‘Why did they keep such meticulous records?’
‘They were critical to the survival of the Egyptian civilisation as they predicted the rate of desertification of their lands and the short-term health of the River Nile.’
‘Did they know why their lands had turned to desert?’
‘Not exactly, but they did know the Sahara region was incredibly sensitive to climate change and could turn from lush grassland to dry desert and back again within a handful of generations.’
‘Was the Nile ever in danger of drying?’
‘The Nile did stop flowing three times in their history, and each time it destroyed their flourishing kingdoms and way of life. Around 2200 BC, the Nile stopped flowing for an entire generation. It led to the fall of the Old Kingdom pharaohs who built the great pyramids at Giza, and many other civilisations in Asia Minor.’
‘But they must have known this was outside their control?’
‘They couldn’t stop these events but by keeping such thorough records, the Egyptians were able to predict roughly when and how bad each event would be. In some cases, they were able to store enough grain to see them through the minor drought cycles.’
‘Like the story of Joseph and his dreams?’
‘That’s right. The ancient Egyptian priests and astronomers identified a cyclical pattern to the periods of severe drought. They noticed the earth has a natural rhythm, which they believed was caused by the relative position of the major planets in the night sky. We know today that the gravitational impact of the planets changes the shape of the earth’s orbit, its axial tilt and the way it wobbles on its procession around the sun.’
‘But what you described are natural phenomena. They have nothing to do with manmade climate change.’
‘What the Egyptians feared most was a terrestrial trigger event such as a volcanic eruption, a large meteor strike, or a prolonged and extensive Mediterranean bushfire season when one of the Earth’s natural cycles reached a critical point.’
‘How often do these natural cycles occur?’
‘There are at least four separate climate event cycles of varying length and impact, but the Egyptian astronomers worked out that at least one cycle would be active every thousand years. The severity of each impact depends upon the level of volcanic and other gases in the atmosphere at the time. They correctly suspected that these gases magnified the sun’s impact and trapped the sun’s heat.’
‘Presumably some cycles are worse than others?’
‘By far the worst cycle is the eight-thousand-year climate event. The last one was responsible for the biblical floods, which devastated the Black Sea area and flooded Britain’s Doggerland region that once connected your island to the continent of Europe.’
‘When are we due for the next one?’
‘That’s the point, Sam. We are well overdue for the next major eight-thousand-year climate event.’
‘And two thousand new coal-fired power stations are being built around the world as we speak,’ Sam said as he considered the impact of Sienna’s words. It was almost too much to comprehend.
‘The combined effect of the carbon gases released from fossil-fuelled power stations, buildings and motor vehicles around the world today is worse than the large-scale volcanic eruption on the Mediterranean island of Santorini that ended Egypt’s middle Kingdom in 1628 BC.’
Sienna steered Sam to a corner of the archives and pointed to a painting of an erupting volcano.
‘When the Santorini volcano erupted, darkness lasted for many days, but when the skies cleared of ash and dust, the rains failed, crops withered and temperatures around the world plummeted. It took Egypt over one hundred years to recover.’
‘But I don’t understand how the Egyptians could make the connection between these volcanic gases and catastrophic climate change.’
‘Let me take you to the modern section of the library.’
Once more, Sienna took Sam’s arm and escorted him to the far end of the library. Sam made an exaggerated show of clutching at his ribs and was rewarded when Sienna wrapped her arm around his waist to support him.
‘What do we have here?’ Sam asked, as he gazed at the mountains of scrolls and books that occupied a warehouse-sized section of the library.
‘This section was extended to house the remains of the Library of Alexandria and some earlier scrolls. The original library was one of the ancient wonders of the world and was destroyed during Caesar’s fire of 48 BC, but the surviving books and scrolls were transferred here in secret for safekeeping.’
Sam stared in wonder at the hundreds of thousands of scrolls. ‘The whole world believes the treasures of the Library of Alexandria were lost during Caesar’s great fire. Why don’t you release these scrolls to the scientific community?’
‘Because history shows that when leading politicians’ and religious zealots’ views do not coincide with scientific facts, they destroy the data. The Oracle’s first duty is to protect the temple’s records and treasures.’
‘So, what do the scrolls contain?’ The pain in Sam’s ribs flared and he winced as they turned into a side aisle. Sienna pointed to a stone bench and helped Sam to sit down. She sat next to him and pulled up his tunic to examine his wound. The bruising around his ribs was a mix of angry purple and brown colours, but the bullet wound was clear of infection and healing quickly. Her fingers caressed his bruises and she pronounced herself happy with her earlier handiwork.
‘You’ll live.’ She smiled at Sam and then smoothed his tunic. ‘When the original Library of Alexandria was built, Egypt was revered as a centre of learning. Any ship that stopped in the port had to hand over their scrolls for copying.’
‘Where did these ships come from?’
‘Mainly from Greece, Rome and Persia. But they also documented the oral records of the seagoing tribes of Northern Europe; people like your own Britons and the Norse people from Scandinavia. The scribes who studied their records made a remarkable discovery. They already knew that severe climate change occurred when high levels of volcanic or other activity coincided with particular cycles of the earth’s natural rhythm. But then they discovered the collapse of the twelve great chimneys off the coast of Greenland was the trigger for the floods and the droughts.
‘The twelve great chimneys? What on earth are they?’
‘They are a series of vigorous whirlpools several kilometres in diameter that exist beneath the surface of the oceans in the North Atlantic. They drive the entire Thermohaline Circulation like the propellers of a vast ocean liner. When the chimneys are strong, the currents of the world flow like mighty rivers and disperse warm water from the tropics to the cooler Arctic regions.’
‘So what causes them to collapse?’
‘The chimneys depend on the freezing cold winds and a regular supply of icebergs from Greenland to cool the warm water flowing north from the tropics. But if the temperature rises on Greenland, the warm, salt-laden water is not cooled and does not sink to the bottom to stir the giant whirlpools. Large flows of Greenland meltwater also disrupt the chimneys as they dilute the salt, so the water is less heavy and does not sink.’
‘So if the chimneys stop completely, that would be catastrophic for the climate?’
‘I’m worried, Sam. We have the perfect storm brewing. We are overdue for an eight-thousand-year event and we are experiencing the highest levels of carbon gases in the atmosphere since the Santorini eruption.’
‘You mentioned the Sahara could become green again. How could that be?’
‘Because the currents can no longer direct the heat away from the tropical regions, it will first cause catastrophic droughts in our region. It was these droughts that led to the fall of the three great kingdoms of ancient Egypt. But if the twelve Atlantic chimneys do not re-form quickly enough, the intense heat will cause the West African monsoons to move northwards, creating a Green Sahara.’
Sienna stood and scanned the records of a nearby alcove. She picked out a scroll and retur
ned to sit next to Sam on the bench.
‘This scroll documents the testimony of a Nordic fisherman around 650 BC. The fisherman tells of an epic voyage he and his crew had taken to Greenland. He describes seeing a mighty river, one hundred times the size of the Nile, raging out of a mountainous fjord in Greenland. He records how his ship narrowly escaped destruction. The fisherman describes how the mighty Gulf Stream stopped flowing and how the Atlantic deep-sea fish died in their millions.’
‘You’re suggesting he witnessed a massive Greenland meltwater flood?’
‘There are hundreds of similar testimonies in this library recording the same event. This meltwater flood caused a hundred-year freeze in Northern Europe that ended the prosperous Nordic Bronze age. It also destroyed the remaining ancient middle eastern empires due to famine, pestilence, mass migration and warfare. The thing is, Sam, what this fisherman described was a minor cyclical climate change event. The world has seen much worse.’
Sienna returned the ancient scroll, took Sam’s hands and pulled him up from the stone bench, and led him out of the library. They walked along a small, dark corridor that had been chiselled from the rock, past a series of false doorways and side tunnels, and stopped outside a storeroom crammed with dozens of stone jars and wooden boxes. A familiar smell caught Sam’s attention.
‘What’s in those jars?’ Sam asked.
‘This is the storage room for the temple’s ointments and perfumes. In ancient times, these perfumes were more valuable than gold. Those jars contain oils for embalming the dead, but in that corner are jars containing perfumes for the priests’ and servants’ daily use. In the far corner are forty separate perfumes for anointing the Oracle, depending upon which ceremony she is performing at the time.’
‘May I?’ Sam asked, as he walked to one of the priests’ jars.
‘Of course.’
Sam removed the stopper and reeled from the powerful odour.
‘The oils are concentrated. They are diluted a hundred-fold before they are applied to human skin.’
They continued on and came to an intersection of three separate corridors. Sienna turned right. Without Sienna to guide him, Sam could imagine himself walking through the maze of endless corridors for days on end. After they had walked fifty metres, the tunnel divided into two. Sienna stopped and looked at Sam with a glint in her eye.
‘Do you know which corridor leads us back to the Great Hall, Sam?’
Sam looked at the two doorways. The one on the left was framed by an elaborate portal while the right-hand corridor looked dingy and uninviting.
‘This one,’ Sam said, pointing to the more elaborate left-hand corridor.
‘Are you sure?’
‘We came down this left-hand corridor two hours ago,’ Sam said with more certainty.
‘The left-hand tunnel is a trap. There is a false floor ten metres along the corridor. Anyone walking onto the false floor will fall into a deep pit full of lethal iron spikes.’
‘Oh!’
‘It’s important you stay close and do not touch anything. The temple has hundreds of unpleasant surprises for those who come here uninvited.’
Sam had no intention of releasing her hand – and not just from a sense of self-preservation.
Minutes later, they re-entered the Great Hall. Sneferu had prepared a light meal of atayef pancakes filled with almonds and cream, laid out on the low wooden table by the fishpond.
‘I have been summoned to commune with the goddess Sekhmet tonight,’ Sienna said with a troubled look on her face. ‘She is seeking vengeance against the errant priest. Will you help me prepare for her visitation?’
Sam wiped a trace of rosewater syrup from his chin with a cloth. ‘Sekhmet the Avenger? Are we talking about the goddess who almost wiped out humanity and walks around with a man’s severed head in her left hand? That doesn’t sound like a good idea.’
Sienna ignored Sam’s irreverent outburst.
‘I need oils applied to every part of my body, and assistance to achieve the right degree of physical stimulation.’
‘I take it Sneferu is no longer up to the task? In which case I will be delighted to assist,’ Sam replied with enthusiasm.
‘Sam, once the sun goes down, you must promise me you will return to your room and not leave till sunrise. Sekhmet will slaughter anyone who crosses her path.’
Sam stared at the image of Sekhmet on the large oak doors that led to the inner sanctum. Her beautiful yet terrifying eyes dared him to defy Sienna’s request. ‘Don’t worry, making small talk with history’s most notorious killer is not on my agenda.’
‘Hundreds of men have attempted to gaze upon her irresistible features over the millennia, but none ever survived to boast of her beauty. It would be safer if I secured you to your cot and locked the door to your chamber.’
‘That’s not necessary, Sienna. She’s not my type. Now, how do I help you prepare?’
Sienna smiled and took him by the hand. ‘Follow me,’ she said.
CHAPTER 22
The rebel battalion’s survivors gathered around their leader and renewed their pledge to give their lives to the establishment of a new caliphate in southern Egypt. They had enough explosives to demolish half the sandstone edifice that jutted fifty-metres high from the desert floor and extended a kilometre in either direction. Over one hundred well-armed rebels were committed to fight a major battle, and this time they had taken precautions against a surprise attack from the air. A battery of anti-aircraft missiles was dug in behind the battalion and disguised with camouflage netting. Six martyrs had been selected to breach the sandstone fortification, where they assumed an isolated pocket of government troops was hiding. They had donned their suicide vests and were receiving last rites from the battalion’s imam.
And yet there was trepidation among the disciplined and zealous rebel troops. The rock exuded a strange aura of malice, as if death beckoned them from every crevice of the monolith. Their sense of foreboding increased as the sun set and shadows lengthened. Two of the suicide bombers had already removed their explosive packed vests and refused the last rites. The rock seemed so far removed from paradise, they believed martyrdom would be futile if they were to die within its confines.
‘Are you sure there are government troops hiding in the rock, Zahir?’ Tariq asked.
Jack nodded. He alone seemed unaffected by the brooding atmosphere emanating from the rock. He was anxious to commence the assault and was frustrated by his comrades’ reticence.
‘There’s tracks leading to and from a small gap in the rocks on the eastern edge. Inside the gap is a hollow the size of a football field, and at the far side of the hollow is the entrance to a religious building. That’s where the troops are hiding.’ Jack adjusted the bloodied and filthy bandage that was wrapped around his head. He still suffered headaches from the slam-fire accident, but his hazy vision had improved.
‘We go in tonight at midnight,’ said Jamal. ‘We must strike before the dictator’s troops are reinforced. The martyrs will enter the rock first and locate the main body of troops.’ Jamal indicated the four remaining suicide bombers. ‘The signal for the main attack will be the sound of detonating suicide vests. The second wave will enter the building and hunt down any government survivors.’
‘Should we take hostages?’ Tariq asked.
‘Excellent idea,’ replied Jamal. ‘We will take two. The first we will sell for a million-dollar ransom and we will stage a beheading on the other so the world will know to fear our caliphate. When we are done, we will wipe this rock from the face of the earth as a foretaste of what will happen to such heathen monuments when we make Luxor our new capital. This rock has the stench of paganism about it.’
* * *
Drenched in sweat, Sam was trapped in the terrifying dimension that exists between sleep and wakefulness. His sheets were tangled around his torso, and his legs thrashed as if he were trapped in a dark, shadowy no-man’s land. He dreamt that sinister men lurked in the t
emple, seeking the death of those whose interpretation of the holy book was less puritanical than their own. His sense of foreboding grew as he dreamt that the bringers of death had pushed open the double doors to the inner sanctum, where the Oracle lay helpless in a deep trance as she communed with the goddess.
Hours earlier, as Sam helped Sienna prepare herself for her encounter with Sekhmet, she had warned him the goddess would play tricks with his imagination in an attempt to lure him to his death. As Sam rubbed jasmine oil into her bare shoulders, Sienna had implored him not to succumb to her deceit and stay in his room, where he would be safe from her wrath.
And yet the metallic sound of a round being chambered into an AK-47 rifle and the whispering of Arabic voices was too real and threatening to ignore. He was unsure whether he was dreaming or awake when he slipped out of his cot and dressed in his laundered jeans and tee-shirt. He was pleased to see his old Swiss Army Knife that he always carried was lying on the low chair and tucked it into his jeans pocket. He imagined demonic creatures scuttling to the corners of the Great Hall, and waves of unseen energy pushed against his body as he made his way to the double doors. Deep inside his head he heard the voice of Sienna begging him not to open the large oak doors and to return to his room.
Sam rested his hand against the wooden door where the painted image of Sekhmet stared at him. The door swung open of its own accord and closed behind him as Sam stepped over the threshold into the unknown. He shivered as the temperature dropped and he waited a minute for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. Then he heard the sound of someone moaning in pain in a chamber adjacent to the long, dark corridor, and he set off in search of the noise. Sam ran his hands along the rough sandstone wall to guide him in the gathering darkness as he walked deeper and deeper into the bowels of the temple.
He stumbled upon something soft and warm, and bent to see what was lying in his path. He reeled in shock when he realised it was a headless torso. Blood was still pumping from the body’s severed neck arteries and the entrails had been ripped from its belly in what must have been a frenzied attack. The dead man’s fingers still clutched a detonator that was strapped to his army belt. The corpse was wearing a suicide jacket, packed with enough high explosives to bring down the temple roof and entomb them for eternity. Heart pounding, Sam pulled out the Swiss Army Knife from his jeans pocket. He eased the dead man’s stiffening fingers from the detonator and carefully cut the wires that led to the suicide vest. He scanned the stone floor for the head, lest he trip on it in the gloom, but only spotted a trail of dripping blood that led to a distant chamber down the long, dark tunnel.
The Last Oracle: A Climate Fiction Thriller (Sam Jardine Crime Thrillers Book 3) Page 16