“So, my lovely Cairene colleagues,” Al Rasul said, “tell us about this codex you found. Ibrahim told me very little. He was rather mysterious.”
Andrea turned to Justine. “Why don’t you start?”
“Perhaps I should begin with the day of the recent earthquake, April 12th. I’d been in Cairo for a couple of days when I decided to visit the old crypt under St. Sergius in Old Cairo.”
“The crypt where the Holy Family is supposed to have lived?” Al Rasul interrupted.
“The very one,” Justine said. “I’ve been fascinated by the crypt since my mother took me there many years ago. At any rate, I was in the crypt during the earthquake. The columns and many of the walls collapsed, the electricity went out, two-by-fours and plaster fell into the stairwell . . . I was trapped.” She strained to keep her voice steady as she shivered.
“That must have been terrifying,” said Dr. Hassan, his gray eyes softening.
Justine glanced at him with appreciation. “It was,” she said. “Thank you for your concern. As I began to crawl out of the crypt, I picked up the things that had fallen out of my bag. Although I didn’t know it at the time, I also picked up a small book that didn’t belong to me. I didn’t even realize I had it until the next day.”
“You found the codex in the crypt?” asked Al Rasul, eyes narrowing. He and Hassan glanced at each other, exchanging a knowing expression. “May we see it?”
Andrea unlocked her brown leather briefcase and handed the treasure, wrapped in fine linen, to Dr. Al Rasul. He began, almost in a whisper, “Ah . . . it is a codex. Indeed. What steps have you taken to find out what you have here?” He stroked the leather cover and handed it to Hassan.
Andrea explained, “Ibrahim El Shabry and I have begun to translate a few passages.”
“Any conclusions so far?” asked Al Rasul.
“The entries seem to be some kind of personal notes,” said Andrea. “It’s written in first person. The Egyptian museum staff has agreed to arrange for the carbon-14 and patina dating. Amir El Shabry intends to locate the area in the crypt where the codex may have been lodged.”
“Of course,” Justine added, “it may not have even come from the crypt.”
Al Rasul sipped his tea. “True. But for now, you want a paleographer to assess the codex. I believe you said you could leave it with us until Sunday, but such a short time will only serve to tantalize.”
“Tantalize enough for you to decide to work with us, perhaps.” Andrea tilted her head seductively.
“Fair enough,” agreed Al Rasul. “Hassan and I will remain in possession of the codex until Sunday, when you will return.” It was a statement rather than a question. “Now, a private guided tour of the Bibliotheca is in order.”
A young female guide led the two women into the great library. Within moments, their eyes were drawn to the interior of the breathtaking Alexandria Bibliotheca, eight layers of reading rooms cascading down the inside of the giant structure, which, from the outside, had the appearance of a flattened pyramid. The windows, designed like the huge almond eyes of an Egyptian princess, were slanted so that light was everywhere but never direct.
“The collection is already as big as the original one,” said the young guide in flawless English, “and we have an astounding goal of eight million documents. The composition of rich woods, glass, stainless steel, and marble were chosen to suggest the most elegant of international institutions without losing the sense of being truly Egyptian.” She tilted her chin slightly upward, her eyes embracing her guests and the vastness of the room.
The main reading rooms led outward through numerous hallways at the side of each floor. “This room, known as the Media Centre, contains thousands of films and videos. Here we have a little theater and listening rooms for smaller groups. Name any film and we can probably find it.” She smiled proudly, revealing perfect teeth, flattering her high cheekbones.
As the three women headed toward the ancient manuscript room, Andrea spoke to Justine in French. “I think that Al Rasul and Hassan will agree to help us, don’t you?”
“They’re obviously intrigued. They’ll work with us, unless they think the codex is too recent or forged.”
“I’m optimistic. And there’s another reason . . .” taunted Andrea.
Justine stared at Andrea, then turned to thank the young guide for the tour.
“What ‘other reason’?” demanded Justine as they walked toward the entrance.
“The Bibliotheca is new, and Al Rasul is fresh in his position; a major find could draw international attention to the library. That is, if he thinks it credible,” she said. “But for now I know a lovely beach with cabanas on the grounds of the Montazah palace.”
The weekend sped by, the two women taking delight in the past and present of Alexandria. Visits to the Catacombs and Fort Qaitbey, built on the tongue of land that once housed the Pharos Lighthouse, were punctuated by long walks along the Corniche, meals at the Fish Market, and morning coffees at the nearby Brazilian Coffee Store. Unlike the intimate souks of Cairo, the souks of Alex spread out along streets and alleys. Here they found loose blouses and colorful sandals.
On Sunday morning, Andrea and Justine made their way to Lawrence Durrell’s house at number 13 Sharia Maamoun. A disappointing, dilapidated building. Al Rasul called for a second time, asking to move back the time for their second meeting; with the morning free, they found time to savor the history of the great poet Constantine Cavafy, his home now a museum. Built on the edge of the Greek Diaspora and nestled between the red light district of Attarin, the Greek Orthodox Patriarchate, and a Greek hospital, Cavafy’s home was situated among what he had characterized as “Temples of the Flesh, the Soul, and the Body.” As they moved through the alleyways and shops of Alex, they explored each other’s lives, yet said little about the codex. Metaphorically, they held their breaths in anticipation of that afternoon’s consultation.
It was nearly 4 p.m. when Justine and Andrea re-entered the Centre. Both Amir and Nasser had called to remind them to get back to Cairo before dark. “The desert road is not safe after dark,” Amir had told Justine before they left, and the two women had promised to return to Cairo before sunset—but that wasn’t going to happen.
“Please sit down,” Dr. Al Rasul said solemnly when they entered his office. “We have much to talk about.” For over an hour, Dr. Hassan explained exactly how they had examined the codex, describing the patterns and forms of letters compared to different historical contexts, as well as the internal consistency among segments of the codex. “Such a cursory look tells us there are great similarities to the Dead Sea Scrolls and some of the Nag Hammadi papyri,” he said excitedly, although it was hardly his style to appear excited. “The internal consistency seems quite uniform, although the entries were clearly made over an extended period of time.”
“Like a personal journal.” Andrea smiled encouragingly.
The exchange of words around Justine faded into the background. A personal journal, she mused. About the Holy Family? Yet there is no reason to believe that. The cave and the crypt have been used by every revealed religion for hundreds of years.
“I’m prepared to work with you in Cairo,” Al Rasul said, forcing Justine back into the conversation. He added cryptically, “That is, if we can solve the other mystery . . .”
“Another mystery?” Justine frowned. “Your voice suggests a discovery that may not be welcome.”
“A few pages are missing. Perhaps the first four or five. And there isn’t a title page. Of course, the author may have just begun writing without such a page. While we’re tempted to report that the pages could have been removed by the author, who, becoming dissatisfied with something he had written, decided to remove them, we don’t think so. The removal is skillful—and, we think, recent. Since it is a codex, the attached papyrus leaves have come loose, nearly falling out.” Al Rasul’s jaw firmed in dismay.
Andrea and Justine stared at each other in shocked silence. “W
e had no idea,” said Andrea, both astonished and embarrassed. “May I see the codex?” She handled it delicately. Examining only the first few pages, she placed the book back on the table, as though it had become overly warm to her skin. In spite of her newly acquired tan, her face was ashen. “Are you sure that the removals are recent?”
“If the pages had been removed long ago, the edges would have turned dark. As it is, the papyrus tone is unchanged. It’s a mystery that must be solved. But for the moment, it doesn’t diminish the promise of this find. It could be several thousand years old, but we’ll need to wait for the carbon-14 dating to confirm that. I’ll call Ibrahim and make the arrangements.”
The sky was crimson by the time Andrea’s dark blue Kia left the city limits and entered the desert road south to Cairo. “The delta is beautiful this time of evening,” Andrea observed. “We will not please Amir, however, because we can’t get back to Cairo before dark.”
“Nasser will be anxious too,” added Justine.
“Mmm . . . I find it delightful that two handsome men worry about us. N’est pas, chérie?” They laughed uneasily, both stinging from the revelation of the missing pages. For Andrea, the humiliation had sprung from a failure to discover the deletion herself; for Justine, it had not challenged her expertise, which was slim at best, but fed a simmering fear that she had stumbled into something more complex and dangerous than she was prepared for.
“What did you notice when you looked at the codex, Andrea?” she finally asked.
“The title page is gone, as well as a few of the following pages. Just as Al Rasul reported. They had to have disappeared in the last few days. I didn’t check it when I placed it in the briefcase just before we left Cairo.”
“What do you think happened?”
“Bear with me while I just think aloud. There aren’t many times when pages could have been removed. They could have been taken from Ibrahim’s office, or Amir’s family home. Since someone is following and threatening you, we can assume there are people who want the codex either taken or destroyed. But the fact is: the pages had to have been removed since the last time I examined the codex less than two days before we left for Alexandria!” Andrea paused.
“Then we should assume that the missing pages may reveal an unthinkable, unrevealable truth,” said Justine, thrilled by her own pronouncement.
“The thief would have to know exactly what he or she was doing, which pages to take out. There are extraordinary scholars at Al Azhar, many of whom are interested in suppressing any information counter to accepted belief, but how would they have gotten access to the codex?” Andrea kept her eyes on the busy road as she reached down to fiddle with the broken heater.
Justine pulled their jackets from the backseat, surprised by how sharply the temperature had fallen as night swept over the Sahara. To her right, the shadows of three galloping camels moved across the darkening desert sands like sailboats on an open sea. Several moments passed before she asked distractedly, “Where was the codex during those days? With Ibrahim?”
Andrea nodded. “With Ibrahim. He keeps it in a small safe under his desk. But he isn’t in the office all of the time, and security is never that good. There are guards at the gate, yet the garden walls seem fragile. I’m anxious to tell Ibrahim and see where it leads. There’s little we can conclude for now.” The muscles around her lips contracted.
They sped along in silence for some time. The twilight deepened to purple, and a fuchsia ribbon formed along the horizon. Andrea said evenly, “Headlights from a large black car have kept a steady distance behind us for some time. It doesn’t seem to draw closer or fall further behind. Not the typical Egyptian driver.”
“Do you think we’re being followed?” Justine turned around to see the car, but it was nearly impossible in the twilight.
“A good possibility. I’m going to speed up and find out if they keep pace with us. The Wadi Natrun rest house is just a few miles ahead.”
Justine couldn’t keep her eyes off the headlights shining in the rearview mirror. Andrea varied her speed. Each time, the driver of the car behind them adjusted his speed, keeping the same distance between them. It was as though the pursuing car was attached to their bumper by a long metal rod.
Andrea pulled into the parking lot of the rest house. The Mercedes slowly drove on.
Inside, they sat at a table. Coffee was about all they could handle at the moment.
“No chocolate cookies?” Justine asked somberly.
“I didn’t see any,” replied Andrea, distracted. “Perhaps I should call Amir and ask him to call the desert police, a special patrol in these parts of the open road.”
“Do you think we should get back on the road?” She glanced at the door each time it opened. She knew she would recognize the unforgettable face of the man from the Khan if she saw it.
“We have little choice. This place will close up soon and we’ll be sitting ducks.”
They drank the rest of the bitter coffee in silence. When they pulled back onto the road, they were driving for less than a kilometer before the familiar headlights reappeared. “There’s no doubt now that we’re being followed. I’m only hoping they just want to scare us. I called Amir while you were in the restroom.”
“And? What did you tell him?” What would I want to tell him? He’s tried to distance himself from Zachariah, yet Ibrahim says they’re very close. In the Khan, he was suspicious, evasive. Why was he there? Then, the next morning at Groppi’s—he refused to make eye contact. It wouldn’t surprise me at all if he took the missing pages. He certainly has access.
“I told him we were being followed and to call the desert police.”
“Fine,” Justine said irritably, reluctant to share her suspiciousness of Amir until she was more sure. “Fine! The police aren’t likely to show up very quickly, are they? We could be dead by then.”
“Or worse. They could steal the codex,” Andrea said grimly.
The Mercedes’ headlights drew closer. Andrea pushed the accelerator to the floor. The speedometer read 95 kilometers when the intruders pulled alongside them as though the Kia were standing still and began nudging the car toward the ditch running parallel with the highway. Andrea slowed down; the Mercedes slowed in concert.
The right wheels, then the left wheels, of the Kia began to vibrate as it hit the soft sand on the shoulder of the road. Fenders screeched as the two cars collided. Andrea could no longer control the car. Justine placed her hand on Andrea’s shoulder, squeezed tight, and closed her eyes. Panic rippled through her body as Andrea cried out, “Here we go!” The Mercedes turned back onto the shoulder at the last moment as the Kia spun off the edge and stopped violently in the ditch below. Justine was thrown forward, hitting her head on the dashboard. Andrea’s body stopped short of plummeting into the steering wheel, restrained by the only seatbelt in the car.
The pursuing car parked not more than five meters from their left bumper. The Kia’s headlights sprayed eerily across the desert beyond.
For several moments the two women sat still. Justine put her hand to her forehead, feeling the pain throbbing in her recent stitches. Haunting images were sketched by the strangely dispersed light. Remnants of the ancient sea of Tethys formed the outlines of shallow lakes, while spongy wetlands of open water harbored what appeared like paper cutouts of ducks and cranes.
“Are you okay, Justine?” Andrea finally asked, reaching for the briefcase and shoving it under her seat.
“Nothing seems to be broken, but I hit my head,” answered Justine, attempting to examine her arms and legs, trembling all over. “You?”
Two figures emerged from the Mercedes and headed toward the Kia. One slipped on the loose sand and nearly slid into the door on the driver’s side. Justine watched the second man through the rear view mirror. Neither she nor Andrea moved. The man to Andrea’s left stood up and seemed to wait for the other man as he placed his hand on the left fender of their car and lowered himself into the ditch. Justine snapped
on the interior light, causing the man with the misshapen lip to cover his eyes.
Just then, the larger man grabbed the arm of the man from the Khan, pointed in the direction of the desert, and motioned him away. They turned and quickly raced back to the car, speeding into the distance. Another car slowed as though preparing to stop, then continued on toward Cairo. The two women stared at each other in disbelief and opened their doors, stepping out into the soft, still-warm sand.
As they gazed into the dimly lit desert, they saw two figures looming in the darkness. In the far distance, three rounded forms and a steeple crowned with miniature crosses broke through the afterglow of the evening.
As the figures in deep brown robes approached the car, Justine called out, “Did Mary send you?”
“Mary is always with us,” smiled the shorter of the two monks.
CHAPTER 14
“YOU SAID WHAT?” EXCLAIMED NADIA, GAZING at Justine with amusement. “Since when did Mary become your guardian angel?” After a day in the community school in the City of the Dead, the two women were attempting to relax in Justine’s overly warm apartment.
“I don’t understand it either. I was feeling panicky. After all, I did hit my head. Again. I’m beginning to feel like a punching bag. When the ghostly figures came out of the desert, everything became surreal,” she said, perspiring from the heat that tenaciously held on to the long afternoon. She handed Nadia a cold bottle of Evian and took a long drink from her own.
“I see a new bruise. What’s this all about, Justine?” Nadia held the cool bottle to her forehead. The slowly rotating ceiling fan moved the warm air without cooling it. “It’s not routine that people who come to Cairo get chased and threatened.”
The Cairo Codex Page 17
