The Cult of Osiris nwaec-5

by Andy McDermott

  Shaban made a dismissive sound. ‘Of all the things to be nostalgic about, you choose that slop?’

  ‘What can I say? You can’t choose the things you enjoy - they choose you. So you may as well enjoy them without guilt.’ He sipped it again with a contented expression.

  ‘That doesn’t sound like something Osiris would say,’ Nina commented.

  ‘The beauty of Osiris is that there are many ways to interpret his story. As you pointed out in Paris.’

  ‘Are you saying you just make things up to suit your needs?’

  A sardonic laugh. ‘You are as blunt as my brother, Nina! But you may think that; I couldn’t possibly comment.’

  Shaban didn’t share his levity. ‘Khalid! She has been working against us from the start, but now she suddenly turns round and abandons her own husband to come here? Do you really think she wants to help us? It’s a trick.’

  ‘I’d be pretty damn stupid to come here on my own if I wasn’t being genuine,’ Nina countered. ‘Considering that you and your snakeskinned buddy want to kill me.’

  ‘I’m afraid Sebak and his men can be a little . . . over-zealous in protecting the Temple’s interests,’ said Osir. ‘I hope you will accept my apologies. I never wanted anyone to get hurt. All I wanted was to get the zodiac out of the Hall of Records before the IHA opened it, so I could find the Pyramid of Osiris without interference.’

  ‘Why are you trying to find the pyramid?’ she asked. ‘What’s in it that’s so important to you?’

  He finished his coffee and stood, holding out a hand to Nina. She hesitated, then took it. ‘I will show you.’

  ‘Khalid!’ Shaban hissed, a clear warning.

  Osir glared at him. ‘You may be my brother, but I am in charge of the Osirian Temple, Sebak. Remember that!’ Shaban’s fury was now so great that he was visibly shaking with rage, but he forced himself to remain silent as Osir turned back to Nina. ‘Again, I apologise. Do you have a younger brother? Or sister?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘But Eddie - my husband - he’s a younger brother.’

  ‘Then you know something about sibling rivalry.’

  ‘You could say that.’ She had only met Eddie’s sister a few times, but even though the two formerly antagonistic Chases had gone through something of a reconciliation, their relationship still had a spiky edge.

  Osir grinned. ‘It is the eldest son’s job to take charge of his brother, to look after him when he needs support. And sometimes, to fix his mistakes when his temper overcomes him.’ This last was pointedly directed at Shaban, whose face again contorted in silent anger. ‘But come,’ he said, directing Nina to the door. ‘See for yourself why I am searching for the Pyramid of Osiris.’

  13

  With Shaban following, Osir led Nina through the keep to the courtyard. She had passed the black glass pyramid and nearby helipad on the way in, but only now was she able to give the structure her full attention. From its base, its blank, sloping face and converging sides threw off her sense of perspective, making it hard to judge its true size. But it was taller than any of the castle’s towers, around eighty feet high.

  ‘A pyramid in Switzerland?’ she said as they approached. ‘A bit out of place.’ To say the least; unlike the glass pyramid at the Louvre, Osir’s edifice was grossly out of proportion with its surroundings, dominating the castle.

  ‘I think it fits well with the scenery,’ Osir replied. ‘One of the many fine things about Switzerland. Though I admit the one which brought me here was the tax system.’

  ‘I thought religions were tax exempt?’ She almost said ‘cults’, but opted not to antagonise him.

  ‘They are, in most places - once they have been accepted as legitimate, which takes a lot of time and effort. I founded the Osirian Temple fifteen years ago, but it’s only in the past five that it has truly begun to grow around the world. But I have other interests, which unfortunately are not tax exempt . . . not without a headquarters in Switzerland and some very clever and expensive accountants.’

  The open area of courtyard before the pyramid, empty when she arrived, was now occupied by some thirty men in black shorts and T-shirts performing callisthenics. Diamondback, for once without his snakeskin jacket, issued commands like a drill instructor. Shaban diverted to exchange brief words with the American, who glowered at Nina; while Shaban spoke, the men all stood to attention.

  ‘Looks like you’ve got your own little private army,’ said Nina.

  ‘Sebak’s idea,’ Osir replied as his brother re-joined them. ‘For protection. The Temple sometimes attracts trouble - as you may have noticed.’ He smiled.

  They reached the pyramid, glass doors in its face sliding open to reveal a stylish lobby area within. The people inside bowed their heads respectfully as Osir directed Nina to an elevator. Disconcertingly, the front and rear glass walls sloped to match the pyramid’s face, the elevator’s cross-section a parallelogram with its shaft ascending at the same angle. It was a very inefficient use of space, the cabin able to hold far fewer people than a conventional design, but Nina suspected her host was more interested in form than function.

  Shaban followed them into the elevator, watching Nina coldly as they ascended. The glass walls gave her a view of parts of the pyramid’s interior as they rose, the most impressive being a huge chamber: a temple. Unlike the room she had seen in Paris, though, the decorative hieroglyphics here were laser-etched on glass panels, the tall statues of Egyptian gods glinting in chrome.

  ‘This is the headquarters of the Osirian Temple,’ Osir announced proudly. ‘It is also the headquarters of Osiris Investment Group, SA. There are more ordinary offices in Geneva and elsewhere, but they are all run from here.’

  ‘You run a religion and a business from the same building?’

  ‘The two are more alike than you might think,’ he said, smiling. ‘Customer loyalty, market share, return on investment . . . all crucial.’ The high hall dropped out of sight, two floors of offices passing before the elevator stopped.

  Nina caught a strong and distinctive scent in the air: yeast. ‘Smells like you run a bakery as well.’

  Osir laughed. ‘Not quite. But bread has been an important part of my life - my father was a baker, you know. I grew up making bread.’ He seemed momentarily wistful as they stepped from the elevator. ‘He thought I would carry on his business.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Shaban sarcastically, his anger having subsided, ‘I’m sure you would much rather be kneading dough than living in a Swiss castle.’

  ‘Fate had other plans. This way, please, Nina.’

  She followed Osir through a door, the pungent smell of yeast growing stronger. The far wall of the room they entered was reinforced glass, giving her a view of what looked like a cross between a kitchen and a laboratory occupying the pyramid’s apex. Several people wearing white overalls and face masks were at work, some at computers and microscopes, others tending to ovens and large gleaming steel vats. ‘Okay,’ Nina said, lost. ‘This is . . . ?’

  ‘This is why I am searching for the Pyramid of Osiris,’ said Osir. ‘What do you know about telomeres?’

  She blinked, surprised by the conversation’s total change of direction. ‘Uh, apart from them being something to do with cells . . . nothing,’ she admitted. ‘I’m an archaeologist, not a biologist.’

  ‘Oh, Nina,’ he said teasingly, shaking his head. ‘You shouldn’t put limits on the boundaries of your knowledge. Look at me. I was a baker, who became an actor, who became a businessman and then a religious leader . . . but I’ve also become, in my own small way, an expert in the study of life extension.’

  ‘Life extension?’ Nina said, trying to conceal her doubtfulness.

  ‘Yes. Ultimately, that is what the Osirian Temple is about - avoiding ageing, avoiding death. Becoming as immortal as Osiris. My interest - my obsession - began when I was an actor. A star, rather. I may not have been as famous around the world as the stars of Hollywood,’ a smile of false modesty, ‘but certai
nly everyone in Egypt knew my face when I was younger.’

  ‘And you wanted to keep it looking young.’

  ‘Of course! Wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I dunno,’ said Nina, ‘I was . . . kinda chunky when I was twenty. I prefer how I look now I’m older.’

  ‘Then you are a very lucky - and unusual - woman!’ Osir laughed. ‘But all that means is that you are happy as you are now. With every passing moment, you are moving beyond that - and your own body is working against you. Every cell in your body is slowly destroying itself, and there is nothing you can do about it. Unless,’ he said, making a sweeping gesture towards the vats, ‘you can stop your body’s self-destruct - and reverse it.’

  ‘That’s what this is?’ she asked. ‘You’re making an . . . immortality drug?’

  This time, she couldn’t keep the scepticism from her voice. ‘I’ve heard that tone before,’ said Osir - not accusingly, but with resignation. ‘But yes, that is what I am trying to do. I love my life - and I want to keep on loving it! I started with simple treatments, like diet and exercise plans, then moved on to vitamins, antioxidants, hormones—’

  ‘Which you sell to the Osirian Temple’s followers.’

  ‘Yes. Each branch of the Temple buys products from worldwide subsidiaries of OIG, which produce them under licence from the parent company. But,’ he went on, eyes twinkling, ‘the clever part is, the licence fees are more than the wholesale price at which they sell them to the Temples. So technically, all the subsidiary companies operate at a loss . . .’

  ‘. . . and if they’re running at a loss, they don’t pay any taxes.’

  ‘Exactly. Meanwhile, the Temples make a profit on what they sell, but because they are religious organisations, they pay no taxes either. It’s all far more complicated than that, of course - as I said, I have some very expensive accountants and lawyers keeping me one step ahead of the taxman! But it is all legal. Well, it’s within the letter of the law, at least.’

  ‘It’s an impressive setup,’ said Nina, thinking of other words to describe it: ‘crooked’ topping her list.

  ‘Thank you.’ Osir seemed genuinely pleased. ‘But eventually, I realised that such treatments can only go so far, because of a simple genetic fact. Telomeres are a part of the chromosomes in every cell of the body, a sort of cap. Every time the cell replicates, the telomeres become a little shorter. They are a control mechanism - they stop cells from replicating uncontrollably, like cancers, but they also have a fault.’

  Nina saw what he meant. ‘If they get shorter each time they replicate, eventually they’ll be completely used up.’

  ‘That’s right. And when that happens, the cell ages . . . and dies. The process is constant, and unstoppable. No matter how healthily a person lives, there is a built-in expiration date on their body. But,’ he said, looking into the lab, ‘there is a way to change that.’

  ‘With yeast?’

  ‘With a very special kind of yeast. Did you know that only one per cent of all the different types of yeast have been classified? They are very simple micro-organisms, but also very varied. Some can be used to produce biofuel, others to break down dangerous chemicals, or deliver targeted doses of drugs inside the body - and, of course,’ he added with a smile, ‘some simply help make bread. It is one of these that I’m looking for.’

  Nina regarded him dubiously. ‘You want to find the Pyramid of Osiris . . . so you can make bread?’

  ‘Ah! You think I am . . . what is the American expression? “Wacko”, that’s it!’ He laughed again. ‘Not just any bread, Nina,’ he said, becoming more serious, more intense. ‘A special bread, a bread reserved for ancient Egyptian kings . . . and gods. The bread of Osiris.’

  His words sparked a memory. ‘Wait a minute,’ said Nina. ‘Macy said there was something about the bread of life on the scroll you kept from the IHA.’

  He nodded. ‘The one that told me about the Pyramid of Osiris - and what it holds. There are treasures, yes, there is the sarcophagus of Osiris himself . . . but the most valuable thing in his tomb is also the simplest. Bread. Yeast. The yeast that turned an ordinary man into an immortal legend.’

  ‘You’re saying this yeast made him immortal?’

  Osir shook his head. ‘Not in the way we would use the word. Life expectancy in ancient Egypt was, what, forty years? Forty-five at most? Someone who lived to be seventy would be thought of as impossibly old - and if that person was a king, they would be considered immortal.’

  ‘I can accept that,’ Nina said, somewhat grudgingly, ‘but how would yeast help him live that long?’

  ‘As I said, there are many different kinds of yeast.’ He pointed at a bearded scientist working on a computer. ‘Dr Kralj and his team are sequencing the genetic code of certain types, looking for what they believe is the ideal sequence. They might find it tomorrow - in which case, I will soon be the richest man in the world. On the other hand, the search may take a hundred years, and by then I’ll be dead, no matter how closely I follow my own teachings. So I would rather find the original strain, which is in the Pyramid of Osiris.’

  ‘So you think the yeast used to bake Osiris’s own personal Wonder Bread is some kind of . . . I don’t know, life-extending mutant strain?’

  ‘Not all yeasts are good. Some are pathogenic organisms whose spores can infect the human body, or are carriers for viruses. But the yeast used to make the bread of Osiris was different. It is a carrier - but not of a virus. It carries an enzyme called telomerase that repairs and replenishes telomeres.’

  All the disparate pieces fell into place. ‘It tops them up,’ Nina said, ‘stops them from getting shorter when the cells replicate.’ Her eyes widened as she realised the full implications. ‘The cells would live for ever. They’d never die.’

  ‘And so would those who ate it.’ Osir smiled triumphantly. ‘The yeast provided the enzyme that replenished Osiris’s cells, and slowed or even stopped his ageing. To his people, he became immortal.’

  ‘And if the rulers knew that eating this bread helped you live longer, they’d keep it to themselves, of course.’ A small frown crossed her brow. ‘But wouldn’t the yeast die during the baking process?’

  ‘My brother and I do know a little about baking,’ said Shaban with sarcastic disdain.

  ‘The temperatures in the mud brick ovens used in ancient Egypt were unpredictable,’ Osir explained. ‘Sometimes the yeast would survive in some form. And if the bakers knew the yeast was the key to long life, they would make sure as much survived as possible.’ A crooked grin. ‘It would not be the best-tasting bread, but that’s a small price to pay for eternal life.’

  ‘Hardly eternal,’ Nina pointed out. ‘You could still die from disease, or being run over by a camel. Ancient Egypt was a dangerous place.’

  ‘But a wise king keeps himself away from danger,’ said Osir. ‘And Osiris was the wisest king of all. He would not have been elevated to godhood otherwise.’

  ‘So you find his tomb, then cultivate a new strain of the yeast?’

  ‘Yes. Yeast spores can survive indefinitely. Even if the priests left no bread in the tomb to sustain Osiris in the afterlife, there should still be remnants in the canopic jars containing his organs. One way or another, I’m certain we will find samples.’ He looked into the lab. ‘The original strain has been lost in time like so much else, but here we can make it live again. And with a little genetic modification, it will make me as revered as Osiris.’

  Nina regarded him suspiciously. ‘Genetic modification?’

  Shaban’s mouth was a hard line. ‘I think you have told her enough, brother.’

  Osir gave him an irritated glance, but this time acquiesced. ‘Sebak has a point,’ he said to Nina, his smug affability returning. ‘Our little trade secrets aren’t really relevant. It’s enough to say that there will be great rewards for bringing immortality to the world.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m sure you’ll be very rich, and very powerful. Only . . .’ She gave him a sly smile, hid
ing her contempt. ‘You can’t do anything until you find the Pyramid of Osiris. Which brings us back to business. Like I said, I want my cut. Considering what you stand to make, I’m thinking an amount in the millions would be fair. Dollars, that is. Not Egyptian pounds.’

  Shaban let out an outraged snort, but Osir nodded. ‘If you help me get what I want, you too will be very well rewarded.’

  ‘Glad to hear it,’ said Nina. She held out her hand. ‘What do you say?’

  ‘Khalid, you can not be serious!’ protested Shaban. ‘She is trying to trick you! Why won’t you believe me?’

  Osir stared hard at his brother. ‘Because I’m willing to take a chance that she is telling the truth. That’s your problem, Sebak - you’ve never been a gambler. You only dare act when you are certain of success. But I take risks - sometimes I lose, but when they pay off . . .’ He gestured at the pyramid around them. ‘This, this is the reward! You never accomplish anything without taking chances.’

  ‘It is a big chance to take,’ Shaban hissed.

  ‘But I will take it.’ Osir faced Nina. ‘I’m willing to take you at your word, Nina. Find me the Pyramid of Osiris, and you will get everything you desire.’ He extended his hand; Nina was about to take it when he suddenly brought it up, index finger pointing at her heart. ‘But try to deceive me . . .’ He looked meaningfully towards Shaban.

  ‘I’ll find it,’ she said, still holding out her hand.

  After a moment, he smiled and shook it. ‘Then we have a deal. Excellent.’ Shaban turned away in disgust.

  Nina pulled free. ‘Okay, then. If you’ll just show me the zodiac . . .’

  Osir chuckled. ‘It’s not here.’

  A chill ran through her. ‘What?’

  ‘I have business in Monaco, so my people are reassembling the zodiac on my yacht - I want to be right there while its secrets are deciphered. You’ll come with me.’ Seeing her uncertain expression, he added, ‘It’s a very nice yacht.’

  ‘There is nobody else you were planning to meet, is there?’ asked Shaban with predatory suspicion. ‘Like your husband?’