‘Show me,’ Haddad said, before turning to the sharpshooters. ‘You stay here and watch the hill; report anything that moves.’ Haddad adjusted his radio and followed Babar up the slope with Carrington. When they reached the spot Babar remembered, there was no trace of the tomb.
‘We did close it up,’ he explained, ‘but there was a rock and some steps ... we left them ... outside. Somewhere here, between these.’ He pointed to two small holes in the ground roughly thirty metres apart.
‘Where exactly, can you remember?’ Haddad asked quietly, trying to encourage him.
‘All this rubble here is new – different. We didn’t leave it like this, I’m sure.’
Haddad put his hand reassuringly on Babar’s shoulder. ‘All right, calm down. Take a good look at what’s here now and try to remember the tomb after it was closed. Doing your best, where would you say it was? Here, use this.’ Haddad handed Babar a shovel to mark the spot. ‘Take your time.’
Babar reached for the handle and walked across to the small tomb on the far side of the slope. He stopped in front of it, turned around and began to retrace his steps.
‘Here,’ he said, thrusting the shovel into the ground. ‘It should be right here,’ he repeated, gaining confidence.
‘All right, start digging,’ Haddad said. ‘Carefully, please ... as little noise as possible.’
Jana had no idea how long she had been in there. After the humiliating photo shoot she had only received two more visits – both from a toothless old woman who hastily placed a plate of food and a jug of water near her.
Sitting on the stone floor, she heard a faint noise at the far end of the chamber. It was persistent – a repetitive scraping. Jana looked across to the sarcophagus; the sound was coming from that direction. The wooden coffin – like some strange instrument of the netherworld – amplified the sound and it became more urgent. Goose pimples began to march down her spine like an army of tiny spiders sensing danger. There’s something inside, Jana thought, trying not to panic. Wanting to get out! Steeling herself, Jana picked up the lamp and crawled slowly across to the sarcophagus.
Pressing her ear against the wood, she listened: the sound came from behind it and not within. This was no ghost; someone was out there! To give herself courage, she punched at the side with her fists, tears of frustration running down her wan cheeks. The scraping didn’t stop. Something louder was needed.
The stone jar, she thought, reaching for one of the alabaster jars next to the crouching Anubis. Sitting back on her heels, she lifted up the heavy jar with both hands and let it drop to the stone floor. It landed with a thud. ‘That’s better,’ she mumbled, lifting the jar again.
‘This is hopeless,’ Carrington said, watching Babar scrape away more rubble and soil without success. Just then, the radio strapped to his friend’s belt began to crackle. Holding his hand over his mouth, Haddad said something in Arabic and then switched the radio off.
‘Stop!’ he hissed, tugging at Babar’s sleeve. ‘Someone’s coming.’
They lay down and carefully peered over the edge. Two people – one tall, the other short and bent – were slowly climbing the hill from the opposite direction.
Carrington, who was lying next to the hole Babar had just dug, heard a dull sound coming from the opening.
‘Did you hear that?’ he whispered to Haddad.
‘What?’
‘There it is again. Listen. Someone’s in there ... knocking!’
‘Nonsense! You are imagi ...’ The next thump – this time louder – couldn’t be ignored.
‘I think you’re right,’ hissed Haddad, putting his ear to the ground. The two dark shapes came closer. Haddad pulled his pistol out of the shoulder holster and placed it within easy reach in front of him.
‘Look. They’ve stopped – over there, next to the other tomb.’ The tall one turned around, bent down and pulled something heavy out of the ground. Moments later, both disappeared into the side of the hill.
89
Omar stared ahead as the vessel sliced through the moonlit waters of the Nile. When the familiar pylons of the Karnak temple materialised out of the dark, he began to smile. The prize he had coveted for so long was waiting for him somewhere inside the ruins of the ancient temple. The mere thought of the tablet – now almost within his grasp – made him tremble. This tablet was a source of immense power; much greater than anything even a pious Muslim leader like himself could hope to attain through terror or war. With the suicide bombing at Sharm el-Sheik already sending ripples of fear around the globe, the stage was set for the Brotherhood to claim a victory of a different kind – a spiritual one: one of the Tablets of Moses in Muslim hands! This should teach the arrogant crusaders a lesson, he thought. God was on his side!
Omar was confident that apart from the usual beggars, the temple would by now be deserted. Moreover, the bombing had its desired effect: the troops stationed in Luxor were already flying out. Chief Inspector Haddad will have his hands full, thought Omar, and smiled. He’ll be waiting in vain for the release of the wretched woman.
His felucca was a floating arsenal; he had enough explosives on board to blow up a skyscraper. Omar’s two young bodyguards carried machine guns under their jalabiyas. Omar’s small automatic however, was strapped to his body, along with a number of hand grenades.
‘We’ll go through here,’ Omar explained, ‘and enter the temple one by one.’ He pointed to an abandoned underground passage leading from the river to the temple. ‘I’ll go first and you’ll cover me. Stay close and keep visual contact at all times, understood?’ The boys nodded. ‘Remember, follow the shadows and move slowly; try to look just like the beggars. Where are the tools?’ One of the boys showed him a sack slung over his shoulders. ‘Allah be with you, let’s go.’
The police chief surveyed the forecourt through his binoculars, satisfied that the commandos were in position on top of the pylon and along the roof. The usual groups of beggars, squatting around a small fire near the temple entrance, were fighting over cigarettes scrounged from visitors during the day. They occasionally looked up to see the usual tourist coaches arrive for the last Sound and Light Show of the day. Things were normal.
No one paid any attention to the bearded man limping slowly towards the pylon. While Omar hobbled through the entry to the temple wall, his two young bodyguards stayed in the shadows and followed one by one.
Once inside the vestibule, Omar took a deep breath and leant against the cool stone. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he could see the gigantic columns of the Hypostyle Hall through the archway on his right.
His approach had been carefully timed. Using the show as his cover, he could do all his searching as the inside of the temple was usually deserted and in total darkness during the performance. No one was allowed to enter the temple at night. Any noise he made would not be noticeable, and the inevitable chaos at the end of the performance was perfect for a getaway.
The meticulous and cautious Omar had thought of everything. Except, in his eagerness to reach the prize he’d coveted for so long, he’d broken one of his own cardinal rules: he had failed to allow for the unexpected.
90
‘What do these tombs look like inside?’ Haddad asked, training his binoculars on the spot where the two strangers had disappeared into the ground. ‘Could they be connected in some way, say, by a tunnel?’ He remembered the earlier intelligence about Omar and his possible hiding place somewhere in this area.
‘Most tombs have a short, narrow passage and a single chamber at the end,’ Babar explained, ‘but if a tunnel were to be dug ... well, one could easily join them.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Carrington asked, hoping for another signal.
‘Wait. We can’t risk a confrontation. Not in there, we have no idea what ...’ The radio crackled into life again, alarmingly loud in the stillness of the night. The police chief was reporting in. The commandos were in position, all was quiet. Haddad repeated his instructions to not
engage Omar under any circumstances. Meanwhile, the two sharpshooters, like a pair of strange birds with their beak-like night vision gear, had silently crept up the hill and were patiently waiting for their quarry to reappear.
‘There, look,’ whispered Carrington, ‘someone’s coming out.’ The two marksmen lifted their rifles.
‘What do you see?’ hissed Haddad.
‘It looks like ... it is ...’
‘Well?’
‘An old woman carrying ... a bucket,’ answered one of the soldiers, lowering his rifle. The old woman emptied the bucket and disappeared. Haddad looked at Carrington.
‘Are you thinking ...?’
‘A prisoner?’
Haddad nodded. Moments later, the old woman reappeared, followed by a tall young man holding a torch.
‘He has a gun,’ said one of the marksmen, the green cross in his scope following the man’s head.
‘If he fires, shoot,’ Haddad said to the soldier on his left before propping himself up on his elbows.
‘Drop your weapon – now!’ Haddad shouted in Arabic. His voice cut through the silence and echoed ominously across the barren hillside. Taken completely by surprise, the young man froze. Then, everything happened very fast. He pushed the old woman aside, lifted his gun and fired in their direction. One of the marksmen shot him through the head. The young man was dead before he hit the ground and rolled down the steep hill like a rag doll.
Jana could hear rapid gunfire directly above. Instinctively, she extinguished the oil lamp, but immediately regretted it; anything was better than total darkness. What should she do: shout, or stay still? Who was out there? Friend? Foe? She felt light-headed and dizzy and could not stop the tears rolling down her cheeks.
Then she remembered the scraping noise she’d heard and knelt down on the stone floor to feel her way in the darkness with her outstretched hands. She was searching for the alabaster jar and, when she found it, took a deep breath, wiped away her tears and began to pound the floor again. It took all the strength she could muster.
The old woman was hysterical. Haddad slapped her face, but was unable to get any sense out of her. Carrington, searching the ground where she’d fallen, found loose rubble covering a wooden trapdoor. Using bare hands, he scraped away the debris and opened the door and, as he stared into a narrow shaft, he heard the first thump.
They followed the noise – down to one small empty chamber and, further along, to another. The passage narrowed and Carrington had to squeeze through, moving sideways. The thumping grew louder. ‘Jana, over here,’ he shouted. Trying to move faster, he dropped the torch and as he bent to pick it up, wedged his chest against the wall and got stuck.
‘Jana,’ he whispered, barely able to breathe. Haddad had to push hard from behind to free him. Carrington stumbled forward and ran into an iron gate blocking the way. The thumping came from somewhere out of the dark close by. Haddad reached over Carrington’s shoulder from behind and held up his torch. Carrington pressed his aching forehead against the iron bars and gasped.
Covered head to toe in a black robe, was Jana. She was kneeling on the stone floor directly in front of him.
Momentarily blinded by the light, she was facing in his direction with her eyes firmly shut. She held an elaborate alabaster jar above her head, and was about to pound the floor again. To her left, stood a life-sized statue of Sekhmet; the bellicose goddess was guarding the entry to the burial chamber. To her right – in dark black granite – was the god Horus, watching over her. But on the wall behind her, painted in brilliant colour, was the god who saved her – Thoth, staring all-knowingly into eternity.
91
Haddad led them out. He retraced his steps through the narrow tunnel, with Carrington, supporting Jana, close behind. Babar and his two commandos were guarding the entrance. As Haddad stepped out into the open, the light on his radio began to flash.
‘I think we may have something here,’ whispered the police chief.
‘Speak up. What is it?’
‘Two men inside the temple – there’s something suspicious about them.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘They’re working on something; a breach in the temple walls ... We can see them clearly from up here. Sounds like they’re using some tools – metal on stone ...’
‘Where?’
‘In the Hypostyle Hall – near the spot the professor mentioned ...’
Haddad’s mouth went dry. This could be it, he thought. ‘Don’t let them out of your sight. Seal off the area, but do absolutely nothing else until I get there. Do you hear?’ Haddad almost shouted. ‘This is an order!’ He added for good measure.
‘Yes, Sir.’
‘We’ve found the woman. She’s safe. But keep this to yourself.’
‘I understand. Congratulations.’
Squatting on his heels in the far corner of the Hypostyle Hall, Omar watched his boys trying to loosen a small chunk of stone wedged between two larger blocks. This, thought Omar, was most likely the spot described by Blanquefort. He’d memorised the critical passage from the Latin and was going over it time and again to make sure he hadn’t missed anything.
The tablet was hidden in the Hypostyle Hall, that much was clear, and it narrowed the possibilities considerably. The southern wall it referred to ‘has to be the Binding of the Two Lands,’ Omar reassured himself. ‘There’s nothing quite like it anywhere else in the entire temple precinct.’ The Binding of the Two Lands – a large relief cut into the massive stone blocks – depicted the god Horus holding a lotus in his hand. Horus was facing the ibis-headed god Thoth holding a papyrus. Between them, the pharaoh was kneeling before the gods. The lotus and the papyrus represented the two lands – Upper and Lower Egypt, being joined together under the pharaoh’s feet.
‘Three stone blocks below the right foot of the bird-headed creature with the long beak, is a gap in the wall, as wide as the arm of a man. The gap has been sealed with a chunk of stone ...’ Omar quoted by heart from Blanquefort’s instructions. ‘The tablet is concealed deep within the cavity behind the stone.’ It sounded simple enough. But it was difficult for the boys to loosen the stone wedged into the wall. Omar stood up and walked across to them. ‘Use the crowbar here,’ he whispered impatiently, ‘but wait for the show to begin,’ he added, ‘before you make any noise.’
Haddad stood on the deck of the police launch crossing the Nile, his fingers drumming the side of his legs.
‘It can’t go any faster,’ said Carrington, trying to stanch Haddad’s impatience. ‘We’re almost there.’
‘You’re right. Yes ... and we found Jana, didn’t we? That’s truly amazing! How is she?’
‘She’s resting.’ Carrington put his hand on Haddad’s shoulder. ‘Fate, my friend. Do you think it’s him?’
‘I know it is.’
The police chief was waiting for them at the jetty. ‘They’re still working on the wall,’ he reported. ‘Come, quickly, I’ll show you.’
‘What about the tourists watching the show?’ Haddad asked, looking at his watch. ‘It’s going to start any moment.’
‘They should all be seated by now ...’
‘I was afraid of that.’ Haddad was feeling very uneasy; images of the Aida massacre still fresh in his mind.
‘I don’t like it, but there’s nothing we can do.’ He shrugged, ‘Inshallah; let’s go!’ They left Jana in the police launch under guard and hurried towards the temple.
‘We have to climb up here, I’m afraid,’ the police chief explained, pointing to an elaborate rope ladder the commandos had rigged up. Carrington climbed up first, followed by Haddad and the police chief. Towards the top, Carrington almost lost his footing and was grabbed by the strong hand of a soldier reaching down from above. The stone roof of the Hypostyle Hall had collapsed long before; all that remained were massive slabs of stone connecting some of the capitals of the gigantic columns. Following one of the soldiers crawling along the top, they reached a ledge and lay down f
lat.
Suddenly, a shaft of eerie green light crept along the pylon and came to rest on the lotus-shaped capitals of the columns. The haunting sound of reed pipes, cymbals and drums, amplified by microphones at strategic spots throughout the temple, echoed across the forecourt. The famous Karnak Sound and Light Show had begun.
‘A long, long time ago,’ began the narrator, ‘man was created out of the tears of the sun god ...’ Haddad winced, annoyed by the unwelcome distraction.
The police chief pointed down into the hall below. Slowly, they lifted their heads and peered over the edge. Carrington could see two men pushing their shoulders against an iron rod wedged into the wall. When they extracted the rod, a chunk of stone fell out and hit the ground with a thud. The two men stopped working and looked anxiously around.
‘There, look,’ said Carrington, pointing to a third man emerging from the gloom. The man limped across to the hole in the wall left by the stone and peered inside.
‘Omar?’ whispered Haddad.
‘Must be, but I can’t see his face, he’s too far away,’ Carrington replied. The man reached into the hole and, standing on the tips of his toes, pushed part of his shoulder into the cavity. He was breathing heavily and, withdrawing his arm, stepped back. Something dark and angular emerged from the hole, but got stuck.
One of the soldiers kneeling on top of the ledge adjusted his rifle. A small screw fell out of his night vision gear and fell over the edge, making a sharp pinging sound as it hit the stone floor. The three men below froze. Haddad waved his finger from left to right. No one moved.
‘There’s someone there,’ hissed Omar, looking up. The two boys reached for their machine guns and disappeared into the shadows. Instead of ducking for cover, Omar grabbed the crowbar and tried to loosen the object stuck in the hole.
The Empress Holds the Key Page 38
