Publisher's Synopsis
NeferKheperura and the Legend of the Golden Pharaoh - By Michael J. Costa, (c) 2014: Excerpt: Four Hours Later, Michael Beshter's Apartment, New York, USA Was it wrong to bring Vivian back to his living space? His identity was safe for now. Michael and Vivian dined in that night, via room service in a secure room. A common delight: NY Steak, mashed potatoes with gravy, and a melody of fresh veggies with a fine white wine from California was the main course. Dessert was a rich chocolate Mud Pie, served for two. Afterwards, Michael showed her his various framed College papers, some Degrees, and a trophy for first place in a College Kung Fu tournament. These he had brought over from his original home some 2 Miles away, much to the approval of his sister. Vivian educated him about her background and social life. She was born in Las Vegas, Nevada to a civil engineer and an office secretary, both of European descent. She graduated with honors from a private university before moving to New York, where she was employed as a Fashion Designer for the last 14 years. Her choice of apartment coincided when the Museum moved in several floors above her. Her neighbor is a local Nightclub owner, so her social life revolved around learning to dance and filling beverage orders from patrons. While teaching Michael to dance, Vivian realized the time. "Oh my, it's late... I have to feed my cat, you know," she said. "I can call my driver," Michael reminded her. "It won't take up much of your time." "Really? Oh that would be so cool," she said. "Michael?" "Yes?" "I just want to thank you for everything, really. You've been a great Host, and friend," Vivian said. "Um, by the way, why is there a red light focused on your back?" "What red light?" he asked. "It's coming from your window," Vivian noticed. Suddenly two loud pops hit the glass from behind them. Vivian thought a champagne bottle exploded until her right hand felt some liquid drop from his back. Then she screamed. "MICHAEL!" she yelled. "You've been shot!" Michael Beshter collapsed to the tiled floor, with her holding onto him. He inched towards her, whispering something. "Get my ring. It's in the front pocket of my blazer," Hysterical, Vivian searched frantically for the correct pocket. "I found it!" "Quick, hand me it," he said in pain. "What's a ring supposed to...?" she asked. Michael placed the ring on his right third finger, and then rubbed it until it lit up like a light bulb. He rubbed his back with it. The blood disappeared as did the rifle pellet. Vivian backed away. "What the Hell just happened?" she said while cowering from the window. Michael started to stand up, and then reached for his cell phone and pressed 996*. Panels fell from the ceiling, blocking all windows with bullet-proof armor. The back bookshelf wall rotated around on an invisible turn-table, revealing a set of mannequins wearing Flight Suits with the Green Stones on them. Three computer terminals popped into place, all active. And a chair emerged from the floor, with console components on the arm rests. A camera fed images to the view screen of the surrounding area as the female-voiced computer gave instructions on audio. Michael Beshter groggily walked to the station and was seated. He removed a tube from the side of the chair and placed it into his mouth, drinking slowly. It was medicine for a post-traumatic gunshot disorder. His Flight Suit was visible to Vivian, as she investigated his equipment, and then turned to him with her mouth gaping open in astonishment. "Oh my God, you're that guy..." she said. Michael briefly kissed her face, and then started programming.
