The Alexandria Connection

by Adrian D'hagé

  ‘Good morning. I trust you slept well.’ Rachel’s greeting, as she stepped into Crowley’s office, was cool. She hated being in Dallas, although not because of the city. Her two-storey house provided by EVRAN on Dallas’ elite Strait Lane was at the top of the spectrum – it was more a matter of who else was here, and Rachel had never liked to share. Some time ago, she had promised herself she would force her boss to divorce his twinset-and-pearls wife, and the management of his Ploutos Park estate would be added to her suite of fiercely guarded responsibilities.

  Crowley poured himself a cup of coffee from the percolator on the sideboard. ‘What’s the program look like today?’

  ‘In a word, busy,’ Rachel said, placing a printout from his electronic diary on the desk. ‘As instructed, I’ve left you a gap between nine and ten a.m. Will you be in the office?’ she probed.

  ‘There are some things you don’t need to be involved in.’ Crowley’s response was crisp. Any knowledge of Crowley’s meetings with assassins like the tattooed felon Elias D. Ruger was on a strictly need-to-know basis. Other than the head of Area 15, Eugene Reid, no one in EVRAN, including Rachel, had access into the Ruger compartment.

  ‘The board meeting’s at eleven, with lunch at one,’ Rachel replied, equally crisply.

  ‘They’re all here?

  ‘All here,’ Rachel confirmed. The last executive to turn up late for a board meeting had been fired on the spot. Not that the monthly EVRAN board meeting was anything more than a rubber stamp. The sparse minutes were only there to meet the requirements of the regulatory authorities.

  ‘Recording system?’

  ‘Checked and working for the boardroom, and in case you want anything recorded in a one-on-one, your office system is set to go as well.’ Unbeknown to his executives, Crowley’s conversations with them were all recorded, and the digital records secured with compartment passwords to which only he and Rachel had access. Crowley was determined that neither he nor EVRAN would ever be confronted by a Watergate-style tape. The less salubrious deals and directions were always discussed one-on-one in Crowley’s office, with Rachel the only other person in the room. If it ever went to court, it would be the word of two people against one, or at least, that was Crowley’s plan.

  ‘And you wanted to talk to Pastor Shipley about nailing down the evangelical vote. Do you want me to put that through now?’

  ‘Don’t bother. I spoke to that Bible-bashing asshole last night. He won’t have a bar of Davis, and won’t campaign for his nomination.’

  ‘Well, I can’t say I’m surprised . . . I guess our weekend in Cannes is off the agenda?’ Rachel smiled and raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Have we get any dirt on Shipley yet?’ Crowley asked irritably, ignoring her look and doodling with his solid-gold pen – a Panthère de Cartier encrusted with over 400 diamonds and emeralds.

  ‘Perhaps. There might be a hole in his taxes. His Hermit Road mega-church rakes in just over US $40 million a year, which is tax-exempt, but for the past five years he’s only declared a salary of US $50 000. Yet as you’re well aware, he has a private jet and drives a Maserati. Area 15’s working on that little anomaly.’

  ‘No point in paying taxes if you don’t have to, and putting him in to the Inland Revenue Service isn’t going to get us anywhere. Where are we at with Carter Davis?’

  ‘I’ve spoken to his PA, and Davis will take your call when you’re ready. But before we get to that, Mr Reid wants to see you . . . he says it’s urgent.’

  Rachel opened the door to allow Reid access, and then moved to one of the occasional tables where she quietly switched on the recording system, one of three points in the room from where it could be activated.

  ‘That’ll be all, Rachel.’

  Surprised, Rachel maintained a neutral look and withdrew, closing the soundproofed door behind her. She was very rarely excluded from Crowley’s discussions, and it infuriated her when she was. She made a mental note to check the recordings.

  ‘There’s been a development in Cairo,’ Reid said. Like Ruger, the tall, thin head of Area 15 sported tattoos, including a flaming skull and crossbones on his neck. ‘You asked us to keep a watching brief on papyri in Egypt. Well, one has just surfaced. The Horus Papyrus.’

  Crowley was instantly focused. One of the greatest threats to the dogma of Christianity had finally been found.

  ‘Our man in the Cairo Museum has sent us the following.’ Reid handed over the decrypted message, along with a photograph of the papyrus and a translation of the hieroglyphics. ‘O’Connor and Weizman met with Badawi, the director, and donated the papyrus to the museum’s collection, but on condition that Badawi hold off on any announcement while they search for the Euclid Papyrus. We’ve kept both under surveillance. As we speak, O’Connor’s back in Washington, which leaves Weizman vulnerable.’

  Crowley shook his head. ‘The Horus Papyrus is unique, and that makes it worthy of a place in any collection,’ he said mentally making space for it, ‘but for the moment, its value lies in the threat it poses to the Christians and their dogma. The Euclid Papyrus is far more important, and Weizman and O’Connor might just lead us to it.’

  ‘That may be so, but as far as the Horus Papyrus is concerned, Aboud’s put an asking price of US $50 million on it.’

  ‘Where does that come from? It’s not in this message?’

  ‘We’ve been monitoring Aboud’s communications. He’s offered it to Rubinstein in Venice on the quiet, which is why I asked to see you urgently.’

  Crowley coloured visibly. ‘So he thinks he can knock it off, and we’re going to be none the wiser. Double-crossing little turd. What’s Rubinstein’s response?’

  ‘He said he’d get back to him.’

  ‘And the Jew will add another ten million on top of that and offer it to me.’

  ‘Or the Vatican?’

  ‘Or the evangelicals,’ Crowley mused, a plan forming in his mind. ‘Leave it with me, and keep monitoring Weizman, O’Connor, Rubinstein and Aboud, twenty-four seven. In the meantime, I’m meeting with an old colleague of yours, Elias Ruger.’

  Crowley scrutinised Reid’s face for any reaction to his mention of Reid’s one-time fellow inmate of the Illinois State Penitentiary, but there was none.

  ‘I’ve cleared him into Area 15, but only for assignments that affect him. You’re to provide him with intelligence on matters that I might authorise from time to time, beginning with the brief on O’Connor and Weizman’s activities in Alexandria and Cairo.’

  Once Reid had left, Crowley buzzed Rachel. ‘I’ll be back in an hour. If Shipley’s in town, squeeze him in before the board meeting. If he balks, tell him I’d like to make another donation.’

  ‘Welcome to Dallas,’ Crowley said to Ruger, lighting a cigar. The concierge had shown them into one of the private rooms in The Leopard Club, just one of Dallas’ many gentlemen’s clubs that provided exclusive services, day and night. He waited while the young waitress, her attire leaving nothing to the imagination, delivered coffee.

  ‘I trust the accommodation we’ve provided is of a better standard than that of the state of Illinois?’

  ‘It makes a pleasant change.’ Ruger was just on six three in his socks, a huge bear of a man who kept himself very fit. His short, dark hair was tinged with grey, and his face was pockmarked – a legacy of teenage acne – with his right cheek scarred from a bar room brawl.

  ‘Well, I’m glad Judge O’Reilly has corrected things . . .’ Crowley let his words hang, leaving Ruger in no doubt who’d been behind his acquittal. ‘And now that’s out of the way, we need to discuss your future employment.’ Ruger had been briefed by the County Court bagman that the price of his freedom would be explained once he arrived in Dallas.

  Ruger was a man of few words. His face expressionless, he nodded.

  ‘Like all big companies, to a certain extent, we rely on commercial intelligence, and both espionage and counter-espionage surveillance is provided by a department of EVRAN known as Are
a 15. The existence of this is on a need-to-know basis. Within Area 15, there are compartments – every so often, we face threats that have to be eliminated, if you get my drift.’

  ‘I don’t come cheap, Mr Crowley.’

  ‘And we don’t employ amateurs, Ruger,’ Crowley replied icily. ‘Money’s not the issue. It’s getting the assignments out of the way cleanly, without any trails. You’ve been provided with an apartment here in Dallas, with a retainer of US $100 000 a year, on the understanding that you drop whatever you might be doing when we call. Provided it doesn’t expose your arrangement with us, what you do in your spare time is up to you. As to assignments, that will depend on their nature, but if they involve high-value targets, they come in at around US $300 000. Any questions?’

  ‘Are there any targets at present?’

  ‘There may be some problems in Montana.’ Crowley gave Ruger a broad outline of the Davis candidature. ‘I’m confident that Davis will run, but we’ve had to buy off some of the governor’s indiscretions.’

  Ruger shrugged and listened again while Crowley gave him the bare details on O’Connor and Weizman, and the search for the Euclid Papyrus in Alexandria. If Ruger wondered why the CEO of the world’s biggest energy multinational might have an interest in an ancient artifact, he didn’t show it.

  ‘At the moment,’ Crowley continued, ‘surveillance in Egypt is being provided through the Egyptian Museum of Antiquities, courtesy of one Doctor Omar Aboud, but we may need to eliminate him,’ he said, as if he were talking about a sports competition. ‘He’s not to be trusted. He doesn’t know it, but we’ve discovered he’s providing intelligence to an art dealer in Venice.’ Crowley left Ruger in no doubt that he too, could expect his activities to be monitored. ‘We’ll deal with Aboud in due course, but a more immediate task is the transfer of some highly sensitive cargo from our nuclear laboratories in California. You’ll be briefed on the details a little later today.’

  Rachel picked up the phone on Crowley’s massive cedar desk and seconds later handed it to her boss. ‘Nancy Callahan, Governor Davis’s PA,’ she said softly.

  ‘Ms Callahan, good morning, Sheldon Crowley here. Thank you . . . Governor Davis, good to hear your voice. I trust you’re well.’

  ‘Never fitter, Sheldon. To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?’

  ‘I’ve been watching from a distance, Carter, and you’re doing one helluva job up there, and as you’ve got an election coming up soon, there are a few people down here who would like to help. I realise that it’s short notice, but there’s a very big donation in the offing, so if you can organise your busy schedule the week after next, I’ll send my private jet, and we’ll put you up at Ploutos Park.’

  ‘Well, that’s mighty neighbourly of you, Sheldon, just wait one . . .’

  Crowley quietly switched to speakerphone. Carter Davis’s voice was muffled by his hand over the phone, but it came through clearly enough. ‘Nancy – what’ve we got on the week after next?’

  ‘Monday’s pretty clear, but Tuesday you have a bunch of meetings, including Pastor Elias Satchelby.’

  ‘Put them off.’

  ‘You’ve put Pastor Satchelby off three times already.’

  ‘Put him off again. Wednesday?’

  ‘Chamber of Commerce in the morning, the Jewish Board of Deputies in the afternoon, followed by the young high achievers’ awards.’

  ‘Get the deputy governor to stand in.’

  ‘And you’ve got the judging for Miss Montana in the evening. I’ll get the deputy governor to stand in for that as well.’

  ‘No, no, I’ll do that one . . . are you there, Sheldon? How about I come down Monday week and leave early on the Wednesday. I’ve got an important meeting Wednesday night I can’t afford to put off.’

  ‘We’ll be very pleased to see you, and I should have mentioned, Mrs Davis is most welcome to come down if she’s free.’

  ‘Mrs Davis doesn’t travel all that well, Sheldon, but no problem at all for me this end, and I’ll look forward to it.’

  ‘Excellent. I’ll get our secretaries to make the arrangements. Nice talking to you.’ Crowley handed the phone to Rachel.

  Rachel rolled her eyes. ‘Nancy . . . I don’t think we’ve met, but I hope we can remedy that very soon. Now, one of EVRAN’s Gulfstream jets will be at Helena airport to pick up the governor at nine a.m. on Monday week, and I’ll email all the details through to you this morning . . . nice talking to you too.’

  ‘Hasn’t changed his spots. First time I’ve heard the “Miss Montana” contest described as an important meeting,’ said Rachel.

  ‘It will be up to you to keep him under control,’ Crowley said irritably, ‘but getting him down here is just the half of it. Unless we get those fucking evangelicals off their Christian asses and down to the ballot box, the election is wide open. Is Shipley here yet?’

  ‘Just arrived.’

  ‘Show him in.’

  ‘Pastor Matthias, thank you so much for coming,’ said Crowley, shaking Shipley by the hand.

  Rachel winced. She too had shaken the pastor’s hand and it was like grasping a flabby, wet fish. Pale, and portly, Shipley was bordering on obese. The private jet and the Maserati were not the only tax-free perks available in the business of saving souls. The Hermit Road mega-church had a fully staffed commercial kitchen to respond to Pastor Shipley’s not inconsiderable love of gourmet food.

  ‘My pleasure,’ said Shipley, taking one of the office couches, ‘although I hope it’s not about this Davis candidature. We went through that last night.’

  ‘I’ll come to that in a moment, but first, let’s discuss your building fund. I was thinking of something along the lines of US $50 000?’

  ‘That’s a very generous donation, Sheldon, and one that the Lord will welcome, but only if there are no strings attached. We could not possibly consider any candidate for the White House who has divorced his wife. The Bible’s very clear about divorce,’ Shipley said, reaching into his soft attaché case and withdrawing a well-worn leather Bible.

  Rachel groaned inwardly.

  ‘“What therefore God has joined together, let no man separate . . .” Mark 10:2.’ Shipley tapped the page for emphasis. ‘Whoever divorces his wife and marries another woman commits adultery. We need to be very clear on that, Sheldon.’ He sniffed loudly.

  ‘I seem to remember Ronald Reagan was divorced, and you got behind him . . . Have you ever heard of the Horus Papyrus, Matthias?’ Crowley asked.

  Rachel thought Shipley looked even paler than usual.

  ‘Errant nonsense.’

  ‘But nevertheless a threat to your church. Your empire is built on the authenticity of Christianity.’

  ‘The Egyptians were pagans.’

  ‘Which is the point, is it not? If the Christian religion is a mirror image of an earlier pagan religion, that’s going to raise some very serious questions among your generous followers. An Egyptian God, Horus, who was born of a virgin on 25 December with a “star in the east” with three kings heralding his arrival. Three thousand years before Christ was even heard of, this Egyptian God had twelve disciples, walked on water, raised people from the dead and turned water into wine.’

  ‘It’s not the first time academics have tried to draw a parallel,’ Shipley said weakly.

  ‘No, indeed,’ Crowley agreed. ‘But it’s more than just a parallel, Matthias. The Egyptian Book of the Dead contained the Ten Commandments, well before Moses got hold of them. And the ancient Egyptians inscribed hieroglyphics on the walls of the Temple of Luxor that depict the Annunciation. Just as the Archangel Gabriel announces the virgin birth of Christ to Mary, centuries before, the Egyptian god Thoth has already announced Horus’s virgin birth to Isis.’

  Rachel observed both men closely. Crowley, she knew, thought religion was a crock of nonsense, but he’d clearly done his homework. If religion could help get his puppet in the White House, then he was going to harness it. Shipley’s pallor had turned to puc
e and he was struggling to control his rage. Was this pastor a man of real faith, she wondered, or was his rage generated by the threat to the foundations of his multi-million-dollar empire?

  ‘Until now, you’ve been able to dismiss these similarities as the ramblings of atheist academics, but now there’s proof. This is the first time an ancient document, recording the complete details of the Egyptian religion, has surfaced . . . an almost identical religion to Christianity that predates Christ by three millennia. Those Egyptian stories that finished up in your Bible were handed down by word of mouth through the mists of time,’ Crowley continued, grinding Shipley into the mud. ‘And if the Horus Papyrus is published, the whole world will also know the Egyptian god was crucified and rose from the dead after three days . . . More than a remarkable coincidence wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Where is this papyrus?’ Shipley croaked.

  Crowley smiled. ‘It’s safely locked away in a vault, and provided you get firmly behind the Davis campaign, that’s where it will stay.’

  25 CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

  ‘Murray seems pretty keen on an audit of Crowley’s books,’ O’Connor observed, as he and McNamara struggled to make sense of the intelligence coming out of the NSA and what Crowley and Khan might be up to in Alexandria.