by Will Adams
He turned his thoughts elsewhere: The names Kelonymus and Akylos. The Ptolemaic archives in Mallawi that he and Richard had discovered had included letters, bills, reports, codices, poems, religious texts, and all the other kinds of documents that you would expect in a small town. There had been far too much for them to translate as they went along, so they had conserved them instead, then cataloged them and passed them to the SCA for safekeeping and later study. Their preferred method of cataloging had been to collect the fragments of a particular papyrus together and photograph them, then assign the fragments and the photograph a single file name, based on where they were found or (if too many had been found in one place) a name of a place or a person from the text. And two of the names that had cropped up most during this process, and almost always in tandem, had been Akylos and Kelonymus.
The originals had long ago been taken by Yusuf Abbas of the SCA for "safekeeping," so God only knew where they were now, but Knox had photographs of them on CDs. Unfortunately, they, too, were in the trunk of Nessim's Freelander, probably under closed-circuit television surveillance in the parking lot of some high-end Alexandrian hotel; and he wasn't exactly in a position to go hunting from hotel to hotel in hopes of a smash and grab. No, he needed another way.
The Jeep lurched as the man got off his hood. Footsteps scuffed and faded. Knox waited until there had been silence for a good couple of minutes, then climbed out and stripped off the tarpaulin. He had no time to waste. He had phone calls to make.
Despite staring furiously at the inscription, it still took Gaille several minutes to work out what was bothering her. But finally she got it. The bottom line of text was incomplete, and it was written left to right. Yet Demotic, like Arabic, had been written right to left.
The inscription in the Macedonian tomb had been in Greek. The few words of text in the antechamber paintings had been in Greek. The dedication on the architrave was in Greek. The shield bearers had been Greek. The gods they invoked had been Greek. This looked like Demotic, but it didn't read that way, not initially at least. And it seemed perverse to switch to Demotic just for the inscription. So maybe it had simply been too sensitive to be written in plain Greek. Maybe the writer had used the Demotic alphabet instead. Codes, after all, hadn't been unknown to the ancients. Alexander himself had used subterfuge to hide sensitive messages. The Admonitions of the Sons of Dawn, one of the Dead Sea Scrolls, had used code for particularly sensitive words. Valerius Probus had written an entire treatise on substitution ciphers. They had been simple things, because people had believed them unbreakable. But Gaille didn't.
She copied the inscription out onto a pad, checking for patterns as she did so. If this was a simple transliteration cipher, and the same word was encrypted more than once, then it would produce identical sequences every time. It wasn't long before she had her first strike, then a second and a third. The third looked particularly helpful: ten characters long, and appearing no fewer than four times. That surely had to be a single word-an important one, too. What could it signify? A person's name, perhaps. Mentally, she ran through all the names they had come across in the upper chamber. Akylos, too short. Likewise Kelonymus and Apelles, Bilip and Timoleum. She had a little surge of excitement when she thought to try Alexander, but that fell short, too. Her spirits sank again. She stood up and walked in brisk circuits around the small room, sensing she was missing something, scowling in an almost physical effort to impel her mind to the answer.
When finally it came, her cheeks flushed and she looked around, worried that her schoolgirl error might have been observed. For "Alexander," the name by which the world knew him, was in fact a Latin name. To Greeks, he had been known as Alexandros. She sat back down and used the letters in "Alexandros" to begin a transposition alphabet, replacing the Demotic symbols with the matching Greek letters wherever they appeared throughout the text. That gave her enough to guess the word adjacent to the first Alexandros: Macedonia. With half the alphabet now broken, the rest swiftly followed.
Ancient Greek was her thing; she made the translation on her pad, so utterly absorbed in her task that she lost track of time and her surroundings until her name was suddenly called, bringing her back to the real world.
She looked up to see Ibrahim, Nicolas, Mansoor, and Elena standing in a semicircle, looking expectantly at her, as though someone had just asked her a question and they were waiting for her answer.
Ibrahim sighed and said, "I was explaining to Nicolas how difficult Demotic can be. We want as few people as possible to know about this, so we very much want you to work on it by yourself. How long do you think you'll need? One day? Two? A week?"
It had to be the most gratifying moment of Gaille's professional life. "Actually," she said airily, holding up her pad, "it's already done."
Chapter Twenty
Nessim was in his hotel room, discussing plans with Hosni, Ratib, and Sami. There was no great zest to their conversation, however. Knox had vanished off the radar, and nothing they tried had picked him up again.
It was late afternoon when Nessim's phone rang. It was Badr, his contact from the phone company, who had been waiting for Knox to use his cell phone. "He's turned it on," he said excitedly. "He's making a call."
"Who to?"
"No one-he's sending pictures to an e-mail account."
"Where?"
"Near the railway station."
"Stay on the line," said Nessim. "Tell me if he moves." Hosni, Ratib, and Sami had already risen to their feet. He nodded at them. "We've got a trace," he said. "Let's go."
"Well?"said Ibrahim excitedly. "Don't keep us in suspense."
Gaille nodded. She cleared her throat and began to read aloud: "I, Kelonymus, son of Hermias, brother of Akylos, builder, scribe, architect, sculptor, lover of knowledge, traveler in numerous lands, give homage to you, great gods, for allowing me to bring to this place below the earth these thirty-two shield bearers, heroes of the great victor, Alexander of Macedonia, son of Ammon. I now make good my pledge to bring together in one place the thirty-three who died carrying out the last wish of Alexander, that a tomb be built for him in sight of the place of his father. And to fulfill his wish, Akylos and these thirty-two built such a tomb and appointed it with goods fit for the son of Ammon."
Gaille hadn't properly registered the text until now-she'd been too busy translating it. But even as she read it out, she realized how explosive it was. She glanced up and saw on everyone's faces the same astonishment that she knew must be on her own.
"Go on," said Elena hungrily.
"And to fulfill his wish, they seized his body from the White Wall to take it through the red land of great dryness to the mouth of the place prepared below the earth. And near that place, Ptolemy, who is styled Savior, trapped these men so that they took their lives rather than be subjected to his torture. And so Ptolemy crucified them in vengeance and left them crucified for the carrion to feed on. Akylos and the thirty-two gave their lives to honor the wishes of Alexander, son of Ammon, in defiance of Ptolemy, son of nothing. I, Kelonymus, man of Macedonia, brother of Akylos, beseech you, great gods, to welcome these heroes into your kingdom as you welcomed Alexander."
She looked up again to indicate that she had finished. The looks of excitement had given way to a kind of stunned disbelief. No one spoke for a good five seconds.
It was Nicolas who finally broke the silence. "Does that…," he began hesitantly. "Does that mean what I think it means?"
"Yes," said Ibrahim. "I believe it does."
The moment his photographs were sent, Knox deleted the images from his cell phone, then turned it off altogether and roared away in his Jeep before Nessim had a chance to get to him. Just one more phone call, and he'd be in business. He parked near Pompey's Pillar, bought himself a ticket, and went inside. The site was a walled enclosure of about a hectare, surrounded by high-density housing. The pillar itself occupied pride of place on the small hillock at its center, but in fact the whole enclosed area was historic as
the onetime site of the famous Temple of Serapis.
Knox had always felt a great fondness for Serapis, a benign and intelligent deity who had somehow fused Egyptian, Greek, and Asian religious myths into a single theology. According to one thesis, he was a Babylonian god; in fact, when Alexander had lain dying in Babylon, a delegation of his men went to the Temple of Serapis to ask whether Alexander should be brought to the temple or left where he was. Serapis replied that it would be better for him to be left where he was. The delegation obeyed, and Alexander died shortly afterward, that being the better thing. Other scholars, however, asserted that Serapis had its roots in the Black Sea city of Sinope, while still others claimed that Serapis was Egyptian, because Apis bulls had been sacrificed for centuries and buried in huge vaults known to the Greeks as the Sarapeion, a contraction of "Osiris-Apis" or "dead Apis bull."
Knox glanced around to make sure no one was looking, then hid himself from view behind the base of Pompey's Pillar. He checked his watch, took two deep breaths, turned on his cell phone, and began pressing numbers.
"What do you mean, you've lost him?" yelled Nessim.
"He's turned off his phone."
Nessim punched his dashboard so hard, he scraped skin from a knuckle. "What was his last location?"
"I told you: near the railway station."
"Stay on the line," ordered Nessim, hurtling through the streets. "If he makes another call, I want to know at once." It was five minutes before they reached the station. Nessim drove around for a while, but there was no sign of Knox or his Jeep. Then Badr spoke again. "He's turned it back on. He's making another call."
"Where?"
"South of you," said Badr. "He must be right next to Pompey's Pillar."
Nessim and his men ducked to look out the windows as they drove. Passing a side street, he glimpsed the marble pillar thrusting upward just a kilometer away. "We're on our way," he said. He roared down the road, cut across traffic to Sharia Yousef, then headed along a wide boulevard with a brownstone wall to his right, Pompey's Pillar on the left. He pulled a U-turn and swerved up onto the pavement, and the four of them jumped out and hurried inside to the ticket booth. "Is this the only entrance?" he asked the woman, pushing some bills through the window.
"Yes."
"Stay here," he ordered Hosni, as he and the other two men went into the site. Then he asked Badr on his phone, "Is he still on the line?"
"Yes," confirmed Badr. "You're right on top of him."
"Then we've got him!" exulted Nessim.
Chapter Twenty-one
Nicolas took Ibrahim to one side. "Do you have an upstairs bathroom?" he asked, patting his stomach. "All this excitement seems to have done strange things to my digestion."
"Of course," said Ibrahim, pointing him to the stairs. "First on your left."
"Thank you." He hurried up and locked himself in. Then he took out his cell phone to call and brief his father on the blizzard of events and relay the gist of the inscription, too.
"What did I tell you?" said the elder Dragoumis.
"You've been right at every step," acknowledged his son.
"And it was the girl who broke it? Mitchell's daughter?"
"Yes. You were right about her, too."
"I want to meet her."
"I'll arrange for it once we're done," said Nicolas.
"No. Now. Tonight."
"Tonight. You're sure?"
"She worked out that there was a lower chamber in the Macedonian tomb," said Dragoumis. "She realized the inscription was a cipher, and broke it, too. She'll be the one to find what we're looking for; I feel it in my heart. She must be on our side when that happens. You understand?"
"Yes, Father. I'll take care of it." He took further instructions, then finished the call and rang Gabbar Mounim in Cairo.
"My dear Nicolas," enthused Mounim. "I trust you were satisfied with-"
"More than satisfied," said Nicolas. "Listen. I need something done right now."
"Of course. Whatever you wish."
"I believe our friend Yusuf at the SCA is in a meeting," said Nicolas. "When he comes out, he'll have a message on his desk to call Ibrahim Beyumi in Alexandria. Mr. Beyumi is going to ask him for an urgent meeting. I want our friend to invite a third party to that meeting and to look favorably upon what she asks. Her name is Elena Koloktronis." He spelled it out. "You may let our friend know that he'll be very generously rewarded, as you will be, too. You know I'm a man of my word."
A chuckle rolled down the phone line. "I do, indeed. Consider it done."
"Thank you." He made another few phone calls to get things under way, then flushed the toilet, washed his hands, and went back downstairs.
"Any better?" asked Ibrahim solicitously, meeting him at the bottom.
Nicolas smiled. "Much better, thank you."
"You'll never guess what's happened. Yusuf Abbas, my secretary general, just called from the SCA. He's invited me to Cairo for an immediate meeting."
"What's surprising about that?" frowned Nicolas. "Isn't that what you wanted?"
"Yes, but he's invited Elena, too. And none of us can work out how he even knew she was in the country."
Nessim could see no immediate sign of Knox inside the Sarapeion-little sign of anyone, indeed, except for two Korean tourists taking pictures of each other in front of Pompey's Pillar, and a young family enjoying a modest picnic. He motioned for Ratib and Sami to spread out and comb the site. They went slowly, checking each of the various pits, cisterns, and chambers. But they reached the red-brick wall at the far end without a trace of him.
Badr was still on the line. "Are you quite sure he's here?" Nessim asked icily.
"You must have walked straight past him. I don't understand it."
Nessim looked over at Ratib and then at Sami. They shrugged and shook their heads. He pointed to the pillar, suggesting they meet at its base. He reached it first. A brown paper bag rustled in the light breeze. He gave it a wary nudge with his foot, carefully pulling it open. There was a cell phone inside. He picked it up and turned it around, frowning, wondering what it signified.
There was a crash of broken glass at the far side of the wall. It was only when his car alarm began to wail that Nessim realized that was where he had left the Freelander-with all Knox's belongings in the back. An old engine roared and raced away before any of them could react. Nessim closed his eyes and clutched his forehead. He hated Knox. He hated him. But he couldn't help but rather admire him, too.
Nicolas drew Elena to one side to explain how he had arranged her meeting with Yusuf Abbas, and what she should try to achieve in it. Yusuf was greedy but cautious. If Elena could provide him with an excuse to let her explore Siwa, and thus earn himself his fat commission, then he'd do so. But it would need to look legitimate. A low-level epigraphic survey, say-just her and the girl.
"The girl?" frowned Elena. "Can we trust her?"
"My father believes so. Well? Can you take care of Yusuf?"
"Leave him to me."
Nicolas walked over to Gaille, who was transferring photographs onto Ibrahim's laptop to show to Yusuf. When she was finished, he asked her for a word, then steered her out into Ibrahim's small garden. "My father wants to meet you," he told her.
"Your father?" Gaille looked a little alarmed. "I don't understand. I don't even know who he is."
"He's the founder and backer of the Macedonian Archaeological Foundation," explained Nicolas. "That makes him your boss. He was also the person who suggested Elena employ you."
"But… why?"
"He knew your father," said Nicolas. "He admired him greatly. And he's kept an eye on your career over the years. When Elena needed a replacement, he naturally thought of you."
"That was… very good of him."
"He's a very good man," nodded Nicolas seriously. "And he wants you to have dinner with him this evening."
Gaille frowned. "He's in Alexandria?"
"No. Thessalonike."
"But… I don't
understand."
Nicolas smiled. "Have you ever flown on a private jet before?" he asked.
Chapter Twenty-two
Knox raced through the back streets of Alexandria, his recaptured belongings piled high on the seat beside him. It had felt good putting one over on Nessim. A man can only run for so long before his pride begins to smart. He drove east toward Abu Qir, putting distance between himself and his pursuers; then he parked to see what he had.
His laptop battery was old and had only an hour's juice. He flicked through his photograph CDs, checking file names, but he couldn't find a trace of Akylos or Kelonymus. He scowled in frustration. Nessim had either left them behind or removed them from his car. How unlucky was that? It was a minute or two before another possible explanation occurred to him.
There was a pay phone on the corner. He didn't dare telephone Rick directly. Instead, he called a mutual friend who worked next door at the water-sports center in Sharm, and asked her to fetch him. He came on the line a minute later. "Hey, mate," he said. "You forgotten my number or something?"
"It may be tapped."
"Ah. Hassan, huh?"
"Yes. Listen, you haven't borrowed some of my photographic CDs, have you?"
"Christ, mate, I'm sorry. I was just practicing my Greek."
"Not a problem. But I need them. Any way you can get them to me?"
"No sweat. There's nothing happening here. Where do you want to meet?"
