“Wow, no kidding.”
“Trust me,” Rolf said, rolling his eyes. “A first I thought the man was a crazed lunatic after he told me a synopsis of the concept of his theory.” He chuckled, “But then I got intrigued and started doing my own research. Surprisingly, I am starting to lean toward that man’s explanations.”
“You have intrigued me,” said Michael, with growing enthusiasm.
“That man intrigued me as well,” said Rolf, leaning forward, his eyes shining.
“What was his name?”
“He was Russian … had one of those typical Russian names. Koralev or something.”
“Was it Kirilov by any chance?”
His eyes widened with shock, Rolf replied, “Yes! Kirilov. That’s right. But how do you know?”
“You are not gonna believe this,” replied Michael, hardly able to believe it himself.
Chapter 28
Berlin-Moscow Express train
Friday, September 22
2:05 p.m.
“Throughout history there have been countless theories about how the Great Pyramid was built and with what purpose,” Michael said as he sat across from Rolf at their dining car table.
“Oh, yes, I know.”
“So what is so special about Kirilov’s theory?”
“This is what I have been examining. To start, the Great Pyramid is shrouded in many veils of the great mysteries. Many desire to loosen at least some of them. To simplify the task, let’s first consider the existing, fairly modern statements regarding the purpose of the Great Pyramid.”
Michael nodded, listening intently.
“John Taylor, in his book The Great Pyramid, argued that the mathematical number π (pi), which is the ratio of a circle’s circumference to its diameter and is approximately equal to 3.14159 and φ (phi), which is the golden ratio, have been deliberately incorporated into the design of the Great Pyramid. The perimeter of the Great Pyramid is close to 2π times its height. Charles Piazzi Smyth then expanded Taylor’s theories in pyramidology. And in the 1880’s they were studied by the famous Egyptologist …
“Sir William Flinders Petrie,” Michael interjected, smiling widely.
“Right, Professor Sir William Flinders Petrie,” Rolf chuckled, pointing to his book. “And finally, David Davidson, the British structural engineer. Despite being a skeptic, he proved Smyth and Petrie’s original calculations.”
Michael and Rolf barely noticed when their food was brought to their table. “While not questioning and not considering the detailed statements of all of these researchers, whose ideas can be considered common knowledge for all those interested in the pyramids, it would be desirable in the course of these arguments to ask only two questions,” said Rolf, carefully cutting his beefsteak into pieces.
“Ok, what are these two questions?” asked Michael as he sorted through his bratkartoffeln, a traditional German dish of fried potatoes with diced bacon and onions.
“Firstly, what prevailed in creating the Great Pyramid: a desire to ensure its reliability and stability or the desire to embody mathematical knowledge within its structure?”
Michael paused his eating to think. “Well,” he was uncertain, “I would guess both …”
“Actually the first part dominated. You see, otherwise, the Great Pyramid would have collapsed and all of its inherently intelligent hidden messages in the form of mathematical calculations would have been lost in the ruins.”
Michael agreed by nodding.
“And the second question,” continued Rolf. “If the Great Pyramid is such an intelligent pyramid, figuratively speaking, then what about the intelligence of the smaller pyramids built right next to it on the same Giza Plateau? Have they also embodied the great knowledge within or were they built based on a tradition?”
Michael shrugged his shoulders.
“Both of these questions are really farfetched,” Rolf continued, pushing aside his empty plate. “If the pyramids, which were built by different pharaohs, are connected by one main purpose, then it will be easier to unravel the whole mystery surrounding them. The fact of the matter is that the main purpose of the pyramids was the same: to serve as the burial places of pharaohs. They only differed from each other in proportion and size.”
“OK,” said Michael pushing aside his empty plate, “what’s unclear to me is how did ancient Egyptians transport and stack limestone blocks weighing no less than several tons each?”
“It’s true,” said Rolf, chuckling, clearly enjoying their conversation, “packed inside the Great Pyramid are blocks that for the most part weigh five tons and up. Certainly such blocks could not be moved or dragged across the sand by a small group of people, as popular modern sketches sometimes depict the Great Pyramid’s construction. And don’t forget that it was done in a difficult climate under the scorching sun.”
“It looks like only Superman could do this kind of job,” grinned Michael.
“No Superman existed during ancient times,” chuckled Rolf.
“OK then, what about another popular theory that large limestone blocks were dragged over an artificial, man-made sand mound that was built up around the whole pyramid as it was built? At the end of the construction, the pyramid was dug out and the sand removed.”
“This theory makes absolutely no sense,” objected Rolf, shaking his head, “this is equivalent to saying that the main amount of work had to have another, at nearly the same amount, for its excavation.”
“What about the theory mentioned by Herodotus?”
“You mean after the stones were laid out for the base, they raised the remaining stones with a machine made of short wooden planks? That theory is that the first machine raised them from the ground to the top of the first step where was placed another machine, which received the stone upon its arrival and conveyed it to the second step, and so on.”
“Yes, precisely,” nodded Michael. “So, which construction method does the stranger you met on this train agree with?”
“Neither.”
“Really? Neither?”
“You will have to ask him yourself,” said Rolf, grinning as he got up from his chair. “All I can tell you is that his theory does not require any assumptions about the Egyptian lifting machines mentioned by Herodotus, from which no trace remained whatsoever, and which would not have been possible to exist under the then-level of productive forces.”
Michael got up from the table as well and followed Rolf back to the compartment. Entering, Michael saw Anna was still asleep. Rolf held out his book to Michael, “Why don’t you read it for yourself?”
“Thank you.” Michael lay on his bunk and started reading. In the meantime, Rolf went back to his paperwork.
Michael did not realize exactly when he fell asleep again, but was awakened by a strange sound, like a clap. For the first few moments, he wondered whether the sound was from a dream or reality. He looked around the dimly lit compartment. Looking up he saw Rolf asleep in the bed above him. Anna was still deeply asleep. Besides Rolf’s barely audible snoring and the melodic sound of the train wheels, everything seemed incredibly quiet.
Clap!
Michael quietly and carefully opened the compartment door, stepping out of the tiny room into the aisle. All was dark and quiet. He started walking down the aisle. Most of the windows were curtained except for the last window at the far end. No one was around. All of the compartment doors were closed.
A door slammed loudly at the other end. Michael turned and walked quickly but silently in that direction, stopping short by the vestibule double doors. He attempted to peer through the darkened windows to the door. Just as he was deciding whether or not to open the doors, he observed a tiny spark that blinked for a split-second and then disappeared in the same instant. Maybe someone is having a smoke.
Curious, he pushed open the double doors. It was dark and qui
et. For a moment Michael wished he had on night vision goggles, the same ones he had used in night raids in Iraq. Walking inside he tripped on something attached to the floor, literally crashing inside the vestibule. To his surprise, nobody was there. Feeling like an idiot, he squatted all the way down to the floor and felt around. He blindly searched for a cigarette butt, yet found nothing in the darkness. Finding this very strange to say the least, Michael returned to his compartment.
During his absence, nothing had changed. Both Rolf and Anna were still asleep. All was dark and quiet. Michael lay down on his bunk and soon was asleep, lulled by the droning sound of the train wheels.
There was a small knock at the compartment door. Michael awoke. Who would knock so early in the morning? Someone knocked again, a little bit louder. Why isn’t anyone opening the door? He wondered. Am I alone in here? It turned out that he was, indeed, alone. Neither Anna nor Rolf was in the compartment. Rolf’s bed was neatly made and the table was covered with a paper napkin with a plate and cup on top. Of course, he got off in Poland. Michael glanced at the napkin and saw something scribbled there in a hurry, ‘If you are still intrigued−’
Intrigued, Michael reminisced, smiling. He realized the note was from Rolf. He continued reading, ‘Mr. Kirilov’s address in Moscow: Voronezhskaya Street, building 4, apartment 10.’
Michael was stunned. Here was what he and Anna were looking for: Mr. Kirilov’s address! It seemed almost impossible that the very Mr. Kirilov that Anna’s father had written about in his notebook was also the ‘lunatic’ Rolf had met five years ago on the same train. I’ve gotta tell Anna, but where the heck is she?
Abruptly, Michael recalled the knock at the door. He opened the door, but there was nobody there. Whoever was knocking had walked away, apparently tired of waiting.
Soon, Anna walked in. Michael briefly filled her in about his conversation with Rolf. As soon as she saw the message on the napkin, Anna jumped in excitement.
“You may think of me as superstitious, but this is more than just a coincidence.” Anna’s eyes were huge with exhilaration. “After all, come on, what are the chances of us getting on this train and meeting Rolf? He knew the very person we were looking for—and his address?”
“Yeah,” Michael agreed, “the probability of that happening is … well, in order for that to happen…” He rolled his eyes upwards, “It looks like somebody is helping us.”
“Michael, I would like to think that this is my father sending us messages from the grave and trying to give us a hand,” Anna said quietly, a few tears starting to form in her eyes as she thought of her dear departed father.
Michael smiled kindly and put his hand on her shoulder to comfort her, “I believe you are right. That is a very nice way of putting it.”
A bell rang loudly and overhead a pleasant female voice announced first in German and then in English that the train would be reaching their destination in ten minutes. As they packed their bags, Michael decided he should use the bathroom. He walked down the aisle toward the end of the train car, passing a couple of families who were noisily chatting. The window curtains were now open and sunlight was bouncing around the train’s interior. So different from the last time he was in the aisle. As soon as he opened the bathroom door, he was facing a mirror attached to the back wall. Suddenly, for just a moment, the dark silhouette of a man painfully familiar to him flashed in the glass. The Medjay is here on this train? The thought paralyzed his whole body momentarily. He turned his head in the direction of the mirror’s reflection. The Medjay was not there. He let out his breath. He stared into the mirror, but only the familiar aisle and a few passengers were there. The Medjay had disappeared the same way he had appeared. Not knowing whether to believe the reflection in the mirror or his sick imagination, Michael walked all the way down the aisle to the other side of the train car searching, just to be sure.
Meanwhile, the train was already in the city limits of Moscow.
Chapter 29
Belorusskaya Railway station, Moscow, Russia
Saturday, September 23
9:30 a.m.
It was half past nine o’clock in the morning as the Hannover HBF–Moscow passenger train #447 approached Moscow’s Belorusskaya Railway Station.
“We are now approaching our final destination, the Belorusskaya Railway station in Moscow, the capital of Russia. Please remain seated until we come to a complete stop,” the pleasant female voice announced first in German, then in English. Completely ignoring the announcement, most of the passengers were already standing up and crowding the aisles in anticipation, eagerly gawking out the windows.
The train pulled slowly into the station. When doors opened the passengers poured onto the platform into the massive human pool with everyone swimming to the exits.
After experiencing ‘hurry up and wait’ throughout his military career, Michael encouraged Anna to take her time getting packed while the masses in front of them squeezed through the doors one at a time. At long last it was time to leave the train, and Michael was jumping onto the platform.
“Finally,” he declared, taking a deep breath of Moscow’s morning air. He reached up to help Anna.
“Yes, finally,” she repeated happily as they were carried away by the enormous, noisy crowd.
Although it was late September, the weather in Moscow was unusually warm and pleasant. As they bumped their way to the exit, Michael and Anna attempted to stay together. In reality, this was a difficult task as passengers were hauling loads of luggage, bags, strollers, carpets and boxes.
There was more room to walk when they got outside. Anna made her way over to an empty bench and collapsed. “That was a real nightmare! Can you believe it?” The Belorusskaya Railway terminal loomed behind her, an enormous mint-green building with gothic towers. As Russia’s second largest railway station, the Belorusskaya has seen a lot of history over the years. Its grand opening was in 1870, the same year Vladimir Lenin, the leader of the 1917 Russian revolution, was born. During World War II the first military trains headed to the front lines departed from this station in 1941.
“Well, we need to find Kirilov,” Anna remarked as she tried catching her breath. “So let’s find our hotel, get changed and track down his apartment.”
“Sounds like a great idea,” said Michael, getting up to flag down one of the taxis passing nearby. Moments later one came to a stop next to them. “Do you speak English?” Michael asked as he and Anna climbed inside.
The driver, wearing an oversized Kangol wool cap and a long mustache shook his head. He pointed to a small flag hanging from his rearview mirror. It was a white rectangle divided into four parts by a large red cross. In each of the four white spaces was a smaller red cross. Georgia was emblazoned across the front.
“Oh,” Michael looked over at Anna doubtfully. “He doesn’t speak English? And he is from Georgia?”
“Obviously, not the Georgia that you know,” chuckled Anna, “He is from the former Soviet republic of Georgia. It is now a sovereign state in the Caucasus region of Eurasia.”
Michael looked over at Anna grinning, “I should’ve known it would be complicated.”
As it turned out, Georgia’s unwritten rules require Georgian men to wear what is considered the national regalia of a real Georgian man: a Kangol-style classic wool ivy cap, an impressive mustache and a traditional Georgian dagger. It is believed that the bigger the size of his Georgian cap, the straighter and blacker the mustache, and the sharper the knife, the more respectful and honorable a man is considered among his people.
“Deutsch?” Anna asked hopefully. But the cabbie threw his arms up in surrender.
Michael glanced at Anna with visible frustration. “We gotta find another taxi,” he said opening the door and starting to get out of the cab.
“Not so fast,” Anna laughed, grabbing Michael’s arm and pulling him back inside. She held up her iPhone. “
I knew this app would be useful one day,” she said, showing him the screen.
Michael looked at it curiously, “OK, let’s see what happens.”
Anna typed, ‘Hello, our names are Michael and Anna, what’s your name?’ She pressed a button. In a metallic voice, the iPhone translated her words into Russian. Anna and Michael froze in anticipation, looking hopefully at the driver. The driver grinned broadly and nodded, uttering, “Vahtang,” and pointed to his chest.
“That’s amazing!” Michael exclaimed.
Anna’s face was lit up like a kid at Christmas. She typed in the name of the hotel and street name. The cabbie nodded. Next, she typed and asked how long it will take to get there. The moment the voice uttered the Russian words; he nodded again and started looking for something. He found a piece of paper and with a pencil wrote ‘20’ on it. Anna squealed in delight.
The driver flashed another one of his grins. “Hotel,” he said happily in heavily accented English. A fresh September wind blew into the half-open windows of the taxi as they sped off into Moscow’s traffic.
Founded in 1147, Moscow is the capital of Russia and Europe’s largest city with 11.5 million people, the seventh largest city in the world. Nowhere are Russia's contrasts more apparent than in Moscow: antique pre-revolutionary monasteries, soviet era government buildings, one-size-fits-all residential complexes and avant-garde megaliths that stand side-by-side. New Russian millionaires and poverty-stricken seniors share the same streets. For those who live in Moscow the city brings about contradictory feelings: from loving devotion to extreme aversion. People either love Moscow or hate it, thus leaving nobody indifferent to this magnificent and ancient city filled with traditions. It does not matter whether it is your first time visiting or if you are a native; Moscow is a multifaceted, diverse and incomprehensible city that is rapidly changing beyond recognition.
In the post-World War II era, the Soviet Union’s Premier, Joseph Stalin, ordered seven huge, tiered neoclassic towers to be built around the city. One of them was placed at Moscow State University. This thirty-six-story tower is by far the largest of the seven and can be observed from miles away. At the time of its construction it was the tallest building in the world, outside of New York City, and remained the tallest building in Europe until 1990. Michael was thrilled when he got a glimpse of the historical tower. As they followed the ebb and flow of traffic, however, it disappeared from view.
Four Ways to Pharaoh Khufu Page 20