The Amun Chamber

by Daniel Leston

  “Well, I suppose it makes sense, doesn’t it?”

  Gobeir also liked the sound of this.

  “Then your conclusion,” he said, “is the disk only came into his possession sometime after leaving the Marhaba on August 4 and registering into the King Edward on August 10, correct? But this only gave him about—what?—six or seven days, at most?”

  “Apparently it was all the time they needed.”

  “They?”

  “Lionel and the man who came with him from Tell El Amarna.”

  Gobeir frowned. “What man are you—” He stopped. “Are you referring to the younger man Ruth mentioned?”

  “Exactly, Lewis. And it’s someone we should’ve zeroed in on long before this. I’m guessing he was with Lionel not only throughout his entire stay at the Marhaba—but even before, all the way back to Burkhart’s excavation.”

  “Now you bloody well have lost me, old boy.” He glanced briefly at Elizabeth. “Will someone please tell me what you two have been up to?”

  David obliged.

  “It’s all in here,” he said, picking up his copy of Burkhart’s ledger. “We’ve been looking at this information all wrong, completely missing something we should’ve seen days ago.” He flipped the sheets to the pay entries made on the last week of June, 1956, then handed it to Gobeir. “Right there is where we got sidetracked.”

  “When Cameron and Lionel left the site together?”

  “That’s right. From the start we’ve been hanging everything on their friendship, blinding us to all the alternative possibilities. It completely muddied our perception of when and why things happened. It took an observation by Elizabeth this morning to finally wake me up. Why, she wanted to know, would Lionel give up employment he so desperately needed? Just because his friend Cameron left? Makes no sense, does it? And it certainly wasn’t because Burkhart cut back on personnel. The ledger clearly shows he brought in even more people to fill their shoes.” He paused, letting this point sink in. “The bottom line, Lewis, is we had the right idea—just the wrong scenario. Lionel was compelled to leave because of someone else, all right, but it wasn’t Cameron. It was a man we overlooked completely.”

  “But there wasn’t anyone else,” said Rashidi. “I’m sure we accounted for—”

  “Not everyone. We only looked at the principle players, ignoring the next level down. Think about it. Besides those on our list, isn’t there someone else in the ledger?”

  Gobeir caught it at once. “Yes, of course! Burkhart’s foreman, the Egyptian lead man in charge of all the native diggers, right?”

  “Here, I’ve got it,” said Rashidi. “The name is N. Mehra—and you’re absolutely correct, Professor. His name goes off the payroll at the same time as Lionel and Cameron.”

  “Exactly. And there’s something else in there I found interesting, as well. Take a look at the previous week’s entries, particularly the column for miscellaneous expenses.”

  “Where?”

  David pointed it out with his finger.

  “See this small expenditure there? It covers the medical services of a Dr. Bishay, presumably a local physician. No explanation is given, but I’d be willing to bet that his patient was Mehra. Everything fits too neatly to be otherwise. Consider for a moment the two key things Ruth told us about the young Egyptian arriving with Lionel that day in August. One was her father appeared to already know him—which he most certainly would! And two, the man had some kind of physical problem with his leg. Now I can only speak for myself, but didn’t her description fit someone recuperating from a recent injury?”

  “Indeed,” replied Gobeir, stroking his chin. “And if we take this scenario a step further, this Mehra fellow must’ve been absolutely key in leading Lionel to the gold disk.”

  “I agree. Based on this, I think we can finally construct a really plausible theory of what happened.” David paused to light a cigarette, gathering his thoughts. “This is pure speculation, but let’s suppose that while at Tell El Amarna Lionel establishes a casual friendship with the lead man, Mehra, someone who—whether inadvertently or otherwise—reveals something Lionel finds of immense significance. It could be literally anything; a remembered inscription, perhaps a curious find he once made at a previous dig . . . The options here are virtually endless. But for the sake of argument, let’s go with what we learned yesterday from Ruth. Let’s say it was simply an obscure myth or legend from Mehra’s own background—yet a tale that fascinated the living hell out of Lionel. To him, it’s like a revelation, because it somehow reinforces his own long-held theory of what might’ve actually happened to Alexander’s body. Whatever it was, he knows it’s something he and Mehra must pursue at their earliest opportunity.”

  “Without involving Paul Cameron?” asked Rashidi.

  “I’m fairly sure he didn’t. They were close, but not that close. A good example is what Mother Ghali told us; Lionel had no qualms about advising her to break off her affair with Cameron and seek a better life.” He shook his head. “No, I just don’t think the ties between them were anywhere near as strong as we first assumed. Besides which, the pursuit of Alexander was Lionel’s dream, not Cameron’s.”

  “Then their leaving at the same time was mere coincidence?”

  “Precisely. In fact, I believe Lionel probably had every intention to finish out the season at Tell El Amarna before taking up his quest. But the accident befalling Mehra changed everything. Whatever happened to him, it was serious enough Burkhart had to let him go. So what was Lionel to do? Would he risk letting Mehra leave without him? I doubt it. Despite all the financial considerations, I can’t imagine he’d let Mehra out of his sight for a second. Instead, he took Mehra to Alexandria, to help in his recovery.”

  “To the Marhaba . . .”

  “Yes. It was only in early August that the young man was fit to travel.”

  “But if you don’t believe Cameron was involved,” Rashidi argued, “then why did they go to see him in Al Gami? What was the point? Surely it wouldn’t be to just borrow that book.”

  “You’re still overplaying their friendship, Ahmed. If you stay with my scenario, isn’t it more reasonable to think Cameron’s home was simply a brief stop-over on the way to wherever it was they were really going?”

  “So how do you explain the book?”

  David butted out his cigarette. “I think it’s probably the only reason Lionel even bothered stopping there at all. According to Ruth, Lionel had made use of Cameron’s library for years back in Cairo. Doubtless he was very familiar with the contents of this particular book—but now those remembered passages took on a whole new meaning for him.” He shrugged. “If nothing else, perhaps he only wanted to reassure himself he was on the right track with Mehra’s story.”

  He swung back to Gobeir.

  “Lewis, yesterday you said we would get nowhere unless we narrowed down our search area. Now we might be able to do just that. Surely there has to be a way, some means at our disposal, to learn more about this Mehra?”

  He waited for an answer, watching Gobeir’s thoughtful face as the problem was considered. Eventually—barely noticeably—he saw the bushy eyebrows begin to rise. He took it as a good sign.

  “You know, old boy, there just might be. Prior to the early sixties, men seeking a foreman’s position on any sanctioned dig weren’t required to be licensed through any government agency; but this didn’t mean their qualifications and work experience weren’t kept on file by the Cairo Museum. In a great many cases, they were. The one promising fact we have working for us is that Burkhart was a meticulous man—and probably very cautious about getting his money’s worth. He would’ve known the importance of a good foreman to any successful excavation; thus I can’t imagine him hiring someone off the street to fill the position.”

  “Then we have a chance?”

  Gobeir lifted his hands. “I suppose so,” he said. “A slim one, perhaps, but still a chance.” He looked to Rashidi. “What are your thoughts on this? An
y idea where that information might possibly be stored?”

  Rashidi hesitated before answering.

  “Well, sir,” he said finally, “if it was kept at all, then my guess is it would’ve been transferred to the head office of the Egyptian Antiquities Organization ages ago, probably when they took over the processing of all applications for future excavations. Whether or not they actually preserved those earlier files is anyone’s guess until someone actually tries digging it out.”

  “Then tell me this, can it be done from here without our returning to Cairo? If it’s just a matter of getting proper authorization or manpower, I’m fairly sure I can call in a few favors.”

  “I don’t believe that’ll be necessary. I was wondering who might be the easiest man to work with over the phone. The one I’d like to put on this is a former colleague of mine. I’m fairly certain he still works out of the researching department.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Its not yet three-thirty, sir, so if you wish, I should be able to catch him.”

  “Then go for it, my boy!” said an enthusiastic Gobeir, hoisting himself to his feet. “Things have taken a decided turn for the better. That was damn fine detective work, David! Now let’s keep our fingers crossed and see what comes of it.”

  * * *

  While Rashidi tackled the Mehra problem from the privacy of his own room, Elizabeth accompanied Gobeir down to one of the Cecil’s three restaurants for coffee. David used the opportunity to first shower and shave; then placed his promised call to Salonika. The conversation proved as awkward as he anticipated. It was clear Nick was perplexed by his decision to remain in Egypt, but chose not to press him on it. David ended the connection at the first polite opportunity. He didn’t feel good about leaving his friend dangling, but saw no other way.

  Though much tempted to try for an hour of sleep, he knew himself too wound up. Instead, he stepped out onto his balcony, enjoying the view of Egypt’s second largest metropolis.

  And a beautiful city it was, he thought, as he pondered all the intricacies of her illustrious past. Purely from an archaeological standpoint, he always felt it truly regrettable so little evidence remained of Alexandria’s glorious heyday under the Ptolemies. What little was known of that magnificent city came down mostly through old literature; tantalizing less by way of the spade. Two thousand years ago, the city proudly stood as the intellectual capital of the Mediterranean world, rivaled only by imperial Rome in wealth and splendor. Yet now the ancient city was completely built over, lost forever beneath the concrete buildings and thick pavement of her modern descendent.

  Too, he knew of the city’s many highs and lows over the intervening centuries. Though continuously inhabited since it’s founding in 332 B.C., Alexandria’s fortunes had taken a dramatic fall after the collapse of the Roman Empire. In historical terms, it was only in recent times she had regained a measure of her lost prominence and prosperity. Now a bustling city of four million souls, it was difficult to imagine that when Napoleon first disembarked his troops here in 1798, proud Alexandria had sunken to nothing more than a dusty, little village.

  Preoccupied with his musings, David only became aware of Elizabeth’s return when she suddenly joined him at the railing. “I knocked,” she said, slipping her arm through his, “but I guess you didn’t hear. Daydreaming, were you?”

  “A little,” he admitted. “Lewis not with you?”

  “He’s across the hall, seeing how things are going. Ahmed’s waiting for his friend to call back. By the way, I ordered up a small plate of shrimp and more coffee. You never ate that much earlier. Thought you might be getting hungry by now. So how’s the head feeling? Better, I hope.”

  “Infinitely.”

  “Good.” She turned, letting the light breeze catch her hair as she took in the city skyline. “I think Lewis was pleased to hear you’re not going back to Salonika. I guess he felt a little awkward asking you about it.”

  “Really? He shouldn’t have.”

  “I told him so over coffee.”

  “What else did you two talk about?”

  Her smile faded somewhat, her expression more pensive.

  “Well, for one thing,” she said, “he gave me the location of the cemetery where my grandfather is buried. He and Ahmed came across it this morning in the police files. He wasn’t sure if I had it, thinking I might want to pay a visit while I’m here.”

  This was something David had wondered about himself.

  “Do you?” he asked. “You know I’ll take you whenever you wish.”

  She moved her head marginally. “I just don’t feel I’m ready. Like I said this morning, there’s so much I don’t understand about him. In a way, he’s still a stranger to me. If it’s okay with you, I’d rather wait until this is all over.”

  He let it go, not surprised when she now changed the subject.

  “Alexandria is really very beautiful,” she said. “I can’t get over how totally different it is from Cairo. The feel here is so—so—”

  “Cosmopolitan?” he offered.

  “Yes. Cosmopolitan. Almost like being in a separate country. When I think of Cleopatra’s exotic capital, this isn’t the picture that comes to mind. It looks and feels far more European than Egyptian.”

  “Truth be told, this was certainly the case even in ancient times. But this was only natural; after all, the city’s origin was pure Greek—just as were all the Ptolemaic kings and queens who ruled from here.”

  She gave a wistful sigh.

  “Wouldn’t it be fantastic,” she said, “if we could somehow turn back the clock a few thousand years, just to see what all this looked like in Cleopatra’s time? I bet it was really something.”

  “By all accounts, it was.”

  Her eyes continued to explore.

  “Now what about this Soma you told me about, the temple housing Alexander’s body for all those centuries? Does anyone know where it was located?”

  “Not with any certainty, no. But I can give you a rough idea.” He pointed across the blue waters of the bay. “All historical sources indicate the palace grounds of the Ptolemies lay over there, southeast of the east harbor. Recent marine archaeology confirms this. See those ships and barges there? For several years now a team has been pulling up all kinds of fascinating things—marble columns, statuary—objects that were once part of the palace compound.”

  “All under water?”

  “The majority of the royal enclosure supposedly covered a promontory of land called Cape Lochias,” he said, “but over the ensuing centuries, what with earthquakes and such, the entire area sank into the sea. How far inland the palace actually ran is still undetermined. All we know for certain is that Alexander’s mausoleum stood somewhere within its boundaries.”

  “No physical evidence of the temple was ever found?”

  “None.”

  She appeared to ponder this for some time, then said, “You know, if Alexander’s body really did survive to modern times, then wouldn’t the logical place to look for it be right here in Alexandria? I know Lewis leans in this direction.”

  “Seems you two talked about quite a lot over coffee.”

  “Not really. He just mentioned he found it hard to believe such a treasure could’ve been successfully removed from Alexandria in the first century without anyone knowing.”

  “He’s certainly entitled to his opinion,” said David. “For myself, I disagree. I suspect if the sarcophagus survived at all, then it’s only because the Amun priesthood secretly removed it from the city. After all, they were the ones who had control of it. Seems to me, they could’ve found a way.” He paused, now smiling. “Do you have a pet theory you haven’t yet shared with me?”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. Want to hear it?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, since we’re only guessing,” she said, “I’ll say it went up the Nile to Luxor. Not only is it the site of ancient Thebes, but I also like the religious angle. You know, the temple-complex there at Karnak, and
all. It was the major center for the worship of Amun, right? So what if it is a thousand miles to the south; there’s been rail service between here and there since the late twenties. Lewis told me so. Therefore Lionel could’ve easily gone and returned during those missing six or seven days.”

  “I agree, but aren’t you forgetting one thing? Whatever information Lionel got from Mehra brought him north to Alexandria—not south.”

  The logic momentarily deflated her.

  “Okay, I guess I see your point.” She smiled again. “Hey, I gave it my best shot. So maybe Lewis is right. Maybe Alexander’s body is still right here in—” She stopped, distracted by the slam of a door.

  “Where the deuce is everybody?”

  The urgent voice belonged to Gobeir, and it could only mean one thing.

  Stepping back inside, they saw him fairly beaming with excitement.

  “We’ve got it, David! Ahmed’s still on the line with Cairo, but I couldn’t wait to tell you. The fellow’s full name is Nawal Mehra—and I almost fell off my chair when we learned his background. He came to Cairo from Mersa Matruh, of all places! Can you believe it? We’ve even got an address!”

  “Matruh? You’re sure of it?”

  “Positive! Just think of the historical connection!”

  Mystified, Elizabeth stepped between them.

  “Okay, boys, what’s all this mean?”

  “Maybe everything,” replied David. “We were just now talking about a religious angle, right? Well, this is it in spades. Matruh is a small port up the coast. Called Paraetonium in Ptolemaic times, it was the ancient gateway to one of Egypt’s oldest sanctuaries out in the western desert—the temple of Amun at Siwah Oasis! Alexander, himself, made the journey there in 331 B.C., to consult with the temple’s holy oracle. It was there the oracle proclaimed him Amun’s true son. Think what this could mean! If it was the Amun priesthood who spirited Alexander’s body out of Alexandria some four hundred years later, then what more appropriate place could there possibly be to take him?”

  A gradual understanding widened her eyes. “Siwah Oasis. That’s it, isn’t it? Why, it would almost be like—like—” She swallowed, too stunned to finish the thought.