Death of a Pharaoh (30 page)

By
4:30 in the morning, the men began to tire
visibly from the continuous effort. Hassan trotted by on his camel to inform
Eduardo that they had four and a half kilometers left. It would be sunrise in
one hour and twenty-seven minutes. Success was within their reach but they
couldn’t relax. Eduardo went to the front of the float and whispered words of
encouragement to his men as the leader often did at Easter when the going was
tough.

“Gentlemen, we
have less than five kilometers remaining and well over an hour. This thing weighs
nothing. Who is tired?”

There was only
silence.

“Good. This is not
Easter but we carry a great king. We will finish our task in a regal manner. We
will show the world what it means to be a costalero of Seville.”

He tapped on the
frame and the men took their positions. Once again and they braced. A final
time for them to lift the float; the muscles of dozens of strong thighs
screamed silently in pain as they fought against gravity for the fortieth time
since they began.

Only the men in
the first row heard Eduardo’s muted command, “Al cielo con El, to heaven with
Him,” as they often yelled in Seville to resurrect symbolically their Savior.
Tears streamed down his face soaking his walrus like mustache.

After an hour, he
glimpsed the silhouette of a high tent made of military camouflage in the
distance with a large truck parked underneath. It was still dark but in the
Eastern horizon, he could see the gossamer aura of the new day. They were going
to make it. Barely!

The women of the
village came to greet them and they ululated softly from the top of the
surrounding hills. It wasn’t the same as the saetas, the gut wrenchingly
beautiful flamenco prayers sung in the streets of Seville at Easter; but they
shared the same origins and it gave the men a much-needed boost for the final
push.

With only a few
meters left in their journey, Eduardo asked them to listen closely to his
commands and deftly maneuvered the float through the door of the tent. He
ordered them to stop and lower it for the last time.

“It stays here,”
he pronounced as the costaleros turned and hugged each other for a job well
done and in anticipation of the cash payment. He allowed them their moment
before he reminded them that he needed their muscle to lift the coffin one last
time. The Guardians had brought the same hoist from the tomb by camel and
within moments, they raised the sarcophagus so they could move the float and
replace it with the truck. Eduardo and Pablo scrambled on top to supervise the
final movements. They each held one end of the stone sarcophagus to guide it
the last few inches onto the computerized steel platform.

Eduardo quietly
recited the Lord’s Prayers as he hugged the coffin of his Savior. Pablo had
reassured him that Jesus had gone to heaven as a God, just not in the way that
Catholics believed. It didn’t matter to him. He now stood only inches away from
the recipient of most of the prayers he had ever voiced in his life. With a
soft thud, the huge stone coffin settled gently on the back of the truck.

Eduardo remained a
moment touching the granite as if he might feel a special force. It felt
surprisingly warm or perhaps it was just his imagination? He once had the
privilege of placing his hand on the silver plated coffin of Saint James the
Apostle in Santiago de Compostela, at the end of a pilgrimage. It had the same
electricity but this was far more intense. Eduardo had lived for more than
sixty years. He fell in love stroking his wife’s face, held his newborn
children in his large hands and played with his grandchildren. Now that he had
almost touched the son of God, he knew his life was complete.

Tears streamed down Mustafa’s face as he watched the truck pull away
headed for Cairo. They had done their job with the help of the Gods and the
costaleros. He sent an encrypted message to Herbert Lewis recounting the
success of the operation. Their efforts removed most of the obstacles for the
coronation. All they needed was the head on which to place the crown.

Tomb of the True Pharaohs, somewhere near
Saqarra, Egypt, 09.00 EET November 1, 2016

Jake arrived at the site at his normal time that morning. There were
three scans scheduled for today but his mind was more on his meeting that
evening to collect half the money. He consulted the worksheet then headed for
the first sarcophagus. He’d pass TP003 on his way. He’d never really paid any
attention; they all looked the same to him. When he got to the spot it
occupied, he almost fainted. It was gone. Instead of the massive granite stone,
there was a giant empty space. He felt sick and mumbled to his assistant that
he needed to get something from his locker.

He grabbed his
laptop and wrote a quick email to Cedric explaining that the sarcophagus had
disappeared. He asked if he could still collect his money.

Ballroom of the Princess Eshe Hotel, near
Saqarra, Egypt, November 1, 2016

At noon of the same day, Mustafa hosted a gala luncheon for all the
costaleros in appreciation of their tremendous efforts. Each man found an
envelope on his plate with 10,000 euros in twenty 500 euro notes. Many were
tempted to make a joke about Bin Laden but were unsure of the political
correctness. The Spanish had nicknamed the high denomination banknote after the
infamous Saudi because normal people had about as much of a chance of getting
their hands on one as the authorities did of ever finding the terrorist. That
was before the Americans killed him. Still, the name stuck. Most had never seen
so much cash in their lives. It was indeed a celebration.

The departure time
for the charter was at six that evening. They would have time for a swim after
lunch and to pack their bags. Most would be home for dinner. He could only
imagine the excited conversations around the dining room table later that
evening.

At the airport,
Pablo took him aside to say goodbye. “If all goes well, the coronation will
take place in ten days, The Lord Vizier has asked me to invite you and your
wife as our honored guests. We will fly both of you back to Cairo. He wants to
express his gratitude in person.”

“She would like
that,” he admitted. “We haven’t had a real vacation in several years. Only
weekends at the apartment in Rota.”

“Good, then I will
confirm your attendance,” he declared with satisfaction. “I do not need to
remind you of your complete discretion.”

Eduardo laughed,
“Who would believe me anyway?”

“Hasta pronto, my
dear friend and
capataz
of Jesus Cristo,” he intoned. “May the Gods
bring you back to us safely!”

Father Marco’s hands trembled with excitement while he studied the
copies of the x-rays with a magnifying glass. He could clearly see the trauma
to the wrists and feet. Without a doubt, he was looking at the body of his Lord
Jesus Christ. He made the sign of the cross. It was the culmination of his
life’s work and he felt a shiver of emotion. He pulled himself together, there
was still much to do.

According to the
message from Cedric Rickenbach, they would have the exact location of the
secret tomb in just over twelve hours. He responded by ordering him to prepare
the assault for the next evening. There was no need to delay. He imagined his
triumphant audience with the Holy Father to break the news that he would soon
be able to pray over the body of his Savior. Surely, His Holiness would name
him a Chaplain with the honorific title of Monsignor; at the very least. He
liked the sound.

He noticed an
unopened email from the Archdiocese of Seville, Spain on his computer. It was
from the Archbishop’s personal secretary. It mentioned that one of his parish
priests had heard a rumor that a group of one hundred costaleros recently
traveled to Egypt to help convey a large stone on a platform. Father Marco
recalled that costaleros were the men who carried the large floats through the
streets of the city during Holy Week. The text went on to say that the wife of
one of the men confessed to her priest that her husband just called her to
confirm that he received 10,000 euros for his help to transfer a dead Pharaoh
in an enormous stone coffin last night. She came to the church to light a
candle out of gratitude to the Blessed Virgin Mary.

Father Marco
reached for the telephone and frantically dialed Cedric Rickenbach’s cellphone.
He barely recognized his defeated voice when he answered. Father Marco knew the
news was not good.

“Our man on the
inside just emailed me to say that the coffin is gone. It disappeared into thin
air. I was about to call you,” he assured his boss. “It was there yesterday and
no trucks have been through our checkpoints.” He took a deep breath to continue
his pathetic excuses when Father Marco interrupted.

“Just like two
thousand years ago, he didn’t fucking resurrect himself you idiot,” he yelled.
“He was spirited away, right from under your noses, while you were all busy buggering
each other. I just learned that they paid a group of costaleros from Seville to
carry a dead Pharaoh in a large stone coffin. They made the transfer last
night.”

“How could they
have arranged it without our knowledge?”

“Because they
tricked us you fool,” he spat through the mouthpiece.

“Should we
continue with the plans to attack?”

“Of course not;
nothing of interest remains for us in the crypt.”

Cedric was wise
enough not to speak. He knew that much more than his job was at risk.

“Get all of your man
to Cairo, at once,” the priest ordered. “I want them to find where they’ve
taken the coffin. They will not have had enough time to get it out of the
country yet. I want to know the final destination.”

“Yes Father, I
will not let you down.”

Father Marco
paused before making his final comment. He wanted his silence to chill the
temperature in the desert by several degrees.

“You already
have,” he hissed then slammed down the receiver.

Jake was relieved to find an email from Cedric when he got home and surprised
to see that he was so understanding about the missing sarcophagus. He told him
the meeting for that evening was still on and that they would precede with
their original plan on the presumption that Jakes’s employers had merely hidden
TP003 among the other coffins in the same location. He gave the address for the
rendezvous and set the time for nine o’clock. Jake had two hours to get there.
It wasn’t the best part of town but young tourists often went there in search
of drugs. The sight of a foreigner accepting a small package wouldn’t raise any
eyebrows.

Five minutes
before nine, the taxi dropped him at the end of a dark alley and offered to
wait. Jake gave him some extra cash and told him he wouldn’t be long. As he
stood up, he saw a man standing under a naked light bulb half way down the
block.

The figure turned
toward him and waved while Jake picked his way over the broken pavement. The
smell of urine assaulted his nostrils and a dog growled from behind a wall.
When he drew closer, he could make out the face. His contact could have been a
clone of Cedric, only twenty years younger. He smiled at the man. Just then, he
heard the taxi pull away. It annoyed him since he’d have to flag another one
down with too much cash on him. The man stepped out of the light. Jake saw the
gun in his hand. He froze in horror. He knew he was going to die and he was
right.

The operation with the costaleros from Spain went better than Mustafa
had dared to hope. The readings from the sensors attached to the sarcophagus showed
that the mummy of the Pharaoh Jesus barely quivered during the transfer.
Mustafa was elated. Pablo accompanied the corpse to Cairo and was supervising
the forensic inspection. A team of experts from around the world prepared to
examine the body to determine if there were any bacterial or environmental
threats.

Scientists in
Zurich had completed modifications to a special high-tech coffin that would
maintain the mummy in an inert gas with sensors to detect movement, humidity
and light. A transmitter with a long life battery would send data to a remote
computer allowing permanent monitoring without the need for site visits that
might raise suspicions.

He carefully
considered the technical report regarding the final resting place for the
Pharaoh Jesus and selected one of the locations in Spain. It was an excellent
choice with a near perfect combination of privacy and access. Pablo secured an
export permit from the Ministry of Antiquities for the permanent loan of an
unidentified mummy, dated from the beginning of the 1
^st
Century AD,
for scientific research. The Egyptians considered any remains from the
post-Ptolemaic period to be of little historical importance. A decision
hastened, he suspected, by a generous gift from the Falcon Foundation to fund a
forensic laboratory for research on mummies.

However, the news
that really cheered Mustafa was a report from the Guardians of frantic activity
in the Swiss camp. Since first light, teams began to pack large trucks and
dismantle tents in the unmistakable sign that they were abandoning their
headquarters. The rouse had worked. With the body of their Savior gone, they no
longer had interest in the site.

Still Sanctus
Verum had always proved to be tenacious and Mustafa would not relax until Egypt
had seen the last of them. Their spies in Cairo confirmed that they had rented
a large number of rooms in a mid-range hotel downtown. Hassan redeployed half
of the Guardians, most of them soon to be relieved of their ancient duties at
the former tomb, to follow as many of the foreigners as possible. Until the
body of the Pharaoh Jesus was out of the country and they completed the
transfer of the rest of the True Pharaohs, the Guardians must remain vigilant.

A fellow Servant
of Ma’at and a General in the Egyptian army agreed to schedule a training
exercise in the area of the old tomb to explain the presence of a large number
of trucks to transport the mummies to the new crypt. He expected the relocation
operation to finish in three days.

If the Pharaoh’s
condition improved, he would arrive in just over ten days. His presence would
test the security of the hotel complex. He preferred not to remember the
indecent sums of money he had spent on the project. The requirement to separate
the Pharaoh Jesus from the others generated large unexpected expenses and he
needed to employ much more to guarantee the integrity of his new tomb. None of
it really mattered. Everything was ready for the coronation and all they needed
was a Pharaoh. Mustafa remained optimistic. He could not believe that the Gods
provided a solution to the transfer of the sarcophagus only to deny them the
final victory. Just in case, he asked his driver to stop at the mosque on his
way home. Prayer was hard on his arthritic knees, but the pain paled in
comparison to what his heart would feel if all their efforts had been in vain.

Lord Thoth monitored Nkosana’s dream file on a permanent basis but
there was no change. His fellow Gods clamored for news. Even the doves among
them now seemed sympathetic to Seth’s calls for a devastating campaign of
divine retribution. Osiris wisely kept silent during the increasingly heated
debate. Any improvement in the young Pharaoh’s condition would favor restraint.

The heart
wrenching emptiness on the page of Nkosana’s dream file suddenly disappeared,
replaced by one word.

“Mother.”

Thoth voiced a
silent prayer of gratitude; he had no idea to whom. Something told him that
more thoughts would soon appear.

10
^th
Floor, Falcon Foundation,
Philadelphia, 02.51 EDT November 2, 2016

The medical intern on overnight duty at the Falcon Foundation in
Philadelphia was on a mission to gain the points he needed for access to a
higher level of his favorite computer game. At the beginning of his shift,
everything remained exactly as they had recorded for the past eight days; no
measurable activity. He failed to notice the slight quivers in the readings
monitoring brain waves through the headset on the patient’s forehead. Over the
next fifty minutes, activity increased dramatically but the young doctor never
saw the change.