The Eternal Chamber

by Tom Hunter

  Samuel and Akhenaton exchanged excited glances. “What’s the worst that can happen?” asked Samuel as he turned to the door and started to carve.

  “We all die horrible, painful deaths?” replied Basile, stepping out of the way of the door, just in case.

  “Abdel… Fattah… el-Sisi…”

  Samuel held his breath as he finished the inscription, stepping back and wincing as he braced himself for deadly missiles to come flying out of the holes in the door.

  CLICK!

  The door slowly swung open, a warm, bright light flooding out into the dark corridor. The three men crowded forward, putting their arms up to shield their eyes from the sudden brilliance, desperate to see what was inside the chamber.

  “Mon dieu,” Basile breathed.

  Forty-Two

  The colors created by the setting sun’s rays were breathtakingly beautiful, but no one on the helicopter noticed, too caught up in their thoughts to care.

  “Right. I’m taking a break,” Josh announced, touching the console to activate the autopilot. “Have you had any joy in getting hold of Samuel, Shafira?”

  “I’ve been trying ever since we took off, but I haven’t been able to get through,” Shafira replied, pressing the button on the comms device to send a message yet again. “What if Samuel and Basile have been taken prisoner by the Bruard and they’ve confiscated their comms gear?”

  “Can your radio send signals deep underground?” asked Waleed. “Before you go assuming the worst, isn’t it more likely that the cave they are exploring goes far below the surface and they’re simply out of range?”

  “He’s got a point,” Josh agreed. “That radio doesn’t have the capacity to penetrate thick layers of rock. Most likely Samuel’s waxing lyrical over some vase he’s dug up and isn’t anywhere near his radio. Anyway, we’ll be there within an hour, so I’m going to get some rest, just in case we’re about to walk into a nest of vipers.”

  “Wouldn’t it make more sense to go back to Cairo and get back up from the Ministry or even the military?” Waleed asked. “They’d want to know if there are Bruard agents here. Shouldn’t we be going towards the city rather than away from it?”

  Josh looked at Shafira pointedly. “I’ve been asking the same question.”

  Shafira blushed. “I did try to get help,” she pointed out. “The police wouldn’t listen to me, especially when the man I saw murdered showed up at work, fit and well. We don’t have the time it would take to persuade them that the Bruard are behind all this, especially since I don’t have any proof. Director Haisam did too good a job of discrediting me for me to be able to rely on the authorities. Besides, I have no idea who else is working with him. He mentioned having a friend in the police force. What if the person I go to for help is another Bruard agent? No, we have to warn Samuel and get real evidence of what’s going on. Then we can go back to Cairo for support.”

  “That makes sense.” Waleed nodded slowly. “However, why is it that I get the feeling that there’s another motive behind this? Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you a merely an office clerk? Are you sure you aren’t simply using this as an excuse to get some excitement in your life?”

  “I love my job!” Shafira protested.

  “Shafira?” Josh raised an eyebrow.

  “Alright, maybe not love,” Shafira amended. “But I do enjoy my work. It’s very rewarding. Even if they do pile too much on me.”

  “But how many times have I heard you complain that you want to be more hands on?” Josh reminded her. “How many times have you said that Yusuf has all the fun while you have to be the good girl so as not to disappoint your parents? Are you sure that Waleed doesn’t have a point?”

  “Fine! I want more adventure in my life.” Shafira threw up her hands in exasperation. “Is that so bad?”

  “It is if you’re leading us into a deadly trap just because you’re sick of paperwork,” Josh huffed. “Sheesh, Shafira. You’re getting to be as selfish as your brother.” He shook his head.

  “I’m sorry, Josh.” Tears pricked at Shafira’s eyes, but she fought to hold them back, not wanting to appear weak. “But I promise you, this isn’t all about me. I’m worried about Samuel McCarthy. He’s your friend. Don’t you want to make sure he’s safe?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Then focus on that. It will all turn out fine in the end, I promise.”

  Waleed laughed bitterly. “Much as I appreciate the touching sentimentality, you should never make promises you can’t keep, my friend. When it comes to the Bruard, things never turn out fine.”

  “What do you mean?” Josh asked.

  Waleed shrugged evasively. “Just what I’ve read in the papers. Everyone knows that the Bruard are evil.”

  Josh studied him, slowly shaking his head. “I don’t think so. You’ve dealt with them, haven’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t exactly say dealt with,” Waleed admitted. “I’ve certainly never been a member of the organization.”

  “So what is your experience with the Bruard?” Shafira pressed.

  Waleed sighed. “I must stress that I’m not proud of my behavior. In my defense, I was desperate for money at the time, having gotten myself into trouble with some rather unsavory characters.”

  “Why am I seeing a pattern here?” Josh muttered.

  “I am not a bad man,” Waleed began. “But I am what you might call an opportunist. I thought I could get away with it, but…”

  “Wait a minute,” Josh interrupted. “Are you telling me that you attempted to steal from the Bruard? You must have balls of steel!”

  “’Steal’ is such an ugly word,” smiled Waleed. “I wouldn’t go quite that far. Let’s just say that I was a little creative with the truth in an attempt to perform a public service and strike a blow against the Bruard.”

  “Public service, my ass!” snorted Josh. “Don’t try and pretend that whatever little scam you had going on was altruistic.”

  Waleed shrugged non-committedly. “I managed to deceive them for a week before they realized that the ‘secrets’ I was selling to them were nothing but a product of my imagination. I had thought that I’d have more time before they checked their veracity, but unfortunately for me, they were more efficient than I expected. I managed to get away before they questioned me, but I knew that it was only a matter of time before they caught up with me.”

  “What happened?” asked Shafira.

  “I wish I had some impressive scars to show you,” smiled Waleed sadly. “I wish that I could tell you that they had taken their pound of flesh before setting me free, but what happened was far, far worse. They kidnapped my wife and daughter and told me that I had a choice: surrender myself to face their justice or receive a video of their deaths. I was assured that they would not die quickly or easily.”

  “Your poor family!” gasped Shafira. “That must have been terrifying. Have they… recovered?”

  Waleed paused, choosing his words carefully, his gaze fixed on the desert below. “It’s hard to say if you can ever really fully recover from what they went through.” Shafira patted his arm to show her support. Josh narrowed his eyes, subtly shaking his head, a movement Waleed noted.

  “I suppose none of us would ever know what we would do in such a situation,” Josh remarked. “I’d like to think I’d put my family first, but I can only imagine what Bruard justice would be like.”

  Forty-Three

  Basile gazed around him, open-mouthed, as Samuel slowly walked along the bookshelves lining the walls, examining the manuscripts as he tried to take it all in. Akhenaton picked up a vase as large as a wastebasket, its gold trim gleaming, carefully turning it round to see the pattern painted across the middle, a sleeping figure curled around the base, their dreams morphing into war.

  The room was illuminated by an unseen source, the light reflecting off the gold and gems edging the shelves to give the illusion that they were bathed in sunshine mixed with an infinite kaleidoscope on tiny rainbows
from the prism-like clear jewels. Seshat and Moneta gazed benevolently down on them, two larger than life statues mounted on either side of the room.

  “Good God!” Samuel breathed, his eyes wide with wonder. “This is beyond a king’s ransom… and the archaeological value… it’s inestimable.”

  “Oui. Have you seen these friezes, Samuel?” Basile asked, pointing to three steps leading up to a dais surrounded by paintings. “Do you recognize the events depicted in them?”

  Samuel crossed to stand by his friend, frowning at what he saw.

  “That’s weird,” he remarked. “There’s the construction of the pyramids. That seems to be an image of Tutankhamun. And that’s Cleopatra.”

  “What’s weird about that?” Basile shrugged. “That all sounds like basic Egyptian history.”

  “That’s not the strange part,” Samuel explained. “Look over there. Does that man look familiar to you?”

  Basile squinted at the picture Samuel was pointing at. A man with dark hair and a neat, black moustache was standing in front of a large army, their arms raised in salute to him. “No!” he gasped. “That can’t be Hitler. That can’t be Hitler.”

  “Even the style is different to traditional Egyptian iconography,” said Samuel. “It’s as though they came forward in time, saw the way that we portrayed people, and used it to represent Hitler.”

  “But how could they possibly have known?” Basile moved forward to the picture, still doubting his eyes.

  “Exactly.” Samuel stood by his friend, as they marveled at images of planes, the frightening mushroom cloud over Hiroshima, and Napoleon shooting at the sphinx.

  “Perhaps someone came in here over the centuries and added the images as a record of what’s been happening?” Basile suggested.

  “That’s easily tested. We can do some preliminary carbon dating and see how old the paint is. It’ll mean taking a small sample from the image, though.”

  “No need,” Akhenaton broke in. “If anyone had been in these catacombs, my order would know about it. Nobody’s been here for centuries.”

  Basile and Akhenaton began to discuss possible explanations for the paintings, but Samuel was distracted when he caught sight of a pillar towards the back of the room. Resting on top of it was headgear unlike any he’d ever seen before. Shaped like a small, hemispherical papal cap, it had blue and gold stripes across it in the style of Pharaonic headdresses. As he drew closer, he noticed Greek letters inscribed around the top of the pillar.

  “Come and have a look at this, Basile,” he beckoned. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  The engineer hurried over to join him.

  “See that Greek lettering?” Samuel asked. “Yet another mystery to add to the pile we have to solve.”

  “I knew that the Greek and Egyptians were friendly, but I had no idea they were close before the Roman conquest,” Basile remarked. “So far, everything has been either Egyptian or Roman. Why is there Greek lettering here of all places?”

  “There must be an explanation for it somewhere in this room.” He knelt down next to the pillar to get a closer look, admiring the intricate patterns of gems set into the stonework. Meanwhile, Samuel picked up a scroll lying on a shelf near the pillar. He untied the cord wrapped around it, and opened the parchment.

  “Last night’s dream was the most disturbing so far,” he translated from the ancient Egyptian. “I saw the chamber, left unattended for centuries, broken open by three who proved themselves worthy. They were fascinated by the paintings, distracted by the cap, determined to rescue our sacred knowledge from the tormentors…”

  Samuel looked up. “Akhenaton, have you seen this? Who do you suppose would be meant by the tormentors? The Bruard? Akhenaton, no!”

  He rushed forward, just in time to grab hold of Akhenaton’s arm as he raised his scimitar to destroy the headdress.

  “What are you doing?” Samuel cried. “That’s a priceless artifact.”

  “You are right,” Akhenaton agreed. “This is St. Augustine’s secret. It is possibly the most powerful and important relic on the planet, which is why it must be destroyed so that the Bruard can never use it. The world has survived just fine without it for the past few centuries. We may not survive if the Bruard get hold of it.”

  “What do you mean by St. Augustine’s secret?” asked Samuel. “It’s just a headdress. What threat could it possibly pose?”

  “I do not know the exact details,” came the reply, “but there is a passage in one of our sacred texts that states ‘St. Augustine provided the key and a cap was formed that can alter minds so the implausible seems plausible and lies become fact.’”

  “What does that mean?” Samuel frowned. “Is it some sort of mind control device?”

  “Something like that,” Akhenaton confirmed. “I must confess that I do not fully understand the extent of its powers, but I know that it has the ability to shape reality. That much is fact. Surely you can appreciate how dangerous that would be if the Bruard were to take possession of it? We must destroy it. It’s the only way to save the world from them. ”

  He lifted up his sword again, but Samuel pushed him away from the pillar.

  “I’m sorry, Akhenaton. I can’t let you do that. We’ll find a way to keep the headdress away from the Bruard. I can’t stand back and watch you destroy it.”

  “Get out of my way,” ordered Akhenaton. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I’ve sworn an oath to my order and I will protect St. Augustine’s secret. The only way is to destroy it.”

  Seeing the resolve on Akhenaton’s face, Samuel hurled himself at the other man, trying to wrench the sword out of his grasp. The two men grappled, but Samuel was no match for the highly trained guard. Adrenaline coursed through him as he fought to save the relic, lending him extra strength, and he had almost managed to take the scimitar when Akhenaton made a sudden, swift movement, knocking Samuel’s feet out from under him.

  “Stay down,” Akhenaton advised. “You must not interfere in-”

  THUNK!

  “Sorry,” Basile said, as he hit Akhenaton over the head with a golden scepter he’d found on a nearby shelf. Akhenaton fell to the ground unconscious, as Basile stepped over his prone body and went to help Samuel up.

  “Thanks, Basile,” said Samuel. “If you hadn’t have intervened, who knows what Akhenaton would have done? I know that he thinks he’s acting on behalf of his order, but whatever they believe is irrelevant. We need to study everything in this room, unravel St. Augustine’s secret and share it with the world.”

  “I knew I could trust you to do the right thing,” came a malevolent voice from the door. Samuel whirled round to see Pin, framed by the blackness of the passage beyond, clapping sarcastically. “Although you’re mistaken about one thing,” the Bruard agent continued. “The artifacts here do not belong to the world. They are the property of the Bruard, mine to retrieve. My masters will be extremely pleased with me when I return with St. Augustine’s secret.”

  “I won’t let you,” growled Samuel, lunging for Akhenaton’s sword.

  “Uh-uh-uh.” Pin tutted and cocked his gun. “I really don’t think you want to do anything stupid, not when you’ve come so far. Step away from the sword Mr. McCarthy, if you want to live.”

  Gord came to stand next to his boss. “Why haven’t you shot them already?” he demanded. “We don’t want to leave any loose ends.”

  “I gave my word to these two gentlemen that I would not shoot them unless absolutely necessary,” Pin replied. “I will not dishonor the Bruard by telling falsehoods. Of course, that doesn’t mean that there aren’t other ways of dealing with those who are surplus to requirement. Now secure the headdress so we can get out of this hellhole.”

  Gord hurried to collect the headdress, while Pin kept his gun trained on Samuel and Basile.

  “What do you possibly hope to gain by this?” asked Samuel. “There are plenty of more valuable artifacts around. If you want money, why not take gems or gold? This room
is full of treasure. It’s got to be worth half a billion at least. I can’t imagine that you’ll get much for that headdress. No one will believe that it’s anything other than a funny looking hat.”

  “To be fair, my original plan had been to strip this tomb of everything and sell it on the black market to fill the Bruard’s coffers. While I may yet return to do that, from what your unconscious friend was saying, this headdress is all we need. If it really can control weak minds, it will allow the Bruard dynasty to rule the world, as is our destiny and all without unnecessary bloodshed. People will be begging us to rule them.”

  “You’d better hope that that headdress can reach out to every mind on the planet, because only worldwide brainwashing could achieve that,” remarked Samuel.

  “Not quite, but close enough.”

  As Gord left with the headdress tucked under his arm, Pin gestured with his gun for Samuel and Basile to stand at the back of the room, furthest from the door.

  “Pleasant as our conversation has been, the time has come for me to say adieu to you both,” Pin told them.

  “I swear to you, Pin, as a man of archaeology, I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth if need be to recover St. Augustine’s secret,” Samuel warned.

  “I have no doubt that you would,” chuckled Pin, “but there’s one small problem. You’ll have to find a way out of here first. This chamber is now your eternal chamber. Set the explosives!”

  Pin retreated, keeping his gun trained on Samuel and Basile, as his men quickly slapped bowl-sized explosive charges around the stone door frame. They pushed a button in the center of each, beginning the countdown.

  “Farewell, McCarthy,” called Pin. “See you in another lifetime!”

  Pin and his men beat a hasty retreat. Samuel and Basile looked at each other, their faces masks of panic, as they turned and ran away from the door. The blast knocked them to the ground, as the rock face around the entrance crumbled. Golden artifacts and shards of smashed vases rained down on the pair from shelves high above.