Dallas shook her head listening to his message, even though he couldn’t see her. She pressed play on the second voice mail message.
“Dallas, I know this is important to you. But I … we … don’t want to lose you and your work. I hope you can make it back in time for spring semester. Otherwise you’re technically gone without approval. After talking to the provost, I’m worried you might not have a job to come back to if you’re not here and classes begin. Can we please at least talk about it before you go?”
That last message made Dallas pause.
No. This was too important. She had to follow her passion. She had a hunch, a solid, strong hunch that she knew where Cleopatra’s tomb was. And it was going to take longer than winter break month to figure it out. As Caldwell had said, finding the tomb would make history. It was as if everything she’d done up to this point in her life had led her right here to this moment, to this decision.
Then she got angry. If the university couldn’t understand and let her go because of it even though it would bring them prestige and glory, so be it.
It was a chance she’d have to take.
Five
Dallas didn’t stop clutching the arm rests until the plane had just reached cruising altitude. She’d never been afraid of flying before. She wasn’t sure what was up with her today.
She was certain the plane would crash and prevent her from being the one who discovered Cleopatra’s tomb.
And there was something slightly off about the other passengers on the plane. It might have been her imagination, but it seemed like every time she got up to use the airplane bathroom or stretch, all eyes were on her. She’d try to meet a glance and the person would instantly look away. Suspicious?
No. She was paranoid.
Admit it, Jones. You’re on edge.
It was true. It surprised her that having someone break into her home and office could feel like such a personal attack. She’d always read about people feeling “violated” by a burglary and she used to privately scoff at the idea.
Violated by someone you never saw who didn’t touch you?
But now she got it. She was freaked out by the thought of some man with a face she couldn’t see rummaging through her personal belongings. It was partly what spurned her flight out of Minneapolis so early.
So, yeah, she was a little paranoid. A little on edge. A little freaked out.
Her seatmate, thank God, was asleep from the minute she sat down. She was an older woman who pulled down over-sized black sunglasses, plugged in earbuds and promptly began to snore.
And luckily, the plane wasn’t full so there were a few empty seats between them.
Dallas tried to concentrate on an article she’d saved on her phone talking about a recent archeological discovery near Cairo.
Apparently, archeologists had given up on finding the mummies in a tomb they’d uncovered. It had been empty and they’d been stumped as to where the bodies and the treasures had gone. Then, during a random scraping of one of the walls, a layer of dirt had fallen and revealed several rectangles that indicated long shafts. When they pried open the shafts they found the bodies and the treasures.
About an hour into the flight, long done with her article and bored, Dallas peered around the plane at the other passengers. Not one single person was paying attention to her.
She sighed.
Yep. Paranoid.
She yawned and cast another glance at the woman in her aisle. Yeah. That was the ticket. Sleep. Dallas rummaged around in her bag for her own sunglasses and earbuds and put on a guided meditation about falling asleep before leaning back in her seat and closing her eyes.
The flight attendant telling passengers in several different languages to prepare for landing woke Dallas from a hazy dream involving snakes, hieroglyphics, and underwater caves.
Dallas was instantly wide awake. The woman a few seats away was carefully applying a bright red lipstick, pouting into a compact mirror.
Any feeling of paranoia or fear was gone. With her nose pressed to the airplane window a feeling of euphoria soared through Dallas. She was almost in Egypt. A dream come true.
As she looked down, at first, she only saw the vast expanse of the brilliant blue Mediterranean below. Then the land popped into view below. It was dotted with structures—skyscrapers—the tallest ones lining the Nile. Even thinking this made Dallas’s mouth drop open. The Nile. She was looking at The Nile.
Exhilaration filled her chest. She couldn’t get enough of the view.
At the outskirts of the developed area stood two massive pyramids and then a smaller one. Their massive size made clear by the white shining dots moving alongside—vehicles.
Dallas whispered their Egyptian names under her breath: the great pyramid of Khufu, the Khafre pyramid, and the smaller, Menkaure pyramid. The sphinx lay to the east and was more difficult to pick out, but Dallas felt an electric shock as she spotted it.
As the plane circled around to the other side of the Great Giza pyramids, their size became even more apparent and impressive when compared to the towering skyscrapers of the city below.
Although she was awed by the sheer size of the pyramids even from the air, Dallas was struck by the realization that much of the area surrounding the pyramid complex had not been fully excavated. To her, it was a symbol of what she was there for. To prepare for that journey, several boats were buried nearby.
Then they were on the ground, the sound of the wheels slowing screeching loudly.
Grabbing the large backpack that served as her carryon—and only luggage, Dallas exited the plane and followed the signs to ground transportation.
In the cab on the way to downtown, Dallas’s excitement faded slightly. The view outside—of trees and office buildings—could be that of any city in the world. There were a few funky, Lorax-looking trees that she couldn’t recognize, and a billboard or two with pictures of Arabic men she also didn’t recognize, but other than that, it didn’t feel very exotic. As they got closer to downtown, the street signs were definitely different.
She shook off her disappointment. She was in Cairo. Egypt.
About five minutes into the drive, Dallas’s eyes widened.
A white stone structure topped by cupolas was off to the right. Two skinny, gothic towers stretching up into the blue sky—minarets.
She’d seen her first mosque.
About time, she thought.
From what she’d read about Cairo, it was dubbed the City of a Thousand Minarets because it contained so many beautiful mosques. Across the world, people spoke about the amazing skyline dotted with minarets that could be seen from any high rooftop.
“Coooool,” Dallas breathed out the word quietly.
The driver met her eyes in rearview mirror.
She couldn’t stay for sure, but the way his eyes crinkled, it looked like he was smiling at her. Either way, she smiled back.
Finally, she felt like she was in Egypt.
From that point on, everything looked exotic—from the squat stone apartment buildings with the narrow rectangle openings for windows to the elaborately carved square archways leading into park areas.
As they crossed a long bridge that appeared to lead into downtown, Dallas spotted another mosque dotted with cupolas. This one only had one long thin minaret, but it stretched a dozen stories higher than any surrounding building.
Before long, the driver pulled up at her hotel—the happiest hotel on earth—as she called it in her head.
Within twenty minutes of checking in, hanging up some shirts and spreading her meager toiletries on the small bathroom counter, Dallas was ready to go.
Grabbing her cross-body bag, she put a bottle of water, her camera and some protein bars in it before she headed out, eager to explore the city before dark.
She’d chosen her hotel for its location, which according to her map, was about twenty blocks away from the Nile. At some point during her visit, she wanted to cross the Qasr El Nil bridge that spanned the
Nile.
As she set out, a tour bus passed her with pictures of the pyramids. It took all her willpower not to flag it down. She’d save that type of sightseeing for another trip. Because if all went well, she’d be spending a lot of time in Egypt in the future.
There were a lot of things to see within the city of Cairo itself. She wanted to check out the French neoclassical architecture at Talaat Harb square, an area once known as “Paris on the Nile.” After that she’d explore the Abdeen Palace where the president lived, and grab a bite at an Abdeen Square restaurant.
But first, the most important visit—to Museum of Egyptian Antiquities and then the next day, visit the Minister of State for Antiquities Affairs to get permission to visit the temples.
She ignored the nagging doubt that questioned whether gaining permission would be so easy. But right now, she had to have faith, to believe that all the pieces would fall in place.
Dallas figured she’d start at the temple furthest away and then narrow it down based on proximity to Alexandria.
But right now, she was excited about the exhibit at the museum. It held some of the other artifacts found by David Caldwell and Malcolm Land that Egypt refused to let out of the country for the traveling exhibition. It didn’t seem like a very safe place to keep them, if you asked Dallas.
Priceless artifacts at the museum had already been lost to history a few years before. Dallas had read that during the 2011 revolution, the museum was broken into and two mummies were destroyed, more than 50 objects lost, and dozens more damaged. It was astonishing to imagine people destroying such priceless artifacts, she thought.
Weaving her way through the maze of streets that led to the museum in Tahrir Square, Dallas mentally prepared to meet with the minister the next day, rehearsing her pitch.
Suddenly, the museum was before her.
Hours later, Dallas emerged into the darkness of the night, blinking, stunned and emotionally exhausted from taking in the treasures. She must’ve stood for an hour in front of the gold death mask of Tutankhamun and then the sarcophagus. The mummy of Ramses the second and the statues of Khafre, Khufu, and Menkaure.
The Cleopatra exhibit had taken her breath away. It held a porcelain bust. Tins that were believed to have held the kohl that had painted Cleopatra’s eyes. And some massive, thick, gold necklace archeologists believed the queen had worn for special political ceremonies. It was breathtaking.
Finally, when Dallas realized the rest of the museum was quiet and dark, a woman approached her and told her the museum was now closed, and had, in fact, closed an hour before. The woman gave her a sympathetic smile, saying she had to get home to her family now. Dallas reluctantly pried herself away.
Reeling from sensory overload, euphoria, and jetlag, Dallas stepped outside the museum and paused on its steps to get her bearings. She was disoriented from being inside so long and so caught up in the exhibits, but now she was in a hurry to get back to her hotel. Not to finally crash into bed, but because she had things to do. She had to call Colton. She was bursting with the good news of what she’d realized in the museum. She had to double check her notes. She had to call the airlines and cancel her flight for Friday.
Initially, she’d planned to methodically visit each of the temples. But all that had changed. She’d seen something in the exhibit that made her certain she knew just which temple housed the Queen of the Nile’s body. Now to convince the Egyptian Minister of Antiquities.
Caught up in her excitement, Dallas was slow to realize that the square before her was eerily deserted and full of long shadows. She’d been there so long she didn’t think she should walk around in the dark looking for a restaurant to eat. She’d go directly back to the hotel and order room service. Tomorrow, in the daylight, she’d eat out.
As her eyes adjusted, she saw a shadowy figure dip into a doorway. A sliver of apprehension raced down her spine. But she stood straight, pulling her shoulders back. If someone thought she was some dumb tourist, they were wrong. She was street smart. Savvy.
There was a sound she couldn’t place. A slithering, scraping noise that echoed throughout the square. Was it her imagination?
She was tired. But not to the point of hallucinating. And she was pretty sure she’d developed a tiny cold with sniffles. Plus, she was out of her element in a new city.
But. She wasn’t a silly tourist, either.
For a second, she considered going back in the museum, but as she thought that, the light went out and she heard the door lock behind her.
Instead of walking past that doorway, which would lead her directly to her hotel, she’d take a more circuitous route to get back. She’d turn a street early and then cut back over once she was certain nobody was following her. Her cross-body bag hung near her waist. But her passports and other important documents were safely tucked into the passport belt that lay flat under the waistband of her jean shorts. In addition, her leather belt was a money holder. It had a zipper on the inside and fit carefully folded currency out of sight.
With her shoulders back, head held straight, she walked purposefully toward the figure, but then at the last minute turned down the first street.
She turned onto the narrow street that led to her hotel, casting a wary glance behind her. When she turned back, she gasped.
A woman draped in fabric with only her eyes peering out stood before her.
“Oh, good Lordie, you scared the bejesus out of me,” Dallas said with a nervous laugh. The woman just stared.
Then the woman moaned and slumped against the wall of a building. Dallas rushed over and kneeled down, peering into the woman’s wrinkled face. “Are you sick? Do you speak English?” Dallas was meeting with her interpreter tomorrow for the rest of her trip. That would’ve come in really handy right then.
Dallas heard a snap and tug and felt the weight of her cross-body bag disappear. She whirled and caught a glimpse of folds of material from a skirt at her level rushing away. She stood and gave chase instinctively but then paused. She needed to help the old lady. But when she turned back the woman was gone. And the woman’s cohort, the actual thief, was long gone, disappeared in the darkness.
She’d been had.
The thieves had targeted her as a naïve tourist and obviously been right.
At first Dallas was angry—at the women and at herself—but then she realized this was likely how the women put food on the table. With a sigh, she turned back toward her hotel. She’d have to replace the camera. And that wouldn’t be cheap. She only had about twenty U.S. dollars in that bag with the rest safely tucked in her money belt. All in all, the women probably would be disappointed in their haul.
The road she was on led to a major street with bustling activity and she sighed in relief. At least she wouldn’t be robbed again tonight.
After she was safe in her hotel room, with an upholstered chair pushed up against the door, Dallas logged onto her laptop. The hotel’s Wi-Fi was spotty, but she wanted to search for David Caldwell’s whereabouts—by seeing where the sunken Egypt exhibition was now. After all, wouldn’t he have to be traveling with the exhibition? She wanted to make sure he was far, far away from Cairo.
But when she looked up the stops for the exhibition, she found it was over. Which meant he could be anywhere.
Police had said he was out of town when her break in occurred. That meant that somebody else was sending her that warning by breaking into her home and office.
And of course, that meant she was onto something and they wanted to know what it was.
She knew she was right. This was proof.
After today’s visit to the museum, Dallas knew just which temple that was.
But just to be sure, she loaded the pictures she’d taken of a stele today onto her laptop and then blew them up. She scribbled the images into her notebook and then flipped through a book she had on ancient hieroglyphs.
It didn’t take long for her to decipher the gist of the ancient writing. Her knowledge of hieroglyphics was rud
imentary, but this seemed clear.
When she did, it confirmed what she’d thought earlier at the museum—the hieroglyphs told a story about how Antony and Cleopatra were buried at Taposiris Magna. If you read the stele correctly. It wasn’t obvious. The top of the stele spoke about the death of Cleopatra, showing her with an asp held to her breast and Antony dead at her feet. Then it showed her body on the ground as well and the two lovers being carried to a tomb. It was only later, further down below on the stele that Taposiris Magna was mentioned at all. Unless people suspected that Cleopatra was buried at a temple, they would never make the connection between the queen’s death and the mention of the temple far below in the script.
It made sense with everything Dallas had compiled about Cleopatra’s tomb over the years. It aligned with all the hours she’d spent studying and logging small details, considering factors as diverse as architectural and icons, and the symbolism and mythology and even the chronology of all the temples within a certain radius of Alexandria.
She’d gone over it so many times and while she was seeing the sunken treasures exhibition here in Cairo, the stele had sealed it.
Looking at her notes, Dallas reaffirmed her conclusion. A piece of paper listed four cities that made up the majority of Cleopatra’s world: Alexandria, Canopus, Heracleion, and Taposiris Magna.
Alexandria was her home and the capital. Canopus, which had sunk into the sea, was a religious hub. Heracleion, a port of entry, was now also underwater.
Twenty-nine miles to the west of Alexandria was Taposiris Magna. This city, more than the other three, possibly played the largest role in Cleopatra’s family history and ancestry since it was founded by her forefather, Ptolemy II as a temple to Osiris.
Buried Secrets Page 5
