Eden Relics (A Zac Woods novel #1): Author royalties for Cancer Research

by N Williams

  The uniform the guard wore was not local, and Farouk guessed it was British.

  He watched as three other guards slowly followed each other around the plateau on a pre-determined patrol.

  The British diggers had been camped in the area for months and had been coming since long before Farouk’s birth. The recent work at the Sphinx had been shrouded in secrecy. The locals had been kept well away from the site, and Farouk had heard talk that something momentous had been found in the sands under the monument.

  Small for a boy of fourteen, just a little over four feet tall and stick thin, he was deceptively strong and singularly determined.

  He sipped from a hide of water, the bone spout fitting snugly between the last two black stumps of teeth. Satisfied, he tucked the goatskin container back under his crude rope belt, which also served to hold the metal bucket handle he had broken off an old pail.

  Tales of an entrance to a chamber hidden below the massive stone paws were part of local folklore. Farouk had been told of a room full of treasures from the distant past, older even than the pyramids and the Sphinx itself, a place where all the secrets of the world were kept. But most people dismissed these tales as nothing more than a flight of fancy.

  On his haunches, Farouk waited. The guard was so close, the smell of his stale cologne carried on the warm night breeze. The guard looked bored. Farouk could see his face glow each time he inhaled on his smoke.

  He finally dropped the butt and pulled another from a pocket. Farouk could feel a tight ache in his right thigh - a cramp. He knew he couldn't stay hidden for much longer.

  The pain in his leg had almost become unbearable when he heard voices in the distance. A woman and a man were talking near the enormous tent that had appeared on the plateau the day before. The guard had clearly heard the voices too and quickly snatched his rifle from the sand.

  This was Farouk’s chance.

  *

  Keeping a diary had become a daily habit. Adelina was always a practical woman and liked to be organised. The notes were mostly page after page of ordered lists but, occasionally, they’d include a little poetic licence on memorable occasions like this.

  The lists were written in English, for the benefit of her small entourage, but anything personal or of importance she wanted to keep private she would write in the Italian of her birth.

  Her dress was impossibly heavy and hot. Despite being late, the dry heat of the day hadn’t yet relinquished its hold. At least the humidity was low. Glad not to be carrying any extra body weight, at sixty-one she kept fit with the occasional set of tennis whenever her schedule would allow, and her travels ensured she never fell into a routine. Routines piled on pounds.

  She clicked the brass catch across the cover of the leather-bound diary and locked it with a small brass key, which she then slipped into a pouch around her neck.

  Walking quickly past the rows of mainly empty seats, she was grateful that the guests were not paying her attention and were milling around or talking in small groups and quaffing large flutes of champagne.

  Escaping from the enormous and lavishly decorated tent was easier than expected. As a world-renowned opera soprano, Adelina was in constant demand and accustomed to being accosted by her fans, but her determined stride left no doubt to anyone that she was not to be bothered tonight.

  The pyramids were spectacular, but it was the Sphinx that attracted her gaze. For many years, she had yearned to visit it but had always been too busy. This trip presented the perfect opportunity to combine business and pleasure, although her schedule was tight - as usual.

  She had an hour before her performance was due to start; the pre-performance function was tedious and the inevitable socialising extremely boring, but Adelina loved to sing and knew that the parties formed an essential part in maintaining her international profile.

  Casting off her shoes, she walked from the reed matting of the tent. The sand was still warm.

  The large stone Sphinx sat in regal pose under the full moon.

  She understood the importance of touring, but as she got older her patience seemed to be slipping away. She longed for her home.

  The theatre extension to her castle had been a tremendous addition, yet there was so much more she wanted to do at the castle. This trip would add another five thousand dollars to her account for singing and at least twice that for the other work with which she had been entrusted. That other work had always remained secret; only Salvatore, her trusted assistant, knew what that entailed.

  An internationally acclaimed opera star was the perfect cover for a person to act as the eyes and ears of the British Government. Invitations to perform before the heads of state allowed her access to some of the most powerful people in the world and Adelina was well able to fit into those high-power circles; she was born to it.

  Noise from the nearby village had begun to subside, a respite from the hullabaloo of earlier in the day. It was so different from her home. Locals here didn’t seem to care about the place, they appeared happy to let the British, and anybody else for that matter, take whatever they wanted from them. When would these people finally realise the value of the treasures they had under their feet?

  ‘Ahem! Excuse me.’

  Startled, Adelina turned to see Salvatore standing under the canopy at the entrance to the great tent.

  ‘I’m too hot, Salvatore. I thought I’d take a walk.’

  At six foot four, and carrying little weight, Salvatore looked gaunt and frail; however, this was a mistaken impression most people had when they first met him. Adelina knew the true character of the man beneath the seemingly sickly exterior. Salvatore was one of the most resourceful men she had ever met and she had been grateful for his guile and strength of character on many occasions in the past.

  Satisfied that they were alone, he stepped closer to Adelina. ‘I fail to see how we can relay anything of interest on this occasion, Madam. You are due to sing in an hour, and we’ll be leaving early to ensure we make the crossing.’

  ‘There never seems to be any time to do anything other than sing. I might not get the chance to come again. I’m not getting any younger, and my schedule doesn’t seem to get any lighter either.’

  Salvatore smiled. ‘That’s because I am a supremely efficient assistant.’

  Adelina laughed. He was right. Salvatore was a particularly efficient assistant and publicist, and she knew only too well that he had played a significant role in her success.

  'Whatever has been discovered at the Sphinx is obviously something important. Why else would the British, Russians and Germans be so interested?'

  Salvatore frowned. 'I fear that we'll not have time to find out. It has been closely guarded, and I think that even you will have trouble uncovering whatever it is.' He quickly turned on his heel.

  ‘Don’t forget, one hour,’ he said, before he disappeared back into the marquee.

  *

  The distraction of the enormous tent, and the arrival of distinguished visitors, was the opportunity Farouk had been waiting for.

  The guard dropped his half-smoked cigarette and stubbed it out with his boot. He shook the sand from his rifle before walking toward the sounds.

  Farouk sprang to his feet and ran for all he was worth, back hunched over, his legs and arms pumping as fast as he could manage in the heat. Within seconds, he had covered the open space and dropped down to the ground between the paws of the great Sphinx.

  *

  Silhouettes of the little village dwellings could be seen on the horizon against the darkening azure sky.

  A guard walked towards Adelina, a large rifle slung over his shoulder.

  Taking deep breaths, her gaze ran along the horizon towards the plateau. A movement behind the guard caught her eye - the shape of someone small running towards the Sphinx. The small figure disappeared quickly into the shadows between the huge outstretched paws.

  *

  The Sphinx was built in an excavated area of the plateau; at night it bec
ame a haven of shadows. Farouk felt his way along one of the giant paws and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dark.

  Sitting back against the stone, he waited for his breathing to slow. He could see the rectangular outline of the large inscribed slab set into the centre of the magnificent stone beast’s chest. He crawled over to the base of the standing stone and pulled out a small metal bucket handle he had brought with him.

  Digging behind the right hand corner of the slab, the hard outer shell of the rock chipped off easily. He hacked at other parts of the lion’s chest and found it to be far more resilient. The bottom corner was much easier to work.

  After thrusting the metal handle repeatedly into the crumbling rock, he stopped for a moment and lit a long match, shielding the glow with his other hand. He smiled. A hole had appeared - big enough for him to put both his arms through.

  Farouk took another match from his pocket. He hadn’t brought a lamp because he knew it would be seen, but he still had several long matches left.

  He pushed the newly born flame into the dark hole. The match, at first, prevented him from seeing beyond its bright glare. He stretched his arm further and peeked through the small opening. A series of steps disappeared into the ground.

  He wanted to shout out that he was right and that the legend was true. There really was a passage behind the large stone slab, a passage leading into the bowels of the Sphinx.

  The light from the match danced as his hand shook. He couldn’t believe that it had been so easy to break through. Why hadn’t anyone else done this before? Perhaps they had? The stone was too soft to be part of the original structure.

  Farouk doubled his efforts. In minutes, the hole was large enough for him to push his head through. For once he was glad to be small. He twisted his torso around behind the carved stone. With a few kicks against the slab, he was able to push himself all the way into the stairwell.

  Time was running out, and it wouldn’t be long before the guard made his rounds again. He didn’t want to be cornered by one of the sentries underground. The hole was too small to make a quick escape. He cleared more of the stone to make a speedy exit easier.

  Satisfied, he gathered the larger bits of chipped and broken stone together and wedged them back into the hole he had just created. It wouldn’t cover the whole of the damage but at least it was out of the main line of sight - sheltered by the large rectangular inscribed slab. The temporary plug was as good as he could manage.

  Farouk lit another match and peered down the steep and narrow stone steps.

  The roof was extremely low. The rough hewed marks of the tools used to excavate the passage thousands of years before were still visible.

  He flicked the match away as it began to burn his fingers and lit another. Four long matches were left, and each would provide only about ten seconds of light. Farouk needed something that would last longer. He ripped a sleeve from his grubby cotton galabiya and tied it to the bucket handle. The cloth flared in a cloud of choking smoke. He waited for a moment for it to disperse.

  Torch held out ahead, he began to descend the stairs, step after careful step down into the cold ground.

  At the bottom, the passage led straight for nearly ten feet and ended in a clay-brick wall.

  Setting the torch down against a corner between the passage and the brick wall, he scraped the bottom end of the bucket handle into the joint between the old bricks. The decrepit mortar disintegrated in diaphanous plumes of dust.

  The sleeve was burning too quickly; he had minutes left, at most, before the flame devoured the last of the cotton.

  His sandaled foot kicked at a point a couple of feet above the ground. He allowed himself a smile. A few of the clay bricks moved. Another kick and one of the bricks shifted inwards an inch. He took a short run and kicked once more, with as much force as he could muster. This time his foot went straight through the wall, scraping some flesh off his bare shin in the process. Blood trickled down his leg as another kick dislodged bricks on either side of the hole.

  The torch was flickering and in its last dance of life. Farouk snatched it up and tore the other sleeve from his robe and wrapped it around the faltering flame, waited a moment for the fire to gain a hold again and held it through the hole.

  *

  Adelina walked barefoot along the sand towards the Sphinx and the young British soldier standing between her and the monument. He dropped his cigarette behind him as he saw her approach and stood up straight. Hoisting his heavy Enfield rifle back onto his shoulder, he walked towards her.

  Adelina smiled. ‘Good evening! I wonder, would you mind if I took a quick look at the Sphinx?’

  The request took the guard by surprise; it was not something he was trained to deal with. His job was to stop entry - not make decisions that could get him into bother with the officer in charge. ‘I’m sorry Madam. I have orders not to allow anyone to approach it without permission.’

  Adelina nodded her head and smiled sweetly, ‘Quite right too, no doubt. I wouldn’t ask if I had time to seek that permission. But I am sure the Ambassador would agree. Would you like me to return and request that he attend? I could do that. It’s just that I don’t have much time. I have to perform to a bunch of dreadfully boring, important people in less than an hour, and I fear I won't get another chance.’

  The guard seemed distracted and was looking beyond Adelina as he took the rifle from his shoulder.

  A deep, resonant voice boomed behind her. ‘Perhaps I can escort you?’

  Turning quickly, Adelina watched a man carrying an oil lamp stride towards her. His morning suit was immaculately pressed yet looked so out of place as he shuffled barefooted across the soft, warm sand. First impressions suggested that the man was about the same age as her, and his thick walrus moustache looked more at home in a gentleman’s club than out on the sands of Cairo.

  ‘There's no need for your concern,’ he said to the guard. ‘I'm Sir Henry Carre, Member of Parliament for Leeds. I'd be happy to accompany Madame Patti and make sure she doesn't come to any harm.’

  Although Adelina was more than capable of looking after herself, and had done so on many occasions in the past, she extended her hand and gracefully accepted the offer. ‘That would be delightful. Thank you.’

  The guard nodded. ‘Very well! As long as this gentleman accompanies you, I think it’ll be okay.’

  Adelina touched the guard gently on the arm. ‘I’m so grateful. I’ll make sure to tell your superior how helpful you’ve been.’

  The guard seemed unsure for a moment and thought better of it. ‘I’d be grateful if you didn’t, Madam. You can never tell how my captain will react. Perhaps discretion would be the better option?’ The guard slung his weapon, nodded politely and walked back towards his patrol.

  ‘I hope you’ll forgive my intrusion, Madame?’

  Adelina stopped and looked closer at her escort. ‘It’s a pleasure, Mr Carre. I think your intervention was timely. A knight in shining morning suit, perhaps?’ she grinned.

  ‘May I ask why you’ve decided to take a stroll on the plateau at this time of night? I’m sure you are aware of how dangerous the natives can be?’

  Adelina smiled. ‘I’m certain that no one would bother me, not with you here, sir.’

  She wasn’t sure whether she should tell Henry about the running figure she had seen. Since she had arrived at the plateau the atmosphere had been tense and she certainly didn’t want to cause an international incident - she'd been involved in quite a number of those over the years.

  ‘Be careful Madam. The sand is constantly moving under foot. I would not like to see you take a tumble and injure yourself before the performance.’

  ‘So it would be acceptable for me to do so later?’

  He suspected Adelina was teasing, but before he could reply Sir Henry slipped on the sand and fell to his knees but managed not to take Adelina down with him.

  Laughing, she helped the embarrassed man back to his feet and wiped the loose sand
from his knees. ‘I think we both need to take care, Sir Henry Carre,’ she said, emphasising the pun on his name.

  Flushed but still managing to laugh, Henry retrieved his fallen lantern. ‘I'd have been more than just a little embarrassed had I taken you to the ground with me and caused an injury to the legendary Nightingale.’

  ‘You're so kind, Sir Henry, but I'm anything but legendary. I'm just a singer, a mere performer.’

  Henry stopped and stared directly into her eyes. ‘I wasn't referring to your singing, Madam, although I am in awe of your obvious talents,’ he grinned wolfishly.

  Confused by his comments, Adelina felt off-guard. ‘I'm sure I don't know what you mean, sir?’

  Taking a folded sheet of paper from his coat pocket, Henry handed her the letter. ‘I'm here to assist you with your...’ he paused as he thought about how to make it clear he was aware of the true nature of her visit to Egypt. ‘...other work.’

  The letter was short and succinct, written in the hand of the Prime Minister himself. Adelina was satisfied that the man knew more than she would usually be comfortable with. However, under the circumstances it was perhaps fortunate that he had made himself known to her. She made her decision. She would have to trust him.

  Adelina told Henry of the figure she had seen earlier as they cautiously approached the front of the paws and stopped.

  ‘Well, perhaps you were mistaken? There doesn't seem to be anyone here.’

  She shook her head. Adelina had clearly seen the figure. Someone was here.

  *

  On the other side of the wall was another room. The space was just about large enough for him to stand and touch each wall with outstretched arms. Both walls were carved from floor to ceiling with thousands of lines, long and short lines, curved and straight.

  Set centrally in the wall ahead was what looked like another inscribed rectangular stone door. It was similar to the slab between the paws above, but this block was smaller and had different markings. Farouk had no idea what they were, but he could tell they were not the same as those above. The door was nearly five feet tall and three feet wide. Farouk grabbed at the right edge of the stone and pulled at it. To his surprise the slab moved towards him a fraction. He pulled again and this time it dropped back easily against the bottom step and broke into two pieces. The noise and dust startled him rigid, fearing the noise had alerted a guard.