The Golden Bust of Nefertiti

Dr. Nina Wilde and Eddie Chase are characters created by Andy McDermott, author of a wonderful series of novels which I like to describe as "Indiana Jones on steroids." Nina is an American archaeologist, Eddie her British ex-mercenary bodyguard-turned-fiancé and eventual husband. Together they have made unbelievable discoveries, beginning in the first novel when they located the "lost continent" of Atlantis. In the second book, they discovered the tomb of Hercules, and Excalibur and the tomb of King Arthur in the third.

Finding Atlantis secured Nina a directorship with the International Heritage Association, a branch of the United Nations devoted to the discovery, recovery, and preservation of archaeological sites and treasures. But she strongly dislikes the bureaucracy and politics which are an integral part of the IHA, much preferring fieldwork. Nina finds nothing as exhilarating as being there herself to examine new finds; despite the ever-present dangers she faces as she races to make her discoveries ahead of the competition, usually the bad guys, who generally care less about archaeology than about personal gain. In the fourth novel, Nina proclaims that people have now tried to kill her on all seven continents.

Yes, her noble endeavors invariably lead to bad guys trying to murder her. Attempts have indeed been made on her life in New York, Brazil, Tibet, Shanghai, Botswana, Russia, Switzerland, England, Australia, and elsewhere, even during an expedition to Antarctica. But Eddie has always been there to save the day. There have even been a few occasions where the situation was reversed, and she saved him.

What initially drew me to this series was a good friend's insistence that Nina looks like me. Or that I look like her. In either case, Dr. Nina Wilde is petite, slender, and very cute, with long, straight auburn hair. She's intelligent, a bit sassy, and has an offbeat sense of humor. We both even like 'Dancing with the Stars!' What can I say? She sounds like me to me, too! Okay, my eyes are blue and hers are green. I never said we were twins!

Unfortunately, the books generally avoid sexuality, only hinting at what goes on between the sheets. One of my favorite scenes was when Eddie grabs Nina's smallish breasts from behind, commenting about how turned on she gets when she talks about archaeology. He tells her that her nipples pop up like grapes. "I do not have grape nipples," she responds in a faux-frosty tone. It doesn't get much more graphic than that, although from time to time Eddie does manage in vain to suggest a threesome with himself, Nina, and one of his myriad female acquaintances around the world.

Anyway, I love the books, I love the characters, and I love the possibilities. I explore one of those possibilities in this story, an idea that I believe is suitable for the characters. I've tried to keep their speech patterns and behavior consistent with the books. My story does push the boundaries of the R-rated arena, but that was part of my goal in writing it.

I want to make it clear that the characters of Dr. Nina Wilde, Eddie Chase and Matt Trulli are all the property of Andy McDermott, and that this story is written as fan fiction. I truly hope that some of my readers will look for these wonderful books, which I highly recommend. If you like over-the-top, non-stop action-adventure tales, I think you'll like these. And I hope you enjoy my story, too.

A Nina Wilde & Eddie Chase Fan Fiction Adventure

By Bobbie Kaye (Cutie)

Nina had never kissed another woman before, not like this. The sensations differed remarkably from those with a man. Compared to Eddie's, Katherine's kiss was tender, more sensuous, yet equally filled with passion. Nina was half expecting to feel a sense of revulsion, but to her surprise, the action wasn't even remotely unpleasant. The older woman smelled faintly of cologne, blended with a subtle hint of aromatic bath powder. Her breath was sweet and minty, her skin soft and smooth, pleasing to the touch.

But Nina nearly panicked when she realized that Katherine was slowly pulling down the zipper on the back of her dress. She fought back an almost overwhelming urge to bolt from the house; but she thought again about Eddie, and knew she had to keep Katherine distracted. Unfortunately, at that moment, she saw only one way to accomplish this.

Katherine Harrington wandered aimlessly through the parlor of her rambling home, sad brown eyes falling briefly on one antique china cabinet and its contents, then moving on to the next. It was a daily routine, an automatic part of her morning, something she did almost without conscious thought. She had little else to do, living as she did in voluntary and almost total seclusion.

She spent a few minutes admiring some of the more common pieces. A number of the individual artifacts in the parlor, she knew, were valued at several thousand dollars apiece on the open market. These items, many of which were strikingly beautiful, included Persian statuettes, Egyptian funeral pieces, African wood carvings, Incan jewelry, rare American cut glass, ancient Chinese pottery, myriad relics from around the world.

The real treasures, however, were those on display in her late husband's study, still arranged precisely as he left them. Among these, perhaps the most valuable and certainly the rarest artifact in the collection was the Golden Bust of Nefertiti. The ornately crafted object of solid gold, which stood nearly eight inches tall, featured a likeness of the legendary Egyptian beauty. The bust dated back well over three thousand years, to the days of the pharaohs. Her husband had once told her that Nefertiti was the stepmother of Tutankhamen.

It had been nearly seven years since the death of Charles Harrington, and Katherine still missed him desperately. She was three months pregnant with their first child when Charles quite unexpectedly passed away. The doctors attributed his death to a heart attack, although his last physical examination, only months before he died at the young age of forty-three, had revealed no hint of heart disease. Deep inside, Katherine had always suspected foul play, but when she miscarried only days after his death, she slumped into a deep depression. By the time she began to recover, she had neither the desire nor the energy to push for an investigation.

Besides, what difference would it really have made? Her husband was dead, their baby was dead, and Katherine was alone.

Charles did leave her an extremely wealthy woman, with most of a billion dollars in cash, stocks, bonds, and property, in addition to the value of his vast collection of rare antiques, jewelry, and paintings. Charles Harrington had been an art and antique dealer, scouring the world for unrecognized or undervalued treasures. He'd parlayed his expertise and hard work into an incredible fortune. And while the upper echelons of society considered her nouveau riche, and had never fully accepted her, Katherine lived a very comfortable, albeit lonely, life.

She glanced at the beveled mirror on an antique bureau as she ambled past, pausing to study her reflection. Time had been kind to her, she knew. At forty-five years of age, not a single streak of gray could be found in her shiny, jet-black hair. She weighed nearly the same as she had in college, her stomach still flat below large breasts. Her face was almost free of wrinkles, only a few faint lines around eyes marring her otherwise flawless complexion. She liked to think of them as 'laugh lines,' which she knew was ironic. She couldn't recall the last time she'd laughed.

Katherine suspected that she could probably find a husband, should she ever choose to. Perhaps she could even get pregnant again. But she lacked the will to go through the courtship process properly, and if Katherine Harrington did anything, she did it properly.

She padded over to the front door, checking to ensure the alarm was engaged. The Harrington Mansion was located in a rather secluded spot in the south of France, at the edge of the village of Le Pradet. Charles built the house on four acres of trees and other wild growth, less than a quarter of a mile from the Mediterranean Sea. A lightly-traveled road ran above the house, a narrow driveway winding gently down to the northwest-facing two-car garage, which held only her seldom-driven Mercedes. Beyond the garage was a storage area crowded with crates, each laden with even more treasures.

The Harrington Mansion. She chuckled softly at the name, for she hardly considered her home a mansion. Built on two levels above the garage, the main floor featured a parlor, grand dining hall, kitchen, a half-bath, and her husband's study. Upstairs were four bedrooms and three bathrooms, with empty servants' quarters in the attic. She hadn't set foot in any of the three vacant bedrooms in several years. Especially not the nursery; she couldn't bear to face that room. The decorations and furnishings she'd so lovingly added to the baby's room remained undisturbed to this day.

Only her annual trip to New York varied Katherine's humdrum routine. While visiting the U.S., she allowed herself to indulge in the two true pleasures remaining in her life. She took great joy in making substantial donations to various programs sponsored by the United Nations, including the International Heritage Association, which worked to find and preserve archaeological treasures. As this encompassed much of her husband's passion, she gave generously to the IHA in his memory.

The other pleasure was the time spent in the bed of a woman she'd met during a United Nations fundraising dinner. Darlene Avery was the only woman she'd ever slept with, the only person she'd been intimate with since her husband's untimely death. Katherine didn't know whether she was actually bisexual, or simply grateful for the kindness Darlene had shown her, with nothing expected in return. Indeed, her friend never asked for a thing, she just gave Katherine friendship and love, something the widow hadn't experienced since Charles died.

Everything was in order downstairs, breakfast was finished, and the dishes were washed. Katherine slowly climbed the grand staircase, eager to resume reading the romance novel she'd begun last evening, a bit of escapism that reminded her of a part of her life that was gone forever.

Four men were gathered around an old wooden table in a rundown shack on the outskirts of the village of Le Pradet, France. The long-abandoned structure, which reeked of urine and rat feces, was located in an older section of town, just a few kilometers from the Harrington Mansion. A single incandescent bulb hung from the ceiling, bathing the group in harsh, unforgiving light. The leader, Ahmed Musharaf, was issuing instructions to his men, his eyes focused on his lieutenant, Mahmoud Sarraf. Two other men sat silently.

The men spoke in Arabic. "ويجب ألا نغفل في مهمتنا."

Translated into English: "We must not fail in our mission. The sheikh made this my responsibility, and with his approval, I am sharing that responsibility with you." The other men nodded in agreement. "Our reward for recovering the bust will be great, but failure will result in the pain of death."

"And what of the woman?" asked Sarraf.

"She is an infidel," snarled Kafele Bishara. "I will gladly kill her."

"No," responded Musharaf. "There is to be no bloodshed. You will enter the home, retrieve only the stolen artifact, and then leave."

"Why should she be allowed to live?" Bishara demanded angrily.

"Because those are our orders, Kafele," Musharaf replied calmly. "We are here for a higher purpose."

Saraf suggested "Why don't we simply retrieve the object when she's away?"

"That would be ideal," reasoned Musharaf, "but she seldom leaves her home. She stays in that house for weeks at a time. We need to obtain the artifact very soon. The sheikh demands it."

"I still say we should..." Bishara fell silent when Musharaf raised his hand, glaring angrily. There was no doubt who the leader was, and Bishara was not about to go against Musharaf's orders.

"If at all possible," Musharaf went on, "she should not even know anyone has been there. You will go in, reclaim the artifact, and leave."

"And if the woman interferes?" Hanif Kouri asked softly.

"You have your orders," replied Musharaf. "Under no circumstances is the Harrington woman to be harmed."

"Okay, gentlemen," said Dr. Nina Wilde, world-famous archaeologist and director of the International Heritage Association. "Let's go over this one last time."

Nina was seated in the cramped miniature submarine, along with Eddie Chase, former soldier with the British SAS, the Special Air Service, and their Aussie friend and coworker, Matt Trulli. It was essentially a two-person sub, capable of holding three in a pinch. And despite Nina's petite frame, Matt's nearly two-hundred-fifty-pound bulk made it a rather extreme pinch.

The submarine rested a few feet below the surface of the Mediterranean, about a mile off the southern coast of France. Their target was a secluded mansion roughly a quarter mile from the beach, just above a lonely cove. The sub would let Eddie and Nina out on a small powered inflatable raft, which they would pilot directly onto the beach. From there it would be a short walk up the hill to the front door of the Harrington Mansion.

"All right, love, but you should already have it down pat." Eddie Chase had originally been hired as Nina's bodyguard, but they soon became lovers. Now they were engaged to be married.

"I do, but I don't want any mistakes, y'know? On my part or yours."

"Tchah!" Eddie laughed, flashing his trademark gap-tooth smile below his thrice-broken nose. "I don't make mistakes. I just fix the ones other people make." Nina shot him a look. "Not you, love," he quickly added. "You're nearly as perfect as I am."

Rolling her eyes, Nina said "The plan, Mr. Perfect?"

"I know my part of the plan by heart, mates," said Matt in his thick Australian accent. "I'm just cooling my heels right here, while you two break into the Harrington mansion. I just don't know all the whys and wherefores."

"Okay," said Eddie. He'd been planning on filling Matt in on some of the details. Matt was a good friend, and he really deserved to understand why they were doing this. "Well, according to everything we've learned, the bust is part of Katherine Harrington's collection. It's supposed to be on open display."

Nina smiled grimly. "And she has no clue as to its true value."

"Nobody does, except us, and a couple of people at the IHA."

"And Ahmed Musharaf, Eddie," Nina reminded him. "And that's why we have to get it first."

"Can't forget that little detail," Eddie said jovially, unconsciously rubbing a hand across the short-cropped hair remaining on his gradually balding head. "What would one of your little expeditions be without bad guys trying to kill us?"

"Don't remind me," replied Nina. They had indeed been through some harrowing experiences, each having rescued the other more times than they could count.

"Anyway, the widow Harrington inherited the bust from her late husband Charles," Eddie went on, "along with the rest of his ill-gotten collection. She refuses to sell it at any price."

"But she has no legal right to the artifact," Nina added, glancing at Matt, "because her husband illegally 'acquired' the piece a short time after it mysteriously vanished from the Museum of Antiquities in Cairo."

"And only a few of us know about the inscription that's supposed to be on the bottom," Eddie continued. "They say it's been almost totally obliterated over the past few thousand years, but Nina thinks it should lead us on the next leg of our journey to uncover the lost tomb of Atnafankhamen, the older brother of Tutankhamen."

"And I thought King Tut was an only child," offered Matt.

"That's what the conventional belief has always been," Nina agreed. "Dating back to before Howard Carter, working for Lord Carnarvon, found Tutankhamen's tomb in nineteen twenty-two. The boy king actually had several half-sisters, but there was no record of his mother bearing any other children. This will upset some long-standing ideas about that period of Egyptian history."

"Okay," said Eddie. "So tomorrow morning we approach the Harrington Mansion right up to the front door. At least you do, love."

"Eddie and I met Mrs. Harrington at a United Nations event a year or so ago," Nina explained to Matt. "She's contributed millions of dollars to the IHA, as well as to numerous other U.N. programs. She's a decent person, and has put much of her late husband's illicit wealth to good use, helping people around the world."

"I've seen pictures of her," said Matt. "She's quite a looker, for an older sheila."

"She's not that old," said Nina, "only about forty-five. But you're right. She's still a very beautiful woman."

"So when Nina knocks on the door," Eddie continued, "the lovely Katherine should recognize our own little celebrity immediately, and invite her in."

"How do you know she'll answer the door herself?" queried Matt.

"Because she lives there alone," Nina said. "No family, no live-in staff. She's quite capable of taking care of herself, though she does have a maid come in a couple of times a week to handle the cleaning. But not tomorrow, according to what I've discerned about her schedule."

"So when Nina gets inside, she has to watch while Katherine resets the alarm," Eddie explained. "Then she has to find a way to shut the alarm off, signal me with her cell phone, and keep Katherine distracted while I let myself in and locate the bust."

"And how is Nina going to distract the beautiful widow?" Matt wondered aloud.

"She'll do anything she has to," replied Eddie, glancing at his fiancé. "Just get her off the main floor, and do something to keep her busy while I let myself in and help myself to the relic."

"That's the only part that's worrying me," said Nina.

"And why's that, Nina?" asked Matt.

Nina took a long, deep breath. "When I met Katherine last year, she was exceedingly gracious and charming, and..."

Eddie broke into a grin. "She was flirting with the equally lovely Dr. Nina Wilde," he teased, and Nina frowned. "Rumor has it she's into beautiful, intelligent young women. I'd be willing to bet she has a particular thing for redheads, too."

"She wasn't flirting with me," Nina argued halfheartedly, eyes to the floor as her face turned pink.

"Noooo, of course not!" mocked Eddie. "I saw how long she hugged you when she kissed you goodnight."

"She did not kiss me!" Nina snapped.

"No, and that wasn't her lipstick on your neck, either."

"Eddie!"

"Nina's never done the nasty with another woman," Eddie whispered to Matt, but plenty loud enough for Nina to hear. Nina punched his arm, and Matt chuckled.

Eddie's grin turned lascivious. "Just thinking about you and Katherine snogging gets me all hot and bothered," he said.

"Well, you and I aren't doing it tonight, not with Matt two feet away from us."

"Ah love, it's been more than a week, and all this talk is getting me randy!"

"Then you'd better go... what is it you say? Go have yourself a wank in the loo, Eddie. I'm going to sleep."

The sub emerged from the depths the following morning at around nine o'clock. Eddie and Matt went topside to prepare the inflatable raft, eventually installing the small outboard motor.

Nina spent the time inside the cramped sub getting ready, donning a dark green knee-length satin dress, pinning her long red hair up in an elegant style, carefully applying makeup to her pretty face. Under the dress she wore new silk panties and a matching bra, and even put on the silk slip Eddie had given her a while back to celebrate the first anniversary of their engagement. Beige thigh-high stockings, two-inch pumps and a small clutch purse completed the ensemble. As she would be appearing uninvited at Katherine Harrington's door, she felt she needed to project an aura of dignity.