The Ghost Reapers

by Jackie Ferris

  “What kind of breach?” Alexis demanded.

  “Some documents have resurfaced.”

  “Don’t we have them all?” Michael directed his question to Abdul, who pulled a face.

  “Information is haemorrhaging out of Iraq and Lebanon; an unfortunate side effect of the recent wars in the Middle East. War is the curse of Hawwa.”

  “Not all wars have bad consequences.”

  Abdul peered through jaded eyes as Michael continued: “Your memory is short. We were on different sides in the Six Day War. I found you and took you home. Without me, you would be a dead man.”

  “Forgive me; this security breach has unhinged me. I am but a shadow of the man I was.” Abdul stroked his beard.

  “More of a man than most; Hawwa is more credible than the Reformers. We will succeed.” Michael raised his glass, surprised by his passion.

  Tony joined him. “Our final act will be our greatest moment. Do you remember when we had Marcos jailed? We suspected he had authentic documents, but the Reformers were less sure.” He laughed.

  Alexis nodded. “I argued with you, because Hawwa tradition states that we have all the documents.”

  “The problem with tradition is that it often masks the truth; just look at the Ancient Egyptians. The Napoleonic invasion of Egypt revealed artefacts which raised questions no one had expected.”

  “We are all familiar with their painful repercussions: the birth of the Reformers.” Alexis sipped the cognac and grimaced.

  Abdul glared at Alexis. “The Reformers began in the Reformation. Of course, the revelations after Napoleon’s expedition gave them much greater credence.”

  Michael waved his hand. “A bunch of rich Americans will never compete with us. New evidence always rears its ugly head; thankfully, not much of it means anything. If you ask me, the most significant was the material about the Exodus which the Knights Templar unearthed in Jerusalem. It definitely put the cat among the pigeons.”

  “The Vatican made sure the Knights’ evidence disappeared.” Tony patted his stomach.

  “The Shroud still exists.” Abdul turned towards Tony.

  “It may exist, but it is deemed a fake.” Tony sniffed the brandy. “Nothing of real significance has come to light since Napoleon except a few relics in Tutankhamun’s tomb. Carnarvon took care of them. Most of the stuff seeping out of Lebanon and Iraq goes into the private collections of people who haven’t a clue about their real significance. Marcos implied things. We have no evidence he had documents. All we have are suppositions.”

  Abdul swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “We can’t ignore those suppositions, Tony. Francisco certainly isn’t. After Nefertiti’s death, history was re-written to suit men’s egos. Thankfully, not everyone wanted to deny their Egyptian heritage – or, should I say, pre-Egyptian heritage. It’s entirely possible there was another renegade group in possession of evidence which Marcos stumbled on.” Abdul was struggling to hang on to his patience as he continued.

  “It is obvious why they became Israelis. They had to invent a new nationality in order to survive. It is also easy to see how people took up the notion of gods, or one god. The idea of an alien encounter was scary. The human psyche could not support the notion of anything other than gods existing in the heavens.” He pointed upwards. “The Egyptian pharaohs and high priests derived their power from the cult of different gods. They had too much to lose if the story of Nommo and Kasha was exposed. Hence the reason they hunted Nefertiti and her followers down.”

  “You are right. Hawwa has successfully hidden the truth from everyone throughout the millennia.” Tony sniffed the cognac in his crystal balloon, wanting to enjoy the smell as well as the taste. He hoped his mistress wasn’t there when he got back. Sex between them was becoming an effort.

  “There is no renegade group. The last significant breach was the Knights Templar, when they unearthed documents in Jerusalem. None of the documents indicated the presence of another group in Nefertiti’s time.” He downed the brandy.

  Michael pulled a face. “Hawwa left Jerusalem in rather a hurry after the Second Temple fell; vital evidence could easily have been lost.”

  “The Shroud is not something one would forget,” Abdul interjected.

  “The Templars’ silence was bought by respective popes. When the Templar powers threatened them, they were exterminated.

  We all remember Friday 13th, the night of the long knives.”

  “Don’t forget Napoleon, Tony. The documents uncovered after his Egyptian sortie ended up in the Reformers’ hands. We have no proof of what is in those documents, nor do we know how or why the Great Pyramid was built.”

  Abdul offered him a smile. “The documents Francisco has will reveal all. They will return us to the top, where we belong. Nommo will take notice of us, not the Reformers. We must take care of this.”

  Abdul let his words percolate before continuing. “Our ancestors buried their version of the truth deep within the bowels of Jerusalem’s hills. The problem with the Templars is that they guessed what they did not know. They misinterpreted the cult of Isis.”

  Tony downed the rest of his glass, then glanced at Michael, who was staring at the Lebanon oak table. He was trying to figure out what this latest divorce would leave him with. Breaches in security were all well and good, but did it really matter anymore? He would not pass on his knowledge to his sons. Abdul had shown a reluctance to involve his only son; equally, the Christian and Orthodox Churches were no longer beating down their door with new recruits. Hawwa had had its day. The Americans’ silly Reformers, under the guise of the Nommo Corporation, would keep the secret. What the Jews did not own of America, the Arabs did. What was left over belonged to the Chinese. For the next fifty years the Americans would hang on to the Jewish-Arab standoff because of money. After that, the Chinese would take over. They would not care about the fictional history that formed the bedrock of western society. The funny thing was that a few years ago he had almost let the cat out of the bag himself. The growth of Al-Qaida had changed his thinking. He did not want to be caught in the crossfire.

  “Do you really think this breach is as bad as the Templar glitch, Abdul?” He feigned interest.

  “Hawwa left Palestine shortly after the fall of the Second Temple, not too long after Jesus’ crucifixion. We never went back. Modern religion was written soon afterwards. The Tanakh evolved from the Septuagint, much like the New Testament did. It was a Greek story written in Greek, because the Jews were struggling to remember their Hebrew traditions. Greek, not Hebrew, was the language most Jews spoke. It was centuries after Nefertiti. It is hardly surprising that people did not know where they really came from. It is equally probable that some documents went missing.

  “Marcos was a serous archaeologist. We trumped up the charges against him, because we were afraid he knew something. If there are documents out there, Francisco has them.”

  “But where did they come from?” Michael asked.

  “We came along after Nefertiti. Nommo sprang up in the eighteen hundreds and the Reformers a couple of hundred years before them. It would be naive to think we were the only ones.” Abdul shook his head, aware the discussion could escalate into further procrastination. “My guess is that the earlier group later metamorphosed into an Essene sect. We know how religions come out of other religions; just look around this table. Antony and Alexis came from the same root of Christianity, yet you would never know it.”

  “Christianity was the dream of a Roman emperor anxious to maintain power over a disparate and expanding state. It had nothing to do with religion.”

  “Alexis, we know that the true founder of Christianity was the Emperor Constantine.” Tony helped himself to the decanter, then took a swig of brandy. “We came here to deal with the breach, not debate the past.”

  “The past must not be forgotten. The Jewish faith is founded on a meeting between a god and a man, neither of whom existed. We are the last surviving members of Hawwa. I don’t supp
ose we will be needed after this. The Americans will continue to keep the secret with Nommo, their silly corporation.” Abdul was getting impatient.

  “They have no passion. We feel it because of our religious upbringing.” Michael was again surprised by how much he meant it.

  “It is no longer about religion, Michael. It is about politics. Too many politicians and wealthy men and women have too much invested to change the status quo. Science disproved the Adam and Eve story. Within the next hundred years it will disprove everything. Whether or not people believe in the Dogon story of an alien encounter, alien life forms will be found. We are a tiny blip at the edge of a very big universe.”

  “Is this the end of Hawwa?” Michael was surprised at Abdul’s scepticism.

  “Putting into words what we already know does not make it more or less real. When we die, Hawwa dies with us. I want to die knowing that the secret was not leaked on our watch.” Abdul stood up, and the others followed his lead.

  “So we stop the breach.” Michael raised his glass.

  “We have to get the documents back. I will call Alistair. Our people will take care of things here. Once we know where Francisco is, we can keep close tabs on him. He has the map. It will lead us to the missing evidence – although it will not be easy to interpret. If it was, Marcos would have unravelled it. Francisco and Jazz can do it. Marcos knew that.”

  “You really think that a map exists, Abdul?” Alexis could not hide his scepticism.”

  “It has to.” When we have the evidence we can go to our deaths in peace.”

  No one argued. They were old men, some on a faster track to death than others. This was their final chance for glory. They would each inform their respective religious groups that the secret was safe. For a little while longer, their particular religions could continue to practice their faiths, secure in the knowledge that the secret would continue.

  They raised their glasses to drink a final toast, “Hawwa”. As they said their goodbyes, they knew this was the last time.

  Chapter Thirty

  Abdul drained his glass, then checked his watch. It was well after midday in New York. He pictured Alistair preening in front of his latest Apple Mac as he pressed his number.

  Alistair was, in fact, concentrating on an article in the New York Times when he read the caller ID. “Abdul, apologies for not calling earlier; I assume you are aware that Francisco and Jazz are in Cairo. I don’t blame you for being mad. We are on top of it. I put Akhoum on surveillance.” He gushed with false regrets as he placed the paper on his desk knowing Abdul would hate the idea that he had instructed Akhoum.

  “He lost Francisco.” Abdul grinned, imagining the shock waves pounding through Alistair.

  “He did what?”

  “Lost them; it was the oldest trick in the book. Francisco pretended to check into a hotel then left through the back entrance.”

  “Akhoum should have called me. The Reformers pay his wages, not Hawwa.”

  “He is an Arab. Cairo is his turf. His father fought and died by my side in the war. We are brothers in blood.” Abdul clenched his fist, then let his hand relax. Akhoum believed love was thicker than blood.

  “When did he call you?”

  “An hour ago, maybe two, I was busy. I had things to take care of in Hawwa.”

  “May I remind you, your first responsibility is to the Reformers. Your role in Hawwa is to liaise with me.”

  “The Reformers is an organisation, Hawwa is my life.”

  “Hawwa has been redundant for centuries.”

  “Redundant! We can trace our roots back to Nefertiti.”

  “Your lineage is not in question. Hawwa was established to keep the faith of others in order to protect the secret. It was a noble intention, which is now superfluous. If the secret is to remain secure we cannot act in a partisan way. The secret is not about religion anymore.”

  “Do not insult me, Alistair. We have the three major religions, the Judean, Islamic, and Christian sectors, working together for Hawwa. You have a bunch of rich kids paid to turn up on demand – their secret depends on religion.”

  “True, but I am also responsible for Nommo. It also has religious representatives, even if the secret hasn’t been about religion since the Middle Ages.”

  Abdul gritted his teeth. “This is my problem, on my turf. It began with Marcos. We dealt with it then; I want to finish the job.”

  An image of the fat buffoon waddling into matters he did not understand flitted through Alistair’s head. His plane was almost ready to leave for Cairo.

  “Please, do me the courtesy of telling me how you plan to find Francisco? Last time I checked, Cairo was a big city.”

  “We can pick up a trace on his mobile once Cara calls him. It is logged with your Corporation. Akhoum has the code.”

  “Cara! Why her?” Alistair swallowed the bile surfacing in his mouth.

  “Francisco will not question it.”

  “Why get her involved?”

  “She is already involved. You know that. You were the one who put Akhoum on to her.”

  “I don’t want her put in danger.”

  “She is simply making a call.”

  “Call and effect. If she calls Francisco, we are pre-empting a situation. The ripple effect means she will have to talk to Akhoum. My instructions to Akhoum were to observe, not interact.” Alistair was aware that he had asked Akhoum to talk to Cara but that was in a by-stander way; Abdul was intent on making waves.

  Abdul shrugged, remembering Akhoum’s adage that love was thicker than blood. “Why worry about Akhoum? That was over a long time ago.”

  “An affair like that is never over. We had to force her to leave him.”

  “You made a mess of it, Alistair. If you didn’t want her associating with a dangerous operative like Akhoum you should not have let her marry Hassid. Half the time even I don’t know whose side Akhoum is on.”

  “He called you, didn’t he?”

  “It is time you faced up to Cara and told her who you really are. You can’t protect her. She chose to marry Hassid to help the Reformers. In that sense she is just like you.”

  “She has no idea who I am. And it must stay that way. I promised my father I would keep my distance.”

  “You can’t control people any more than change destiny, so why try?”

  Alistair strode towards the window and peered through the blind. People scurried about their business a hundred floors below him. “Destiny? It’s more like deliberate manipulation. My father recruited her to work for us to remind me not to play around. Actions have consequences. It was torture watching her make those decisions. I did not want her to marry Hassid, for obvious reasons, but I was relieved that she was no longer involved with Akhoum. She has not seen him for almost four years. I would prefer it to continue that way.” He smiled wondering why he had instructed Akhoum to talk to Cara yet he couldn’t allow Abdul a similar request.

  “Being a father means you must take a back seat when they grow up. Look at my son; he has chosen a different life. He knows nothing about Hawwa or the Reformers. He likes the old books. He has no interest in politics or religion or women.”

  Alastair sighed. “Cara has such an intense passion for religion, culture and history.”

  “Because she does not know who she is.”

  “What gives you the right to say that?”

  Abdul walked over to his favourite bookcase and pulled out a thick book bound in leather. He carried it to the table and put it down.

  “Experience; as a child all you want is love from your parents – and, nowadays, the latest designer merchandise. Life is complex when you are older because we no longer understand it. I was brought up with my father’s absolute belief in protecting the secret. Gradually, I realised that there is no such thing as absolute belief, and certainly not a belief borrowed from someone else. It took me a long time to admit the truth, but I no longer believe in my father’s ideology.”

  “Then why are you s
till involved? Why call me? Why do you want to protect the secret?”

  “My father decided my fate a long time ago. People know who they are because of a past that is familiar.”

  He opened the cover of Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. It was a first edition, completed a little more than two decades before Napoleon entered Egypt.

  “What will happen when our familiar past disappears? No matter what we do, science will overtake us.”

  “We are dinosaurs trying to survive in a post-Jurassic world. Various religions and politicians pay us to keep it that way.”

  “Money – is that what it all comes down to?”

  “Hasn’t it always? Since its invention, it’s the fastest way to acquire power. The secret revolves around the acquisition of power.”

  “What about belief and ensuring some of us keep that belief?”

  “Don’t take the high road, Abdul. You no longer believe what your father believed in.”

  Abdul sighed. “I am a fool for even trying to make you understand. We both have work to do. Akhoum will have called Cara by now. She will have spoken with Francisco. I need to find out what is going on.”

  Alistair turned from the window. A few hours earlier, he had asked Akhoum to call Cara. His current uncertainty stemmed from Abdul’s unwarranted intervention. He rubbed the rose petal in his waistcoat pocket.

  “I am coming over. You must respect my authority, Abdul. I want to know what Akhoum is doing.”

  “I am an old man, Alistair. I have twenty years on you. I will do everything to keep things under wraps until you get here.”

  “Be sure you do, Abdul.”

  Abdul was still grinning as he clicked off the phone. Alistair would never get it. It was not about power or massaging egos, it was about belief. Akhoum was right: love was thicker than blood. His ancestors had died for a belief they loved. They were willing martyrs who gave up their lives to prevent the Ancient Egyptians from destroying the truth. They made up stories and reinvented who they were. No one could have anticipated the momentum their stories would gather. Even if he died doing it, he would ensure that Hawwa kept the secret.