Chapter Forty-Two
Akhoum’s eyes were glued to the entrance of the Pyramid Hotel. He considered calling Abdul. If he did, he would never get another chance with Cara. He checked his phone, no messages. He groaned inwardly. Loyalty was a funny thing. You did not choose it, it chose you. And once it had you, there were no choices. Causes were all well and good but it was people who counted. He put the phone back in his pocket and waited.
Ten minutes later, Cara emerged from her red Mini Cooper, wearing faded blue jeans and a cream jacket. Her dark hair flew behind her like a desert sandstorm in the moonlight. He caught his breath as she ran towards his car.
It seemed more like four minutes than four years. He slowed his breathing, trying to focus on anything but her as she got into the car.
“You are late.” He looked through the windscreen towards the hotel entrance. The familiar smell of her perfume was intoxicating.
“The traffic was murder. Are they still in there?” She nodded towards the hotel, trying not to stare. His presence filled the car; her senses were drowning in his company.
“An elderly couple checked in. No one has come out through the entrance doors since I got here. Why question if they are there? I thought your tracker was state-of-the-art?”
She shrugged, staring straight ahead as she buckled her seat belt. “It’s as good as the person carrying it. Jazz may have ditched her smart phone.”
“You don’t think they are that clever, do you?”
“Francisco is. Hopefully he won’t think about Jazz’s mobile. I’m taking nothing for granted. We deal with facts.”
“And situations; this is a situation we are dealing with.”
Akhoum left it open – the emerging figures of Francisco and Jazz now had their attention. Francisco’s arm was draped protectively over Jazz’s shoulder.
“They look like a nice couple.”
“Akh, don’t, that’s obscene. They’re brother and sister.” His heart screamed as she said Akh. She was the only one who had ever called him that. “I thought they were step-siblings.”
“They are. Marcos is their father.”
“Then you don’t know for sure if they are related. Her dad could be anyone.”
“Only someone with your track record could imagine a scenario like that.”
He laughed; her crazy logic was so familiar. “I’m a man, it’s what men do.”
“You mean what you do; being a man has nothing to do with it.”
He clicked on the ignition.
“What are you doing?”
“Following them.”
She waved her hand. “Give it a minute to see if she has the phone.”
“If she doesn’t, we will have lost them in a minute.”
He was right, and she was glad they were doing something, not looking at each other. “Okay, but if she has her phone, lose them quickly. I don’t want to alert Francisco.”
Akhoum nodded.
She knew she was being controlling, too controlling. It was nerves. Her feelings for Akhoum were real, but they were her feelings, not his. He sounded focused, like he was on a mission. He had not even questioned her assumption of control. Akhoum only did that when he was working. This was not about work.
“Are you picking her up?”
His question penetrated her thoughts. She tried to focus on the screen in front of her. The red dot was moving. “Yes, she has her smart phone with her.”
“What do you want me to do?” His eyes caught hers. The golden flecks embedded like jewels in her brown eyes sparkled back at him. There were four years of betrayal, anger and confusion between them. All he could feel was love washing through him.
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
“We can’t pretend that nothing is happening. There is Hassid to think about.”
She pulled away from his gaze, not trusting herself. “It’s over – which makes it sound like it was something. It was always about Hawwa. I was young. I was stupid.” Her laughter was tinged with sadness. “My father knew me; he talked to me. He never indicated that I was his daughter. He orchestrated my marriage to Hassid. I was an utter fool, blinded by a past I invented thanks to a father I fantasised about.” She groaned, barely able to contain her anger. “He fashioned my future to suit him. It was always about himself.”
Akhoum hung his head. “This stuff with Francisco is endgame. Everyone knows it. I figured you needed the full picture to make a proper choice.”
“My track record shows I’m pretty bad at making the right choices.
How did you find out about Alistair?”
“After you married Hassid, I made it my business to know everything I could about you.”
“I thought you were okay with my marrying Hassid. It was always about the Reformers, you knew that.”
“You made your choice. I made mine. Alistair’s insistence on you marrying Hassid did not make sense.
Damn!” He swerved to avoid a stray dog. “He could have chosen a more suitable candidate, someone who liked archaeology or was from Cairo. Yet he picked you. The more I thought about it – and I did think about it – the less sense it made. When I confronted him, his ego forbade him to deny it. I made him think that I didn’t care. He is a stupid, arrogant man, who wanted to rub salt into my wound. He had no idea it was something I would hold over him one day.”
“You watched out for me?”
“Did you really think I would forget about you because you married Hassid?”
Cara could not remember feeling so happy. “I know how you are as far as the opposite sex is concerned.”
“I’m not a monk. I did not expect you to leave Hassid.”
“I would have left him sooner or later. I’m relieved it’s sooner.”
“So you aren’t mad that I told you about Alistair?” He stared straight ahead, unable to look at her.
Cara pulled a face. “I’m angry. I spent years pining over an image of a genetic father I fantasised about. He introduced me to the Reformers, knowing exactly who I was, and said nothing. What kind of a man does that to his own flesh and blood?”
“Alistair tried to keep you on the periphery.”
This time her joy reached her eyes as she smiled. “We share a few genes. My genetic mum died in a road accident before I could walk. Who knows what really happened? Alistair didn’t want to know me. My adoptive parents love me for who I am, not who I was. My marriage to Hassid was a sham. Until you told me who Alistair really was I believed I had to stay married to help the Reformers. What kind of idiot does that make me?”
His lack of response gave her time to think.
“The damned Reformers’ secret was more important. It isn’t just about Nefertiti and Moses. I want to know what this damn secret which almost ruined my life is.”
“You said almost.” The softness in his tone surprised her.
She was in too deep to go back now. “We’re both here, aren’t we?”
“All we need is each other. Everything else can take care of itself.” He looked across at her, wishing it were true. This time her eyes did not let him in.
“Not quite, Akh – there is the secret. I need to know what’s so important that my father chose to reject and deny me. If I don’t, I will never be free.”
“What about the others?”
“Hassid will soon get over me. He will find a nice Arab girl who loves rutting around old ruins. The funny thing is, thanks to Jazz, I gave up on searching for my real father just before you told me.”
“Jazz?” Confusion clouded his face.
“She’s chasing a dream. Her father did not care about her in life, yet in death she believes he does. Suddenly she feels close to him. I asked myself why.”
“And?”
“He isn’t real. She doesn’t have to deal with him on a daily basis with his farts and drools. It would never work if they were working on this together. They would argue. In the end, even if her hunches were right, she would feel she had to
let him have his way.”
“Do you think he knew that?”
“He was an intelligent man. She’s cushioned in a cocoon of who she thinks her father is. Death made him the hero he never was in life. My blood father will never be my hero.”
“Do you care?”
“I care about you. I was foolish to throw our love away once. I will not do it again.” The tension in the car was palpable.
Akhoum swallowed. “I’ll pull over somewhere and stop the car. I want to…” He reached out his hand to her, which she took.
She felt like she was melting into him. For the first time in her life, she knew who she was.
“Not now, Akhoum, we have the rest of our lives. First I need to know what’s behind this secret that has kept us apart for so long.”
Akhoum squeezed her hand. He had broken ranks; first with Alistair and now Abdul. A lot of people wanted him dead, and now they wanted Cara dead too. He was no longer fighting only for himself - that acknowledgement made him weak. It was the first time he had carried baggage into battle. Worse, it was likely to be the biggest battle he had faced.
He turned to her and smiled. “We had better get on with it.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Saturday morning, Cairo: an hour later
The commingling of different male colognes was nauseating. In the background, the noise from the rust-spattered machines confirmed that the air conditioning was struggling to cope. Alistair waited, wondering about the greenfly in his pristine garden. He pressed the rose petal in his blazer pocket, then closed his eyes. Abdul’s waiting game was pathetic. On this occasion, he would let him win the battle, but not the war. The Sheik’s men were deployed and would outflank Abdul in his own backyard; unfortunately, he could not gloat.
A sudden flurry of activity behind him made him start. It signalled Abdul’s arrival. More irritating was the possibility of Michael and the fastened-at-the-hip Christians joining them.
He picked up the glass of mint tea as a voice boomed behind him. “Alistair, my friend, sorry to keep you waiting; urgent matters, you understand.”
“It goes with the territory.” Alistair’s New England accent clipped through the humidity. He had forgotten how fat Abdul was.
“Do you have a fix on them?” Aware of the answer, he wanted to savour Abdul’s response.
“I got it about an hour ago.” Abdul grinned back at him, showing off his gold teeth.
“I am delighted to hear it.” He raised an eyebrow, wondering why the Sheik’s men had missed it.
“Shall we move into the other room to discuss strategy?” He wrapped his rather large arm around Alistair’s shoulder, pushing him gently towards the next room.
Two huge carpets hung on walls opposite each other. The low-slung sofa with brightly coloured cushions was set against the bare wall. There were no other seats. Alistair hated the garish colours almost as much as the intimacy of the seating arrangement.
His legs sprawled in front of him across another wildly patterned carpet as he sat on the sofa at the farthest end of the room. Abdul plonked his voluminous body on the cushion next to him. The mixture of garlic and onions from his breath assaulted him.
“We must talk.” Abdul sounded bored.
Alistair just nodded. Abdul’s transparent need to jostle for power was pathetic.
“It is as good as job done.” Abdul swung a set of worry beads through his chubby fingers, a habit Alistair found infuriating. “You have everything in hand?”
Abdul grinned, showing more of his gold teeth. “You have my word.”
“Excellent.” He slapped his knee. “I had forgotten how different this place is. I am like a fish out of water. I will retire to my hotel and take comfort in those wonderful belly dancers you have on tap here. I am more than happy to let you deal with ground operations.”
Abdul smiled his agreement. He was present when Alistair’s father had arranged Cara’s adoption. Things were different in those days, but Alistair’s penchant for women had not diminished.
“Our phone conversation implied that you wanted to be more hands on?”
“What can I add to anything here? You know the territory; I don’t.” He glanced around the room. “New York makes you forget how things are elsewhere. My immediate plans are with the dancers.”
Abdul’s grin widened. “You will have the best belly dancers in Cairo. My man will drive you to your hotel.”
“I have no doubt about the quality of the dancers; be sure to let me know when you have something important to tell me.”
“Of course.”
Both men stood and shook hands, secure in the knowledge they had the upper hand.
Chapter Forty-Four
Abdul watched the tall, thin American saunter out of the room. The man had no idea about the past. He doubted if he had ever visited the pyramids. Yet they shared the secret. The future was pressing in around him. Was his grandfather right? Was there a time limit on secrets? Was a secret only as important as the people who cared about it?
He looked up as one of his guards entered the room yelling: “Sir, both parties have left the hotel. We are tracking Francisco and Jazz. Akhoum is following from a distance. Cara is with him.”
Abdul shook his head. “A lone wolf never returns to the pack. I take it we are trailing both parties?”
The young man cleared his throat. “You asked for one man. Do you want more men on it?”
Abdul thought for a moment. “Francisco is headed out of town. There are only two places where the missing documents could be. They aren’t in one of them. We swept Tut’s tomb clean shortly after Carter opened it. Don’t waste men following them. Get them into Amarna. Nefertiti believed in hiding places, she had years to create one. The evidence is there.” He coughed. “Oh, and Abu, keep an eye on Alistair. He is not the sort of man to seek out bodily pleasures when there is work to be done, no matter what he professes to think about Cairo’s dancers.”
“It is in hand, sir.”
“I am sure it is. One more thing, Abu. I left my cigars in the car. The box is on the back seat. Can you bring it?”
Abu bowed, then scurried out. The air was thick with the fumes of Cairo’s cars but he barely noticed. With another baby on the way, he needed a family car. His local showroom was offering excellent deals on new Kias.
His eyes were fixed on Abdul’s old Jag and his thoughts on his new Kia, not the man skulking in the shadows. But the cold steel pressing into his neck made him forget about cars. The knife-holder was good. If he moved a millimetre, he was dead.
His assailant pulled him into the dark alley which stank of sewage and rotting animals. Cairo was littered with bright shining twenty-first century roads, but the narrow streets spiralling from them led straight into the Middle Ages.
Droplets of sweat dripped from Abu’s forehead. Their salty sting when it hit his eyes was strangely welcome.
“Where are Francisco and Jazz headed?” A raspy voice sneered spit into his ear. “Little Abu is at nursery today. Neither he nor his mother will live if you don’t answer. If you lie to me they will die anyway.”
“Amarna; Abdul is sending most of the men there.” Abu could hardly speak as the pressure on the knife tightened against his neck.
“I warned you about lying.”
“It is true. I beg of you, don’t kill my family.”
“Your choice, Abu.”
“It’s the tru…” Warm blood slipped into Abu’s lungs. He tracked the pigeon as it flew across the sky.
Ordinarily Abdul was patient, but he loved his cigars.
“Ali, is Abu not back?”
“No, sir.”
“Fetch my cigars from the car. After Alistair, a man needs a little comfort.” He rubbed his leg uneasily.
Ali returned a minute later with the cigar box.
“No sign of Abu?”
The guard shook his head.
“Take some men, check the back streets; something is wrong.” He lit the cigar,
then grimaced. The smoke in his mouth tasted acrid. He watched it burn in the ashtray as he waited for Ali.
Twenty minutes later he ran into the room. “We found him, sir, his throat slit like a dog’s.” Fear rippled through the statement, but Abdul ignored it. “The crude American leaves a trail like a snail. His bloated ego is to our advantage. Prepare the helicopter. I want to be in Amarna before Alistair’s men.”
Abdul picked up his cigar box. The secret was unravelling. Francisco had the map; all he had to do was wait.
Chapter Forty-Five
Alistair entered his hotel suite as news of Abu’s death and Francisco’s destination was confirmed. Amarna was the obvious choice. It had been swept many times without success, yet something important lay in the ruins – it had to. Nefertiti’s followers were estranged in the new land of Israel. They had brought her body back; they would bring evidence too.
The documents uncovered in Napoleonic times proved that the Egyptians’ knowledge of astronomy surpassed what could be expected without the benefit of telescopes; more damning, though, their geometrical knowledge was too basic. Even current Egyptologists agreed that Ancient Egyptians did not understand pi. The Rhind Mathematical Papyrus reportedly written over a millennium after the pyramids were built highlighted the Egyptians’ rudimentary understanding of geometry. Straight lines failed to meet at vertices. Worse, pyramids were drawn as isosceles triangles, with a two-dimensional perspective not three. Circular figures were more distorted than straight-line figures. It was impossible that the Egyptians had built the Great Pyramid with such precision.
The Egyptian obsession with trying to reproduce the pyramid with lesser geometrical skills than their Mesopotamian neighbours was proof that they were trying to establish how the Great Pyramid had been built. No scholars had picked up on the evidence, because they were sold on the post-Napoleonic image of Ancient Egypt; thanks to the spin engineered by the Reformers.
How the Great Pyramid was constructed was the one remaining question. Undoubtedly, it was an outer-universe intervention, although not the Dogons,’ Nommo story. The idea of fish-like extra-terrestrials had helped repel intellectual suitors rallying to the cause of alien involvement. As yet, no one had noticed that the Egyptian story of creation bore a lot of similarities to the Big Bang Theory – out of nothing came something.
The Ghost Reapers Page 21