by David Cline
They flew out of Armenia and had a short layover in Qatar. From there, they flew into the ancient city of Cairo. Renting a vehicle turned out to be a harder task than anticipated. In the end, they purchased an old jeep from a sketchy street vendor for $800 cash. Wilkins had gone blue in the face after a long hour of aggressive haggling. Wood was just grateful the ironclad monster on wheels had made it the long distance to the Red Sea without breaking down.
“I’m afraid if we turn her off,” Wilkins said from the driver’s seat, “she won’t ever turn on again.” Something hissed under the hood as if to attest the sentiment.
Wood reached out the window and patted the roof. “It’s got to be 100 degrees out here. I don’t think I’ve seen shade since we left the city. I wouldn’t blame her.”
Wilkins glanced at the pile of gear heaped in the backseat. “I just don’t want to be forced to hitchhike carrying clunky oxygen tanks. No one would pick us up and we would bake out here until charred.”
“Take it easy,” Wood said. “I think we’re getting close.”
They had scoured the entire capital looking for anyone who sold scuba gear and had almost given up when a street merchant finally pointed them in the right direction.
“What are we looking for again?” Wilkins asked. The anxiety on his face revealed he expected the jeep to die any moment. “The Red Sea is huge. While we waited for our next plane, I did some research. The surface area is about 170,000 square miles. I love the optimism, but I don’t think we have enough oxygen in the tanks to cover that kind of expanse.”
“We are looking for a 3000-year-old Hebrew pillar marking the location of the crossing of Moses.” Wood said. “It was supposedly built by King Solomon 400 years after the event.” Wood looked ahead at the barren road and hoped the pillar was still standing.
“If someone had showed me a picture of this area,” Wilkins said, “I would have guessed it was the red planet from Calvin and Hobbes.”
As they neared a series of rocky hills, Wood instructed Wilkins to slow down. About 500 feet from the edge of the water was an erect pillar. Its sandy red color blended into the backdrop of the desert behind it.
Wilkins decelerated and pulled over. Before he turned the engine off, the motor puttered and then died. Hot steam rose through the cracks of the hefty hood.
“I think we’re going to have to get creative finding a way back to civilization,” Wilkins said. “This jeep is done as dinner.”
Wood opened the door and jumped out. The heat hit him like a truck as he made his way across the sand. The pillar looked like it had been originally constructed out of red granite but had later been encased in cement. He reached out and ran a hand along the surface. It felt hot and gritty in the sun. Wood guessed it stood about 15 feet tall. He wondered if it had ever fallen over at some point in its long history. Wilkins joined him, standing in the shade the pillar provided.
“Supposedly there used to be Hebrew inscriptions,” Wood said, as he scanned the surface looking for any indentations. He circled the pillar and joined Wilkins in the shade. “They must have all since been removed.”
“Why?” Wilkins asked.
“I don’t think the Egyptians were excited about having a Hebrew celebration marker in their own backyard. Apparently, there is a matching pillar on the opposite side of the sea in Saudi Arabia.”
“That would be cool to see,” Wilkins said. “Although, I don’t think the Saudis would be as open to us poking around as the Egyptians have been.” His face contorted and he stepped closer. “Come look at this,” he said.
Wood shielded his eyes from the sun. A shallow swastika had been crudely carved into the ancient rock. The scratches appeared recent.
Wilkins shook his head. “Bastards don’t have respect for nothing.”
Wood traced the shape with a forefinger and then looked out across the water. The distant mirage of Saudi Arabia looked hazy in the afternoon heat. “At least we know we are still hot on the trail.”
They walked back toward the Jeep to unload their gear. The rusty metal sizzled in the heat. “It’s a shame we didn’t end up buying those ribeye steaks in the market,” Wood said.
“We could get a pretty wicked sear on the hood.”
Wilkins grunted as sweat spiraled down his neck like a waterslide. He carried the oxygen tanks under his arms and hurried across the road toward the beach, waddling like a duck. Wood followed close behind carrying the inflatable diving raft and metal detectors.
“I located this spot with Google Earth,” Wood said. “If you zoom in, the name of the beach is Nuweiba. I did a little research and found an older more detailed map of the same area. The complete name of the beach is Nuwayba’ al Muzayyinah. The literal translation is waters of Moses opening.”
“That is what I love about the Middle East.” Wilkins gasped as he threw the tanks down onto the sand and tried to spit. He took a long drink of water. “Names of cities and important landmarks haven’t changed for thousands of years. I bet if you looked at old charts of this entire region with someone who spoke Hebrew and Arabic, you would discover all sorts of archeological goldmines.” His eyes did a quick search for shade but came up short. “It’s a shame so many ancient sites are either in warzones or within borders of countries that hate us.” He looked out across the vast expanse. “I just wish we could check out Saudi Arabia,” he said, in a longing voice. “So much history.”
Wood inserted the pump nozzle into the raft and began to inflate it. “I think we will make it there someday.”
After a minute, Wilkins offered to switch and Wood removed his shirt and wiped the sweat off his face with it. The sun was unyielding. He walked down to the water and submerged the shirt into the cool sea. The slow drips felt rejuvenating as he covered his exposed neck and tied the soaked shirt around his forehead. He looked up past Wilkins and toward the vast desert wilderness.
“Can you imagine a group of two million people leaving Egypt and making their way across this abandoned wasteland, while being pursued by the elite military of the Egyptians? What would that have looked like? They gathered at this exact spot.”
Wilkins looked up and smiled. “Assuming, of course, it did in fact happen?”
“Naturally.”
“It would have been quite the sight,” Wilkins admitted. “How far across is it?”
Wood looked out and could just make out shapes on the far side. The faded outline of mountains was shrouded behind a cloudy mist. “Approximately 10 miles,” he said.
Wilkins whistled. “How deep are we diving?”
Wood pulled out a folded paper from his back pocket and spread it out over the raft for Wilkins to see. It was a depth chart of the Red Sea. “We are right here,” Wood said. His sweaty forefinger left a soggy indent on the paper. “On the north side of us, there is the Eilat Deep that descends to a depth of 5,000 feet.” Darker shades of blue indicated increasing depth. “On the south side is the Aragonese Deep that goes down 6,000 feet.”
Wilkins shook his head. “I hate to be the one to point this out,” he said. “But unless you packed a submarine, I don’t think we are making it to the bottom. What is the world record depth for scuba? Just over 1000 feet?”
Wood held up a hand like a college professor about to make a point. “Look between them,” he said.
Wilkins shifted his body, blocking the sun and bent low. “Now we are talking,” he said. “There is a shallow shelf through the center. Looks like it doesn’t get much deeper than 200 feet.”
“Look at the gradient,” Wood said. His voice full of excitement. “There are no steep drop offs or cliffs. The shore gradually slopes down until it levels off at approximately 200 feet, and then gently rises until you hit Saudi Arabia.”
Wilkins rubbed his temples as he traced the shallow shelf across the chart. “Almost as though it was by design.”
Wood winked at him and gestured toward the desert across the road. “According to the text, the Egyptian army pursued Moses and compa
ny with 600 choice chariots plated with a gold veneer and 20,000 regular chariots.”
“What kind of remains do you think could have survived after all these thousands of years?” Wilkins asked. He hopped on one foot as he pulled on a skin-tight wetsuit.
“The Red Sea is an inlet for the Indian Ocean,” Wood said. “On these shallow shelves, there are over 200 species of corals. I think after all these years, the timber would have long since disintegrated. The coral that had grown over them, however, would still remain.”
“Don’t forget about the Egyptian gold,” Wilkins said. “That would still be around. Probably buried under a few feet of sediment by now.”
Wood held up the metal detector. “Let’s see what we can find.”
Once they had stowed everything neatly in the raft, they pushed the yellow striped boat out into the cool water and hopped in. Wilkins studied the chart while Wood paddled.
“It looks like our shelf varies in width between a quarter mile and about a half mile.” He looked over the side and tilted his head. “That gives us a pretty large area to search in. Where do you want to start?”
Wood shrugged. “The first place you get a good feeling.”
Wilkins rolled his eyes. “This black wetsuit is cooking me alive.” He grabbed a handful of the neoprene material and peeled it away from his chest. After a second, he let go and it snapped back into place. “These things probably absorb sunlight more efficiently than solar panels.”
“It’s a shame we don’t have access to some of our S.A.T.R.A. equipment,” Wood said. “We could just lounge in the shade as our sonar technology mapped the seafloor. The molecular instruments would detect any peculiar shapes buried beneath the sand. All we would have to do, is make sure the drinks stayed cold.”
Wilkins looked back and shook his head. Beads of sweat dripped down the bridge of his nose. His face was as red as a stop sign. “Instead, we are paddling out into an ancient sea, with nothing but some scuba gear and underwater metal detectors.”
Wood tossed him a water bottle. “Will you try and stay hydrated? The last thing we need is for you to die of heatstroke. Besides, occasionally it’s nice to rely on nothing but luck and a little bit of wit.”
Wilkins scowled back at him and then drank the entire bottle. When it was empty, he lowered it into the sea and poured the cool water over his wetsuit. Steam rose as the water evaporated instantly. “How about here?” Wilkins said. He threw the heavy mushroom shaped anchor over the edge and let the blue and white rope run through his hands.
Wood looked back toward the shore. Wood guessed they had paddled about a mile away from the shoreline. The water was darker, but he could still make out the sandy bottom a few hundred feet below them. It shimmered back and forth like a mirage in the desert.
“I’m surprised how clear the water is,” Wilkins said. He strapped the heavy tank onto his back and leaned backward, falling into the water. A few seconds later, he reappeared with a broad grin across his face. “Come on in Nick, the water is fine.”
Wood passed down one of the bright yellow metal detectors and doublechecked his gear. After a quick glance toward shore, Wood lowered himself into the sea. After cooking in the sun, the water felt incredible. Wood spat in his mask and rubbed it around with a finger. He rinsed it and then adjusted the straps around his head. They both checked their regulators and BCD devices. Everything looked good. Wood bent his knee and pulled the fin straps tight around his ankles. With a nod, they pushed away and began a gentle descent.
Small schools of fish swam in and out of view. The sandy bottom looked as flat as a soccer field. He looked sideways and saw where the shelf ended. The seafloor disappeared into a deep void of blackness. Wood shivered.
Before long they glided together a few feet above the seafloor like a pair of manta rays. The underwater world was just as absent of vegetation as the desert above it. They pulled out the metal detectors and placed the steering wheel shaped instrument a few inches above the sand sweeping them in wide semi circles.
For the next ten minutes, the needle remained stationary. Wood frowned when Wilkins tapped him from behind and pointed up. They only had a limited amount of oxygen and this spot looked absent of any evidence supporting the supernatural. They needed to conserve to examine another location.
“So much for your gut instinct,” Wood said, when they reached the raft. They tossed their gear onboard before climbing up and over themselves. For a few minutes, they sat in silence passing a water bottle back and forth.
Wilkins stared blankly toward shore and then his eyes focused. He opened the lime green drybag and pulled out a pair of binoculars.
“What is it?” Wood asked.
“People are going through our jeep!”
Wood gestured for the binoculars. Two black SUV’s had parked on either side of the jeep. All four doors were open as figures passed in and out.
“Did we leave anything incriminating inside?” Wood asked. He tried to focus on the strangers’ clothing to see if they were some sort of government uniform. The rocking raft and distance made it difficult. After a minute, he looked back at Wilkins. “This doesn’t look like a normal shakedown.”
Wilkins scowled. “I figured the jeep was toast, so luckily I brought all of our stuff with us besides some snacks on the back seat. What are they doing now?”
Wood widened his search and scanned the highway. He could not see a single vehicle in either direction. Pivoting in his seat, he swept the shoreline. Shivers ran up and down his spine when he spotted a figure at the water’s edge staring straight at him through their own pair of binoculars. It looked like a woman. Her golden hair glittered in the sunlight. Wood swore loudly.
“What is it?” Wilkins asked from behind him.
“They are watching us.”
Back in their Navy Seals days, when colorful language had been a constant companion, Wood had refrained from using vulgarities and had gained a reputation for his clean language. He was not necessarily against swearing, but just preferred to express himself with a deeper eloquence than a string of four-letter words. He hadn’t thought much of it until one day when they had been training out in the field. A friend who used the F word between every other word had been bitten by a rattlesnake. When the friend began to curse like a madman, no one looked twice because of how normal it was. Only after a few moments of excruciating pain, did his fellow seals begin to realize the severity of their friend’s situation. It was then Wood realized, that the benefit of never swearing is that people take you seriously when you do. The look on Wilkins face was a living testament to that fact.
“You don’t think they are government types?” Wilkins asked. “Egyptian officials looking for a little extra bribery cash?” Wood handed the binoculars back to him.
“If I were a betting man,” Wood said, “which I am on occasion, I would say negative. They must have had access to our travel itinerary and airline records. It makes me a little uneasy knowing a well-funded modern Nazi organization knows who we both are.”
“At least we weren’t driving when they caught up with us,” Wilkins said. “I doubt we could have made much of a getaway in that rusty clunker.” A soft breeze pushed the raft parallel to the shore. “They don’t look the friendly sort. What do you want to do Nick? We are pretty exposed out here. We can only paddle so fast.” He looked around in all directions and then grimaced. “Don’t know where we would try to go even if we wanted to.”
Saudi Arabia was still at least nine miles away. He could still only distinguish the faint outlines of distant mountains shrouded in a salty mist. It would be a marathon, but they could probably make it. There were still a few hours of daylight, and they had two gallons of water with them. He reached down and picked up one of the jugs. The contents inside felt hot. He shuddered. There were few things worse than being dehydrated and having to refresh your body with boiling hot water. He grabbed a thin chord and tied the jug to the raft. With a quick motion, he lowered it into the water to le
t it cool. They were going to need it.
Wilkins lowered the binoculars and observed him for a moment. “That bad?”
“I think so,” Wood said. “We are going to have to wait until nightfall anyway.” He shrugged. “Might as well press on. I say we explore the middle of the sea and when the time comes, we pick one of two directions.”
Wilkins lifted a paddle. He repositioned some of the gear so he could sit more comfortably. With a long sigh, he lowered the paddle into the water and began to steer them farther away from the Egyptian coast. “Why couldn’t the children of Israel have been led out of Rio in Brazil?” he said. “We could search for ancient chariot wheels off the coast of Coco Cabana. I might even meet a girl.”
“You wouldn’t know what to do if a bikini clad woman fell into your lap.”
Wilkins grinned. “At least Rio would increase my chances. The only thing I am going to find around here are Tusken Raiders…” he paused. “Or Jawas.”
Wood laughed. “Let’s just hope we have better luck than the droids did.”
An hour passed before they dropped anchor again. The wind had picked up in the late afternoon, causing the waves to grow. The little raft rocked back and forth like a metronome. The SUV’s had disappeared, but Wood had a feeling their pursuers lurked nearby.
Wood tried to determine the distance to the seafloor, but the choppy water made it impossible from inside the raft.
“We still over the shelf?” Wilkins asked. His face was bright red, despite having earlier applied a generous amount of sunscreen.
“Let me check,” Wood said. He touched his face. It felt hot. He kicked himself for not buying a large brim hat back in the city. There was no escape from the sun. Wood loved most everything in life, but there were three things he unequivocally hated. Traffic, mosquitoes and sunburns.
After a quick sip of water, Wood strapped on the goggles and jumped overboard. The sea felt cool against his sizzling skin. Beneath the waves, the water was still crystal clear. The wind had blown them slightly off course and they had drifted over one of the deep voids.
