“I needed to think.” She took a sip of wine.
“Who wouldn’t? I dreamt of weird fish men.” She threw her husband a quizzical look before returning her attention to Jazz. “Hassid has promised to be on his best behaviour tonight; no more diatribes.”
He crossed his heart, then turned as the sound of car tyres on the gravel drive drew his attention.
Jazz stepped back and then sat down, leaving Hassid and Cara to scurry towards the door. She listened to their happy shrieks of greeting, wondering if it was more appropriate to shake Francisco’s hand or to air-kiss?
As he strode into the room, his eyes alighted on her. She wondered why, whenever he made an appearance, he wrong-footed her? He was wearing the same pristine black jeans and sweater she had last seen him in. She imagined he had a wardrobe full of them.
“You made it. I hope my cousin has shown you some good Egyptian hospitality?”
He had forgotten how fragile she was. The next few days would be testing.
Jazz stood, and immediately wished she hadn’t. “The best. I’m so grateful to you for your kindness.”
“No need.” The puzzled look in her eyes prompted him to add, “You are here; Dad’s wish will shortly be granted.”
“Don’t put so much pressure on her, Francisco. Let’s eat. I made lamb the way you like it. There is spiced spinach, and a mint yogurt and an apricot and pine nut dressing to go with it.” Hassid patted his cousin’s back.
“Lead me to the food. I brought a couple of bottles of Cristal to celebrate, but I rather fancy one of those good Egyptian reds you keep for special occasions.”
“I thought you might. I opened a couple earlier, they should be perfect by now.” Hass grinned back at him.
As they settled into dinner, Jazz contented herself with devouring the succulent, exotically spiced lamb, waiting until the conversation switched to something she could relate too.
“What happened to you on the way to the forum? You should have been here at least an hour ago. Your plane was thirty minutes early. I checked on the net.” Cara’s question got her attention.
“I wasn’t sure how long it would take me.” He grinned back at her.
She laughed. “Not true, you were doing something else. Must you be so enigmatic, Francisco?”
“You know you like it. If you must know, I went to the bank to empty my dad’s safety deposit box, in compliance with his dying wishes.”
“Sometimes I wonder if you aren’t suffering from early dementia yourself. When are you going to face it? Your dad was well on his way to gaga-land when I first met him, and that was years ago. How could you possibly know what he wanted?” Her light-hearted challenge hung uneasily between them.
Francisco wiped his chin with the Egyptian cotton napkin. “Hopefully the onset of my dementia is some way off, Cara. Dad had moments of lucidity through the fog of confusion; besides, I knew about the vault from being a kid.”
“He left specific instructions so long ago?” Cara leant across to help herself to more lamb before passing the plate to Jazz.
“He was a meticulous planner.”
“So what were they?”
“I could only open the box locked in the vault if Jazz was with me, et voilà.” He glanced at Jazz, whose cheeks were turning pink.
“You went there today without her.” Hassid looked at him a little uncertainly.
“To retrieve the contents, which is the evidence we need to prove Dad’s theories of a massive cover-up when Nefertiti was alive were true. I haven’t looked at anything, I swear. Jazz is here, isn’t she: I wanted to open them with my family, just as Dad decreed it.”
The food was delicious, but suddenly no one was interested in it.
“Where is it?” Cara shrieked at him.
“It’s they – plural. The canisters are in my overnight bag; I thought we could finish eating before I got them out. I guess it’s out of the question now.”
“Damn right it is. Where the hell did you leave the bag?” Hassid stood up.
“It’s in the living room.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
The grey bag was propped against the chair Francisco had sat on. No one dared to breathe as he unzipped it and pulled out a smaller briefcase, which held an old box. He glanced at them before opening it to retrieve an aluminium cylinder.
“There are three in total.”
“I was expecting ancient documents.” Cara articulated everyone’s disappointment as she turned on the lights.
“Old documents have to be air-sealed to prevent their destruction.” Hassid pursed his lips. “It’s not like you to be so dense, Cara.”
“So what happens when we open them?” she snapped back.
“Not we, Jazz will open them; Dad wanted it.”
Cara gave Francisco a look. “That’s not what I meant and you know it. I was talking about the ancient documents inside.”
“Exposure to air, our polluted air, will cause damage, although hopefully not too much. With luck, we should be able to read the documents.”
“Luck? Wouldn’t it be better to let a specialist open them rather than risk their perishing once they’re exposed to our air?”
“It’s a risk we have to take. Are you ready?” He held the cylinder out to Jazz. “Dad dreamt of this moment. Do it for him, Jazz.”
Cara watched, knowing it was absurd to risk the destruction of such a valuable document. Francisco was a scientist; such a reckless act went against all his training – so why was he doing it?
Francisco moved closer as Jazz unscrewed the lid and then drew back as a rush of air hit her face. She gasped as she tilted the cylinder. Flakes of burnt paper poured on to her outstretched hand, then spiralled like feathers onto the carpet and the tiled floor.
“What the…?” Hassid yelled as he bent down to pick up the flakes.
“I’d say the papyrus was destroyed.”
“Dr. Livingstone moment: obvious or what?” Hassid shook his head at Francisco.
“Is that it? A pile of ashes?” Cara’s disappointment was mingled with scepticism.
“There are two more cylinders. Hopefully one will have an intact papyrus.” Francisco proffered a weak grin.
“You can’t risk opening another one. Whoever sealed them was probably some trainee technician who allowed the air to leak in. If the same person vacuum-sealed all three, he probably made the same mistake with the other two.”
“Let’s not give up yet, Hass.” Francisco handed Jazz another cylinder. “If the papyrus is ruined, it happened when the cylinders were sealed. Opening it now will make no difference to the fate of the papyrus.”
Jazz frowned. “Hassid is right; shouldn’t we wait and open it under proper conditions?”
“Dad wanted this.”
Seeing the hurt in his eyes, she reluctantly unscrewed the lid. Slivers of decomposed papyrus fluttered onto her outstretched palm.
“There is one more.” Francisco held it out, but Jazz shook her head.”
“I’ll do it.” Cara looked at her with concerned eyes. Jazz could not help noticing her iris, flecked with gold.
“Thanks.” She fought back tears as Cara took the cylinder from Francisco. “Let’s hope it’s third time lucky.” She unscrewed the top and peered inside. Gently she pulled out a roll of paper from the cylinder.
“Success!” She held the paper in the air.
Jazz glared at it, hoping to disappear into the ether. “I told you I was bad luck.”
Cara shrugged. “You should read it.” She handed it to her. “Your father would have wanted it.”
She stared at the unfurled parchment, then lowered her gaze, unable to look at them.
“What does it say?” Cara’s impatience spilled into her question.
“It’s not what we were expecting.”
Francisco took a step towards her, then stopped.
“The script is virtually identical to the letter I read a couple of days ago. It’s not something I would forge
t. Do you still want me to read it?”
Francisco nodded.
“‘My dear Francisco and Jazz…’” Jazz held the paper closer to her, afraid they would see her face. She coughed, fighting back tears.
“‘…The two cylinders are my legacy. I imagine you are both excited and afraid. You must decide if you want to pursue the evidence. There will be great danger. Think carefully. I will rest in peace whatever you do. I believe the man who vacuum-sealed them did an excellent job. He was a trusted friend.’”
“Is that it?” Cara rolled her eyes.
Jazz nodded, wishing there was something more to say.
“Once a faker, always a faker.” Cara pulled a face.
“What do you mean?” Francisco turned on her.
“The quip about the cylinders gives it away. He knew that whatever was in there would have perished, he must have. He probably told them not to seal it properly. It is a put-up job.” She turned towards Francisco. “It’s time you faced it, there never was any evidence.”
Hassid glowered at Cara, wishing she was not so forthright. “It’s typical of your dad to leave everything open-ended, enigmatic until the last.”
Francisco shook his head. “I don’t get it.”
Hassid picked up a piece of burnt paper and rubbed it between his thumb and forefinger.
“Papyrus grows on the Nile. It’s pretty thick stuff. This was pressed in a mill, a paper mill.”
“What are you saying, Hass?”
“Face it, Francisco.” Cara looked at him with sorrow in her dark eyes.
“Face what?”
“It’s over.” Hassid butted in before Cara could answer. “Your dad was jailed because he forged documents. No one is out there hiding our real history. Human nature, or should I say human ego, performs that task all by itself. Rulers, whoever they are, debase their ancestors. It’s a prerequisite for establishing power.”
“You can’t believe that; you knew Dad, he talked about his beliefs. You were there when he was framed.”
Hass raised his hands in a hopeless gesture as he walked over to his desk. He picked out a tablet from a locked drawer. “I can’t let you do this anymore – you can’t destroy Jazz’s life too. Your mother gave me a DVD; she wanted me to show it to you when the time was right. I had it digitalised to fit modern day technology. I can let you reinvent your own past, but you can’t do this to Jazz. She has a right to know the truth.”
They gathered around as he pressed a button, watching in silence as the screen burst into life. Francisco sneaked a look at Jazz. She was staring at the screen, watching an image of her father sitting in a wing-back chair. He was painfully thin. An elegant woman was trying to feed him. Spit drooled from his mouth. He was looking at her with vacuous eyes and pushing her away. Hass turned up the volume.
“Get away from me you whore, I don’t know you, they have sent you here to steal my money.”
Jazz looked at Francisco. “Who is she?”
“My mother. When did she give you this?” His eyes alighted accusingly on Hass.
“It was taken twelve years ago, two years before your mother died. She was afraid you were getting sucked in by this whole conspiracy theory. It ruined your father’s life. She knew how much you loved him, but she did not want the conspiracy stuff to ruin your life the way it did your father’s. Remember Saffa?”
Francisco nodded as he stole a glance at Jazz; tears were streaming down her face. “Mum wanted me to marry her. Her family were part of the old high society of Cairo.”
“You were pretty serious until Saffa found out about your dad’s jail sentence. It all blew up again when he was released. Your mother persuaded a friend to take the video. She wanted to show the world he had Alzheimer’s. She hoped it would give you your life back. I walked in when she was taking it. I knew you would hate Saffa to see it so I persuaded your mum to give it to me. I promised her I would show it to you. Your dad was a liar and a cheat. His ego was bigger than you and your mum’s. It was bigger than everyone’s.”
“Hass, I can’t believe you kept this video all this time without telling me.” Francisco hung his head, devastated.
He looked at him downcast. ‘There never was a right moment.’
Cara turned back to Jazz, picked up some flakes, and let them fall through her fingers.
Jazz was shaking. She clenched her fist, summoning up courage, then glanced at Francisco. His demeanour had shattered into small pieces.
“Dad was a fake. You have to give up on him.” Her words came out between sobs.
Francisco shook his head as he put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Jazz. Please believe me, I never meant to hurt you.”
She pushed him away, scared that if she leant into him her grief would explode.
Cara proffered a sympathetic smile, trying to think. Everything was unravelling. She had to find a way to speak to Akhoum, she could no longer wait until he got in touch with her. He would have answers, he was Abdul and Alistair’s best soldier and most decorated operative. “This is no one’s fault. You should both go for a walk to clear your heads. You two need time alone.” Cara’s voice sounded a long way off.
“Good idea.” Francisco gently nudged Jazz towards the door. ‘The air will do us good.’
Cara rewound the recent events in her head as she watched them leave. She had never seen the video of Marcos - the Alzheimer’s was real enough yet. Hassid was venomous against Marcos. He hadn’t said a word against him until then, yet all this time he had had the video.
The cylinders weren’t marked. Francisco had taken them out at random. Yet he had opened them in the order his father had expected, a father clearly suffering from advanced Alzheimer’s. Something did not add up.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The air dripped with scented jasmine as they stepped outside. It was a warm spring evening, and yet Jazz shivered.
“Are you cold?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“You are in shock. It’s at least twenty degrees. Come on, let’s walk.” Her stiffness discouraged him from taking her arm; instead they strode in a tense silence as they made their way through the grounds into a park.
To their left, a man played ball with his golden retriever. Further away, some boys kicked a football half-heartedly on a dusty football pitch.
Jazz walked along the footpath in step with Francisco, until a narrow path forked off. She followed him up the steep hill, playing back the video in her mind. When they reached the top, they stopped.
“Hass and I came here when we were kids; there was no graffiti then.” He pointed to a concrete bench sprayed with slogans, then sat down, motioning to her to join him.
“Amazing views; you can see the whole of the city from here.” Francisco turned towards her but she was staring straight in front of her. “I’m sorry, Jazz.”
“Sorry? You’re sorry? You lied to me. Pictures can’t lie; Dad had Alzheimer’s. Dad couldn’t have written the letter. You did. What I don’t get is why?”
Francisco picked up a stone and threw it. “I didn’t know about the video.”
“I bet you didn’t, thank God for Hassid.”
He scuffed the dirt with his shoes. “Actually that is not true; I did know, I just did not expect Hassid to use it now.”
Cold spears of ice crept up her spine. “Are you bona fide nuts? Do you get a kick out of hurting people? Dad had Alzheimer’s. He was a liar and a cheat. I am his mistake. I didn’t mean anything to him. Look what he did to your mother; he used me to ruin her life too.” She stood up. “Why am I sitting here? You’re more of a creep than Dad was. He couldn’t have written the letter in his state. You made it up.”
Francisco looked straight into her eyes, forcing her to turn away. “The video was a hoax; Dad didn’t have Alzheimer’s. When Dad came out of prison he was worried that no one believed in his dementia. He was concerned for our safety. His thinking had moved on; he felt Nefertiti was a key to explaining ho
w the Great Pyramid was built. It was a threat to everything Egypt stood for.”
‘How could she be? She was born almost a millennium after the pyramids were built.’
‘I meant she knew something about their origins.’
“Do you seriously expect me to believe these lies?” She looked at him in disgust.
Francisco pulled a photograph from his pocket. “Look at this.”
She waved it away. “I don’t want to. You lied about Dad. He couldn’t have written the letter to me; you did.”
“Dad wrote it. Please just look at this photograph. It shows the Great Pyramid as eight-sided. It’s the only pyramid in the world with eight sides.
Jazz stared at the photograph as Francisco continued to expound.
“It was taken from the air by a British pilot, P. Groves, in 1940. It can’t be seen from the ground except at certain times of the year. Flinders Petrie wrote about it in the late 1800s.”
“What has this got to do with Dad?”
“The concave sides could not have been seen when the pyramid was covered in limestone. The Egyptians called the pyramid Ikhet, meaning ‘glorious light’. It looked like a star on earth. You could see it from the mountains of Israel, yet the Israelites never mentioned it.
At the autumn equinox, the pyramid points to Alcyone. Alcyone is the central star of the Pleiades. The Mayans believed our solar system rotated around Alcyone in a 26,000 year period.”
“So?”
“The pyramid fits into a much bigger picture. It’s too sophisticated to have been built by a newly emerging primitive race. Dad thought Nefertiti held a key to the answers.”
“Dad had Alzheimer’s, the video proved it.”
“Mum helped Dad make the video; she wanted Hassid to spread the word about Dad’s dementia. She did not expect Hass to keep it. To be honest, I had forgotten about it.
You weren’t Dad’s mistake, you were his joy. Mum didn’t hate you and she loved Dad. Look, Jazz, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry!”
“I’m not talking about Dad. There’s no easy way to break this to you.” He took a deep breath. “Everything I did in there was a charade.”
The Ghost Reapers Page 12