Chapter 5 Dr. Campbell

The desert.

Miles and miles of powdery sand, littered with jagged rocks. My breath hitched in my chest at the sight of pale gold dunes as I peered out the window.

All the images I had seen in textbooks and documentaries simply hadn't done the sight before me justice. This land held thousands of years of history under it, just waiting for someone to listen closely for the secrets it contained.

The chills running down my spine were inexplicable, but they reminded me this was my passion. In this moment, I knew the work that I was about to do here was my calling. I was certain of it.

The temple that Dr. Campbell's team had unearthed last year was believed to have been built sometime soon after Tutankhamen's reign. The question was: who built it, and why?

A fog of hot dust hit my face as the car door opened, but I was eager to exit the cramped space and jumped without hesitation. Stretching my legs after the forty-minute drive felt glorious. The five of us had squished into the four available seats in the beat-up Land Cruiser.

And I had somehow been volunteered as the one who had to lean forward all bunched up like a fetus.

The morning sunlight, though it wasn't at its most severe yet, still had the power to pierce my corneas. I squinted through tears, wishing I had my sunglasses.

My ankles rolled as I stepped past the bank of larger rocks and my shoes filled with sand. Unfortunately, all I had in the way of footwear were the ballet flats I had worn on the plane, since my hiking boots, and sadly missed sunglasses, were somewhere in the abyss with all the other lost luggage in the universe, probably next to that place where socks go missing from the dryer.

"This is amazing!" I felt the earth shift beside my feet and glanced over to see Felipe taking in the surroundings through aviator shades while I used my hand to shield the sun from my frame of view.

I looked to where he was focused and saw a simple stone structure. Mudbricks laid atop one another formed a simple cube-shaped building with a very unassuming entrance that seemed too narrow for a human to enter. The appearance was sloppily constructed, something passersby would overlook if they saw it through their windshield. For a temple from the time of pharaohs, it was rather underwhelming and small, about the size of a cheap studio apartment. The desert around it seemed much more magnificent in comparison.

Just off to the side of the stone structure was a large white tent with men busy organizing tools and equipment that would be needed for today's work. Two figures stood huddled close in conversation in front of the team. One was short and stocky with a rounded middle section that filled out his denim shirt and matching jeans. His mostly bald head was brown just like the rest of his skin with an outline of gray hair around the edge.

The other man had a frame opposite his comrade's. He was tall and looked to be in excellent shape, judging from how his white shirt molded to his muscles. Dark blue jeans hung low on his hips. He was younger than the other man, maybe somewhere in his late thirties or early forties, just based on his full head of hair. Though sunglasses shielded his expression as he spoke to the shorter man, he appeared to be engaged in a tense conversation which resulted in his spine standing rigid like a rod.

The shorter man looked away having noticed our arrival. He quickly wiped his shiny head with a handkerchief before pocketing it and plopping on a wide-brimmed straw hat. His feet crunched on small rocks as he approached us. I took him for our mentor, going by his forwardness and assumed years of experience in the field.

Welcome." He spoke to us in English, his voice high-pitched and speech hurried. "I am Mohammed Tasvir, the foreman for this excavation, but you may call me Mo."

Foreman? I looked around the group to see if anyone else seemed as baffled as I was, but they all remained unaffected, like they had already known who the man was. Fuck you, Google.

My eyes shot to the looming figure next to Mo, who was now staring at us through the dark lenses of his shades.

Damn.

Mo continued speaking at a quick pace. "I hope you are ready to work because we have a lot to accomplish today. Now, I will pass the floor to your mentor for the next eight weeks." He lifted his hand high to place it on Mr. Serious's shoulder.

The man removed his glasses, revealing deep blue eyes, like the lapis lazuli that decorated the ancient death masks of the pharaohs. Sandy-blond hair streaked with highlights from sun exposure glistened in the sunlight.

Fuck me. Not literally. Well, maybe. Who could think straight with that standing in front of them?

And what kind of archaeological expert was so damn young and hot? Surely, there were rules about the limit of attractiveness for professors, since nearly all the ones I had seen were over the age of fifty and didn't boast movie-star good looks.

My eyes darted around the group, but everyone just continued standing at attention as if a dirty-blond Brendan Fraser from his Mummy days hadn't just waltzed into our lives. The only other person who seemed somewhat affected was Angela, who was focusing on pouting her glossed lips, pulling her shoulders back, and tilting her hips forward-her mating dance, if you will.

Those vibrant eyes, framed by tiny wrinkles at the corners, waded through our group, taking in each of our faces as if committing it to memory.

"As you've guessed, I'm James Campbell," he began, his thick voice laden with a British accent that twisted my insides.

Why the fuck hadn't I researched the man before coming here? Instead, I'd wanted to go into the blind like some "feel the vibe" hippie. If I'd only listened to my mother, I wouldn't be standing here gawking at my dreamy mentor like a loser. So professional, Kitty.

"You were selected from a long list of outstanding applicants.

Isabella's spine straightened an inch taller as she gleamed with pride.

Dr. Campbell continued, "This means that I have the highest expectations for each of you. The next few weeks are not going to be easy or glamorous." His stern tone commanded the attention of anyone within earshot. Even Mo was hanging on his every word. "This isn't a vacation, so if you came here expecting to smoke water pipe under a palm tree, then I suggest you call your mother and have her book you a one-way ticket home."

He crossed his arms over his chest, the tight cords in his tanned forearms flexing with the movement. None of us escaped his scrutinizing gaze as he slowly paced in front of us. "I expect professionalism from each of you. I won't tolerate lateness, nor will I tolerate unpreparedness."

He directed his attention toward Angela, who flashed him her most sultry smile-the one where one side of her mouth rose higher than the other. I had seen many a grown man fall victim to that smile, and let me tell you, ten out of ten red-blooded men took the bait.

Dr. Campbell was the exception. None of his body parts twitched, nor did the rise and fall of his broad chest falter. Instead, he moved onto Felipe, completely unamused.

"I will be on-site every day. You will have Fridays and Saturdays off, "but all other days, you belong to me."

Felipe's throat worked as he swallowed nervously under the weight of Dr. Campbell's glare.

"Following my rules should be simple, especially since I have been so nice as to outline each of them to you."

God, help me-I was next.

My breath quickened and my fingers and toes tingled as I waited for my turn in this makeshift soldier lineup.

Dr. Campbell centered himself in front of me and continued speaking. "And I don't take too kindly to being disobeyed." His severe gaze held mine. "So don't tempt me," he added, enunciating the word "tempt" excruciatingly slowly, the severity of his Ts nicking my ears. Heat rushed to my already overheated cheeks. Could he see them reddening?

His chiseled jaw coupled with his full lips made him a difficult sight to avoid. I must have been violating all sorts of internship policies by paying too much attention to his facial anatomy.

Yet his eyes...they were hypnotizing, like staring into the sun for too long.

I was the first to break eye contact, unable to bear their intensity any longer. But he remained in place. I could feel the heat of his glare on my chest, as he studied my obnoxiously pink shirt.

After what seemed like years, he moved onto Sean. "Are there any questions?"

Isabella raised her hand. Of course, she couldn't stay quiet.

Dr. Campbell stepped in front of her. "Introduce yourself," he ordered.

"Isabella Bianchi from The University of Roma," she answered, matching "His chiseled jaw coupled with his full lips made him a difficult sight to avoid. I must have been violating all sorts of internship policies by paying too much attention to his facial anatomy.

Yet his eyes...they were hypnotizing, like staring into the sun for too long.

I was the first to break eye contact, unable to bear their intensity any longer. But he remained in place. I could feel the heat of his glare on my chest, as he studied my obnoxiously pink shirt.

After what seemed like years, he moved onto Sean. "Are there any questions?"

Isabella raised her hand. Of course, she couldn't stay quiet.

Dr. Campbell stepped in front of her. "Introduce yourself," he ordered.

"Isabella Bianchi from The University of Roma," she answered, matching his military-like tone. While the rest of us seemed to be scared shitless by Dr. Devil, Isabella seemed to appreciate his attitude.

"What is your question, Isabella?"

"Will we have the opportunity to complete research projects of our own in addition to the research performed during the excavation?"

This bitch was just asking to be popped in the face. Day one and she's asking for more work?! Unbelievable. I rolled my eyes with an exaggerated attitude, hoping she'd see.

Did you want to add anything to her question?" Dr. Campbell barked at me, catching the tail end of my exasperation.

"Me?" I pointed at my own chest, startled. His expression remained hard. "Um, I...um. No." I shook my head profusely.

"His eyes stayed glued to me as he addressed Isabella and her question. "That will not be necessary. I anticipate that you'll find yourselves to be too occupied with the work that we have to do here to conduct your own assignments.

"And you," he directed at me. "What is your name?"

Again, everything came out as a stutter. "I...um...me? I'm...um...Kitty Taha."

Mo produced a wad of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. His thick, white eyebrows pinched as he examined the contents. "There is no Kitty Taha on the list!" he exclaimed, shaking the paper at me.

"Oh, maybe it's under my real first name, Sanura?" I had used my legal name for my application.

Mo nodded in acceptance. "You're Egyptian?" His voice hitched with excitement.

Dr. Campbell's eyes had never strayed from me, so I wasn't sure who to address. My focus bounced between the two men. "Yes, on my father's side," I said, opting for the short-and-sweet answer. I didn't want to divulge my entire diary's worth of history about my father's death and my quest to connect with my heritage when I was already making such a stellar first impression.

"Why do you go by Kitty?" Dr. Campbell's voice hung heavy in the air between us.

"It's, um...a pet name," I squeaked.

"A pet name for the kitten?" he asked.

I stared at him in confusion, heart hammering. Surely, he didn't mean-

"Sanura means 'kitten,' does it not?" His expression was flat.

"Oh, right." For a second, I'd thought he was referring to something else, not the meaning of my name.

With a hike of his brow, Dr. Campbell hesitated a moment longer before stalking back toward the tent, leaving us to gawk at him through the dust left in his wake.

The group looked at each other, unsure of what to do next, until Isabella suddenly jutted forward, nearly breaking out into a run to catch up to Dr. Campbell. Without a better idea, we followed her lead.

Dr. Campbell didn't hesitate to get down to business and began spewing out information at warp speed. The rest of the group fished out their notebooks from their backpacks and started scribbling notes furiously as he spoke. I was once again empty-handed and tried my hardest to commit everything to memory.

"This temple was built sometime after the death of Tutankhamen in 1324 BC. We deduced this from radio-carbon dating analysis performed on bones we believe belonged to animals that were most likely used as offerings for worship."

"What kinds of animals?" Isabella asked as she jotted words furiously into her leather-bound notebook while walking.

"Cats," he answered bluntly.

"Cats had been considered sacred by the ancient Egyptians, so it was certainly fitting that the remains were feline.

A pet name for the kitten?

Goosebumps broke out along the back of my neck at the memory of his words. Shaking them off as quickly as they had appeared in my head, I listened more intently.

"Was it built in honor of Tutankhamen?" Sean asked.

"asked.

"It would seem so, based on the cartouche inside and the drawings on the wall," Dr. Campbell continued. A cartouche was an oval design with the name of a royal in hieroglyphs. "It would seem that it was built with the intention of worshipping Tutankhamen."

"Didn't he have other temples constructed during his life? What's so special about this one?" Angela asked. Strangers might have mistaken her as superficial, but she was one smart cookie when it came to the field.

"That's a great question," Dr. Campbell added. "He did, especially his mortuary temple that would have been used to worship him after his death-which has yet to be discovered."

"This is far too small to be a mortuary temple." Isabella turned her nose up in the air as if she were "the famed Egyptologist in the group and not Dr. Campbell.

He didn't seem to take any offense at her tone. "It would seem so."

"According to my research, there aren't any temples recorded to have been constructed in this area. Is that true?" Felipe asked.

"That's correct," Dr. Campbell said. "None exist in this area for any other pharaohs, either."

It was strange for a temple devoted to a pharaoh to be so humble and out in the middle of nowhere. "So, then who built it?" I asked.

Dr. Campbell stopped in his tracks, causing his tail of students to halt abruptly as well.

He turned around to face me. His eyes scanned my chest. "Why aren't you taking notes?"

"My luggage was stolen on the flight." My voice shook as I spoke. The man was intimidating, and I wasn't used to being this meek in the presence of anyone. I was starting to annoy myself with how fragile I sounded.

"What does that have to do with anything?" he quipped impatiently. Everyone stared, waiting for my response.

"It's just that all of my research material and notebooks were in my bag, too."

"And your shoes?" He eyed my "black ballet flats, a slightly amused smile hitching up one corner of his mouth.

I threw my hands in the air to lighten the mood. "Airlines! They'd lose passengers if they weren't strapped to the seats." The laugh that came out of my throat sounded about two octaves higher than my already high-pitched voice.

Felipe suppressed a chuckle from behind his hand, and Angela smacked his shoulder to remind him to stay in check. And all Dr. Campbell did was grumble something under his breath that I couldn't make out, before marching toward the tent.

I trudged behind, Angela walking next to me. "He hates me. Five minutes into this internship, and my mentor thinks I'm dense as a doorstop."

"Oh, stop! He doesn't think that. You just got off to a bad start," she said, squeezing my arm gently. "It'll get better."

I hoped to God she was right.