Four Ways to Pharaoh Khufu

by Alexander Marmer

  “The holy stele has been safely returned! Thanks to our gods!” he exclaimed, laughing and crying at the same time.

  On the other side of the tribal grounds, Anna and Michael were locked inside a stable. Once the car arrived at the camp, the two Medjay warriors brutally pulled Anna and Michael out of the car, marched them across the blazing sand and pushed them inside.

  Even though their blindfolds were removed, they were still bound with their hands behind their backs. Anna cursed loudly and went into hysterics demanding that her hands be set free. Michael furtively told her to pretend to faint. As soon as Anna’s body fell to the floor in slow motion, their guards seemed to be worried. As he watched the Medjay untie her rope, Michael figured that their orders were to secure the stele and not to harm them. At least not yet, he guessed. The Medjay untied Michael’s rope and stepped out, locking the stable door behind him. A new Medjay, dressed in the same outfit and hair, was left to guard them.

  “Are you OK?” Michael asked quietly.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” she chuckled slightly.

  “I’m glad.”

  She shook her head in frustration. “I can’t believe they took away my father’s stele after what we had to go through to find it.”

  “Well, in reality, the stele is theirs. That bastard Fischer either stole it from them or stumbled on it by accident. Obviously he unleashed the fury of these Medjay, who I guess were its protectors. I wonder if it’s been in their possession since ancient times.”

  “Michael, you’re probably right, but we’re not the bad guys and neither was my father.”

  “Yes, your father wanted to protect the stele and that’s why he hid it.”

  “So, our kidnapping is just big misunderstanding, that’s all, right?” she asked.

  “Who knows? They caught us red-handed with their stele. As far as they are concerned, we are the thieves. And we’re certainly not in police custody.”

  “What? We found that stele and pretty much handed it to them on a silver platter.”

  “Again it proves to them that we’re the thieves. They even sent one of their friends to Germany and Moscow to follow our every step, thinking that your father mailed a map to you.”

  “Well, technically speaking, he did send me a type of map, which took us a week to decode.”

  “I’m proud we figured it out,” said Michael.

  “We sure did!”

  “But, I’m still puzzled by the stele,” said Michael.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The message in the pictures.”

  “Oh Michael, I wish David, my father’s friend from the Archaeological Institute, was here,” Anna said wistfully. “He could crack that message easily.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think David would appreciate being locked up in a stable and sitting on hay,” Michael said grinning.

  Anna chuckled in agreement.

  “Let’s see if we can crack it ourselves,” said Michael, pulling the paper from his jeans pocket. He unfolded the pencil rubbing and started studying it. Anna moved closer.

  “OK,” said Michael after a short while. “Each row of smaller rectangles has the same image placed either at the beginning of each row or at the end. It’s a person holding a stick with an outstretched arm pointing to a specific direction.”

  Anna nodded.

  “It looks like we have four short journeys leading somewhere, but where?”

  “Look!” exclaimed Anna. “All of these journeys have the same end; they finish up at a water reservoir with an island, with some kind of sarcophagus on top of it.”

  “I see it! It looks like a royal sarcophagus.”

  “That has to be Pharaoh Khufu’s! His sarcophagus must be located on some sort of island surrounded by a river.”

  Anna, please tell me you still have that page from Kirilov’s cigar box.”

  “Well, they took my iPhone, but I still have my purse,” said Anna as she rummaged through it. “Here it is,” she said happily, pulling out a folded paper and handing it over.

  “OK, look at the third row from the top,” said Michael as he carefully read Kirilov’s page and then looked at the rubbing.

  “The second way to get to Khufu’s burial place is to follow an artificial canal inside the baffling pyramid. And here is the pyramid.”

  “Oh,” said Anna, visibly amazed. “OK, let me see that paper. That first row shows the first way to get to Khufu, according to Kirilov. The funeral procession went through the temple located at the east side of the Great Pyramid. It’s located at forty-four meters from the bisector of the pyramid and at a depth of about five to seven meters.”

  “Great,” said Michael. “Now, if you look at the second row, it actually shows Kirilov’s fourth way. It goes from the Great Pyramid’s Subterranean Chamber through the foundation of the false well. In reality, the foundation is a stone plug with the following parameters: two meters wide, ten meters in length and two meter filling thickness. Under this stone plug there is a cylinder-shaped opening about ten meters deep down.”

  “So,” said Anna, “here is the last row. According to Kirilov, it is in the horizontal so-called Dead-end Passage of the pyramid’s Subterranean Chamber. In the middle of the sixteen-meter appendix on the ceiling of the passage there is a plug and from there an inclined passage leads to the burial place.”

  “Wait a second,” said Michael, mesmerized as he sat back, concentrating. “What we have here is a three to four thousand year old stele showing Kirilov’s four ways.”

  “Wow!” exclaimed Anna. “We have concrete proof the Kirilov’s theory is 100 percent right. We need to get this information to the right people so he will be recognized.”

  “If we get out of here alive,” Michael added sarcastically.

  “We’ve gotta tell these Medjay. They’ve had this stele for the past several thousand years and had no clue that they had a treasure map in their hands the entire time.”

  “Let’s first find out what they are planning to do with us. The information on the stele will be our leverage if something goes wrong.”

  “What do you mean if something goes wrong?”

  They heard a key jiggling in the lock, and the door swung wide open. The same duo that kidnapped them entered. Suddenly, another man emerged from behind them and stepped forward, carrying himself with confidence and authority. His high forehead and black eyebrows set off his dark eyes, shining with intellect and slyness. High cheekbones and a square jaw line intensified the masculinity of his looks. He wore a long, white cotton cloak like the other men. Unlike the others, he wore earrings; silver wire formed into hoops with overlapping ends. He turned slightly and spoke authoritatively to the two Medjay in their native language. Michael and Anna watched as the guards instantly turned around and walked out of the stable.

  “I’m Chief Jibade of the Medjay tribe.” To Michael and Anna’s surprise, the man spoke English well. “We’ve been guarding our sacred stele for the past three thousand years and now—”

  “Chief,” Michael interrupted. “We didn’t steal the stele, we—”

  The chief raised his hands, “I know that you didn’t steal the stele.”

  “Really?” Michael said, amazed.

  “Yes, I do,” said the chief, turning to face Anna. “And I also happen to know that your father didn’t steal it either,” he finished solemnly.

  “I am so very glad to hear that,” said Anna, relieved.

  “From the beginning, we suspected your father to be the thief. In our effort to try to locate the stele, one of my warriors went too far. I deeply regret that. Anna, please accept my deepest condolences in the death of your father. That slimy Fischer was the thief and tried to sell it to smugglers on the black market. Thanks to your father’s efforts, the stele was saved. The only thing we didn’t know was where your father hid it. So, I had my m
en follow you. As soon as they spotted you with the stele at El Alamein, they followed my orders and brought you here.”

  “Well, Chief,” said Anna, “you’ve got some harsh methods of welcoming people.” Anna held her wrists out, displaying the red marks on her skin left from the ropes used to bind her.

  “I am so very sorry for the actions of my people. Our way of life teaches us to be cautious. But you are not prisoners here anymore,” said the chief, smiling broadly. “You are my guests.” He held his arm out, indicating they should leave the stable.

  “What’s the meaning of the stele?” asked Michael.

  “It has been passed from one generation to the next, but the ancient meaning of the stele has been lost. It is used in numerous ceremonies, as well as in the Rite of Passage for our people.”

  Michael and Anna glanced at each other.

  “Is anything the matter?” asked the Chief, seeing their faces.

  “No, I’m just glad that no more confusion remains on both our sides,” responded Anna.

  “I have one question,” said the Chief. “What happened to my warrior Asim and his companion Seth? They both disappeared in Moscow the day before your arrival in Egypt.”

  “Well,” Anna spoke carefully. “Seth was involved in a terrible car accident on one of the busiest streets in Moscow.”

  “We saw it happen, unfortunately,” Michael concurred, grimacing.

  “And Asim?” asked the Chief, his voice rising. “What about my fearless warrior?”

  “He was fearless, all right,” said Anna. “Moscow is …”

  “A mysterious place,” Michael said, shaking his head grimly.

  The Chief gave him a strange look, but did not say a word as they walked outside into the scorching afternoon sun, the guards right behind them.

  Chapter 51

  Cairo, Egypt

  Thursday, September 28

  7:15 a.m.

  Cairo’s Police Inspector Suliman woke up early inside his two-bedroom apartment located in Doqqi, a largely residential area of Cairo west of the River Nile, and began his morning ritual. Ready for the day, he relaxed with a mug of strong coffee and his breakfast while watching the news. Looking at his watch, he got up from the table, turned off the television and washed his dishes. Then, checking his watch once more to make sure that 9 a.m. had come, he retrieved his mobile phone, checked for his ID, holstered his service weapon and left his tidy apartment. As he walked down the stairs, his mobile phone rang. Sighing heavily, he answered the call.

  “Inspector Suliman,” he answered with his familiar greeting. With every passing moment that he listened, his face grew darker and darker. He grimly stated, “I’ll be there soon,” and turned off the phone. The morning’s calmness and tranquility had disappeared rapidly.

  Striding out of his apartment building into the sizzling sun, the Inspector hurried to his car. Silently cursing, he started the car and sped away. The car flew over the familiar route, but today everything was different. He gripped the steering wheel and tried to concentrate on the road, but disturbing thoughts haunted him. Why they didn’t call me immediately like I instructed?

  The last time had ended up so tragically. The kidnapping of the tourist group from France was still fresh on his mind. Local Bedouins had demanded one of their men be released from prison in exchange for the French tourists. The Inspector did everything he could, but as the SWAT team set up, the Bedouins murdered one of the tourists.

  And now this damn call from the Medjay Chief Jibade! The Inspector’s office was still investigating the suspicious heart attack of a German national as a possible homicide and now this. His old friend had called to inform him that his men had kidnapped the American and German nationals, as calm as if he was asking the Inspector to have lunch with him. The ghost of the slaughtered French tourist still haunted him, and now this call summoned memories of those dark days. He thought he had buried them somewhere deep where they could never escape, but today they resurfaced yet again.

  The Inspector dodged traffic by way of back streets and alleys, slamming on the brakes as he pulled up to the familiar apartment building, honking his horn. Chief Detective Hussein was already waiting for his boss and quickly stepped out of the lobby. As he entered the car’s cool interior, he greeted his boss cheerfully. The Inspector nodded silently and quickly zipped away from the curb.

  Chief Detective Hussein knew right away something was wrong with his Inspector, whom he had known for the past five years. Normally a cheerful and talkative man, the Inspector was now eerily silent. Hussein felt uncomfortable interrupting the prolonged pause. Occasionally he glanced at the Inspector. Ten minutes later, when the air inside the car was literally resonating with tense silence, he could not tolerate it any longer. “My Inspector, can you explain to me what is happening?”

  “I’m sure you remember Mr. Doyle, the American, and Anna, the German Schulze’s daughter, whom we both meet the other day.”

  The Detective nodded.

  “This morning I received a call from Chief Jibade. His men have kidnapped them.”

  “Where is the SWAT team? They could take that whole tribe out in a few minutes!”

  “Right, they will take the whole tribe out along with the lives of two foreign nationals. Don’t you remember when the Bedouin village kidnapped those French tourists? The life of that Frenchman was in our hands and we blew it. That man never had a chance after the SWAT team moved in. If we had allowed more time for negotiations, then the outcome would have been different.”

  “My Inspector, I’m with you, however you wish to resolve the situation.”

  “I promised to guard the lives of Mr. Doyle and Miss Schulze, and I intend on keeping that promise. Too many lives have been wasted already.” His eyes full of pain, the Inspector looked at his companion, “Will you help me, my dear partner and friend?”

  “Of course I will help you,” detective said softly, “but why don’t we call the SWAT team, just in case the negotiations don’t go anywhere? If the Medjay kill those poor Westerners then the media will blame everything on you. That will be the end of your career.”

  “The Medjay Chief told me that he will kill the Westerners if he sees any sign of the police force present. I gave him my word that it would only be us,” the Inspector said quietly, sighing deeply.

  They rode the rest of the way in silence, lost in their own thoughts of that nightmarish night when they found the Frenchman’s mangled corpse inside the Bedouin village. The Inspector often replayed and pondered that fateful night in his mind. Why didn’t I continue negotiations? Why did I give in to the pressure mounted by the media?

  An hour and a half later, they were driving inside the Medjay tribe’s compound. The Inspector and his Chief Detective stared in astonishment. For the first time that morning, the Inspector smiled. Michael was hugging Anna as they stood in the middle of the meadow. Next to them was the grinning Chief of the Medjay tribe himself.

  “How is this possible?” the Inspector asked incredulously. He quickly stopped the car and jumped out. He was immediately greeted by his old friend, who informed him that he wanted to see the face of his dear old friend the moment he saw that not only was police action not necessary, but also that the hostages were safe and sound.

  As the Inspector and Detective listened, the Chief eloquently expressed his sincere gratitude for all the work Michael and Anna had done to safely return the sacred stele back to the tribe. Anna and Michael kept looking from the Medjay Chief to the Inspector, not able to figure out which one of them beamed with a pride more.

  Chapter 52

  Windsor Hotel, Cairo, Egypt

  Friday, September 29

  8:00 a.m.

  The sun streamed through the curtain edges as the woman stretched reluctantly, hoping the brightness would disappear behind some clouds. Someone pounded on the door. She turned over, but th
e sun and the pounding remained relentless. She sighed and glanced at the clock. “Michael!” she shouted. “Are you asleep?” No answer: just continued pounding.

  Just who could that be? Housekeeping? Anna reluctantly stretched out in the soft embrace of her comforter, forcing herself to sit up. She fumbled on her robe and headed for the door. As she unlocked and yanked the door open, her eyes flew open at the sight.

  “Michael? You’re on the wrong side of the door.” He grinned at her, a chuckle escaping. “Oh!” Anna exclaimed, folding her arms across her chest. “And now you’re checking me out? Are you drunk?”

  “No, of course not! Come on, I only had one beer,” he said in jest, unable to look away from such a beautiful, sleepy woman. “Hey, it’s time to get ready.”

  “Where are we going?” Anna raised her eyebrows at him. He seemed strangely excited.

  “Well, I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to go through some of the notes I took in Kirilov’s apartment. I went to the roof garden, but when I came back I realized I had forgotten the door key. It was still really early, and I was thinking about Kirilov anyways, so I decided to call Moscow.” He stopped and looked sadly at her.

  “And?”

  “Kirilov passed away two days ago.”

  “Oh no!” Anna exclaimed.

  “Yeah, his body was frail even before that bastard Seth stabbed him. Plus, remember he’s had that bullet stuck in his head for the past sixty something years.”

  “He didn’t have a chance,” Anna said sorrowfully.

  “Before he died, Kirilov instructed his wife to remind us about the baffling pyramid.”

  “Yeah, I remember him mentioning that.”

  “Exactly, and she also asked me for our hotel’s fax number.”

  “Why?”

  “To fax this,” said Michael, holding up the fax he had picked up minutes earlier at the hotel’s front desk. Anna looked at it curiously.