In less than a second, Nick lost his footing as the brick shifted beneath him; his arms flailed, struggling to catch his balance. He fell backwards, landing flat on his back.

His upper torso sank into the hematite-covered section of the floor with a powdery crunch, and a cloud of reddish dust materialized in the air above him. His face was buried and his spine arched in pain as the back of his head smacked into the ground.

“Nick!” MacGyver shouted, grabbing the security guard by the arms and pulling him straight upwards.

Dazed, Nick coughed and spluttered, clawing at his dust-covered face with fingers that were caked in rust-red.

“Nick, look at me,” MacGyver commanded, shining his flashlight into the security guard’s eyes.

“Is he all right?” Fadil asked.

“I’m not sure. I’m no doctor, but I think he might have a concussion. Not to mention all this dust.” MacGyver coughed as the dust cloud began to spread and settle, permeating the area and making his eyes water. “We need to get away from here, and fast.”

“Am-’m I gonna die?” Nick coughed again, scrubbing at his eyes.

“No, you haven’t been exposed to enough to kill you yet. This is kinda like standing by an arc welder with no mask. It’ll hurt you, but the concussion is the bigger problem. Now stop messing with your face like that! You’re only going to make it worse,” MacGyver replied. “We’re going to need some dust masks, and we need to get out of here as soon as we can. Come on—let’s move down the hall, away from this room.”

Fadil nodded, shining his flashlight down the right path. “This way.”

After MacGyver had helped Nick walk a few yards away from the dust cloud, he stopped walking long enough to take off his shirt, wincing a bit as the still air chilled the newly-exposed skin. Grabbing his knife from his pocket, he made short work of shredding his favorite red shirt into three makeshift bandanas. “Here, tie these around your faces. They’re not as good as real dust masks, but they ought to help.”

Voice slightly muffled by the strip of cloth now covering his mouth and nose, Fadil said, “The entrance to the burial chambers is down here, through a trapdoor.” He pointed to a brick on the wall beside MacGyver. “See that part of the wall, the one decorated with the ankh? Push that back, and the door will open.”

MacGyver nodded, knelt on the floor, and pressed against the brick with all his strength. After a moment, it gave way and slid into the wall, much like the one in the antechamber had. As the hole in the floor opened, MacGyver moved his hands away from the brick. The carved ankh crumbled to sand-colored dust beneath his fingers.

Glancing at the dust sadly, MacGyver followed his companions down the stairs and into the burial chambers.

“Is—is this where all your folks are buried?” Nick slurred.

“Not all of them, but yes, these are their sarcophagi,” Fadil said proudly. “My father brought me here many times. He watched over the family crypt all his life, and I promised to do the same.”

Nick looked around at the carefully-arranged row of coffins, surrounded by shabti and offerings, decorated with elaborate designs and precious stones. “Kinda creepy, isn’t it?”

“Not really,” MacGyver remarked. “How we deal with death says a lot about how we deal with life.”

Fadil offered the troubleshooter a hint of a smile as he led the two Americans through the chamber. “My mother and father used to say something similar. How do you deal with death, Ma-MacGyver?”

MacGyver smiled. “MacGyver. You got it right.” Then he sighed and shook his head. “I don’t deal with it very well, that’s for sure. How about you?”

“I don’t deal with it well, either,” Fadil replied, a sadness haunting his eyes…a sadness that MacGyver recognized all too well. “When my father died last month, I left school to take his place here. He dedicated his entire life to preserving our family legacy in every way he could.”

“Is that where you learned to speak English? In school?”

Fadil nodded. “The University of Asyut. I was studying Egyptology, actually. I wanted to use the things my parents taught me in the real world.” He scoffed. “So much for that.”

“You could still make it happen,” MacGyver pointed out. “The world could use people like you. People who are dedicated to using the past to help the future.”

“My family needs me.”

“You could negotiate with the archaeologists, you know. They could help you take care of this place, help you preserve it. Then you could go back to school instead of trying to guard all of this alone.”

“Maybe,” Fadil replied doubtfully. “But first, we need to get back to Asyut. Your friend isn’t looking so good.”

MacGyver glanced over at Nick. Even though the security guard was able to keep up, he was still unsteady. Mac nodded, half to himself. “You’re right. He needs to be checked out by a doctor. How much farther until we get out?”

“No farther. We’re at the door. But…”

Even in his somewhat-disoriented state, Nick still managed to raise an eyebrow and say, “But what?”

Fadil swallowed hard. “Um… I’m not sure how to tell you this, but—well—it’s been years since my father was well enough to bring me in here, and, um…” He shook his head. “I know that one of these doors leads to the desert just outside the necropolis. We wouldn’t be far outside the city, and I know that the tunnel and exit are still clear. But… There are two doors.”

MacGyver nodded slowly. “Okay. And what’s behind the other one?”

“Hematite powder. Enough to flood this entire chamber and suffocate us.”

Mac’s eyes widened. “Oh, man.”

Fadil set his flashlight on the floor in a spot that illuminated both doors. “The left door is painted with Anubis, and the right door depicts Set. I don’t remember which door is which.”

“We’re gonna die, aren’t we?” Nick whispered.

“Not necessarily,” MacGyver replied. “Look at it this way: we have a fifty percent chance of getting it right. Those aren’t bad odds.”

“They aren’t good ones either,” Fadil countered.

MacGyver shrugged. “I like to think on the bright side. Besides, I’ve been through worse odds than this.”

Nick blinked. “Do I even wanna ask?”

“Probably not,” MacGyver said. “Now, we can use our logic to figure this out. What do these hieroglyphs say? Can you read them? Maybe there’s a hint.”

Fadil shrugged. “I can read several of them, but there’s not a hint there. They just describe the gods. Anubis, god of death, friend of orphans and lost souls. Set, god of the destruction and chaos, ruler of the red sands. Something like that.”

“So it’s simple, right? Death is bad, so we pick the other door, right?” Nick said as he rubbed his aching head.

“Maybe not,” Fadil replied. “Anubis is a benevolent god, unlike Set. And he was very popular in this area. Anubis could easily be the way out.”

MacGyver was silent for a second as he scrutinized both doors. “Wait a second. Dr. Anbar… Before we came through here, he said something about sand. ‘Sand is the key.’ He’d found that in his research, in your family's journals. And he had me look over a lot of those, um—those execration text things. I saw a lot of hieroglyphs on them, but none of them look like the ones on these doors. So maybe they didn't think that Set was so bad after all.”

“Sand is the key,” Fadil echoed. “Set was the god of the deserts and the sands. It would make sense that his door would lead us outside.”

Nick sighed. “So what you’re telling me is that we’re gonna have to guess. Is that right?”

“Afraid so,” MacGyver answered. “Fadil, would you like to do the honors?”

The Egyptian took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “Yes. I will. I might as well.” He reached out with one tentative hand and opened Set’s door, waiting to see what would greet them: a way to escape the confines of Inpuhotep’s crypt…or a choking flood of rust powder.

The ancient door swung open with a soft creak. A gust of warm air blew into MacGyver’s face. The troubleshooter heaved a sigh of relief and grinned. “We did it!”

Fadil grinned, too. “Now we get you both back to Asyut. Follow me!”

As the Egyptian led the Americans through the tunnel to the desert, Nick murmured, “Hey, thanks for getting me out of here alive. To both of ya. I really mean it.”

“Anytime, Nick,” MacGyver said. “Anytime. You still think that archaeology is boring?”

“Nah, I think you guys have converted me. But next time, I’m staying home and leaving it to the professionals.”

MacGyver laughed. “I think you’re forgetting that I’m just an amateur.”

Nick grinned for the first time since they’d entered the tomb. “Coulda had me fooled.”

“Thanks for walking me back to the airport, Fadil,” MacGyver said as he walked down Asyut’s busy street with his new acquaintance.

“Not a problem,” Fadil replied. “I figured that you’d get lost without someone to help you find your way around. Asyut’s a big city. Have you heard anything about your friend yet?”

“You mean Nick? Yeah, he’s going to be fine. Just resting up for a couple days while he shakes off that concussion. No permanent damage to his head or his lungs, thanks to you. But what about you?”

Fadil sighed. “I’ve made my decision.”

MacGyver nodded. “And?”

“I’ve decided to allow the excavation to continue. With your influence, I was able to convince the archaeologists to make sure that most of artifacts from my family’s mastaba will stay here at the museums in Asyut. The rest will rotate through museums across the world so that everyone else can share my family legacy, too.”

MacGyver smiled. “I think your father would be proud, Fadil.”

Fadil shrugged. “Probably not, actually, but he’s been gone for a while, and it’s time for me to pursue my own legacy. I’m going back to the University of Asyut this semester.”

“Fadil, that’s great! Congratulations!”

Fadil smiled for just a moment, but then it waned. “Thank you, but I have to apologize. I already offered my condolences to the archaeologists, but I wanted to say it to you, too. I’m sorry for what happened. I’m sorry for endangering you and Nick, and I’m especially sorry for the death of the other man. I wasn’t intending for the traps to kill anyone. I was only trying to protect my family.”

MacGyver placed one hand on the young man’s shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault. Any of us could have walked into that wire while we were excavating, even if you hadn’t been there. You’re a smart man with a bright future, Fadil. Best of luck, okay?”

Fadil nodded and smiled. “Best of luck to you, too, MacGyver. I’ll let you catch your flight.” As the Egyptian began to walk away, he looked over his shoulder and called, “Oh, and MacGyver?” He grinned. “Watch out for any ancient curses!”

MacGyver grinned. “Curses? No such thing!”