Four Ways to Pharaoh Khufu (35 page)

“From the beginning, we suspected your father to be the thief. In our effort to try to locate the stele, one of my warriors went too far. I deeply regret that. Anna, please accept my deepest condolences in the death of your father. That slimy Fischer was the thief and tried to sell it to smugglers on the black market. Thanks to your father’s efforts, the stele was saved. The only thing we didn’t know was where your father hid it. So, I had my men follow you. As soon as they spotted you with the stele at El Alamein, they followed my orders and brought you here.”

“Well, Chief,” said Anna, “you’ve got some harsh methods of welcoming people.” Anna held her wrists out, displaying the red marks on her skin left from the ropes used to bind her.

“I am so very sorry for the actions of my people. Our way of life teaches us to be cautious. But you are not prisoners here anymore,” said the chief, smiling broadly. “You are my guests.” He held his arm out, indicating they should leave the stable.

“What’s the meaning of the stele?” asked Michael.

“It has been passed from one generation to the next, but the ancient meaning of the stele has been lost. It is used in numerous ceremonies, as well as in the Rite of Passage for our people.”

Michael and Anna glanced at each other.

“Is anything the matter?” asked the Chief, seeing their faces.

“No, I’m just glad that no more confusion remains on both our sides,” responded Anna.

“I have one question,” said the Chief. “What happened to my warrior Asim and his companion Seth? They both disappeared in Moscow the day before your arrival in Egypt.”

“Well,” Anna spoke carefully. “Seth was involved in a terrible car accident on one of the busiest streets in Moscow.”

“We saw it happen, unfortunately,” Michael concurred, grimacing.

“And Asim?” asked the Chief, his voice rising. “What about my fearless warrior?”

“He was fearless, all right,” said Anna. “Moscow is …”

“A mysterious place,” Michael said, shaking his head grimly.

The Chief gave him a strange look, but did not say a word as they walked outside into the scorching afternoon sun, the guards right behind them.

Chapter 51

Cairo, Egypt

Thursday, September 28

7:15 a.m.

C
airo’s Police Inspector Suliman woke up early inside his two-bedroom apartment located in Doqqi, a largely residential area of Cairo west of the River Nile, and began his morning ritual. Ready for the day, he relaxed with a mug of strong coffee and his breakfast while watching the news. Looking at his watch, he got up from the table, turned off the television and washed his dishes. Then, checking his watch once more to make sure that 9 a.m. had come, he retrieved his mobile phone, checked for his ID, holstered his service weapon and left his tidy apartment. As he walked down the stairs, his mobile phone rang. Sighing heavily, he answered the call.

“Inspector Suliman,” he answered with his familiar greeting. With every passing moment that he listened, his face grew darker and darker. He grimly stated, “I’ll be there soon,” and turned off the phone. The morning’s calmness and tranquility had disappeared rapidly.

Striding out of his apartment building into the sizzling sun, the Inspector hurried to his car. Silently cursing, he started the car and sped away. The car flew over the familiar route, but today everything was different. He gripped the steering wheel and tried to concentrate on the road, but disturbing thoughts haunted him.
Why they didn’t call me immediately like I instru
cted?

The last time had ended up so tragically. The kidnapping of the tourist group from France was still fresh on his mind. Local Bedouins had demanded one of their men be released from prison in exchange for the French tourists. The Inspector did everything he could, but as the SWAT team set up, the Bedouins murdered one of the tourists.

And now this damn call from the Medjay Chief Jibade! The Inspector’s office was still investigating the suspicious heart attack of a German national as a possible homicide and now this. His old friend had called to inform him that his men had kidnapped the American and German nationals, as calm as if he was asking the Inspector to have lunch with him. The ghost of the slaughtered French tourist still haunted him, and now this call summoned memories of those dark days. He thought he had buried them somewhere deep where they could never escape, but today they resurfaced yet again.

The Inspector dodged traffic by way of back streets and alleys, slamming on the brakes as he pulled up to the familiar apartment building, honking his horn. Chief Detective Hussein was already waiting for his boss and quickly stepped out of the lobby. As he entered the car’s cool interior, he greeted his boss cheerfully. The Inspector nodded silently and quickly zipped away from the curb.

Chief Detective Hussein knew right away something was wrong with his Inspector, whom he had known for the past five years. Normally a cheerful and talkative man, the Inspector was now eerily silent. Hussein felt uncomfortable interrupting the prolonged pause. Occasionally he glanced at the Inspector. Ten minutes later, when the air inside the car was literally resonating with tense silence, he could not tolerate it any longer. “My Inspector, can you explain to me what is happening?”

“I’m sure you remember Mr. Doyle, the American, and Anna, the German Schulze’s daughter, whom we both meet the other day.”

The Detective nodded.

“This morning I received a call from Chief Jibade. His men have kidnapped them.”

“Where is the SWAT team? They could take that whole tribe out in a few minutes!”

“Right, they will take the whole tribe out along with the lives of two foreign nationals. Don’t you remember when the Bedouin village kidnapped those French tourists? The life of that Frenchman was in our hands and we blew it. That man never had a chance after the SWAT team moved in. If we had allowed more time for negotiations, then the outcome would have been different.”

“My Inspector, I’m with you, however you wish to resolve the situation.”

“I promised to guard the lives of Mr. Doyle and Miss Schulze, and I intend on keeping that promise. Too many lives have been wasted already.” His eyes full of pain, the Inspector looked at his companion, “Will you help me, my dear partner and friend?”

“Of course I will help you,” detective said softly, “but why don’t we call the SWAT team, just in case the negotiations don’t go anywhere? If the Medjay kill those poor Westerners then the media will blame everything on you. That will be the end of your career.”

“The Medjay Chief told me that he will kill the Westerners if he sees any sign of the police force present. I gave him my word that it would only be us,” the Inspector said quietly, sighing deeply.

They rode the rest of the way in silence, lost in their own thoughts of that nightmarish night when they found the Frenchman’s mangled corpse inside the Bedouin village. The Inspector often replayed and pondered that fateful night in his mind.
Why didn’t I continue negotiations? Why did I give in to the pressure mounted by the m
edia?

An hour and a half later, they were driving inside the Medjay tribe’s compound. The Inspector and his Chief Detective stared in astonishment. For the first time that morning, the Inspector smiled. Michael was hugging Anna as they stood in the middle of the meadow. Next to them was the grinning Chief of the Medjay tribe himself.

“How is this possible?” the Inspector asked incredulously. He quickly stopped the car and jumped out. He was immediately greeted by his old friend, who informed him that he wanted to see the face of his dear old friend the moment he saw that not only was police action not necessary, but also that the hostages were safe and sound.

As the Inspector and Detective listened, the Chief eloquently expressed his sincere gratitude for all the work Michael and Anna had done to safely return the sacred stele back to the tribe. Anna and Michael kept looking from the Medjay Chief to the Inspector, not able to figure out which one of them beamed with a pride more.

Chapter 52

Windsor Hotel, Cairo, Egypt

Friday, September 29

8:00 a.m.

T
he sun streamed through the curtain edges as the woman stretched reluctantly, hoping the brightness would disappear behind some clouds. Someone pounded on the door. She turned over, but the sun and the pounding remained relentless. She sighed and glanced at the clock. “Michael!” she shouted. “Are you asleep?” No answer: just continued pounding.

Just who could that be? Housekeeping?
Anna reluctantly stretched out in the soft embrace of her comforter, forcing herself to sit up. She fumbled on her robe and headed for the door. As she unlocked and yanked the door open, her eyes flew open at the sight.

“Michael? You’re on the wrong side of the door.” He grinned at her, a chuckle escaping. “Oh!” Anna exclaimed, folding her arms across her chest. “And now you’re checking me out? Are you drunk?”

“No, of course not! Come on, I only had one beer,” he said in jest, unable to look away from such a beautiful, sleepy woman. “Hey, it’s time to get ready.”

“Where are we going?” Anna raised her eyebrows at him. He seemed strangely excited.

“Well, I couldn’t sleep, so I decided to go through some of the notes I took in Kirilov’s apartment. I went to the roof garden, but when I came back I realized I had forgotten the door key. It was still really early, and I was thinking about Kirilov anyways, so I decided to call Moscow.” He stopped and looked sadly at her.

“And?”

“Kirilov passed away two days ago.”

“Oh no!” Anna exclaimed.

“Yeah, his body was frail even before that bastard Seth stabbed him. Plus, remember he’s had that bullet stuck in his head for the past sixty something years.”

“He didn’t have a chance,” Anna said sorrowfully.

“Before he died, Kirilov instructed his wife to remind us about the baffling pyramid.”

“Yeah, I remember him mentioning that.”

“Exactly, and she also asked me for our hotel’s fax number.”

“Why?”

“To fax this,” said Michael, holding up the fax he had picked up minutes earlier at the hotel’s front desk. Anna looked at it curiously.

“Wait a second!” Anna exclaimed. “I saw this diagram in Kirilov’s apartment.”

“You’re absolutely right, so let’s not lose any more time. We’re going on our next adventure, which hopefully will bring us closer to Pharaoh Khufu’s mummy and the treasures.” He paused, staring at her, “Well, are you gonna let me in?”

“Of course, come on in,” Anna stepped aside with a mocking flourish.

Michael stooped down to pick up a large paper bag. “And I hope you will don something a little less transparent than that robe, otherwise I can’t guarantee your safety,” he joked.

“OK, just give me a few minutes,” she replied with a faint smile, shutting the door while Michael walked over and sat down on the couch. Anna opened the closet and went through her clothes for a couple of minutes. She went into the bathroom to dress, put on her makeup and brush out her long hair. She emerged wearing a knee-length light brown skirt with a floral design and a light creamy blouse with a wide neck that fell becomingly from the shoulders, slightly baring them. She playfully twirled in front of the large mirror, observing herself appreciatively. She turned and looked expectantly at Michael.

Michael looked up and needed a moment to come to his senses.

“Well?” she asked, tilting her head and tossing her hair back lightly.

“Well, what?” Michael asked, realizing the absurdity of the whole situation. Just moments before, he had literally pounded on the door to hurry her up, and now he was sitting quietly on the couch unable to move. This elegant woman with her stylish appearance had forced him to forget everything.

“Well, where are we going?” asked Anna, breaking the awkward silence.

“Anna, you look fantastic and I would consider myself to be the luckiest man on earth walking next to you, but –”

“But what?”

“I bought you something at the street market this morning. It’s a bit more conservative,” Michael said, smiling mischievously as he opened up his paper bag and pulled out something large and black. “This is called a
jilbāb
,” he explained, indicating the black, high-necked traditional Muslim robe he was holding up for her to see. He laid it down and pulled out something blue from the bag. “And this is called a
shaylah
.” He held up a blue scarf that would cover all but the face. He set it down and pulled something light grey out of the paper bag. “Those two are for you. And as for me, I will be wearing a
gallibaya
,” Michael held up his ankle-length robe with long sleeves. Reaching down with one hand he pulled out a white cloth, “and this turban, which is a draped headscarf.”

Anna frowned.

“Relax,” Michael said, chuckling. “It’s all a part of my plan –”

Anna interrupted him, her voice rising, “What plan? Are you converting into a Muslim and dragging me into it?”

“Of course not! We’re going to put these on and head out incognito, just in case our friends from the police department or the Medjay tribe are still spying on us.”

“Oh, so I take it we’re looking for that baffling pyramid?”

“Yes, the water-intake pyramid.”

“And you think you know where to find it?”

“We have Kirilov’s diagram of the necropolis right here.”

It took them a good twenty minutes and the use of Anna’s iPhone to more or less properly dress themselves in the traditional Islamic clothes. Carefully examining each other, they concluded that even their own mothers would not recognize them.

“OK, let’s go,” he said merrily.

“How is this going to work?”

He steered her out the door. “Just trust me!” When they reached the lobby, Michael started walking slowly. Anna looked down as she walked beside him. They left the hotel unnoticed.

Once outside the front door, they turned left and started walking quickly. Although it was September, the sun burned through their outfits. After several blocks Anna was sweltering in her dark costume. Soon Michael spotted a building with an entrance that seemed to be deserted. They cautiously stepped inside the cool, empty foyer and removed their disguises. Michael carefully folded and placed them inside his backpack. A few minutes later, they were sitting in a taxi speeding away to the Giza Plateau.

Michael gazed through the side window at the three biggest pyramids gradually appearing and disappearing in the horizon. He secretly wished that he could see the baffling pyramid from the taxi. Although the baffling pyramid was tiny compared to the three giants, it definitely did not diminish her importance and functionality. Michael imagined that the baffling pyramid looked like Gulliver in the land of Brobdingnag, the land occupied by giants who were twelve times taller than Gulliver from the famous book “Gulliver’s Travels,” written by Jonathan Swift in the eighteenth century. In Kirilov’s words, “without the existence of this small baffling pyramid, the existence of the three biggest pyramids would not be possible.”

“Michael, Anna,” said Kirilov, showing them one of the diagrams. “Here is a map of the Giza necropolis. Besides the three big pyramids, you can see seven small pyramids known as the Mokattam Formation. One of the small pyramids is located at the foot of Khafre’s pyramid. The next three pyramids are to the south of Menkaure’s pyramid. The last three pyramids are to the southeast of the Great Pyramid. Renowned Egyptologists assume that these small pyramids were intended to be the burial places of the pharaoh’s queens, sons and daughters.”

“That’s what I thought as well,” said Anna.

“It is strange that Pharaoh Khufu’s son, the hereditary Prince Ka-Wab, who died before his father, was buried in a mastaba,” Kirilov commented. “The mastaba was a rectangular tomb that had a flat roof with walls that inclined toward the center. The others were buried inside the small pyramids. That is odd, don’t you think?” asked Kirilov, looking at Anna.

“Yes, I would say so.”

“Good. This diagram clearly demonstrates that all the small pyramids are identical in size and closely located to the larger pyramid’s bases. Furthermore, they are not coated, but instead have a unique form of laying blocks, which is different from the outer layer of the large pyramids. Is it pure coincidence that six of the seven small pyramids were constructed in a straight line?”

“Well,” Michael started, but was quickly interrupted by Kirilov.

“Once I looked at old photographs of the Great Pyramid, I was stunned. On one of the photographs, taken from the side of the Sphinx, an unknown pyramid is visible in the foreground. It had a broken off edge and was sunk in the low place of the very curb of the road that runs toward the Great Pyramid. Its form and location in the low place, next to the road, on the outskirts of the eastern side of the plateau was bewildering. After several years of studying it, I understood that without the existence of this mysterious, or as I call it baffling pyramid, the existence of the three biggest pyramids would not be possible. The idea of the pharaoh’s burial under the Great Pyramid, in the cave and on an island required raising very pure Nile water and directing it to a special water basin. The volume of the water in the cave had to be constant at all times.”

“So, the Nile and the cave’s pond were directly connected through an artificial canal, right?” asked Michael.

“No, Michael, your assumption is erroneous. This direct connection couldn’t be possible because the inlet of the artificial canal is physically lower than the lower level of the Nile. Therefore, water densely saturated by silt would have to pass through the canal. In just a few years sediment would clog up the canal and the water basin itself. Using contaminated
dead
water to flood the burial chamber was inadmissible. On the other hand, clean
live
water could only be obtained from the upper layer of the Nile waters. In addition, the artificial canal could not directly open up to the Nile River because in periods of low tides it would reveal the entrance to the tomb, thus revealing the main secret of the Great Pyramid.”

“I guess you came to a dead end, right?” Anna asked.

“Not really,” Kirilov paused as if he was expecting this very question. “This contradiction was resolved by the Chief Architect HemIwno quite cleverly. Take a look again at the plan of the necropolis.”

“The baffling pyramid is marked by the letter C. It has an artificial canal underneath it that travels north towards the other three small pyramids marked as A3, A2 and A1. Do you see how canal C-A1 passes horizontally along the Nile River? The Nile River is sixteen ancient Egyptian cubits in height. One Egyptian cubit is about fifty-two centimeters, which means the water was raised up to eight meters and thirty-two centimeters. When the river reached its maximum water level, the necessary quantity of
living
water was removed from the highest level of the tidal wave. Then gravity directed this living water along the artificial C-A1 canal to the water basin located beneath the Subterranean Chamber of the Great Pyramid.”

“But in practice, how exactly that was happening?” asked Anna. “I still find it hard to imagine the whole picture.”

“I used to be as lost as you are right now,” said Kirilov, smiling. “Then I read Nancy Jenkins’ book, ‘The Boat Beneath the Pyramid: King Cheops’ Royal Ship.’” Kirilov reached over and grabbed the book from the bookshelf. He opened it up, flipped through some pages and started reading:

As recently as fifty years ago the Nile in flood reached to the village of Kfar es-Sammân just under the pyramid plateau and the imposing bulk of the monument was mirrored in the placid surface of the Nile floodwa
ters.

He stopped to show his two pupils a picture. “This is how the Giza Plateau looked in the 1920s. You can see how different this entire area looks today.”