by Peter Vegas
“But why you? You risked your life to find it. What do you want with it?”
“Fountain of youth or not, the Ark is a priceless treasure, Sam. It may contain clues that could finally tell us why the pyramids were built. For centuries, man has studied the pyramids, hoping to discover the reason for their existence. I believe the Ark will tell us.”
Jasper reached back into his bag again and pulled out his flashlight. It was smaller than Sam’s, but packed a much better punch. He aimed it toward the front of the ship, and caught in its beam was the only object in the cavernous space. An old wooden crate, secured to the deck with ropes, measuring what Sam guessed to be slightly bigger than 2.5 cubits by 1.5 cubits by 1.5 cubits.
Jasper opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, his face contorted in agony. Despite his uncle’s chatty demeanor it was obvious to Sam that he had been trying to hide just how much pain he was in.
“Okay, that’s it,” said Sam. “I’m getting help.”
Jasper didn’t argue this time. He lay back and took a series of short, deep breaths. “Okay . . . fine . . . I’ll . . . wait here.”
You have to admire the guy, thought Sam. Near death and still trying to crack jokes. “I’ll be back soon, Jasper. I’ll make the call, and help will be here quick.”
Sam wasn’t sure if his uncle heard him. His eyes had shut and his breathing had steadied. He’d passed out again.
* * *
THE DECISION TO TAKE JASPER’S flashlight paid off when Sam spotted a ladder on the back wall. It made the climb back through the hole a little easier and cleaner. On the upper level Sam ran down the corridor, ripped open the door to the dining room, and froze. A massive ball of light was hovering in the middle of the room. Sam threw up his arms to shield his eyes, but the glare had already blinded him temporarily.
“Who is it?” he called out. “Who’s there?”
The glowing orb dropped away as the high-powered flashlight was pointed at the floor. Sam couldn’t see, but there was no mistaking the voice that echoed across the dining room.
“Sam, my friend. Hello there.”
It was Cairo’s craziest taxi driver.
21
THE END OF THE LIE
SAM WAS TOO STUNNED TO speak. The last time they’d seen each other, Hadi had been sliding a sewer lid closed. Now, here he was on the Panehesy with the same toothy grin.
“Surprised to see me, eh?”
Sam nodded slowly at the understatement. “What . . . ?” Sam tried to string some words together, but they wouldn’t come out. Hadi wasn’t moving. He just stood there smiling. But while it was the same familiar grin, something wasn’t quite right. The fact he was there at all, on a ship buried in the desert, wasn’t right, but there was something else. And then it clicked.
Hadi was waiting for someone.
Sam glanced past the Egyptian to the black hole that had been cut in the smokestack, but the darkness was fading away as someone with a flashlight came down the rope. A body dropped into the space, and a third person entered the dining room. It was another familiar face, but this one wasn’t smiling.
“We missed each other at the Al Minya Museum,” the Short-Haired Man said. “It’s nice to finally catch up with you.”
Sam’s gaze flicked between the two faces, trying to make sense of what he was seeing, but it was Hadi’s uncomfortable look that helped him put it together.
“You were working for him all along,” Sam said, bringing his flashlight back to the underage taxi driver.
Hadi seemed to squirm in the light. “It was a job, my friend,” he offered apologetically. “Just a job.”
The Short-Haired Man laughed as he stepped up beside Hadi and thrust his arm roughly around the boy’s shoulders. “And a very good job you did too.”
Hadi didn’t seem comfortable with the praise or the rough embrace, but the Short-Haired Man was enjoying Sam’s obvious shock.
“A complete stranger so eager to help you? Please,” he scoffed. “You didn’t stop to think it was all . . . what is the saying? Too good to be true?” He let out another throaty laugh, and Hadi tried to pry himself free, but the Short-Haired Man clutched him firmly.
“When I lost you in the market, Sam, I sent young Hadi in to sniff you out. But I heard it was you who found him.” He laughed and waited for Sam to say something, but didn’t seem put off by the stony silence. “The driver heading to Al Minya, the one Hadi just happened to know—you didn’t stop to think perhaps you were a little too lucky?” The Short-Haired Man shook his head. “No, you didn’t, did you? You know, it was all a bit of a rush to pull that together. Especially Hadi’s special present.”
“What present?”
The Short-Haired Man was happy to have gotten a response. “What present? Why, your necklace, of course. Do you still have it on? Of course you do.” He grinned and pulled a small black box out of his pocket and held it out for Sam to see. “We wouldn’t have been able to track you here if you didn’t.”
Hadi squirmed as the man continued.
“I’ll admit,” he said, inspecting the unit in his hand, “I should have had more faith in this technology. Coming for you at the museum was a mistake. I almost scared you off, yes?”
It was a rhetorical question, but Sam couldn’t help himself. “You didn’t scare me off.” He spat the words out. “I managed to get rid of you a couple of times. Same with your boss with the beard.”
“He’s not my boss.” The Short-Haired Man growled and took another step toward Sam. “We work for the same people, but I work alone.” The smirk had left his face. He was rattled, and his anger was showing, “The fact remains,” he continued, “that I found you in the end. Enough of this. Time is wasting. Where’s your uncle and where’s the artifact?”
“I don’t—”
Sam didn’t see it coming. The lightning-fast slap across his face sounded like a snapping stick in the confines of the dining room. His vision clouded; his eyes watered.
“Time is wasting. Let’s go,” the Short-Haired Man said, shoving Sam toward the corridor.
* * *
JASPER WAS STILL UNCONSCIOUS, BUT for all the Short-Haired Man knew he could have been dead.
“This one was harder to track than you, Sam. After we arranged the theft from the EEF bank account, we hoped the police might do the job for us. When we intercepted his e-mail to you, we saw a way you could help.” He turned to Sam. “And you have been a great help,” he sneered. “Now, where is the artifact?”
Sam swung his flashlight toward the wooden crate. The Short-Haired Man clapped his hands together and grinned like a child as he pushed past Sam and Hadi.
Sam watched the man walk up to the crate and pat it as if it were a large dog.
“I had arranged for a couple of men to remove this,” he called over his shoulder, “but one had a nasty motorbike accident in town, and the other seems to have gone missing in the desert.”
“What a shame,” said Sam through gritted teeth.
The Short-Haired Man turned and leaned back on the crate. “It’s of no consequence. I have achieved my goal, and I have two able-bodied helpers right here, don’t I?”
“If I help you get it out, will you promise to get help for my uncle?”
The Short-Haired Man glanced at Jasper, then waved his helpers to the Ark. “Come,” he ordered. “We’ll discuss that when the job is done.”
* * *
IT WAS SURPRISINGLY LIGHT FOR its size, and inside the crate could well be one of the world’s great hidden treasures, but all Sam cared about was getting his uncle to safety. The Short-Haired Man, the guy with the beard, and whoever they worked for, were welcome to the crate itself.
The hardest part was getting the crate up through the hole in the ceiling. Hadi and Sam worked together at the bottom while the Short-Haired Man rigged a crane using some of the ropes. They worked in near silence; at one point Hadi offered a hushed apology and something about needing the money, but Sam ignored him.
<
br /> In the dining room the problem of how the crate was supposed to fit through a person-sized hole in the smokestack was solved when the Short-Haired Man produced what looked like a gun from his pocket. When he pulled the trigger, a bright blue flame appeared at the end of the barrel. It made short work of the steel, slicing through it as if it were balsa wood. Then, once the ropes were attached again, Hadi climbed out to haul the crate up.
* * *
SAM STOOD NEAR THE SMOKESTACK, listening to the echoey thumps and scraping sounds subside as Hadi hauled the Panehesy’s treasure to the surface.
“Now we need to get my uncle,” he said.
The Short-Haired Man had taken a seat at one of the tables, seventy-three years too late for a meal, but now he shot to his feet, kicking the chair with the back of his boot so it skidded across the floor and smashed into the wall. “What I need to do . . . is contact my employers and tell them I have secured their cargo.”
“But you said you’d help my uncle,” insisted Sam. “If we don’t get him out of here, he’ll die!”
“You really have no idea what you’re involved in, do you?”
“I know that crate contains the Ark of the Covenant,” Sam said defiantly.
“Very good,” sneered the Short-Haired Man. “Then you must also realize that you and your uncle know too much. My employers were very clear, Sam. Collect the artifact, then tie up the loose ends. And you,” he said, jabbing a finger at Sam, “are a loose end.”
More banging and scraping sounds filled the dining room as Hadi climbed back in through the new and improved hole.
“What do you think you’re doing?” the Short-Haired Man asked.
“I came to help with Sam’s uncle.”
“Search him,” came the hissed reply.
Hadi shuffled over to Sam and patted him down awkwardly. He passed the GPS phone to the Short-Haired Man, who appeared to fumble and drop it.
“Oh dear,” he muttered sarcastically before he lifted one leg and brought the heel of his boot smashing down onto the phone, sending shards of plastic skidding across the floor. “Go back up and wait for me,” he said to Hadi as he admired his work.
“But what about—”
Hadi was cut off when the Short-Haired Man hit him in the face.
“Get up top now, or die here with your friend.”
Hadi eyed his attacker through blood-covered fingers as he tried to stem the gush coming from the pulpy mess that had been his nose. Then, without looking at Sam, he climbed back into the smokestack.
The Short-Haired Man followed, stopping briefly to speak one last time before he grabbed the rope. “You should leave the room too, Sam,” he said without a trace of remorse. “It’s going to get a bit messy in here.”
A few minutes later Sam heard the metallic thumps of the charges being placed. When it came, the muffled boom wasn’t as loud as he had been expecting, but the explosion blasted the sand in the smokestack out of the hole and into the dining room, like steam out of a geyser. It came thick and fast and with so much power Sam was knocked off his feet as a wall of sand and smoke spewed over him and rolled down the corridor.
When the air had cleared enough for Sam to see, the dining room had been transformed into an indoor desert. A thick layer of sand led to a sloping wall of the stuff where the smokestack had been moments ago. The only way out of the Panehesy had been destroyed. Just like Sam’s hope of saving his uncle.
22
SEEDS OF DESTRUCTION
JASPER WAS CONSCIOUS WHEN SAM got back to him, but only just. His breathing was shallow. His face was bathed in sweat.
“Sam, you’re okay. Thank goodness,” Jasper said, gasping for air. “I heard an explosion.”
“We’re trapped,” Sam said. There didn’t seem to be any point in trying to soften the story. “I was followed by someone. Someone I thought was trying to help me.” He ripped off the scarab necklace and tossed it into the dark recesses of the cargo hold. “They blew up the smokestack.”
“And the Ark?” asked Jasper.
“Gone.”
Jasper lowered his head and took a series of slow, labored breaths. “I’m sorry for dragging you into this, my boy,” he wheezed. “Truly sorry.”
Sam leaned back against the steel hull. “How did this happen, Jasper? I mean . . . if you knew it was getting dangerous, why did you go on?”
There was silence as Jasper built up the energy to reply. “There’s a man called Francis Verulam. A couple of weeks ago he told me he had important information about a theory regarding the truth behind the pyramids. He believes they have a sacred heart—a battery, if you will—that belongs inside them.”
“And he thinks the Ark is that sacred heart?”
Jasper took another deep breath. “Correct.”
“I’ve met his daughter,” said Sam. “Mary Verulam. She was sitting next to me on the flight. Turned out her father sent her to keep an eye me.”
Jasper reached out for Sam’s hand. It was clammy and trembling. “My boy, we’re involved in something far bigger than I ever imagined. I really am sorry for dragging you into it.”
“You keep saying that, but why did you?” Sam was getting angry. “You found the missing Ark, but was it worth all this?” He thumped the steel floor. “You could have just said no to Francis Verulam.” Sam felt bad losing his cool, but he figured he’d earned the right. After all, they were both going to die.
“I’ll admit it, Sam. Mr. Verulam’s theory was interesting,” said Jasper, “but that’s not why I took the assignment.”
“Why? Because he pays my school fees?”
“In a way. I understood that the Verulam Corporation paid your school fees because Francis Verulam had been a friend of your parents, but there was more to their relationship, and it has something to do with what really happened to them.”
Sam shined his flashlight into Jasper’s eyes to see if he was delirious. “What are you talking about? My parents were murdered while they were on vacation in Jamaica. You told me that.”
“I know, I know, Sam. That’s what I was told—and believed—until I spoke to Mr. Verulam.”
Jasper gritted his teeth and threw his head back as his body was racked by another wave of pain. The first thought through Sam’s mind was that his uncle might pass out or even die before he explained himself, and he was immediately disgusted by that reaction. “Jasper, what can I do for you?” he said urgently. “Tell me, please.”
Jasper grabbed his arm, surprising Sam with the strength he’d suddenly found. “Nothing, my boy.” His face relaxed as the pain passed. “Listen to me. I need to tell you the whole truth now, while I still can.”
Sam thought back to the bloody note he had found when he arrived.
“Your parents weren’t on vacation in Jamaica. They weren’t even in Jamaica. I only found that out when Mr. Verulam contacted me. You remember I told you that your father left the EEF?”
Sam nodded.
“He didn’t leave, Sam. He was fired. Your parents told me they were taking a break in Jamaica to reassess their priorities, but I know now they lied, probably to protect me from any fallout.”
“Why was he fired?”
“Both your parents believed there was a link between the ancient pyramids around the world.”
“Around the world? You mean Egypt?”
“No, Sam. Beyond Egypt, giant pyramids have been found in South America, Europe, even China. But the EEF doesn’t take kindly to that line of thinking. Your father was given repeated warnings to drop his investigations, and when he wouldn’t, he was fired. But it seems Mr. Verulam offered to fund his research. He was behind your parents’ trip to South America.”
“South America?!”
“Yes. They were in South America when they disappeared.”
“You said this hunt for the Panehesy has something to do with them. What?”
Jasper sighed again. “I’m not sure exactly, Sam. Mr. Verulam said the Panehesy was linked to your parents
’ disappearance. He implied that finding it might give us some answers.”
Sam tried to process what he was hearing about his parents, and about pyramids around the world. Just when he thought he was starting to understand what was going on, it got more complicated. “You know, Mary told me her grandfather Jason Verulam had some crazy theories about the pyramids.”
“Maybe not so crazy after all.”
Sam nodded. “Mary also said that her grandfather died this year, and soon after that her father found out about the Panehesy. Maybe Jason Verulam knew it was here?”
“Interesting,” Jasper said. “But I don’t think Jason Verulam just knew about the Panehesy. Look what I found on the crate when I arrived.”
From the seeds of our destruction grows hope of our escape
JV June 21 1942
“That’s the logo on the letter Francis Verulam sent you,” said Sam.
“Indeed. And I think it is safe to assume JV is Jason Verulam. But look at the date.”
“June twenty-first.”
“I take it the lovely Ms. Cole told you about the great storm.”
“Who?”
“The charming curator of the Al Minya Museum.”
“Oh . . . her. Sure.” Sam was put off by the strange look on his uncle’s face. “She said it started June eighteenth and lasted five days.”
“Wiping away all trace of the Panehesy,” Jasper chipped in. “So, if Jason Verulam was here on June twenty-first . . .”
“He must have found a way out,” said Sam.
“Exactly, my boy.”
“Could he have gotten out the way you came in?”
Jasper shook his head. “Not a chance. I had to cut through the metal rain plate at the top of the smokestack to get in.”
Sam looked at the note again. “From the seeds of our destruction . . . Hang on. In the port log it said that the Panehesy was damaged by an explosion in the boiler room that blew a hole in the hull.”
Jasper managed a weak smile. “You were paying attention, weren’t you? But I’m not surprised. Ms. Cole was a charm, wasn’t she?”
