He shrugged. “It still comes down to one written word against another. The Egyptian scholars will ridicule anyone suggesting extra-dimensional intervention. Their reputations are at stake. Nommo will support them. Statistics can be tuned to say anything.”
“How? Pi isn’t a concept the Ancient Egyptians understood. That’s fact.”
“When were facts important? It’s about interpretation.” Cara walked towards them, her iPad in hand, smiling. “We’re picking up a lot of hits from YouTube. The New York Times has contacted us, and so has the Sun in England.”
“From one extreme to another. Well, at least people are talking about it.” Francisco pulled a face, well aware it was not going to be that easy.
“OMG, get this! A story has just erupted claiming that we are Al-Qaeda extremists, out to overthrow the establishment by viral destabilization. In the interests of world safety, YouTube has taken us off line.” Akhoum looked over Cara’s shoulder.
“That’s it then.” Jazz couldn’t hide her disappointment.
Cara frowned. “I wasn’t exactly truthful when we were discussing aliens. The Reformers paid me to look specifically at the Great Pyramid. I spent years poring over its geometric details, when any beginner can see that the geometric design built into the pyramid is sending a message to anyone prepared to listen, or should I say read.
“Math transcends verbal language. A student of math doesn’t have to speak Arabic or English to communicate; they use formulae and symbols to express ideas.”
Francisco grinned. “It makes sense. I can’t think why it did not occur to me. The Pyramid is a record of a superior dimensional encounter which happened around ten or twelve thousand years ago.”
Cara nodded. “M-theory supports your theory. A dimensional warp is entirely possible, as are dimensional waves. Space travel requires dimensional flips. You can’t travel through space and time to get to a specific point—it takes too long. Research in the last forty years proves it, but the clandestine organizations have done a good job of keeping the obvious hidden.
“Hawwa started out as an organization who kept the secret about Moses and Nefertiti, because it was the best way of preserving the true evidence. The Reformers, and, latterly, Nommo, have moved on from there. Every government from here to China is afraid that the secret of dimensional warps will leak out. People are not ready to cope with other dimensions. If we were allowed to do serious research on the Pyramid, it could prove to be a codex to help us understand dimensional warps.”
“This is enormous, it gets bigger and bigger, which, in some ways, is bad.” Jazz bit her lip. “Whatever we do will be stopped.”
“Not necessarily: math supports the theory. There are too many facts relating to the Pyramid for it to be nothing more than a tomb. If we reveal what we know, we have a chance. But to do that, we have to stay alive. We must get out of here.”
Francisco looked at them as Jazz shook her head. “What with? We have no transport.”
“I may be able to help with that.” Abba Isou strode into the room, wearing a smile that brightened their gloom.
“My father-in-law has a felucca. He is preparing it as we speak. Your assailants will be looking for you by road; they may not think about the Nile. At this time of day there are lots of feluccas out there looking for fish and going for supplies. Ours looks just like any other. I will sail the boat myself.”
Francisco scratched his chin, trying to remember the last time he had shaved. The burnt skin on his back pulled at him like a medieval torture rack. His stomach felt like it had rolled in hot coals. He must not give way to the pain.
“It’s a good idea, but we can’t let you sail it. It’s too dangerous.”
“It is my destiny. Come, the boat is ready. We have no time to waste in pointless arguments; besides, sailing a felucca takes skill. You want to fit in. With a black African at the rudder, you will.”
Chapter Sixty-Three
Abdul’s heart sank as he peered towards the far horizon. Black plumes spewed from the burning wreckage. Even from this distance it was obvious that the plane had skidded off the road. He shuddered. Whoever was still in there had had the evidence with them.
“No one would get out of there alive.” David voiced Abdul’s fears.
“Let’s wait and see.” Abdul rubbed his knee.
As they drew closer he scanned the scene. He pointed towards it. “There are two skinny boys guarding the fire. If there were bodies in there, the whole village would be out.”
Reassured, he pulled out his Galaxy. “My son’s death has affected me more than I thought.” He pressed the screen, then smiled. “Listen to this.” He coughed. “A new Al-Qaeda social media threat has surfaced, aimed at destroying the stability of the western world. Religious leaders have condemned the propaganda expounded on YouTube as a deliberate attempt to overturn moral and religious values. The Vatican is expected to issue a statement refuting the claims within the hour. The Israeli government has condemned the lies as part of a Palestinian plot to undermine peace talks.”
Turning to David, he smiled triumphantly. “Proof positive: they got out of there with the scrolls. They must be in the village somewhere.”
Abdul turned and stared at the four black Hummers behind them. “They look like an invading army.” He raised his hand.
“Stop; I don’t want to go any further. Akhoum won’t believe we come in peace with this entourage. It will end in a shootout.”
“So what? We have more men and weapons. We can take them out. Alistair will support us if we get rid of them.” David was still driving.
“Stop the convoy. They have the papyri. If they destroy it, everything is lost. You made your choice in el Amarna. Alistair will kill you, no matter what you do. At least with me you have a chance.”
Dust ballooned into the air as the Hummer screeched to a halt.
“What are you doing?” David demanded.
“What does it look like? I am calling Akhoum.”
Akhoum had barely settled on to the felucca. His head throbbed from the concussion, but he was starting to believe there was a way out, when his mobile bleeped.
He glanced at the screen, then looked at the others “Abdul.”
“Answer it. He will have seen YouTube. He knows where we are; he has seen the wreckage.” Francisco exuded a confidence that Jazz did not share. Was it coincidence that Abdul should call now? She glanced at Cara. She had trusted Cara once; it had been a wrong call.
Her heart pounded against her ribs as Akhoum pressed receive. He put it on speaker. “Speak in English, Abdul, so everyone understands,” he yelled into the phone.
“Knowing you are all well makes it easier to offer you my proposition.” Abdul paused. “My circumstances have changed.”
“How?” Akhoum barked back at him.
“My son was murdered a few hours ago. Alistair also killed the other members of Hawwa. I am the last surviving member.” He paused to give his words time to sink in.
“I had hoped we would meet in el Amarna; unfortunately, only death awaited me there. When Alistair discovers we have killed his men he will stop at nothing to kill us. Attack helicopters will bombard us within twenty minutes, perhaps less. Our only chance is to get the truth out.
I saw your lamentable efforts on You Tube. They were easily discredited. You need inside help.”
“You are the last man standing in Hawwa. You have no influence in Nommo. Alistair wants you dead as much, possibly more, than me. What can you offer us?” Akhoum snapped back.
“Immediate access to a leading rabbi; a cardinal based in the Vatican. The rabbi is fed up with Israel’s incessant land-grabbing and molestation of the Palestinians. The cardinal has a pet project in Africa. He despises the money the Vatican spends on itself. He is ready for change. All of these men are members of Nommo”
“Why should I believe you?” Akhoum screwed up his face. Abdul’s admission went against everything he knew about him.
“Marcos’s
daughter, Jazz, is with you, am I correct?”
“Don’t play games, Abdul, you know she is.”
“She has an interest in the Turin Shroud. The cardinal is a specialist on its history, particularly its significance to the Essenes.”
“Essenes!” Jazz jumped to her feet, and then steadied herself on the bow of the felucca, to stop herself from falling over.
“They held the secret of the Shroud. It passed into Catholic hands. The cardinal will reveal the truth to you.”
Jazz’s eyes lit up as Francisco nodded to Akhoum, who asked: “What do you want in return?”
“Access to the papyri; I want to know the truth. Once I have the evidence, I will give the signal to the cardinal and the rabbi to release information. They will not be silenced as easily as you. I have five Hummers waiting outside the village. My men are armed. They can keep Alistair’s men at bay for a little while. Every second we waste talking reduces our chances.”
“I will call you back.” Akhoum clicked off his mobile. His face was a mask of confusion. “What do you think?” He threw the question out to everyone.
“You know him better than anyone.” Francisco’s deadpan expression gave nothing away.
“Under normal circumstances, I would not trust the wily old fox. But these are exceptional circumstances. He has lost his son and the other members of Hawwa. He has nothing else to lose.”
“If he has the access to the influential people he says he has, he is our best shot. We need official support,” Cara answered quickly.
“It is a little coincidental that Abdul should call as we are about to leave.” Francisco’s doubts settled uneasily around them.
“When I streamed YouTube I checked out the news in Cairo. Two distinguished Church officials and a rabbi were killed. The Hawwa bookshop was blasted by a suicide bomber. Abdul’s son remains unaccounted for. Look, I can show you.” Akhoum flicked through his screen, showing them the news.
“Being on the internet does not make it real. It could be part of an elaborate cover-up,” Francisco retorted.
“Why? It would be simpler to kill us. The Essenes’ connection to the Turin Shroud makes sense. Abdul is our best option.” Jazz was surprised that Francisco still looked unconvinced.
“I flew us out of el Amarna. That was no set-up. Abdul’s guys could have killed anyone of us. I might risk my own life, but not Cara’s. I’m as surprised as anyone by Abdul’s call. Hurt and cornered, he has nowhere else to go. We are his last hope.”
Francisco shrugged. “Call him up. Tell him we will meet him. He comes on his own and he comes onto the felucca. We will sail upstream to talk. If he does not accept those conditions, at least we know where we stand.”
Akhoum pressed his number.
Chapter Sixty-Four
Alistair glowered at his cellphone as the helicopter closed in on Amarna. Neither Ishmael nor David was answering. The trackers on their cells indicated that they had stopped at a village downstream. Their mobiles also showed that the other Hummers had stopped there too. The bizarre information meant only one thing; Ishmael was dead and someone else had taken the tracker. Whoever it was wanted him there. Helicopters were already heading towards the village. Whatever had happened to Ishmael had occurred in Amarna. Alistair needed to see if Abdul was dead. The image of his bulbous corpse picked by flies offered a degree of satisfaction.
The noise of helicopter blades quickening then slowing in preparation for landing, prompted him to look out of the small window. Visibility was difficult in the rising dust, but Alistair did not need a ringside seat. The flat land below was bereft of Abdul’s plane, and the Hummers.
“Preparing to land, sir.” The pilot, who was forty, with jet-black hair, and a scar which ran from his left temple to his chin, yelled out to Alistair, through the roar of the blades ripping through the air above them.
Alistair waited until the other two helicopters were on the ground before replying. “Check the area. No doubt everyone is dead.”
He punched his mobile, as the pilot jumped to the ground. “I need more men converging on the village, coordinates 20.5 and 18.9. Blow the place off the map. It will go down as an attack on suspected fundamentalists, planning a simultaneous attack on Paris and Berlin. Make sure the respective presidents are informed.” Alistair barked orders into his cell then clicked off as the pilot returned. “It is a massacre out there, Ishmael is one of them. A couple of theirs died too.”
“What about Abdul?”
He shook his head “No sign of him, sir. I scoured the camp.”
Alistair grimaced. “The old leopard has changed his spots. The death of his son did it.”
He pressed the dead rose petal which was still in his waistcoat pocket. He had worn his tweed suit to celebrate his imminent victory
“Did you get the co-ordinates for the village?”
The pilot nodded.
“Head towards it. I want everyone, and every animal in it, obliterated. How long will it take you to get there?”
“Fifteen minutes or so”
“The others will be there before us. Instruct them to fire at will.”
Alistair imagined the scenes in the Vatican and Jerusalem. Endgame was closing in. For the first time in a long time, he felt control slipping away from him.
Chapter Sixty-Five
Abdul wiped the beads of sweat from his brow, knowing that Alistair would be in Amarna. He would have pieced together what had happened. It could not be helped. With or without the bugs, Alistair would have mobilised his troops and found them.
He glanced at the little felucca. Its sail was flapping like a humming-bird as it strained to leave. It would be blasted out of the water along with the village. He had his men stationed around the complex, but their weapons were useless against the might of Alistair’s air onslaught. He guessed they had ten minutes at most.
“Are you going to stand there all day?” Akhoum’s question stirred him into action. He wiped his forehead again, then strode along the tiny gangplank.
“I am alone.” He held out his hands. “My men are stationed around the village. They will be mown down like the rest of us in Alistair’s fury.” He gaze rested on each of them.
“Do you have the papyri?” He directed his question to Francisco, who was standing at the back of the felucca.
“Isn’t that why we are here?” Francisco’s eyes bored through Abdul.
“You are your father’s son, Francisco.”
Francisco stiffened. “There are three. We have read two of them. Nefertiti led her people out of Egypt. The unrest following her death generated the invented stories that changed history.”
Abdul turned away from Francisco, whose face was etched with pain. The others looked more or less okay. “Is that all you have? I could have told you that.” He was disappointed as he added: “The Egyptians planted the story of Moses in Nefertiti’s camp to destabilize the group. They were frightened refugees in a strange land. It was not difficult. They needed to be sure that the real story of Giza did not come back to haunt them. Hawwa was formed to protect the knowledge of the Visitation. We had to support the Israelis to keep the Egyptians off our backs.
New information came to light after Napoleon’s sortie into Egypt. The Reformers took most of that. What none of us know is how or why the Great Pyramid was built. It is a matter of time before science and maths reveal the truth. I won’t be alive then; I was hoping you had evidence.”
Francisco grinned, in spite of his pain. Abdul’s words helped to confirm the pieces coming together in his head. “Some kind of dimensional warp caused the alien encounter that created the Great Pyramid. The people who witnessed it converted what happened into something they could understand. It’s where the Nommo and Kasha story came from.”
Abdul’s brown eyes widened. “You have proof?”
“One of the papyri claims Nefertiti was a descendant of Kasha. Hard to believe if they didn’t exist. It’s how our ancestors made sense of an encounter they co
uld not comprehend. The brush with another dimension caused a ripple effect of dark energy, resulting in the creation of the Great Pyramid and the Sphinx. The geometry, which transpired around five hundred years after the Great Pyramid was allegedly built, is inferior to the Pyramid’s design. The Egyptians tried to lay claim to something they did not understand.”
Cara nodded. “Geometry and M-theory support Francisco’s theory. We have no idea what is in the last papyrus; we do know that whatever built the Pyramid was not from this dimension.”
“Extra-terrestrial?”
“Extra-dimensional,” Francisco corrected him.
Abdul smiled; there was a chance his son would be the final martyr to the cause of secrecy. “We have enough. I will call my contact. If he gets this out in the next five minutes, Alistair will have to stop.”
Abdul pressed the phone as images of his wife flashed through his mind. He might see her again. Time dripped in painfully slow motion as he waited for him to answer.
“Idris, we have the missing documents. Alistair will blast us out of this dimension in less than ten minutes if you don’t act now.” He waited as the silence on the other end stretched into infinity.
“Idris, every second we waste is crucial.”
“I heard you – I have seen the internet too. They shut them up pretty quickly.”
“They won’t shut us up, not with the evidence.”
“What made you change? You were the one who wanted to keep the secret; a matter of honour, you said.”
“Alistair killed my son and the other members of Hawwa. Michael, my best friend, once told me that a secret can be too old for itself. Do you need another reason?”
“I heard about Hawwa and your son; I am sorry.”
“Then you also know that the evidence Hawwa had is destroyed. Idris, this is your chance, our last chance. You have to do this. ‘
The Ghost Reapers Page 28