book preview of OSIRIS RING



osiris ring

Welcome to the thrilling third novel in the Taylor
Wells series called Osiris Ring. When
Wells unexpectedly receives a posthumous copy of his murdered cousin’s thesis
that pinpoints the location of a lost ancient Egyptian treasure, the hunt is on.


Pursued by modern followers of the Egyptian Cult of
Osiris, Wells launches into the murder investigation, only to be lured into
solving the secret of his cousin’s archaeological research. But the deeper Wells
digs into the maze of archeological clues, the more frequent become the attempts
on his life.


Deep in the tombs of the Valley of Kings Wells
makes a miraculous discovery, one that could change the future of medicine
forever. Will he bring the treasure home or will he face an eternity encased in
a dead pharaoh’s burial chamber? As the keystone grates in its track, the last
breath of air seals off and the slender crack of light gives way to total

In Store Price: $31.00 

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Ebook version –




Number of pages: 328

Speculative Fiction

Proudly printed in

By the
same author




Paul Froomes

Imprint: Poseidon

Publisher: Poseidon Books
Date Published:  2016
Language: English









Paul Froomes graduated with a Bachelor of Medicine and
Surgery from Monash University in 1989 and completed a post-graduate degree in
liver research from Melbourne University in 2001.


He has published research papers in peer-reviewed medical
journals and has presented research at national and international conferences.


He lives in Melbourne, Australia with his wife, Caroline,
and three children, Charlie, Emma and Oscar, where he is currently working as a
physician in both public and private practice.


Osiris Ring is his fourth novel.


Chapter 1


Department of
Archaeology & Egyptology,

 Cairo University,



Violet shadows sifted across
the white-washed minarets of Giza as the ginger sun plunged behind the west bank
of the Nile. With the sinking of the sun, cool drafts of air languidly rolled in
off the river. Haunting echoes of a hundred Mullahs ebbed and flowed on the
breeze, calling the faithful to prayer.

Tray Cohen hovered in the
sandstone arch window of his office. He peered through the slats of a worn
venetian. The taste, the stench of human toil assaulted his senses. A tarnished
plaque above his door read ‘Dept. Archaeology and Egyptology, Cairo University’.

Tray returned to his desk,
collapsing into the wooden desk chair. He tapped the keyboard and began
dictating to the voice recognition software on his computer. Beads of moisture
trickled through his salt-blond hair. He reached for his coffee mug. It was
empty. Cohen cursed.

Poised at the pinnacle of
his post doctorate in ancient Egyptology, Cohen was about to make history. With
a physician’s meticulousness, he had dissected through eons of Egyptian history
in his ruthless pursuit of lost medical remedies. The task had been Herculean,
but so had been his effort. In a yet-to-be-discovered, underground chamber in
the ruins of the palace of Amenhotep III in Luxor (ancient Thebes), he hoped to
make his monumental find.

Soon, the final clue that
would unlock the secret of one of ancient Egypt’s most astounding medical cures
would be revealed. Tomorrow, God willing, would be his time to unleash it to the
world. Unimaginable wealth, academic accolades and a Nobel Prize would be his.

Cohen dictated the final
clue into his thesis. ‘Print!’ he barked at the computer. Now, the record of his
dramatic research was complete. Although his thesis had already been published,
it contained nothing of his recent discovery. This final copy was the only copy
that contained any clue to his discovery. He inserted the new pages into the
hard copy of his thesis and clutched it to his chest. This was his insurance
policy. He hoped he would never need to use it.

Cohen placed the thesis
inside a secure postal package, addressed and stamped it – priority paid. All he
had to do was place it in the post box next to the university on his way out and
it would make its way into safe hands in America.

A chill rippled through him
and with it a premonition of foreboding. Cohen bit his tongue. ‘Stop being
paranoid!’ he hissed, trying to pull himself together.

Cohen was a cardiologist, a
heart specialist, but nothing in his training could explain the strange
constellation of symptoms that plagued him now. He decided it must have been
stress. Or a curse! He grimaced.

The cracked off-white
plaster walls and low wooden ceiling of his office closed in around him as if
swallowing him. Like an insect peering out from inside a glass jar, Cohen
observed the world outside through a mental haze.

With his cardiology practise
on hold, Cohen had pursued his degree in Archaeology and Egyptology at the
university with a passion that had surprised even him. And now, six years later,
with an undergraduate degree and a master’s degree behind him, Cohen was fast
becoming an authority in ancient Egyptology and medicine. As he stood on the
verge of making the ultimate historical breakthrough, he felt only fear. What he
was about to unearth would be so valuable that any medical intelligence agency
would kill to get it.

Cohen had seen fear. In
fact, he had induced it many times in the laboratory rats he’d used in his
cardiac research. Animals had an innate awareness of danger. They could tell
when he was simply going to feed them or weight them, but they could also tell
when he was going to sacrifice them. It had irked him as they squirmed and
squealed in his grip, terrified, sensing his murderous intent. So much so, in
fact, that he’d taken to wearing a mask just to disguise his expression, but
somehow the animals always knew. The same feelings that his animals had gone
through were now racking him too.

Since making his discovery,
while researching his thesis on a pharaoh of the 18th Dynasty, things
had started to go wrong. His home had been burgled, his car jacked, his
briefcase stolen and his office ransacked. It had been systematic.

The local police had been
useless, so Cohen had been forced to watch his own back. Cohen’s supervisor,
Professor Hanna, the Dean of Archaeology and Egyptology, had been unconvinced by
Cohen’s theories and remained dismissive and sceptical. But Cohen hadn’t
revealed all of his work. He did not know whom he could trust.

The key findings he had kept
to himself. To Professor Hanna, the American cardiologist was just another
Westerner with crackpot ideas about ancient Egyptology.

This scepticism drove Cohen
harder. He worked night and day, to the exclusion of his wife, his life and his
practice, and even it seemed his health.

Determined not to give in to
his doubts, he switched off the light in his study and hurried out the door.

A gust of bone-dry wind,
laced with fine sand struck his face. Cohen’s fair complexion did not suit the
arid climate of Egypt, but he loved the exotic culture and he’d fallen in love
with an Egyptian. Egypt was now his home. He dropped the package in the nearby
post office box and hurried through the streets towards the library. He needed
to examine the photographs of the ancient pharaoh Amenhotep III’s palace, which
were housed there before he returned to Luxor for his planned triumph, and he
wanted to get to the airplane hangar before dark.

With his shirt collar pulled
up around his ears, Cohen dived into the waves of human traffic rolling through
the streets. Throngs of people, some in Muslim robes and others in suits, pushed
past him from all sides.

anybody have a car around here?’ he complained. Beside him the incessant tooting
of a car horn on the road caused him to pause.

‘Dr Cohen, Dr Cohen, can I
give you a ride?’ a woman called from the passenger’s seat of a black limousine.
She beckoned to him with her hand.

Cohen peered at the woman
and smiled when he recognised her. ‘That’d be great.’ Cohen pushed his way to
the kerbside.

Before he could reach for
the door handle he felt a thick hand clamped vice-like across his face. The
acrid smell of chloroform filled his nostrils. His knees buckled and he
collapsed into the open door of the car.

Two men shoved Cohen’s
unconscious body across the back seat. They disappeared into the restless
traffic of Cairo.


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