Pyramid: A Novel Page 9

  “So you’re suggesting he faked it,” Hiebermeyer said, staring at him.

  Jack leaned forward, nodding. “Faked the destruction of the Israelites, but not of his own Egyptian army. He would have known that a victory could be made even more glorious by sacrifice. Imagine Akhenaten returning to Amarna with only a few survivors, telling of a great victory but one where divine intervention caused victor and vanquished alike to plunge into the sea. That’s the basis of the story in the Book of Exodus. Akhenaten’s status is enhanced not only by his claim of victory but also by his miraculous survival. Maybe he even lets a favored general use his golden chariot, the one we found, so that Akhenaten would return without it, something the people would take as evidence of his own role in the battle. Pharaohs in the past would never let others take their place. With the Egyptian army gone, the Israelites could escape from Egypt unhindered. There’s no reason why Moses and his people should ever be heard of again in Akhenaten’s lifetime as they develop their settlement in a new place of worship that Akhenaten has secured for them in the land of Israel.”

  “You’re suggesting that Akhenaten was party to the entire exodus?”

  “More than that. I’m saying that he engineered it. I’m saying that the death ride of the charioteers was a setup. I’m saying that he and Moses chose the place in advance, that the Israelite encampment was placed dangerously close to an unstable cliff, but that Moses and his people had left it secretly before the attack. To pull it off, Akhenaten would have needed some way of egging his men on, of convincing them that they could wheel to safety after trampling over and destroying the encampment and its occupants.”

  “Mercenaries,” Hiebermeyer said. “Those who would do a pharaoh’s word without question.”

  “Female mercenaries,” Jack said. “Bare-breasted female mercenaries. What better way to get an army on the move.”

  “Like running a rabbit before a pack of racing dogs,” Costas said, sitting down on a chair. “I love it.”

  Hiebermeyer shook his head. “I’m going to miss these brainstorming sessions, Jack.”

  “One thing I wanted to ask,” Costas said. “About your tomb in the mummy necropolis.”

  Hiebermeyer swivelled his chair. “Go on.”

  “The chariot general. Did you get a look at him? I mean, did you see inside his sarcophagus?”

  Hiebermeyer pursed his lips, nodding. “I didn’t mention that earlier because I felt like a tomb robber. Thank God none of my team saw me. Just before leaving and sealing up the tomb, I took a crowbar and jacked off the coffin lid. As I suspected, it was empty.”

  “Huh? I thought the tomb was undisturbed.”

  “It was. The empty sarcophagus means that Mehmet-Re died in action and his body was never recovered. The best his family could do was to go through the motions and hope that the gods would still accept him into the afterlife.”

  “The action in the wall painting,” Costas said. “Could that be the actual battle?”

  Hiebermeyer sat back, tapping a pencil on the table. “I’d assumed it was a generic scene. If a body wasn’t recovered, that usually meant a catastrophic defeat, one leaving few survivors or eyewitnesses.”

  “Sounds like our chariot charge into the Red Sea.”

  Hiebermeyer stopped tapping and stared at the screen. “It’s possible. We know that Mehmet-Re was a general and died in battle during Akhenaten’s reign. We don’t know of any other catastrophic defeat incurred by Akhenaten, certainly none in which such a high-ranking officer died. Assuming that Akhenaten was the pharaoh of the Old Testament story of Moses, that chariot charge would fit the bill.”

  “And no surprise that there’s silence about it in the other sources,” Jack added.

  Hiebermeyer nodded again. “You’re going to find evidence buried away like this only in tombs. You don’t celebrate a catastrophic defeat with inscriptions and relief carvings in the great temples, especially the apparent destruction of the most powerful chariot army in the world by a band of unarmed slaves. If you’re going to talk about it at all, it’s more likely you give a supernatural explanation. The desert was a feared place, and this wouldn’t have been the first time an Egyptian army had disappeared into the dust, never to be seen again. The Israelites might not be the only ones who invoked the powers of a deity in their explanation of what happened that day beside the Red Sea.”

  “Is there anything else in the tomb that could pin it down?”

  Hiebermeyer slumped forward. “I had only a matter of minutes in there before I had to call in the bulldozer to bury that part of the site. I had my camera with me and photographed everything I could see, and it’s just possible that something else will show up in the images of the walls—a hieroglyphic cartouche perhaps. The problem is that much of the wall was heavily mildewed and the painting was obscured. The other problem is that apart from Aysha, you two are the only people to know about the tomb, and I can’t risk giving the images to anyone else in my team to analyze in case word slips out. I might be able to snatch a few moments to glance at them myself over the next few days, but I can’t promise it. The priority for me now is getting back to finish off the parts of the necropolis that are still under excavation.”

  “We hear you,” Jack said.

  Another figure walked into the room, a short, compact woman also wearing dusty khaki, her dark hair tied back in a bun. She handed Costas a thick sandwich and offered another one to Jack, who shook his head. Jack knew from glancing at her that now was not the time for niceties, and she walked over and put a hand on Hiebermeyer’s shoulder, her expression serious. “I’ve seen the pictures you sent from the Red Sea, Jack. What else have you got?”

  “I wanted you to see this, Aysha, because you were the one who came across that First World War diary entry that led us to the site, and it specifically mentioned what you’re about to see.” Jack put a memory stick into the computer and opened up the file containing the images that Costas had taken of him in the final moments of the dive. He found what he wanted, and clicked it open. Hiebermeyer stared at the screen, and then clapped his hands. “I knew it,” he cried. “I knew when I saw the sketch in that officer’s notebook that it was one of those.”

  “You can identify that for certain?” Costas asked, his mouth full.

  “It’s a khopesh sword,” Hiebermeyer exclaimed. “Look at that poster on my wall, from the Tutankhamun exhibition that travelled the world a few years ago. You can see one there, almost identical.”

  “It’s not the most practical-looking weapon, is it?” Costas said, munching on his sandwich and peering at the poster. “I mean, from a military point of view. That sickle-shaped blade would have been difficult to balance and unwieldy in battle. It’s more like an executioner’s sword.”

  Hiebermeyer nodded. “Howard Carter thought they were more suited to crushing rather than cutting, but with a razor-sharp edge and the weight of the blade it would have worked well for decapitation. They seem to be Asiatic in origin and arrive in Egypt about the beginning of the New Kingdom, about the same time as chariots, and disappear by the end of the Bronze Age. There’s no doubt that these were high-status weapons carried by officers, by army or divisional commanders. It shows that those charioteers were being led by their officers when they rode off that cliff into the sea, and the men were not being forced on some kind of suicide charge by officers who remained behind.”

  “Can you date it more closely?” Jack asked.

  Hiebermeyer rocked back on his chair, staring at the photograph. “The closest date we’ve got for one is the example from Tutankhamun’s tomb, about 1320 BC.”

  “The son of Akhenaten and Nefertiti?” Costas said.

  “Not all would agree, but I believe so,” Hiebermeyer said. “Whatever their true relationship, they were certainly only a generation apart.”

  “Good enough for me,” Costas said. “And Akhenaten’s our man? I mean, are we sure he’s the pharaoh of the Old Testament, the one who chased the Israelites acro
ss the sea?”

  Hiebermeyer looked at Jack, who nodded. “We’re not sure, but that’s the consensus.”

  “Well, looking at those two photos, I’d say those two swords were cast in the same foundry.”

  “You may well be right,” Hiebermeyer said. “But it’s not enough evidence to confirm the identification of the pharaoh at the time of the chariot disaster. Egyptologists are used to dealing with very precise data, and our theory won’t wash unless we can find archaeological evidence to pin this with absolute certainty to Akhenaten. Did you have time to look closely at the blade of that sword, Jack? Any indication of hieroglyphs?”

  “Nothing that I could see.”

  “Any other artifacts at the site? Any at all?”

  Costas suddenly shot bolt upright. “Ah.” He turned to Jack, a guilty look on his face.

  “I know that look,” Jack said, narrowing his eyes. “It means Costas has seen something archaeological but forgotten to tell me, usually because whatever technical thing he was doing at the time was more important. Am I right?”

  Costas coughed, spilling crumbs down his shirt, and reached into his shorts pocket. “Well, not seen something, exactly. I found something. I’d clean forgotten about it until this moment. Had it in these shorts all the way from the dive boat.”

  Jack stared at him. “You mean you went through security at the airport with some looted antiquity in your pocket, just when we were trying to remain incognito and avoid any confrontation with the Egyptian authorities?”

  “Sorry, okay?” Costas took another bite from his sandwich. “Anyway, I’d also forgotten that my notebook had the full specs for the latest IMU deep-submergence Aquapod on it. That’s far worse. I must have had too much nitrogen still circulating in my head. Now it would have been a disaster if they’d found that.”

  Hiebermeyer stared at him. “If you hadn’t been my son’s godfather…”

  “And an all-round good guy,” Costas said, munching away and handing him the object he had fished out of his pocket. “You were going to say?”

  “Mein Gott,” Hiebermeyer whispered, staring at the artifact in his hands, turning it over and letting Jack look. “It’s a fragment of gilding from a wooden panel that’s thick enough to be gold plate. It must be part of the openwork decoration on that chariot facing. Look at that poster again and you can see a shield decorated that way from the tomb of Tutankhamun that shows the pharaoh smiting a lion, and a small panel on the side containing his two first names.”

  “Can you see any detail?” Jack asked,

  “Just a moment,” Hiebermeyer murmured, carefully prizing away a layer of marine accretion from the gold and revealing the lower end of a cartouche with symbols inside. “We’re in luck!” he exclaimed, his voice hoarse with excitement. “Hieroglyphs.” He turned to Costas, his face flushed. “As the discoverer and guardian of this priceless artifact, the honor of translating it should be yours.”

  “What do you mean? You’re the Egyptologist.”

  “Have you seen those symbols before? In the crocodile temple on the Nile, for example? On the panel inside the sarcophagus of Menkaure in the shipwreck? At Tell-el Amarna?”

  Costas stared. “A reed. That bird. A ball of string. That half-sun symbol.” He looked up. “Is this our man?”

  “Neferkheperure-Waenre Akhenaten, to give him his full name,” Hiebermeyer said triumphantly. “This cartouche could have been put on a chariot only during his reign. That clinches it. We’ve not only got the lost chariots from the biblical Exodus, but we’ve pinned down the pharaoh.”

  “Bingo,” Costas said, beaming at Jack.

  “What do you mean, bingo?”

  “I mean, Costas saves the day again. What would you do without me?” He reached across for the fragment of gilding, and Hiebermeyer gently but firmly pushed his arm away. Then he placed the artifact on a foam pad beside his computer. “I think you’ve taken care of that long enough. I need to get it cleaned up and photographed. When the time’s right, we’ve got what we need for the biggest archaeological press release from Egypt since the time of Howard Carter.”

  “When will you do it?” Jack asked.

  “It’ll have to be just after we’ve packed our bags and left. Otherwise I’ll have to explain how we raised an artifact from Egyptian waters without a permit, and there will be hell to pay. I’d rather close up shop here before the thugs arrive to do it for me, and then we can leave on a high note.”

  “Unless you get some last-minute find from the mummy necropolis.”

  “Unless you find a way into Ahkenaten’s underground City of Light.”

  Aysha put a hand on both men’s shoulders. “Now that’s what I like to hear. The Jack and Maurice of old. If we’re finished here, Jack, I’ve got something I want to show you.”

  Jack looked at her. “You’ve done great stuff already for us, Aysha. You should get back to the necropolis with Maurice. This is your country, and you need to do whatever’s necessary to leave it in your own terms, with your own projects resolved.”

  She took a deep, faltering breath. “I don’t feel that Egypt is my country anymore. I feel we’re on the verge of an exodus just like the one that Moses and the Israelites set out on more than three thousand years ago. We’ll be like so many others who have fallen back before this modern-day darkness, like the Somalis, the Afghans, the Syrians, living in exile, a modern-day diaspora. We can’t delude ourselves. Egypt will fall, and we have only a few weeks left at most, probably only days. The hours ahead are going to be the most intense of my life. Part of that is doing what I have to do for you.”

  Jack stared back at her. “Okay, Aysha. Let’s hear what you’ve got to say.”

  CHAPTER 8

  At that moment Jack’s phone hummed, and he glanced at it. “It’s a text from Rebecca. She’s arrived at Tel Aviv airport. Israeli security interrogated her for more than three hours.”

  Aysha looked at him. “You worried, Jack?”

  “About my nineteen-year-old daughter flying into a war zone? Of course not.”

  Costas coughed. “What were you doing at that age, Jack? I seem to remember you telling me about Royal Navy diver training, and then a stint with the Royal Marines on some special forces ops in the Arabian Gulf.”

  “The Special Boat Section,” Jack said. “Anyway, I wasn’t really with them, I was just trying it out. I’d already decided to go to university instead, which is more than can be said for Rebecca.”

  “Given all the experience we’ve provided her with on IMU projects during her school vacations,” Aysha said, “you can hardly blame her for wanting to bypass that. Anyway, I think she’ll do it. I spotted her looking at the prospectus for Cambridge.”

  “What’s she doing in Israel, anyway?” Costas asked.

  “She’s been wanting to go there ever since I told her about our hunt six years ago for the tomb beneath the Holy Sepulchre,” Jack said. “She found out about the big project at the City of David site to sort and wash ancient debris swept off the Al-Aqsa mosque platform when it was built. There are millions of sherds dating back to prehistory, and volunteers are always needed.”

  Aysha furrowed her brow, looking skeptical. “Mmm. I remember Rebecca at Troy three years ago volunteering to help us clean potsherds. As I recall, it lasted about a day. Cleaning potsherds isn’t really a Howard thing, is it? Not when there’s real excitement around.”

  “It did strike me as a bit odd,” Jack said. “I thought there might have been a boyfriend involved. I think Jeremy was there. I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to interfere. It’s tricky being a dad sometimes.”

  Aysha gave him a questioning look. “Would you ever put a girlfriend above archaeology? And remember, I’m good friends with both Katya and Maria. I know everything.”

  Jack fidgeted slightly, tapping a pencil on his hand. Katya and Maria were two of his closest colleagues, instrumental in several of his greatest discoveries. Jeremy had been Maria’s graduate student in Oxford. He
was an American who was now assistant director of her palaeography institute. “Katya’s always impossible to get hold of, always in the middle of nowhere looking for ancient petroglyphs in Kyrgyzstan, and Maria’s always up to her neck in some medieval manuscript in Oxford.”

  Aysha peered at him. “When did Rebecca make the decision to visit Israel?”

  “We’d been talking about General Gordon in Khartoum, about how he and the other Royal Engineers survey officers had a fascination with the Holy Land and its archaeology. I’d been telling her my theory that their quest for Akhenaten in the desert of Sudan had been spurred by something they’d found in Israel, in Jerusalem itself, something that had drawn them there repeatedly over the years right up to the time of Gordon’s final appointment as governor general in Khartoum.”

  “And Israel is the one place you haven’t visited on your quest.”

  “I’d been planning to go there if things in Egypt go belly-up.”

  Hiebermeyer looked at him. “Did you put Rebecca in touch with IMU’s Israel representative, Solomon Ben Ezra? Sol and I have been planning a joint Israeli-Egyptian project to evaluate coastal sites at the border, something that seems inconceivable now.”

  “I tried that. She wanted to go it alone. But I let him know anyway, so he can keep a discreet eye on her.”

  “It had better be pretty discreet,” Costas muttered. “Otherwise you won’t hear the end of it.”

  “That’s it then,” Aysha said. “Rebecca hasn’t gone to Israel to clean potsherds. She’s gone there as part of this project, to make her mark. And she’s not the only one working behind the scenes this time. You’d be surprised who else is involved, Jack, right here in Egypt. That’s what I want to talk about now. What do you know of the early caliphs of Cairo?”