 Penguin Random House Audio presents Journey of the Pharaohs by Clive Cussler and Graham Brown. Red View by Scott Brick. Prologue. Valley of the Kings, Egypt, 1074 B.C., during the time of the 18th Dynasty. Heat shimmered in waves across the Valley of the Kings as the merciless sun baked the desert sands into clay. High above the valley, at the edge of a cliff, a bearded man named Kemet lay flat on his stomach, sweating beneath the noonday sun, looking for any sign of movement. Sweat trickled down the side of his face, a fly buzzed around his ear, but nothing moved down below. The valley was still, as the resting place of the buried pharaohs should be. The only movement was a dust devil that rose from the southern end and danced across the sand. Kemet slid back from the rim. Several men in linen robes crouched there. A boy stood next to them. Kemet addressed the child. What is it you've brought us here to see? Villagers in Thebes called the boy Kesson, which meant sparrow. They used the term not because he was small for his age and tended to chirp as he spoke, but as an insult. To the people of Egypt, the sparrow was a nuisance, stealing food and spoiling fruit. The townspeople saw the orphaned boy in the same light. Kemet knew differently. The child was a beggar, not a thief. In fact, he worked hard for the smallest of coins, watching everything with sharp eyes, gathering information. His size and age meant he was often invisible even in plain sight. The boy crawled to the edge of the cliff, looked down into the valley, and then tugged Kemet's arm. He extended a tiny finger, pointing. Pharaoh's tomb has been opened. The stone has been thrown aside. Squinting to see in the bright sun, Kemet looked past the magnificent three-story temple of Hatshepsut, with its long central stairway and rows of towering columns, and ignored the piles of rubble sealing the entrance of some lesser-known ancestors, finally focusing on a gap in the rock where smooth limestone blocks denoted the entrance to the tomb of Horameb, one of the more recently buried pharaohs. His eyes weren't as sharp as the child's, but after shielding them from the sun he began to see into the shadows. The white-washed slab that had been used to seal the tomb lay on the ground. Broken in two were it had fallen. The path in front of the tomb was heavily rutted from the wheels of carts, and trampled with the hooves of oxen. The boy's right, Kemet said. The tomb has been violated. And just what does he want us to do about that, one of the other men said. The boy looked back, unafraid to address the adults. You are the mejai, he said in his high-pitched voice. You are the servants of Ramsey's—