The Cairo Puzzle

by Laurence O'Bryan

  “Permission granted,” said Henry.

  86

  Yacoub and Professor Bayford walked towards us. Bayford spoke first.

  “I’m sorry it has come to this, Isabel, but the work down here requires total secrecy. We’re about to open the fabled hall of records. If anyone got wind of what we really had discovered here, the Egyptian government would shut us down within the hour. Things have changed since Howard Carter’s time.”

  I couldn’t help shouting my disgust back at him. “And it’s worth killing my husband, and God knows how many other people, to keep all this secret?” I stared at him.

  “Do you know what’s inside the room?” Bayford’s voice lowered as he came near me. He pulled out his smartphone, tapped at it, turned it to face me.

  On the screen was an image of a hall filled with pillars.

  “We put a fiber optic camera through the doorway, Isabel. There is no doubting this is the greatest archaeological discovery in Egypt for hundreds of years, possibly they greatest discovery ever. Our history books will change after this.” He raised both hands. “We have seen papyrus cases. They are the types of cases that hold scrolls, Isabel. The secrets of how they built the pyramids are probably in there, and how they aligned them with magnetic north and God knows, if Plutarch was right, the history of Atlantis written on golden plates.”

  His face was inches from mine.

  I wriggled an arm free, struck him hard across his cheek with the palm of my hand. “None of this is worth killing for.”

  The guards grabbed me, tighter.

  Bayford’s hand flew up, as if to strike me. Yacoub grabbed his wrist.

  “Do not strike our guest, professor. She is here to witness a great event.”

  “Let my husband go and I will say I never saw this.” I wasn’t going to beg, but I had to try something.

  “I am afraid we can’t do that, Isabel. Your husband is here for a reason.”

  “What the hell reason could you have for bringing him down here? Are you all stark raving mad?”

  “No, Isabel. There is a very logical reason for having him down here.”

  He smiled at me.

  “What is it?” I shouted.

  “You tell her, professor.”

  Bayford was rubbing his cheek. He grunted, then replied.

  “We discovered a version of the cannibal hymn on a doorway through that passage. It states, in hieroglyphs, that the door can only be opened when an amphora of a pharaoh’s blood is poured into it.”

  “That’s sick,” I said. “How do you pour an amphora of blood into a door?” I glanced at Sean on the stretcher. “Are you going to drain his body?” My hands were fists again. My skin was tightening across my chest. This was too much.

  “No, we won’t kill him. We’ve been collecting his blood every few days for the last few weeks. Today we have just enough to carry out the instructions and he is here if we need more.”

  “What don’t you just break the door down?”

  “The ancient builders knew exactly what an amphora of blood weighed. They may have set the hall to collapse and crush everything in it, if the door isn’t opened in the right way.” Bayford shook his head. “We have done all this in the most humane way possible. Your husband will not die.”

  “Unless you cause us a problem,” interjected Yacoub.

  I shook my head. “You’re all mad.”

  “If we do find the fountain of youth, and learn how it worked, millions of people will praise your husband’s sacrifice. I am sure of that.” Yacoub paused, shrugged. “Billions possibly, once we start selling them our prescriptions.”

  “When can I take Sean out of here?”

  Yacoub walked towards the gap in the cave wall. “When our job here is done you will be free to leave.”

  I didn’t believe him for a second. “How long until that happens?”

  “It should all have been done yesterday, but events have held us back. I hope we will get this all completed in the next twenty-four hours.”

  I groaned. “Why don’t you let us go now? You don’t need us here. You have all the blood you need.”

  “No, we cannot release you until we are ready and…”

  The sound of gunfire interrupted him. All eyes turned to the stairway out.

  Yacoub spoke first. “Come, professor. We need to finish this.”

  87

  Henry watched the large LCD screen on his desktop. It showed a video feed from an Egyptian Air Force, Apache LongBow helicopter. It had been assigned to air support duty by the Egyptian military, for the upcoming raid on the Yacoub Industries research facility at Giza, near the pyramids.

  The feed was showing a pre-dawn fire fight at the entrance to the facility. The British force was already inside, having overwhelmed the Yacoub security detail thirty-two minutes before. An Egyptian special forces unit, the notorious Unit 777, had been dropped by helicopter at the time the British forces were abseiled onto the roof of the facility.

  The Egyptian forces, except for the commanding officer, had been tasked with holding the perimeter of the facility, in case any of Yacoub’s other security units showed up.

  What they hadn’t expected was a suicide car bomb attack on the main gate, and a trio of Muslim Brotherhood SUV vehicles arriving with a dozen black clad terrorists jumping out.

  When they did, the Egyptian unit had called on the Apache to take out the SUV’s. The request had been instantly made available to Henry on his incident feed.

  What Henry was watching was the failure of that request to elicit a response. The Apache was observing, but not firing. What this probably meant was that the air force unit had a different agenda to the special forces command.

  Whether they were holding off to help the Brotherhood achieve its aim, in return for something else previously agreed at a high level, or whether this was simply a stupid mistake was still unclear.

  Henry personally subscribed to the stupid theory of history, which said that most of the major cock ups in the world, odd deaths and weird preventable disasters, were the result of human stupidity, not some arcane conspiracy. But that didn’t mean conspiracies didn’t ever happen.

  The image from the Apache blinked, then swung away. The Apache was disengaging.

  It was time to send the two Lynx Commando support helicopters, which had dropped the British commando unit, and been sent to refuel at the Almaza Egyptian Air Force base, just north of Cairo. Flying time from there to the Giza facility should be less than ten minutes.

  If the helicopters had been refueled. Henry tapped at his keyboard.

  88

  Professor Bayford went to the table Sean was lying comatose on. He unhooked the bag of blood from it and walked fast towards the hole in the cave wall.

  Yacoub followed. “Come with us,” he shouted at me. Then he said something in Arabic. The two men holding me pushed me after him.

  I stumbled as we went into the passageway. Bayford was in the lead with Yacoub behind him. Mustafa was behind me. The passage was a little higher than my head. Rough yellow stone jutted out in places. About ten paces in, the passage stopped at a stone doorway. It had a recess in its front, in the oval shape of a small amphora and on the floor, in the corner, a cable had been pushed into the bottom corner, between the door and the wall.

  The door itself was covered in faded red paint. Hieroglyphs stood out in white against it. They included over-sized glyphs of men with erect phalluses and other glyphs that looked like piles of bones. Isis and Osiris were in opposite corners.

  Bayford took a black amphora shaped jar from where it stood in a corner, poured the blood in from the bag and held it up.

  “Now we will find out everything the ancients knew. Technology that has been lost for thousands of years. How the great prophets lived for hundreds of years. How sound was used as a weapon. And many more things.” He looked excited.

  “Professor, let’s get this over with. We don�
��t know who is coming down on top of us.” Mustafa was crowding in behind me.

  I felt something brush against my ass. I made a disgusted noise and took a step away from him. What I really wanted was any opportunity to kill every one of these bastards. What Sean needed was a fast evacuation to a hospital, blood transfusions and a proper assessment of whatever else he needed to get better.

  Every second that was all delayed meant he was in more danger. God only knew the effect of repeated blood extractions on the human body.

  Professor Bayford put the cork back on the amphora and placed it in the recess in the doorway. It fitted exactly.

  Nothing happened.

  Mustafa grunted. “How soon will this open, professor?”

  Yacoub leaned forward. “Ssshhh, brother. I hear something.”

  I leaned towards the door. A rumbling grew louder as we all waited. Every head was angling forward, listening. Then the floor started moving. I looked down, my knees almost going out from under me. The rough stone floor was moving backward, slowly, as if it was on rollers.

  We were all moving backwards. Only a few inches, but when I looked at the door I saw that it was grinding open in the center. The two leaves were jerking as they moved, as if it had been a long time since they’d opened.

  Yacoub gasped. He held a small torch up. The light from it illuminated a large space beyond the door and rows of pillars. They reminded me of the underground hall in Istanbul.

  Professor Bayford took a step forward, as soon as the opening between the door leaves was wide enough to walk through. As he did Yacoub put a hand on his arm.

  “Professor, I shall be the first one to enter.”

  Bayford shrugged. Yacoub shouldered past him. The hall beyond came more clearly into view. A black shape filled the floor.

  It was moving. Moving towards us.

  89

  Henry’s video link was dead. The Apache had peeled away, heading back to base to refuel. So they said. The Lynx helicopters, which had been sent to refuel at the Almaza Egyptian Air Force base had encountered a problem.

  Refueling permission was needed from a general, who was unavailable. That meant Henry had five men in the building, engaging a dozen Muslim Brotherhood terrorists intent on killing all in their path fast, before more security services arrived.

  Henry’s radio link was still working though. It crackled now, like something from the 20th century.

  “Requesting permission to head down after Sergeant Smith. Two men wounded so far. One seriously. We can get in the elevator right now.”

  Henry’s fingers tightened around the armrest of his chair. He didn’t like it, not knowing what was happening underground, but if this was what the unit leader recommended, he was not going to go against it.

  “Permission granted. Code green.” He picked up the white telephone handset on his desk. He needed someone in the Foreign Office to call that bloody Egyptian general. Whatever happened, he had to be able to get their men out fast when the time came.

  As he spoke into the phone he saw his colleague across the room typing fast on his keyboard. No doubt preparing an early post mortem report on this debacle. He looked down at his desk. Would this be his last night in his post?

  90

  Yacoub was transfixed, his mouth open and in a sneer, as if couldn’t imagine anything so small threatening him.

  “Ants,” said Bayford. “A swarm. Step back.”

  Yacoub didn’t. He went towards the black shadow. “Ants don’t attack humans in Egypt, professor.”

  The black shadow reached him. Yacoub began stamping on it. For a second it swayed, as if the shadow was one entity. Then it swarmed up him. In a few seconds they covered him in a black shadow, as if ink had been thrown at him.

  He screamed in Arabic.

  His two nieces, who had been behind me, pushed past and ran to him. That was when I saw the second black shadow on the floor racing towards Yacoub. This was ten times bigger than the first and moving fast, as if it was angry or hungry.

  Sawda and Aisha were beating at Yacoub’s clothes, and I could see clouds of ants falling from him, but every time they cleared one area of ants more poured onto him.

  Yacoub screamed. Sawda and Aisha were shouting too. It sounded as if they were cursing in Arabic.

  “We need to get out of here,” said Bayford. “We have no idea how these ants have mutated down here. If they have few sources of food ants can become highly dangerous.”

  Mustafa was behind us, blocking our way back.

  “There must be a way to help them,” he said, glowering at Bayford.

  “I have no idea. Let us pass.” Bayford raised a hand as if he would push past Mustafa.

  “You are not going anywhere,” said Mustafa. He reached inside his cream jacket. His hand emerged with a small black pistol in it. To make matters worse, he pointed it at me.

  “Fire is the only thing they’ll run from,” said Bayford. “I have a cigarette lighter and some papers in my bag, just back there.” He pointed beyond Mustafa.

  A scream pierced the air, like glass breaking. I looked back. Sawda was on her knees, beating at herself as if she had gone mad.

  Bayford led the way back out. All I wanted to do was get help for Sean. I didn’t care about what happened to any of the others.

  Sean hadn’t moved since we left him. There was no gunfire echoing in the cave anymore. Two of the security guards were at the entrance to the stairs, pointing their guns upwards. One of them shouted at Mustafa. He shouted back, then turned to Bayford.

  “Be quick. Take your bag. We do this now.”

  Bayford picked up his rucksack and headed back to the tunnel and the doorway.

  Mustafa waved his pistol at me.

  “You will come too.”

  I was beside Sean now. I held his hand. “I am not leaving him again. You can shoot me if you want. You have guards here. What can I do.”

  He looked at me, his eyes narrowing. Then he let out an exasperated noise and followed Bayford.

  A scream echoed faintly from the tunnel. I looked at the guards. Both of them had turned to face me. I put a hand out to them, as if pleading for help. One of them shrugged, as if to say there was nothing he could do. I looked at the other one, held my hand out to him. He looked away too.

  I bent over Sean’s body, put my ear to his chest. I had to hold steady for ten seconds before I heard the faint beating of his heart. They’d robbed him of his blood, but, thank God, he was still alive. A warmth filled me from inside, which I hadn’t felt in weeks. He was alive. We were going to get out of here.

  But how?

  I started walking towards the guards, as quietly as possible. Both had their backs to me. I had one chance. If I could take one of their weapons I could kill them both. They wouldn’t expect a woman to try to kill them. Egyptian women were a tough bunch, but mostly they were respectful to authority.

  I was half way towards them when one of them turned to me. His machine pistol was in his hand. He was pointing it at me. I put my hands up, held both out to him.

  “Water,” I said. “Please.”

  He smiled, raised his gun to sight along the barrel at me.

  Then he waved at me to step back.

  I kept walking forward.

  91

  Henry’s fist pumped the air. His screen was showing the ground, a jumble of flat roofed buildings as the Lynx Commando support helicopters, which had recently refueled at the Almaza Egyptian Air Force base, made their way from the airfield, north of Cairo, to the Giza plateau, to its west.

  They were traveling fast, their noses down, rotor blades making a distinct whining noise as they reached their two hundred and twenty miles per hour maximum speed. They would only be able to sustain this for thirty minutes, but it would be enough. They would reach the plateau in fifteen.

  He looked at the set of clocks on the far wall. They showed the time in London, New Delhi, Beijing, Canberra, Lo
s Angeles and Washington. He wasn’t concerned at the hour. What he needed to know was the exact time they would arrive.

  A support call had been put in to the U.S. aircraft carrier, Harry S. Truman. It was on a routine deployment in the Red Sea, and could have a ground support aircraft, the Harrier II, over Cairo within an hour. A single Harrier had been released to travel up the Red Sea on what could have been a standard reconnaissance mission, ready to redeploy, if permission were given by the general command in Egypt and the British Government requested it.

  This little operation was heading to become a serious international incident. The commando unit had gone silent, after going underground. There were four casualties already and the reputation of the British military was now on the line. He stared at his screen, willing the Lynx to go faster. Then a noise behind him made him turn.

  “Henry Mowlam, you are hereby relieved of your duties. You are under arrest for failing to follow a direct order by your superior officer.” The man standing behind him was wearing a captain’s uniform. A captain from the Royal military police. The red hat and badge made that clear. The question was, what were they doing here?

  “Gentlemen,” said Henry. “You have no authority to remove me from my duties. I am in the middle of overseeing an important operation.”

  The captain spoke to the two other officers beside him.

  “Put him under arrest and remove him from the room.”

  The two officers moved swiftly, as if they were used to detaining suspects. One put Henry’s right arm in a hold and twisted him out of his chair. The other took his other arm and they both lifted him bodily into the air.

  A shout rang out from across the room.

  “Well done!”

  Henry’s attention was on the crackle coming out of the speaker on his desk.

  “Requesting permission to proceed,” said the voice.

  92

  Xena looked down from her ledge. The swarm of ants had almost engulfed Yacoub and his two nieces. She’d been tempted to jump down and try to help them, but she didn’t expect them to have any real trouble with the ants. Surely they could help each other?