The Moses Riddle (Thomas McAllister 'Treasure Hunter' Adventure Book 1) (6 page)

The past week had been like a ride on a rickety roller coaster. Now this. Thomas leaned back in his chair and reviewed the choices he’d made in his lifetime. Really, there were a few key choices that one made in life, sometimes just two or three, that determined a whole life’s outcome. One of Thomas’s choices had been to focus on his career with such determination that no relationship he’d been in had ever flowered, or matured. It hadn’t been a conscience decision. On the contrary, if he’d ever really given it any thought, he might be married by now.

After choosing to teach, he knew the path he was on would not be one of glory. There would be no more lost tombs. No more hidden treasures. Instead, student by student, one by one, he would try to transfer some of his passion about archeology. He had swept personal fame and gratification aside to focus on a greater good.

Now, freed from the encumbrances of the university, the system, he imagined himself standing in front of Saqqara. He felt the sweet flood of adrenaline, the feeling of hope and wild anticipation. He’d felt it before, when he was searching for Amenophis. The tedious, expectant waiting, while the stairway, flooded with sand, had been cleared, and then, when the thick slab of door had been lifted away, success. Personal, self-fulfilling, greedy success. He imagined his name on front pages of newspapers worldwide: “
Thomas McAlister discovers the greatest lost treasure of all time
.” He envisioned his face on television, heard his voice on talk radio, discussing how challenging it had been to find something that had been hidden for more than three thousand years. Personal gratification.

He also imagined Dean Washington sitting in front of his television, watching the interview, shaking his head at what a fool he’d been for letting Thomas go. Professional redemption. He would still use the experience to teach others. There was nothing like a big treasure find to encourage children, and archeology students, all over the world to begin their own mini-campaigns. He couldn’t teach in a classroom, but he could still lead by example. Lead by success. This would be his new purpose, his new charge . . . his real destiny. It galvanized him.

An Egyptologist, schooled at Harvard and trained in Egypt, Thomas was notably accomplished. But after he accepted the job at Arizona University, what set Thomas apart from other Egyptologists was that he did not blindly follow already accepted ideas, or academic precedent. He felt blind acceptance was dangerous and narrow-minded. He respected his elders, but he didn’t necessarily believe them. This was contrary to the existing system

Questioning current theories seemed natural, even logical. But in the world of archeology, especially Egyptology, it was radical. Once anointed into the select, insular society of Egyptologists it was expected that an archeologist believe everything that his peers had written. Their theories could not be changed or questioned, only, occasionally, politely debated. Fervent challenge of existing beliefs was heresy. Punishable by banishment.

When an archeologist discovered something significant, Egyptologists, more than any other anthropological discipline, put faith in the views of the founder. The founder became the expert, his view dogma, and new learning was stifled. These original theories were rarely challenged or improved upon, even when new evidence was introduced.

Thomas’s refusal to automatically accept existing theories had made him a maverick, and a bit of an outsider. It ultimately got him fired. But he wouldn’t change. He simply wanted old ways of thinking proved, just like new theories had to be. He wasn’t being disagreeable; he was after historical truth, at any price. Plus, suppressing the truth would hamper some of the theories he planned to put forth and support in the future.

When he graduated and claimed that he believed there was still a major undiscovered tomb in the Valley of the Kings, the reigning Egyptologists called him not a rebel, but a fool. He spoke so firmly on the issue he would have been ostracized if he had kept it up, but luckily there was an equally foolish professor planning an expedition and Thomas was able to join as assistant. This got him out of the controversial limelight before he had caused irreparable damage to his image, and it got him the field experience that would subsequently make him so marketable.

Later, after he and his team had found the Tomb of Amenophis III, Pharaoh of Egypt for an incredible thirty-seven years, right in the Valley of the Kings, Thomas became semi-famous for leading the sub-team that made the actual discovery. It also shortened the memory of those who had opposed his earlier radical approach. He was transformed from rebel to prophetic darling. And he was welcomed back to the States with open arms by the best schools in the country.

After accepting the position at Arizona State, Thomas toned down his attack on existing theory. He was still interested in supplementing existing information but he began to focus more on new exploration and discovery. It was a bit of compromise, but this new attitude, combined with his newfound fame, quickly won him academic praise. He was then credited with igniting an Egyptian renaissance, unlike any since Howard Carter made Egyptian Pharaohs famous in the early 1900s. Thomas, with Dean Washington’s support, planned to create a department that would rival Harvard’s.

Now, as he packed, Thomas swore there would be no more compromise. His original fury had subsided, he had learned his lesson. It was every man for himself. He would never rely on another man to determine

Teaching at a university had been similar to playing a team sport, like baseball or soccer. Success was often determined by the other members of the team, and often the weakest link decided the fate of all. Fieldwork, and treasure hunting, were akin to golf, or even bowling. The individual alone decided his or her own fate. Thomas was finished with the team concept. His experience was proof that the lowest common denominator ruled, and that new ways of thinking were criticized. He’d always known that most original thinking, most work that challenged convention, had come from independent, entrepreneurial, enterprising minds. He vowed never again to let weak, sterile, conservative minds play a role in shaping his future.

He would not give his next six years to building a new reputation at another university. He would strike out on his own. Now, he would go the other route . . . living and working in the field, dedicated to finding the treasures that would rewrite history.

He would start this new life with the incredible clue he’d discovered in the
Amenophis Builders Notes
. There had to be a lead hidden somewhere in the temple of Unas, and he would find it. He hoped it would tell him where to find the oxen-drawn treasure that had been so heavily guarded by Moses’ men.

Thomas’s immediate problem was money. Exploration trips were expensive. Although he was only at Stage I, if he found any clue at all it could easily turn into a costly minor expedition. He had not exactly been frugal over the past six years. He had traveled extensively, often purchasing expensive artifacts for his collection.

Because of that, and the fact that he lived a comfortable life, he had only saved about $300,000. A hundred thousand of that was invested in stocks and another $100,000 was in a 401K account. He had $100,000 cash in a money market account. He would leave half in the money market account and he would take $50,000, open another bank account, and use that to fund his search. Hopefully, he would find something valuable to sell to recoup his expenses. Maybe he’d even generate some income. But archeological treasure hunting is extremely risky at best, and he knew he could not rely on it for any kind of monetary gain. For now, the benefit was psychological, and the trip was part of his healing process. It felt good to turn the key to his front door, solidly locking the deadbolt in place. It was comforting to see the cab waiting in the driveway.

So he set forth, his war chest looking more like a petty cash drawer, free from his former life, fired from his job and, if not on the verge of a great discovery, at least armed with a great clue. Thomas flew towards Cairo and with every mile he thought more and more about finding treasure in Egypt and less and less about the burning in his stomach, the burning that had been there ever since he’d walked out of Dean Washington’s office.

Martha was currently working with a group excavating the tomb of Senneferi, a noble whose tomb was located on the west bank of Luxor. The tomb had been discovered in 1895, but Martha and her team had re-opened it in 1992. She was one of the brightest and most dedicated people Thomas had ever met, and he always called her when he was in Egypt. Usually it was a social. This time, he needed her help.

Martha, for her part, was ecstatic when Thomas called. A smile formed on her latte-colored Egyptian face when he said he was on his way to Egypt. His call had come at a perfect time, allowing her a much needed guiltless break from the tedious mapping of Senneferi. She immediately agreed to help him regardless of the task. He hadn’t even hinted at what they’d be doing; in fact she had detected a slight evasiveness, but she was deeply intrigued that it would involve Saqqara. She knew her friend wasn’t flying in for a sightseeing trip. Thomas was a shrewd, analytical archeologist, with an extreme amount of focus and perseverance. If he wanted to visit Saqqara it meant he was up to something.

While listening to Thomas on the phone Martha reviewed what she knew about Saqqara. It remained a mystery to all Egyptologists, because it was so old. Experts agreed Saqqara was the true link to earlier, ancient Egyptian cultures. At the necropolis of Saqqara, one of the most ancient burial chambers was the pyramid of Unas. In it, the walls were covered with ancient Egyptian writings. Renowned Egyptologists, such as R. O. Faulkner and others, had tried to decipher the writing, but there were so many archaic phrases that no one had ever been completely successful. The issue with the texts at Unas and with Egyptian history in general— and the real reason that Saqqara was so revered, so special—was that Egyptian writing, and early Egyptian culture in general, seemed to have just sprung up from nothing. There was no history of development. No gradual ramp of learning. No simple architecture that gradually got better and more complex. No language, mathematics or astronomy that predated the very advanced systems that the early Egyptians had used. It was as if they were all simply placed there, fully developed.

Contrary to the way modern cultures developed, older Egyptian civilizations were better at building, better at mathematics, and better at astronomy than later Egyptian cultures. It was as if someone who was very intelligent had come to Egypt, taught the Egyptians, and then abruptly left. Certainly the Egyptians evolved and developed over time but, in most areas, their knowledge and skills actually decreased. As time passed, some of their former learning and skills were forgotten. The sphinx, for example, was so old, no one knew when it was built. But no later culture ever bested it.

Egyptologists felt that if anyone could fully decipher the Pyramid texts at Saqqara, they might shed some light on these earlier cultures, and where the advanced knowledge had come from. But to date, no one had been able to do it. All of this ran through Martha’s head, like a familiar song, as she nodded into the phone and agreed to pick Thomas up early the next morning for their 30-minute drive to Saqqara.

Martha arrived in her black Mercedes station wagon at 5 a.m. Thomas went around to embrace her before getting into the passenger side. Her first impression was that he looked thinner than last time they were together. She offered him still warm Egyptian Om Ali bread and a cup of aromatic Egyptian coffee that she had purchased in the old quarter on her way over. She secretly watched his face as he sat in the car, opening the bread. The lines around his eyes and forehead were deeper than last time, and she detected a look of deep concern, unnatural on his normally good-natured face. But they’d been apart a long time and rather than pry, Martha decided to wait and see if Thomas would volunteer the reasons behind his worried look.

While they drove across the barren, sandy-tan desert outside of Cairo, Thomas recounted the events of the past weeks and Martha’s eyes welled with tears at her good friend’s loss of job. Thomas had seemed to have the perfect career
. Bright, young successful archeology professor to become next Dean of the Archeology Department.

On the phone, and again this morning, he seemed a little harder, or more direct, than he had in the past. Was life taking its toll on him? Had he lost some of that youthful exuberance? “You’re always welcome here, Thomas. We could use you in the Valley. Just say the word. There aren’t many people who have been intimately involved with discovering a Pharaoh’s tomb. Field experience may not matter on certain college campuses these days, but it certainly matters in the Valley.”

Thomas appreciated her sympathy but wanted her to know that he didn’t want to dwell on it. He didn’t want to slip back to the place he’d just emerged from. He changed the subject. “Martha, I think I’m on to something. Maybe . . . something big.” He told her about the odd entry by Abubaker in the
Amenophis Notes
. He told her his Moses hypothesis and Abubaker’s comment about the man being Reuel’s son. She knew that Reuel had fathered only daughters, but reminded Thomas that it would be a stretch for the man who had arrived at Unas to actually be Moses. “It may have just looked like him. There may be another Reuel, Priest of Median,” she said.

She was playing devil’s advocate so that her friend wouldn’t be let down if they didn’t find anything. But she did concede that it was odd that someone, no matter who it was, had spent so much time inside the temple. And she agreed that they must’ve been traveling with something that was valuable if there were that many armed guards. Back then, most people owned only what they could carry, so the presence of an armed escort was a telltale sign something valuable was nearby. But Martha, like Thomas, was a scientist, and it was going to take a lot more than one entry in an ancient diary to convince her that Moses had visited Saqqara.

They arrived at the necropolis at sunrise. It was quiet, except for the barking howls of a few coyotes. They sat on the warm hood of the car and watched the sun come up, absorbed in their own thoughts. Sunrise at the ancient pyramids in Egypt could be a mystical, almost religious experience. When the globe began to turn from orange to yellow, Thomas broke the silence. “Did you remember to bring the battery-operated light? I saw the ladder, in the back of the station wagon, but not the light.”

“Yes, it’s under that tarp, with the cooler. How about you get the ladder, I take the light?” The light was a commercial grade, 10,000-watt portable lamp used by construction companies for night jobs. Many of the tools archeologists used, like lighting, vehicles, and digging implements, had to be construction grade because of the harsh working conditions.

As they approached Unas, Thomas said, “It’s bigger than I remember.”
“I always think that about the pyramids, in the morning.” Martha smiled, unusually happy to be back in the field with Thomas again.
They were ninety feet from the pyramid when a figure, shrouded in shadow, emerged from the still dark west side of the temple. Thomas slowed his pace and whispered to Martha. “Do you see that?”
In Egypt, like in other countries, bandits tended to frequent places where tourists gathered. Thomas was also conscious of the fact that Saqqara, being a necropolis, or city of the dead, was also haunted.
They continued to walk, but more slowly. The figure approached them. After twenty more paces, they could see that it was only one of the security guards hired by the government to keep vandals away. Martha knew many of the guards, but not this one. They showed him their National Institute of Archeology identification cards, which allowed them to conduct research at any site, anytime. This was one of the highest forms of identification in Egypt, and they were allowed to pass. Martha offered the guard a cup of coffee from their thermos and the man graciously accepted, agreeing in return to carry the light and its heavy battery into the temple.
Once inside, the man asked, out of curiosity, what they were doing. Martha smiled. “We’re going to take some pictures, to be studied at the University.” The answer was sufficiently boring and the guard left, to continue watching the grounds.
Martha and Thomas set up shop in no time, agreeing to start at one end of the room and work, one wall at a time, until they had scoured every inch of the rectangle. They would shine the light on one wall and inspect it closely, inch by inch, Thomas at the top on the ladder, Martha standing below, until they met in the middle. They would look for anything out of the ordinary, such as writing that did not fit the existing hieroglyphic pattern, or text that looked new or altered. Thomas had a theory that Moses might have hidden his work by writing very small, or by integrating it into existing text. He told Martha to look for letters or images that may have been added or altered to create a code, cipher, or hybrid language.
The hieroglyphics used in the temple of Saqqara were not merely painted on the wall. They were carved, or etched, into the walls by skilled artisans, using tools very much like the modern-day hammer and chisel. The resulting grooves in the stone were then washed and painted.
Since the chamber was rectangular, Thomas and Martha started their search with the north wall, where the doorway was. For an hour, they examined every inch of it but found nothing out of the ordinary. They broke for another cup of coffee, moved the light to the east wall, and began the same examination process. This wall was about twice as long as the one they had just completed. It took them over two hours to examine it. Again, they found nothing out of the ordinary.
At lunch time, instead of having another cup of coffee and one of the Snickers that Thomas had brought, they purchased falafel from a vendor. They sat in the shade of one of the temples, on some of the scattered ruins, and talked. They ate hot falafel and wondered aloud what had happened to old Mustafa. Once a chef at a five-star hotel, he had left his job to become their cook on the Amenophis expedition. They had never eaten better, ever, on any expedition. Neither had heard from him since. They laughed, remembering the night Mustafa had put a rubber scorpion in Thomas’s soup. But Thomas wasn’t completely in it. He knew that they only had two walls to go, and he was worried. Actually, he was scared. If nothing materialized, he was done. Out of ideas. Back to having no purpose, and no plans. He wasn’t ready to go back home empty-handed.
They finished lunch and started the third wall, another short one. They finished in forty-five minutes. Again, nothing. Thomas’s heart sank. It looked as if he wasn’t going to find anything. He started to wonder if this had been a ridiculous wild goose chase. Had he been so eager to leave home that he had flown all the way to Egypt for nothing? Was his judgment impaired? Was Martha humoring him, because he’d lost his job? She had said it was a long shot. Was that her way of saving him from further humiliation?
He shrugged and started to move the light so that it pointed to the last wall, the west side. He had just set the light back down when suddenly Martha screamed. “Oh my God! Don’t move that light, Thomas!”
“What? What do you see, Martha?” Thomas asked, expecting to see her frozen in place, looking down at a scorpion or a snake. But rather than looking downward, she was looking past him, at the west wall. Thomas’s gaze followed hers. But he saw nothing out of the ordinary.
“What? I don’t see it.”
“
Up there
!” Her eyes didn’t move from the wall. She was pointing to the corner, where the wall met the vaulted ceiling. “Up there, Thomas. Do you see where the hieroglyphics have crumbled away? Look there, below the ceiling. The wall has started to crumble and deteriorate. Do you see it? There’s something there! It’s . . . well, maybe it’s nothing. I can’t see it now, but when you were moving the light it was there. There was something up there that didn’t belong. It looked like . . . .”
Thomas located the place where the veneer of smooth plaster had crumpled away from a large section, just below the ceiling. But he was disappointed. He’d noticed that same section earlier that morning.
“Yeah, so?”
“I saw something that looked like the bottom half of a letter. It was curved, not straight like most hieroglyphics. Move the light back to the south side of the room. I saw the shadow when you were moving the light.”
Thomas moved the light until it shone on the south wall, but at an angle. Sure enough, emerging from the crumbled section was the shape of a letter that did not seem to be part of a hieroglyphic symbol. “I see it now!” He tried to dampen his excitement. “Slide the ladder over here, will you?”
This crumbled away portion of the wall, slightly south of the center, had been noted in many research studies on Unas. No one knew what was written underneath the missing section and people had given up trying to find out. Since no one understood the writing in the temple, it had been impossible to deduce from context what the missing section might have said. And, since experts could not fully decipher the writing on the ninety-eight percent of the wall that had not crumbled away, they had not spent much time trying to find out what was written on the part that
had
crumbled away.
Thomas climbed the ladder, took out his flashlight, and focused on the faint curved line. After hours of studying the other walls in the pyramid, it was crystal clear to him that this particular line hadn’t been carved by a professional craftsman. It had been done by an amateur. The groove was not as deep or as smooth. The professionals carved with eerie exactitude.
“What do you see?” Martha’s voice reflected her impatience.
Thomas turned towards her. He was beaming. “I think we’ve found it!”
Martha held her tongue. The entire message had deteriorated and fallen away. It had become dust on the floor of the temple, ferried away on the shoes of countless thousands of tourists. All they could see was the very last letter that had been written. And only half of that. But she kept quiet. Thomas needed a win, if only temporarily.
“This line is definitely not hieroglyphic, Martha. No way. And it wasn’t carved by an expert either. From what I can see, existing hieroglyphic writing was chipped away and this writing was carved over it, rather crudely. That’s probably what caused the whole message to disintegrate. Too much stress and activity. The smooth layer of plaster that the original builders spread over these walls to carve into has completely eroded. Whoever made these marks was trying to go too deep, at a time when the plaster was too old, too dry. The vibration made small fractures, eventually causing all of this to crumble away. Did you bring any paper, Martha?”
“A small note pad.”
“Spell Moses in Hebrew for me.” Martha wrote as instructed and held the pad of paper up so that Thomas could see it. Thomas smiled as he read it. “See the last S?”
“Yes,” she said.
“Look at this.” Thomas pointed to the tail of a letter that extended downward from the broken section. “It matches, Martha. Do you see it?” Thomas couldn’t contain his excitement now. “It’s the lower half of a Hebrew S. If I’m right, it could very well be Moses’ signature! Jesus, Martha, we may have just found Moses’ autograph!”
“But Thomas, how will we ever find out? The entire signature and the message that was above it is gone . . . forever. It’s the dust we’re walking on.”
“Maybe not, Martha. Maybe not.”