“My thinking exactly.”
Omar now took a few minutes to silently revisit David’s list of names, then asked, “And what about these other people? From what you’ve told me about Haleem’s journal, there were a fair number of candidates to choose from. What made these stand out in your mind?”
David moved his head.
“Nothing really definitive,” he admitted, pausing just long enough to glance over at the notebook in Bayoumi’s hand. “However, they had one thing in common. Though Haleem wasn’t entirely positive, his best recollection was all three came from somewhere along or very near the Red Sea coast. In each instance, what few artifacts they occasionally brought to Cairo were relatively minor—of some inherent valuable, to be sure, but hardly enough to warrant big money. He considered them run-of-the-mill amateurs who occasionally came into possession of items worthy of bringing up to Cairo.”
“I see.”
“Plus, something else about them struck me as being of interest.”
“What?”
“It was the time-frame of their transactions that caught my eye. Look at the dates of their last sales. Unlike Sayed, who was active into the early eighties, not one of them ever returned to do repeat business with Sharif after October 10, 1973—and this despite their being what Haleem referred to as semi-regular customers over the previous few years.”
Omar gave a slow nod.
“Okay, I think I know where you’re going with this. It’s the long, ragged cut on the boy’s face, right? If one of those three was the person from whom that teenager acquired the necklace—then just maybe the man in question didn’t survive the encounter. Hence, no return visits to Sharif.”
“That or maybe he was so badly wounded he chose to get out of the business completely. Either way, it would make sense.”
Omar sighed as he closed the notebook.
“Interesting, but I can see where we’re going to have our hands full trying to fathom all this out. With only surnames to work with it may be impossible. Over forty years is a damn long time! I’ll run them by Professor Nazari once we reach El Quseir—but I honestly don’t think he’ll have any real insights to offer. He’s only been working at the old White Harbor site for the past four years.”
“Which now reminds me,” said David. “You haven’t really told me much about your relationship with Nazari. A good friend of yours, is he?”
“Oh, definitely. I’ve known Karim now for probably ten years and more. In fact, I was instrumental in helping him acquire the El Quseir posting. I like to think my recommendation after his excellent performance assisting on the Alexander excavation helped secure his current position.”
“I didn’t realize he worked on that with you and Rashidi.”
Omar nodded.
“He was only one of many called upon, of course, but his work was outstanding. I believe you’re going find him not just capable, but very likeable. As is his daughter, as well.”
“Daughter?”
“Didn’t I tell you? Sorry. I meant to on the flight in. Her name is Lana, and she’s recently earned a degree in Marine Archaeology from Alexandria University, which ties in well with all the offshore work their site at El Quseir requires.”
He paused, glancing at the digital clock on the vehicle’s dash.
“No matter,” he continued. “You’ll be seeing both of them soon enough. I told Karim last night on the phone to expect us around mid-afternoon and filled him in on what we’re attempting to investigate. Needless to say, he found it all rather fascinating. Too, I should warn you that your reputation has once again preceded you. They’re much anticipating meeting you and Elizabeth after we get settled into the Fanadir Resort. It’s a hotel he highly recommended for several reasons—not the least being its close proximity to his dig site at old White Harbor.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The City Of El Quseir.
They met with Prof. Nazari and his daughter in their rented home facing the Red Sea, the afternoon’s heat agreeably dissipated by a steady onshore breeze, which eliminated any need for artificial cooling. Built almost two centuries earlier, the stone house was constructed in the classic French and British styles of a bygone era, with a shaded terrace of raked gravel overlooked by open wooden balconies that captured the air’s constant movement. As David learned, these were rarely, if ever, closed to the outside. In fact, after four-years residence, their genial host admitted the need to do so had never arisen.
Nazari was a pleasant-featured man in his early fifties, his round, shaven head tanned brown from years of direct exposure in the sun. Though clearly enjoying overall good health, his only noticeable age indicators were a need for thick glasses and an excess of perhaps twenty pounds about his middle, the latter acquired since he and Bayoumi were last together. Amiable and highly knowledgeable, he was a man to whom David took an instant liking. According to what he’d earlier learned from Omar, Nazari had worked his way up from abject poverty, achieving his life’s goals solely through dedicated hard work.
For this alone, he had David’s respect.
Likewise, Elizabeth was fast developing a new friend in Nazari’s engaging daughter, Lana, something that became obvious as the afternoon of conversational introductions progressed. Not yet thirty, the willowy, young woman was almost as striking in her own way as was Elizabeth—though they were quite different in general appearance. Whereas Elizabeth was fair-skinned with long, copper-hued hair, Lana’s coloring was a dusky brown, her jet-black hair closely cropped and combed into bangs—something not often seen in Arab women of any age. As she explained, it was a convenient concession made to her current underwater mapping projects adjacent to her father’s land excavation site. Utilizing her recently earned degree in Marine Archaeology—plus her love and expertise at scuba diving—she was presently gathering vital data on the port’s surprisingly extensive pier foundations that extended far out to sea. Gradually swallowed up by slowly rising ocean levels since Pharaonic, Ptolemaic, Roman—and even Ottoman times—her findings were now providing an expanded picture of all the activity that the ancient facility encompassed during its distant heyday.
No less fascinating to David was the present-day city with its distinct and undeniable charm. He found El Quseir to be a colorful seaside resort of stark contrast between both the new and the very old. Having a population of just under forty thousand, it’s sandy beaches and famous coral reefs made it an ideal place for vacationers to enjoy scuba diving and snorkeling in the area’s abundance of pristine waters. Hence the recent increase in ultra-modern, luxury hotels springing up all around the city’s perimeter.
Fortunately, however, local officials appreciated the need to maintain the location’s historical importance, ensuring the preservation of its rich heritage through strict building codes and firm control over future development sites. Thus it was through careful planning that the city retained its true essence, yet still emerging as a first rate destination with both foreign and domestic tourists. For those whose interests leaned more to traditional sightseeing, the opportunities to partake in walking excursions were many. These included colorful Arab bazaars, a quaint old fishing wharf with adjacent seafood restaurants, local ‘ahwas’ coffee shops, several quality museums—plus exploring the ruins of a sixteenth century Ottoman fort built on the highest ground in the city center.
As the afternoon waned, it took no effort on Lana’s part to tempt Elizabeth into an open jeep for a quick, guided tour of the city’s highlights. If anything, David was pleased to see her so engaged and animated, clearly enjoying her first day spent in this idyllic setting of sun and sea.
David and Omar now took the opportunity to finally address their reason for being here as the three men sat relaxing on the shaded patio. To a large degree, Nazari already knew the basic premise of their theory from a lengthy phone conversation he’d had with Bayoumi on the previous evening. How much actual credence he gave it remained to be seen.
As a necessary precursor t
o their discussion, David opened his briefcase and drew out the color photos of the enigmatic pearl necklace given to him by Haleem.
A silent Nazari studied each in turn.
“Look familiar?” smiled Omar. “When you place it alongside the one we extracted from Alexander’s tomb, I can tell you the comparison is even more remarkable.”
Nazari shook his head.
“More like identical, I’d say,” he finally muttered. “How extraordinary!” He then removed his glasses, his brow knitting in apparent concentration. “And you’re telling me that Rashidi did all the appropriate tests and confirmed its antiquity?”
“Yesterday. It’s the real deal, no question. Every test Ahmed ran came back positive—even down to identifying its probable source in the Punjab region of ancient northern India.”
“I take it you’re now referring to the so-called Ptolemaic Porus Legacy you spoke about last night, correct?”
Omar nodded.
“And thus your contention is much more of this might still exist?”
“That’s our current theory, yes.”
Nazari heaved a thoughtful sigh before responding.
“Well, I must admit it’s an interesting hypothesis. For myself, I honestly don’t know what to make of this.” He hesitated. “If you don’t mind, please tell me once again the story of how and when this piece came into the possession of Sharif Khafaghi.”
Omar did so in detail.
He concluded by saying, “We understand that our theory of a Caesarian connection to El Quseir is speculative, but it’s all we have to work with—that plus a short list of names provided by Haleem we’d like you to look over. Beyond this, we can ask no more of you, my friend.”
Nazari briefly rubbed the bridge of his nose before again donning his glasses.
“I can’t imagine what actual help I can be, gentlemen, but rest assured I’ll certainly assist any way possible. May I see the list?”
David flipped open his notepad to the appropriate page and handed it over.
After several long moments, Nazari moved his head in apparent defeat, leaving no doubt in David’s mind that the older man had nothing pertinent to offer. Nor did he expect it would be otherwise. In this, however, the astute man would prove him wrong.
“If I understand your notations, Professor Manning—”
“Please. It’s David.”
“David then. Setting this Mustafa Sayed aside for the moment, I can see where this Haleem fellow was correct in his supposition these people came from our area. The surnames by themselves are extremely common—in most part totally useless after so many years—but it’s clear to me from the items they sold to Sharif that they were indeed relative locals.”
“What convinces you?”
“Well, take these two for example, Assaf and Khoury, and then look at what they occasionally brought up to Cairo. In both cases they’re small artifacts of later Greek origin, meaning Ptolemaic, which strongly suggests they probably lived right here in El Quseir. I suspect the pieces were dug up and acquired at some point near our current excavation sites. In just the past few years alone, I myself have unearthed a fair number of such items on a regular basis alongside the ancient port. Nothing major, of course, but nonetheless all notable.”
“And the third?”
Once again Nazari referred to the notations in David’s notebook.
“Now as for this fellow, Shadid,” he continued, “what few items he routinely peddled to Sharif are historically quite different, yet equally telling as to their probable source. By Haleem’s sparse description, the artifacts were from the Roman period—not Greek—which suggests they originated not here in El Quseir, but more likely a couple of miles up the coast in the small town of Myos Hormos.”
David’s expression showed his unfamiliarity with the name.
“It was a port built by the Romans in the late first century and continuously active up until the fourth when it eventually silted over. Now considered just a rural suburb of El Quseir, all that remains are the ruins of a few stone foundations, though I suspect a fair amount of artifacts were illegally acquired from there over the years.”
“Meaning Shadid may have lived there?”
“Perhaps, but not necessarily. As I said, its proximity to El Quseir is so close as to be almost negligible.”
David appreciated these observations, but they weren’t as informative as he wished. It now appeared the problem of identifying these men was going to be as insurmountable as he first feared. If they were to move this investigation forward, he knew that some way or another he needed to begin a process of name elimination.
But where to begin?
“And what about this Mustafa Sayed?” he asked. “I had hopes that contrary to Haleem’s belief, perhaps the man might’ve also came from El Quseir. But if I understood you correctly, you implied there’s evidence to show this probably wasn’t the case.”
“True,” said Nazari. “If anything, I suspect Haleem’s original guess to be accurate. The man most likely lived close to the Nile, probably somewhere around either Qena or Luxor.”
“Based on what?”
“Conjecture, mostly—yet supported by some very sound evidence, as well. Perhaps the best way to explain is by simply showing you.” He paused. “Let me first ask you a question, however. You mentioned when you arrived that you three had plans to drive inland to visit the temple complex at Dendera tomorrow. Is this still your intention?”
“Tentatively, yes. Elizabeth has never toured any major Egyptian ruins before. Certainly nothing on that scale.”
“Then if you’ve no objections, would it be too much to ask if Lana and I might accompany you?”
“Not a problem, Karim. In fact we’d enjoy having you both along. But I have to wonder what prompted—?”
Nazari tapped the notepad with his finger.
“As you probably surmised, it concerns this Sayed fellow. I’ve something I wish to show you on the way back—something that just may be pertinent to your investigation.” Before David could quiz him further, a smiling Nazari posed yet another question. “How familiar are you with the contents of the narrow valley that cuts through our eastern desert called Wadi Hammamat?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
They departed El Quseir before dawn, driving the bulk of the four-hour distance to Dendera while Egypt’s eastern desert yet remained relatively cool. David knew the landscape wouldn’t remain so for long. The eventual reflected heat from this wide section of the Sahara running parallel between the Nile and the Red Sea could be unforgiving, particularly at this time of the year. Still and all, with the sun’s arrival, the vivid range of colors that developed across the barren landscape of sand and rock proved nothing less than spectacular.
David’s rented SUV held all five of them comfortably, the two women excited at the prospect of touring the famed ruins. As it turned out, this would also be Lana’s first visit, which came as a minor surprise. Apparently the opportunity for her to do so had simply never arisen.
It was 9:20 when David reached the enormous temple grounds located roughly two miles southeast of the modern city of Dendera. There he found the huge parking lot already fast filling with hotel buses and private vehicles of every description, all clearly hoping to get a jump on the day’s expected heat.
The renowned site entailed some 180,000 square feet, all surrounded by a massive, mud brick wall of ancient construction. Within this enclosure was an area held sacred to the Egyptian gods since early dynastic times, today drawing tourists from around the entire world. Considered one of the best-preserved temple complexes in the country, it rivaled even fabled Luxor to the south. Though the majority of the extant buildings were constructed in Ptolemaic and Roman times, a few predated these by many centuries—most notable being a chapel built around the year 352 BCE by Nectanebo II, the last native pharaoh to ever rule Egypt.
By far the largest structure was the great Temple of Hathor, dedicated to the ancient Goddess of Fer
tility. Enormous by anyone’s standards, it still supported its original roof. Because of this, the interior walls, the massive columns and high ceiling displayed some of the most vibrant and colorful paintings to be seen dating from antiquity.
All of it was visibly impressive.
Yet, by the early afternoon’s conclusion of their walking tour, it was the single unique relief carved high into one of the towering exterior walls that most drew their fascinated attention.
Hewn deep into the stone surface on a grand scale was a depiction of Cleopatra VII dressed as the Goddess Isis, and standing alongside her was her son, fathered by Julius Caesar and royally attired as Pharaoh Caesarian Ptolemy XV. To the best of David’s knowledge, no other such depiction existed anywhere in Egypt. But beyond being an intriguing image, it provided them nothing. Since it was clearly carved well before their deaths, no stretch of his imagination could in anyway link this location—geographically or otherwise—to Caesarian’s subsequent attempt to leave Egypt for India.
Omar and Karim were of a like mind. For the youth to journey this way simply didn’t make sense. And to what possible end? Nothing here could’ve provided the boy any reprieve from Octavian’s assiduous pursuit.
Quite the opposite was true.
At best it would only be a familiar place to somehow try and hide, not somewhere safe to build a new life for himself. Keeping his identity a secret in here of all places would prove impossible. After all, he was a crowned pharaoh. The application of hard logic made this scenario untenable. No, they concluded, if Caesarian went anywhere, it almost certainly would’ve been to the ancient port at El Quseir on the Red Sea. David concurred. This deduction wasn’t unanticipated, yet he knew the effort to come see Dendera wasn’t a complete waste of time.
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