She looked around. “Why settle in Giza? It’s such a barren place.”
He rubbed his chin, checking the new growth of stubble. “It wasn’t always arid. The Sphinx once looked over the fastest and most powerful stretch of water known to man. The flooding of the Nile when it reached Giza coincided with the helical rising of Sirius, the one day in the year on which Sirius outshone the sun.”
“A sun behind the sun with as much, or more, power; that’s interesting.”
“In those days, the land was called KMT, meaning “black land”. Archaeologists believe it got its name from the silt that washed on to the land when the Nile spilled its banks.”
“You sound sceptical.”
“Silt is red, not black; why call it black land?”
“I take it you have another theory?”
“People say it’s because of the people who lived there. It could equally be some sort of evocation of dark matter.”
“Or black people lived there.”
“It could be both. The people who carved the Sphinx and erected the pyramids would have a distant memory of anything learned from the alien landing.”
Jazz puffed out her cheeks. “Why construct something with the body of a lion, if they wanted to create Nommo’s image?”
“They fell into the same trap as others who manipulated the truth. The lion is a more powerful image than a fish.”
She nodded slowly. “It makes a weird sort of sense. Do you really think this is the alternative history of the world which was suppressed by the Ancient Egyptians?”
“It might be a lot closer to the truth than the one we are familiar with.”
“What’s in this document could change everyone’s lives forever. We have to read more.”
Francisco needed no further encouragement, as he peered at the document. “Where was I? Ah yes, here we are:
‘Nommo’s head signified the known wisdom of the world. His body was fish-like because we came from the water. When the Sphinx was carved it was submerged in water but shaped in the form of a lion to signify strength.’”
Jazz held up her hand. “Wait; you can’t carve something if it’s submerged in water.”
He read on, ignoring her protest. “‘The men who rule speak of a different past. They say a man, not Nefertiti, led us out of the land of Egypt. They call him Musa.’”
“Moses!” She slapped her head. “The Hebrew name for Moses means drawn out of the water. This is huge. It changes everything: the Jews, the Palestinians – everything. It can’t possibly be true. It’s some sort of sick joke. Dad is having a laugh. Somehow he thought this tirade of lies would vindicate him.” Jazz put her head in her hands
“It’s hard to believe; even I’m struggling and I’m prepared.” Francisco put the papyrus down.
She looked up “Hard to believe! How can anyone be prepared for Nefertiti, not Moses, leading the Exodus out of Egypt?”
“Dad broached the possibility of Nefertiti leading the Exodus out of Egypt when he was alive.”
“I bet he did. If this is true, there are no Ten Commandments. There is no Jewish history’. She clenched her fists ‘If Moses did not exist, God could not have talked to him…”
She thought about what she had said, then pulled a face. “Can’t you see? Dad prepared you, to convince me it was true.”
“I promised him I would only open the cylinders if you agreed. I didn’t know about this; Dad didn’t make it up.”
“Do you honestly believe it?”
He sighed. “I was sceptical when Dad first discussed his theories. I did some checking on my own. There are no actual stones with the Ten Commandments inscribed on them.”
“And?”
“The story about Moses being an Israelite who was rescued by an Egyptian noble woman is pretty flimsy. There is no independent evidence of an Israelite presence in Ancient Egypt. Evidence of Moses’ existence is derived from the Bible; even it acknowledges that he was brought up by Egyptians.”
He paused, letting his words sink in before adding: “You said the Hebrew name Moses means drawn out of the water. Nommo was drawn from the lake he created. Horus too spent time in the bulrushes. Religion is all about building on old traditions and myths.”
Jazz remembered the statue of Isis and Horus in the Hancock, and nodded as Francisco continued.
“The Jewish Bible began in around 600 BC when the Jews were under Babylonian rule. The Jewish version of events we are familiar with was written decades after Christ’s crucifixion. More significantly, the Bible claims that the Jews were a nomadic race when they left Egypt.”
“The twelve tribes of Israel.”
“Ten of whom were lost. If God spoke directly to Moses, why did his people react by splitting up? If he did speak, what language did he use? Did they write the commandments down in hieroglyphics? The Bible gives no time period for when the Exodus took place. You have to question whether it really happened.
“A significant amount of archaeological evidence indicates that many of the so-called Israelites were polytheists, not monotheists. Statues found around the twelfth century BC purport to be the god Baal. Interestingly, the statues of Baal look a lot like Akhenaten, Nefertiti’s husband.
“Israelis’ history in its current format began more than six hundred years later.”
“How do you know this?”
“Dad told me.” He saw the sceptical look on her face. “I also researched it. The facts checked out.”
She poured more wine as he continued.
“The name ‘Israel’ first appears in 1,209 BC in the stele of the Egyptian Pharaoh Merneptah. He wanted to lay Israel to waste, so its seed was no more. I paraphrase, but you get the gist.”
She gave him a blank smile, still trying to get her head around Moses being Nefertiti.
“Why did the Pharaoh try to annihilate the Jews?”
“Do you really expect me to answer that?” He grinned. “The Jews were scraping a living from a hostile land. There was no necessity for powerful Egypt to eliminate a nomadic nation of shepherds. Why would a pharaoh bother to inscribe his actions for posterity? Our historical records don’t add up.”
“Meaning?”
“The Moses story is a fabrication. The Egyptians knew Nefertiti led people out of Egypt to ensure the survival of what she believed in. Every Egyptian outside of Nefertiti’s court wanted to obliterate any sign of the old beliefs.
It’s why the Pharaoh put it on the stele: to be remembered as the Pharaoh who destroyed the old beliefs.”
“You mean the religion of Nommo?”
“No one worshipped Nommo, although this papyrus indicates they were going down that road. The realisation that beyond the planet there was something greater than mankind was terrifying. Many people would be in denial. Kasha’s tribe could have turned him out as an outcast because they did not understand.”
“Do you believe this?” Jazz screwed up her face.
“I was brought up by my father, scepticism is in my genes.”
“Then why accept this? Scepticism is in my genes too.” Jazz ventured a smile.
“Dad prepared me; I’m also familiar with the concept of dark matter and dark energy. Remember, we didn’t know either existed until 1998 and we still don’t know what they are. Everything we know about space is changing. The idea of aliens visiting our planet is logical, not fantasy, so why can’t the so-called facts about the past change too?”
“I get that, but it’s a lot to take in. What will it do to people if this is true and it gets out?”
“I’m not sure.” Francisco looked beyond her to the pyramids.
If it’s true, the Jews and Palestinians cannot argue about religion and land anymore.”
“Would that be a bad thing?”
“It won’t be a peaceful transition. Traditions and cultures will be destroyed in an instant.”
“Isn’t that why the Ghost Stealers exist: to maintain the status quo? Dad wanted us to reveal the truth.”
“It’s Cara.”
“So?” Jazz had almost forgotten about Francisco’s previous accusations.
“She has no reason to call, except to track where we are.”
“It’s your mobile, she can’t possibly locate you.”
“She can if she has a trace on the IP address.”
“Are you serious?”
He rubbed his hand down his face, suddenly looking tired. “I don’t know what I think any more, but I have to stop guessing.”
“Hi, Cara.” He sounded nonchalant; only the bulging veins on his neck revealed his tension.
Jazz tuned away, still thinking about Moses. If people had revered Nefertiti after death, ego alone could not supersede her. Her people wouldn’t change the sex of the person who had led Egyptians out of Egypt.
The Egyptians had tried to destroy the impotent Israelis. Why? They were not a threat. Something did not make sense. Was it possible her father had made the whole thing up? If he had, why had he done it? She shuddered, knowing that her world had flipped irrevocably.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Cairo, three hours earlier
Akhoum lit his third cigarette, trying to process new and worrying information. Acting on Cara’s report, Abdul had rung to confirm that two suspects were heading for the Cairo Plaza. Abdul’s ignorance of Alistair’s order to stake out Cara, then track Jazz and Francisco, meant something had to give.
The couple in question had entered the hotel fifteen minutes earlier. Francisco had his briefcase with him, but his overnight bag was still in the boot of the car.
Akhoum ground the cigarette butt into the tarmac and headed towards the hotel.
An uncomfortable feeling snaked through him as he made his way through the entrance sheathed in smoked glass. He offered the receptionist a beaming smile. “I’m supposed to meet Francisco Santos here. He has a consultant with him; her name is Jazz. They probably checked in sometime in the last half an hour. I’m a little early. Would you call them to see if they want to join me for a drink in the bar?”
The young woman shook her head as she scanned the room list.
“I am sorry, sir, no one of that name has checked in. In fact, no one has checked in for the last couple of hours.”
Akhoum’s smile widened. “I must have my Plaza’s mixed up. No worries; as I said I was early anyway.”
He walked back to his car and slunk into the driver’s seat as he pulled out his iPad and pressed the only number on it.
Abdul hugged his rolls of fat as he watched his two grandchildren playing in the garden. He had built the play area six years earlier, for the birth of his first grandson, Omar. The good lighting meant they could run around in the cool of the evening. It was his favourite time of day; starry nights and a place where he could smoke his beloved cigars, without his wife nagging about his health.
“Grandpappy, will you play ball with us? Omar won’t play fair.”
Abdul returned Jacinth’s smile as he rubbed his knee. “My old war wound is acting up. We must go in when I finish my cigar.”
The girl’s face dropped “Can’t we stay longer, Pappy?” She gently tugged his long grey beard.
“We have that story about the dragons to read before you go to sleep.”
He sucked on his cigar and blew blue smoke into the night air as she ran off towards Omar.
Seconds later, his momentary happiness was shattered by the old fashioned ringtone of his mobile. His heart thumped against his ribs as he answered.
“Akhoum, what is it?”
“Francisco tricked me into thinking he had checked into a hotel. He went out the back entrance. I fell for it. I have no idea where he is.”
Abdul tossed his cigar onto the ground and pummelled it with his sandal, wondering how Akhoum had reached the hotel so quickly. His apartment was a good hour’s drive away. “He has the canisters otherwise he would not have risked breaking cover.” He smiled. “Whatever is in them is important. With luck, we can finally complete the circle.”
“What circle?”
“The circle of evidence.”
“Luck? You know what’s in the canisters, don’t you?” Doubt trailed his question.
Abdul sighed. “I can guess the contents of two. I believe a map is in the third. Things were confused after Napoleon’s troops entered Egypt. Hence the reason our American cousins, the Reformers, ostensibly run the show on behalf of Nommo. I must keep them in the loop, even though I don’t trust them to handle this. It needs steady hands on the stern.”
Akhoum swallowed hard. “Alistair called me. I’ve been tracking Jazz since she got here.”
“Isn’t it the English who say you can’t run with the hare and shoot with the hounds?”
“I rang you, not Alistair. He won’t be happy when he knows I rang you.”
“I’ll take care of Alistair. Our main priority is Francisco. Once we locate him, keep tabs on him; we can’t afford any more slip-ups. In the meantime, call Cara.”
“Cara?”
“She must call Francisco; once he answers we can get a reading on where he is.”
“Alistair won’t like it if he knows you asked me to call her.”
“He asked you to keep tabs on her. What difference does it make if I do the same? No more questions, Akhoum; get back to me the second you know something.”
He clicked off, then waved to Omar and Jacinth. “Good news, Pappy has to make another call so you can stay here and play.”
Half listening to their whoops of delight, he pressed Michael’s number.
Michael was watching his favourite documentary about the Amazon rainforest. It reminded him of his youth, when he had visited the Amazon. Those days were over. Two divorces and alimony payments later he now faced his third. He no longer had the appetite for arguing over money. She could take the lot for all he cared. He did not want to see her unlined porcelain face anymore. The surgery made her look older and uglier than she was. His buzzing mobile interrupted his thoughts.
“Abdul?”
“Matters are escalating. We need to call a meeting of Hawwa tonight.”
“Tonight! Do you realise what time it is?”
“You are getting too old for yourself.”
“Aren’t we all?”
“Look, I don’t have time for this. Call the other two. I will meet you at the shop in half an hour. I have to get people organised.”
“What would we do without you, Abdul?”
“It is good you have me – see you in half an hour.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Precisely forty-five minutes later, Abdul shuffled uneasily outside his beloved bookshop. The green lettering spelling the name Hawwa that hung above the window drew no one’s attention. Its Arab-Hebrew name meant “Eve” in the Christian world. Almost fifty-three years earlier, when he had opened for business, he had told anyone who had asked that the shop was named after his great-grandmother. No one had suspected that it was a euphemism for Nefertiti.
He inserted the old copper key into the lock and turned it. Assam was right, it needed oil. He made a mental note to tell his son to put some on it when he saw him in the morning. Nowadays, Assam took care of the day to day business of old books, allowing Abdul to focus on his daughter’s children and his memories.
Abdul breathed in deeply. He loved the smell of old books. In the back room the computer screen glinted back at him as he turned on the neon light. He made his way to the Lebanese oak cabinet, and took out four Waterford crystal brandy glasses, along with a half full decanter. He poured himself a finger, then sat down to wait.
Michael was the first to arrive. His long sticklike figure reminded Abdul of the Grim Reaper. As he rose to embrace him, he tugged at his beard.
“Be careful, my old friend, if you keep dying it you will have a purple one.”
Michael grinned, revealing a perfect set of white capped teeth. “I stopped t
hat a week ago. I want to look my age.”
Abdul raised his bushy eyebrows. “Trouble in paradise?”
“Isn’t there always? This time it’s terminal.”
“I am so sorry.” Abdul shook his head.
“Don’t be; Elsa is going back to New York. Two of our sons are there; all we’re arguing about is the divorce. I’m not sure I want to pay the lawyers what’s left of my fortune, but she’s adamant. Someone else is lurking in the shadows.”
Abdul sighed as he rubbed his stomach. “There are always shadows. I am grateful that Abrar and I found contentment in each other. It will soon be our fiftieth wedding anniversary.”
“You are one of the lucky ones.”
Michael turned as the door behind him swung open. He was relieved to see Antony and Alexis, neither of whom would want to discuss marriage. “Welcome, gentlemen, this is a rare treat; Abdul is offering his finest brandy.” He raised the decanter as Alexis and Anthony shuffled into the room.
“I see the Mother Superior is feeding you well, Anthony. Perhaps you should give Alexis some food parcels.”
Anthony’s pork pie eyes were washed out; his stomach hung stubbornly over his belt like a lump of pork belly as he sat down. “You can talk, and call me Tony; Anthony is for the Church.”
Abdul patted his rolls of fat. “My wife is a great cook.”
“Mine too,” Alexis countered, acutely aware of his stick-thin frame. “We eat healthy vegetables, not red meat.”
“Am I mistaken? I thought we were here for business, not domesticity.” Michael swirled the brandy in his glass.
“My diabetes is playing up.” Tony took the generous glass of brandy Abdul handed him.
“You mean your mistress is giving you hell. If your Church allowed marriage there would be a lot of happy priests.” Alexis grinned as they clinked glasses.
“We did not choose this job, it chose us. What does it matter what the Church or synagogue says? It’s all hocus pocus.”
“As usual, you are right, Michael. I called you here tonight because of the security breach.” Abdul’s solemn tone cut through the banter.
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