Four Ways to Pharaoh Khufu (34 page)

“OK, OK,” said Michael as he allowed his hands to be pulled behind his back while the other Medjay tied them tightly with a rope.

The taller Medjay reached inside the taxicab and grabbed Michael’s backpack. After peering inside, he appeared satisfied. Then the two warriors pulled Michael and Anna off the ground and pushed them toward the bushes.

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me!” exclaimed Anna when a vehicle came into view. “That piece of junk runs?”

Behind the bushes was parked a 1950 Club Coupe Oldsmobile that had definitely seen better days. It obviously had been in several, terrible accidents and had holes where its original black paint had peeled off and rusted out. The smashed front bumper was tied to the body of the car with ropes.

As Michael and Anna were pushed inside the ratty backseat of the 1950s relic, they joined a driver dressed in regular clothes, awaiting the Medjays’ instructions. Michael observed as the shorter Medjay gave their taxicab driver a wad of cash while the taller one watched. Michael quickly looked down as they strode over to the car. The shorter Medjay opened the front passenger door and sat in the front seat, Michael’s backpack in his hands. The taller Medjay opened up the back door and sat in the backseat next to Michael. He produced two small black bags and used them as blindfolds, wrapping and tying them around Michael and Anna’s heads accordingly. After he was satisfied that they could not see, he spoke sharply. The driver revved the ignition and they sped off in an unknown direction.

Chapter 50

Medjay Tribe, Sahara Desert, Egypt

Wednesday, September 27

2:25 p.m.

T
hroughout his life Chief Jibade loyally followed his tribe’s ancient customs and traditions, which dated back to the glorious Old Kingdom. Increasingly he felt he violated every conceivable rule—especially in recent days.

Chief Jibade prayed the Medjay creed over and over as he studied the sky so blue that it seemed to be painted on top of the ocher sand dunes. The September Egyptian sun still burned skin literally to the bone. Deep shadows ran along the slabs of the ancient tombs. He chanted the ancient words, “Medjay are those who defend the land of Egypt from the age-old evil. Medjay are those who learn from their mistakes. Medjay are people of destiny.” The words, older than the tombs, pierced the afternoon haze. He pressed his forehead against the red-hot stones, biting his wind-scorched lips until he tasted blood.

Heavy thoughts assailed him. Although deterred by the naive and superstitious Medjay guarding the ancient places, what kept the criminals away were a fear of the gods and the horror of punishments in the afterlife. The pharaohs carved warnings to those who would rob or destroy any part of their tombs and temples, threatening severe punishment, such as being eaten by the crocodile and bitten by the poisonous snake.
That was then
, thought Jibade. Then the day came when the guards were let go, leaving the ancient places completely vulnerable. During those chaotic, unsupervised times, powerful organized gangs disregarded the ancient threats, looting and plundering at will.

The Chief gazed upon the stretch of desert with the tents of his fellow tribesman. Two weeks had passed since their sacred stele was stolen. He sent his most fearless warrior to Germany, personally instructing him on how to obtain the map sent by that low life Schulze to his daughter. Four days ago his loyal warrior strangely and suddenly vanished in Moscow. As had Seth, their point of contact in Germany and Asim’s escort to Moscow. The situation seemed strange: something was not right.

Then his old friend, Police Inspector Suliman, informed him that the real thief was not Schulze, but a different German: Fischer. His warrior had followed the wrong lead. The great Chief walked back inside his tent, sat in his chair and bowed his head on the table.

Moments later, he heard footsteps outside. “Great Chief Jibade,” said the bodyguard. “The gods were great to us today. Our guards managed to recover our sacred stele and kidnap those who wanted to steal it.”

“What? Where is the stele?” he asked, not sure if he was dreaming.

The two Medjay silently walked forward and handed Michael’s backpack to the Chief. Stunned, he carefully received the backpack and pulled out the blanket wrapped object. Slowly and cautiously, he unwrapped the stele as tears of joy sprang into his eyes.

“The holy stele has been safely returned! Thanks to our gods!” he exclaimed, laughing and crying at the same time.

On the other side of the tribal grounds, Anna and Michael were locked inside a stable. Once the car arrived at the camp, the two Medjay warriors brutally pulled Anna and Michael out of the car, marched them across the blazing sand and pushed them inside.

Even though their blindfolds were removed, they were still bound with their hands behind their backs. Anna cursed loudly and went into hysterics demanding that her hands be set free. Michael furtively told her to pretend to faint. As soon as Anna’s body fell to the floor in slow motion, their guards seemed to be worried. As he watched the Medjay untie her rope, Michael figured that their orders were to secure the stele and not to harm them.
At least not yet
, he guessed. The Medjay untied Michael’s rope and stepped out, locking the stable door behind him. A new Medjay, dressed in the same outfit and hair, was left to guard them.

“Are you OK?” Michael asked quietly.

“Yes, I’m fine,” she chuckled slightly.

“I’m glad.”

She shook her head in frustration. “I can’t believe they took away my father’s stele after what we had to go through to find it.”

“Well, in reality, the stele is theirs. That bastard Fischer either stole it from them or stumbled on it by accident. Obviously he unleashed the fury of these Medjay, who I guess were its protectors. I wonder if it’s been in their possession since ancient times.”

“Michael, you’re probably right, but we’re not the bad guys and neither was my father.”

“Yes, your father wanted to protect the stele and that’s why he hid it.”

“So, our kidnapping is just big misunderstanding, that’s all, right?” she asked.

“Who knows? They caught us red-handed with their stele. As far as they are concerned, we are the thieves. And we’re certainly not in police custody.”

“What? We found that stele and pretty much handed it to them on a silver platter.”

“Again it proves to them that we’re the thieves. They even sent one of their friends to Germany and Moscow to follow our every step, thinking that your father mailed a map to you.”

“Well, technically speaking, he did send me a type of map, which took us a week to decode.”

“I’m proud we figured it out,” said Michael.

“We sure did!”

“But, I’m still puzzled by the stele,” said Michael.

“What do you mean?”

“The message in the pictures.”

“Oh Michael, I wish David, my father’s friend from the Archaeological Institute, was here,” Anna said wistfully. “He could crack that message easily.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think David would appreciate being locked up in a stable and sitting on hay,” Michael said grinning.

Anna chuckled in agreement.

“Let’s see if we can crack it ourselves,” said Michael, pulling the paper from his jeans pocket. He unfolded the pencil rubbing and started studying it. Anna moved closer.

“OK,” said Michael after a short while. “Each row of smaller rectangles has the same image placed either at the beginning of each row or at the end. It’s a person holding a stick with an outstretched arm pointing to a specific direction.”

Anna nodded.

“It looks like we have four short journeys leading somewhere, but where?”

“Look!” exclaimed Anna. “All of these journeys have the same end; they finish up at a water reservoir with an island, with some kind of sarcophagus on top of it.”

“I see it! It looks like a royal sarcophagus.”

“That has to be Pharaoh Khufu’s! His sarcophagus must be located on some sort of island surrounded by a river.”

Anna, please tell me you still have that page from Kirilov’s cigar box.”

“Well, they took my iPhone, but I still have my purse,” said Anna as she rummaged through it. “Here it is,” she said happily, pulling out a folded paper and handing it over.

“OK, look at the third row from the top,” said Michael as he carefully read Kirilov’s page and then looked at the rubbing.

“The second way to get to Khufu’s burial place is to follow an artificial canal inside the baffling pyramid. And here is the pyramid.”

“Oh,” said Anna, visibly amazed. “OK, let me see that paper. That first row shows the first way to get to Khufu, according to Kirilov. The funeral procession went through the temple located at the east side of the Great Pyramid. It’s located at forty-four meters from the bisector of the pyramid and at a depth of about five to seven meters.”

“Great,” said Michael. “Now, if you look at the second row, it actually shows Kirilov’s fourth way. It goes from the Great Pyramid’s Subterranean Chamber through the foundation of the false well. In reality, the foundation is a stone plug with the following parameters: two meters wide, ten meters in length and two meter filling thickness. Under this stone plug there is a cylinder-shaped opening about ten meters deep down.”

“So,” said Anna, “here is the last row. According to Kirilov, it is in the horizontal so-called Dead-end Passage of the pyramid’s Subterranean Chamber. In the middle of the sixteen-meter appendix on the ceiling of the passage there is a plug and from there an inclined passage leads to the burial place.”

“Wait a second,” said Michael, mesmerized as he sat back, concentrating. “What we have here is a three to four thousand year old stele showing Kirilov’s four ways.”

“Wow!” exclaimed Anna. “We have concrete proof the Kirilov’s theory is 100 percent right. We need to get this information to the right people so he will be recognized.”

“If we get out of here alive,” Michael added sarcastically.

“We’ve gotta tell these Medjay. They’ve had this stele for the past several thousand years and had no clue that they had a treasure map in their hands the entire time.”

“Let’s first find out what they are planning to do with us. The information on the stele will be our leverage if something goes wrong.”

“What do you mean if something goes wrong?”

They heard a key jiggling in the lock, and the door swung wide open. The same duo that kidnapped them entered. Suddenly, another man emerged from behind them and stepped forward, carrying himself with confidence and authority. His high forehead and black eyebrows set off his dark eyes, shining with intellect and slyness. High cheekbones and a square jaw line intensified the masculinity of his looks. He wore a long, white cotton cloak like the other men. Unlike the others, he wore earrings; silver wire formed into hoops with overlapping ends. He turned slightly and spoke authoritatively to the two Medjay in their native language. Michael and Anna watched as the guards instantly turned around and walked out of the stable.

“I’m Chief Jibade of the Medjay tribe.” To Michael and Anna’s surprise, the man spoke English well. “We’ve been guarding our sacred stele for the past three thousand years and now—”

“Chief,” Michael interrupted. “We didn’t steal the stele, we—”

The chief raised his hands, “I know that you didn’t steal the stele.”

“Really?” Michael said, amazed.

“Yes, I do,” said the chief, turning to face Anna. “And I also happen to know that your father didn’t steal it either,” he finished solemnly.

“I am so very glad to hear that,” said Anna, relieved.