Pharaoh (23 page)

‘Are you sure of all this?’

‘Yes.’

‘And why didn’t you report it sooner?’

‘I’m telling you now, Mr Prime Minister, and I have also informed the chief of staff of the armed forces.’

Schochot shook his head. ‘No, I can’t believe what you’re saying. The Americans would mobilize another army, like during the Gulf War. It’s absolutely impossible, believe me.’

Avner extinguished his cigarette in the ashtray on the Prime Minister’s desk and got up. Schochot got up too and walked him to the door.

‘Mr Avner,’ he said, ‘you worked for the last government and with the previous coalition, but I have the utmost confidence in you. I want you to stay on at your job and continue your work. In the future, I shall avoid making decisions without consulting you.’

Avner stopped with his hand on the handle of the door. ‘Mr Prime Minister, have you ever read Polybius?’

Schochot looked at him in bewilderment. ‘The Greek historian? Yes, a bit in high school.’

‘According to Polybius, history isn’t entirely in the hands of the men making it. There exists something imponderable that he calls
“thyche”,
or fate. I believe that this time our enemies have prepared everything very carefully. Only fate can help us now, or the hand of God, if you prefer. Goodnight, Mr Prime Minister.’

H
E HAD HIS
driver take him home and, as usual, went up to the top floor. On the kitchen table he found some cold chicken and slices of bread in the toaster. A bottle of mineral water and the pot of coffee ready on the stove completed his evening repast.

He opened the terrace door and breathed in the air that came in off the Judaean desert, carrying a sweet hint of early spring. Considering all the cigarettes he smoked, it sometimes amazed him just how sensitive his sense of smell still was.

He sat down to eat something while thumbing through the newspapers and the file with his agenda for the next morning. When he had finished he went to the bathroom to get ready for bed and as he was coming out, he heard his private line ringing.

He picked up the receiver and heard a familiar voice greet him in the usual way.

‘This is the night porter, sir.’

‘I’m listening, night porter.’

‘The Mitzpe commando unit is demobilizing, but there’s something that escapes me. I’m trying to find out who the mission leader is really reporting to.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I have the feeling that this person is playing two games at once, but I still can’t work out who the second contact is.’

‘Last time you spoke to me about an archaeological dig. How’s it coming along?’

‘By the end of tomorrow the sarcophagus should be opened and the mummy could be identified. If this operation is concluded there might not be any reason to stay, unless something unforeseen happens. The situation as it stands is very complex. If I’m not mistaken, I think some deals are being made, but I can’t tell yet who’s on the other side of the table. The tomb’s treasure, which is certainly of inestimable value, may be involved in these negotiations, but I’m not sure. I’m starting to get suspicious, though. That treasure could come in handy for someone right here in Israel

Avner remained silent upon hearing these words, wondering who they could be referring to. He too was beginning to have some suspicions of his own, but said only, ‘Be careful, and call me if you can as soon as there are any new developments. Goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, sir.’

After hanging up, Gad Avner lay down exhausted on his bed. He felt besieged by an omnipresent enemy, but didn’t know where to strike first to defend himself.

M
ADDOX SIGNALLED
for the camp cook to serve coffee and pass around the box of Cuban cigars. There were just six of them at the table: Pollock, Sullivan, Gordon, Sarah, Blake and himself. Maddox, therefore, felt free to talk about the dig.

‘Tomorrow Professor Blake is going to open the sarcophagus and examine the mummy, exposing it to the light of day for the first time in three thousand years. I have asked to be present for the operation. It’s something I don’t want to miss. I imagine you will all want to be present as well. Do have any objections, Professor Blake?’

‘No, Mr Maddox, that’s fine with me. All I want to know is what you have decided to do with the artefacts found in the tomb.’

‘This is something that will be decided at the last moment. Right now, though, I would like you to explain what your excavation efforts in the tomb have accomplished so far. Clearing away the debris inside was certainly necessary in order to lift the lid of the sarcophagus, but I gather this also enabled you to more clearly evaluate exactly how the slide may have occurred. Isn’t that so?’

‘As you all know,’ Blake began, ‘the burial site was partially blocked by a slide of debris, sand and rocks that had to be cleared away to expose the two sides of the sarcophagus which were completely enclosed by it. I had hoped that by removing the rubble, I would be able to understand the circumstances under which this slide occurred. At first I thought it must have been an earthquake, but I was forced to change my mind when I saw that all the objects accompanying the mummy were still intact and in their original positions. If there had been an earthquake strong enough to cause a slide of this proportion, all sorts of objects would have fallen over and many of the ones made from glass and ceramic materials would have broken. So the cause was not an earthquake, but rather a slide that was set off on purpose. It was just a question of discovering when and why.

‘I began to remove the rubble by loading it into a dump-bucket hooked up to the winch on Mr Sullivan’s Jeep and disposing of it on the surface. I soon discovered that under the slide there was a wooden board or panel resting on the floor of the tomb, something I couldn’t figure out at first.

A little later we found what appeared to be the remains of a leather sandal, not far from this board. I had some radiocarbon tests done on samples of both these finds. The results that came back yesterday are very surprising. The board is made from very tough acacia wood and dates back to the middle of the thirteenth century bc. The sandal, however, only dates back to the sixth century bc. A very peculiar situation.

‘When I had finished clearing away the slide, it became clear that the board was almost certainly part of the ancient tomb’s security system. If robbers had attempted to break in, they would have caused the board to fall to the ground, unleashing a slide of sand and rock that would have blocked the entrance and probably buried the intruders. A similar device was discovered in the great mound tomb of the Kings of Phrygia in Asia Minor.

‘The presence of the sandal, carbon-dated to the beginning of the sixth century bc, leads me to believe that the slide occurred then. This particular scenario, however, gave rise to a number of unanswered questions. Who was the owner of the sandal? A grave robber? If so, why wasn’t he buried under the slide? The fact that he lost only one sandal suggests to me that he knew exactly what he was doing. My theory is that it was a priest who for some reason knew about the location of this tomb and, having got wind that it might be profaned or robbed, purposely triggered the slide mechanism, sealing off the entrance forever.’

‘And this series of events,’ interrupted Maddox, ‘supposedly took place five centuries after the actual mummy had been placed in the tomb.’

‘That’s how I see it,’ confirmed Blake.

‘Over those five centuries, the board could have collapsed on its own; the slide could have been spontaneous.’

‘It could have been,’ Blake allowed, ‘but it wasn’t, for two simple reasons. First of all, the board was reinforced with two bronze bars and the wood itself is naturally very hard and strong, and was well preserved by the dry climate. Secondly, the sandal indicates that someone was present when the slide occurred, someone who was not caught unawares by the event, but rather set it off. Otherwise, I would have found his remains under the rubble along with his sandal’

Blake paused for a moment in his presentation, and everyone sat in complete silence, waiting for him to continue his account. Seeing that there were no questions, he proceeded. ‘The presence of the security device and the fact that a priest knew how to trigger it after five centuries means that knowledge of this tomb’s location was handed down from generation to generation for an as yet unknown reason.’

‘Do you hope to discover it tomorrow when you open the sarcophagus?’ asked Maddox.

‘That’s what I’m hoping,’ answered Blake.

‘Now, however, it’s best that we all get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a very strenuous and exciting day. Goodnight to everyone.’

They all got up and headed back to their quarters. After just enough time to brush their teeth and slip into their pyjamas, the generator turned off, plunging the camp into darkness and silence.

Blake got back to his quarters, lit the gas lantern and sat down to read the Bible, taking notes in a little notebook. The silence was broken every now and then by the shrill howl of fighter jets as they flew over the camp at low altitude. He remained immersed in his reading until he suddenly heard what sounded like the whirr of helicopter blades in the distance. He checked his watch: it was one in the morning.

He got up and walked to the back window to look out over the desert in the direction from which the noise was coming. He saw Sarah lowering herself out of the back window of her trailer and sneaking off into the dark. He caught a glimpse of her one last time from behind a bush before she disappeared for good. He was just starting to get back to work when he was interrupted by the distant sound of a car engine. Looking up, against the background of the dunes he was able to discern the silhouette of a Jeep driving with its headlights off, moving towards a point on the horizon where he could just make out a faint glow.

Letting out a quiet sigh, he went out of the back door to have a cigarette on the step. It was completely dark and the sky was overcast. He picked up a stick from the ground, split it with his pocket knife and stuck it into the soft ground. He placed his cigarette in the groove and proceeded to slip around to the back of the trailer, continuing on to the parking lot. Maddox’s Jeep was gone.

He went back to his trailer and picked up the still-lit cigarette to finish it. The air was chilly and scented with the distant odour of damp dust. It was raining somewhere over this parched and sterile land.

He felt like an inexperienced soldier on the eve of his first battle. What was in store for him the next day? What would become of the tomb’s treasure and what would he do if the crazy theory he was nursing in the back of his mind turned out to be right?

He returned to his papers and put his head between his hands, trying to see if he could think of a way to save the tomb in the desert. The Falcon alone surely couldn’t carry away all the objects, but they could use the Jeeps or have trucks sent across the desert. All they would have to do then is set up a meeting at some secluded spot in the desert, transfer the stuff and then load it all onto a ship anchored off some deserted stretch of the Mediterranean coast.

I
T WAS THREE
in the morning and William Blake got up from his desk to wash his face and make some coffee. As he was lighting the stove, he made out the barely perceptible sound of footsteps on the path behind the trailer. He peeked out of the window and saw Sarah slip into her trailer. He waited a short while and then went outside barefoot, in order to make as little noise as possible. He went over to her trailer and leaned his ear up against the metal wall. He heard her voice talking quietly to someone, probably on a mobile phone or short-wave radio. Then the conversation suddenly ended, followed by various sounds: the running of water, steps and then silence. He went back and returned to his work, but before long he heard the sound of an engine coming from the parking lot. Maddox must be returning from his nocturnal expedition.

Blake drank his coffee, an Italian blend he had found at the little camp shop and with which he was able to prepare something vaguely similar to an espresso. Lighting a cigarette, he went over to the map he had laid out on the only available table. All of a sudden, things began to come together: apparently absurd theories assumed credible new substance and forgotten itineraries suddenly disentangled themselves right before his eyes. From a drawer he took out the pictures of the rock carvings he had taken here and there along the road in the desert that led to the tomb and they too began to form a succession of signs and new meanings. He thought of the two mountains shaped like a sphinx and a pyramid, as the face of the Pharaoh of the desert slowly started to emerge from the mysterious depths, like the great solar disc rising out of the morning mist.

I
T WAS FIVE
in the morning when Blake left his trailer to go and knock on Alan Maddox’s door.

‘Excuse me, Mr Maddox,’ he said when he saw him appear with sleepy eyes, wearing his dressing gown. ‘I need your help.’

‘Don’t you feel well?’ asked Maddox, looking at him in alarm. In the tentative dawn light Blake’s complexion was ashen and his eyes, reddened by his long vigil, had a half-crazed, disturbing, glazed look.

‘No, I’m fine, Mr Maddox. I just have to send an email before going off to work. It’s urgent.’

Maddox gave him a rather perplexed look. ‘Really, you know the rules we have in the camp. Restricted contact with the outside world until the operation has concluded. I made an exception for you once but you must understand—’