work cut out for me.”
    “I see a monograph getting written, with full tenure not far behind.”
    “Not likely,” Lucas replied. “The OSS will never let this project become public knowledge. I’ll be lucky if they don’t bury me with it.”
    Delaney nodded, turned away, and stepped down the ramp. “Got a precept to lead. Thanks for the tour.”
    But even if he hadn’t had a class to teach, Lucas could tell he was eager to leave. So was Lucas, though he found himself riveted for several more minutes, examining the bizarre markings. Then he picked up the tarp, and though there was no real reason to cover it up again, threw it over the ossuary. Retrieving the mop, he hastily wiped up the remaining mess on the floor, got out of the janitor’s coveralls, and made for the exit himself.
    When he closed the door behind him, he leaned his back against it, face tilted toward the ceiling, and deeply exhaled. But he couldn’t shake the feeling, completely irrational, that something else was breathing, too, right on the other side.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

    “Another?” the bartender asked, and Lucas just raised one finger from the glass to say yes.
    The bartender poured him another double on the rocks, and Lucas pressed the cold glass to the spot on his forehead where the shrapnel had hit, rolling it back and forth across his skin. Sometimes the pain was sharp but