The Forbidden Tomb (39 page)

‘Meaning?’

‘Isolation breeds
purity
. Purity breeds
devotion
. Devotion breeds
fanaticism
. And based on everything I’ve seen, the bombing in Alexandria was the work of fanatics.’

‘No need to tell me.’

Ulster flushed with embarrassment. ‘Yes, of course. I didn’t mean to suggest that I know more about the devastation than you. I mean, you were
there
in the rubble, and I was
here
on my sofa, and—’

‘Petr, relax. I wasn’t insulted by your statement. In fact, I found it insightful. I’ve been trying to wrap my head around the extreme nature of the blast ever since I left the tunnels, and now it makes perfect sense. These men weren’t just protecting symbols on a wall; they were protecting their way of life.’

‘Exactly,’ Ulster said.

‘It also explains the other attack.’

‘Which attack is that?’

Cobb filled him in. ‘We think these warriors were involved in the slaughter of an archaeological team near the Bahariya Oasis. We also have reason to believe that the expedition leader survived the attack. If so, we’re hoping that he has information about the men who took our historian.’

Ulster nodded. ‘You’re referring to Cyril Manjani.’

‘Wait! You know about the Manjani expedition?’

‘You could say that and a whole lot more. The truth is I actually
know
the man himself. And so do you, on some level. After all, what is a man but his life’s work?’

Cobb was certain that he had never met Manjani, and all of that other nonsense about a man’s work went directly over his head. ‘Honest to God, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Absolutely none. Please explain it.’

Ulster nodded. ‘The map of Alexandria I gave to you in Geneva?’

‘What about it?’

‘It’s
his
map.
He
found it on
his
expedition.’

The words hit Cobb like a sucker punch, so much so that his brain kept interrupting one thought with the next as he tried to piece everything together.

If Manjani knew—

Then that must mean—

And Jasmine found—

Then the symbols might—

After several seconds of utter confusion, Cobb eventually settled on a single question. ‘How did you get the map?’

‘How?’ Ulster said with a chuckle. ‘By opening my mail! Believe it or not, Cyril sent it to me here at the Archives. At first I thought it was some kind of sick joke – after all, I thought he had perished in the attack at the Bahariya Oasis – but once I saw the level of detail, I realized that it wasn’t a prank. It couldn’t be. It was authentic.’

‘But why? If the map was so valuable, why would he give it away?’

Ulster shrugged. ‘I don’t know for sure, but I’d imagine it had to do with the tragic outcome of his expedition. At least that’s what I gathered from his note.’

‘What note? You didn’t say anything about a note!’

‘I didn’t?’ He laughed at himself. ‘Sorry about that. Like I said, sometimes I live my life with blinders, and when I get too involved in one thing, I tend to forget—’

‘Petr! Do you still have it?’

‘Yes! As a matter of fact, I do. Hang on, I’ll read it to you.’

Ulster rummaged through the piles of research strewn about his desk until he found the note that he was looking for. Although the message was written in Ancient Greek, he translated it flawlessly. ‘My dearest Petr, it is with great shame that I send you this map. I hope you may someday finish what I have started. Sadly, I dare not risk my life again to find what I sought. Forever grateful, Cyril Manjani.’

Cobb shook his head, trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together in his mind. Some things made perfect sense. After the slaughter of his team, Manjani was too scared to use the map that he had discovered during his expedition, so he had sent it to the Ulster Archives, a facility that encouraged the sharing of knowledge in the academic community, with the hope that someone else would continue the search for the tomb.

And yet other things made no sense at all: particularly Ulster’s motivation for giving the map to Cobb in the first place. If it was as rare and valuable as Jasmine had claimed, why did Ulster give it to someone he had only just met?

‘Petr,’ Cobb said, ‘I hate to put you on the spot like this because I know how much you value confidentiality – ironically, I wouldn’t be talking to you if you didn’t – but I need to ask you a straightforward question that requires a straightforward answer. Otherwise, I’m not quite sure we can continue our chats.’

‘You want to know why I gave you a copy of the map.’

Cobb nodded. ‘Exactly.’

‘You’re right,’ Ulster assured him, ‘I value confidentiality more than most. After all, my grandfather would have been shot by the Nazis if not for the silence of a great number of people who smuggled our family library out of Austria. Not only would the Archives never have existed, but neither would I.’

‘I realize that, which is why—’

Ulster cut him off. ‘That being said, I fully understand your need for answers, so I’m willing to speak in hypotheticals. How much do you actually know about the Archives?’

‘Only what you’ve told me and what I’ve read online.’

‘Then you know that the main goal of the Archives is not to hoard artifacts. Instead, it strives to bridge the schism that exists between scholars and collectors. In order to gain admittance to the facility, a visitor must bring something of value, such as an ancient artifact or unpublished research that might be useful to others. In return, we provide access to some of the finest relics in the world. On rare occasions, we allow objects to be loaned out to people who are unable to make it to Küsendorf, but in those cases, we require something extra special as collateral.’ Ulster smiled. ‘And if they donate something
extraordinary
, I’m willing to personally deliver the item they requested.’

Cobb read between the lines. Obviously the nameless benefactor who had set up his initial meeting with Ulster had donated something substantial because the Archives were willing to loan out a copy of a map that very few people even knew existed. ‘Hypothetically, can you give me an example of extraordinary?’

Ulster smiled even wider. ‘Oh, I don’t know – perhaps detailed information about a missing train and photographic evidence of everything that was recovered. Something like that would generate a lot of goodwill, don’t you think?’

Wednesday, November
5

Giza, Egypt

(
12
miles southwest of Cairo)

Forty-five hundred years ago, the newly constructed Great Pyramid of Giza was revered as the final resting place of the pharaoh Khufu. Only the most noble of visitors were permitted entrance into the sacred grounds. It was an honor reserved for royalty.

Today, anyone can tour the ancient structure.

All it takes is a ticket.

Tourists come from far and wide to stand in the shadows of the Giza pyramids and to marvel at the Great Sphinx. To most, they are simply remnants of a bygone era whose only significance is their ability to withstand the rigors of time. Only a precious few see them for what they really are: monuments to honor fallen gods.

Though she had been to Egypt on several occasions, Sarah had never seen the pyramids in person. Her perception of the area was based entirely on what she had seen on postcards and in movies. It was quickly apparent that these promotional images had been shot from strategic angles at ideal moments in time because the reality of the scene in front of her was almost startling in contrast.

She had always pictured the pyramids as secluded temples with miles of barren desert separating them from any form of civilization. She quickly realized that the urban sprawl from nearby Cairo had overwhelmed the once quaint village of Giza – which was now the second largest suburb in the world with more than two and a half million people – and this unexpected growth had forced a collision between the ancient and modern worlds. As ridiculous as it sounds, it was now possible to tour the Great Pyramid of Giza, an architectural masterpiece that was hailed as one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, and then walk across the street for dinner at Pizza Hut.

Sarah was fascinated – and disappointed – by the dichotomy. ‘This is unbelievable. It’s not at all like I thought it would be.’

Cobb shrugged but wasn’t surprised. ‘They put a Starbucks in China’s Forbidden City. Why should this be any different?’

Sarah stood near the base of the Great Pyramid and lifted her gaze toward the sky, taking in the towering peak that stood more than 450 feet above her. ‘It’s not
just
the Pizza Hut. It’s . . . I mean, look at this thing! It’s crumbling as I speak!’

Sadly, her description was accurate. The smooth casing that originally blanketed the sides of the pyramid had been torn off centuries ago. In 1356, Sultan An-Nasir Nasir-ad-Din al-Hasan ordered that the polished limestone exterior be used to build mosques in Cairo, and the removal of the pyramid’s outer layer had left it vulnerable ever since.

Exposed to the desert winds, the stone had become cracked and broken. Chunks of rock had fallen from the massive two-ton slabs that lined the sides, littering the ground with boulders of various sizes. The flat, pristine slopes were now jagged and stepped. It had taken centuries, but the elements had ravaged the surface of the pyramids.

The condition of the ruins, everything from the crumbling façade of the pyramids to the missing nose on the Great Sphinx, made Cobb reconsider what they had discovered underneath Alexandria. If the Giza Plateau had been allowed to fall into such disrepair, what did it say about the tunnel they had found? It seemed that the pictograph on the underground wall had been cared for in a way that the Great Pyramid had not.

But why?

And by whom?

Cobb would have to ponder those questions later. At the moment, he needed to focus on the task at hand. ‘You’re sure your friend will meet us here?’

Sarah nodded. ‘He’ll show – despite the warning.’

The US State Department had recently issued an alert to avoid the most popular tourist spots in Egypt. It wasn’t that Americans were being targeted, per se, but US officials weren’t entirely comfortable with the bombing in Alexandria and the mobs of demonstrators expressing their displeasure over the current political climate. It would only take a tiny spark to set off a full-blown revolution, and the last thing the American embassy needed was a group of sightseers getting caught up in the civil unrest – with the whole world watching on CNN.

Cobb scanned the plaza as a busload of tourists made their way into the grounds. ‘And you’re sure you’ll recognize him after all these years?’

‘Trust me, I’ll know him. He always looks dapper.’

‘Dapper?’

She smiled and nodded. ‘See what I mean?’

Cobb turned and followed her gaze. He saw a well-groomed man looking back at them, his broad smile accentuated by a canary yellow bow tie and matching suspenders.

‘Subtle,’ Cobb whispered.

Sarah shuffled aside as the group passed, leaving one man standing in front of her. ‘Seymour, you never disappoint.’

The man beamed. ‘Thank you, my dear. I do make an effort.’

She turned to Cobb. ‘Jack, this is Seymour Duggan. He’s the best bloodhound I’ve ever worked with and a genuinely good guy.’

Seymour thanked her for the compliment by doffing an imaginary cap before he extended his hand toward Cobb. ‘Pleased to meet you. I hope I can help.’

‘Me, too,’ Cobb said, but he was doubtful.

At first blush, Seymour looked more like an accountant than a CIA asset. Skinny and balding, his diminutive frame was covered by an impeccable linen suit. His loud tie matched both his suspenders and the handkerchief that he was using to dab his brow. There was also the matter of his accent, which was definitely non-American.

‘Kiwi?’ Cobb asked.

‘Guilty as charged,’ Seymour said. ‘Born and raised in Christchurch, on the eastern side of the island. Have you ever been?’

‘No,’ he admitted. ‘The closest I’ve been is Australia.’

‘Scared of hobbits, are you?’

It was Seymour’s attempt at a joke.

Cobb didn’t laugh. ‘No.’

Sarah, on the other hand, found the whole exchange incredibly entertaining. Still, she knew better than to let the awkwardness linger for too long. ‘Seymour started in the New Zealand Intelligence Corps. Based on his record, MI6 requested that he be loaned out to help with their caseload. That’s how he came to our attention. A few years later he was retired from duty in England and given an official cover in Helsinki through a joint effort with the CIA.’

‘Doing what?’ Cobb wondered.

Seymour smiled. ‘Believe it or not, they had me posing as an auditor for the Internal Revenue Service. I was supposedly there to ensure that those with dual citizenship had filed their tax returns correctly.’

‘Hard to imagine,’ Cobb joked. If he had all night, he couldn’t have thought of a more perfect cover. ‘What brought you to Egypt?’

‘The climate – I find the cold intolerable.’ Seymour smiled as he looked around the pyramid complex. Despite his claims, he continued to mop the sweat from his face. ‘What a lovely day. Getting out of the apartment is such a nice change of pace. Pity I don’t do it more often. Excursions like this are a welcomed treat.’

‘Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself. But I have to ask: if your apartment is in Cairo, why meet all the way out here?’

Seymour had anticipated the question. ‘First, you can’t walk across the street in Cairo right now without someone wondering what you’re up to. The bombing in Alexandria saw to that. Everyone’s on high alert – the authorities and the general public. Coming out here was the best way to stay off the radar. Here, none of us stands out.’

Cobb was tempted to make a crack about Seymour’s choice of attire, because it
definitely
stood out, but he ultimately decided to keep the comment to himself.