“True: the only thing real in there was the video.”
“No, the three cylinders I produced were not the ones I took from the bank vault.”
Jazz did a double take. “Why do you imagine that I would believe that you would do something like that?”
“Because it’s true, Jazz, I lied back there.” He paused. “I know this is difficult for you.”
“Difficult? It’s impossible.”
“What I told you in Newcastle is true. Dad was on to something. The conspiracy did not start with the Turin Shroud. The Ancient Egyptians began the first cover-up when they claimed they built the Great Pyramid.”
She searched his face for some sign of a breakdown. He seemed remarkably calm.
A few yards in front of her two squirrels chased each other along the grass. She envied them.
“I concocted the whole charade.”
Her eyes widened. “You are nuts.”
“I made it up because Cara is working for the Ghost Stealers.”
She gulped trying to drink in air. Her lungs felt like they were closing in on her. “Have you any idea what you’ve just said?” One of the squirrels ran up a tree. The other followed.
“It must sound pretty off the wall.”
“Off the wall? More like the only way is chaos.”
“I have thought about it for a while.”
“Chaos? I bet you have. Cara is married to Hassid, your cousin. Why on earth do you think she is against us?”
“Marriage is not always associated with love. It’s often about convenience.”
“This is the twenty-first century, not the tenth. Cara is an intelligent modern woman. She would never do anything for convenience.”
“You are forgetting Dad’s first principle.”
She threw up her hands. “Lie first, last and every time.”
“Appearances are often a cloak for deception. Just look at the pyramid; it started off as a glorious light. You could see its radiance from the moon. You wouldn’t know that, looking at it now.”
She shook her head. “Dad rigged the cylinders to vindicate himself. With the papyri destroyed, there was always the possibility he might have been on to something. They future proofed his reputation.”
“He didn’t destroy them, I did but they weren’t the originals. I have the genuine unopened cylinders. You don’t have to believe me, I can show you them.”
Seeds of doubt sprouted inside her, germinating from a deep bed of guilt and confusion. “Go on, I’m listening.”
“Cara chased Hassid. She was determined to marry him.”
“Shock, horror.” She pulled a face remembering Nemo and the email.
“Hear me out, Jazz. When dad was imprisoned I confided in Hass.”
Jazz watched the squirrels disappear from view.
“Mostly we talked about the frame-up. I was more cautious after Dad was released from jail – he was pretending to have Alzheimer’s.”
“Pretending! Cara and Hassid were pretty convinced. The video was also a clincher.”
“An act.”
“Why would your mother go along with it?”
“She loved Dad; she wanted to protect me.”
“And Saffa?”
“Saffa was a red herring. Do you really think I needed my mum to fight my corner with a woman?” He laughed.
“Did you write the letter you said Dad had written?”
“Of course not, why would I? Why would I come to see you in Newcastle? For this?” He shook his head. “The last thing I wanted to do was to hurt you, Jazz. Our father loved you; my mother understood that you were important. She was the one who made him buy your house. They were people of principle, not deception.”
She scuffed her feet in the dirt, painfully aware that she had dismissed her father once.
“A man who worked for the company I work for was killed in a car accident this morning.”
“What?” she shrieked.
“He was spying on me. That’s not all: I’m pretty sure I was followed from the airport. You were probably trailed too… or perhaps not, if Cara works for them.”
Jazz stood up. “You can’t seriously believe she’s spying on you?”
“It’s a possibility. She chased Hassid pretty hard when she first met him, yet she was virtually married to another guy called Akhoum. They lived together. She hated archaeology, so why go to Hass’s lecture? She made it her business to meet him. You are the one who believes in patterns. It’s hardly predictable; hates archaeology, turns up at lecture.”
Jazz flopped on to the bench. Hassid’s photograph had drawn Cara to his lecture. If she had lived with someone, why would a photograph draw her to a lecture she hated? Jazz remembered the photograph with her father when she was five. She groaned, suddenly exhausted. “This is crazy.”
“Crazy but true; I have the original three canisters. Make up your own mind when you read them.”
Jazz searched his face for answers. There were none. More than anything she wanted the past she never had.
“You really have another three canisters?”
He smiled. “In my briefcase, in the trunk of the car. I thought perhaps we could go to a hotel tonight.”
“A hotel?” Jazz fought back insane associations.
“We need somewhere neutral, a place to duck under everyone’s radar. Someone is watching the house. He is good, but not that good. He is parked in the next street. He uses a mirror to watch who comes and goes.”
“Then won’t he see us if we leave?”
“If he follows us, it will prove my theory.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“Someone else could be tailing us.” His smile widened into a grin. “I don’t blame you for being suspicious.”
“Suspicious!” she shrieked back at him.
“I won’t insult you by asking you to trust me. When we open the canisters, you be the judge.”
“Won’t it look odd, leaving?”
“Cara knows how upset you are. She realises you need some space and time. Checking into a hotel gives you that.”
“Why? As far as Hassid and Cara are concerned our father just let me down again.”
“Exactly why you need time to think if you want to stay for the memorial.”
She pulled a face. “It’s a little lame. I don’t think Cara or Hassid expect there to be a memorial.”
“You have received some bad news about Dad. Cara won’t question it, if she is genuine. She will want you to do what you want. If she isn’t, she will have us followed. She will have to break cover.”
Jazz thought about it. She had misjudged her father once. She did not want to be guilty of the same thing twice. “Okay… but if those canisters aren’t there I’m on the first plane back to Newcastle.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The drive to the hotel was conducted in uncomfortable silence. Jazz had a crick in her neck from craning through the back window searching for possible tails. Finally, she had to say something.
“We aren’t being followed.”
“My guess is that he is already there.”
“Where?”
“At the Cairo Plaza; Cara asked where we were going.”
“I don’t believe it. Besides, if you think that, why go there?”
He sighed. “A process of elimination, I need to be absolutely sure. We will find out shortly – we’re here.”
She looked up. The hotel had the flags of the world draped from the façade. The car park was pretty crowded.
“I can’t see anyone.”
He looked through his rear view mirror. “There is a car parked on the opposite side of the street.”
“It could be anyone’s.” She wondered if she should open the car door and run.
“We can’t take any chances.”
They took two taxis and walked through another two hotels before finally settling on the Pyramid Hotel. The name came from the inspirational view from their bedroom.
Franc
isco checked them in as Mr and Mrs Sotans and demanded twin beds. The receptionist concurred, but neglected to mention that the beds were almost glued together.
He caught Jazz’s despairing look as they entered the room, and laughed. “I’ll call room service and get wine and sandwiches.” He shook his head, pointing to the beds. “We may be step-brother and sister but neither of us wants to be that close. I’ll sort out the sleeping arrangements if you want to take a bath.” He scratched his chin. “It will help you to relax.”
Jazz headed for the bathroom. Luxuriating in a warm bath was an infinite improvement on staring at the beds.
The bath made her feel physically better, but the idea of Francisco’ waiting in the bedroom was unnerving. She ignored the white fluffy robe hanging from the bathroom door and instead put on the same clothes she had worn earlier.
He was pouring wine as she entered. She glanced at the beds, relieved that they were now a good metre apart.
“I ordered goat’s cheese, yogurt and pitta bread. Hass’s meal was great, but we barely started on it. I’m still hungry. I hope it’s okay with you?”
“To be honest, I feel quite sick.” She gulped at the wine.
“Steady on, you need to eat something to soak up the alcohol.”
He offered her the pitta bread and cheese. “I’m sorry, Jazz, this must seem a bit OTT.”
She stared at him. It was a full minute before she finally spoke, “I want the truth. If the canisters are empty, I’m on the next flight out of here.”
“No worries about flights.” He picked up his briefcase and opened it.
Jazz gasped. The canister he pulled out looked remarkably like the others.
“Don’t worry, this is the real deal.”
He registered the look of disbelief on her face. “Don’t take my word for it, take Dad’s.”
She immediately felt guilty as he twisted the canister lid open and slid the papyrus out.
A flicker of disappointment swept across Francisco’s face. “It looks hundreds of years old, not thousands.”
He handed it to her. “Will you read it?”
She unrolled the paper, then screwed up her face.
“What is it?”
“It claims to be an English translation of a French translation. It’s dated 1799.”
“Really?” he rubbed his hands together, then stood up, his eyes brightening with excitement. “The year the Rosetta Stone, the code-breaker for the Ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics, was discovered. The Greek text wasn’t translated until 1803. Popular translations did not surface until 1822. If this is genuine, whoever translated it believed it was important enough to translate it from Egyptian into Greek, then French, and finally English. Officially, it took months for experts to decipher the stone. It was nearly two decades before translations became public.”
Jazz briefly wondered how he knew this. “Weren’t the French and English fighting each other then? Why would a Frenchman translate it into English, even if they managed to decipher it before anyone officially did?”
“Good question.”
“It must be fake. No Frenchman in his right mind would translate it for an Englishman when they were at war.”
“It’s too obvious an error to be a fake.” Jazz pulled a face.
“Perhaps if you read it we’ll learn more.”
She took another sip of wine. “Okay, here goes.
“This is a true copy of an ancient papyrus found in the sacred site of Amarna.”
She looked at him for clarification.
“Amarna is the place where Nefertiti and her husband built the new capital of Egypt; the provenance is excellent.”
“You’re clutching at straws: the forger would know that.”
“Let’s try to keep an open verdict, Jazz, please read on.”
“From behind the light comes the one true God of the sky and earth. Those who seek the truth will find it. We must revere all the creatures of the earth. Nefertiti led us out of the land of Egypt to preserve the faith. It is written that he who came from the stars showed us the truth and will return.
Kasha, the living son of Nommo, drank from the sacred water that held the life blood of Nommo. He understood what we cannot see. His ancient blood flows through our great Queen Nefertiti. She led us out of the pagan land of Egypt to create a new life, to allow us to worship the true God we dare not name.”
She glanced at Francisco. “Hassid talked about Nommo. The person who wrote this is talking about the Dogon beliefs. According to Hassid, they are an obscure African tribe whose beliefs came to light only recently.”
“Exactly; so how could anyone make such an absurd link unless it was true?” He held out his hand. “Can I see the document?”
“We can’t prove it was written at the end of the eighteenth century.” She handed it to him. “It’s got Dad’s authorship all over it. There is one big mistake.”
“What?” Francisco was puzzled.
“The document claims to be a copy of one found in Amarna, yet it talks about Nefertiti leading her people out of Egypt. That’s impossible.”
“It could be a mistake made by the person who copied it.”
“Or a mistake by Dad.”
Francisco shook his head. “The ink, paper, even the writing looks late eighteenth century or early nineteenth century; if it is a fake, it’s not Dad’s doing.”
“That’s your opinion.” She smoothed a crease in her dress. “Is it true that no one knows where Nefertiti came from?”
“Records were destroyed. Her mummy has never been found.”
“Do you really think she could have led her people out of Egypt?”
“Why make it up? It’s so bizarre.”
“And because it’s bizarre you think it’s genuine? You can make anything fit or not fit a premise. Whoever wrote this could have made it up.”
“Why link Nefertiti with the Dogons’ ideas unless it’s true?” He studied the pained expression on her face.
“Trust me on this, Jazz. We should read the next one; it will prove it’s genuine.” Francisco smiled confidently as he picked up the other canister. “Do you want to read it or shall I?”
“I need to think. If this is true, the implications are immense.” She watched him carefully extract the document from the canister. It looked much older.
He scanned the papyrus. “It’s written in Akkadian, an ancient Semitic language native to western Asia and north Africa. It is around three thousand years old. Give me a minute to translate it.”
“You read Akkadian?”
“Dad taught me. I hated learning it when I was young but now I see why he did.”
She watched as he pored over the document. Finally, he looked up. “It’s not word perfect, but here goes.”
“‘I am afraid to commit my thoughts to the written word, yet I must. It is more than three hundred years since our great Queen died. When Nefertiti led her people out of Egypt, she was revered by everyone. No one thought to question the role of women. Now the old ways are forgotten; our world is dominated by men. My father, a scribe, taught me to write. In the olden days, when Nefertiti lived she espoused respect for every living creature. Now women are little more than slaves to the whims and ideas of men. Everyone wants to forget about Nommo.
Nommo came from the water. He spoke to Kasha and brought our people peace. In this man’s world the fish, the symbol of peace, is forgotten. When we left Egypt, we were afraid. The High Priests did not want the worship of a single God to be continued. They hunted us down, forcing us to hide and disguise our religion.
Our God has no shape or name. He is the omnipotent presence who rules the heavens and the earth and the darkness beyond.
The Egyptians were afraid. They preferred gods they could relate to, with heads of animals and the bodies of birds. Our exodus from our mother country was born from desperation.
For thousands of years, we were outcasts in our land. The Egyptian pharaohs and high priests changed the truth to s
uit their need for power. The Glorious Light, built on the plain of Giza is the last echo of the old ways. The Sphinx, which dominates the plain, once bore the head of mighty Nommo.’”
Jazz spluttered, choking on her wine. “This is too far-fetched, even for me. Dad wrote it.”
Francisco shook his head slowly. “I don’t blame you for doubting it, but Dad didn’t write it. There is a mountain of circumstantial evidence which supports what I’m saying.”
“Such as?” She looked at him warily.
“Most archaeologists maintain that the head on the Sphinx is not the original. It could have been Nommo’s head.”
“Are you kidding me? The Sphinx has a lion’s body; besides, we’re talking about Nefertiti.”
“The papyri refer to something much older than Nefertiti. She was a catalyst. Try to forget what you think you know about the past.”
“Dad could have faked this.”
“Try to forget what you think you know about Dad.”
She ran her fingers through her hair. “That’s hard; for most of my life I was judgmental about him.”
“Now is your chance to put it right.”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure I can; that video really freaked me out.”
“Trust me, Jazz.” He tried to catch her gaze, but she was resolutely staring at the food on the table.
“Let’s take it step by step and examine the evidence to support Nommo’s existence.”
She put up her hands. “Are you saying you believe this stuff about an alien landing?”
“I’m trying to follow a logical argument. If Nommo landed, he did not hang around long.”
“Why?”
“There is no evidence of a prolonged alien presence on earth; just as there is no evidence of an Israeli presence in Egypt outside of the Bible.”
Jazz screwed up her face. Walking on the weird side was a familiar path. All she had to do was throw away her tried and tested image of her father. She shuddered, remembering the video of an old man she never knew.
“Let’s imagine Kasha witnessed an alien landing. Not everyone would believe him.” He looked at Jazz. “You know how it feels to doubt and be doubted. Religious history is littered with prophets cast out into the wilderness.”
The Ghost Reapers Page 13