Pyramid: A Novel (Jack Howard Series Book 8) (34 page)

Sahirah turned and spoke quickly in Arabic, her voice shaky and hoarse, repeating herself more loudly as several men got up and tried to push themselves toward the door until others pulled them down. Jack turned back, holding her wrist with his right hand and the Beretta with his left. Two gunmen rushing down the corridor were cut down in a hail of fire from Ahmed and his men, the bullets smashing through the glass screens and pinging off the pipes overhead. Jack crouched down, the girl behind him, and poked his Beretta into the corridor. A voice yelled her name, and Ahmed showed himself at the end of the corridor, his M4 aimed. Jack pushed her ahead and turned back, emptying his Beretta down the other end of the corridor where more gunmen had been shooting at them. He dropped the magazine, inserting the last one and releasing the slide, and then followed Sahirah and Ahmed. He was conscious of Costas ahead of him, and Ahmed’s men firing bursts behind them as they ran. Seconds later they were outside, running down an alley toward a street. As they turned the corner, a pair of pickup trucks hurtled by, the gunmen aboard oblivious to them, heading in the direction of the execution ground in Fustat.

Ahmed pulled Sahirah under an archway and the rest came after him, Jack following. One of the men spoke rapidly in Arabic to Ahmed, who bowed his head briefly and put a hand on the man’s shoulder before turning to Jack. “We’re down to three men. We lost another in the foyer. But there are others like us around the city, pockets of fighters. Every able-bodied Egyptian man has done military service and knows how to use a rifle, and they’ll start coming to us now. That bloodbath in Fustat is going to work against the extremists, a sign of weakness, not strength. While they’re focused on executions, we’re going back into the ministry to kill any others in there and collect their weapons and ammunition, and get those other people out. Now is the time to rally resistance, not later when the gunmen have come down off their high and begun to establish order.”

“I take it you’re not coming with us.”

Ahmed gave him a bleak look. “What would you do in my position? Even if there is Western intervention, it will be too late to save most of my family and friends. This is my country, and I haven’t seen an Egyptian face among the gunmen. I will stay and fight.”

Ahmed turned to Sahirah, embracing her. He released her and peered out into the street. “It’s about three hundred meters to the river. I’ll hold this position until we see you safely on the felucca. Then I’m back inside to help my men get those people out. Walk quickly, but don’t run.”

Costas turned to Ahmed and clasped his hand. “God be with you.”

He nodded, squeezed Costas’ hand and released it, and glanced again at Jack. “And with you too, my friends. Now go.”

Dawn was just breaking as the felucca finally motored clear of the last dilapidated dwellings of northern Cairo, the way ahead of them now clear through the delta toward the sea. It had been a tense hour since they had scrambled on board, with gunmen in trucks careering along the banks and firing bursts into the air. But Ahmed had been right; all attention appeared to be focused on the feeding frenzy in the center of the city. Lanowski had been in satellite contact with
Sea Venture
and the IMU security team, who had modified the extraction plan in the light of the events of the past twenty-four hours. With the Egyptian air force dysfunctional and the extremists having no air capability, the Israelis had total air superiority over northern Egypt and the Sinai. Ben had liased with their contacts in the Israeli Defense Force and arranged for air cover for a revised helicopter extraction deep within Egypt, only a few kilometers ahead of them now on the east bank of the Nile. Not for the first time Jack was grateful to David Ben-Gurion, whose reserve rank in the IDF had allowed him to pull
off something that would never have been officially sanctioned. Israel would undoubtedly maintain her presence in the air over Egypt to secure a buffer zone, but her ground forces were needed to the north and east, where the threat of invasion was greatest by organized, well-equipped forces rather than ragtag gunmen in pickup trucks. Any hint of intervention by Israel in Egypt would only provoke the crisis further, leading to all-out war and extreme acts of terrorism not only against Israel but also against the Western powers, which were perceived to be her allies.

Mohammed slowed the engine and veered the felucca closer to shore, his son making ready the boarding plank. Jack shifted from where he had been lying and looked at his upper right arm. The bullet had glanced off the bone, leaving a gaping exit wound but no apparent damage to major blood vessels. Aysha had done her best to patch it up, cleaning it and applying a shell dressing, but there were no painkillers in the first-aid kit strong enough to have much effect, and there was nothing more to be done until they reached
Sea Venture
and her bolstered medical team, already on standby to receive Sahirah and any others escaping Egypt who might need assistance.

Aysha clambered over the thwarts to him now, leaving Sahirah with a water bottle looking out over the Nile. “How is she?” Jack said quietly.

“Physically, it’s nothing more than bruises, dehydration, and exhaustion. Mentally she’s obviously traumatized, and desperately worried about Ahmed. She knows his chances are slim.”

“She doesn’t have to worry about her own future. We’ll see to that.”

“How’s Costas?”

Jack jerked his head toward the space under the bow where they had hidden away on the voyage toward Cairo the day before. “The first thing he did was to burrow in his kit bag for some sandwiches he left there. A reserve supply, apparently. Ever since then he and
Lanowski have been in there hunched over something technical on the computer. Costas is a rock. Guys like him don’t get traumatized.”

“That’s why you love him, isn’t it?”

Jack paused, the pent-up emotions of the last twenty-four hours suddenly welling up. He swallowed hard, looking away. “Not the word I’d use.”

“No, of course not. Men like you don’t. But you know what I mean.”

Jack took a deep breath. “We just look after each other, that’s all.”

She held his arm. “And you, Jack? You’ve seen some terrible things. You’ve killed people. Don’t tell me that will all wash over you.”

“It won’t. But I’ve been here before. I’ll be fine.”

The felucca came alongside the riverbank, and the plank was laid ashore and tied to the gunwales. Jack gestured at Mohammed. “What will your uncle do?”

“He’ll go back to Alexandria. He’s not like Sahirah, not like me, people who can carve out lives for themselves anywhere in the world. Mohammed is a Nile fisherman and a felucca captain, and his whole life is here. If people like Mohammed were to leave Egypt, then it truly would cease to exist. They are her past, and her future.”

“If there is one.”

“There will be. Inshallah.”

“And you, Aysha?”

Her face hardened. “If it hadn’t been for my son and Maurice, I’d have been with Ahmed right now killing extremists. But I’ll never turn my back. One day the flag will fly again over our institute in Alexandria. You’ll see.”

The boy jumped ashore, laying the plank and holding the bow by the painter. Aysha got up and led Sahirah across to the plank, and Jack followed, pausing to shake hands with Mohammed and his son. He was followed by Costas and Lanowski, who brought the two empty kit bags, Lanowski’s laptop, and any other evidence of
their presence with them. Jack crouched down on the riverbank, picked up a handful of dust from the ground, and let it fall through his fingers. “So near, and yet so far.”

“What do you mean?” Costas said.

Jack peered up at him. “You and I know what we saw, but the rest of the world will only be able to take it on our word. It could be a lifetime before anyone gets the chance to explore where we went again.”

Costas went rigid, and put up a finger. “Ah. I nearly forgot.”

“What is it?”

He dug in his pocket and pulled out a small package wrapped in tissue. “Two microchips, from your camera and mine. All the video we took.”

Jack stared, stunned. “Where did you hide that?”

“You don’t want to know. It was in the alley just before we were captured. I don’t know how I did it, but I did. Must have looked pretty odd to anyone watching. But there was no way I was going to ditch those chips after all we went through. No way.”

Jack stood up, suddenly more elated than he could remember ever feeling. “Costas, you know sometimes I really do…
appreciate
you. Yes, that’s the word.
Appreciate
. Brilliant. You just tied a big red bow around this whole project.”

Costas pushed the package back into his pocket and zipped it up. “Glad to be of service.” He pointed into the air. “Looks like we’ve got company.”

Two Israeli Air Force F16s streaked far overhead, and in the distance Jack could see the Lynx swooping in low from the north, the sound of its rotor reverberating off the waters of the Nile. He shook the rest of the dust from his hand and stood up. “That was quite a night,” he said.

“And now a new day dawns.”

“Yes, it does.” Jack turned and watched Aysha and Sahirah slowly make their way from the felucca to the landing site, followed by Lanowski. “You know that
feeling when you’ve been weighed down by a big project, a really important one, and it’s gone on and on because you’ve wanted to get it right, and then finally you’ve nailed it and it feels as if the whole world has lifted off your shoulders?”

“It makes everything ahead seem that bit more exciting. The little things. A holiday on the beach. Gin and tonics. Sandwiches.”

“The big things. That Phoenician shipwreck off Cornwall. They really were the first Europeans to reach America. Whatever
did
happen to Akhenaten?”

“Some downtime with Maria? A little holiday with your daughter?”

“That too.”

Lanowski came over to them, his robe and artificial beard removed but his face still darkened with polish. “Well, boys,” he said, holding up one hand palm out. “Did we do it, or what?”

Costas high-fived him, and Jack put a hand on his shoulder. “You made the team, Jacob. Good work.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask.” Lanowski squinted into the dust, watching the helicopter begin its descent. “Is it always like that? I mean, the bad stuff? The present day?”

“Not always,” Jack said, following his gaze. “Sometimes, the adventure’s all in the past.”

“I think,” Lanowski said, putting a finger to his lips and furrowing his brow, peering at Jack, “don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, but I
think
I’d prefer that.”

Jack suddenly felt dead tired; he was feeling the pain in his arm continuously now. He nodded slowly. “Wouldn’t we all.”

They crouched against the downdraft of the rotor, waiting until the Lynx had landed and powered down. Lanowski hurried off to help Sahirah and Aysha on board, and Costas got up, holding the rim of his hat against the dust. “I had a brainstorm just now in the boat about Little Joey,” he said, his voice raised against the noise. “Well, it was Lanowski, actually. It was about the microprocessor for the robotics, and also a small
problem with how he swims. If you want a state-of-the-art robot to explore that Phoenician wreck, look no further than our new creation, Little Joey Four.”

Jack cracked a smile. “The big things.”

“You got it. Come on, Jack. Time to let Egypt go.”

F
ive days later Jack sat under an awning on the aft deck of
Seaquest
, gently easing his arm out of its sling and attempting to raise a water bottle to his lips. It was still too painful, and he let it down, gasping as he slid the arm back into the sling and sat back again. With his other hand he picked up his phone and looked at the picture that Rebecca had just sent him from Greece, showing Maria far above climbing a rope ladder to one of the monasteries on Mount Athos.

Jack suddenly remembered a promise he had made to himself.
Maria
. He made a mental note to contact her when he was back in action again. He put on his sunglasses, pulled down the peak of his cap, and looked disconsolately at the Mediterranean, wishing above all things that he could be diving into those crystal-clear waters right now. The hatch clanged behind him and Costas came sauntering out wearing a spectacular Hawaiian shirt and knee-length shorts, his feet bare. He sat down heavily on the deck chair beside Jack, cracked open a can of drink from the selection on the table, and put on his sunglasses, pushing aside a map of the world that Jack had been perusing. “How’s the world’s worst patient?” he said.

“Don’t ask,” Jack grumbled. “The doctors say three
weeks until I can dive.
Three weeks
. I can make it one week, no more. It wasn’t even a compound fracture.”

“The small matter of a bullet hole.”

Jack looked scornfully at the dressing on his arm. “That’s nothing. Hardly even hurts.”

“Right.”

“Has Macalister said when we’re leaving?”

“He’s finishing the formalities with the Spanish authorities now. We should be under way within half an hour, course set for home. He wants to do a complete shakedown on the derrick and winch apparatus before she goes to sea again. He never wants to see an escapade like ours again.”

Costas leaned over and slapped the base of the derrick, the arm now secured to the deck in preparation for the voyage into the Atlantic. “It’s hard to believe our dive in the submersible was only ten days ago, isn’t it? I meant to say, Jack, I’m not sure if I said it properly, but—”

“Don’t mention it,” Jack replied, wincing as he shifted. “Don’t mention anything about diving at all. Now that really is painful.”

“Well, some other friends of yours have arrived to cheer you up.”

The hatch had opened again and Hiebermeyer, Aysha, and Lanowski came out, Hiebermeyer looking decidedly uncomfortable in a shirt and tie and Lanowski affecting an attempt at formality that looked like an ill-conceived safari suit. They all sat down around the table and Aysha opened her laptop, showing Jack a photo.

“That’s Maurice cutting the ribbon, with the mayor of Valencia and the Spanish minister of culture officiating,” she said. “There were about a hundred TV cameras behind me when I took this.”

Hiebermeyer loosened his tie, the sweat beading on his face. “Not my favorite way of spending an afternoon, but it was a good outcome.”

“Are they still planning to keep the sarcophagus on the waterfront?”

“They’re building a museum around it, with UNESCO and IMU providing the funding. They’ve taken up your idea of showing the sarcophagus within a virtual representation of the pyramid chamber as well as on the wreck, so the viewer can alternate from one to the other. The multibeam sonar data will allow a half-size model of the wreck, and there are plans for a permanent camera on the wreck site for live-stream imagery. That was an inspirational idea, Jack. To cap it all,
Seaquest
is due back next season to raise two of the bronze guns for the museum, one of them the cannon you spotted with the East India company markings.”

“I still hope that one day the sarcophagus can go back to Egypt,” Jack said.

“We all do,” Aysha said. “But it’s a pretty remote prospect now. Have you seen the news?”

“I’ve just been watching Al Jazeera. It looks like the apocalypse.”

“Our only hope now is military intervention. It can’t destabilize the region any more than it is already. Israel has just carried out a massive preemptive airstrike against extremist positions in Syria. The U.S. 6th Fleet is now within easy bombing and cruise-missile range of Cairo, and the president is due to make an emergency address at the White House within the hour. We all just hope that if there is an intervention, it’s on a big enough scale to destroy the extremists as a fighting force, and not result in a long-term insurgency war.”

“Have you managed to make contact with Sahirah’s parents?”

“They know she’s safe in England.”

“I just wish we could have gotten them out too.”

“I wish we could have gotten
everyone
out. But you have to draw the line somewhere. They’re hugely grateful to you and Costas and Jacob.”

Jack had a flashback to the final desperate minutes of their escape from Cairo. His ears were still ringing from the gunfire, but he felt nothing about those he had killed, men whose humanity was already long extinguished,
only a surge of satisfaction that they had managed to get the girl out and had escaped themselves without fatality. He gave Aysha a penetrating look. “We arranged for her to go straight to Oxford, where she’s got an open-ended position at the institute funded by IMU to work on our Geniza finds. Jeremy thinks that she stands a very good chance of getting a place as a graduate student and that there could be a doctorate in it for her.”

“Ah. Speaking of Jeremy.” Aysha tapped the laptop. “While we were at the ceremony, he sent me an enhanced image from your film of the papyrus that Costas found on the dead caliph’s skeleton. He and Sahirah have been working on it day and night since they got to Oxford. Maurice and I brainstormed the translation in the Zodiac on the way back here from Valencia this afternoon, and we think we’ve nailed it. We have no doubt from the appearance of the hieroglyphs that it dates from the New Kingdom period, to the time of Akhenaten.”

Jack had forgotten his arm and stared at her. “I can’t wait.”

She opened a text file and began to read:

All wisdom comes from the Aten and is with him forever
.

Who can count the grains of sand in the sea, and the drops of rain, and the days of existence?

Who can discover the dimensions of heaven, and the width of the earth, and the depths of the sea, and the entirety of wisdom?

I come to you like a stream into a river, like a water-channel into a field
.

I said, I will water my orchard and drench my garden;

And lo, my stream became a river, and my river became a sea
.

I will make wisdom shine like the dawn
,

And leave it for future generations
.

They were silent for a moment. “It’s Akhenaten’s manifesto, his creed for the City of Light,” Jack said. “He’s telling us that his library comes through the Aten, and that he bequeaths it to us. Those words could be inscribed above the entrance to any great library or university today, only here it was one built over three thousand years ago beneath the desert sands of the Giza plateau.”

“It’s even more incredible than that.” Lanowski’s voice was hoarse with emotion. “I’ve heard those words before, many times in my yeshiva as a boy, growing up studying the Talmud and the holy scriptures. Substitute
Lord
for
Aten
and those words are almost exactly the words of the Ben Sira, the Book of Wisdom.”

“Hang on,” Costas said. “You’re telling me that a Jewish sacred book was originally an Egyptian text written in hieroglyphs?”

Aysha stared at him. “Some of the oldest fragments of the Ben Sira come from the Cairo Geniza, and it’s thought to have been first set down in Hebrew in Egypt, in Cairo or Alexandria, during the Hellenistic period. But this shows that its composition dates almost a thousand years earlier than that. They were one and the same. The revelation of the one god came at the same time to Akhenaten and to Moses, and their sacred texts spring from the same wellhead.”

“We’ve got another Geniza on our hands here,” Jack said quietly, shaking his head. “Thousands of papyrus scrolls. It’s going to take an army of scholars a lifetime even to begin to tackle it.”

“We’re ready, Jack,” Hiebermeyer said, eyeing him determinedly. “Aysha and her team are the best hieroglyphics people anywhere, and they’ll be training up more translators in preparation. The day that Egypt opens up again is the day that we’ll be down there.”

“And remember, there’s a guardian,” Costas said, his voice thick with emotion. “Little Joey’s in sleep mode, but he’s triggered by motion sensors, and I’ve programmed him to put the fear of God into anyone who
tries to get in there. He’ll make the curse of King Tut’s tomb seem lame.”

“And meanwhile, mum’s the word,” Aysha said. “Nobody outside our group knows anything about it.”

Hiebermeyer nodded, looking serious. “One slip of the tongue, one inadvertent lapse online, and word of a discovery like this will spread across the Internet like wildfire, and before we know it the extremists will find it and torch the entire place.”

“One question,” Costas said. “Caliph Al-Hakim wouldn’t have been able to read hieroglyphs, right? Of all the thousands of papyrus documents lying around in that chamber, how come he chose the one that’s so significant?”

“Ah.” Aysha nodded to Hiebermeyer, who scrolled through a series of photos on the screen. “The answer lies in the memory chip that you so carefully,” she coughed, “concealed on your person.”

“Excellent. My treasure trove. I knew it would be useful.”

“These pictures are the most incredible I’ve ever seen, outstripping even those famous first images that Howard Carter took of Tutankhamun’s tomb,” Hiebermeyer said. “Without these pictures and that scrap of papyrus, we’d have nothing tangible to go on. I for one owe you a very large gin and tonic.”

“There it is,” Aysha said, pointing at the screen. The photo showed the huge golden sarcophagus, the lid slightly ajar where Jack had tried so hard to push it. Hiebermeyer zoomed in to the central part below the crossed arms holding the scepter and the ankh symbol. A curious black wood embellishment like a picture frame lay on the lid below, its interior edges jagged like the broken remains of a windowpane.

“I get it,” Costas exclaimed. “Al-Hakim found that papyrus inside that frame.”

Aysha nodded. “You can see where he tore it out. He couldn’t read it, but he guessed that it must be some kind of holy text. He held it close to him as he died.”

“There’s something else we want to show you, Jack,” Hiebermeyer said. “Something else to close the story.”

“Go on.”

Hiebermeyer tapped the laptop and an image of a stone slab covered with hieroglyphs came into view. “This is the so-called Israel Stele, set up in Thebes in the late thirteenth century
BC
to commemorate the conquests of the pharaoh Merenptah. It’s famous as the only known reference to Israel in an ancient Egyptian inscription. But it now takes second place to Rebecca’s find of the Israel cartouche under Temple Mount in Jerusalem dating at least a century earlier to the time of Akhenaten or shortly after. Here you can see the two cartouches side by side, showing how they contain identical hieroglyphs.”

“Tell them Rebecca’s theory,” Aysha said.

Hiebermeyer sat back in his chair and looked pensively at the image. “When Rebecca emailed me her photo of the Jerusalem find, she outlined a startling idea. The other conquered enemies listed in the Stele—Canaan, Ashkelon, Gezer, Yenoam, and Syria—were all city-states or confederations, whereas the determinative hieroglyph written in front of the word for Israel shows that Israel was regarded as a people, not a city. And yet at this date it seems hardly plausible that a nomadic people or a marauding band of warriors would have the strength to oppose an Egyptian army, to be considered opponents worthy enough to list in this fashion. Rebecca then pointed out one city that was missing from the list.”

“Mât Urusalim,” Jack said. “Jerusalem.”

“Exactly,” Hiebermeyer continued. “Jerusalem was a significant citadel, on a par with the coastal cities and a gateway for any Egyptian army intent on conquering farther north. Either the alliance revealed in the Amarna letters with Akhenaten still remained in force, or, more likely, Mât Urusalim actually is there in the list, only under a different name.”

“Israel,” Jack murmured.

Hiebermeyer nodded enthusiastically. “Here’s a scenario. In the century or so between their arrival as refugees from Egypt and the campaigns of Merenptah, the Israelites had taken over and transformed Jerusalem, strengthening it with their knowledge of Egyptian engineering and winning over the people to their new religion. Rebecca thinks the origins of the Jewish state lie then, not several centuries later with the arrival of King David, as the Old Testament would seem to suggest.”

“So who exactly were the Israelites?” Costas asked.

“I think they may originally have been a tough hill people of Canaan, a large enough component of the prisoners captured by the Egyptians in earlier wars of conquest for the name to have stuck. But the migration from Egypt recounted in Exodus probably included peoples of diverse origins. Imagine the composition of a Roman slave revolt, for comparison. At certain periods it would be dominated by prisoners from the current wars, Gaulish, Spanish, or Macedonian, for example, but there would always be others from different parts of the ancient world, some very exotic. In the same way, you can imagine the followers of Moses predominantly claiming Canaanite origins but including a diversity of others whom the Egyptians had enslaved, from captured sailors of the Red Sea and Indian Ocean to Nubians and Saharan nomads. This ethnic diversity may well have been one of the strengths of the early Jewish state and religion.”

Lanowski pointed at the first hieroglyphs in the cartouche, the determinative of a throw stick, a sitting man and a woman. “That’s what does it for me. Israel was a people, not a land. A people is always restless, always wanting to be on the move, seeking a promised land that lies just out of reach. The refugees from Egypt may have settled in Jerusalem, but that yearning was always in their blood. You can see it in the history of the diaspora, in that tension between the lure of the Holy Land and the spiritual and creative strength that came from not quite getting there. You can see it in the life of a man like
Yehuda Halevi. Would he have been such a great poet if he had reached the Holy Land as a younger man?” Lanowski turned to Jack. “Would you be such a great archaeologist, such a good storyteller, if your Holy Grail didn’t lie most of the time just over the horizon, just beyond your reach?”