The Shroud Key (22 page)

I lifted the two pieces of mirror from the rubble in the mysterious pit, not long after Andre had rescued me from sure death inside the third pyramid. For a time I kept the find to myself, until one night, after a particularly good drunk in the bars of Cairo, I came home to my tent and passed out. While one half of the mirror remained securely stored in my cargo pants pocket, I had stupidly left the other half sitting out on my portable desk where I had been conducting research on it over what was then considered the newest digital research wonder of them all: the Internet. In the morning, the mirror was gone, and although I had no definite proof of who precisely had stolen it, I could only surmise that the guilty party was one of the many Arab diggers we’d hired as cheap labor.

I kept the news of the mirror pieces from Andre for as long as I could. Until the failed dig was long over and he had left Egypt one night totally unannounced and entirely under the cover of darkness, as if he were afraid I would somehow try and stop him or worse, hit him, in my inebriated state of constant rage. In the end, it was his further research that would decide the importance of the mirror, it having been written about in scholarly papyrus texts as old as ancient Egypt itself. The mirror was said to reveal the true location of the last and deepest burial chamber in the Third Pyramid, but only when you fit the mirror into a certain area of stone wall precisely at dawn when the virgin sunlight would shine in through a long, man-made vertical shaft constructed into the rock wall. Andre and I both knew then, and we know now, that under no circumstances would we have a chance of locating the bones of Jesus without that mirror. Now, we not only have a map showing us the home of the bones, we have the mirror which will, God willing, reveal their precise location within the home.

By the time we come upon the pyramids at Giza, it’s getting close to dusk. Which suits us just fine.

“Park it here for now, Sameh,” I say, far enough in the distance so as not to bring any kind of unwanted attention from Giza security guards or the military police constantly pacing the place with their automatic weapons and sneering faces. I can only surmise that the lights that shine off the pyramids at night will be extinguished soon as a money saving concession to a new government that also shuts off the water and electricity every other day in order to pinch badly needed pounds.

Turning, I face the Land Cruiser’s back seat.

“Anya,” I say, “think you can manage to mix us up something to eat with the food supplies we have left?”

“So long as Sameh shows me how to use the gas stove,” she says, “I’m sure I can manage something.”

Then to Andre. “Professor, you and I have some studying up to do, starting with the shroud blueprint.”

“I’m dying to see it,” he says.

“Let’s hope that’s not the case,” I say.

We all exit the Land Cruiser and go about the work of changing the world.

Forever.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Enlarged photos of the shroud CAD blueprint are laid out on top of a map of the Giza pyramids. Also included in the mix is a map of the Mankaure Third Pyramid and its previously known interior chambers. “Previously known,” being the key words here.

Manion is using a good old fashioned magnifying glass to examine both the blueprint and the maps, going from one to the other and back again. A long weighted minute ticks by before he straightens up and smiles.

“After all this time, Chase,” he says. “After all these years, the answer was right in front of our noses. All we had to do was consult the shroud and all you had to do was find the other half of the mirror. It seems as if God finally wants us to finish the job we started nearly ten years ago.”

“Think we can find a way to access these underground chambers, Professor?” I say.

“If we can find the key.”

“What key?”

He lifts his head up, sets the magnifying glass down onto the maps.

“A key, a trigger, or a button-like device that will cause a secret door to open in the floor or the wall, or even an empty sarcophagus.”

“Secret door,” Sameh says like a question. “Sounds like something from out of a movie…
Tomb Raider
.”

The professor shrugs, rolls his eyes.

“All the same,” he says, “trap doors do exist not only in the third pyramid but in all the great pyramids, and not all of them have been discovered. But the one we must find in the third pyramid will almost certainly lead down to the chambers depicted on the 1978 shroud CAD drawing.”

“But how exactly do we find this door much less its key?” Sameh asks.

“It’s more or less found us,” the professor says, pressing his index finger on the top-most portion of the CAD-rendered tunnel. “You see here, where the tunnel meets the top floor of the now empty tomb?”

We all eye the tip of his index finger where it points to on the map.

“That spot is not a piece of the tomb’s floor, but the tomb itself. Or so I believe.”

“Menkaure’s sarcophagus,” I deduce.

“Precisely what I’m thinking,” the professor smiles. “Think of it as X marks the spot.”

Dinner is consumed quickly and silently. Soon as it’s over, the four of us gather to figure out a plan of attack.

But here’s the thing: The plan, as I see it anyway, isn’t really much of a plan.

We will head into the chamber after midnight when the lights are extinguished and the guards are asleep. It’s true, even guarding one of the most revered ancient wonders of the world can be a real snooze. Sleeping guards or not, gaining access to the third pyramid and the tombs housed deep inside, will require subduing of the guards and, naturally, stealing the keys to an old fashioned padlocked gate (up until recent years, the Giza pyramids weren’t locked up at all during off hours!).

“But what about interior security?” I ask. “Hidden cameras, alarms, silent and not so silent?”

We all turn to the fixer.

“So what exactly are we dealing with, Sameh?” I push. “I was under the assumption pyramid security had gone way south now that the radical bandits are in charge of the show.”

“On the contrary, the free-for-all days have come to an end at the pyramids,” Sameh begins to explain. “Here is the bad news: Since the last time either of your gentlemen led an expedition in Giza, strict security improvements have been made. The entire plateau is surrounded and protected by a twenty kilometer fence that’s equipped with cameras, alarms, and motion detectors. The camera’s feed more than twenty-four high-definition television monitors inside a control room which is located at the pyramid tourist entrance. The monitors are observed for suspicious activity twenty four hours a day, seven days a week. The fence is more than four meters high and cannot possibly be scaled or jumped over without attracting attention since it is dotted with infrared sensors and even more motion detectors.”

And here I was thinking all it would take to gain access to the Third Pyramid was to beat up a couple of guards. I feel my heart sink.

“So what’s the good news?” Anya poses on behalf of us all.

Sameh’s sour face begins to beam with a smile.

“Since the 2010 revolution and the taking over of control by the radical religious element, pyramid security funding has been cut significantly.”

“By just how much?” Andre begs.

“All electronic surveillance devices are turned off at midnight in order to save on expenses. Fact is, many strict followers of Islam have even toyed with tearing the pyramids down since they represent the celebration of pagan Gods which is a mortal sin against Allah.”

“But this all makes sense,” Andre says bitterly. “Since I’ve been here working at gunpoint, mind you, the government has been shutting down the electricity, and shutting down the water service sometimes on a daily basis. We’re in the Middle East and Egypt is plagued by gas shortages for God’s sakes. Not to mention food shortages, medical supply shortages, even bread shortages. All this, of course, wreaked havoc on the dig.”

“A dig that was going nowhere anyway,” I add.

“Indeed the case,” Andre smiles. “I was running a false dig at gunpoint. But they didn’t know it was false. So it was important to give them the impression that the site was legitimate. My life, and in some ways, the life and death of Jesus depended upon it.”

Sameh raises a cautious hand.

“But we will still have to contend with the fence and with armed guards who, despite the cutbacks, patrol the area day and night.”

“If those men who kidnapped you work for the same boss as those pyramid guards do, Professor,” I add, “chances are they might even be expecting us.”

“So how exactly shall we plan on getting into the Third Pyramid?” Anya asks.

“That’s the major league question isn’t it?” I say.

For a moment we listen to the whistle of the wind gently blowing across the desert. Until Andre raises up his right hand, as if to say,
Eureka!
Or
Bingo!
anyway. Slowly, dramatically, raising both his hands up to the stars, he steps out into the desert and begins to recite a not altogether unrecognizable bit of epic poetry, but also a piece that the writer in me recognizes right away.

“
Broken in war, set back by fate
,” he sings, his voice travelling across the desert flats, “
the leaders of the Greek host, as years went by, contrived, with Pallas’ help, a horse as big as a mountain. They wove its sides with planks of fir, pretending this was an offering for their safe return. At least, so rumor had it. But inside they packed, in secret, into the hollow sides, the fittest warriors; the belly’s cavern, huge as it was, was filled with men in armor
.”

He turns, his smiling teeth reflecting the light of the stars, and comes back to us from out of the desert. Returns triumphantly, I should say.

“Excuse me,” Anya says. “But is this going to be another one of your Biblical lectures, Dr. Andre? The one’s where you spout off some parable and we’re supposed to guess what it is you’re getting at? Because frankly I don’t think anyone is in the mood and we’re not a just another group of students who—”

“—No, no, no,” he insists, shaking his head hard. “Nothing like that. Actually, the plan I have in mind dates back to the ancient Greeks and
The Fall of Troy
, and we have Virgil to thank for it. After ten brutal years of trying to break through the walls of Troy it finally occurred to them that if they built a giant horse and offered it up as a gift, they might actually get through the gates. But here’s the catch: Hiding inside the horse was a big surprise.”

“The fittest warriors,” I add. “They were hiding inside the horse.”

“I see,” Anya says. “So we’re going to build a horse.”

Andre shoots her a look.

“Now I know why we divorced,” he says.

“Okay, kids,” I break in, “enough with the squabbles. Time’s wasting. The professor is making a lot of sense. We don’t risk trying to break through the fence and being caught. Instead, we pretend we are actually expected at the Pyramids as archaeologists and academics.”

“I get it now,” Anya offers. “It’s not altogether different from how we got into the Turin Cathedral to have an impossible audience with the shroud.”

“But this one will be different in one very important respect,” I add.

“And that is?” the college English teacher begs.

“We won’t be able to rely on the help of one of Checco’s insiders. We’re going to have to do some convincing to some potentially nasty bandits all on our own.”

Out the corner of my eye, I see Andre fumbling through the many pockets of his bush vest. Eventually, he pulls out what looks to me like a laminated ID card with a neck strap attached to it.

“Credentials,” he states proudly. “Archaeological credentials. A bit out of date, but I could always fane ignorance. Besides, we try and get through the front gate at half-past midnight, they’ll probably be drunk or stoned on hash or both.”

“Muslims don’t partake,” Anya says. “It’s against their religion.”

“Some don’t partake. At least, in public. Emphasis on some.”

“So then,” I say, my eyes on Sameh, “do you think that by presenting ourselves as an archaeological team wishing to work at night to avoid the crowds might work?”