Death of a Pharaoh

  Ethan ordered the car with the bug to head for the 34th Street Heliport.

  “Take the first right and make your way to the Port Authority terminal at 8th and 42nd,” he instructed the driver beside him.

  Stevenson was in continuous contact with Special Agent in Charge, Frank Reynolds of the FBI as he tracked the backpack on his computer.

  “We were cut off by some raghead’s motorcade at the UN,” the agent yelled. “Where are they now?”

  “They just turned east on 37th Street,” the lawyer confirmed. “What’s there?”

  “They’re must be heading for the heliport. Let me know if they go under the FDR.”

  Stevenson could hear him talking on another phone.

  ”This is Frank Reynolds, Special Agent for the FBI. Close down the 37th Street heliport. Do it!” he insisted. “Right now!”

  “Frank, they’ve stopped just on the other side of the FDR,” Stevenson told him.

  “Roger, I’m a block away.”

  Stevenson waited with baited breath for an update.

  “There’s a helicopter taking off without permission,” another voice in the car announced.

  “Track that chopper and get teams to La Guardia and JFK,” Frank ordered.

  Stevenson knew it was too late. They had lost them.

  Ten minutes later, Ryan and the others boarded a New Jersey Transit bus bound for Teterboro Airport.

  “A stretch will meet us at the bus terminal,” Ethan whispered.

  When they arrived, Zach sprinted ahead to verify the license plate as Ethan instructed. He signaled the all clear.

  Once inside the limo, Ethan turned to Tony, “Mr. Zamora, Anna has been released and one of our cars is taking her to the hotel. Tomorrow we’ll get her home. I’m afraid we can’t risk taking her to see Manuel. Both the boys are with Ryan’s parents in a safe house.”

  Tony looked relieved.

  “Zach, your Mom is already on her way home.”

  He smiled his acknowledgement.

  The limo stopped at the entrance to general aviation. The guard checked the license plate against his list and waved them through. Two minutes later, it pulled up to the stairs of a Gulfstream long-range jet.

  Tony whistled, “What did you say your Grandmother did?”

  Ryan started to answer but Zach interrupted him, “Tony may I introduce His Majesty, Nkosana I, True Pharaoh of Egypt and Defender of Ma’at.” He sat back beaming as Tony stared at them in shock.

  “Tony, close your mouth and get on the plane!” Ryan ordered.

  They bounded up the stairs and the co-pilot quickly pulled the door shut and armed it for takeoff.

  “Get us out of here, Henry,” Ethan told the pilot as they buckled up. “Give our destination as Puerto Rico. Let me know the minute we are in international airspace.”

  They were airborne in five minutes.

  “Think they’ll come after us?” Ryan asked.

  “The FBI doesn’t have the capacity, they’ll need to get Homeland Security on board,” he remarked, “and that will cost them precious time.”

  “Are we armed?”

  “Like a smaller version of Air Force One.”

  “That’s not very comforting,” Tony remarked, “I saw the Harrison Ford movie.”

  The pilot came over the intercom, “We’ve been ordered back, sir.”

  “How long until we’re out of American airspace?” Ethan asked over the intercom.

  “Three minutes, sir.”

  “Ignore them.”

  It was a long 180 seconds while they all imagined several A-10 fighters suddenly appearing alongside the jet. None did.

  “Go south for a hundred miles then make a heading for FNC in Madeira. Give me an ETA as soon as you can.”

  “Where are we going?” Tony inquired.

  “Senegal in West Africa,” Ethan replied, “after a quick stop for fuel.”

  “I don’t have my passport with me,” Tony reminded them.

  Ethan opened a briefcase beside his chair and pulled out a sealed manila envelope.

  “Temporary travel documents issued by the Foreign Ministry of Egypt, all we have to do is fill in our names. They’ll do until we fabricate new identities and get matching passports.”

  Ethan smiled at them, proud of his planning. “Can I get anyone a drink?” he added.

  They all burst into laughter.

  “Is there anything you can’t do?” Ryan joked.

  Zach offered to help Ethan in the galley.

  “So what happens next?” Tony asked. “Not that I’m complaining, this is the most exciting day I’ve had in years.”

  “I have to get ready for my coronation in two months.”

  “So all this Pharaoh shit is for real?”

  “Afraid so!”

  “What does a Pharaoh do anyway?”

  “Try to save the world,” Ryan quipped, “and I could use a good fighter on my side.”

  “As long as Manuel’s safe, I’m all yours.”

  Ethan and Zach came back with a tray of drinks.

  “Herbert just radioed to say that he is on his way to London,” Ethan said. “He has a good lead on the mystery group. He’ll call us in Dakar with a full report. Oh and the Yankees won 7 to 5.”

  “Well at least the Baseball Gods are with us!” Ryan deadpanned.

  “Try to get some rest,” Ethan suggested, “we’ll be landing in Madeira in about six hours.”

  With the cabin lights dimmed, they were all asleep within fifteen minutes.

  Lord Thoth received the update to Nkosana’s dream archive seconds later. The excursion to the baseball game ended differently than any of them could have imagined. The Supreme Council would be anxious to get a sense of how he was coping with the dramatic turn of events. Herbert Lewis artfully controlled the situation. The coordination with the Jordanian delegation proved decisive in the Pharaoh’s flight to freedom. Still it was obvious that the most difficult part was yet to come.

  He read the transcripts of the conversation in the executive jet with great interest. The Pharaoh’s loyalty to his two friends was commendable. In many ways, Nkosana was changing. It was only ten days since he swore the oath and already he was thinking like a Pharaoh. He was considering appointing Herbert Lewis as his Vizier. The Council would be pleased.

  There had been much tension in their recent debates. Many called for a wave of divine retribution to revenge the death of Fannie, which would have claimed tens of thousands of innocent lives. Others recommended prudence and the positive changes in Nkosana’s demeanor would only serve to underscore the wisdom of that position.

  The Pharaoh’s escape from the clutches of his enemies was an important victory and the forces of good had gained a much-needed breathing space. Still, it was a frustrating time for the Council. For many of the Gods it was difficult to accept that events on earth relegated them to the role of mere spectators. The future of humanity played out before their very eyes and there was little any of them could do to influence the outcome. The fate of the world depended on the strength and courage of one young man cocooned in a fragile metal tube hurtling through the darkness over the Atlantic Ocean.

  Thoth tried to imagine the faint light emanating from the windows of the craft; it would be almost insignificant in the vastness of space. Yet for humanity, it was both a beacon of hope as well as a flaming arrow aimed directly at the dark heart of evil.

  Lord Thoth closed the archive and began to prepare his report for the Council. He had never kept anything from his fellow Gods, not once in all these millennia, but this time he decided to guard some of his private thoughts. He had a strange sensation that it was not only the fate of humanity that depended on Nkosana, but theirs as well. Perhaps he was becoming sentimental in his old age. The possibility intrigued him; after all, it was a decidedly human trait. He reminded himself that his colleagues were waiting. He swept his thoughts into an imaginary box and closed the lid tightly. Pandora would be proud of him. The Council
had enough to consider without his mawkish reflections.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chief Mbaye’s Compound, Camberene, Dakar, Senegal: 11:42 GMT September 26, 2016

  The motorcade pulled up in the shade of a cluster of tall palm trees that dotted well-maintained gardens; both to protect the occupants from the hot sun as well as from prying eyes. Even Chief Mbaye could sense that it was a different man who stepped out of the car in front of his spacious family compound in the Camberene district of Dakar, a former village of his Lebou tribe but now surrounded by the urban sprawl of the nation’s capital.

  “My Lord Pharaoh, welcome to my humble home,” the Vizier announced as he stepped forward to kiss him three times starting on the left then alternating cheeks. Ethan had briefed Ryan that it was the custom in Senegal.

  “From the many pictures my grandmother took of this house, she must have loved it. I am honored to be here.” Ryan replied.

  The Chief bowed to everyone else.

  “Please, we will have some tea. You must be tired from your long and unexpected journey,” he insisted.

  He led Ryan by the arm to the farthest table on the spacious shaded veranda framed by a riot of tropical flowers, while his staff directed the others to a larger table out of earshot.

  The Chief remained silent while a woman offered Ryan a bowl to wash his hands.

  “This is Senegalese tea, it is called attaya,” he indicated as he picked up a pot. “It is always served in three rounds.”

  Ryan tasted the hot brew; it was strong and bitter. After a few minutes of small talk, the Chief served the second cup. This time it was sweeter and there was a hint of mint.

  “How are your grandchildren?” Ryan inquired.

  Ethan coached him that it was polite to ask about the health of family members.

  “They are all doing well. May the Gods be praised.”

  He served the third cup of tea. It was extremely sweet and there was much more mint. Ryan was puzzled.

  “My Lord, for my people, the Lebou, the tea ceremony is like friendship; the longer it lasts the sweeter it becomes.”

  Ryan enjoyed the simple eloquence of his explanation.

  The same woman returned with plates of food. She never looked directly at any of the men as would be expected in a mostly Muslim nation.

  “This is called Ceebu-jenn,” the Chief said pointing to a large platter. “It is a popular dish made of fish, rice and a vegetable sauce.”

  Ryan tasted a spoonful. It was delicious.

  “And these are smoked sea urchins,” he continued. “We harvest them ourselves from the rocks at low tide,” he commented with pride.

  Ryan was less certain that he would like the second plate but he tried them anyway as he knew that his Vizier might take offense if he didn’t sample every dish. Chief Mbaye smiled his approval. Ryan thought that the urchins were an acquired taste.

  Ryan admired the fact that they were in the middle of an unprecedented threat, yet the conversation never strayed from friendly chatter about family, the weather and the history of the Lebou. It was so different from the directness of most Americans. He rather liked the change.

  “Let me show you to your quarters so you can rest,” the Chief suggested, “You and your friends have had quite the adventure.”

  “Thank you Chief. I could use a nap and a shower.”

  Ethan lingered after the Chief escorted Ryan to his room.

  “Any news from London?” the Pharaoh asked.

  “Yes, Herbert reports that the team there has made great progress. He will send an update later today.”

  “Good. Are Zach and Tony all settled in?”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “Wake me up when Herbert’s report arrives,” he instructed. “Thanks for everything you did today. You were great.”

  Two hours later, Ethan knocked gently on the door. He carried Herbert’s report in the other hand. After a short delay, Ryan opened for him looking like he had just woken from a deep sleep.

  “Jet lag,” he offered as an excuse.

  “Sorry, my Lord, but a message just arrived from Herbert and I knew it couldn’t wait.”

  “Ethan, when we are alone you can call me Ryan,”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  “Can we get some coffee?”

  “Just pull on that,” he pointed to a chord hanging by the bed.

  “What does Herbert say?”

  “It is worse than we thought.”

  Ryan assumed this is how the President felt when his National Security Advisor disturbed him in the middle of the night to inform of a crisis.

  A servant appeared at the door.

  “Can we get coffee for two, please?”

  He was gone with a bow.

  “You were saying.”

  “They have identified the group responsible for your Grandmother’s murder,” he announced.

  Ryan was now fully awake.

  Ethan continued, “It is a highly secretive entity known only as the Consortium. The members are bankers, industrialists, financiers and high wealth investors. They all share three traits: they are rich, conservative and extremely ambitious. They make the Tea Party Republicans look like a church choir from Brooklyn. Many belong to the Bilderberg Club, but that seems to have served more as a form of introduction rather than a prerequisite for membership. They embrace an extreme philosophy based on a deep anger with what they see as the incompetence of governments around the world. They feel that the global economy would be far more profitable if only they were in charge. Twelve years ago, they began to develop a blueprint to take it over. After Professor Sonkin tapped into your Grandmother’s trading activities and started his investment report, they contacted him and offered a lucrative contract if he could prolong the recession for a defined period. Sonkin thought he could deliver. That is until the Gods called your Grandmother to a meeting. The professor didn’t understand why but he knew if she went to Africa, his plan would fail. They killed her not knowing that you were waiting in the wings. They, like many of our enemies, thought that you were dead and there would be no one to continue her work.”

  “Do we know their names?”

  “Not yet. Our investigators are working on it. They have some leads but the members are very secretive. They never meet as a group. Most of the leadership is based in London and Hong Kong. Herbert expects to have more information when he arrives in two days.”

  “Thank you Ethan. Let’s get together with Zach and Tony. I’ve been thinking about some changes and with things getting complicated, we need to get them up to speed. How is Zach doing anyway?”

  “His loyalty to you knows no bounds,” he assured the Pharaoh. “He is clever in his own way and strong.”

  Ryan detected a note of pride, even affection, in Ethan’s thoughts when they spoke of Zach. He wondered if they were getting close.

  The four of them gathered in Chief Mbaye’s library for some refreshments before dinner.

  “Guys, events are moving rapidly. It will be months, maybe years, before you can safely see your loved ones again.” He paused to let the weight of his words sink in.

  “I’d understand if either of you asked to back out,” he told them. “This is my fight, not yours.”

  “Fat chance of that!” Zach emphasized.

  Tony nodded in agreement.

  “Kind of thought you’d both say that.”

  “I plan to make Herbert Lewis my Vizier. I’ll tell Mbaye tonight. He has been expecting it since we arrived.”

  “Ethan, I’d like you to replace him as Head of Security.”

  Zach and Tony broke into cheers.

  “I am deeply honored, my Lord, and I accept.”

  “For the time being, David can coordinate back in Philadelphia and he’ll keep watch over Ricky and Manuel.”

  “Ethan I’d like Zach and Tony on my personal security if you think they are up for it.”

  “That would have been my recommendation.”

  “Good
, now that we all have a job. Ethan can you brief them on what we know about the forces aligned against us.”

  Ethan began a skilled analysis of the threat posed by the Consortium and Sanctus Verum. He left nothing out. It took almost an hour and while he spoke, Ryan closely watched the faces of his two friends looking for the slightest reservation or fear. He only saw determination and strength. Maybe his destiny had been theirs’ as well. Had the Gods willed that Tony and he share detention together? He had no doubt that having Zach as his cellmate was preordained.

  They were silent when Ethan finished as if they were still processing everything they had just heard.

  He thought it best to change the subject, “We can’t save the world on an empty stomach,” he announced. “Anyone hungry?”

  As if by magic, a servant appeared to announce that dinner was ready. Mbaye always seemed a step ahead. It was a comforting thought.

  Dinner was delicious and relaxed. It was late when they got up to head for bed. Mbaye took his arm to walk him to his room and informed him that he would send someone at 9.00 in the morning to start his training for the Opening of the Mouth Ceremony. His niece was an expert in their ancient rites and the late Pharaoh had selected her to prepare her Book of the Dead. It was a great honor.

  As always, Ethan lingered close behind to await instructions. He was a real pro.

  “Mbaye is sending someone at 9.00 am to begin my instruction for the Opening of the Mouth Ceremony,” he told Ethan, “Drop by just before for coffee and we’ll plan the day?”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  Ryan gave him an exasperated look.

  “Goodnight Ryan,” he corrected himself.

  Ryan rushed to get ready. He had slept like a log, with no nightmares for a change and it was now 8:50 local time. Ethan should be along at any moment and he wanted to shower and shave first. He only just turned off the water when he heard a knock on the door.

  “Come on in, I’ll be right out,” he yelled while he grabbed a towel.

  He dried himself rapidly. He knew that Ethan had a busy morning. He wrapped the towel around his waist and reached for a smaller one for his hair.