Death of a Pharaoh

  Ballroom of the Princess Eshe Hotel, near Saqarra, Egypt, November 1, 2016

  At noon of the same day, Mustafa hosted a gala luncheon for all the costaleros in appreciation of their tremendous efforts. Each man found an envelope on his plate with 10,000 euros in twenty 500 euro notes. Many were tempted to make a joke about Bin Laden but were unsure of the political correctness. The Spanish had nicknamed the high denomination banknote after the infamous Saudi because normal people had about as much of a chance of getting their hands on one as the authorities did of ever finding the terrorist. That was before the Americans killed him. Still, the name stuck. Most had never seen so much cash in their lives. It was indeed a celebration.

  The departure time for the charter was at six that evening. They would have time for a swim after lunch and to pack their bags. Most would be home for dinner. He could only imagine the excited conversations around the dining room table later that evening.

  At the airport, Pablo took him aside to say goodbye. “If all goes well, the coronation will take place in ten days, The Lord Vizier has asked me to invite you and your wife as our honored guests. We will fly both of you back to Cairo. He wants to express his gratitude in person.”

  “She would like that,” he admitted. “We haven’t had a real vacation in several years. Only weekends at the apartment in Rota.”

  “Good, then I will confirm your attendance,” he declared with satisfaction. “I do not need to remind you of your complete discretion.”

  Eduardo laughed, “Who would believe me anyway?”

  “Hasta pronto, my dear friend and capataz of Jesus Cristo,” he intoned. “May the Gods bring you back to us safely!”

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Palace of the Holy Office, Vatican City: 16.50 CEST November 1, 2016

  Father Marco’s hands trembled with excitement while he studied the copies of the x-rays with a magnifying glass. He could clearly see the trauma to the wrists and feet. Without a doubt, he was looking at the body of his Lord Jesus Christ. He made the sign of the cross. It was the culmination of his life’s work and he felt a shiver of emotion. He pulled himself together, there was still much to do.

  According to the message from Cedric Rickenbach, they would have the exact location of the secret tomb in just over twelve hours. He responded by ordering him to prepare the assault for the next evening. There was no need to delay. He imagined his triumphant audience with the Holy Father to break the news that he would soon be able to pray over the body of his Savior. Surely, His Holiness would name him a Chaplain with the honorific title of Monsignor; at the very least. He liked the sound.

  He noticed an unopened email from the Archdiocese of Seville, Spain on his computer. It was from the Archbishop’s personal secretary. It mentioned that one of his parish priests had heard a rumor that a group of one hundred costaleros recently traveled to Egypt to help convey a large stone on a platform. Father Marco recalled that costaleros were the men who carried the large floats through the streets of the city during Holy Week. The text went on to say that the wife of one of the men confessed to her priest that her husband just called her to confirm that he received 10,000 euros for his help to transfer a dead Pharaoh in an enormous stone coffin last night. She came to the church to light a candle out of gratitude to the Blessed Virgin Mary.

  Father Marco reached for the telephone and frantically dialed Cedric Rickenbach’s cellphone. He barely recognized his defeated voice when he answered. Father Marco knew the news was not good.

  “Our man on the inside just emailed me to say that the coffin is gone. It disappeared into thin air. I was about to call you,” he assured his boss. “It was there yesterday and no trucks have been through our checkpoints.” He took a deep breath to continue his pathetic excuses when Father Marco interrupted.

  “Just like two thousand years ago, he didn’t fucking resurrect himself you idiot,” he yelled. “He was spirited away, right from under your noses, while you were all busy buggering each other. I just learned that they paid a group of costaleros from Seville to carry a dead Pharaoh in a large stone coffin. They made the transfer last night.”

  “How could they have arranged it without our knowledge?”

  “Because they tricked us you fool,” he spat through the mouthpiece.

  “Should we continue with the plans to attack?”

  “Of course not; nothing of interest remains for us in the crypt.”

  Cedric was wise enough not to speak. He knew that much more than his job was at risk.

  “Get all of your man to Cairo, at once,” the priest ordered. “I want them to find where they’ve taken the coffin. They will not have had enough time to get it out of the country yet. I want to know the final destination.”

  “Yes Father, I will not let you down.”

  Father Marco paused before making his final comment. He wanted his silence to chill the temperature in the desert by several degrees.

  “You already have,” he hissed then slammed down the receiver.

  Jake was relieved to find an email from Cedric when he got home and surprised to see that he was so understanding about the missing sarcophagus. He told him the meeting for that evening was still on and that they would precede with their original plan on the presumption that Jakes’s employers had merely hidden TP003 among the other coffins in the same location. He gave the address for the rendezvous and set the time for nine o’clock. Jake had two hours to get there. It wasn’t the best part of town but young tourists often went there in search of drugs. The sight of a foreigner accepting a small package wouldn’t raise any eyebrows.

  Five minutes before nine, the taxi dropped him at the end of a dark alley and offered to wait. Jake gave him some extra cash and told him he wouldn’t be long. As he stood up, he saw a man standing under a naked light bulb half way down the block.

  The figure turned toward him and waved while Jake picked his way over the broken pavement. The smell of urine assaulted his nostrils and a dog growled from behind a wall. When he drew closer, he could make out the face. His contact could have been a clone of Cedric, only twenty years younger. He smiled at the man. Just then, he heard the taxi pull away. It annoyed him since he’d have to flag another one down with too much cash on him. The man stepped out of the light. Jake saw the gun in his hand. He froze in horror. He knew he was going to die and he was right.

  The operation with the costaleros from Spain went better than Mustafa had dared to hope. The readings from the sensors attached to the sarcophagus showed that the mummy of the Pharaoh Jesus barely quivered during the transfer. Mustafa was elated. Pablo accompanied the corpse to Cairo and was supervising the forensic inspection. A team of experts from around the world prepared to examine the body to determine if there were any bacterial or environmental threats.

  Scientists in Zurich had completed modifications to a special high-tech coffin that would maintain the mummy in an inert gas with sensors to detect movement, humidity and light. A transmitter with a long life battery would send data to a remote computer allowing permanent monitoring without the need for site visits that might raise suspicions.

  He carefully considered the technical report regarding the final resting place for the Pharaoh Jesus and selected one of the locations in Spain. It was an excellent choice with a near perfect combination of privacy and access. Pablo secured an export permit from the Ministry of Antiquities for the permanent loan of an unidentified mummy, dated from the beginning of the 1st Century AD, for scientific research. The Egyptians considered any remains from the post-Ptolemaic period to be of little historical importance. A decision hastened, he suspected, by a generous gift from the Falcon Foundation to fund a forensic laboratory for research on mummies.

  However, the news that really cheered Mustafa was a report from the Guardians of frantic activity in the Swiss camp. Since first light, teams began to pack large trucks and dismantle tents in the unmistakable sign that they were abandoning their headquarters. The rouse had worked. With the bod
y of their Savior gone, they no longer had interest in the site.

  Still Sanctus Verum had always proved to be tenacious and Mustafa would not relax until Egypt had seen the last of them. Their spies in Cairo confirmed that they had rented a large number of rooms in a mid-range hotel downtown. Hassan redeployed half of the Guardians, most of them soon to be relieved of their ancient duties at the former tomb, to follow as many of the foreigners as possible. Until the body of the Pharaoh Jesus was out of the country and they completed the transfer of the rest of the True Pharaohs, the Guardians must remain vigilant.

  A fellow Servant of Ma’at and a General in the Egyptian army agreed to schedule a training exercise in the area of the old tomb to explain the presence of a large number of trucks to transport the mummies to the new crypt. He expected the relocation operation to finish in three days.

  If the Pharaoh’s condition improved, he would arrive in just over ten days. His presence would test the security of the hotel complex. He preferred not to remember the indecent sums of money he had spent on the project. The requirement to separate the Pharaoh Jesus from the others generated large unexpected expenses and he needed to employ much more to guarantee the integrity of his new tomb. None of it really mattered. Everything was ready for the coronation and all they needed was a Pharaoh. Mustafa remained optimistic. He could not believe that the Gods provided a solution to the transfer of the sarcophagus only to deny them the final victory. Just in case, he asked his driver to stop at the mosque on his way home. Prayer was hard on his arthritic knees, but the pain paled in comparison to what his heart would feel if all their efforts had been in vain.

  Lord Thoth monitored Nkosana’s dream file on a permanent basis but there was no change. His fellow Gods clamored for news. Even the doves among them now seemed sympathetic to Seth’s calls for a devastating campaign of divine retribution. Osiris wisely kept silent during the increasingly heated debate. Any improvement in the young Pharaoh’s condition would favor restraint.

  The heart wrenching emptiness on the page of Nkosana’s dream file suddenly disappeared, replaced by one word.

  “Mother.”

  Thoth voiced a silent prayer of gratitude; he had no idea to whom. Something told him that more thoughts would soon appear.

  10th Floor, Falcon Foundation, Philadelphia, 02.51 EDT November 2, 2016

  The medical intern on overnight duty at the Falcon Foundation in Philadelphia was on a mission to gain the points he needed for access to a higher level of his favorite computer game. At the beginning of his shift, everything remained exactly as they had recorded for the past eight days; no measurable activity. He failed to notice the slight quivers in the readings monitoring brain waves through the headset on the patient’s forehead. Over the next fifty minutes, activity increased dramatically but the young doctor never saw the change.

  He broke all the rules and took an unauthorized bathroom break leafing through his favorite gaming magazine while he took a crap, called his girlfriend for a hot episode of phone sex, headed down to security to pick up the pizza he ordered earlier and stopped in the cafeteria to get a can of coke.

  When he finally returned to his duties, he glanced at the monitor, dropped the open soda on the floor and never got to eat the pizza. Neural activity was off the charts and had been going crazy the whole time he was gone. At least he had enough responsibility to call the head of the medical team, even if he knew his chances of becoming a doctor were probably now less than Sarah Palin’s of ever holding elected office again.

  The activity recorded in Philadelphia felt very different to Ryan. On a deep sub-conscious level, he had been fighting against the power of the blinding white light since the attack on the compound knocked him out. He never thought of giving up. Finally, the white started to turn a shade of grey as if the signal began to weaken. Over the course of what seemed an eternity, his mind suddenly plunged into utter darkness. He was back in his familiar nightmare but after the nothingness of the light, it was almost a relief. He was in the cold water again and could see his mother calling to him in the depths. He started to swim toward her and for the first time ever she drew closer. He stroked with all his strength and in one last mighty effort he found himself peering through the window of the car. She smiled at him as if she had long waited for this moment.

  “Nkosana, my darling, I miss you so much but this was never your destiny,” she assured him, “Humanity needs you. You must wake up.”

  She reached forward and their fingers touched for an instant.

  “Wake up,” she repeated as her image began to drift away.

  “Mother,” he called out.

  Beach house, Atlantic coast, northern Dakar, 08.02 GMT, November 2, 2016

  Ryan awoke to find himself in a bed with an intravenous tube in his left arm. Wires led from pads on his chest to a screen that showed his heartbeat in green blips and he felt an annoying headset on his forehead that he suspected monitored brain waves. Mariam was asleep at the bottom of the bed. He knew she had been there for however long he was gone. Zach sat at a desk with his back turned and he could hear movement in the next room.

  “What does a Pharaoh have to do to get some food around here?” he asked.

  Zach fell off his chair and Mariam bolted upright with a cry. Ethan raced into the room followed by Tony. They all looked like they had been to a casting call for a zombie movie. Everyone stared waiting for him to speak again.

  “Heeeee’sssss back,” was all he could think to say.

  Tears of relief stained every face and a torrent of questions threatened to overwhelm his senses again.

  “Whoa, one at a time,” he ordered.

  Ethan spoke, “You had us all worried.”

  “I thought you guys were in the compound.”

  Mariam suddenly remembered to breath. Ryan motioned for her to approach and gave her as much of a hug as the medical paraphernalia allowed.

  “Sorry about your uncle,” he told her, “I will miss him.”

  “He died for the cause he most loved,” she assured him.

  “How long was I away?”

  “You’ve been in a coma for nine days.”

  “Seemed much longer from the inside.”

  “What brought you back?” Zach inquired.

  “Apart from all of you?” Ryan cracked. “You know my nightmare, well I finally reached my Mom and she told me to wake up.”

  No one had a response.

  “She’s more beautiful than her pictures and she told me how much she missed me.”

  Zach turned away, overcome with emotion.

  “Hey buddy, get your ass over here,” Ryan ordered Zach.

  They hugged and Ryan whispered in his ear, “After Mariam, I missed you the most. Don’t ever leave me. That’s an order from your Pharaoh.”

  “Your wish is my command, my Lord.’

  “OK, I know this is a feeding tube,” he stated as he pointed to the catheter in is arm, “but I’ve never been so hungry in my life,” he complained. “What have we got to eat?”

  They all laughed.

  “What time is it anyway?” Ryan inquired.

  “Eight-thirty five in the morning,” Tony answered.

  “Then breakfast it is,” he proclaimed. “Ethan, wake up Herbert, I don’t think he’ll be pissed.”

  “Right away, my Lord.”

  “After some food and a shower, you can brief me on all the developments,” Ryan suggested, “then if you don’t mind I’d be delighted to exchange this contraption,” he pointed to the neurosensory on his head then continued, “for a crown.”

  This time, Ahmed shed tears of joy as he wrote the good news on the Pharaoh’s papyrus far below the desert in Timbuktu.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Terrace of the Lotus Café, Downtown Cairo, morning of November 3, 2016

  Hassan learned the news an hour later from Mustafa. His tribe, the Guardians, had not stopped discharging their guns in the air ever since in celebration of the Pharaoh’s
amazing recovery. He would have gladly joined them but he was in Cairo leading the operation to keep the Swiss from discovering the trail of the mummy. He was on his third coffee of the morning and needed to pace himself or he would become a bundle of nerves with so much caffeine. Last night, he rented this table for a week. It was in the front row on the veranda of the Lotus Café right across from the hotel where the Swiss were staying. The manager was delighted with the arrangement and had no intention to share the generous tip with the owner. He promised to keep it available twenty-four hours a day.

  As if by miracle, the swarm of tourist guides who normally hovered near the entrance of the hotel like vultures disappeared only to have their positions taken by his men pretending to be guides and ready to offer their services to any male who looked Swiss. The same with the half dozen taxi drivers leaning on their battered vehicles trying their best to cultivate an air of resigned boredom. Two hapless American tourists couldn’t understand why none of them was interested in a trip to the Egyptian Museum.

  Everything was quiet right now. The Swiss gathered in a second floor meeting room making plans. They were careful to interrupt their briefing whenever a member of the hotel staff entered the area but his spies among the waiters still managed to snatch glimpses of the overhead projections and reported that they appeared to be organizing surveillance of several buildings in Cairo as well as the docks in Alexandria and Port Said.

  Such an effort would stretch their resources thin; something Hassan was counting on. He knew they had little chance of finding the clandestine laboratory where the team of scientists now worked on the Pharaoh Jesus’ mummy; his men controlled every approach to the street. He hoped, indeed it was imperative, that Sanctus Verum would discover the name of the vessel at anchor in the port of Alexandria awaiting their precious cargo. The scheduled departure of the Maltese flagged ship destined for Valencia, Spain was in four days and Hassan would do everything in his power to make certain the Swiss received his invitation to the sailing.