Swearing under his breath, Oristano ejected the empty clip and drove in a full one. Whether the man was fatally wounded or merely scratched, it made no difference. He must not be allowed to escape!
Pistol ready, he advanced on the rock outcropping only to find his adversary no longer there. The stone formation would’ve made ideal cover, but instead the man had merely used it as a place of momentary respite. The proof of this was an encouraging quantity of blood smeared waist-high on the rock’s sloping edge. The advantage now clearly belonged to Oristano—a hunter stalking a wounded prey.
But it was an armed prey.
And a desperate one, to boot!
Was there time to enlist Heikal’s help? Probably not. Valuable seconds were slipping by; seconds working to his quarry’s benefit. It was imperative the man be hunted down without further delay. He strained his eyes, probing the darkness for anything not part of the desert night—and his reward was a distant blur of movement. There! It was just a darting outline against the black backdrop of a starless sky, yet recognizable as someone limping rapidly over the crest of a low rise.
Oristano broke into a fast run, racing with fresh urgency. His every instinct told him the fleeing figure must have a specific goal. If his only objective was to affect an escape, then why needlessly expose himself atop the low hill? The man was desperate to reach something!
But what?
He ran to the sandy knoll and scrambled to the top.
The answer was an open-topped jeep parked fifty feet beyond in a sheltered ravine. His wounded prey was already inside the passenger door, grabbing at something beneath the dash. It was a radio transmitter—and the realization dashed any hope Oristano had of capturing the man alive. He must be stopped immediately before any message got out! Bracing his arm, he took careful aim and squeezed the trigger.
The single shot proved sufficient.
Impacting high on the back of the man’s head, the bullet slammed his face forward against the dash. It was unmistakably a killing wound, the damage instantly fatal. Dead, he slumped sideways, rolling out the open door.
Oristano walked down to where the body lay sprawled on the sand. His suspicion was right. Even though the keys were in the jeep’s ignition, the man was definitely after the radio. Not only was the transmitting switch flipped, but the hand-held mic was lifted free of its holder. Reaching in, he flipped the switch back to the ‘off’ position. A 32 caliber Smith & Wesson lay by the clutch. The modification to the barrel explained the muted sound of the shots; a perforated metal cylinder commonly referred to as a silencer.
Who the hell were these people?
He rendered the radio useless with the butt of his rifle; then rolled the limp corpse over. The swarthy face appeared relatively young, the dark eyes slitted and staring. A large, circular stain was visible across his middle, attesting to the severity of the earlier wound. Every step this man took must’ve been pure agony. It was amazing the fellow even managed to stay on his feet. This kind of singular determination wasn’t just admirable—it was nothing less than extraordinary!
The longer Oristano pondered on this remarkable feat, the more disturbing he found it. Hell, just the fact that he went straight for the radio instead of the keys raised serious questions! For openers, whom was he trying so desperately to reach? And why the hell would any sane man place a higher priority on sending out a message than on saving his own skin? It defied all logic. What kind of loyalty superseded one’s natural instinct to survive?
An inspection of the man’s pockets revealed no identification or personal items. A camp-stove stood off on a flat section of stone, an empty coffee pot atop one of its two burners. More telling was a scattering of eating utensils and empty cans. They had obviously been at this site for at least a full day or more. Too, there were several blankets left heaped in the back seat. Sleeping in rotation? This might account for the fourth man’s untimely arrival.
He now focused his eyes on the dim horizon. The shallow ravine ran in a straight line to the southeast, a trough-like natural roadbed between a series of truncated hills. These men were no novices to this terrain. In fact, they knew it exceedingly well. And the general direction of the ravine told him something else. McQuinty’s map showed a government highway linking both Qara and Siwah—and through the road was at least twenty miles away, this ravine undoubtedly intersected with it at some distant point. If true, then this was nothing less than a backdoor to old Mehra’s hidden valley.
Oristano spun around to the soft tread of approaching footsteps, but immediately lowered his pistol. The familiar figure of Heikal emerged from the darkness. There was an uncharacteristic look of relief on the big man’s face to see all was well. He gave the body a cursory glance, asking, “Just this one?”
“Unfortunately for him, yes. The other two . . . both dead?”
Heikal nodded.
“You were gone when I climbed back up. All I could do was follow the sound of your last shot.” His eye fell on the silencer affixed to the revolver’s barrel. “I suspected as much; the two on the ledge were similarly armed. And they were also carrying these.” From his belt he produced a short, commando-style knife used for close quarter combat. “It appears their intention was to kill us as quietly as possible. But as we’re out in the middle of fucking nowhere, why do you figure that would be?”
Good question, thought Oristano, shaking his head. Extreme and inexplicable precautions were taken by these men—but to what end? Who were they afraid would hear? The only other people within miles of here were—
Wait a minute! Is that it?
Suddenly all the little pieces began to mesh. What other possible explanation could there be? It seemed unbelievable—yet damn if it didn’t account for everything! But how to prove it.
“Come on, Sabir. There’s something we need to look at right away.”
Back at the pass, the proof Oristano sought was still visible in the sand. The dark mass of clouds overhead were beginning to disperse, and he saw where the tracks from Manning’s two vehicles ran between the enclosing walls without the least sign of interruption. If they had been ambushed, the tracks would show it. The men were obviously here and in place for at least a full day—yet no such thing happened. So why was Manning’s group allowed to slip through untouched?
There was only one convincing rationale that worked on every level—and it was the silencers on the revolvers that finally put it all together for him!
Oristano smiled, feeling the satisfying rush of exhilaration that came with solving a complex riddle. This completely altered his plans.
He swung around to Heikal, and said, “We’ve been played for fools, my friend. And not just us, either!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
It was essentially a combination of deep disappointment and frustration that brought David back up onto the high lip of the limestone plateau in early afternoon of the following day. Failure wasn’t something he accepted easily, and the negative results of almost eight hours of careful exploration had left him both physically and mentally drained. Yet every instinct told him the tomb was here.
But where?
Alone, he stood pondering the riddle from the flat, southern edge of the escarpment, conscious of the fact that in another half hour he must again spell-off Rashidi on sentry duty. Up here the heat didn’t seem quite so oppressive. A faint breeze stirred the dusty air, though in truth the relief was more illusion than actual.
The silence was total. Almost mockingly so.
As dizzying as he found this view to be yesterday evening, it now appeared even more awesome in the bright light of day. The initial precipice was a straight-line fall of at least one hundred and twenty feet, and this only the first of several sheer drops further out. Never fond of extreme heights in any form, merely standing this close to the edge gave him a disquieting sense of vertigo.
He finished the last of his cigarette as he ambled back towards the shale slope leading down into the basin. The only logical pl
ace to have constructed a tomb, he knew, was somewhere damn close to their present location overlooking distant Siwah. But if so, then the ancients had performed a thorough job of removing even the tiniest shred of evidence. Since the first light of dawn he’d painstakingly combed the entire one-mile stretch of exposed limestone wall defining the back edge of the valley.
And all to no avail.
So what is it I’m not seeing? he wondered. Christ, I’m a trained archaeologist!
His flash of anger was only momentary. Castigating himself served no purpose. If anything, he should be analyzing the situation with a calm and rational mind. He must draw from his knowledge, his past experience. The historical record in the Valley of the Kings demonstrated how the Amun priests were often masters at concealment. When the primary objective was secrecy, two basic principles were always followed. First and foremost, the tomb’s entrance was either buried well below ground level, or otherwise completely disguised. Secondly—though certainly of no less importance—all debris from its excavation was usually hauled a considerable distance away. In this particular instance, David believed the tomb entrance must be accessible and above ground; if not then Lionel and Nawal wouldn’t have had a prayer in hell of finding it in just a few days. And Lionel did just that! The gold disk proved it. He again shook his head in frustration.
He was definitely missing something here!
As he approached the crest of the slope, he found his eyes drawn to one of several broken slabs of stone lying nearby, and he came to a stop, his curiosity aroused. Now why, he wondered, does this look so odd? He cocked his head. Was it just his imagination, or was something not quite right with this picture?
But what exactly?
The longer he looked, the more convinced he became of a subtle discrepancy within the surrounding landscape—but damn if he could put his finger on what it was. Intrigued, he began a slow circle of the entire area in question, carefully examining all the sections of stone from various angles. In every instance the origin of all the individual slabs was apparent. For uncounted centuries this upper strata of limestone had been subjected to daily temperature extremes; thus it was understandable and natural that many sections had long ago fractured, each marginally distancing itself from the parent rock. In a way, it was reminiscent of an enormous, shattered plate, the pieces somewhat scattered, to be sure, but not so much the original pattern wasn’t still discernible. And here was the disturbing discrepancy.
The most prominent piece didn’t seem to fit anywhere.
David stepped over to where he could see Rashidi on sentry and whistled to catch his attention, waving him over. Elizabeth also heard, looking up from the basin down below.
“What is it?” she called. “Did you find something?”
“Maybe,” he shouted back. “I’m not sure yet. I’m going to need some help up here. Tell Lewis, too.”
When the three converged on him, David pointed out the single anomaly among the flat, stone slabs. Roughly seven inches thick, it was about six feet at its widest, maybe twice this in length. Unlike the others, it lay off by itself, appearing to have no natural relationship to its location.
“I may be wrong,” he told them, “but it almost looks as if this was physically placed here. If so, then it’s going to be damn interesting to find out why. Ahmed, let’s put some muscle to this and see if it can be moved.”
It took everything both men could muster before one end began moving with a grating sound—but as it did so it was soon apparent David’s guess was correct. There was a definite opening of some sort underneath, and its black mouth steadily widened in small increments as they continued to heave. Caught up in the excitement, Gobier and Elizabeth added their muscle to the effort until the slab finally refused to slide any further. But it was enough, the opening was now of sufficient size to explore.
Elizabeth tried peering inside.
“Is it manmade?”
“More like the top of a natural fissure, I think,” mused David. “We’re going to need a flashlight to find out.”
“I’ll go get one,” Rashidi said. “And maybe some rope, too?”
David shook his head.
“No, just the light for now. Let’s see what we got here first.”
When Rashidi, returned, David knelt and probed inside with the beam. What he saw wasn’t much. The configuration of the opening was that of a down-slanting funnel, the surface smooth and dropping away fairly abruptly. To see deeper, he slithered forward on his stomach, inching down into the mouth.
“Ahmed, grab hold of my belt,” he said over his shoulder. “The angle gets even steeper.”
Rashidi did so, also grabbing hold of his leg.
“Professor, I really don’t think you should be—”
“Only a few inches more. There’s a sharp drop-off ledge here. I just need to turn the light a little more to—Oh, Christ!”
“What’s wrong?”
David had to catch his breath before answering. The grim revelation of the flashlight’s beam was absolutely shocking. Whatever he expected to find, he knew it sure as hell wasn’t this!
“What is it, David?” persisted Elizabeth. “Tell us what you see.”
“A pile of bones,” he said finally. “And they’re all human!”
North of Siwah Oasis, Egypt, 72 C.E.
After three long hours kneeling in silent prayer and meditation, Satepihu raised his tired eyes, greeting what he knew would be the last dawn of his great mission in life. The sun’s first golden rays were beginning to break far on the eastern horizon; like a beautiful advancing beacon, he thought, steadily forcing all the dark shadows into full retreat.
The blessed day has finally come. Amun’s glory be praised!
Almost an entire year had elapsed since their arrival in this remote valley, but he was satisfied their time was truly well spent. Not only had all of their many difficulties and challenges been met, but all were solved to perfection. Surely this, in itself, was proof of the Amun’s divine guidance, for by what other conceivable means could such a stunning accomplishment have been brought to fruition?
High atop the limestone bluff, the old man breathed an audible sigh as he took a final look at the unparalleled vista below him, accepting that after today he would never see it again. Like their noble endeavor, he knew his time was also drawing rapidly to a close. But he accepted this knowledge with a joyous heart, confident he was bestowing all his earthly power and authority on the one best suited to succeed him as High Priest. Of this, he had no doubt. Now only one final task yet remained to him.
The one he most dreaded to perform.
As Satepihu took up his staff and struggled to rise, the devoted Nebnefer approached from behind, assisting his aged master to his feet. The young priest also knew the full significance of this day, and had likewise spent the past hours in reflective prayer. Below them, the encampment was just beginning to stir.
The concern written on Nebnefer’s face didn’t escape Satepihu’s attention as the young man helped him down the sloping path. It was no secret—and certainly not to one as faithful and observant as Nebnefer—that the High Priest’s declining health was terminal.
“I will see this through, my son. Be of good cheer.”
“It’s still early, master,” Nebnefer said in a worried voice. “I beg you, take food and rest for a few hours. Everything is arranged as you commanded. Truly, it isn’t necessary for you to—”
“But it is, my son,” interrupted the old man. “Do you think I would allow you to begin your time as High Priest with such a grim responsibility? No, this last burden is mine to bear, not yours. I want it known the decision to do this last thing came from my lips alone. Do you understand?”
“Yes, master.”
Despite Nebnefer’s obvious desire to see him rest, Satepihu chose to stand for a time outside his tent, looking across the encampment for any small detail he may have overlooked.
But it appeared all his earlier instructions were obe
yed—even down to the careful removal and burial of all their campfire residues. The many hundreds of wooden beams scavenged from the Horus had served them very well, eventually becoming fuel by which to cook and keep warm over the long nights. Only the four largest yet remained fully intact, for these would today be required to lower the great stone into its final position. When this last service was complete, they also would be cut into more manageable lengths and removed by wagon to Siwah, there put to use as needed by the Oracle’s temple. Cedar was far too precious in Egypt to be wasted.
As he thought on this, however, it now struck him the high number of wagons and mules visible outside the camp’s perimeter might generate far too much curiosity when Menna disposed of them in the markets of Qara, Siwah and Paraetonium. As he pondered on this, an idea suddenly came to him. Perhaps there was a way they could put it to a much better, albeit very expensive, purpose.
Aloud, he asked, “How many wagons will Menna need to haul away the last of our provisions?”
“By his calculation, almost all of what you see. Nine for the excess grain, and maybe another ten for everything else.”
“Leaving how many?”
“At least eight, master.”
“Do we have enough mules for all?”
“I believe so, yes.”
Satepihu considered this for some time, then abruptly said, “Go and bring Menna here to me now. I wish to speak to him immediately.”
“As you command,” said a puzzled Nebnefer.
When Menna arrived, the old man quickly instructed him and Nebnefer on his inspired idea. He began by asking Menna a question, one that confused both men by its unusual nature. “I know you and Paneb made great efforts to mask the locations, but how difficult will it be for you to locate the slave grave pits dug on the far side of the valley?”
Menna glanced quizzically at Nebnefer; then gave a perplexed shrug.
“I—I suppose I can,” he said. “There were three dug this past year alone. We’ve lost more than twenty slaves through attrition and sickness since Paneb and I started work here over four years ago. I know the last pit won’t be too hard to find. But I don’t see where—”
The Amun Chamber Page 28
