The Cairo Code (4 page)

But summer had to end. None of them could ever remember the exact date they had first met, but they would each remember exactly when the shadow was thrown across their path: September 1939. It was the month war had been declared in Europe, Hitler had invaded Poland, and their lives, like so many others, were about to be changed forever.

•  •  •

Heat shimmered across the vastness of open desert beyond the pyramids that afternoon as the covered Bedford truck came to a halt and Harry Weaver climbed out. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, then lifted a battered leather satchel from the backseat, before making his way to the collection of large canvas tents that had been erected around the Sakkara site. Dozens of team members were busy clearing away equipment after the excavation and were loading it onto a couple of more Bedford trucks, and as Weaver strolled towards the activity, a gray-haired, distinguished man wearing a bush hat and sweat-stained khaki tropical shirt stepped out of one of the tents.

Professor David Stern had a studious face, but it wasn't without humor, and when he saw Weaver he removed his glasses, wiped them vigorously with a handkerchief, and smiled. “Harry, you're back. And about time. I was beginning to think we'd have to send out a search party.”

“Sorry, Professor. I stopped off at Shepheard's on the way to see if there was any news.”

“And what's the word from Cairo's principal watering hole?”

“Warsaw's still in flames. German Stuka bombers are razing it to the ground. No one expects the Poles to hold out much longer.”

“That fool Hitler,” Stern said through clenched teeth. “Before you know it he'll have Europe in ruins. But what can you expect from such a dangerous madman?” He changed the subject as if the present topic were too upsetting and looked a short distance away, to where a diesel generator was humming away in the searing heat. Electric cables snaked into a large hole that had been opened up in the earth's face with a sturdy wooden safety frame constructed around it, a ladder leading down into the shaft. “We're well on our way. Just the last of the tunnel equipment to be brought up and then we'll concentrate on tidying up the site face. You picked up the post?”

Weaver lifted the satchel. “It's all here, the last mail run. And I made sure the Ministry of Antiquities had the list of forwarding addresses you gave me for the crew, just in case any more mail turns up for us after we've gone.”

“Excellent.” Stern put his hands on his hips, squinted in the strong sunlight as he gazed around the site. “So, our time at Sakkara is coming to an end. How do you feel about that, Harry?”

Weaver looked sad. “To tell you the truth, I haven't been looking forward to it. It's not often a guy like me gets the opportunity to visit Egypt and take part in something like this. I've a feeling this adventure could be the highlight of my life.”

Stern smiled, slapped a hand on Weaver's shoulder. “Nonsense. You're a young man. What age are you, Harry? The same as most of the rest of the crew—twenty-three, twenty-four?”

“Twenty-three, sir.”

“Then it's all ahead of you. And there are a lot more interesting adventures to come, I'm certain of it.”

“What about you, Professor? You're still leaving for Istanbul?”

Stern nodded. “In four days' time. The temporary lecturing position I've accepted came out of the blue, but Istanbul's a wonderful city, so I'm sure my wife and Rachel will find it interesting. All in all, it should keep me busy for a while.” He dabbed sweat from his forehead, held out his hand for the mail satchel, and nodded towards the shaft. “Rachel and Jack, plus a few of the others, are still below. This heat is unbearable, so why don't you go down and help them tidy up and I'll hand out the letters to the crew.”

•  •  •

Weaver descended the ladder into the shaft. It was solid rock in parts, a drop of almost fifty feet, and when he came to the bottom several narrow passageways led off in different directions.

The yellow clay walls and ceilings were lined with timber supports, and lit by strings of bulbs, fed from the electric generator up above. The passageways led to the three individual tombs that had been discovered, the ceilings so low in places that a man had to hunch his shoulders as he walked. Compared to the sizzling temperature above ground, the tunnel air was pleasantly cool, chilly almost, and there was a slightly eerie atmosphere, but Weaver had become used to that, and he cheerfully made his way along one of the passageways until he came to the end and heard voices.

A large sarcophagus, once the tomb of a relatively unknown princess from Zoser's dynasty, was set into a recess in the far wall. The mummified remains had been removed after their discovery. The stone coffin lid lay propped against the wall, its surface beautifully carved with hieroglyphics, and several of the crew were in the process of removing digging equipment and electric cables from the immediate area. Weaver saw Jack Halder and Rachel Stern busily working away, their clothes covered in fine dust, and then Rachel turned and saw him.

Her blond hair was tied back, accentuating her high cheekbones, and there were tiny beads of perspiration on her tanned face and neck. Even though she wore a loose khaki shirt and pants, her figure was evident, and she looked startlingly pretty, as always. She offered Weaver a perfect smile, one that affected him instantly. “Harry. We were just talking about you.”

“Nothing bad, I hope.”

“Of course not. We were simply wondering what had kept you so long.” She moved to kiss him on the cheek, smudging his face with dust. “Now look what I've done.”

She wiped the dust away, laughing, and at the touch of her hand Weaver felt electricity course through him. Every time he looked at Rachel Stern or felt her touch he was aware of an intense feeling of attraction, and he fought hard to control it. “I called into Shepheard's. The news isn't good. Warsaw's still burning. The word is Poland will be forced to surrender very soon.”

“It's all so truly dreadful,” Rachel said, genuinely concerned. “Isn't it, Jack?”

Jack Halder had a restless, handsome face, with pale blue eyes and a slight smile fixed permanently in place, one that suggested he found life infinitely more interesting than he had hoped. But the smile was gone now as he shook his head. “It's terrible. At this moment, I almost feel ashamed to be German.”

Weaver put a hand on his friend's shoulder. “I think we all feel bad about events, Jack. But neither you nor any of the other Germans on the dig started the conflict. Hitler did.”

“I suppose you're right.” Halder gazed in awe at the open sarcophagus for a moment, then ran a hand over the lid's smooth surface. “I'll be sorry to say good-bye to the last resting place of our princess. Isn't it incredible when you think about it?”

“What is?”

“For thousands of years she lay here alone, until we found her. Once, she was probably the object of men's desire. And now she's mummified remains, lying in the vaults of the Egyptian Museum, waiting to be dissected and studied, like the others we discovered. And all the important questions you want to ask, for which you'll probably never find answers. What did she look like? What kind of life did she have? Whom did she love? I doubt anyone will ask those questions of us someday. At least she's achieved a kind of immortality.”

Rachel smiled. “Jack, you're such a romantic dreamer.”

Weaver said with wry humor, “Let's just hope there isn't a curse attached to our princess, or we're all in trouble.”

“You don't believe in curses, do you, Harry?” Rachel asked, incredulous.

“Ask me that question a couple of years from now, when we're all covered in massive red spots and dying from some unknown, incurable disease.”

They laughed, and there was a sound from somewhere behind them, footsteps on the creaking wooden ladder, and Professor Stern appeared from the passageway. “It sounds like you're all enjoying yourselves, and I hate to upset the mood, but I've distributed the post Harry picked up from Cairo. Most of it's bad news, from what I can gather. At least a dozen of the crew have been conscripted and the general consensus is that they're not too happy about it.”

“Harry told us about Warsaw,” Halder offered.

“I don't even want to think about it,” Professor Stern said, dejected. “It has me depressed enough already.” He scrutinized the area. “You've been busy, Rachel, I see. You, too, Jack.”

“All in a day's work, Professor,” Halder answered. “With Harry lending a hand, another couple of hours should see it through.”

“Before I forget, Jack, there was a letter for you among the mail.” The professor handed an envelope across. “From Germany, I believe.”

Halder moved beside one of the lightbulbs, tore open the letter, and read the contents. His face darkened, and then he slowly folded the pages and stuffed them in his breast pocket.

“What's wrong? Is it bad news?” Rachel asked.

Halder forced a smile. “Of a sort. It's from my father.”

He said no more, as if the subject were private. Stern briskly slapped a hand on Weaver's shoulder. “Right, we'd better get back to work. I want to have everything finished before dark so that we can enjoy the big party tomorrow night.”

“What big party?” Weaver asked, and they all looked at the professor.

Stern smiled. “A secret I've kept to myself, but now it's time you all knew. Remember I told you last week I'd stretched our budget to pay for cheap hotel rooms in Cairo and a meal for all the crew after we'd finished our work here? Well, it's going to be rather better than that. What work remains to be done at Sakkara will be completed by the Ministry of Antiquities, of course, but they've judged our dig to be a complete success, and a party's been organized at the residence of the American ambassador. It's well known he has a keen interest in archeology, and he's insisted on hosting a gala evening in our honor. There's to be a splendid buffet meal, quite a few distinguished people have been invited, and from what I hear, the ambassador's even arranged a dance band. All very kind of him, I thought.”

“Well, good for us,” Halder said, more cheerfully.

“That's wonderful news, Papa,” Rachel said. “Isn't it, Harry?”

“Best I've heard in a long time.”

“I thought it might cheer you up.” The professor rolled up his sleeves. “Now, let's get the equipment up the shaft and packed away, and we can all relax.”

•  •  •

The sun was going down, casting a tangerine light over the desert. Dinner had been served by the Bedouin cooks—kofta, saffron rice, and fresh bread—and because it was their last night under canvas, Professor Stern provided a large quantity of Egyptian beer and wine at his own expense.

They sat around the campfire, but there was little talk of the war, because nobody in the team wanted politics to intrude. One of the Frenchmen played his accordion, accompanied by two young Englishmen with guitars, everyone joining in with the kind of gusto only young people could muster, and by the time the talking and singing was done it was almost midnight, the embers were dying, and people started drifting back to their tents.

Halder was a little drunk as he produced three more bottles of beer, and with a grin handed one each to Rachel and Weaver. “I thought I'd keep us a nightcap. How about we say our last goodnight to Zoser?”

“Why not,” Rachel agreed, and the three of them strolled over to Zoser's Step pyramid, in high spirits after the alcohol they'd consumed, Weaver carrying a kerosene lamp to light the way. They sat on the stone blocks at the base, as they'd done almost every night the entire summer, still awed by the beauty and vastness of the five-thousand-year-old tomb. “So this is it,” said Halder with genuine sadness. “Our last night at Sakkara.”

Rachel was downhearted. “I hate the thought of leaving. It's been such a wonderful time here, and great fun.” She looked at them both. “And it's all been because of you, Jack, and you, Harry. You've helped make it the most memorable time of my life. I want to thank you for that.”

Halder said, “Remember that photograph Harry took? The one of the three of us together?”

“Of course. Why?”

Halder took a swig from his bottle and gave a mischievous grin. “You know, I've been thinking. We need more than a photograph to commemorate our summer together. Something that will last for centuries.”

“What exactly do you mean, Jack?” Weaver asked.

Halder stood, unsteady on his feet. “Wait here.”

He took the kerosene lamp, ambled over to one of the tents occupied by the Egyptian workmen, and came back after a while carrying a tattered canvas bag.

Weaver said, “What the devil are you up to, Jack?”

“Have patience. No speaking, please. Not a word, or you'll distract me. And no looking until I tell you.”

He moved a distance away, farther along the stone base, put down the lamp, and produced a hammer and chisel from the bag. He sat there working away intently in the lamplight, hammering at one of the slabs of rock, and when he was finally done, he wiped sweat from his face and smiled. “OK. You can see now.”

He held up the lamp and they joined him.

All along the base of Zoser's pyramid there were inscriptions in the layers of stepped rock, and on their first day at Sakkara they had marveled at them; hundreds and hundreds of names and initials carved over the centuries by countless visitors. Even though illegal, it was a custom that no authority had been able to prevent. Some of the inscriptions even dated as far back as Roman times.

And among them, Jack Halder had chiseled:
RS, HW, JH. 1939.

“Jack,” Rachel laughed. “You're not only drunk, you're
crazy.
Papa will be horrified if he finds out you've defaced a treasured monument.”