Map of the Dead: A mystery thriller that's a page turner

by Murray Bailey

  “About the goods,” Belmarsh said. “Everything the Estate and museum confirmed missing ticks off against the records here. All except for one. It’s described as a ceremonial funerary block.”

  “A what?” asked Spears.

  “No idea,” Belmarsh said. “But I can assure you we will be finding out.”

  Fox sat in a café and looked out of the window at the cordoned-off warehouse. The Met police had been on the scene within twenty minutes of his anonymous call. The scene of crimes van arrived another twenty minutes later with their power cables and lights. Jackson and his sergeant drove up in his silver Vauxhall after another hour. He guessed they had battled through rush hour to get across London.

  Perfect.

  He pressed the speed dial. “All gone according to plan,” he reported.

  Owl said, “Did they know?”

  “Some, but not all. Not nearly enough.”

  The other man said nothing but Fox was sure he heard relief in the breathing. He added: “And I’ve got the girl’s papers—the ones they must have taken from her briefcase. She had made drawings of the artefact and taken notes about the hieroglyphs.”

  “Enough for us to work from?” There was real excitement in his voice.

  “I think so. Now that we know this is the map, it should just be a matter of time.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Although one thing bothers me. We know about the communications, but there’s nothing in her notes. In fact, I worry that most of the research is missing.”

  “Like you say, let’s hope it’s just a matter of us solving this and putting it to bed once and for all.”

  Fox found himself nodding at his own reflection. This thing had been over their heads for almost a hundred years. It would be a great honour to be the one who removed the threat, finally.

  Jackson and Belmarsh came out of the warehouse, ducked under the cordon and got into the Vauxhall.

  “Fox?”

  “Yes?”

  “What about the rabbit?”

  “He should be in the clear now. They’ll get all the evidence they need to wrap this up.”

  The man on the other end didn’t say anything for a while. His breathing rasped. Then he said, “Keep him in play. In case he can find the bird’s research.”

  “I’ll use the reporter again. Feed her information about links between the rabbit and the Polish mafia. She’ll lap it up and it’ll support their theories.”

  “Good.”

  “And if the rabbit doesn’t find the research?”

  “Either way, you eliminate him.”

  EIGHTEEN

  In the morning, Alex received an email. Not an Oxford University email address, but it was from the professor.

  Dear Mr MacLure

  Please accept my apologies for not picking up your email straight away. I have retired from my post at The Griffith Institute, St Anthony’s College, Oxford. The email address is still active but I have to log on to the computer to check for messages.

  Regarding your query, it has been some considerable time since I reviewed the private papers collection and I am sure you appreciate that the suggestion of missing papyri from the tomb of Tutankhamen is nothing new. However, I found your enquiry intriguing.

  I would greatly enjoy revisiting the old documents and have reviewed a communication with the curator at New York’s Metropolitan Museum of Arts.

  I would enjoy discussing my findings with you and will be able to arrange for you to view the collection as requested.

  I look forward to hearing from you again.

  Yours sincerely

  Emeritus Professor Christopher L Thompson

  There was a phone number at the bottom and Alex immediately called it.

  “Professor Thompson,” a strong voice answered after the eighth ring.

  “Professor, it’s Alex MacLure.”

  “Goodness gracious, I only sent you a message earlier this morning.” There was a pause followed by a slight chuckle. “Ah. You must excuse an old man. You know, I can’t get used to this Interweb thing. My daughter has taught me to use a computer and this electronic post, but perhaps I should just stick to good old pen and paper?”

  “Professor, I would like to arrange that visit.”

  “Oh yes. The visit to see Howard Carter’s original notes. They are very interesting, you know. And as I said in my message, I think there is possibly some truth in what you are suggesting. In fact, I obtained—”

  “Could I come tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow?” Thompson said after a hesitation.

  “I really would appreciate it, sir, if you could arrange for us to meet tomorrow.”

  “Goodness gracious, you young people are always in such a hurry. Well, let us see. Yes, all right, if you meet me at the institute at 11am I will arrange for access.”

  With renewed purpose, Alex read through computer notes and Internet documents on the discovery of Tutankhamen’s tomb. In Ellen’s original email to the professor, she had suggested inconsistencies in the records. There was something suspicious about the events following the discovery of Tutankhamen’s tomb and the death of Lord Carnarvon.

  NINETEEN

  It was mid-morning when Vanessa came in.

  “How are you feeling about going out? Still up for it?”

  “Ready and willing.”

  “Great! Sorry I’m later than I planned. I had things to do.” She pulled a small black tube from a purse. “Before we go,” she said, and waved it at him, “I’m doing those eyebrows.”

  She made Alex sit so she could apply mascara to colour his eyebrows. When she’d finished, she said, “Perfect!”

  He looked in the mirror and had to agree that the dark eyebrows looked better.

  Stepping outside, he couldn’t help glancing up and down the street.

  Vanessa pointed to a little black and purple Smart car parked across the street. “I’ve brought my car.”

  He was quickly inside and immediately felt better. As she drove she said, “I had to finish an essay this morning. It took longer than I expected. But there’s no one following, I’m sure.”

  “So we’re going to see your uncle?”

  “Yes, and then we’re having a picnic in Richmond Park”

  Vanessa focused on the road for a while and Alex found himself looking in the side mirror for a tail. When they were stopped in traffic, she told him to adjust it so he could see better.

  By the time they reached their destination of Fitzroy Square, Alex was calm. There had been no sign of anyone following.

  The square had a central garden with trees surrounded by upmarket Regency-style properties: a tranquil enclave that said money.

  Vanessa led the way through a black door into an office and introduced herself to the receptionist. They were shown through to what the receptionist described as a meeting room. Alex expected a formal table and chairs and was surprised to find themselves in a lounge with comfortable leather armchairs and a low table laden with a coffee pot, cups and biscuits.

  The receptionist hovered by the door. “Please help yourself to coffee. I’ll let Mr Abrahams know you are here.”

  Vanessa poured the drinks and they sank back into the chairs and waited.

  Alex checked his watch after twenty minutes. Vanessa shrugged.

  “Sorry, he’s a busy man.”

  Seconds later the door swung inwards and a large man entered with a beaming smile. “Vanessa, how nice of you to call on me.” His voice was thick, possibly from years of smoke abuse, and he used a cane to walk but, although Alex guessed him to be in his sixties, he had a barrel chest and big presence.

  “Uncle Seth.” Vanessa jumped up as he came in and, after he’d taken three steps, she met him halfway. He gave her a bear hug and she kissed his cheek.

  Abrahams studied Alex, who stood. “So this is the young man.”

  Alex introduced himself and Abrahams indicated they should all sit. He checked his watch. “I’ve not got lon
g I’m afraid.”

  “I know, Uncle.” She grinned. “Alex and I—well he’s been telling me about ancient Egypt and gods and I thought you’d be interested to meet.”

  Abrahams’s eyes smiled. “I’m always happy to be of service.” He looked at Alex, more serious now. “So this PhD you are doing, what’s the research about?”

  “My current interest is in the pre-dynastic period, particularly the boats of Abydos, but this isn’t about me.”

  “Oh?” Abrahams looked at Vanessa and then back.

  “Sorry, sir, I should explain. It’s about my friend’s research.”

  “I don’t understand. Why can’t your friend do his own research?”

  Vanessa stepped in, “It’s a long story, Uncle—and complicated.”

  “All right. What is your friend researching?”

  “Communication during the New Kingdom—especially hidden messages, it would seem—and some things have come up that may be relevant.”

  “Particularly about the significance of numbers to Jews,” Vanessa said. “I know you may be able to help there.”

  “Ah.” Abrahams sat a little more forward in his chair, waiting.

  Alex said, “I understand that the Bible—sorry, the Torah—has hidden messages based on numerology.”

  “You’re talking about gematria,” Abrahams said, “the interpretation of words as numbers. Like Nero Caesar being 666, the number of the beast.” The old man chuckled. “There are different methods and different interpretations, but the traditional view is that the codes should only apply to the Torah in an exact letter by letter sequence rather than looking for patterns. Of course, the Torah was the only text communicated directly from God through Moses. What numbers are you particularly interested in?”

  “How about forty?”

  “That’s not gematria. Forty is a significant number in the Torah: Moses spent forty days on Mount Sinai. In Genesis it rains for forty days and forty nights. The Israelites wandered in the wilderness for forty years. Elijah fasted for forty days...”

  “So would I be right in saying it’s not meant as literal.”

  Abrahams inclined his head.

  “What about the numbers three, four and five?”

  “Three represents completeness and stability. Five represents stability. Of course, the Torah is also known as the five books of Moses. There are five divisions to the Psalms and other texts. Four is less interesting, although recurs a lot: the number of questions, matriarchs, and angels that surround the Throne of Glory, kingdoms of eschaton, sages who enter paradise. But you mentioned these together so I’ll tell you about three and four. Seven is one of the most powerful numbers, representing creation and good fortune. In gematria, Gad—which means luck—is seven. Mazal—which also means luck—is seventy-seven.”

  “And twelve?”

  “Of course, there were twelve tribes of Israel, and in gematria it’s represented by totality. Any more?”

  “Last number: eight.”

  “Last but not least,” Abrahams said. “The number eight is Shleimus, which means completion, or perhaps wholeness would be a closer translation. Bris milah is the eighth day.”

  Vanessa whispered, “Circumcision.”

  “Chanukah—the festival of rededication—is eight days. The Mishkan was dedicated on the eighth day.”

  “Mishkan?”

  Vanessa said, “The Tabernacle. The dwelling place created by Moses.”

  Abrahams added: “After Israel sinned with the golden calf they were forgiven. The Tabernacle was the sign of the renewed closeness between God and his people.”

  “Can I ask you about Moses?” When the older man nodded, Alex continued: “I’m intrigued about when he led the Israelites out of Egypt. The Bible refers to the pharaoh as Pharaoh. No specifics.”

  “The accepted wisdom says it was Ramses II.”

  That was later than Alex had expected. Ramses was from the dynasty after Akhenaten and Tutankhamen. “People often talk about the Jews working in slavery to build the pyramids. But Genesis refers to chariots, not once but three times. Egyptians didn’t have chariots until the Eighteenth Dynasty. This means the earliest the Exodus could have happened is Sixteenth Century BCE. About two thousand years after the pyramids.”

  “Ramses is said to have built two cities. In the Passover Seder, we talk about the Jews building store cities called Pithom and Pi-Ramesses. Not pyramids, I’ll grant you, but it could have been forced labour.”

  “What about Moses’ name?”

  “It was the Egyptian name he was given.” Abrahams shook his head. “I’m unsure of your point.”

  “Well, let’s take Ramses, as an example. The name was probably pronounced more like Ra-Moses. Moses means ‘born of’. Ra-Moses—born of the god Ra. Thoth-Moses—born of the god Thoth. It’s similar to the ‘son’ we use at the end of surnames today. So, like the name of the pharaoh of the Bible, the name Moses also tells us nothing.”

  There was a knock on the door, which opened, and a young man poked his head around. “Sir, I have Goldman’s on the line. It’s that urgent call you’ve been waiting for.”

  Abrahams stood, using the cane to push himself out of the soft leather. He held out his hand and gripped Alex’s with surprising strength.

  “Interesting to meet you,” he said. “If I can help further—particularly if you have any more numbers you’d like interpreting—please let me know. However, I must take this call.”

  “A final question,” Alex said, realizing something. “When was the first Hebrew text written?”

  “About three thousand years ago, I believe. I’m sorry…” Abrahams bade farewell and entered a lift with the assistant.

  Vanessa drove out of the city. Thirty minutes later she stopped in Richmond Park. Turning the engine off, she swivelled and studied his face. The closeness and intensity of her look sent an unexpected charge through his veins.

  “Do you think my uncle helped?” She was still close and he breathed in her perfume.

  “It’s food for thought. I certainly understand gematria better now, although, if there’s some secret code in the Bible, it seems it relates to a later period than Ellen was interested in. Nice that he offered to work out the meaning if I find something.”

  She turned, breaking the spell between them. When she got out of the car she retrieved a small hamper from the tiny luggage compartment. “Lunch. Come on, I know a nice spot to sit.”

  She refused his help, and as they walked she said, “I saw a documentary last night about a pharaoh queen.”

  “Cleopatra or Hatshepsut?”

  “Hatshepsut. It was about identifying her mummy using a broken tooth.”

  “She wasn’t a queen of course. All pharaohs were kings, whether male or female. She reigned over a hundred years before Akhenaten and was probably the stepmother of his great-great grandfather.”

  “I remember they said she tried to establish herself as the pharaoh. Oh, and she had a secret lover. He was the architect of her tomb and built his own nearby. It had a connecting tunnel so that they could be together in the afterlife.” She saw Alex smiling. “What’s funny?”

  “He was called Senemut—it’s the ancient Egyptian name that my friend gave herself on an academic forum.”

  He wondered if Vanessa was going to comment on Ellen using a man’s identity. Instead, she said, “It’s very romantic: being together for eternity.” She paused then said, “The documentary was billed as the last great mystery.”

  When she paused, he thought she had flashed her dark eyes. But her manner was suddenly matter-of-fact again. He said, “Not really, there are lots of unanswered questions. I agree they think it’s the first confirmed mummy since Tutankhamen’s found almost eighty years ago. Most of the royal mummies are missing, either stolen or hidden from tomb robbers.” He sat on a tartan rug she laid on the ground. “But there are lot’s more mysteries—I know Ellen wondered what happened to Akhenaten and Nefertiti.” He saw a spark of interest in
her dark brown eyes.

  “That’s interesting. Something else you know about her research.”

  “I guess, though she never mentioned discovering anything.”

  “But would she have?” She held up a hand to stop him answering straight away. “If she was about to crack a great mystery, maybe she would keep it to herself?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Any progress with her big clue: ISIS?”

  “Well, you know 1515 unlocked the phone. And there was an interesting email.”

  Vanessa waited expectantly.

  “Long story short: I’ve been in touch with a professor at Oxford. Ellen had been in touch with him about one of the mysteries surrounding the discovery of Tutankhamen’s tomb. The professor has access to private papers of Carter, Carnarvon and others of the time.”

  “Carnarvon.” She looked eager. “So that would explain why Ellen was so interested in working at Highclere, right?”

  “More important than going on a dig, yes.”

  She leaned forward. “So…?”

  “Probably just me, but talking of significant numbers, Lord Carnarvon died in 1923, April the fifth.” He paused. “Think about that date: Two… three… four… five.”

  She grinned. “Yes, that’s probably just you. I know he died because of the mummy’s curse.”

  “And he had a mark on his cheek just like Tutankhamen’s,” Alex said dramatically. “Seriously though, even if you believe in curses, there were none. Tombs didn’t have curses. It was all made up—media hype—and later milked by Carter and the others for financial gain.”

  “But why? Carter must have been a multimillionaire after finding all that treasure.”

  Alex smiled. “You’d be surprised. Carnarvon was the financier, Carter the employee. They spent thirteen years trying to find the tomb. Then in 1922 they ran out of money, but Carter carried on, agreeing a final year’s effort. Luckily he found the tomb that November. Carnarvon returned from the UK and the following February they opened the doorway to Tutankhamen’s burial chamber. The state immediately swooped, after changing the law, and claimed everything. All the treasure belonged to Egypt and the archaeologists got nothing for their troubles.”