Egypt (9 page)

“I know, Mom. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but I have no choice. I haven’t stopped thinking about this since I left Luxor. I let Wyatt down. I let Dr. Aziz and the other fellows down. I can’t live with that. I have to overcome my fears. I know I can do it. I’ve done it before.”

“Well, Gannon, this is your call. You know your dad and I will support whatever decision you make.”

“I’ve already made it, mom.”

Tomorrow, I’m taking the first train to Alexandria and rejoining the expedition.

FEBRUARY 28, 4:49 PM
TOMB COMPLEX


22° CELSIUS, 72° FAHRENHEIT
SKIES CLEAR, WIND CALM


At first, I thought I was seeing some kind of mirage. An optical illusion among the waves of heat. But, it wasn’t a mirage. It was Gannon!

In typical grand fashion, he came riding up on the back of a camel, his desert scarf trailing off in the wind. The camel topped the dune and lumbered into camp. The man captaining the camel was wrapped in a long white robe and a kaf-fiyeh, a swath of material worn over the head. This man, I assumed, was a Bedouin, one of the nomadic tribesmen of the desert. He barked some orders and the camel knelt down, first on its front knees, then back, before coming to rest on its belly. Gannon slid off and paid the man his fare.

“Shokran, Abdulla,” Gannon said, bowing his head.

Abdulla bowed in return.

“Well, look what the camel dragged in,” I said.

Gannon turned to me and opened his arms to the desert.

“Call me, Gannon of Arabia!” he said, and flipped his scarf back around his neck.

I laughed.

“You have something against taxis?” I asked.

“Why take a taxi when you can take a camel?”

“You sure know how to make an entrance. I’ll give you that.”

“So, bring me up to speed. What’s going on with the dig? Things look promising?”

“When Dr. Aziz arrived the excavation kicked into high gear. We’ve already managed to clear away lots of sand in the two areas where he thinks there might be a chamber. We haven’t found anything yet, but he’s pretty sure we will. It’s just a matter of time.”

“So,” Gannon said, “this is really happening, isn’t it?”

“It is. And here’s the best part. Not only are we part of the dig, we’re on the front lines. If there’s a find, we’re going to be right there. You made a great choice coming back. This fellowship is incredible!”

I held a pickaxe in my hand.

“Dr. Aziz lets you walk around with that thing?” Gannon asked, pointing.

“I told you. We’re on the front lines.”

“I might have to question Dr. Aziz’s judgment on that one.”

Gannon hopped up on a flat stone and surveyed the complex. The uniformed men caught his attention.

“Who are all the guys with guns?” Gannon asked.

“The Egyptian military police. They’re here to protect the site.”

Gannon stared at the policeman nearest us. Like all the other military police, he wore a black suit, black boots with white gaiters and a red beret. Each member of the police squad carried an AK-47 submachine gun and had a pistol on their hip.

“That’s some serious protection,” Gannon said. “You think it’s totally necessary?”

“I guess so. Who knows what kind of treasure might be buried at this site? I’m sure there are tomb robbers out there who would love to get their hands on it.”

Gannon didn’t say anything for a minute. He just looked around the site, adjusted his scarf.

“Gannon!” came a booming voice. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t be able to stay away!”

Dr. Aziz jogged to my brother and gave him a hug.

“I’m here for good this time,” Gannon said. “That, I promise.”

“Very happy to hear it.”

“So put me to work. If memory serves, we’re searching for a Queen. Is that right?”

Dr. Aziz laughed and the two of them walked off toward the excavation site.

Sure, Gannon can drive me nuts sometimes, and I’m already anticipating more drama now that he’s rejoined the fellowship, but all that said, I couldn’t be happier to have my brother back. An adventure like this wouldn’t be the same without him.

Desert transportation

LATE NIGHT


By way of train, foot, and camel, I arrived at the excavation site and found the place bustling with activity. From the hilltop it looked almost like a colony of ants, just with men instead of ants, all carrying shovels and pickaxes and carting away piles of rock and debris. I broke a sweat just watching them.

Well, with all this going on, Dr. Aziz wasted no time putting me to work. This afternoon I probably shoveled enough sand to build my own pyramid. My back aches. I can hardly lift my arms. My hand shakes as I write. But I’m not complaining. At least, not out loud. I’m here to redeem myself and will do whatever’s asked of me with a huge smile on my face!

MARCH 1, 11:28 AM


TOMB COMPLEX


21° CELSIUS, 70° FAHRENHEIT


SKIES CLEAR, WIND 5-15 MPH


We’ve just made an amazing discovery! Three steps buried in the sand! And more below it, I’m sure. A workman on break found the steps when he tossed his shovel aside and heard it hit something hard. Now, that’s luck, pure and simple. But, hey, like I said, we’ll take it.

Right now the men are clearing away the rubble. The plan is simple. Follow the steps and see where they lead. Dr. Aziz has also ordered radar scans of the area to see if there might be a tunnel or chamber underground.

The military police have taken a serious interest in our work. Several of them are huddled around the steps, closely monitoring our progress. Earlier, Dr. Aziz had an argument with the police commander. I wasn’t sure what they were shouting about, since they were only speaking in Arabic, but it was pretty heated. When I asked Dr. Aziz if everything was all right, he acted as if there was nothing to worry about, but it’s obvious there’s some tension between them.

MARCH 2


We reached the fifteenth step and have started to clear the area around the walls that run down either side of the staircase, which are carved up with all these cool hieroglyphics. At first Dr. Aziz got really excited about the carvings, thinking that maybe they’d tell us something about Cleopatra, so he went right to work copying down and translating everything. Of course, I convinced myself the hieroglyphics were some kind of curse, the kind that says, “A swift death will come to all who enter this tomb,” or some horrible thing like that.

Turns out it was a message to Osiris, the ruler of the afterlife. Dr. Aziz was a little upset it wasn’t something more specific. He’s anxious to find some kind of proof that this is really Cleopatra’s tomb.

Okay, that’s all for now. I need to grab a quick snack, chug some serious water, and get back to the dig.

Egyptian carvings

MARCH 3, 7:57 PM


TOMB COMPLEX


32° CELSIUS, 90° FAHRENHEIT
WIND 70 MPH, GUSTS TO 90 MPH


This morning, the sky turned blood red on the horizon.

Dr. Aziz ran from his tent with Khalid and they climbed to the top of a dune to assess the approaching storm.

“I’m afraid this may be worse than the meteorologists predicted,” he said. Then he turned to the crew and shouted orders. “We must make sure the camp is secure enough to hold when the winds arrive! Everyone hurry! The storm will be here soon!”

We all went to work, checking the ropes and stakes that held our tent camp to the desert floor. Most of the support ropes were grounded by large rocks, some weighing as much as fifty pounds.

Soon, a purple and red haze reached from one end of the horizon to the other, like a wall of sand slowly consuming the earth. Storms like this are not uncommon in these parts. They come off the Mediterranean Sea, picking up desert sand and dust as they roar eastward. I had read that these storms are sometimes bad enough to bring all outdoor activity to a halt, forcing people to take shelter until they pass. But even reading of such accounts, I wasn’t at all prepared.

“Everyone to your tents!” Dr. Aziz shouted. “The storm is nearly upon us!”

I was putting one last rock over a stake supporting the kitchen tent, when a strong wind charged up the hill from the west. The wind was hot, like a wind coming off a distant forest fire, and carried with it a thick plume of sand. I lifted my scarf over my mouth and turned my back to the wind. The sand hit the exposed skin on my forearms like tiny needles. At first I thought the initial gust would ease enough for me to gather my things and run inside the tent. But the wind didn’t let up. Actually, it increased, blowing harder and moving up the dune with such force that it pushed me back a few steps. I had to squat down to keep from being blown over.

Visibility was no more than a few feet. Through the thundering wind, I could hear shouts of men and see the occasional worker making a break for his tent. The wind continued, refusing to let up, even for a second. I needed to get to shelter.

Staggering, half-blind, my arm bent around my eyes to shield them from the driving sand, I found our tent and quickly made my way inside. Gannon, Serene and James were seated on the floor in the center of the tent.

“Sorry, I didn’t want to say it,” Gannon shouted, “but I’m starting to think we’re cursed!”

Serene remained silent.

“It’s just a sandstorm!” I yelled.

“No, this is not
just
a sandstorm!” Gannon shouted back. “It’s the mother of all sandstorms! Listen to that wind! The whole camp’s going to blow away! We’ll be buried alive! Just like the shopkeeper’s grandfather!”

“The tent will hold!” I yelled, though I wasn’t so sure.

The inside perimeter of the tent is lined with heavy rocks for added support. With all of that weight, it will take a tornado to blow our tent away, but the wind is pounding at the canvas walls with such force, I’m afraid it might rip apart at the seams.

“I never thought I’d say this,” James said, “but I’m with Gannon! Maybe we got too close to the tomb and now we’re cursed!”

Serene has not spoken, but there is fear in her eyes.

I’m not buying into the curse theory. Fact is, a desert storm is upon us and we’re helpless to do anything, but wait it out.

MARCH 5


For two days and two nights this storm has raged. I’ve never seen anything like it! By some miracle, the tent has managed to hold up somehow, but the constant battering has definitely taken its toll. Last night a rip appeared in one of the corner seams and started to grow with each rush of wind. We were scared that the tear might open more and if that happened the entire roof would be blown off, so we raced around looking for anything that could be used to patch it up. What we ended up doing was using a pocket knife to cut a slit into the canvas on either side of the tear, then we taped a couple pens and pencils together, pushed them through the slits, and twisted them around until the tear was tightly closed off.

So far, it has held.

The sound of the wind whipping against the tent has us all on the verge of a breakdown. I’m not joking, it’s like a thousand drums pounding in our ears all at once … for days on end! And to make matters worse, we haven’t slept now since before the storm hit. The air inside the tent is terrible and hot and swirling with dust, making it really hard to breathe. My outlook on this whole thing isn’t good and I’m not the only one.

“I can’t take it anymore!” James yelled, as he paced the inside of the tent.

“Stay calm, James!” Serene yelled. “There is nothing we can do!”

“All this noise! It’s driving me crazy!”

I thought he’d totally lost it and was afraid he’d run out into the storm and never be seen again. But Serene came up with a great idea and grabbed two pillows from a cot and handed them to James.

“Lay down and put these over your ears!” she yelled.

James took the pillows and dove onto the cot and pressed them over his head.

That’s when I heard someone pounding at the door.

“Open up!” a voice shouted from outside. “It’s Dr. Aziz!”