"Professor, you used the term Star of Bethlehem just now. Do you think this light in the sky will be another Star of Bethlehem?"
Gresley Wynne let the incorrect, but complimentary, title pass without comment. Mr. Grant had prepared him for this question. "Perhaps not a Savior this time, but certainly a new era in the Middle East. The prophecy refers to an age of peace, after the destruction."
"The destruction of what? The Jews?"
He knew he had to hesitate here. Mr. Grant had been insistent. "It is ... not clear."
"Not clear? It seems clear to us," called one man.
"Do you see yourself as taking an active role, Professor?" shouted another.
The title seemed to be sticking now. Fielding these questions was easy. That capsule had been remarkably good for the nerves. He glanced down at the red binder in his steady hands. His whole manner exuded an uncharacteristic boldness that took him by surprise. "I have no wish for personal glory. I see the work of the Institute as being the mouthpiece of Aten, nothing more."
"Professor Wynne, is it true those words came from deciphering the Pyramid Texts?"
"With the aid of the cylinder of Aten."
"Professor!" A young female reporter waved his notepad. She looked like trouble, and Mr. Grant had warned that there would be a few such journalists present. "People might say that you listened to the news last night and then wrote down what was going to happen."
Gresley Wynne nodded. Don't antagonize anyone. He could hear Mr. Grant saying it. Smile, look confident, and try to get them on your side. "I take it you mean the destruction of the al-Sûfiya mosque in Cairo. You are correct, anyone can guess the runners when the race is over." Good words those. Mr. Grant had suggested them. "Mr. Tolley of the Herald was with me last night, writing his report for this morning's edition. I'm sure he will confirm that the prophecy was written long before the actual event."
Bill Tolley had chosen to sit in the front row. "That's right," he said, giving nothing more away.
"When was this handout written?"
"It is a summary of the Institute's research carried out over the last twelve months using the Egyptian cylinder to decode the Pyramid Texts. The handout was printed three days ago."
"There's a mistake." A woman at the back held up a copy. "You got it right about the house of God falling, but it says here that the people of the One God will perish. The Unity group weren't meeting at the mosque until tonight, so they're still alive."
He'd wanted to change the copies, but Mr. Grant had been smart. Mr. Tolley had seen a copy of the handout last night, and would have been the first to notice such an alteration. The words from Mr. Grant's briefing were still clear in his mind, and could be repeated almost word for word.
"You must realize that with all prophecy there is a certain haze, a mist hanging between the source of all knowledge and the recipient. We have worked from the ancient writings of the Egyptian priests in the time of King Unas, and they themselves were working from knowledge imparted by Aten. An infallible translation of ancient words is sometimes difficult for us today. The ancient Egyptian words for 'The people of the One God' can also be translated 'the work of the One God". We accept that there may be minor inaccuracies in the Institute's interpretation, but without doubt the mosque was clearly the work of God, and it has been destroyed."
This was the moment when the First Partner feared there would be laughter. But the explanation was received in silence.
"And your discovery includes clear references to the Second World War, the fall of the Soviet Union, and even the Gulf War?"
"All the major events that affect the Middle East since nineteen twenty are accurately foretold on this cylinder. Not in detail of course, but enough for us to establish the accuracy of the chronology." He began to feel a surge of confidence. Perhaps overconfidence. He paused. "As you will see from your press handouts, there must have been other cylinders covering previous centuries, but these unfortunately are now missing."
"If a cylinder covers a hundred years, would you care to tell us why there is so much detail for the next few days?"
"That, gentlemen, we will only know once the prophecies have come to pass." Mr. Grant's words again. "I too find myself wondering why. Something even more momentous than two world wars must be in the offing."
"Armageddon?"
"We know that it will be an event of great significance, not just for the Middle East but for the whole world. That much Aten has made clear."
"So when are we going to see the Star of Bethlehem?"
A voice called out, "When will we see the light in the sky, squire?"
"My name is Doctor Wynne." It was a mistake; he knew it immediately. He'd made himself sound pompous. Distant.
"The light, Professor!"
"Yes, the light." He tried to regain his smile. "Ladies and gentlemen of the press, there are signs in the heavens that are central to the ancient writings. An alignment of the stars and planets. If our interpretation is correct, you will see the great light very soon indeed."
"Tomorrow?"
Gresley Wynne shook his head and forced another smile. "The words were written over four thousand years ago. I cannot be precise to within a few hours."
"But there is going to be a Star of Bethlehem?"
"Gentlemen, Aten calls it a light in the sky between Lower and Upper Egypt. That puts it somewhere between Cairo and Aswan, but nowhere near Bethlehem. The name of the star is a term coined by the press, it is not wording from the cylinder." He raised his hands. Denby Rawlins' capsule had been good, but he was beginning to feel the strain of the press conference. It was time for a break. "You can only judge a prophecy by its fulfillment" He remembered Mr. Grant's advice and looked around the room and smiled. "When you see the light in the sky over Egypt you will know beyond a shadow of doubt that Aten is speaking the truth. A fire in the heavens that will descend on the land like a plague. We must patiently await the final fulfillment."
Someone at the back raised a hand, but he ignored it.
"We will stop now for coffee. The computer room and the whole of the Institute are available for your inspection. We have nothing to hide. My Second Partner, Denby Rawlins, will be pleased to conduct you round our facilities. A little later I will answer questions for the television cameras. For the moment I need a rest."
"You've not told us about the Eagle of Darkness? When will it leave its nest?"
Gresley Wynne stared. It wasn't a reporter who had shouted out the question, it was Mr. Bolt, the pilot. What was the man up to?
"One step at a time, gentlemen. I do not propose to reveal the whole prophecy until I am sure that our interpretation is correct. I have no wish to cause unnecessary panic in the Middle East."
He sat down behind the Table of Life, exhausted. Mr. Bolt's question had thrown him. Mrs. Pulaski should have known better than to let her friend anywhere near the conference. The Eagle of Darkness leaving its nest. How did the man know about that part of the prophecy? He must consult with Mr. Grant before reconvening.
Feeling drained, he decided to gamble on his first ever herbal injection from Denby Rawlins.
Chapter 42
Abu Girg, Egypt
THE CHEROKEE had run well, but the congestion on the Aswan route up the Nile valley meant a painfully slow journey, with only the radio for company. Apart from the traffic, a feeling of uncontrollable weariness forced Nayra to drive more slowly than she would have liked. Perhaps the whole journey was pointless. Perhaps Ahmed had never made it up here from the al-Sûfiya mosque last night, and the circuits would still be live.
"Israel has strongly denied any part in the atrocity. A spokesman for the Israeli government has said that the whole of Israel..."
The low buildings and green palms on the edge of Abu Girg made welcome scenery. Beni Mazar would not be far now.
The squat dwellings with their flat roofs marked the turning place. She swung the large Jeep west onto the rough track that crossed the railway line, a
ll the while looking for the sign to the industrial area. It would not be many kilometers. From now she was relying on Ahmed's description of the chosen site. This was where the man with the bright blue Mitsubishi had come to deliver the package: the man whose throat she had slit for the sake of security.
Nayra felt proud of her memory. The man had mentioned the Coca Cola sign. And there it was, old and battered by the sun and the frequent sandstorms, marking the spot as well as any cross on a treasure map. Riddled with rusty stone chips, it hung crookedly on the wall. The buildings of the industrial estate would be around the turn in the track.
"Messages of condolence continue to pour in. The prime minister of Great Britain, speaking on behalf of the whole nation, has said that the close connections with the Egyptian people in the past have ensured a special..."
She turned the radio off as an old Arab, possibly a watchman or a goatherd, started to walk slowly in her direction.
"Is this the El Shuhada estate?" she asked, keeping the door locked and her window open only a crack.
"You looking for someone special, lady?"
She wondered whether to drive on. The squalid man had a most unpleasant grin. "I'm looking for the buildings of the Alexandria Packing Company."
"You found them, lady. You follow me. My name is Caleb. I look after the place when no one is here."
She engaged the drive, opened her window fully, and leaned out as the filthy man limped his way alongside the Cherokee. "Has anyone else been here today?"
"No one come here for many days, lady."
"Are you sure, Caleb?" She stopped the Jeep. "You wouldn't lie to a lady."
"Caleb tell truth to all ladies. As Allah is my witness, no one has been here since the big blue wagon came with the wooden box. You come to collect the box, lady?"
She raised the window quickly. That man had more flies around him than a dead goat, and they were getting into the Cherokee. Perhaps Caleb was telling the truth, but he wasn't to be trusted. Money, plenty of money, made men stick together and become liars. "Go away," she shouted through the glass. She could see the building now, only a few meters ahead.
Caleb stood with a hand stretched out.
"All right, Caleb, I give you money and then you go away. Fast." She took some coins from the purse Ahmed had bought her in Cairo, and lowered the window as the man shuffled over. Before he could grab them she let the coins fall onto the rough stones. That would keep the disagreeable goatherd busy for a few minutes.
Straight in front of you as you open the door.
The man in Cairo had been specific, before having his throat cut. He had joked and drunk his full of local beer after returning from here late that night, obviously happy at the prospect of a night in bed with the woman who paid him his money. She had left his body with the rubbish. Only a fool trusted a woman.
She took the keys from her pocket. A thin line of sand had blown against the bottom of the door, but it had been broken recently. Someone, either Caleb or Ahmed, had been in here within the past few hours.
CALEB STARED at the female figure bending forward to look through the glass of the door. The tight blue jeans were not suitable clothing for a woman, but he found her exciting. This was the clothing of Western women, and Western women were free and easy with their bodies. All Egyptians knew that.
He had finished his search for the money. The woman had been mean. Deep in her pockets would be more money, and feeling deep in her pockets would be enjoyable. The packing case had fascinated him ever since the man had brought it here. Only this morning he had used his pass key to inspect it once again. Getting the cover off the wooden crate had been easy. Opening the large metal container inside the crate had been impossible. It needed a key.
The woman had keys. She was using them now to open the door. He felt excited. Who would witness a woman meeting with death in this lonely site? And who would care anyway? A woman, an Arab dressed like a Westerner, should be made to pay for her folly.
The woman did not even notice as he bent over to pick up a large stone. He weighed it carefully in his hand and prepared for the throw, just the one, and not too hard. By the power of all that was beautiful, the woman showed a desirable body as she fell to the ground. He would have some pleasure if he could keep her alive.
But first he must use the keys to investigate the large metal container.
"No, Caleb! No!"
Caleb turned, grinning. The woman was very much alive, and would keep him happy for the whole afternoon. Then he would dump the body in the wadi, and his cousin would be glad of the bright blue pickup.
"Don't put the key in the switch!"
"You rest now, lady, and let me see what is in here."
"No, Caleb! You'll kill us all!"
The afternoon was going to be fun. He turned the key.
Chapter 43
Matai, Egypt
ABU GIZIRA had worked on this railway track for nearly twenty-four years. He had rarely known the track to give trouble, but the railway company paid him to walk by the side of the lines once a week and report any defects.
The blazing sun made walking the track tedious. Someone in the town said there would be strange signs on the moon this week. The sky was truly a place full of wonder. Abu Gizira stood in the shade of the palm trees at the junction near Matai, and looked back towards Beni Mazar a few kilometers to the north.
The sudden flash of light rose up from the ground like the largest firework that had ever been made.
The railway worker fell forward as the light roared with a sound that carried a blast of air, lifting him from behind and carrying him towards the white cloud in a shrieking hurricane. And all the time the light grew brighter and rose higher into the sky, spreading out like an enormous tree.
The noise was terrifying; the light blinding.
The pain was severe.
The heat deadly.
It tore at his soul.
May God be merciful.
This was the end of the world.
Chapter 44
Institute of Egyptologists, England
THE RING of one mobile phone was quickly joined by others, until the Institute seemed to be filled with an electronic symphony. Sam watched the news-crazy reporters return to the Hall of Aten in a frenzied rush. He maneuvered himself to be close to Bill Tolley.
"What's going on?"
Bill raised a finger. "Seems they got it right. Twice."
"Professor!" A shout from the back.
"Professor Wynne! Over here, Professor!" Voices came from everywhere trying to get the First Partner's undivided attention.
Gresley Wynne seemed somewhat bewildered by the sudden intrusion, and the stylish young presenter from a major morning show looked angry at the interruption of his live television interview. "Give us a break, lads," he begged.
"Egypt's been hit by a nuclear strike!"
"It's their own bomb," barked another voice.
"UFO explodes over pyramids," one reporter called out. "That's a headline for the Sunday Sport." And there was laughter.
"Gentlemen, I fail to understand what has happened." Gresley Wynne turned to Denby Rawlins who had been standing just off camera. "What is this about Egypt?"
Sam watched the Second Partner nod rapidly. "Wonderful things are happening in Egypt. First the building of God, and now the light in the sky. We must tell these people everything Aten has taught us."
"Can we go somewhere alone, Dr. Wynne?" asked Bill Tolley. "I can guarantee you a sympathetic interview."
The TV cameras were still running for the morning show. Sam could see that the press conference was rapidly getting out of hand. Gresley Wynne seemed to be looking for someone, unsuccessfully.
"The light in the sky? Is it a nuclear bomb?"
"Do you think it's Armageddon. Professor?" someone else shouted.
Gresley Wynne shook his head. "You know more about these events in Egypt than I do. When did this explosion happen?"
"Don't ask us, get on t
he phone to Aten." There were some comedians in the room, and judging by Gresley Wynne's expression, the ridicule hurt.
"Gentlemen," said Gresley Wynne holding up both hands, "we will have a break while we find out exactly what has happened in Egypt."
Bill Tolley stood up. "Dr. Wynne has no more comment to make." At the same time he took the First Partner firmly by the arm. "Can we talk in your study?"
Sam made sure he got close as Denby Rawlins pushed forward to be at Gresley Wynne's side, blocking the view from the television cameras as well as preventing Gresley Wynne from leaving. In his hands the Second Partner held the red binder. "Tell them, First Partner, tell them everything that Aten says."
Gresley Wynne took the binder and held it close to his body with both hands.
Bill Tolley waved his arms to silence the rabble. "Dr. Wynne wants to talk to me alone."
But the First Partner turned to the morning TV presenter. "Is your camera still switched on?" he asked.
The man nodded.
"Listen, everyone," called Gresley Wynne, "I have in my hand the full text of the words of Aten. They are not available yet on a handout, for none of us here foresaw the need."
He had to wait for the sudden laughter to die down.
"The prophecy is being fulfilled faster than we anticipated," he explained. "Maybe our computers were a day or so out." He paused but there were no questions, no more insulting shouts. "Then I will read it to you."
Sam watched Bill Tolley at work. The younger reporters held out their miniature recorders, but Tolley flicked his pen over the page in a neat shorthand. For all the tension that had been built up with the phone calls from their news editors, everyone seemed relaxed. Gresley Wynne especially. Maybe the man was also on some sort of medication.
Sam began to run back through the earlier events. The phone rang in the pocket of a reporter standing near the doorway.
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