He snorted a carefully heaped mound of coke into his nose, then sat back. Geology, mathematics and astronomy would catch up on the true version of Ancient Egypt, by which time the Reformers, like Hawwa, would be redundant. In 2020, the Webb telescope would be launched into space to send photographs – revealing more about the true nature of the universe and black energy – back to earth. When that happened, Egyptian history and religion would be redrawn. He wanted to be the person who had the evidence of what had really happened. Nothing would stop him retrieving that evidence and eradicating those who stood in his way.
Chapter Forty-Six
Eight hours later
The sun’s flickering embers burnt the sky a blistering apricot and blood-orange colour. In front of a solitary café, two elderly men drank apple tea as they watched Francisco’s car grind to a halt. Their smiles of greeting went unnoticed, as the couple hurried into the café. The interior was almost as worn-out as the exterior. But Francisco and Jazz were oblivious; they were tired and hungry.
He sat opposite the door as a small skinny youth with a coffee-stained Arab robe greeted them.
“Two coffees please, some pitta bread, cheese and your best yogurt.” Francisco spoke quickly in Arabic, then looked at Jazz. “There is no point in ordering steak and French fries here.”
“I’ll eat anything.” She rubbed her stomach and immediately felt self-conscious. “You speak Arabic.”
“I lived in Cairo for most of my formative years. It’s my first language - although I’m a little out of practice now.”
“Your mum was Coptic Christian, right?” She tugged at a paper napkin. There was so much she did not know about him.
“Yes, but we were pretty eclectic. My maternal grandfather did not follow Islam or Christianity. Our father, as you know, was an atheist. Over the years my mother stopped practicing. Why do you ask?”
The waiter banged plates of creamy yogurt, cheese and some green olive oil on the red plastic table advertising beer.
Jazz was glad of the distraction. “I’ll turn into a goat soon.”
“The yogurt is from the buffalo cow. They graze on the river-bank. Sorry, that was thoughtless; do you want me to get you something else? They probably do a pretty acceptable cheese on toast.”
She shook her head. “I love it.”
Francisco said something to the man who scurried away, then returned his attention to Jazz.
“I asked for a map of Amarna, I could download one but I don’t want to risk being tracked. I’m pretty sure the tablet is clean, but I hate to take the risk.”
“Do you think they’re that sophisticated?
He rubbed his chin, aware that she still had a lot to learn. “I would not expect them to be that crude.”
“Are we being followed by ghosts?”
He grinned. “Nice analogy, given the circumstances. Dad would be proud.”
Jazz’s mood brightened as Francisco dipped his pitta bread into the creamy yogurt. “This is good.”
“When is it not?” She wiped her mouth with one of the paper serviettes as Francisco took the map from the waiter.
She made room as he opened it and laid it on the table.
“Dad visited the site a few times. Sometimes he took me with him. It is a pretty barren place, not somewhere you would choose to visit, unless, of course, you had a special interest.”
“And we do.”
“We are not alone in that.”
“Oh?” She popped an olive into her mouth.
“The site once attracted famous visitors.”
“Like?” She took another olive and waved it in the air. “These are good.”
“Napoleon and Howard Carter visited Amarna almost a century apart. Why Napoleon did is unclear. There is nothing of distinction there. Equally, there was no obvious reason for Carter’s visit, unless he was trying to locate the tomb of Nefertiti. In those days, the area was more or less sand dunes. The site has changed in recent years, thanks to archaeological funding; even so, it still looks pretty innocuous. After Akhenaton died, the Egyptians razed it to the ground. They wanted to destroy every shred of evidence relating to Nefertiti.”
Jazz stared blankly at the map. “Not a lot of temples, then?” She was thinking about the Sphinx and the Great Pyramid, languishing in water.
“A stele, an obelisk and a few small walls that hardly constitute temples. In its day, it was one of the finest cities and the treasure house of the known world. Now it’s not even a heap of rubble.”
“Rubble…” She tossed the word around in her head. “Damn, I should have thought of that earlier – the information isn’t hidden there. The site was dedicated to a sun disc. It had nothing to do with Nommo, nor the secret. Whoever hid the evidence respected Nefertiti. They wouldn’t bury it within Egyptian city walls, no matter how ruined they were. If Nefertiti created the place she would have put it outside Amarna.”
“Why?” Francisco was struggling to get his head around her argument. His theory was inside Amarna.
“These people were no longer Egyptians; and who knows, they may never have been. They were also trying to escape their new Jewish nationality, which was nothing like their post-Babylonian makeover, the precursor to modern Judaism. They left Israel because of the new Moses stories that had sprung up. They hated lies. It’s why they wouldn’t bury the evidence inside the Amarna city walls. Nefertiti would feel the same.”
Francisco ran his hand down his face. “Where does that leave us? We have come to the wrong place.”
Jazz thought for a moment then shook her head as she answered. “Not necessarily, it could be somewhere close. Nefertiti would have prepared a place outside the city walls when she still lived there. Is there a river near the temple site?”
“The Nile; they used it to bring the people from Thebes to build the new city.”
“Whoever buried the documents put them close to the Nile. Water was important to them. The papyri are buried near to it.”
“It’s a big river.” He looked doubtful.
“We have the diagram; the symbols are clues. All we need to do is decipher them.”
Francisco puffed out his cheeks. “No pressure there then.” He pointed to the map the waiter had given him, then tilted his head. “In those days, lions probably used the Nile as a watering hole.”
She snapped her fingers, looking directly at him. “Brilliant, it explains the picture of the lion. It has nothing to do with the Sphinx. If they were wandering around the desert, in Canaan or wherever they were, they would never have seen a lion.”
“So why draw one?”
“The stories from their ancestors had mythical status. Majestic lions, beasts they could only imagine, drinking from the Nile, would be significant.”
Francisco nodded. “I get it, but what about the other three symbols?”
“The fish is obvious; it means beside water.”
“Not in it, then – you don’t think what is buried is in the Nile?”
“Too dangerous; whoever buried it would worry about the documents being destroyed. I’d say the fish is an oblique reference to Nommo and indicates proximity to water.”
“Okay, but what about Nefertiti’s ring, the two pyramids?”
“It could be Sirius or it could be a reference to the Great Pyramid, meaning nothing is what it seems.” She pulled a face. “It has to be on the Amarna side of the river.”
Francisco sucked in air. “We know which bank to dig on. Apart from that we are not much closer.”
Jazz picked up the map. “Do you know what this place was called around Nefertiti’s time, or at least what the name meant?”
“The ancient name Akhetaten means ‘the eastern horizon of the solar disc’.”
“The Sphinx was looking towards the eastern horizon.” She drew three circles on the map.
“Is this a Picasso moment?”
“Funny.” She pulled a face. “Nefertiti did not believe in the solar disc, right?”
Fran
cisco nodded.
“My guess is that Nefertiti and her followers would use a ball, not a disc to represent the sun. You said there was one day in the year when Sirius was brighter than the sun when it rose in the sky?” She did not wait for him to answer. “Is it possible that the obelisk in Amarna marked that day?”
He snapped his fingers. “The treasure could be buried where the shadow was cast across the obelisk at noon. That narrows it down. My software can track the exact position of the sun and Sirius; even so, it is a huge area to dig in.”
“The woman who wrote the second scroll was terrified. She would have hidden whatever evidence she had as fast as she could. She must have known Nefertiti’s hiding place.”
He nodded. “Makes sense; Nefertiti was not a woman who left anything to chance. The scribe would have made her way easily enough into Egypt once she had escaped the Israelis. Travelling in a little caravan of women and children wouldn’t draw attention.
He considered his words. “We need to plan our entrance. We can’t just arrive in Amarna. People are waiting for us there. Thankfully, they will be in Amarna, not outside it.”
“You think people are expecting us?”
“It won’t be a welcome party, but it’s the obvious site, after the Sphinx and the Pyramid. Thankfully, they won’t expect us to turn up along the river and at night.”
Francisco got to his feet and strode across to the waiter. He handed money over as they talked. When he came back, he was smiling.
“Come on, we have a felucca to catch. This is a one-camel town. Everyone will be talking about us for days. There is only one felucca boat and we are taking it. Anyone following will have to go by road. If what we are looking for is close to the river advantage us, but we can’t waste any more time. Let’s get out of here.”
She followed him outside. There was a chill in the air. She wrapped her arms around her body.
“It will be colder on the Nile; you can have my jacket.” He put it round her shoulders, then steered her down a few back alleys. She assumed the waiter had told him the way, as he knew where he was going.
She gasped as the mud brick houses suddenly gave way to the river. An old wooden boat with a sail hanging limply on its mast bobbed in the water.
An elderly man with grizzled grey hair slept on the bow. He shot up when he heard their footsteps. An unlit cigarette dangled from his lips.
After a little haggling, Francisco’s dollar bills proved persuasive, and the boatman beckoned Jazz on-board.
She took the seat next to Francisco at the stern, watching the man use an oar to push off from the shore. He pulled the sail tight as they slipped their moorings. In front of them, the moonlight brushed a silvery pathway through the river.
Jazz was conscious of Francisco’s presence beside her. He put his arm around her and drew her into him.
“Try to sleep, you must be exhausted. It will take at least a couple of hours with a good wind.”
She closed her eyes knowing they were sailing towards the truth. She could not change the misjudgements of her past; she clenched her fists, hoping she had not made another.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Half an hour earlier
Cara checked the co-ordinates. The travelling red dot had stopped at a small town two hours from Amarna.
She glanced at Akhoum. “They’ve stopped, but they’re nowhere near Amarna.”
“Must be eating; we should do the same. We keep passing service stations. There is another one ten kilometres up the road, perhaps less than that.” He rubbed his stomach.
As she ran her fingers through her hair, he imagined running his own through her long shiny mane.
“I’m starving.” It was not food that was on his mind.
She smiled back at him. “Me too.”
He put his foot hard on the accelerator and kept it there until they reached a service station boasting pizza done in a clay oven. He rubbed his hands together as he stopped the car. “You, pizza and cold beers, what more could a man want?”
“One beer; we have to stay focused.”
“You don’t need to tell me that, Cara, I am always focused.”
They ordered two pizzas and beers, then sat down opposite each other. Cara looked at him. There were new lines on his face. The ones she remembered were deeper. He did not flinch from her gaze. “I’m older.”
“We both are. Age suits you.”
“You don’t look any older.”
“Liar. But I’ll take the compliment. Did you miss me?”
“I thought about you every day.”
“Don’t lie.” She pulled a face.
“Okay, then at least every week; as time went by it got harder. I had other women. I compared them to you.”
“Same with Hassid: at first I thought I could make it work, but he was so boring. Worse, he had no idea what was going on. I only saw Marcos a few times. Anyone could see the Alzheimer’s was phoney baloney, yet Hassid got sucked into it – unlike his cousin. Francisco is a shrewd cookie. I thought he knew about me.”
“You?”
“I always had the feeling Francisco suspected something.”
“Perhaps he realised you and Hassid weren’t happy; maybe it bugged him.”
“He had already decided not to let Hassid into the secret. We were good enough to entertain Jazz, but not to know the secret. Francisco plans everything.”
“He can’t plan this.”
“He’ll have something up his sleeve. He’s very good.”
“So am I.” Akhoum sipped his beer. “How do you see this playing out, Cara?”
“I’m trying not to think about it.”
“We have to. If Francisco finds the evidence, he won’t hand it over to us. It means everything to him. To get it, we will have to kill him. Then there is Abdul. He will be furious that I didn’t contact him. There is no place to run.”
She swallowed hard. “They’ll kill us, won’t they? His silence made her add: “I don’t want to die, nor do I want to kill anyone.”
Akhoum put his bottle down. “Nor do I. We could find somewhere on the other side of the world where no one knows us…”
“Before we disappear, and, believe me, I want to disappear, I have to know what it is. I need to know why my father disowned me.”
He looked at her. “I realise that – it’s the reason we are here, so I guess I should be grateful”
She pulled on a strand of her hair. “At first I thought it was just the secret, but it isn’t. I want to eradicate the organisations, the people who’ve kept the secret hidden. I hate lies.” She sighed. “It must seem strange coming from someone who has spent the last four years living one. Now I want to expose the whole stinking lot.”
Akhoum took another swig. “Together we are capable of anything; unfortunately we are talking about the three most secret agencies in the world, backed by powerful religious organisations and governments. It may prove a little tricky, even for us.”
She grinned back at him. “Francisco can’t do this on his own, no matter how good he is. He needs us.”
He put his bottle on the table, trying not to choke. “Why would Francisco join us?”
“We know about the organisations, he doesn’t.”
“He isn’t going to thank you for leaving Hassid.”
“This is about Marcos. It’s all Francisco cares about. He opened the three canisters in front of everyone because he knew they were fakes. He didn’t care about Hassid’s feelings then. He let Jazz watch that excruciatingly acted video. He didn’t care about her either. He took us for mugs.”
She smiled. “If Hass is honest, he knows I never loved him. And he will realise he never really loved me.”
Akhoum shook his head. “He will never do that.”
“He’s an intelligent man, in love with a phantom. I’m nothing like the woman he thought I was.”
Akhoum watched a couple trying to get their four children to sit still around the table. “Let me get this straight
: first we follow Francisco. Once he uncovers the evidence we will ask him if we can help him reveal the secret?” He took another swig of beer.
“Something like that. Once the secret is out, we’ll be safe.”
One of the kids made a dash towards the ice cream freezer. “Do you really see us growing old together, Cara?”
“Why else are we here?”
“I never saw myself sitting on a porch in a rocking chair.”
“Then get used to it. I want kids and grandkids. I want a normal life with you.” She stood up. “Quick, they’re on the move again.”
Akhoum drained his bottle, then followed her out of the cafeteria. He had forgotten how naive Cara was. It had resulted in her marrying Hassid. He could not see Francisco accepting them as partners in crime, nor Abdul letting him get away with this. Any chance of escape was impossible, he felt. He had expected a tail from Cairo. Abdul would have put someone on him before he went to the hotel, yet there was no one. He did not like it.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Half an hour earlier
Abdul’s micro-plane landed with a thud on the makeshift Amarna runway, spraying sand as high as the small windows. The dust cloud intensified as the plane taxied along the bumpy dirt track. When it finally skidded to a halt the plane was cloaked in a blanket of red sand.
He loosened his seat belt as one of his men opened the door and unfurled a small ladder.
Sweat dripped from his brow as he manoeuvred on to solid ground. His wife was right about not eating so many dates and sugared almonds.
A man in his mid-thirties with a shaven head and dressed in a khaki shirt and black chinos saluted him.
“Everything is prepared, sir.” He pointed towards a large white tent five hundred metres from the plane.
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