Death of a Pharaoh (3 page)

Lord Thoth, God of Wisdom and Chief Scribe to the Supreme Council of
the Gods, received the message from Ahmed milliseconds later. This particular
method of communication had served for almost two thousand years, since the end
of the Regency after the death of Queen Cleopatra. Thoth himself
conceived and implemented
the project. The papyrus
before him
existed on two cosmic planes; here in his chambers as well as the
secure vault in Timbuktu. In human terms, it was comparable to an internet chat
service such as Facebook. It allowed him to correspond directly with the
Pharaoh or on extraordinary occasions with the Chief Archivist.

He had been
waiting. They all felt the
great
disturbance in the heavens. He considered
Fannie a remarkable pharaoh and he feared that the defense of Ma'at had just
lost its greatest ally. He could only remember one other occasion when the
universe reacted directly to events on earth; the moment when Jesus of Nazareth
expired on the cross. Not because he was the Messiah, as so many of his
followers believed, but rather because he too died a Pharaoh. It had never
happened again, not in the darkest hours of Hitler's insanity or even
when deranged
terrorists attacked the
W
orld Trade Center in New York. He had no
idea what it meant, but he imagined that it did not bode well for humanity.

He rang Seshat,
his assistant, and asked her to bring him the Book of Kings. He would need to
record the death. It seemed only yesterday he called for it to remove the name
of Princess Eshe as heiress, although more than sixteen earth years had passed
since that tragic moment. Lord Thoth pulled himself out of the well of
nostalgia and tried to concentrate on the present.

He decided to
review Fannie’s dream file to see if her last moments could shed any light on
the perpetrator of this horrendous crime. These archives were transcripts
culled from the minds of the reigning Pharaoh and confirmed heirs every night
as they slept and possible due to the exceptional telepathic abilities they
shared. Contrary to popular belief, the Gods have never possessed the ability
to read human minds except in these few isolated cases.

Normally the
entries updated when the subject entered a state of deep sleep that humans call
REM. In the case of death, retrieval of the last hours was still possible but
there was a risk of incomplete or compromised data. Lord Thoth picked up the
archive labeled ‘Falcon One’ and scrolled back
one earth hour
. He
began reading at the point where Fannie finished eating her solitary annual
dinner to commemorate Nkosana’s birthday.

Even though her grandson could never be with her, Fannie faithfully
celebrated his birthday every year since her daughter Eshe’s death. Nkosana was
six months old at the time and today he turned seventeen. She always baked his
favorite cake, a triple layer devil’s chocolate with coconut-flavored icing.
She lovingly prepared fried chicken and mashed potatoes, his preferred dinner
according to his adoptive parents. Through them and his extensive security
detail, she knew much about her heir, even though she had not spoken to him
since the day of her daughter’s murder.

Today was special
because next year before he reached eighteen, he would already be with her and
she would have begun to prepare him to accept his destiny. She glanced at the
framed photograph of Nkosana taken when he graduated from junior high school
that she had placed on the table in front of her for the occasion. He was
handsome and so like his mother. Her eyes clouded over as she lit the candles
and made a wish. She prayed to the Gods that the months remaining before he
came to her would pass quickly and that Horus would watch over her grandson and
keep him safe. She blew the flickering flames out in one breath.

By 7:00 pm, the
sun kissed the horizon and she would have to hurry if she wanted to get the
cake to the men’s shelter before dark. She called the Foundation to alert her
security team that she planned to go out.

"Good Evening
Lord Pharaoh. How was the birthday party?"

"Bittersweet
as always, Mark,” she responded to his kindness then deftly changed the
subject, “how is Bobby doing?”

"The cast on
his arm is driving him crazy as you could imagine for any three year old but he
is enjoying all the extra attention," the operator informed his boss.
"What can I do for you, My Lord?"

"I want to
take some food to the shelter down the street. Where is Herbert right now?”

“In his apartment
watching a basketball game.”

“What about the
second team?”

“They left a few
moments ago to pick up the evening dispatches,” he informed her then asked,
“shall I send them back?”

“Don't bother,
I’ll knock on Herbert’s door on my way out,” she indicated. “How are the
Seventy-sixers doing anyway?”

“Behind by
fourteen right now.”

“Oh dear, he’ll be
grumpy.”

“That’s for sure,”
he agreed. “Anything else my Lord?”

“No, thank you
Mark and please give a kiss to Bobby for me.”

Fannie hung up the
phone then walked over to the storage cupboard beside the refrigerator. She
stood on her tippy toes to reach the large Tupperware cake container from the
top shelf. She bought it on eBay three years ago.

The dishes could
wait until she got back. Actually, she looked forward to the short walk. There
would be a nice cool breeze. She picked up the cake and her black purse from
the hook near the door.

There was no one
in the hallway. She took two steps forward and was about to knock on Herbert's
door when she heard one of his legendary snores. With the racket, she could
barely make out the basketball game on television. How could she disturb him
after telling him to take the night off. She thought of calling Mark again to
ask for an escort but it seemed such a bother. The walk would take all of five
minutes and she’d return long before anyone missed her. It would be her first
stroll alone in months. A shiver of excitement ran down her spine, like a young
teenager sneaking out of her bedroom window at night for a date with a boy she
knew her parents would never accept.

It was now dusk. A
slight breeze stirred the peonies planted along the walk. There was almost no
traffic and she failed to notice the tall heavyset man who stepped out of the
car parked halfway down the block and partially hidden by a dumpster. There was
no one on the street but she could hear life emanating from all around; a
television tuned too loud, the muted sounds of an earnest conversation on her
right that gave way to a woman humming in Spanish at the kitchen window while
she washed the dishes. They all harmonized to form the chorus of life that
scored the evening.

She felt safe in
this neighborhood populated with a diverse racial profile and culturally spiced
by the large number of African immigrants that made Cedar Park their home.
Perhaps it was this false sense of security that contributed to the fact that
she never heard the rapid steps approaching from behind. She only reacted when
someone tugged on her purse. She struggled to maintain her grip and spun around
to face the thief. Herbert would be annoyed when he discovered that she had
gone out alone. Defiant, she stared her attacker in the eye and knew instantly
that he did not intend to rob her. She only heard the first shot. Her last
thought was of Nkosana. She prayed that he would forgive her.

The vision of her assailant was somewhat blurred but clear enough for
Thoth to see his face. With the evil grin of her assassin etched in his memory,
he thought it might be helpful to revisit the reports on the death of Princess
Eshe sixteen years earlier to see if the image in his mind matched the
description of the priest who had caused the fatal accident. If he remembered
correctly, Eshe’s last thoughts exhibited remarkable clarity despite moments of
great pain and anxiety.

He flipped through
several pages and began to read just as her car headed south along Martin
Luther King Jr. Drive after another of her long chemotherapy sessions at the
private cancer clinic in Philadelphia. She loved this route and had it been
earlier they might have stopped to watch the ducks on the river. She sat in the
right rear with young Nkosana harnessed in an infant safety seat to her left.
She reached over to tickle his fat little chin and smiled as he blew tiny
bubbles in response.

“My beautiful
miracle baby,” she whispered to him as she so often did. Fourteen months
earlier, her doctors diagnosed leukemia and against their advice she decided to
become pregnant and have a child for fear that the cure would make her sterile.
An heir was more important even than her own health. After his birth, the
medical team gave her barely three weeks to breastfeed him before they insisted
she begin treatment. With the long wait since her diagnosis, the cancer had
spread. The combination of radiation and chemotherapy made most of her hair
fall out and in two months, she would undergo a painful bone marrow transplant.
Her physicians were among the best in the country but the prognosis remained
guarded. She glanced over at Nkosana again and she knew that none of it
mattered with him in her life.

“Tomorrow, I am
going to take you to see your Grandma,” she confided to her son who seemed more
interested in the streetlights flashing by on the left.

Neither she nor
her driver, Herbert, noticed the large black SUV barreling toward them as they
entered the intersection on a green light. Eshe screamed as the force of the
impact crushed her door and shattered her right hip. She instinctively leaned
over to protect the baby while Herbert struggled to maintain control. Seconds
later, the same car rammed their rear bumper hurtling them across the median
and crashing through the metal barrier on the left.

Eshe gasped in
horror as the vehicle became airborne and soared toward the black waters of the
Schuykill River. The impact detonated Herbert’s airbag and Eshe feared for a
moment that he had lost consciousness. She was relieved as the car seemed to
float at first, but within seconds a large stream of water started to pour
through her shattered window. She released her seatbelt and reached over to
free Nkosana from his harness as she felt the ice-cold water already swirling
around her waist.

She heard Herbert
moan and called to him, “We’re sinking!”

“Try to swim out
your window.”

“I can’t move my
legs,” she cried, “I’m pinned.”

Herbert reached
around to tug on her arm but it only made her scream in pain. She pulled back
needing both hands to keep the baby’s head above water.

“Take Nkosana,”
she pleaded, “You must save him!”

“My Lady, I can’t
leave you!”

“Go! I beg you,”
the calmness in her voice surprised both of them. “This is not his destiny!”

Herbert quickly
removed his seatbelt. His window was open about a third. She watched as he
backed along the seat and raised his left leg to kick out the glass. It
shattered on the second blow. The water was now above her chin and she
struggled to keep her son’s face in the rapidly reducing pocket of air. When
she felt Herbert grab the baby from her hands, she was completely submerged.
She held her breath, her heart pounding as she watched his legs disappear
through the window. A torrent of water flooded through after them and seconds
later the Princess blacked out as the Lexus became her temporary royal tomb.