Death of a Pharaoh (29 page)

In his excitement, Jake failed to notice the two Arab men playing
dominos a few feet away. Half the customers in the kahwa sat hunched over one
game or another. The pair of Guardians was a team assigned to shadow the Swiss
captain after the information from their captor, now ally, identified him as a
key decision maker. They reported right away that the enemy had recruited the
technician. Hassan was pleased that Franz’s intelligence was proving useful.
Everything was going according to plan.

As soon as he got home, Jake got to work devising a plan. In the
cafeteria, he had access to an internet connection for emails and surfing that
wasn’t connected to the main working group. Even though he had the password for
the dedicated network from the unit on each x-ray machine, it didn’t do him any
good if he couldn’t pick up the signal on his laptop. He was certain they had
no idea that a trace of the signal reached the last stall of the men’s toilets
located near a window and much closer to the trailer housing the mainframe.
What he needed was a booster to enhance the signal but there was no way he
could sneak a commercial antenna in without them finding out. They searched his
briefcase every morning and evening.

As with all
red-blooded American geeks, Jake turned to the internet to find a solution. He
spent hours trolling extreme tech websites until he discovered that you could
manufacture a decent antenna out of a Pringles can then connect it to the
laptop’s Wi-Fi card with a simple coaxial cable. He was in business.

Pringles are as
universal as Coca-Cola, you can get them all over the world. Even in the small
store in Giza where he lived. He found the connectors, wires, a pair of
needle-nosed pliers, a small drill, a soldering device and the rest of the
articles on the list he downloaded from the internet at a local hardware store.
He did several experiments and found that the BBQ flavor provided the best
results; something to do with the graphics he supposed. Just by hanging it out
his kitchen window, he was able to pick up over a dozen networks and two of
them weren’t password protected. The download speeds were amazing. The antenna
was directional so it took some maneuvering to pick up each signal but he was
certain it would work at the site.

He wouldn’t have
time to open the thousands of x-rays searching for the telltale signs of a
crucifixion. He could hardly spend hours in the bathroom even if he pleaded a
case of the common tourist tummy known as the Pharaoh’s Revenge. He needed to
narrow the selection and as always a little baksheesh worked wonders in Egypt;
especially among the fellahin who labored at the site. He rarely spoke to them
on a normal day, most knew only a few words of English. Like many third world
countries, foreigners largely ignored the legions of poor performing menial
labor or begging in the streets. They formed part of the landscape and were as
unremarkable as elevator music.

The supervisor of
the cleaning crew was a dignified older man with a prayer mark on his forehead,
who had often tried to ingratiate himself with Jake. His frayed djellaba looked
like a shroud a mummy would wear and a wad of Egyptian pounds would go a long
way.

Youssef’s friends and neighbors knew him as a pious man. He lived a
modest life and they respected him for his devoted wife, five grown children
and a position that allowed him to offer employment to their sons. He was a
good Muslim, blessed by Allah, and he rarely had to pay for his tea at the
kahwa after noon prayers at the mosque on Friday. People always cultivated his
favor.

He was also a
lifetime member of the Servants of Ma’at, as his father had been before him.
Hassan ordered him to be friendly with the American and to cooperate if asked
to leak the location of the mummy of the Pharaoh Jesus. It was imperative that
their enemies knew where it was so that they would also miss it when it
disappeared. As suspected, he didn’t have to wait long to play his part. Jake
came to see him only three days after Hassan’s men discovered him conversing
with the Swiss captain in town.

“Youssef, my
friend, perhaps you can help me?”

“If it is in my
power, Effendi.”

“The Chief
Archeologist asked me to examine the quality of the x-rays of the mummy from
the early Christian era,” he fibbed, “I’m too embarrassed to admit that I’m not
certain which one he means.”

Youssef tried to
look shocked, “We are not permitted to speak of this matter to anyone,” he told
the American.

“It would help me
so much and I would be grateful,” Jake intimated.

Youssef opened his
eyes wider as if to say, “How grateful?”

Jake extracted a
wad of bills from his pocket and peeled off enough to equal one hundred US
dollars. It was more than Youssef made in a month. He frowned as if to indicate
that  it was too little. Jake doubled the amount. He smiled showing that they
were getting closer to an agreement. Jake sighed and counted another hundred.
It was a small fortune and perhaps Youssef could buy a second hand Vespa for
his son. He reached for the money and deftly hid it in a pocket under his
djellaba.

“You must promise
never to say I helped you.”

“You have my
word,” Jake replied.

Youssef glanced
from side to side to make certain they were alone then leaned toward the
American, “The mummy you seek is in the stone coffin labeled as TP003. Any
files would have the same reference. The archeologists always use that number
when they ask us to move the machines.”

Jake managed to
hide his satisfaction but he looked like one of Youssef’s grandchildren caught
with his fingers in the baklava. Three hundred dollars was surely a drop in the
bucket compared to what the Swiss dog had offered him. Jake thanked him with a
warm embrace. Youssef was glad to be of service.

Tomb of the True Pharaohs, somewhere outside of
Saqarra, Egypt, October 31, 2016

On the day he selected for the operation, Jake spent half an hour
packing his lunch to make the Pringles can look as nonchalant as possible and
to camouflage the cable. He wasn’t too worried about a thorough search. The
guard at the main entrance only took a cursory look as they filed by his desk.
The airport type pat down with a metal detector was at the second control that
allowed access to the dig. He was more concerned about anybody who might walk
into the bathroom while he played airplane with a Pringles can. They would
probably think he was in there jerking off to some porn. Arabs thought all
American males were addicted to smut. He assumed they were secretly jealous. He
wondered if he should provide some convincing sound effects in case anyone was
listening.

If a colleague had
been watching, he would have worried about more than him stroking his salami.
It took five minutes of acrobatics with his pants around his ankles before he
found three bars of the signal with the antenna perched precariously near the
top of the stall. Fortunately, he had plenty of cable to reach his Wi-Fi card.
He sat his bare butt on the seat and signed in with his password. He expected security
to come bursting in any second. He knew he didn’t have much time and quickly
searched for a folder named TP003. It was 3.2 gigabytes in size. It took twenty
agonizing minutes to copy the data. As soon as he finished, he flushed and
returned to the cafeteria mumbling to everyone in sight that he had a bad case
of the tourist trots. They all nodded in sympathy.

He sat at a table
by himself and attached the files to an email with the direction Cedric gave
him in the kahwa. He was sweating when it was all over, something that only
added credibility to his earlier excuse for spending so much time in the
bathroom. After he ate, he made a second run for the toilet just to make it
look more convincing.

That evening when
he got home there was a message from Cedric congratulating him for his
excellent work. They arranged to meet tomorrow night for him to receive 50% of
his fee. He still had one more task to do before getting the rest of the money.
Cedric needed the exact location of the crypt. Along with his first payment,
they would give him a small GPS transmitter disguised as a pen. All he had to
do was carry it with him to the dig, leave it in the cafeteria and his work was
finished. Jake fell asleep dreaming of how he would spend the money.

Village of the Habiru Tribe, south of
Saqarra, Egypt, October 31, 2016

The buses left at noon after a short practice with the parihuela and a
swim in the pool. Eduardo could get used to this kind of luxury. The men were
having fun but now that they were on their way, there was some nervousness.
Tonight they had to perform for the cameras. It took one and a half hours to
arrive at Hassan’s village.

The males greeted
them with a spectacular camel charge and the women ululated like in Lawrence of
Arabia. Hassan explained that his people called themselves The Guardians and
apparently, their only job in life was to guard the tomb of the Kings. They
escorted their guests to a cluster of typical Bedouin tents where a lavish
banquet awaited. Some of the costaleros grumbled that there was no alcohol, but
Eduardo preferred it this way; today was not a day for drinking.

A group of young
men put on a demonstration of swordsmanship at full gallop; it was impressive.
After lunch, everyone stretched out on cushions in the shade of the tents for a
nap until the sun went down. The heat was oppressive and Eduardo was grateful
they were doing the transfer at night.

They awoke to the
sound of a herd of camels protesting. There had to be fifty as well as a small
fleet of jeeps waiting to ferry them to the starting point. They were only ten
kilometers from the tomb and within forty-five minutes, they were all together
again. Fernando did a head count. Nobody had fallen off a camel on the way.
Eduardo gathered the men around. It was time to give them more information.

“Señores, we will
start in three hours, at eight in the evening. I want to give you an update.
This is not just an experiment rather much more. Apparently, we are carrying
the remains of a great Pharaoh, who will remain unnamed. His mummy is in very
delicate condition and part of the reason they asked us to come here was to get
the sarcophagus to the nearest paved road without any jarring or bumps. We have
a total of 22 kilometers to do in about nine hours.”

He paused for a
moment to let the figure sink in.

“That’s about 500
euros a kilometer,” he added with a smile. They all laughed.

“They usually pay
me by the centimeter,” Angel interjected with a lurid smile as he grabbed his
genitals.

“Maybe the young
girls at the beach because they have never seen a real man like me,” Eduardo
countered. The ribald costalero relationship was in direct contrast to the
religious nature of their vocation but it acted as a much-needed counterweight
to the deep emotions that poured over their souls like the sweat on their
backs.

“These people
trusted me because of my friendship with Pablo who was a costalero with me in
the Gitanos so long ago I prefer not to remember. Make me proud.”

The faces of his
men assured him that he had nothing to worry about.

“You have thirty
minutes to get ready then we will have to help with the process of getting the
mummy here to the entrance. Since telephones can be traced, I would ask all of
you to turn in your cellphone to Fernando who will return them when we get back
to the hotel.”

“Any questions?”

“What about food
and water?”

“We will do
carries of around 500 meters. Every kilometer the people from the village will
set up tables with water and food. Make certain you drink enough.”

“What about all
these guns?” asked Javier, a policeman in Seville.

“Security is high,
many people would like to steal what we are carrying and the people of the
village are sworn to protect it. Nothing like that is going to happen on our
watch.”

He paused, waiting
for any other questions.

“Ok so let’s get
dressed and I want the costals done well.”

The men split up
into small groups to don their gear. The first thing they did was wrap a cloth
tightly around the waste to protect the lower back. Some wore kidney belts like
those that weightlifters used. It takes two men to do a costal. The headpieces
are fabricated from old coffee or flour sacks quilted in softer cloth. The men
overlap each end of the costal over the center and then fold a sausage shaped
tube filled with soft stuffing so that when they put it on their heads it sits
over the atlas point both to hold their necks under the wood and to protect
them from getting hurt. It was a wonderful time-honored system and when the
costal was worn properly and the costalero stood with his back perfectly
straight he was capable of carrying an astonishing weight for long distances.
Indeed, if they had needed to invent men to do this very task then they would
have come up with costaleros.

There was a
network of pulleys already installed in the long entrance to the tomb. The
Guardians led the men to the top of the ramp where they stood with their mouths
open. There had to be more than one hundred large stone coffins stretching to
the end of the long corridor cut in the rock. It was an amazing feat of
engineering. The coffin, labeled TP003, consisted of a large piece of granite
with a top but you could barely see the crack where it joined. The workers
attached ropes to the sarcophagus and with the help of the costaleros, it was
easy to slide the coffin across the smooth stone floors; covered for the
operation with a layer of fine sand. They went slow to avoid any bumps and it
took them almost an hour to move the coffin to the front entrance.

It was already
dark. Someone had erected a tripod with pulleys to act as a hoist. They fitted
large flat cloth straps under either end of the coffin and a metal ring joined
them together. With the help of so many strong arms, it was easy to raise the
coffin about ten feet. Half of the costaleros took their places under the
parihuela and following Eduardo’s commands maneuvered it directly under the
coffin. There were moments of tension while they lowered the  slowly onto the
top of the float with barely a sound as it settled onto the wood causing the structure
to groan.

The rest of the
men took their places. When they were ready, Eduardo tapped once on the metal
frame with a small hammer he brought for the occasion. The men took their
places with one foot forward and knees bent. On the next tap of the hammer they
all braced bringing their hips forward straining, pure strength contained like
thoroughbreds in the gate just before a race. Eduardo signaled a third time. To
those standing around it looked as if nothing happened there was only an almost
imperceptible shudder of the frame.

Slowly the huge
float began to rise inch by inch in an agonizing lift called a ‘
pulso
’.
It rose so slow that those watching could barely tell when it was off the
ground. Only when it swayed gently from side to side and began to move forward
did everyone finally take a breath. Their Pharaoh had begun his journey. There
was a murmur of excitement by the Guardians gathered around on foot and on
camels. Mustafa seemed overjoyed and Pablo beamed with pride. His idea worked
and the impossible was taking place.

He turned to
Mustafa who watched with a broad smile.

“They sent us an
army of angels after all,” Pablo remarked.

“Such a great
truth you have just spoken,” Mustafa agreed as he prayed to the Gods for
success over the next eight hours.

The relief
costaleros walked on ahead removing large rocks from the path. If a stone was
too big, they advised Eduardo and he guided the float around the obstacle. The
going was slow but it was obvious that the mummy would not suffer during the
transfer. Two archeologists monitored the sensors they had attached to the
sarcophagus and were delighted that the needle barely twitched.

After half a
kilometer, Eduardo signaled for the men to stop and lower the float for the
first rest. It had taken eight minutes with the loose sand. At this rate, they
would manage about three kilometers an hour for seven and a half hours. It was
now 8.42 in the evening and even with some longer breaks, they should be at the
transfer point before dawn. The relative quiet from the men below surprised
him. It was as if they understood the seriousness of the situation and even if
they were not carrying a statue that represented their God, they knew that
whomever they carried had once been a great king and their silence was a tribute
to his status.

They followed the course of a dry riverbed with a gentle continuous
downward slope. Eduardo made out the dark silhouettes of low hills on either
side and he was certain no one could see them from a distance. Perhaps that was
the whole idea. At times, all he could pick up was the sound of 144 feet
shuffling through the sand and the occasional grunt from a camel. Eduardo had
the impression that he was in some surreal combination of Easter and the Three
Kings. There were few complaints from the men who were in their glory. Seldom
had they ever had the chance to go so far in one single night. They would be
bragging about this for years to come. Eduardo finally began to relax. The
costaleros of Seville would deliver their end of the bargain.

Every once in a
while they came to a ditch or a gulley that was too wide for the men to step
over and they would stop so that everyone could grab a shovel and fill it in
with sand. It slowed them down but they had been keeping a good pace. If they
didn’t run into the Grand Canyon they would be fine. Eduardo looked up and
noticed that there were millions of stars. He had never seen so many. He did
not know who was in the stone coffin they carried but he couldn’t have had a
more regal crown above his head.

After ten
kilometers, Eduardo called a lunch break. He filled a plate with some fruit and
dried dates. Pablo came over to sit with him.

“This brings back
great memories,” Pablo remarked.

“They must be
pleased with the way it is going.”

“They are
speechless,” Pablo assured him. “They could never have imagined what these men
can do.”

Eduardo was
thoughtful for a moment.

“You know who is
in the coffin don’t you?” he asked Pablo.

“Yes.”

“Are you going to
tell your old friend?”

“Do you really
want to know?”

“Of course!”

“You must promise
on your father’s grave that you will never tell a living soul.”

“I swear on my
dead.” The ultimate promise for a Spaniard.

“Then come with
me.”

Pablo led Eduardo
up a small dune out of earshot of the other men.

“Two thousand years
ago a Pharaoh was crucified in Jerusalem and his body was rescued by a special
team and brought back to Egypt. His mummy is in the coffin.”

“Two thousand
years ago?”

“Yes.”

“Jerusalem?”

Pablo nodded his
head.

Eduardo pieced
together what he had just heard. “Virgen Santa!” he exclaimed as he made the
connection.

“Close.”

“You can’t mean
that Jesus Christ is on top of the parihuela?”

Pablo only smiled.

“We can’t be
transporting the real body of Christ across the desert?”

“Tell me who in
the world are better suited to carry Jesus than the costaleros of Seville?”

Eduardo was
dumbstruck. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“Would you have
come?”

“I almost wish you
hadn’t told me now.”

“No you don’t,”
Pablo assured him, “this is the most glorious cuadrilla of costaleros in the
history of the world and you are their leader. The Gods will remember your
great service.”

He lets his words
sink in for a moment then put his hand on Eduardo’s shoulder. “Now get back to
the float. Your savior awaits.”