Death in Luxor by M. A. Monnin

Ozymandias

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: “Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert . . . Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them, and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.”

–Percy Bysshe Shelley

CHAPTER ONE

“I suppose you’d like an Artifact Retrieval Team ID,” René Renault said, looking Stefanie Adams up and down.

The head of Interpol’s Cultural Heritage Division had a surprisingly deep voice for a man of his short stature, Stefanie thought as he rose from behind the pristine desk in his cramped office at Interpol Headquarters in Lyon, France. She’d pictured a towering figure, but maybe that was because his disapproval of her loomed large over her future with Thomas’s team. And that voice. In reality, René was several inches shorter than her five-foot-seven, with neatly trimmed brown hair and a receding hairline. Dressed in a well-fitting blue suit, René looked the part of a complacent bureaucrat, but there was no relaxed complacency in his attitude. Every movement he made was sharp and precise, full of purpose and aim.

Stefanie met his gaze with confidence. “I would.”

René gave a curt nod. “You’ve earned it.” He handed her a small card.

She read the words printed on the ID, and her heart filled with gratitude and pride. Stefanie Adams. Artifact Retrieval Team. INTERPOL. It was official. René had given his approval. He’d finally accepted her.

Grinning like a kid, she flashed the card at Thomas Burkhardt, who was handsomely casual in a grey sports jacket over a white button-up shirt and black jeans. He pulled her close in a side hug.

“Congratulations,” Thomas said, his eyes full of pride. “Tonight, we celebrate.”

They’d stopped in Lyon so she could meet René in person and get their next assignment.

From behind squared plastic glasses that rested on a hooked nose, René’s small dark eyes scrutinized her. “Our standards are high. So are my expectations.”

“I’ll meet them,” she said, slipping her ID into her wallet. And exceed them. She didn’t say that out loud, not with her boss finally acknowledging that she was a capable investigator, despite not having police training.

Thomas’s blue-grey eyes held amusement at the situation, and the right side of his mouth lifted in a smile. “She’s surpassed my expectations.”

Stefanie’s gaze slid to the series of Most Wanted Works of Art posters on the wall, each featuring between six and ten photos. Paintings, a ruby tiara, a Greek gold icon, and several pieces of Art Deco diamond jewelry. Each stolen, with notes citing where the item had been taken from and when it went missing. Several of the photos were slashed with a large black X. The tiara and two paintings. Recovered. And there was the extravagant sapphire-and-emerald pendant known as the Borgia Peacock. Crossed out. Thanks to her and Thomas.

The image of a gold Byzantine Cross encrusted with jewels drew her eye. The one item Thomas had gone after but not recovered. It was a sore spot with him.

René glanced from Thomas back to her. “Where will you be living? In the US?”

“With Thomas, at his apartment in Munich. For now,” she said. “But I’m keeping my condo in St. Louis.” Not that she had any doubts about their commitment to each other. In Bermuda she had thought, for just a moment, but no.

Flicking a warning glance at Thomas, René grunted.

Fine. He was skeptical. She could understand that. Sometimes mixing work with personal relationships didn’t work. It would this time. Thomas put the job ahead of everything, she knew that. She was the same way. René would see.

It had only been a week since Bermuda. Just enough time for her to fly home and pack more clothes. The part of her brain that always thought seven steps ahead shelved her questions about health insurance and vacation days. Those could wait. At the moment, she wanted to hear about their next job.

“Any leads come up this week?” Thomas asked René.

René sat down and consulted a file on his computer. “Nothing big enough to warrant sending you out.”

“I have a possible lead,” Stefanie said.

Both men turned to her.

“Monty left me a message, something about the Grand Egyptian Museum in Cairo. I haven’t called him back yet. I’ll do it now.”

Monty was an archaeologist friend of hers. More like an uncle than a friend, the archaeologist had hit it off with Thomas when they met on Crete, and was the only one in her circle who knew Thomas’s true profession of police officer, working to retrieve stolen valuables that had been reported to Interpol.

“Hey Monty,” she said into her phone when the archaeologist picked up.

“Where are you?” he asked.

“Between jobs,” Stefanie said. “In Lyon.”

“Interpol headquarters. Good. I have some information you and Thomas will want to know.”

“I’m putting you on speaker.” Stefanie crossed to René’s desk.

“I’ve had a call from a colleague in Egypt,” Monty said.

At that, René closed the document on his computer.

“You know the Grand Egyptian Museum is holding its official opening ceremonies this Saturday night,” Monty said.

She’d been hearing about the highly anticipated GEM for years. Delays had put off the official opening time after time.

Thomas crossed his arms over his chest. “The entire museum will finally open, including the Tutankhamun galleries.”

“Yes, and someone is threatening one of the exhibits,” Monty said.

“Threatening how?” Stefanie asked.

“Anonymous letters,” Monty said. “They say ‘The Gold of the Pharaohs shall belong to the people.’ That’s not as vague as it sounds.”

René nodded. “Gold of the Pharaohs is the name of a special exhibit that opens for the first time at the GEM opening ceremonies.”

“They’re bringing in gold artifacts from other museums,” Monty said, “pieces that belonged to Ramesses II and other pharaohs. Plus items that have been in storage at the Egyptian Museum Cairo for decades. Maha is concerned there might be real intent behind the threats.”

René leaned closer to Stefanie’s phone. “Dr. Maha El Kadi?”

“Yes,” Monty replied. “She’s the curator of the Egyptian Museum Cairo.”

“We’ve worked together,” René said. “Last year. That raid which recovered over one hundred Egyptian artifacts.”

“How were the letters delivered?” Thomas asked.

“Left inside the Egyptian Museum Cairo,” Monty said. “The first was found Sunday. A second one showed up Monday.”

“Why drop them at the Egyptian Museum Cairo if the target is at the GEM?” Stefanie started to rest a hip on the corner of René’s desk, but changed her mind when the director’s eyes narrowed at her.

“Maha thinks it’s because the GEM has been closed all week in preparation for the ceremonies,” Monty said.

The anonymous letter writer wanted attention. But why?

René’s brows drew together. “The Egyptian police have the event covered with Interpol’s help.”

“That’s what concerns Maha,” Monty said. “The police feel security is sufficient, and aren’t taking the notes very seriously.”

“She wouldn’t want a theft like the recent robbery at the Louvre,” Stefanie said.

Thomas nodded. “Or a repeat of the break-in at the Egyptian Museum back in 2011, when ancient artifacts were damaged and stolen.”

“I trust her judgement,” René said. “If Dr. Maha is concerned this is a legitimate threat, she has good reason.”

“So who’s behind the threats?” Stefanie asked the men.

“Terrorists and criminal enterprises often fund their activities with the sale of antiquities,” Thomas said. “But they usually hit archaeological sites, not museums. And terrorists wouldn’t advertise their plans.”

“Government protestors, perhaps. A bluff to disrupt the opening,” René suggested.

That sounded more like it, threats sent in protest.

“Citizens outraged over the cost of the museum?” she asked. “It’s taken years to build, at enormous cost.”

“Could be,” Monty said. “What concerns Maha is that the notes are worded to sound like protesters, but this threat doesn’t follow the normal pattern.”

“Because the notes have been found in the museum,” Stefanie said. “Not out in public or sent to the media.”

“Using protestors’ methods may be a ruse by an individual wanting to deflect attention,” Thomas said.

Monty agreed. “Someone planning to take advantage of the crowds at the museum opening.”

“This thief has time on his hands. He’s playing a game.” Thomas’s eyes narrowed with a predatory glint.

“We are already on high alert for black market trading surrounding the opening,” René said. “Many people are infatuated with ancient Egypt. If they can afford it, they will be in Cairo for the opening ceremonies.”

No doubt. There’d been crowds for the Queen Nefertari exhibit at the Nelson-Atkins in Kansas City. She’d gone to that with Mom. Nefertari’s woven sandals, wooden djed pillar and red granite sarcophagus fragments had been fascinating. Gold artifacts belonging to her husband Pharaoh Ramesses II would be much more grand and glittering. And tempting.

That temptation was nothing new. Few of Queen Nefertari’s burial goods had survived the ravages of ancient tomb raiders.

“The opening gala is an opportunity wealthy fanatics won’t miss,” Monty said. “You know the type.”

She and Thomas exchanged glances.

“Yes we do,” she said. Collectors who would stop at nothing to own a piece of history. And gold that once belonged to an Egyptian pharaoh? The temptation could be too much to resist.

Excitement pulsed through her veins. If René sent them to Egypt, she’d get to tour Nefertari’s stunning tomb. A dream ever since she’d seen the replica model at the queen’s exhibit.

Monty cleared his throat. “I told Maha I knew someone who might be able to help.”

“There will be a massive crowd for the opening ceremonies,” Stefanie said. “Dr. El Kadi could use discreet people to mingle with the esteemed guests, looking for anything that’s off. A couple who fit in where the police would be obvious.” She gave René a sidelong glance.

“We could bolster museum security,” Thomas said.

René nodded, frowning again. “One they aren’t aware of.” His gaze slid in Stefanie’s direction, then he tapped his index finger on his desk decisively. “You two will go and head off trouble at the museum.”

Stefanie lifted her phone higher. “Thanks for the tip, Monty. We’re on it.”

“We’re agreed, then,” Monty said. “These anonymous threats are worth looking into. Stefanie, I’ll give Maha your number, and you hers, and leave the rest to you.”

“Great. Thanks.” She ended the call, smiling to herself. The Cultural Heritage Division functioned on information, and she had contacts where their Artifact Retrieval Team needed them. René couldn’t deny it.

Next stop, Cairo.

***

Excerpt from Death in Luxor by M. A. Monnin. Copyright 2026 by M. A. Monnin. Reproduced with permission from M. A. Monnin. All rights reserved.