The Cult of Osiris nwaec-5

by Andy McDermott

  She let out a breath, feeling something she hadn’t felt since first arriving in Egypt: excitement. No, that had been more like anticipation, but this was a genuine, almost child-like thrill. This was fun!

  Holding in a nervous giggle, she looked at the tent. Now that she was closer, she could hear the chug of a generator - but only faintly, and with an odd echo. She checked again that the guard wasn’t looking in her direction, then crept to the tent.

  Nobody was inside.

  ‘The hell?’ Macy wondered aloud, slipping in. One end was taken up by a makeshift cubicle of cheap particle board. Since it was little more than three feet wide, she doubted Gamal and the others were huddled within.

  But she lost interest in it when she saw what was at the tent’s other end.

  A trestle table had construction blueprints spread out across it; she recognised the topmost as a plan of the Sphinx compound. What had caught her attention, though, wasn’t on the table, but hanging on the tent wall above it. Large colour photographs, blow-ups of ancient papyrus scrolls. The same scrolls that had brought her here in the first place.

  The Hall of Records, a repository of ancient Egyptian knowledge beneath the Sphinx that was reputedly only surpassed by the Library of Alexandria, had long been considered nothing more than a myth. But a privately funded archaeological dig in Gaza had discovered papyrus pages that described not only the Hall itself, but also how to get into it - through a passage that had once descended between the Sphinx’s paws. When the pages were scientifically confirmed to be over four thousand years old, the Hall suddenly became one of the hottest topics in archaeology, and the Egyptian government granted the International Heritage Agency’s request to conduct the dig that would confirm whether or not what was said on the Scrolls was true.

  The problem, Macy knew, was that the IHA had only been given three scrolls.

  Yet here was a fourth.

  She moved closer, silently mouthing the words as she translated the text. The ancient language had been taught to her by her grandfather along with Egyptian history and mythology, his hobby eventually influencing her choice of degree. The new scroll said more about the Hall of Records than the IHA had seen: not just its position, but its contents. Something about a map chamber, a zodiac, that revealed the location of . . .

  ‘The Pyramid of Osiris?’ Macy whispered in disbelief. That was nothing but another of her grandfather’s myths, surely? Osiris was a legend pre-dating even the First Dynasty of almost five thousand years ago, and legends didn’t have big-ass tombs built for them, only pharaohs.

  But that was what the papyrus said. The Pyramid of Osiris, the tomb of the god-king. No suggestion that it was a myth; the text seemed as factually descriptive as it was about the Hall of Records. ‘Whoa,’ she said as she realised what that meant. If the Pyramid of Osiris was real, then so was the man buried inside it. Not a legendary god, but a flesh and blood ruler, until now lost in time. If his tomb could be found, it would be one of the greatest discoveries in history . . .

  She looked at the plans on the table. The position of the east-west entrance tunnel to the Hall of Records and the IHA excavation were both clearly marked - as was another, longer tunnel from the north.

  It crossed under what was now the modern road and ran, she realised, directly beneath the tent in which she was standing.

  Macy turned to the wooden cubicle. The panel facing her was hinged, a roughly cut hole acting as a handle. She eased it open.

  Now she knew where the three men had gone. Down. A ladder descended into a shaft, dim lights revealing the bottom over twenty feet below. The hose expelling the generator’s exhaust fumes ran up one corner, the machine now clearly audible.

  As were voices.

  Getting closer.

  Excitement fled Macy, replaced by fear. Someone was running their own secret dig, trying to beat the IHA team into the Hall of Records. Trying to find the Pyramid of Osiris for themselves.

  Which meant that if she was caught in here . . . she was in trouble.

  What should she do? Tell someone - Berkeley or Hamdi? But Gamal was obviously in on it, and they would believe him over her. She needed proof . . .

  Weight in her thigh pocket. The camera.

  She pulled it out and switched it on. The wait for the lens to extend and the screen to light up had never seemed so long.

  A rattling sound from the shaft. Someone climbing the ladder.

  Throat tight with rising panic, Macy took a picture of the four papyrus pages, then tipped the camera down to capture the blueprint. Click—

  ‘What the fuck?’ The shout came from below, the accent American. The guy with the snakeskin jacket. He had seen the flash.

  Another shout. The guard outside. Macy heard his footsteps thudding towards the tent. The clattering of the ladder was louder, faster, as the man hurried up it.

  She ran—

  The guard threw open the tent flap - just as Macy burst through, shoving him aside and sprinting for the temple. She was through the plastic netting before he regained his balance.

  ‘Hey!’ she shouted, hoping somebody from the IHA dig would hear her, but her voice was drowned out by the light show’s narration. Behind, Shaban screamed orders to catch her.

  Fright spurred her on. She rounded the ruin, the shadowed maze of the Temple of the Sphinx spread out below, ominously lit in shards of red and green. Someone was on the walkway—

  ‘Dr Hamdi!’ Macy cried. ‘Dr Hamdi, help!’

  Hamdi stopped, looking bewildered as she leapt over the gap to land in front of him. ‘What is it, miss - Macy, isn’t it?’

  ‘Back there!’ she gasped. ‘They’re digging, they’re trying to rob the Hall of Records!’

  ‘What? What are you talking about?’

  Macy looked back as the guard ran round the side of the upper temple, slithering to an uncertain halt when he saw Hamdi. ‘That guy with the scar, Shaban, he’s in charge! He’s got a fourth scroll - I took a picture!’ She thumbed a button to bring up the image. ‘Look!’

  Hamdi’s expression changed from confusion to shock. ‘I see. Come with me.’ He took her by the arm . . .

  And gripped, painfully tightly.

  ‘Hey, what—’ Macy said, trying to pull free. He squeezed harder. ‘Let go!’

  He ignored her. The guy in the snakeskin jacket ran into view. ‘Bring her up here!’ he yelled.

  Hamdi pulled Macy towards the gap. She thrashed at his face, but he deflected her blows with his free hand. The guard ran towards them—

  She fired the camera in Hamdi’s face. He flinched, dazzled by the flash - and Macy smashed the camera’s hard edge against the bridge of his nose. Another strike to his forehead, and she wrenched herself from his grip.

  The guard leapt across the gap, blocking the way to the Sphinx. Instead, she ran along the walkway - and saw the two guards from the compound gate rushing at her.

  They were all in on it!

  She changed direction, jumping on to the Temple of the Sphinx’s northern wall and running along it. The ancient, weathered stone was uneven beneath her feet.

  ‘Get after her!’ the American shouted. The first guard followed her on to the wall. The two men ahead also changed direction, intending to leap over the ditch separating the temple from the compound’s upper level and tackle her.

  The wall was over twelve feet high, too far to jump down . . .

  Instead she flung herself off the wall at an angle - just barely reaching the top of a ruined stone pillar five feet below, then springing off that, legs flailing, into the darkness beneath. Pain exploded in both feet as she hit the ground and fell, her phone and some loose coins flying from a pocket and skittering away.

  The guard jumped off the wall after her—

  The lighting changed, the red highlights on the lower block suddenly vanishing. The man’s outstretched foot missed its top. His other shin cracked into the stone’s edge, sending him spinning to the unyielding ground. He let out a keening wail a
s he clutched his injured leg.

  Macy wasn’t feeling much better, gasping in pain as she stood. She was not far from a passage leading to one of the temple’s original entrances. Ankles throbbing, she limped into the deeper darkness behind the high eastern wall.

  She turned the first corner, looking back. A guard was on the north wall, but his attention was on his wounded comrade. He hadn’t seen her. Round the second turn—

  And crashing to a stop against metal bars.

  Shit! She’d known there was a gate to keep tourists out of the temple, but it was taller than she’d thought, too high for her to climb. Beyond it she saw the seated audience, but they were looking up at the brilliantly lit Sphinx, not the unimposing ruin in front of it, and wouldn’t hear any shouts for help over the soundtrack’s bombastic crescendo.

  Macy could hear other shouts, though. Her pursuers were in the temple.

  And she was in a dead end.

  The shouts got closer.

  The inner wall facing the gate was somewhat lower than the others - and in the light shining through the bars she could pick out footholds. She scrambled up. All the past hours of gym practice for the cheerleading squad no longer seemed such a chore.

  She looked over the top of the wall - to see the guy in the snakeskin jacket only ten feet away on the other side, other men spreading out across the temple floor. One ran into the entrance to the passage.

  Trapped—

  She pulled herself up and lay flat along the wall’s top, holding her breath as her heart pounded. The running man rounded the corner, reached the gate, looked through it. Nobody fleeing the temple, just tourists gawping at the display.

  ‘Does anyone see her?’ called the American, shining a tiny but bright LED flashlight between the ruined pillars. The shouted replies were all negative.

  Hamdi and Shaban hurried to him. ‘She can’t have got out,’ said Hamdi, one hand clutched to his nose. ‘The entrances on this side are all blocked.’

  ‘Who is she?’ Shaban demanded angrily.

  ‘One of the IHA team. Macy Sharif. She’s just a student.’

  ‘Student or not, she could ruin the entire plan if she gets out of here,’ said Shaban.

  ‘We gotta find her,’ the American added. ‘Fast.’

  ‘What are you going to do with her, Mr Diamondback?’ asked Hamdi.

  ‘Whaddya think?’ There was a metallic sound that froze Macy’s blood. A gun’s hammer being cocked.

  ‘You’re going to . . .’ Hamdi tailed off, shocked.

  ‘I’m sure as hell not spendin’ the next twenty years in an Egyptian jail ’cause of some li’l whore of a student.’

  ‘Dr Hamdi,’ said Shaban, ‘if she gets away, you and Gamal will have to handle Berkeley. Bobby, we need to send people to watch her hotel, the airport, anyone she might go to for help. She’s American?’ Hamdi nodded. ‘Use our contacts there to find out where she lives - and where her family lives. Send people to watch their homes, tap their phones. We have to silence her.’

  ‘Count on it,’ said Diamondback. A second click - another gun.

  Macy trembled, a terrified nausea churning within her. They were going to kill her! Every instinct told her to run, but she didn’t dare move.

  One of the guards called out from the temple’s southern end, reporting that the other entrance passage was empty. Diamondback shone his light across the courtyard. ‘What about those stones there, by the wall? Could she climb ’em?’ He walked towards them, the heels of his cowboy boots clip-clopping on the stone flags.

  ‘Go with him,’ said Shaban. For a moment, Macy thought he was talking to Hamdi, before realising it was one of the guards.

  The one who had come into the passage after her.

  There was nobody between her and the east wall—

  Adrenalin overcame her fear. She sprang up and ran along the wall, jumping up to a higher block.

  ‘Hey!’

  Diamondback had seen her.

  Macy gasped in fright, expecting a gunshot - but it didn’t come. The sound and light show was ending, and a shot would be heard by hundreds of people. She climbed another block, finding herself at the edge of the east wall. The ground was over twenty feet below.

  Diamondback scaled the wall on which she’d been hiding as effortlessly as a lizard. The guard ran back into the passage. Macy turned, crouched - and dropped. Fingers clutching the weathered stone, she slithered down the wall, toes rasping for purchase.

  She let go—

  More pain as she hit the ground and fell on her back, but she was too scared to let it stop her. She rolled and took off across the dusty expanse. The audience was dispersing, milling towards the nearby exit in the outer fence.

  Behind her, the guard climbed the metal gate as Diamondback reached the highest part of the wall, eyes scanning for her, locking on - then losing her again as she shoved into the crowd. Someone hollered in protest, but Macy ignored him and ducked low, weaving between the clumps of tourists. If she could reach the exit, the edge of Cairo’s urban sprawl was just yards beyond the fence . . .

  The guard was over the gate. Diamondback landed beside him. More men ran along the walkway above the temple. Macy moved faster, knocking people aside in her desperation to reach the exit. There were two white-uniformed members of the Tourist Police at the gate, but they hadn’t yet been alerted to the chase. Come on, move—

  Diamondback and the guard were running. The guard shouted to the policemen, who looked round. Some of the tourists did too, stopping to see the cause of the commotion.

  A gap opened up. Macy took it, rushing through the gate before either cop could react. By the time one started after her, she was already halfway to the dark alley between the nearest buildings. She raced into the shadows. A junction; she went right, deeper into the maze. Clattering footsteps echoed behind her. Left, right again. Don’t be a dead end, don’t—

  A low, narrow gap in one wall just before an intersection. On some wild instinct she squeezed through it. She found herself in a small yard behind a house, faint light coming from a window above. The only other exit was a door into the house itself.

  She pressed against the wall, eyes wide in fear as the footsteps drew closer - then passed, slowing at the intersection. More men ran up. Clip-clop. Diamondback. She held her breath. If one of them noticed the little gap . . .

  They ran again, splitting up to follow each of the alleyways. The footsteps quickly faded into the night.

  Macy slumped, panting.

  She stayed in the yard for almost twenty minutes, waiting until she was absolutely certain nobody was nearby before creeping back through the hole. The alley was empty, silent. Getting her bearings, she headed deeper into the sprawl.

  After ten nerve-racking minutes, she reached a small square. Muffled music came from a café on the far side, but all she cared about was the battered yellow box of a payphone on a pole nearby. Warily watching the street, she fumbled for her remaining change, then made a call.

  ‘Macy? Is that you?’ Berkeley sounded even angrier than before.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, voice low. ‘They’re going to rob the Hall of Records! There’s another tunnel, they’re digging—’

  He wasn’t listening. ‘Macy, come back here and turn yourself in to the police right now.’

  ‘What - what do you mean, turn myself in? I haven’t—’

  ‘Dr Hamdi has agreed not to press charges for assault, but only if you give yourself up and return the piece you took immediately.’

  ‘What piece?’ Macy protested, confused. ‘I didn’t take anything!’

  ‘Macy, Dr Hamdi and Mr Gamal both saw you chip a piece off the Sphinx! Do you have any idea how serious that is? People have been sentenced to ten years in jail for less! Running away has just made it worse, but if you come back now, I’ll do what I can to placate the authorities—’

  ‘Look, listen to me!’ she cried. ‘Hamdi’s part of it, and so’s Gamal! Go and look for yourself, there’s—’
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  ‘Macy!’ barked Berkeley. ‘Get back to the dig, now, and give yourself up. If you don’t, there’s nothing I can do to help you. Just—’

  Macy slammed down the receiver, fear and panic back in full force. What the hell was she going to do? Shaban had sent people to stake out the hotel. She couldn’t even collect her belongings. All she had were the clothes she was wearing and whatever she had in her pockets.

  Which wasn’t much. Her camera, a small wad of Egyptian pounds, about a hundred US dollars. At least she still had her passport and credit cards; there was no way she would have left them unattended in her hotel room.

  She weighed up her options. Whether she turned herself in or the police caught her, Hamdi and no doubt a parade of others would be ready to testify against her. And if Shaban’s people caught her . . .

  The mere thought set her heart thudding again. They wanted her dead. And even if she got out of Egypt, they would be waiting for her to go home, watching her parents. She couldn’t risk getting them involved.

  Then there was Shaban’s plan itself. If he got out with whatever he planned to steal before the IHA team opened the Hall of Records, nobody would even know they had done it, since Berkeley would be seen by millions as the first person to enter the chamber in thousands of years. She had to warn someone. But if Berkeley wouldn’t listen, she had to find someone else - someone more likely to believe her, and convince others to take action.

  Macy stepped away from the phone, unconsciously adjusting her ponytail . . . and that triggered a thought.

  She reached back into her pocket. There was something else with her passport: folded pages from a magazine. When she opened them, the face of an attractive woman, red hair in a ponytail much like Macy’s, smiled up at her.

  Dr Nina Wilde. The discover of Atlantis, and more. Macy’s inspiration, the woman who had given her the determination to get here in the first place.

  And a woman whose claims had been utterly disbelieved . . . before being proved spectacularly right.

  She regarded the picture. It was a long shot; Dr Wilde was no longer with the IHA after some controversy the previous year. Macy had been disappointed at not getting the chance to meet her. But surely she still had enough influence to help . . .