The Forbidden Tomb (43 page)

‘Ninety minutes. I even timed it to be sure. Fifteen minutes out, an hour to eat and think about the discovery, and fifteen minutes back. As long as I kept my pace and my direction was true, I would end up in the same place that I started.’

‘Did it work?’

‘Of course it worked,’ he replied. ‘As I mentioned, I’m a seasoned veteran when it comes to the desert, and it’s a good thing, too, because the wind really started to pick up on my way back to the campsite. So much so, my tracks were completely erased.’

He paused, recalling the horror that followed. ‘When I crested the last dune, I could see my team being slaughtered in the valley below. The shadows simply cut them down where they stood . . . I couldn’t hear their screams over the gusting of the wind, but I could see them . . . They were reaching out to me, begging for help.’

He swallowed hard, fighting back his tears. ‘There was one student in particular, a brilliant scholar by the name of Marissa. She was the youngest one in the group. She had this
smile
that could light up a room . . . Everyone adored her, even me. I could see her there in the campsite . . . She was right
there . . .
For a minute, I thought maybe, just
maybe
, I could run down the dune and save her, but before I could . . .’

His voice faded into sobs of grief.

And Cobb felt his pain.

He knew from experience that the worst thing that could happen on a battlefield wasn’t death; it was watching someone you cared about suffer. That feeling of hopelessness never went away. In fact, sometimes it worsened. Over the years, Cobb had awoken to his own screams in a tangle of damp sheets more times than he could count, and the lingering nightmare in his head always focused on the soldiers under his command that he wasn’t able to save and the family members they left behind.

Those were the images that haunted him.

Not his own death, but the agony of others.

‘Trust me, there’s nothing you could have done to save her. Absolutely nothing. If you had charged in, you would be dead, too.’

Manjani nodded as he wiped away his tears. In his heart he had known the truth for months, but it was nice to have someone agree with him.

‘What happened next?’ Cobb asked.

‘When it was over, I watched the shadows drag the bodies into the swirling haze of the approaching storm, knowing that I would never see my team again, knowing that the desert would be their grave. So I wrapped a towel around my face, lowered my head into the wind, and tried to escape.’

‘How did you make it out?’ she asked.

‘Fortunately for me, the sandstorm erased my trail as I made my way toward el-Bawiti. My wallet, my phone, and most of my equipment were still at the camp. I hoped that no one would look for me if they thought I was dead. Eventually, I met a Bedouin caravan kind enough to help me to the coast. From there, I traded my watch to a fisherman in exchange for passage to Crete. Once you’ve made it that far, you have the whole Aegean to get lost in. I ultimately ended up here.’

Cobb knew that a man of Manjani’s intellect would have no trouble finding well-paying work, especially in his native Greece. ‘Why did you send the map to the Archives?’

Manjani forced a smile. ‘I knew I wasn’t going to use it, but a small part of me felt that finding Alexander’s tomb would mean my students hadn’t died in vain. I guess I was hoping that someone might pick up the trail where I jumped off.’

‘Which is where we come in,’ said Cobb, who hoped to tie Manjani’s efforts directly to Jasmine’s disappearance. Not to be cruel, but to guarantee his full participation. ‘We followed your map into the tunnels beneath the city. That’s when we were attacked. There was something under Alexandria that the bombers were trying to protect – something so valuable that they blew up a city block in order to hide it.’

Manjani nodded knowingly. ‘When I saw the reports, I somehow knew it was them. I didn’t believe the claims that it was an accident. That didn’t make sense to me. The men used swords in the desert, but I could tell they were willing to do anything to accomplish their goals. Tell me, how many people did you lose?’

‘Just our historian. They grabbed her before the blast.’

‘But why?’ Manjani asked. ‘I don’t mean to sound indelicate, but why would they take her when they were so intent on killing my team? Why would they save her and then kill hundreds on the streets above?’

Cobb shrugged. He had asked himself the same questions over and over again and had yet to think of a reasonable answer. ‘I don’t know why she was taken. Even worse, I don’t know where to find her. All I know for sure is that we came a long way to find you. With your knowledge of the map, we were hoping you could help us.’

Manjani glanced at him. ‘With what?’

‘The map made note of “the gift of Neptune”. Our historian believed this referred to a well that Caesar had dug to ensure that his drinking water couldn’t be poisoned.’

Manjani nodded approvingly. ‘Ptolemy Theos Philopator and the Battle of the Nile. I’m familiar with the tale. Please, continue.’

‘She believed the fortress that was built to protect the well eventually became a Roman temple. She also believed that the priests used the temple to hide evidence of Alexander’s tomb when the emperor demanded that the records be destroyed.’

Manjani smiled. ‘That’s actually quite brilliant.’

Sarah took the compliment on Jasmine’s behalf. ‘We’d like to think so. That’s why we thoroughly explored the cisterns and the temple. Unfortunately, we didn’t find any evidence of the tomb’s location. All we found were the symbols on the wall and the secret grotto. We were hoping you could shed some light on their significance.’

‘I’d love to,’ he admitted, ‘but I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about. What symbols? And what grotto?’

Until that moment, Sarah had been confident that Manjani was a guilt-ridden victim who would do whatever he could to help save Jasmine. But now, she wasn’t so sure.

‘You know,’ she said angrily, ‘there are few things in life that I hate more than a liar. So we’ll give you one more chance to change your story before we start to get mean. What can you tell us about the grotto?’

‘Nothing!’ he assured her. ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about! I swear to God, I’m telling you the truth! I haven’t lied about anything!’

‘Bullshit!’ she growled. ‘We
know
you were there. I found a glow stick in the grotto, and we traced it back to you. You bought it in Piraeus before your expedition!’

‘A glow stick?’ he stuttered, completely confused. ‘Yes, I bought a case of them in Piraeus, but we only used a few in the desert. I left the rest of them with my equipment at the campsite. For all I know, the whole box is still there!’

Sarah stared at him, searching for any glance or twitch that might indicate deceit on his part, but she saw nothing of the sort. That meant the men who slaughtered Manjani’s team most likely raided the equipment before they disposed of the bodies and used the glow sticks in the cisterns. ‘You’re telling me that you know nothing about a grotto?’

‘No!’ Manjani shouted.

‘Or a pictograph?’

‘A pictograph? You found a pictograph? Where?’

‘Inside the temple. It was written in ancient symbols.’

‘Wait,’ blurted Manjani, who was trying to make sense of things. ‘You found an ancient pictograph inside of a Roman temple next to a hidden grotto?’

Cobb nodded. ‘Yeah. That about sums it up.’

Manjani suddenly smiled. ‘Please show me everything!’

After discussing it with Sarah, Cobb decided to show Manjani the images of their underground adventure. The viewing wasn’t only meant for his benefit, it was also for theirs. Despite his glowing reputation, Manjani still needed to prove his worth. The more insight he could provide, the more they would show him. And if at any point he appeared to be deceitful, they would shut down his access completely.

But first, they needed to go somewhere private.

Since his arrival in Amorgos, Manjani had been living in a small cottage near the harbor. Aside from Internet access, the location gave him everything he needed. The neighborhood was clean and safe, and it was within walking distance to the café, the marketplace, and the port. In less than fifteen minutes, he could be surfing the web, buying groceries, or making a quick getaway to a neighboring island.

And the view was simply breathtaking.

As much as they envied the panorama from Manjani’s porch, Cobb and Sarah were taken aback by the lack of décor inside the bungalow. Thanks to their former careers, both of them were familiar with the never-in-one-place-for-long lifestyle, but Manjani’s place took that notion to the extreme. His only furniture was a battered table, some mismatched chairs, and a threadbare mattress.

One end of the table served as his office with a mouse, keyboard, and external monitor for his laptop, while the nearer end was reserved for meals. There was a lone cast-iron skillet on the stove in the kitchen and a single set of tableware in the drying rack next to the sink. It was clear that he had no intention of entertaining guests.

Cobb noted the lack of creature comforts in Manjani’s cottage and wondered if it was done out of guilt, as if any enjoyment would somehow disrespect the memory of the students who had died under his command.

As if he viewed
their
deaths as the end of
his
life.

As an ex-soldier, Cobb was quite familiar with the syndrome.

Sympathy wouldn’t help. Neither would pity.

The best remedy was to give him a reason to live.

At that moment, the merits of interior design were the furthest thing from Manjani’s mind. The only things he cared about were the pictograph and the grotto that they had discovered under Alexandria. He walked to the far end of the table and connected his laptop to the peripheral devices. Once he was done, he powered up the system.

‘All yours,’ Manjani said.

Cobb had rightly assumed that Manjani wouldn’t have access to the Internet at his place – he checked his e-mail at the café, after all – which meant they wouldn’t have access to the images and footage on Garcia’s website. Not wanting to drag an iPad with him to Greece, Cobb made do with what they had. He connected his smartphone to the computer via a small adapter and then, using software that Garcia had stored on the device, accessed the files that had been uploaded to his phone’s hard drive.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was better than nothing.

Cobb had his choice of dozens of files but started with a video clip of Sarah and Jasmine entering the hole in the wall of the far side of the chasm. Instead of watching the screen, Sarah watched Manjani as he viewed the footage for the first time. She noticed a familiar gleam in his eyes, one that she had seen before. It was the same reaction as Jasmine’s when they had reached the concrete pillars.

Manjani practically glowed. ‘There’s your Roman temple.’

The news wasn’t unexpected. Cobb had always been confident with Jasmine’s assessment of the underground architecture. Still, it was nice to hear a prominent expert like Manjani support her theory without being prompted.

‘Tell me,’ Manjani said, ‘are you familiar with
assimilation
?’

‘The word, yes. How it applies to the video, no.’

‘The Romans,’ he said as he studied the video, ‘were masters of assimilation. So much so that the concept is often referred to as
Romanization
.’

‘Sorry. Still drawing a blank.’

‘What about
Latinization
?’

Cobb held up his hands. ‘Speak to me like I’ve never read the dictionary cover to cover – because I haven’t.’

‘Me, neither,’ Sarah admitted.

Manjani smiled apologetically. ‘It means that the Romans adopted the best things from the cultures before them and passed them off as their own. For instance, the Romans took the Grecian tale of Zeus and created the Roman god Jove. It’s basically the same story – they just changed the name of the main character to suit their needs.’

‘I did that once in high school: they called it
plagiarism
.’

‘Touché,’ Manjani said with a laugh.

Cobb pointed at the screen. ‘How does that apply to the temple?’

‘To understand the temple, you have to understand the historical climate of Alexandria. Although the city is located in Egypt, it was founded by a Macedonian king who encouraged assimilation long before the Romans. In fact, many believe they took the concept from him. I know that America is often called the “world’s melting pot”, but Alexandria earned that title long before – particularly when it came to religion.’

‘How so?’

Manjani glanced at Cobb. ‘Long before the arrival of the Romans, the high priests of Amun-Ra, the almighty sun god in the Egyptian pantheon, wielded great influence in Egypt. Not surprisingly, they used their connection to the god for much more than spiritual growth. The priesthood controlled vast tracts of land, as well as nearly all of the country’s ships. For a time, they were as powerful as the pharaohs, if not more so.’

‘And yet they adopted the Roman way of life?’

‘They did,’ Manjani replied, ‘but only as a means to an end. Their “conversion” was a ruse that allowed them to continue their worship of Amun-Ra in a Roman city despite the wishes of the emperor and the growing popularity of Christianity. They believed the only way to survive was to conform to the Roman standards of priesthood. And yet they never lost their true identity. When Severus ordered the tomb to be hidden from public view, they took it as a personal affront. To the emperor, Alexander was nothing more than a conqueror. To the high priests of Amun, he was the
actual
son of god.’

‘Jesus,’ Sarah murmured. She caught herself before the others could mistake her words for blasphemy. ‘I mean literally. The high priests thought of Alexander in the same way that Christians think of Jesus Christ.’

‘That might be oversimplifying it a bit,’ Manjani said, ‘but the parallels are there. Unfortunately, the emperor’s decision to hide Alexander’s tomb meant that followers of their faith could no longer worship him properly. This, of course, put the priests in a very difficult position. For decades, they had been hiding in plain sight, dressed in the priestly robes of the Empire while worshipping Amun behind closed doors. But now they were forced to take a stand for the preservation of their religion. They were forced to do something desperate.’