For a week the work continued on the stone door. The Director of Antiquities was lucky to get a room at the Nile Sheraton in Luxor, no small feat during the height of tourist season. Each morning he crossed the Nile where a driver with a Jeep met him to take him along the west bank to the Valley of the Kings. When he arrived his first task was to interview four armed guards who were stationed at the site every night, making sure nothing out of the ordinary had happened. The night guards were sent home, replaced with a fresh set. The job of the day guards was to keep tourists, reporters and busybodies away from the staircase and the door at its bottom.
By the seventh day the door had been loosened and small hooks placed on its four sides. A cable was attached and strung up the stairway, where it was connected to a winch on the front of the Director’s Jeep. At his signal the driver began to very slowly draw in the cable. It stiffened as it pulled all four hooks taut, then the winch ground noisily as it struggled to move several tons of solid rock.
The winch broke, and a decision was made to connect the cable to a backhoe. The machine was then slowly moved backwards as it pulled the giant stone forward into the area at the foot of the stairway. The rock was over two feet thick and it took several hours to move it sufficiently to offer a chance to peer into the black opening behind it. While the work progressed, the Director asked that three reporters be allowed in. The first was from Al-Ahram, Cairo’s oldest newspaper. Next were a BBC reporter and one from CNN. The director wanted complete coverage worldwide. He told the reporters to stand to one side, which was somewhat difficult in the cramped area at the bottom of the stairway. To make more room he sent away all but one of the workmen who had helped prepare the stone for moving.
As the senior man present, the Director had the right to be the first to see inside. But he deferred. He motioned to the workman whose donkey had created the hole.
“You found it. You may have the privilege of being first to view the tomb. Please look inside and tell me what you see.”
He handed the man a flashlight as a ladder was propped up against the door. It filled the stairway almost completely except for a couple of feet at the top.
Shaking, the workman climbed the ladder until he reached the top of the rock door. He leaned forward across it, stretched the hand holding the light in front, and stuck his head into the inky darkness. He switched on the light.
Chapter Four
“Sahib…” he stuttered.
“Speak up, man!” the Director said loudly. “We cannot hear you!”
“Sahib, there is a small room here, full of furnishings, with another door beyond. All the furnishings appear to be upright. Nothing seems to be disturbed.”
As the workman came down the ladder, the Director could hardly contain his excitement. He wanted to appear professional before the world’s news agencies but his imagination raced as he prepared to see the interior himself.
Peering into the darkness, the Director turned on his flashlight and shined it around the room. The area was about six feet square, and another door indeed stood at the rear wall, just opposite his current position. Two large statues of Anubis, the canine-like God of the Dead, flanked the next doorway. The lintels and door itself did not appear to be made of heavy stone as the entrance was. Instead they looked to be carved from the same sandstone that surrounded the tomb.
As the workman had described, the room was full of furnishings and pottery. Things were sitting in no particular order but were all upright and intact. The Director recalled that the first sign that Tut’s tomb had been desecrated was the disarray in which the robbers had left the furniture, which had held no interest for them. They had turned things over, pushed them aside and cleared a path to the next doorway. In the room before him the Director could plainly see that the items of furniture sat just as they had been positioned by priests who placed them there and then sealed the room for eternity.
His heart raced as he moved down the ladder, making way for the news reporters to climb up, take pictures and prepare a story that would interest the entire planet.
Chapter Five
Over the next couple of months the excavation team worked feverishly to open rooms, catalog items and bring the findings to the world through the Internet. Since the pharaoh’s burial, the tomb had not been entered – a first in Egyptian archaeology – and although its finery was not the magnitude of King Tutankhamen’s, the historic significance of the find was unparalleled.
The hieroglyphs revealed that the pharaoh Inkharaton had held the title Pharaoh of the People. In stark contrast to any other tomb ever discovered, he was shown pictorially walking among his people, sitting by the Nile and talking to them. He was a god among men.
Although many hoped for the gilded treasures seen in Tut’s tomb, the items chosen by the priests for burial with Inkharaton were things people used in their daily lives. Instead of gilded chaise lounges there were beautifully painted wooden chairs arranged around a table. Tack for horses was ornate but not excessive. It was as though even the things which surrounded him in death, the things that would accompany him to the afterlife, displayed his desire to be a man like other men around him, instead of a god, hidden away in a palace-prison, insulated from his subjects.
At last the burial chamber itself was opened. Inside a stone coffin there was an ornately painted wooden sarcophagus, depicting the countenance of the god-king, but with almost no gold. All the colors of the rainbow were used in the incredibly beautiful artwork that adorned every square inch of the seven-foot casket. In its own right it was as beautiful as Tut’s. Like everything else, it was a tomb for a man the people revered. It was a casket for one of the people, made of wood, not gold.
The mummy itself was tightly wrapped in linens as expected. The Director ordered a portable x-ray machine to be brought to the burial chamber. Electric lines snaked up the stairway as everything was readied, the mummy carefully removed and laid on the smooth surface of the machine. Befitting this modest pharaoh, under the linens were only a few items of jewelry. Both arms had bracelets and there were earrings. All were probably made of gold, although the Director did not intend to cut into the wrappings and examine the mummy, so they would remain where they were.
As the beautifully decorated walls in the funerary chamber were photographed and cataloged, one of the workers noticed a small door cut into the wall. It was only about four feet square and bore no seal or markings. It was like a door to a storage closet, and the supervisor wasted no time in ordering it to be opened. When the supervisor peered into the long chamber he ordered all work stopped and called the Director of Antiquities.
“Sir, you must come quickly. We have found a second sarcophagus!”
For the first time in history, a second burial casket was found, and this one was lavishly decorated in sheets of gold, lapis lazuli stones and a lifelike depiction of the pharaoh Inkharaton. An inscription on the wall of the burial chamber, next to the door behind which the golden casket had been stored, explained the unusual situation.
Two sarcophagi had indeed been made for Inkharaton. The high priests intended for him to be buried in the one befitting his status as a god. According to the hieroglyphs, they were unhappy when before his death the pharaoh chose the less impressive one, denoting his love for his common people and his desire to be more like them than the gods. So the beautiful golden casket, emblazoned with Inkharaton’s likeness, was relegated to a storage chamber in the burial vault itself, to play second fiddle for eternity.
Chapter Six
Once everything had been cataloged, photographed in situ, checked and double-checked, the Director of the Department of Antiquities came up with a novel plan. He took it to the President of Egypt, who saw no flaw in it, so the Director proceeded to put his remarkable idea into place.
The Director knew that there were collectors and institutions that would pay an enormous sum to be the rightful owner of a sarcophagus from 3500 B.C. He also knew that Egypt didn’t have a lot of extra cash to
fund his department, the new Valley Tourway project and to dig for undiscovered sites and tombs. Finally, he knew that Egypt should and would be the rightful resting place for Inkharaton’s gilded sarcophagus even though his body had never lain in it.
An announcement was made that the golden sarcophagus of Inkharaton would be offered for sale at auction to the highest bidder. While the new owner would hold title to the relic, a stipulation was put on the sale. For a period of one hundred years the object must remain in Egypt, on display in the tomb, or at the Museum of Antiquities, or at any other place designated by the then-current Director of Antiquities.
After that time, so long as the government continued to display the casket at least half of the year, the requirement continued. If Egypt decided to remove it from display, the owner was free to take possession and move it, but it could go only to another museum where it would continue to be enjoyed by the world.
To fuel the ego of the new owner, all information about Inkharaton’s sarcophagus would include the name of the person or entity who owned it. A plaque in the display area would stand next to the casket. It would say, “The sarcophagus of Inkharaton displayed here is owned by…and is on permanent loan to this museum.”
The Department of Antiquities created a list of firms approved to sell such an object. The usual names – Sotheby’s, Christie’s and the like – were there. The Director’s former second-in-command, a man named Darius Nazir, also made the list. And amazingly for Egypt, it was not a political favor that had allowed Nazir’s firm, Bijan Rarities, to be included with the giants of the auction industry. Nazir was a genius at marketing rarities. He had a sixth sense which allowed him to pair an object with the perfect potential owners, create a frenzy of bidding among them, and realize the greatest return for his sellers. Since leaving Egypt for New York, Nazir and Bijan Rarities had quietly become power brokers in the ancient relic auction arena.
After proposals were reviewed, Nazir’s firm was selected by a committee from the Antiquities board and the museum. His commission charge was five percent of the sale price – right in the middle of the group of bidders. The government would pay all marketing costs, which in this case could run over a half million dollars. This sale would be advertised in all the right places even though it might end up being a museum whose bid caused the final rap of the auctioneer’s gavel.
The idea was to advertise the concept the Director had dreamed up. It was unique, it could create a win-win situation, and it was fair for all.
Chapter Seven
Brian stopped reading. He had about 45 minutes before landing at La Guardia Airport. Putting his reading materials back in the briefcase, he glanced to the back of the plane. One person was in line for the restroom. He knew that post-9/11 rules prohibited the passengers from congregating anywhere on the plane, so he waited until that person went inside the tiny bathroom before he rose and strode to the back.
A flight attendant was dumping trash into a plastic bag and closing down the galley’s food service trolleys, preparing for landing. She was younger than he was and also really attractive. She smiled at him and said, “Heading home?”
He told her he was from Dallas and in town for only a day or so on business.
“I hope you have a great time,” she said. “Have you been to Quo?”
Brian hadn’t, and she told him it was one of the city’s hottest nightspots.
“You should stop by. It’s on 28th Street in Chelsea. If you’re in midtown, grab a cab. It’s worth the trip.”
He promised to give it a try if he had time. She smiled at him and he glanced at her left hand. No ring. He decided to go to Quo if he could, just to see if she might be there.
Back in his seat Brian thought about Bijan and how everything fit together. The firm had landed the biggest sale of an ancient relic since Schliemann’s discoveries at Troy had hit the auction market seventy years ago. From the material he had found online, he knew the opening bid for the sarcophagus of Inkharaton was set at ten million dollars. The auction was only a month away. It would be held in a tent in the roadbed immediately outside of Inkharaton’s tomb.
This decision had been a mastery of marketing. Discovery Channel had paid the Department of Antiquities a half million dollars for the privilege of filming the event, which would be held at night and preceded by a tour of the tomb itself. Only qualified bidders who had posted a good-faith deposit of one million dollars were allowed on the scene, so the live television show would be watched by literally millions of people around the globe, most of whom could ever otherwise hoped to have seen the tomb and its contents.
The captain’s voice came through the overhead speakers, announcing landing in about twenty minutes. People around Brian began shutting down laptops, stowing carry-on luggage above their seats and retrieving jackets. Brian stood and pulled a topcoat out of the storage bin. He’d need it in the December weather after he landed.
Chapter Eight
Luggage came through more quickly than usual and Brian was in a cab headed for Manhattan within thirty minutes after landing. It was noon and snow was falling steadily. The roadways were a slushy mess and the cab driver complained in broken English about how lousy the weather was in New York.
Truth was, Brian loved cold weather. Dallas summers made him irritable and he hated the sticky feeling you had all the time when it was a hundred degrees in the shade. He looked outside at the dark day and watched the snow fall as the cab made its way from Queens into the Midtown Tunnel, then out on Manhattan island. Turning north on Third Avenue, they moved slowly uptown to the mid-fifties, winding over to Fifth Avenue and stopping at the address Brian had given the driver. It had taken nearly an hour to get to town from the airport.
He paid the driver, stepped from the cab, and retrieved his briefcase and rolling bag. He walked to the entrance where a small sign instructed him to press a button to request entrance to Bijan Rarities.
A buzzer sounded and a guard opened the door. Brian entered the room and was immediately enraptured. Directly in front of him was a full-size replica of the sarcophagus of the lost pharaoh Inkharaton. It was incredibly beautiful. He paused, setting down his cases as he stared at it.
A young lady walked to him. “Good afternoon. May I help you?”
He gave her his business card and asked for Darius Nazir, telling her he was a little early for his appointment. She advised him that Nazir was still at lunch and the weather was slowing everything down, but he was certainly expecting Brian and would be back shortly. She unlocked Nazir’s cramped office, where he dropped off his coat and luggage and returned to the showroom.
He was like a kid at the circus. The place was tastefully decorated and only thirty or so objects were displayed. It looked like a museum. Each artifact was in its own Plexiglas case or on a pedestal. A discreet card noted its description and selling price. Besides the girl who had greeted him, a man in his twenties worked at a desk toward the back of the showroom.
He stood before a beautiful silver knife that dated from the third century B.C., the time of Alexander the Great. It had been found in a cache of treasures at Alexandria, Egypt, the city founded by the hero. Although he knew no artifacts had ever been linked to Alexander himself, Brian liked the way Bijan created the mystique and possibility that this very relic could have been held in the hands of Alexander. He glanced at the card for a price. In small letters at the bottom were the letters P.O.R. Price on request. If you can afford to come in here the price is not likely to be an issue.
A quiet bell rang and Brian turned to see a man standing at the entrance. The security guard buzzed him in. The man was in his mid-sixties, dressed in a dark three-piece suit and overcoat. He strode purposefully to Brian and said, “I’m Darius Nazir. It’s nice to see you.”
“Thank you. How did you know who I was?”
“Oh, Collette called me on my mobile to let me know you’d arrived and hopefully to rush me up a bit!” The girl smiled from across the room.
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��Come, come,” Nazir told him, removing his coat. “Have you met Jason, my other assistant?” The young man shook hands with Brian, took Nazir’s coat and his umbrella and whisked them away.
“Pardon the mess in my office. You may have heard we have an auction coming up shortly,” he said with a smile. “Lately I’m finding myself spending a lot of time on it.”
Brian tried to place his accent. His English was flawless and cultured. Maybe Oxford or Cambridge.
They talked about the Inkharaton sarcophagus. Nazir was impressed by Brian’s knowledge. Brian explained that it was as much an interest in ancient relics in general as it was research for this project that had caused him to read the lengthy article about Inkharaton.
Collette opened the door, stuck in her head and said, “Coffee, anyone?”
“I need to warn you that the coffee is Turkish,” Nazir advised. “It’s very strong but it’s perfect on a cold day like this.”
Soon they were both having coffee in small cups. They had dispensed with last names, and now were Brian and Darius.
“I’d like to know the level of interest Warren Taylor and Currant has in my proposal,” Darius Nazir said at last.
“Let me ask you a couple of questions first. There’s something I’d like to know. How did you find our firm and what other investment banks are you working with? The reason I ask is that we certainly aren’t well known in the northeast, nor have we ever done an offering for a firm remotely like yours.”
“Two fair questions,” Nazir responded, sitting back in his chair and folding his hands across his vest. “Although part of what I do for a living is auctions, I don’t believe personally in having too many people in a deal at one time. What may work for selling the Greek vase out on the floor doesn’t necessarily work for selling Inkharaton’s sarcophagus. I think you must gear the deal toward the situation you’re facing.”
Brian Sadler Archaeological Mysteries BoxSet Page 12