Tutankhamun Uncovered

by Michael J Marfleet

  There were many things Carter disliked. One of the most distasteful was having to use a communal shaving brush. It seemed an unnecessary insult after an uncomfortable night on a portable canvas bed. The blade wasn’t all that sharp either. Getting back into his previous day’s clothes was not unusual for him, however. It was an acceptable prerequisite to fieldwork. So he hardly gave that a second thought. But using someone else’s comb for his hair, and the same to preen his moustache, that was most disagreeable.

  It was breakfast time in the mess room. A severely disenchanted Carter took his appointed place at the table that had been set aside especially for the undercover team in a far corner of the room.

  “Bwight and early! That’s what we like to see in this King’s army, Mr Carter.” The chinless Lieutenant Horsell greeted Carter with a wave of his hand.

  Carter reluctantly sat down beside him. Horsell leaned over. “Looking faward to heawing your plan, Mr Carter. Sounds like a weal cwacker. One in the eye for the Hun, eh?”

  “As you say, sir. One in the eye.” Carter was short but cordial.

  The breakfast was less than palatable. Undercooked eggs swimming in fat, greasy bacon, burnt toast.

  If only Abdel was here, thought Carter.

  When they had finished their meal the major called them all into a nearby room. They sat down on steel chairs in a circle. The major stepped into the centre and held stage.

  “Right, men,” he began. “Kept you in the dark to this point to minimise risk. ‘An idle word can cost lives,’ and all that. Now it’s time to give it to you straight. Mr Carter here, one of our civilian plainclothes operatives, has come up with a plan to give the Hun a poke in the eye and provide this backwater in the desert some notoriety in the tabloid press back home. There could be a decoration or two in this for some of you. By the looks of you, you could do with a bit of decoration!”

  From the troops came clear murmurings of mixed feelings. Decoration was usually connected with danger.

  “The good news is the Germans aren’t expecting us, so surprise is on our side. Bad news is we’re not sure if the place is guarded. However, if it is, it will be guarded by Arabs. So it’ll be ineffective. I don’t want any killing. Sensitive immobilisation is all that is required. We will have to black up. Which of you is the explosives expert?”

  “Me, sir.” A diminutive subaltern with a piping voice drew himself up to sitting attention. “Trained at Sandhurst, sir. Bridge demolition mostly. Know exactly where to put it on a bridge, sir.”

  The major was startled by the boy’s high voice.

  “What’s your name, boy?” he asked.

  “Watson, sir.”

  “How old are you, boy?”

  “Eighteen, sir,” came the shrill reply.

  “Not dropped yet? Or blow your gonads off in the lab, did you?”

  All those around the boy burst into laughter.

  The lad lowered his eyes.

  “Well... Whatever... Balls or no balls it’s you who’s going to have to do it. But it ain’t no bridge.” The major paused as if for effect. “It’s a building. Constructed by the Germans without the permission of the Egyptians, purportedly as a base for their archaeological expeditions, but actually, no doubt, as an HQ for subversive ops.”

  To emphasise the gravity of this last statement, he glared steadily around the circle of the assembled group. Carter was bubbling with amusement. It was all he could do to maintain a serious expression.

  “Mr Carter here will explain.” The major beckoned to Carter to enter the circle.

  Carter was startled. He hadn’t expected to have to say anything. The levity he was feeling would make it all the more difficult for him to deliver any speech that held a sense of gravity anything like that of the major. He tried to pull himself together.

  “This building is situated on the other side of the river near the Ramesseum. It is quite obvious. It is red. Blow it up. Wipe it from the face of the earth. Simple as that.”

  The major wasn’t very satisfied with Carter’s matter-of-fact response but there was little he could say. He took over again.

  “‘Simple’, yes. Simple to the experts, eh, Watson?”

  The teenager gave a nervous smile. “But I haven’t been trained to blow up houses, sir. Don’t know the first thing about where to place the charge, what type of charge, how much charge...”

  The major ignored him.

  “At zero-one-hundred hours tonight we shall push off for the west bank in two of our small dinghies. At precisely zero-two-hundred hours we shall rendezvous under cover of the columns in the Ramesseum. At zero-two-fifteen hours Watson here will creep over to the building and place his charges. Horsell, Johnson, Smith and Davis will stay with him to keep a lookout and immobilise any intruders. Do y’ need a hand setting the charges, boy?”

  “Sir?” Watson, contemplating his forthcoming challenge, had not been paying attention.

  “Stay alert, boy. Do you need help setting the charges?”

  “Someone... Someone to tell me where, sir, and how much,” was the trembling reply.

  The major glared at the boy. “Trying to be funny, boy?”

  “Someone to help play out the firing wires, sir.”

  “Adamson. Your job.”

  “Sah!” The sergeant stood to attention.

  Carter was quietly beside himself with the theatrics.

  “Right. Now comes the dangerous bit. Once the charges are laid and primed and the firing box is in position...”

  “Where, sir?” It was that piping voice again.

  “What, Watson?”

  “Where do you want to place the firing box, sir?”

  “Er...” He had to think. “How far is safe, Watson.”

  “It depends on the charge, sir. And the enemy.”

  “What d’you mean, ‘the enemy’?”

  “Well... If they’re in the vicinity...”

  “There’s no one in the vicinity, Watson. How far away do we have to be to be safe?”

  “It depends on the size of the charge, sir.”

  “You said that. Well...?”

  “I won’t know what size of charge to place until I see the structure, sir.”

  This could go on forever, thought Carter.

  He broke in before the dialogue continued. “Major, we will need cover in any case, will we not, so why don’t we set the firing box in the Ramesseum? It is quite far enough from the villa providing you have enough firing wire, that is.”

  “Good thinking, Carter. Ramesseum. Excellent cover. We set the bombs off from there.” The major looked well satisfied. “Good show. But we need to look beyond success. The escape. Hardest part of all, the escape. Often bungled. Many a successful mission lost its heroes due to a lack of escape planning.”

  ‘Oh, my God,’ thought Carter, rolling his eyes.

  The major was in full flow. “Following the attack, Watson reels in the firing wire and we regroup at the east entrance to the Ramesseum.” He waited for indications of recognition from each in the circle. Satisfied he had their attention he continued. “It’s a longish walk to the boat, but it’s important we make it in as short a time as possible. Means we shall have to double-time it. While we’re in the boats everyone gets their face black off. Don’t want to turn up in Luxor looking like a bunch of darkies. Then, back to your bunks. Nothing ever happened. You know the drill. Any questions?”

  A single hand was raised. It was Lieutenant Horsell.

  “Sir. Permission to speak?”

  “Go ahead, Horsell.”

  “This black stuff, sir. I suffer fwom washes.”

  “‘Washes?’”

  “No, sir washes, sir. This stuff hurts my skin. May I wear something dark over my face instead a gas mask, for instance?”

  “Very well. Very well. Now, men, synchronise watches! At the count of three it will be zero-nine-fifteen hours pwe... precisely one, two, three!”

  Everyone but Carter, who was preoccupied with subduing his
giggling, clicked their watches into action together.

  “Remember now, we all stay within sight of one another until the raid is over. Watson, take us to the armoury.”

  Carter tolerated the company of the soldiers all day and all evening. They played cards together most of the time, but only one of them played bridge. Unable to make a four, he soon became bored. It seemed an age before midnight finally came around. They began to ready themselves to go down to the river bank. They each took a dollop of boot black and rubbed it into their faces, oily with perspiration. All, that is, except for Horsell, who sat beside them with his gas mask on, quietly perspiring. He was visually oblivious to all that was going on around him. The glass apertures for his eyes had misted up.

  Carter helped paddle one of the boats to the other side of the river. They disembarked, dragged the dinghies up on the sand and set off across the fields towards the Ramesseum. Carter led the way.

  In another twenty minutes or so they were at the threshold of the temple. The soldiers moved between the columns, darting from the cover of one to the other as if they were stealing up on some dangerous quarry. Carter, totally unaware of his colleagues’ cautionary tactics, walked straight through the centre. Reaching the rear of the Ramesseum, they looked out into the darkness to try to pick out the shape of their target.

  They had no trouble seeing it. There was a small log fire burning just outside the entrance, and right beside it two Arab guards asleep on blankets.

  “Damn!” hissed the major.

  “Looks like we’re in for a bit of ‘sensitive immobilisation’, eh, major?” whispered Carter, unable to resist the opportunity to add some flavour to their adventure.

  “Horsell!” the major hissed.

  “Sir!”

  The ‘creature from beyond’ scurried over to the major’s side. Dorking started at the sight of the masked lieutenant.

  “God, you look ugly, Horsell! Now. Pay attention. Take Adamson and nobble those two fellahs. Make sure neither of you is recognised. Bind and gag ’em, then drag ’em away somewhere where they’ll be safe from the blast. Ensure they’re left somewhere where they’ll be easily spotted when daylight breaks. Don’t want ’em frying before they get found. Not good for local relations.” Dorking needn’t have worried.

  Both crouching low as they moved across the rocks and sand, Horsell led the sergeant around in a wide arc so that they came on the men from the side and, so far as was possible, out of the light thrown by the fire. With all the stealth they had been taught during training, the two reached the corner of the building and eased themselves along the wall towards the sleeping, unarmed custodians. Close by now, Horsell positioned himself to leap on one of the Arabs. He rose up before the unsuspecting unfortunate with his arms held high and prepared to jump.

  The two guards opened their eyes almost simultaneously. The flickering light of the fire blazed from the orbs of glass in Horsell’s gas mask. What a sight they must have beheld. The devil himself, his eyes afire, had come to claim them! Together the two let out a terrible, primeval scream and took off into the darkness at a speed that would have challenged any sprinter. Adamson attempted to fall on one of them as they ran past, but he was slow to react. He missed the man completely, fell to the ground and hit his head on a rock, knocking himself senseless.

  “Fine mess,” was all the major could think to say as he watched the charade. “Fine, bloody mess.”

  “Not that bad, sir,” reassured Carter. “Looks like you achieved your objective guards gone, effectively immobilised, unharmed, their attackers unrecognised for what they were, at least and the house now safely secured to us. Not at all bad.”

  “Don’t like to say it, Carter, but more by luck than judgement, I’m afraid. More by luck than judgement.”

  He turned to Watson. “Well, don’t just stand there, boy, get over there and do what you’re trained to do.”

  He turned to the remainder of the attack force. “You help him. You others keep a lookout.”

  As Horsell tried to bring Adamson around, Watson went into the building and began to lay out his charges. He knew he had to lay the gun cotton at the base of load bearing pillars, but he hadn’t a clue what size of charge would be sufficient to bring the place down. That it would have to be less per charge than that which he would use for the steel members of a bridge he was certain, but how much less? After all their trouble he couldn’t afford to have the mission fail in its objective. He decided to err on the safe side and place a little more than he judged might be necessary.

  His charges laid and primed, he drew the cables out through the front door and walked backwards to the Ramesseum, laying the wires out before him.

  “All set and ready, sir.”

  “Good man,” said the major. “Everyone back behind me!” he shouted.

  “Horsell! If you can’t wake him up, carry him, dammit!”

  The lieutenant by this time had finally managed to slap some life back into the dazed sergeant and was able to help him back onto his feet and guide him slowly back to cover.

  Once safely within the temple walls, they all crouched down and waited for the order. This would be Carter’s moment of triumph. A real poke in the eye for the Hun one particular Hun to be exact Doktor Ludwig Borchardt.

  Watson charged up the firing box and poised himself above it with his hands on the firing stick. The major looked about one more time and then dropped his hand. With all his weight Watson fell on the firing stick.

  There was a tremendous flash and one almighty crack, lengthened by a split second as the several charges ignited in rapid succession. Each of the conspirers felt the draught of the shock wave. Heavy objects rushed through the air about them. In the stony confinement of the pillared hall of the Ramesseum the amplification was almost unbearably loud. Worse still, as the noise died and the perpetrators took their hands from their ears, echoes reflected from the walls of the cliffs about them almost as loud and from multiple directions, as if they were being bombarded themselves.

  For a moment or two the troops stared from one to the other in startled amazement, not yet daring to look at the results of their work. Falling about them, the dust of many thousands of disintegrated mud bricks settled on their shoulders. The echoes finally trailed away into the darkness of night and peace returned.

  The pillars of the Ramesseum reflected a glow from the fires which now quietly crackled on the remains of fallen wooden lintels.

  Dorking switched on his torch and shone it into Carter’s face. He winced. The major laughed. “You’re all bloody red, Carter! What a sight! Hey, men, look. He’s all bloody red!”

  The light from the torch reflected off the pillars about them. Horsell looked around quickly and, pulling off his mask, announced, “Evwyone’s wed, sir. The whole bloody lot of us!” And he began to laugh.

  A moment later pretty much everybody in the group was laughing. The bright, white ellipse of face left by Horsell’s mask shone like a ghost in the dim light thrown by Dorking’s torch.

  “They’re all laughing at you, Horsell. You’re the only white man in the ‘twoop’!”

  An embarrassed Horsell quickly replaced his gas mask and Carter turned to look towards the villa. The dust was finally settling. At the positions where Watson had laid the charges, glowing embers flashed and sputtered momentarily. For all that anyone could see in the faint light, there was literally nothing left. Even the sand on the bedrock had been blown away. All that remained was a polished rocky outcrop with broad scorch marks in eight places.

  The major was the first to speak. “Back to bridges for you, Watson. You nearly killed us all, boy.”

  “I... I told you I had never been trained on buildings, sir. I just guessed.”

  Carter leant over and patted Watson on the shoulder. “You did well, boy. We got rid of it. Wiped it. Completely. Nothing remains. As if it had never existed. And no one the worse for wear... apart from ‘Sarn’t Adamson’, that is, who only has himself to blame.”


  The major grunted. “Let’s get out of here. Gather up the stuff. Follow me.”

  That night the devil had made an awful appearance, wrought his wicked work and left. Two frightened fellahs with an horrific tale to tell would never be the same again. Howard Carter would sleep soundly.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Hundredth Day

  Tutankhamun was not dead not to Ankhesenamun, not to Ay, not to the people, not to any who believed.

  To Horemheb, however, the thought of meeting in the afterlife he whom he had murdered was unthinkable. Who knows what manner of retribution his spirit could fashion? It would have plenty of time to prepare. However long it might take, one way or another the general would have to see to it that the king’s body never completed its journey.

  Ankhesenamun was equally resolute. She would rejoin her husband in the everlasting. She would assure him a peaceful and safe journey. They would live, once and for all, in eternal harmony. It would be Horemheb who would not survive the afterlife.

  What Horemheb had not bargained for was the depth and complexity of the queen’s creative subterfuge. It would not occur to him that she might attempt to pre-empt his plan. Interfere perhaps, but it was beyond comprehension that she could reason against him, let alone ultimately defeat him.

  It had seemed to Dashir over these last three months that the queen had gone over her plans in explicit detail more than one hundred times. But, on the night he was to do the deed, the queen once more had summoned him to her chambers.

  He entered, flanked by two palace guards, and prostrated himself before her.

  “Leave us!”

  The guards dutifully departed and reassumed their positions outside the doors to her rooms.

  “Dashir, rise. Welcome. Tonight we shall taste victory over evil. Tonight you will bring me the soul of my husband. Tonight you will be rewarded beyond your greatest expectations.”

  Dashir raised his eyes. There was a puzzled expression on his face. He had not thought of payment. He had just hoped to complete the job and get away with his life. That would be gift enough. If she wished to give him something besides, so be it, but he would have to be alive to receive it.