Four Ways to Pharaoh Khufu (23 page)

“Questions?” asked Kirilov, putting the book aside.

“So, the stone blocks were first transported upward, right?” asked Anna.

“No,” replied Kirilov, arching his brows. “Initially downward, toward the site that later became known as the Subterranean Chamber. Let me clarify that further,” he added, seeing the surprised looks on Michael and Anna’s faces. “The main quarry was situated on the east shore of the Nile River. Using the Nile, the carved blocks were hauled by boats to the bay beside the Sphinx. From there they were hauled to the roadway. According to Herodotus, it took ten years to make the causeway for the limestone block’s conveyance. From there the blocks were carried to the east slope of the cliff and then downward along the inclined Hidden Passage, which has still not been found to this day.”

“Would it possible to find that Hidden Passage?” Anna was intrigued.

“If you will be nice, then I can certainly provide you with some pointers,” replied Kirilov mischievously.

Michael and Anna laughed.

“By the way,” continued Kirilov, “today’s line of the horizon is not the base of the Great Pyramid. In reality it lies deeper down at the level of the Subterranean Chamber. And beneath that chamber, deep down inside the cliff’s cavity, Pharaoh Khufu’s mummy quietly rests with his countless treasures.”

“Wait a second,” said Anna, glancing at Michael. “Khufu’s mummy and his treasures are still inside the Great Pyramid?”

Kirilov nodded silently.

“Weren’t they robbed like thousands of years ago?” she asked, her eyes widened.

Kirilov shook his head.

If this theory proves to be real, then we are on the verge of the greatest discovery ever.
Michael was already imagining what the treasure chamber might contain.

“As the construction progressed,” Kirilov continued, “those inclined levels were covered up from above, thus becoming passages bearing the constant upward transportation stream of the limestone blocks. From the inside of the pyramid these blocks were carried outside through the opening at the top of pyramid, which was sealed afterwards. As you can see, the erection of the pyramid or, in other words, the wrapping of the cliff served a double purpose: as the foundation and core of the pyramid, and as its transportation facility.”

“OK, what was the purpose of the King’s Chamber?” asked Anna, completely mesmerized by Kirilov’s narrative.

“Obviously it wasn’t the burial place, but rather a convenient accommodation for one of the working crews hauling the blocks along the Grand Gallery,” Kirilov replied as he took a sip of his coffee. “Having executed the combined engineering and technological functions, the King’s Chamber turned itself into a cenotaph.”

“Cenotaph?” asked Anna.

“Cenotaph is a tomb erected in honor of a person whose remains were buried elsewhere. The sarcophagus installed earlier inside the King’s Chamber further strengthened the illusion. Exactly the same intention was set for the Queen’s Chamber, Subterranean Chamber and the open site of the north entrance of the Great Pyramid. The passageways served three functions during the construction of the Great Pyramid. First as transportation: aqueous lanes that carried the stream of rainwater toward the well inside the Subterranean Chamber. Next, they served as airshafts. Third, they were a part of the deception.”

“So, Caliph Al-Mamun was the first one to get fooled by this sly snare, right?” suggested Michael.

“That’s exactly right,” Kirilov replied.

“Mr. Kirilov,” Anna sat back in her seat. “Your theory is simple, and yet it covers all the aspects of the construction process. What I don’t understand is how come your theory has never been proved or disproved?”

“When I developed my theory back in the 1980s, hardly anyone believed it because of its simplicity. Everybody was looking for something more, such as aliens, people from Atlantis and God’s intervention.” Kirilov’s cheerful face was beginning to turn sad. “The fact of the matter is that the Great Pyramid was built by ordinary, but skilled Egyptian people and my theory proves it.”

“What would be some of the ways to prove your theory?” Michael asked thoughtfully.

“The constant transportation of the heavy blocks atop the surface of the passages can be verified by a close, visual examination. The lower surfaces of the passages should be smoother than the surfaces of the other three sides because it sustained the continuous flow of the blocks. In addition, if you lifted up one of the floor blocks, the natural cliff would be seen.”

Visibly amazed, Michael and Anna continued listening to Kirilov’s explanation of his brilliant, yet simple hypothesis. At one point Svetlana brought in a tray of black bread and potato soup for them. The three new friends barely noticed as another two hours passed by quickly. Suddenly Svetlana surprised them all by walking into the living room and speaking, “Tolya, take a look at the time! It’s late! They are tired, and you are tired as well. Tell them to come back tomorrow.”

“We must be up early tomorrow because we are going to church to light our candles,” Kirilov explained. “My health is not what it used to be. When I was younger I never even went to the doctor, but now the years are taking their toll.”

“We are so sorry,” Anna reassured him as they got up from the couch. “We were so fascinated that we lost track of time.” They now noticed their host was looking a bit worn out from their conversation.

Kirilov got up from his desk chair and started down the hallway. “While you are putting your shoes on, I will tell you something else. Just don’t interrupt me,” he instructed. He rarely had any visitors lately and was trying to prolong their visit, even by a few extra minutes.

“Deep down inside the Subterranean Chamber, close to the center of its eastern wall, is a well. This well couldn’t be positioned in the middle of the chamber because it would have been in the way of the movement of the blocks. If it were near the western wall, it would’ve increased the distance to the opposing side of the pyramid. Moreover, the exit from the water well was beneath the chamber’s foundation and was probably destroyed after the pyramid’s construction was complete. By the way, this mysterious well has one peculiarity. Almost all of the explorers indicated the well to be about ten meters deep and assumed it had a dead end. In reality, it is blocked by a stone plug and should be an additional one to two meters deep. This is how the excess water was carried outside the pyramid. The position of the well is very important because it uncovers the connection of the well foundation with the existing water-carrying soil layer.” With these words Kirilov held up a folded piece of notebook paper. “This is the schematic of the stone plug locking the dead-end of the well,” he announced as he carefully unfolded it, showed it to them and then folded it back up, placing it in Michael’s left hand.

“Don’t lose it,” Kirilov added, grinning.

The sound of a throat clearing interrupted them. Svetlana was standing in the living room, her hands on her hips. Her look didn’t require any translation:
let them go,
now!

“One last thing,” said Kirilov, rushing his speech as his guests were putting on their coats. “The limestone blocks were introduced inside the pyramid through the entrance situated on its east side. The opening on the northern side in reality was not even an entrance, although it looked like a working site. Later on, the opening assumed the same role, just as the King’s Chamber led potential robbers away from the true entrance to the Great Pyramid. By hiding the real entrance, HemIwno deprived potential robbers of access to the pharaoh’s real chamber. The Great Pyramid became a creation that had neither an entrance nor an exit.”

Michael and Anna thanked Svetlana for the meal and Kirilov for his time as he unlocked and opened the apartment door for them. They stepped into the hall and walked with Mr. Kirilov to the elevator.

“Mr. Kirilov,” Michael turned to address him, “I was touched by your fascinating story about how you survived that bunker during World War II. I myself was involved in a similar predicament during my deployment to Iraq in 2003.” Michael had reached the elevator and pushed the button to summon it.

“What happened?” Kirilov asked.

“I was the gunner in a Humvee that was a part of a convoy making our way to Baghdad. Suddenly, whole hell broke loose. We got caught in what you would call a “kill zone.” Rocket-propelled grenades hit several trucks and Humvees behind us. The Humvee driver steered us toward the enemy trench while I used my machine gun to destroy several enemy bunkers. Hundreds of enemy fighters poured out, shooting rocket-propelled grenades at us. We were getting hit left and right by AK-47 rounds. But thanks to our skilled driver, we still managed to avoid direct hits from the grenades. As our Humvee was steering away toward the big berm on the left side we got hit hard. One of the grenades hit the driver’s side. I blacked out for a moment, but then I remember looking at our vehicle commander through a smoky haze. He was dead. When I looked over at the driver, his guts were falling out down his sides. But he was still alive. The Humvee was on fire, but I managed to free myself from my harness, crawl over to the driver and pull him out from the burning vehicle. As soon as I got him safely away from the vehicle, I observed several Marine Amphibious Assault Vehicles approaching our area. I blacked out again, and the next thing I remember, I was waking up in the Troop Medical Clinic with a third degree burn to my left leg.”

“It’s so good to meet a fellow veteran,” said Kirilov, tears in his eyes. He leaned forward and heartily embraced Michael. “What happened to the driver?” Kirilov asked.

“Miraculously the driver survived, and I was credited with saving his life. I was surprised and deeply humbled when I was awarded the Bronze Star for my actions.”

Kirilov embraced Michael again. “A guy like you pulled me out of that burning bunker and saved my life. All these years and up to this day I didn’t know his name. But now I do.”

“You do?” Anna asked quietly.

“Yes,” said Kirilov, as tears rolled out from his eyes. “His name is Michael. What’s your last name?” he asked.

“Doyle,” Michael replied, slightly embarrassed.

“His name is Michael Doyle, and let’s hope that there will be more loyal and brave fellows like him.”

The elevator arrived, sliding its doors open.

“Mr. Kirilov,” said Michael solemnly, “when I came back home from the war, I always imagined myself as a museum relic, sealed in a glass display case with the sign ‘Break glass in case of war.’”

“No, Michael,” Kirilov put his hand on Michael’s shoulder “you are not the only one who thinks this way. For a very long time I couldn’t understand why my life was spared. Why did so many of my comrades die, and why was I spared? But then I figured out the answer.”

“You did?” asked Michael, enthralled. “That’s the same question I keep asking myself over and over again.”

“I was spared,” Kirilov replied softly and proudly, “so I could uncover the secrets of the Great Pyramid. And guess what Michael, your life was spared … maybe exactly for the same reason.”

“Thank you Mr. Kirilov for the lovely evening and the fascinating stories,” said Anna, stepping inside the elevator as Michael shook Kirilov’s hand.

Michael stepped into the elevator, and as the doors began to close, Kirilov spoke, “I’m proud to shake your hand.”

“Likewise,” replied Michael. The elevator doors then groaned shut and the elevator started its descent.

Chapter 34

Voronezhskaya Street, Moscow, Russia

Saturday, September 23

8:05 p.m.

A
gusty wind swirled toward Anna and Michael as they stepped out of the threadbare apartment building. Automatically zipping up their jackets, they strode past the lumbering buildings, deep in their own thoughts as the noise and screeches of Moscow’s rush hour whirled around them. Their time with Kirilov had been moving, yet Michael had an uneasy feeling that Kirilov had left something out of their conversation. He thrust his chilled hands inside his pockets, appreciating the warmth. It was as if Kirilov had wanted to say something, but withheld it for some unknown reason. At the traffic light, they turned left onto another street, following the flow of pedestrians. They approached a brightly lit marketplace with small, open-air shops and sidewalk vendors.

The spell was broken when the first, small raindrops plopped onto their heads. Michael stopped and looked at Anna as a certain fact suddenly dawned on him. “I left my umbrella at Kirilov’s apartment.” The thought of having the perfect excuse to return to Kirilov’s filled him with elation. Anna reassured Michael that she would enjoy poking around the market while he ran back. “I'll be right back,” he promised as Anna happily waved Michael on and disappeared into the crowd. He turned and started running back to Kirilov’s building, hoping he was still awake.

With the looming storm clouds it was getting darker and darker as Michael approached the building’s entrance. The front door banged open and a man ran outside, almost clipping him. “Hey!” He barked at the rude stranger, the streetlights briefly illuminating the man’s face. As he caught the door and entered the building, he realized that the stranger seemed familiar. But he was in the middle of Russia, miles and miles away from familiar faces and places, so he quickly dismissed that notion. After all, the lighting was rather inadequate, and he was tired. Once again, he entered the outdated elevator and pressed the button for the seventh floor.

When the elevator shuddered to a stop and opened its doors, he quickly approached Kirilov’s door. To Michael’s surprise, it was ajar.
Huh,
Kirilov probably forgot to shu
t it
.

He knocked lightly on the slightly open door, calling, “Hello?” He was starting to feel a bit guilty about returning, as the elderly and sick Kirilov was probably asleep by now. Michael waited for a response. The apartment was quiet except for the beating of his heart in his ears. He pushed the door slightly: knocking a bit louder and longer. Michael peered inside, but could see nothing beyond the ambiguous, dark shape of coats stacked high on the coat rack.

“Hello? Mister Kirilov? Svetlana? Are you there?” Michael asked the dark apartment. Again, there was no response. Then he heard shuffling steps coming from inside the apartment. The dim hall light came on, and Svetlana’s silhouette appeared.

“Michael, is that you?” she asked, her voice soft. She was still wearing her slippers and now had on a faded housecoat.

“Yes, ma’am,” Michael replied, standing in the door’s threshold.

“This is strange. Why is the door open?” she said, surprised.

“I left my umbrella here, so I came back,” Michael replied softly, “When I got here, the front door was open.”

Svetlana tsked tsked grumpily, “Tolya probably forgot.” She sighed in exasperation, “He has this habit of forgetting to completely close the door.”

“Oh, OK, I thought something had happened when I saw the door ajar.”

“Not to worry,” she said, smiling up at him in the dim light. “Tolya’s asleep now.”

“OK then, I’m just gonna get my umbrella and be on my way.” Michael took a few steps into the hallway and looked around for his umbrella. Sometimes the hardest thing to do when you are flustered is to find exactly what you are looking for, especially if it is right in front of you. It took Michael several moments to notice the umbrella, almost in plain sight. Relived, he grabbed it and was shoving it into his backpack when he heard something heavily tumbling onto the living room floor. He quickly turned to look at Svetlana, but her facial expression remained unchanged; obviously she had not heard a thing.

“I heard a noise coming from your living room,” Michael whispered in alarm.

“That noise was from my living room?” she asked, pleasantly surprised.

“Maybe the neighbors?” Assumed Michael.

“The walls are thick,” she reassured him, “Tolya’s asleep.”

“I’m pretty sure the noise I heard came from your living room,” Michael said cautiously.

“Go ahead,” she chuckled, “you can check for yourself.”

Confident he had heard something, Michael walked several steps and peeked around the corner. It was dark in the room with the curtains pulled, but there was a small bit of light coming from the kitchen and hallway. Michael’s eyes landed on the couch where he and Anna had sat; it was now transformed into a bed. Startled, he strode to the couch looking intently at a fresh, dark stain on the bedding. Svetlana flipped on the overhead light, illuminating Kirilov lying in a heap on the floor. Donned only in his white trunks, bright red blood slowly pooled around his body. At first Michael feared Kirilov was dead, but as he rushed closer he heard a deep groan.

“He’s hurt!” Michael shouted, turning to see Svetlana: her eyes large, her mouth open and her face completely white. “Call 9-1-1!” he shouted. Svetlana stood frozen and dazed. Frustrated with himself at instructing her to call 9-1-1, a command that made sense in the United States but nowhere else in the world, he changed tactics and shouted, “Call the ambulance!”

Svetlana rushed to the phone as Michael attended to Kirilov. Thinking that it was a gunshot wound, he immediately started searching for the exit wound, but could not find it. He looked closer and realized that Kirilov had not been shot, but stabbed. Kirilov moved a bit when he saw Michael kneeling next to him. Michael gently motioned for him to stay still.

“Quickly,” he addressed Svetlana, who was gripping the telephone receiver to her ear. “I need a bit of sugar and a clean towel!”

Seeing the surprised look on her face and near-frozen stance, Michael called out to her, “Svetlana! Sugar and a clean towel!”

“What happened to my husband?” she managed to say.

“Did you call the ambulance?” he asked ignoring her question.

“They will be here shortly.” Her hand slowly took the telephone receiver from her ear down to the base. “What happened to my husband?”

“I don’t know yet. So,” he stopped, looking her steadily in the eyes so she would focus on his words, “I need you to bring me some granulated sugar, a bottle of vodka, some iodine and a clean towel.”

“Sugar?” she asked, puzzled.

“Or honey.”

“Vodka?” Svetlana thought she had misheard him.

“Come on, don’t tell me you don’t have a bottle of vodka,” said Michael, visibly irritated. “Look, I don’t always agree with stereotypes, but it’s a dead giveaway that any respectable Russian would have some vodka stashed somewhere.”

“I never said we didn’t have vodka,” scoffed Svetlana. Even though his request puzzled her, she complied. Shuffling as fast as she was able, Svetlana went into the kitchen.

Michael positioned Kirilov upright, propping him up with the bed pillow.

“We are out of honey,” Svetlana announced as she returned with the vodka, a teacup filled with sugar, a towel and small bottle of iodine.

Michael carefully poured some sugar into his hand and then transferred a small amount to Kirilov’s wound. He made sure the sugar granules were deeply inside the wound, under the skin. He grabbed the bottle of iodine, unscrewed the top and then, with a steady hand, proceeded to pour several drops of iodine solution into the wound. Without looking up from his work he explained, “This should enhance the wound healing.”

Michael retrieved his wallet, pulling out a credit card. Grabbing the bottle of vodka, he quickly unscrewed the top and gently poured some vodka on the card. As Svetlana watched in amazement, he used the card’s edge to seal the wound.

“This will stem the blood flow,” he explained to Svetlana, who sat shaking on the edge of the bed. “Sugar or honey,” continued Michael, “was used to treat the wounds of ancient Egyptian soldiers on the battlefield. As your husband would concur, the wounds were treated with a mixture of honey and lard applied daily.” Kirilov nodded in agreement. Michael placed the towel carefully on the wound, applying a slight pressure on it.

“That should do it,” Michael said, sitting next to Kirilov on the floor.

“How do you know this?” asked Svetlana, still visibly astounded. “Are you a doctor?”

“No, I’m not a doctor, but my grandfather was a combat medic in the Pacific during World War II. He taught me traditional remedies to cure cuts and bruises.”

Kirilov moved slightly. Michael grabbed him gently, “What happened?” Outside the two-toned ambulance siren approached the building.

“It happened so quickly,” Kirilov spoke slowly, visibly struggling to speak. “I probably forgot to close the door completely, and that’s how he got inside,” Kirilov paused, taking a rest. He took a deep breath and continued, “I was getting into bed when I heard the intruder’s voice. He demanded that I give him the ancient artifact stolen from the Great Pyramid in Egypt.”

Michael’s heart sank. From the sound of siren outside, Michael concluded that the ambulance had arrived at the building and the paramedics were probably on their way up to the apartment.

“I told him I didn’t know anything about that,” Kirilov continued, “so he became very angry. We argued. Everything happened so fast that I didn’t realize I had been stabbed. I wanted to scream, but couldn’t. I felt the blood and collapsed onto my bed. The intruder walked around the living room and left. Then the next thing I remember, I was on the floor and you were kneeling next to me.”

“What did he look like?” asked Michael.

“He was probably in his late twenties, wearing gold glasses, dressed in black. He spoke in English with a heavy Middle Eastern accent.”

Michael suddenly had a flashback to the stranger who had run into him as he approached the building.
That was Seth!
Anna’s former boyfriend and the Medjay are here in Mo
scow
?

Michael groaned, “Anna.”

Kirilov and Svetlana both looked puzzled at him.

“Anna is in danger,” Michael said firmly. “I’ve gotta go, she’s alone on the street where that creep could find her. Here,” he motioned to Svetlana, “hold this towel.” Svetlana took over pressing the towel to the wound.

Michael was getting up from the floor when Kirilov grabbed his hand.

“Wait a second,” he said desperately, “grab my pants!”

Michael stared at him, confused as Kirilov gestured weakly toward the end table. “Just grab my pants and reach inside the right pocket,” he commanded.

Groping inside Kirilov’s pocket, Michael felt a small object and pulled it out. It was a small metal key. Michael looked over at Kirilov, puzzled.

“I think that’s what that criminal was looking for,” Kirilov assured him, nodding his head slightly.

“I don’t understand.”

“You will,” Kirilov replied, attempting to apply a smirk to his face. “You are a smart guy and will figure it out,” he said. He grasped Michael’s hand and pulled. Michael leaned down as the elderly man whispered, “The storage box is inside the Kursky railway station, box number 57.”

“The Kursky railway station, box number 57,” Michael repeated.

“Thank you, Michael, for everything,” said Kirilov as Michael stood back up, carefully secreting the key inside a zippered pocket inside his jacket. “Good luck to you in your adventures.”

“Thank you so much Mister Kirilov,” replied Michael. He could hear voices in the hallway. The paramedics must have arrived.

“Michael, you and I are very much alike. You are a soldier like me. We both have cheated death: you got out from that burning vehicle in Iraq, and I got out from that burning bunker in Stalingrad. You are my brother-in-arms,” Kirilov said proudly, his voice weakening. Michael knelt down and embraced him. “Don’t lose that key,” Kirilov whispered. Michael nodded, smiling.

Suddenly the doorbell rang loudly, followed by heavy knocking.

“The paramedics!” Svetlana exclaimed. Michael ran and opened the front door to find two paramedics donned in white scrubs speaking in Russian.

Michael simply nodded his head and stepped aside to let the two men and their green gurney inside the apartment. Svetlana called out to them in Russian.

Michael grabbed his backpack, but turned when he heard Svetlana call out to him. Svetlana opened her arms out to him for a hug. He stepped over to her and was engulfed in her warm, strong embrace. “Thank you,” she whispered and then, stepping back, she commanded, “Now, go! Go find Anna!”

“Good-bye!”

Outside, Michael opened his umbrella and literally dove under the pouring cold rain filling the street. He ran to the street market, dodging and leaping over puddles along the way. Reaching the market, he frantically started searching for Anna’s familiar frame. Fearing the worst, Michael went back to the front and decided to start looking for her in the shops along the street. He was relieved to see Anna emerging from a military memorabilia store.

“It was dry in there,” Anna said happily.

Without saying a word, Michael stepped forward and embraced her tightly.

Startled, she hugged him back. Breaking away from him, she looked at him curiously. “What took you so long?” she asked.

“It’s a long story, but first we need to get out of here.” They started walking along the street, Michael setting a fast pace. He looked behind them from time to time.

“You seem edgy,” Anna commented. “Are we in danger?”

“Yes,” Michael said firmly, increasing his pace.

“What do you mean?” She was starting to have trouble keeping up with him.

Michael jerked his thumb, pointing behind them, “That guy.”

Anna looked back.

“Come on,” Michael reached for her hand and pulled her forward. “We gotta get away from him.”