Instead of a hail of bullets, a single shot cut through the darkness.
McNutt released the trigger, then squeezed again.
But nothing happened.
‘No,’ he muttered. ‘No, no, no, no, no!’
With danger lurking, he felt along the side of the Glauberyt, searching for the source of the problem like a blind man reading Braille. His scope – his source of sight in the darkness – was no use to him, as it was securely mounted to the gun itself.
It took a few seconds, but he eventually figured it out.
Typically, the force of a discharged round would initiate a chain of events that would cycle a fresh round into the chamber. But in this case the bolt, the mechanism that drives the shell from the magazine to the chamber, was jammed.
Which meant the Glauberyt couldn’t fire.
Like most Marines, McNutt could fieldstrip and reassemble a gun with his eyes closed. He could do it the dark, upside down, and underwater, using only his sense of touch and his absolute knowledge of the weapon to guide him. Having been through all of those scenarios in the past, the prospect of fixing his rifle wasn’t daunting.
Unfortunately, it would take more time than he had.
With few choices left, he decided to taunt his opponents, hoping it would buy him a few extra minutes. That is, if the enemy even spoke English.
McNutt stared at the darkness above and shouted. ‘Come and get me, monkey men! I’ve got night optics and a submachine gun! I live for shit like this! As far as I’m concerned, we can play all day!’
He punctuated his threat by making monkey sounds.
A second later, he lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Guys, I’m screwed. My gun is jammed, and the monkey men are ready to attack.’
‘Did you say monkey men?’ Garcia asked.
McNutt ignored the question. ‘What was I thinking? Why did I pick a Polish gun? When’s the last time they won a war? Shit, have they won a war?’
‘I repeat, did you say monkey men?’
‘Yes, Tito, I said monkey men. Now answer my goddamned question!’
‘What question is that?’ Garcia shouted back.
‘Have the Polacks ever won a war?’
‘I honestly don’t know!’
‘Quit shouting at me! The monkey men can hear you!’
‘For the love of God, what is a monkey man?’
Cobb had heard enough. ‘Josh, how can I help?’
McNutt instantly calmed down. ‘Do you have a gun that works?’
‘Yes.’
‘Cool. Then I’m coming to you.’
From his time in the service, McNutt knew that there was no dishonor in running – especially when it was authorized by his commanding officer. Cobb was out there, somewhere, waiting to help.
Now all he had to do was find him.
‘Tell me where you’re hiding and I’ll bring the monkeys with me.’
‘Copy that,’ Cobb said. ‘Hector, a little help.’
Garcia, who was keeping track of his team’s positions, knew the shortest way through the maze. ‘Take the first tunnel on your left, and I’ll guide you from there.’
‘Thanks,’ said McNutt as he sprinted toward the left. ‘Be ready, chief. I’ll be coming in fast with multiple bogeys on my tail.’
‘No worries, Josh. I’m ready right now.’
* * *
In all of her studies, Jasmine had never seen anything like it.
She wished she could take it with her, but that was unrealistic, if not entirely impossible, because she was staring at a very long wall that had been chiseled and polished with great care in the depths of the temple. Located less than a hundred yards from the reinforced tunnel, the wall was covered with a series of ancient carvings.
She was stunned by their discovery. ‘Hector, are you getting this?’
There was no reply.
She waved her hand in front of the flashlight, hoping to draw Garcia’s attention – assuming he was still watching.
Again, there was no reply.
‘I think we’ve lost our connection,’ Jasmine said.
In Sarah’s previous life in the CIA, agents didn’t break radio silence unless it was absolutely essential. Most of the time, she was on her own in the field. Having someone chattering in her ear was still a new concept to her, which was why she hadn’t noticed Garcia’s absence until that very moment.
Jasmine stared at the images. ‘We have to preserve this.’
Sarah agreed with the sentiment, but she also realized the impracticality of Jasmine’s request. ‘We can’t take the whole wall. It’s, like, a hundred meters long.’
It wasn’t an exaggeration. The carvings extended as far as her eye could see. They covered the entire wall, from ceiling to floor, like an ancient, colorless mural.
Jasmine slowly swept the beam of her flashlight across every inch of the surface, documenting their discovery with the video camera. They couldn’t take the wall, but at least she could study the recording later.
Meanwhile, Sarah was less concerned about capturing the images for posterity and more concerned with how the carvings could help their mission. She wondered what the markings meant. ‘Jasmine, can you read any of this?’
Jasmine studied the wall, using what symbols she could translate to piece together the story that they were trying to tell. ‘It’s pictography. It spells out the history of the city.’ She pointed to the first frame on the wall. ‘It all starts here.’
Sarah could see the outline of Alexandria’s coast. Tiny waves had been etched into the stone, representing the waters of the Mediterranean. But no distinguishing features were carved into the area that represented the land. Instead, there was an image of a single man: a giant, with the horns of a ram protruding from his head.
‘That’s a depiction of Alexander,’ Jasmine explained. ‘The horns symbolize the belief that he was the divine son of Amun. The fact that he is surrounded by empty space indicates that there was nothing in Alexandria before the appearance of the god-king. That’s not entirely accurate, but you can understand why a culture based on the reverence of one man would choose to start their history with his arrival.’
The next frame depicted the same outline of Alexandria, only now a series of squares had been added throughout the city. Cut amongst these squares were figures of tiny people, living their lives in a golden age.
She continued, ‘Under the watchful gaze of Alexander, the city flourished. Homes were built, and a great many people lived happily in this land.’
She walked along the wall, summarizing her interpretation of the events portrayed in the carvings and recording everything that she saw. The upside-down image of the horned man meant the death of Alexander. The transition toward Roman influence was conveyed in the form of a giant wolf.
‘It’s probably a rendition of the Capitoline Wolf,’ Jasmine said. ‘Legend holds that the city of Rome was founded by twin brothers, Romulus and Remus. They had been abandoned at birth and were raised by a she-wolf.’
Jasmine paused, carefully studying the next image.
Her lips slowly curled into a smile.
Sarah stared at the symbol. ‘What is it?’
Jasmine traced the outline with her finger. ‘Three cobras. The trio of Uraei. This was the personal symbol of Cleopatra.’
Sarah understood Jasmine’s reaction. Cleopatra was the last pharaoh of Ancient Egypt. As queen, she was believed to be the living manifestation of the goddess Isis. She was beloved by her people and revered by her peers. In an era ruled by men, Cleopatra’s reign proved that there was no such thing as the weaker sex.
As Jasmine marveled at the scene of Cleopatra, Sarah moved further down the line. Though she lacked Jasmine’s training, she was still able to decipher some of the images. She recognized the Christian cross and the papal seal, indicating the rise of Christianity. She understood the scenes of battle, though she had no way of knowing that they represented the Kitos War, when the Romans targeted the local Je
wish population.
But there was one picture that she could not interpret.
She called for help. ‘Jasmine, come look at this.’
Jasmine rushed over and immediately understood the emblems portrayed in the image. Not only that, she was excited by their significance.
‘It’s the destruction of the library,’ she explained as she pointed to the long, rectangular block drawn with columns on all sides. There was a split carved through the center of the block, as if it had been broken in half.
Jasmine beamed. ‘If this is accurate, we now know when it was destroyed.’
‘How can you tell that from the picture? I don’t see any dates.’
‘There aren’t any dates, but we can infer from the context.’
Jasmine pointed to an image of a man with rays of sunlight radiating from his head. ‘This is the symbol of Sol Invictus, the Roman sun god. It was adopted by the Emperor Aurelian during his reign as an expression of his belief that Sol alone held divinity over all others in the pantheon. In an effort to assert Roman dominance in Alexandria, Aurelian destroyed the city’s Royal Quarter in a great fire.’
Sarah understood the implications of such an act. ‘A fire that also consumed the Library of Alexandria.’
Jasmine nodded. ‘There has never been any sense of certainty when it came to the history of the library. Rumors place its destruction at any one of a number of instances. But this would appear to give us a specific occurrence. If Aurelian did in fact destroy the library, then we know it fell sometime around 270 AD.’
Sarah understood Jasmine’s excitement. ‘That question has been haunting historians for centuries, and I saw it before anyone else. How cool is that?’
As Sarah patted herself on the back, Jasmine moved on to the final frame of the pictograph. The news about the Library of Alexandria was certainly fascinating, but in her mind it was overshadowed by the final piece of information.
This was the clue they were looking for.
A revelation about Alexander’s tomb.
27
Jasmine deciphered the final images in silence, completely immersed in the message. It was a new insight that would have far-reaching implications – both for the history of Alexandria and the future of their mission.
After what seemed like an hour, Sarah couldn’t wait any longer. ‘So, what are we looking at?’
There was no reply.
‘Jasmine?’
‘Sorry,’ she said as she snapped out of her trance. ‘I just got a little caught up in everything. This is unbelievable.’
To Sarah, it was little more than rough sketches and symbols she couldn’t translate in the slightest. All she knew was that they had just determined the fate of the Library of Alexandria – something that no one had been able to do in modern history. Given that frame of reference, she was ready to believe almost anything from the last section of the pictograph. She simply needed Jasmine to explain it to her.
‘What’s unbelievable?’ she demanded.
‘These markings,’ said Jasmine as she circled her finger around three of the carvings on the wall. ‘These symbols represent the Roman Parcae – the female personification of destiny. The spindle represents Nona, the maiden. She spun the thread of life from her distaff onto her spindle. The scroll is Decima, the matron. She determined the length of each thread with her measuring rod. The shears is Morta, the crone. When the thread had reached its end, it was Morta who cut it. Together they embody the Fates. According to Roman mythology, they controlled the destiny of mankind.’
‘Believe it or not, I’m familiar with the Fates.’
‘Really?’
Sarah nodded. ‘What can I say? I’m a fan of powerful women. I could’ve sworn they had different names, though.’
‘Actually, different cultures used different names to represent similar myths. If you learned the myths in school, you probably learned the Greek version. Instead of the Parcae, they were known as the Moirai.’
‘Yes. That’s what I was thinking: the Moirai.’
‘That’s what I figured. Their names were Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos, and they were mentioned in Homeric poems, in Plato’s Republic, and even Hesiod’s Theogony. Centuries later and thousands of miles away, the Norse had their own version of the Fates. They were called Urðr, Verðandi, and Skuld.’
‘And how does it help us?’
‘It doesn’t. I was just showing off.’
Sarah laughed, happy to see Jasmine in her element.
‘Anyway,’ she said as she directed Sarah’s attention back to the pictograph. Starting with the Fates, she traced the path of an arrow toward the etching of an ominous cube. ‘This represents Pandora’s box. When opened, it released Moros, the spirit of doom.’
Below the cube were images of people forming a line from the city to a waiting ship at the shoreline. They were carrying a large block above their heads, and in that block lay the horned man. Their path was the very same tunnel Jasmine and Sarah were standing in.
Jasmine continued. ‘They thought the end was coming. They used this tunnel to escape the city. The boat was there to take them to safety.’
Sarah shook her head. ‘Okay, back up. One: why would they think the city was doomed? And two: why go through all the effort of building this tunnel when they could have just walked across the city, not under it?’
Jasmine was ready with an answer. ‘The concept of prophecy was rife in the culture of the ancient Romans – and remember, that’s what this was, even though Alexandria was in Egypt. Not only did they believe that all events resulted from the will of the gods, but they also believed that the gods spoke their will through human mediums. These oracles were said to justify and admonish the deeds of man by conveying the gods’ approval or displeasure with their actions.’
Sarah wanted to make sure she understood things correctly. ‘You’re saying that these prophets were able to channel divine messages and relay them to the people, and that the people would in turn live their lives in accordance with the message?’
Jasmine nodded. ‘They would rigorously adhere to the words of the prophets. It would have been as if the god or goddess had spoken to them directly. So if the Fates, or Moros, or any other deity had sent a message letting them know that the city was in jeopardy, they would not have challenged it. They would have made the necessary preparations to save what they could.’
Before Jasmine could answer the second half of the previous line of questioning, Sarah added another query. ‘But the city didn’t vanish, so why didn’t the people eventually get the idea that the gods were wrong?’
Jasmine smiled. ‘No one said anything about vanishing. This only implies a belief that the city was doomed. And it was.’ She pointed to the far edge of the pictograph. Instead of a straight line, the border was drawn as a series of tall waves.
Suddenly, things made sense to Sarah as she recalled Papineau’s video presentation during their initial mission briefing. ‘The tsunami.’
‘Yes,’ Jasmine said as she touched the waves, ‘the tsunami.’
On July 21, 365 AD, a magnitude eight earthquake rocked the Greek island of Crete, triggering a tsunami that devastated Alexandria. The surging water crushed buildings, flattened districts, and killed tens of thousands of people. It was the worst disaster in the history of the city and the greatest Egyptian tragedy since the biblical plagues.
Sarah pointed at the wall. ‘And you’re saying they knew it was coming?’
‘I’m not saying it. The symbols are saying it. That’s why they left.’
‘Then why take the effort to build a tunnel? Why the elaborate evacuation?’
‘They weren’t evacuating. They were smuggling.’
‘Smuggling? Smuggling what?’
Jasmine took a few steps back and shined her light on the horned man portrayed earlier in the pictograph. She moved the beam back, focusing on the large block carried by those in the tunnel. Finally, she stepped forward again and pressed her finger ag
ainst the depiction of a waiting ship.
Sarah now realized what she had missed.
The hull of the ship was emblazoned with the head of a ram.
‘I’ll be damned. They moved Alexander’s tomb.’
* * *
McNutt had lost his bearings. Running through a maze of tunnels was hard on his sense of direction. Throw in a team of sword-wielding monkey men tracking him in the darkness, and he prayed that he wasn’t running in circles.
‘Hector, where the hell am I going?’
Garcia had been monitoring his location and was able to guide him through the passageways. ‘Keep going straight for another fifty feet. When you get to the next chamber, jump down one level and go to your left.’
McNutt never broke stride. There wasn’t time. He had seen the men chasing him, and if they were as fast as they were agile, he knew he was in trouble. He ran across the tops of the narrow arches with purpose.
‘Through the tunnel straight ahead of you,’ Garcia continued. ‘Then up two levels and cross to your right. Two more chambers.’
This was followed by Cobb’s reassurance that things were about to get a whole lot better. ‘Keep moving, McNutt. I’ll be waiting.’
Jumping down to lower levels was easy; climbing up was the greater challenge. When McNutt ascended, he was blind. He needed both hands to pull himself upward. Only after reaching the higher beam could he grab his flashlight and reestablish his vision.
‘Take the tunnel to your right. You’re almost there,’ Garcia said.
McNutt burst into the empty chamber where he paused, briefly, and surveyed his surroundings. He saw the reflection of his flashlight on the pool of water below and realized that he was in the flooded cistern – the final intact chamber. From there, it was either backtrack into the swarm of assassins or press ahead toward the void.
Regrettably, he didn’t like his choices.
Even worse, there was no sign of Cobb.
‘Jack!’ McNutt shouted.
He didn’t get the reply he was hoping for.
Suddenly, the three men who had been following him charged into the cistern. They were no more than twenty feet behind him, and they were closing fast.
The Forbidden Tomb Page 16
