by K. M. Ashman
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Followed by his closest advisor, Ramesses walked into the royal palace in Itjawi. Though the capital had been in Avaris since the time of his father, the royal family kept palaces in all the major cities of Kemet. All around, the servants and slaves of the royal household prostrated themselves before him as he passed. Days earlier, many had been sent from Avaris to ensure that everything was up to standard for the Pharaoh’s arrival, knowing full well that any major shortfall would result in dismissal from the king’s service or worse.
‘Was the visit profitable, Sire?’ asked Atmar as they walked.
‘I would see it as an investment rather than bearing profits,’ said Ramesses. ‘Her interest is aroused and she has agreed to a further meeting.’
‘And you believe she will share the secrets with you?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Ramesses, ‘but she is certainly considering something.’ He sat on a gold inlaid stool, while Atmar removed the Nemes crown from the Pharaoh’s head, and handed it to the jeweller standing close by.
‘It is almost dark, Sire,’ said Atmar. ‘Do you want me to arrange your meal?’
‘Yes, do that,’ said Ramesses, ‘and arrange some entertainment. After being in that place, darkness lays upon my soul. I need something light-hearted to ease my mood.’
‘I have already anticipated this, Sire, and arranged for some of Itjawi’s famed dancers to be available. All it needs is your command.’
‘Good,’ said Ramesses, ‘I will bathe first and then eat. The dancers can follow the meal. Arrange others to oversee the evening, Atmar. You will eat with me tonight.’
‘I am honoured, Sire,’ said Atmar and turned to leave the chamber.
‘One more thing, Atmar,’ said Ramesses, ‘double the guard on the Palace tonight. We wouldn’t want any unwelcome visitors getting in, would we?’
‘No, Sire,’ said Atmar, and left Ramesses alone in the room.
----
Chapter Three
London 2012
John and Becky relocated to a local library to continue their conversation, as the café had turned out to be far too public to continue. They found an empty reading room and made themselves comfortable.
‘Becky,’ said John when they had settled down, ‘before we continue there are other things you should know. I haven’t worked with your father since he was sacked. That was over a year ago and I haven’t seen him since.’
‘Why was he sacked?’ asked Becky, ‘you haven’t said.’
‘Well, it wasn’t just him who was sacked, it was me as well. The longer we excavated illegally in the catacombs, the harder it became to announce the find publicly. If we had told the authorities, they could have taken away our licenses immediately, and by the time we realised what we had found, it was almost too late. Despite that, your father insisted we do the right thing. Eventually, we approached Dr Samari, the head Egyptologist in the Cairo Museum and told him everything.’
‘What did he say?’ asked Becky.
‘Well, he listened intently and initially was quite excited. Oh, we had our knuckles rapped for not declaring it earlier, but overall, he was very supportive. In fact, he promised he would do everything to obtain funding for an official dig and not only that, promised that the recognition for the find would be equally shared between us both.’
‘That’s fantastic;’ said Becky, ‘and did it happen?’
‘No, it didn’t,’ John said. ‘In fact, it went very quiet and for a few weeks we couldn’t even get Samari on the phone. E-mails went unanswered, messages left on his phone ignored and we were even denied access to his offices.’
‘So what did you do?’
‘Well, as soon as we could, we went back to Itjawi only to find that the access shaft had been filled in. When we started asking questions, they called the police, and we had to get out from there pretty quickly.’
‘They had covered up your find,’ said Becky.
‘They had,’ said John, ‘it was so bloody annoying.’
‘Out of season, digs are often filled in,’ said Becky, ‘perhaps it was to wait until resources became available.’
‘That’s what we thought,’ said John, ‘and for a while, we took a step back, but something didn’t feel right. Samari, ignored every attempt to contact him, so eventually, we managed to corner him after attending a conference.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Nothing, he just tried to barge past and mumbled something about harassment. Hell, he even threatened going to the police himself if we didn’t leave him alone.’
‘It doesn’t make any sense,’ said Becky.
‘No, but there was something else in his manner,’ said John. ‘He seemed very afraid. Anyway, after much lobbying we heard that the Museum was issuing a press release about the discovery of Itjawi. At last, we thought some sense would be made of it all, but when it came out, all it said was that despite rumours to the contrary, the exact location was still a mystery and that two unnamed scientists responsible for circulating unsubstantiated claims had been sacked. Though they weren’t named, guess who they were?’
‘You and dad,’ said Becky.
‘Exactly. Obviously we went to the museum immediately to find out what was going on, but our things were waiting at the reception desk along with our severance notice.’
‘Did you see anyone?’
‘Nope, and when we caused a fuss, we were arrested and kept in jail for two days while our deportation papers were being prepared.’
‘But that takes weeks.’
‘I know. Luckily, the embassy got us out of there, but not before the authorities made it clear that if we remained in the country, we would spend an awful lot of time behind bars.’
‘On what charges?’
‘Conspiracy to bring down the government,’ said John, ‘a charge that carries a life sentence in Egypt.’
‘That’s preposterous,’ Becky said. ‘Wasn’t there some way you could defend yourself?’
‘Possibly, but I for one wasn’t hanging around to find out. I was on the next plane out of there.’
‘What about dad?’
‘Well, that’s the thing. He was supposed to meet me at the airport, but he didn’t show. At first, I was worried, but he called and told me not to worry and that he had everything in hand. Of course I argued with him, but he had decided to stay and there was no changing his mind.’
‘Did you hear from him after that?’
‘A few times, but after a few months, all the contact with him stopped, and I got on with my life. That is, until yesterday.’
‘Why, what happened yesterday?’
‘I received a letter from him. It was posted less than a week ago and it is very disturbing.’
‘Do you have it with you?’ asked Becky.
‘I do,’ said John, ‘though I have to warn you, it is a bit upsetting.’
‘That’s okay,’ said Becky. ‘Can I read it, please?’
John reached into an inside jacket pocket, and retrieved a folded envelope before handing it over to the girl. Becky put on her reading glasses and read the letter quietly to herself, gasping out loud at the first line.
Dear John
By the time you read this, I will probably be dead. I know that is not what you would ever expect to hear from someone like me, but to be honest, I can’t see any other way out of the predicament in which I have found myself.
John, I have been framed for a crime that I didn’t commit. Two weeks ago, Samari’s body was found in the Museum. It seems someone had smashed in the back of his skull with an iron bar while he was working late. The thing is apparently, I was the main suspect and spent two days being questioned. Finally, they confiscated my passport and allowed me out pending further investigations.
Last week, I found out from a contact in the police force that they had CCTV coverage of me entering the Museum late that night, and they were on the way to arrest me for murder. For reasons I can’t go into here, I did go
back to the Museum that night and as I still have the keys for the side entrance, managed to get in with little difficulty. Despite this, John, I swear I had nothing to do with Samari’s death. The very thought that I could be involved is preposterous, but it was exactly the evidence they needed. Anyway, I managed to flee the city in time and have been hiding ever since. John, I have no money left, no reputation and nowhere else to run. My face is on posters throughout the country and all over the TV. I did not do it, but the evidence they have managed to contrive against me is convincing. They have even conjured up some DNA evidence and say it is from the murder weapon.
If they find me, I will be arrested, and to be honest, after what I have been through, there is not a cat’s chance in hell that I will be found innocent. With that in mind, I have decided I will not spend the rest of my life rotting in an Egyptian jail and will take the coward’s way out. Do not worry, for I tire of this life, and look forward to the great adventure that now lies before me.
Thank you for being a friend, John, and I hope that life brings you everything you desire, but there is one more thing before I go. I can’t go into too much detail in case this letter is intercepted.
We were right, John, and I now know that our discovery would put Carter’s to shame. I know, because I have since been there and seen sights that have blown my mind. I don’t expect you to believe me, so I have sent a message to you, via my daughter. I can’t bring myself to write to her, but please tell her not to be too upset. I have had a wonderful life and will now get to be with her mother once more. Perhaps this time I won’t cock it up.
Anyway, tell her I love her and know that one day she will be one of the best archaeologists in her field.
One last thing, the message I sent contains indisputable evidence of what could be the greatest discovery in the history of archaeology. I’m not sure by sending it if I am doing you a favour or putting you at risk. However, even at this late stage, the scientist in me won’t allow me to let it go unexplored. The sensible thing would be to burn the message and move on with your life, but the scientific thing would be to act upon it, because if it is what I think it is, then it will change the way we look at our world forever. That is no longer my choice. The decision is yours.
Have a good life John, and goodbye.
Becky put the letter down on the table and John offered her a clean handkerchief to wipe away the tears in her eyes.
‘Sorry you had to read that, Becky, but I think it was important that you did.’
‘I’m glad you let me, but to imagine him in such a desperate situation breaks my heart. There’s no way he would have killed that man, John. I know my dad and he could no more kill someone than fly to the moon. He just wasn’t built that way.’
‘I know,’ said John, ‘and it is so bloody upsetting that someone with such a good heart as his, is made a scapegoat for somebody else’s wrongdoing. It stinks.’
‘I should go to the police,’ said Becky. ‘Take the letter with me.’
‘Why?’ answered John. ‘What good would it do your father now?’
‘Well it may clear his name,’ she said. ‘At least that would be something.’
‘And how do you see that happening?’ asked John. ‘All we have is a letter proclaiming his innocence. The Egyptian police have motive, opportunity and DNA. They would simply point to the evidence and claim his suicide was that of a desperate and guilty man. If you go to the police and there is an investigation, all that will happen is that his name will be dragged through the mud, though this time on an international scale.’
‘But I can’t just let it go,’ said Becky, her voice shaking. ‘He was innocent. How can I let my father go to his grave with this against his name? After all the good he has done, it is just not fair.’
‘I agree,’ said John, ‘and that is why I intend to do something about it.’
‘What are you going to do?’ asked Becky.
‘I intend to go back to Egypt,’ said John ‘and trace his steps back into the catacombs. Whatever he found, sounds damned important, especially as the authorities over there have gone to so much trouble to cover it up.’
‘Is that wise?’ asked Becky.
‘No, not at all,’ said John, ‘but that’s why I need your help.’
‘Me, how can I help?’
‘First of all,’ said John, ‘in the letter, he says he has sent a message to you in the last week or so, with evidence as to what he discovered. We need to get that message and substantiate his theories, whatever they may be.’
‘I haven’t had any messages,’ said Becky, ‘unless they were sent to the museum.’
‘Does your father write to you there often?’
‘Occasionally. Usually personal letters go to my home, while anything to do with work goes to the office.’
‘And you haven’t seen anything yet?’
‘Not unless it went to the main admin office upstairs. My mail often gets backlogged, until Amy decides to go up there and collect it all.’
‘Who is Amy?’
‘My assistant, she is very helpful.’
‘Do you trust her?’
‘Of course, I do. She’s seventeen and is a little mixed up at the moment, but trustworthy nonetheless.’
‘Okay, that’s what must have happened. We need to retrieve that letter and see what it says. When are you intending to go back to work?’
‘Monday,’ said Becky. ‘It’s pointless sitting at home wallowing in self-pity; my father would have kicked my butt from here to Cairo and back. Anyway, work will take my mind off the situation.’
‘Fair point,’ said John.
‘What is the second thing?’ asked Becky, ‘You said there were two things you needed help with.’
‘Yes, that’s right. Obviously, I need to go back to Egypt, but my passport will be flagged up at any airport as banned from entering the country. I have contacts and can get in with no problem, but once there, I will be very limited as to what I can do. Any credit card transactions, hotel bookings, equipment hire; that sort of thing will show up on the government’s records and I would be arrested within days. Like your father, I have no desire to spend the rest of my life in some stinking Egyptian prison, so I need your help.’
‘Do you want me to go out there?’ asked Becky
‘No, of course not, it’s far too dangerous. What I need is for you to provide support from here. If I need anything, I will call you and you can pay this end using an account we will set up especially for the purpose. I’ll deposit some money in the account so you are not out of pocket and that way, there is no electronic record of my whereabouts out in Egypt.’
‘Makes sense,’ said Becky, ‘I suppose most transactions are done online these days.’
‘That’s right, so as long as the authorities don’t get wind of my non-de-plume, I should be fairly safe.’
‘Won’t you be recognised?’
‘No, it’s far enough away from Cairo to avoid most of the people who know me.’
‘What about the people around the dig site? Won’t they know you?’
‘If I went in the same way, yes, but I intend to go in by a different route. While we were in the catacombs, we also found the original tunnel used by the tomb robbers all those years ago. It is filled with rubble now, but should be a fairly easy dig. All I need to do is find the entrance and I should get through it in a matter of weeks.’
‘How do you intend to find the entrance?’ asked Becky.
‘I have ways, Miss Ryan, trust me.’
They carried on making plans for another hour or so until Becky looked at her watch.
‘Oh dear,’ she said, ‘look at the time. I have to go.’
‘Of course,’ said John, ‘I have kept you far too long.’ He pulled out his wallet and gave her a business card.
‘You settle back into work,’ he said ‘and see if you can find the letter. When you do, give me a ring and I will come back down. Is that okay?’
‘Fine,’ s
he said, reading the card as she spoke. ‘John Deacon,’ she read, ‘antiques dealer.’ She looked up quizzically.
‘Don’t be put off, Becky,’ he said. ‘When I returned from Egypt, I had to make a living somehow. It is all legitimate, I promise you. If you have any doubts, do some research. I am beginning to get a good name for myself.’
Becky smiled.
‘If it helps clear my father’s name,’ she said, ‘I don’t care if you are Satan himself.’ They walked to the car park together, and as they shook hands, John gave her one more reassurance.
‘Becky, if this goes well, your father’s name will be cleared within months.’
‘And if it doesn’t?’
‘Send me a cake with a file inside,’ he said, ‘preferably coconut.’
‘Why coconut?’ she asked, failing to see the significance.
‘I like coconut,’ he said with a smile. ‘Goodbye, Miss Ryan, see you soon.’
‘Goodbye, Mr Deacon,’ she said, and watched him drive off into the evening gloom.
----
Becky kept herself busy over the weekend, cleaning up her flat. It had been neglected recently, and despite the occasional unannounced bursts of tears, she managed to make the flat cleaner than she had ever seen it before. Monday morning saw her clock in to the museum and make her way straight down into the archives. It had been two weeks since her father had died, but as she walked through the familiar surroundings, it seemed she had been away just a couple of days. As she approached the office with her keys in hand, she heard an unexpected noise, and unconsciously slowed down. Nobody was ever down here this time in the morning.
‘Hello,’ she said, ‘who’s there?’ Slowly, she pushed the unlocked door open and almost jumped out of her skin when someone stepped out from behind the door.
‘Amy,’ she shouted, ‘you nearly gave me a heart attack.’
‘Sorry, Becky,’ grinned her assistant, ‘I thought I would give you a surprise.’
