Egypt (14 page)

While we rested in the shade, Tahnoon went through the camp rounding up every able man. Some boys no older than us prepared camels. I mean, that they would do this, help us in this way, maybe even risking their own lives for people they had just met, was totally incredible.

Tahnoon came back and lifted his arm, yelling something to his people. When he was finished, we all raised our arms in the air, too, and shouted before climbing atop our camels. Some carried rifles over their shoulders and others had swords strapped to their hips, which brought back an empty, sick feeling to my stomach.

Sitting on top of Tahnoon’s camel, I noticed that my hands were shaking. I was seriously worried that some of these brave Bedouin people might die unnecessarily. I mean, it was impossible to guess what the tomb robbers might do when we arrived at camp, but it wasn’t much of a stretch to assume that they would simply open fire. I was scared that I would never see my parents again and pretty much the only thing that kept me from freaking out was witnessing the bravery of the Bedouins. In them I found strength.

A warm and steady wind blew sand through the air, stinging the side of my face. I turned my head away from the wind as we marched back into the desert, a Bedouin Army one hundred strong at our side.

Tahnoon, our Bedouin friend, had saved us from the desert, but before we had time to appreciate our good fortune, we were approaching camp, likely to face the most dangerous situation yet.

Tahnoon split the Bedouins into two groups, sending one around to the opposite dune. There were approximately fifty people in each group. The idea was to come into camp from both sides and form a circle, cutting off all exits.

When the second group was in place, we began our march up the dune. As we approached the top, the camp and excavation site came into view. Men scurried all over. Gannon pointed out the tomb robbers to Tahnoon and he passed along the information to his men. They were easy to spot in their uniforms. We counted twelve in total.

On the opposite side of the camp, the second unit rose up along the crest of a far dune. What a sight it was! Camel-backed Bedouins in perfect formation, their long black robes blowing in the wind like phantoms of the desert, the rightful protectors of this spectacular land.

It didn’t take long for us to be noticed. A gunshot was fired into the air from camp. Tahnoon removed a rifle from his satchel and returned fire, a single shot into the air, warning the tomb robbers that we were armed, as well. I looked at Gannon who was wiggling his fingers around in his ears, and would have laughed if I wasn’t so afraid.

Then Tahnoon gave the signal. Raising his arm he shouted something that could have only meant “charge!” We lurched forward. I was riding with one of Tahnoon’s cousins, a man named Zayed, and took hold of the saddle rope to keep from falling off as the camel came down the dune.

Several shots were fired, some from the Bedouins, others from a distance. More warning shots, I hoped, but couldn’t be sure. Everyone in camp ran around frantically in different directions. A group of tomb robbers made a break for it, trying to charge up the dune before the camp was completely closed off, but their escape was blocked by several Bedouins with rifles drawn. The men surrendered immediately, throwing their weapons into the sand.

But there was more gunfire in camp. Zayed even fired a shot into the air and made a sudden sharp turn, throwing me off the back of the camel. I landed hard on the ground, knocking the wind out of myself. The thunderous sound of hooves pounding into the sand rumbled around me on all sides. Sand was kicked into my eyes. I couldn’t see.

More shots were fired. Bullets whizzed through the air. I rolled over, covered my head, thinking for sure I was about to be trampled. Suddenly, someone was on top of me. They grabbed me under the arms and began dragging me away. I pushed with my legs to help this person who was attempting to pull me to safety. We made our way through the chaos and into a tent. The person dragging me fell onto the ground next to me, gasping for breath. It was James.

“We all thought you were dead, mate!” he said. “Buried in the tomb forever!”

“We almost were,” I said, spitting sand from my mouth. “I’m glad to see you’re okay, too.”

“After the earthquake it’s been so chaotic, the tomb robbers forgot all about me.”

We stood and caught our breath.

“I’m curious, mate. How in the world did you coordinate this Bedouin raid?”

“I’ll tell you later,” I said, “We have to get back out there.”

James and I moved to the door of the tent.

Things outside had settled. It seemed the battle was over. Then, near the entrance of the tomb, I spotted two men. Their guns were drawn on each other. A second later, I realized it was Tahnoon and the commander. He appeared to be the only tomb robber that had not surrendered.

Dr. Aziz and Khalid stood off to the side. Gannon and Serene were behind them. I was relieved to see that they were all okay, but very afraid for Tahnoon. Judging by what I knew of the commander, he wasn’t going to give up without a fight. They both yelled at one another, their fingers on the triggers of their rifles. Two other Bedouins had their guns drawn on the commander. He was not going to get away, that was for sure. I just hoped he realized that before someone got shot.

Dr. Aziz wasn’t about to sit back and see how this would play out. He took the matter into his own hands, literally. In one fluid motion, he lifted his arm and threw a rock at the commander. Like a fastball from a major league pitcher, his aim was dead on, hitting the commander hard on the side of his head. The commander grunted and dropped to his knees. He was immediately tackled and dragged away by several men, still groggy after that thump to the skull.

“What a shot!” Khalid said. “I didn’t know you had it in you!”

“Nice throw, Doc,” Gannon said. “If archeology hadn’t been your passion, I bet you could have played for the Yankees.”

“I got lucky,” he said, chuckling. “Never touched a baseball in my life. Growing up, soccer was my sport.”

The tomb robbers had all been detained and were being escorted to the police station in Alexandria. My guess is that their days of tomb robbing are over.

Dr. Aziz gathered us in his tent. It was myself, Gannon, Serene, James and Tahnoon. One by one he approached us, kissing us on the cheek and giving us a firm hug. There were tears in his eyes when he spoke.

“First, I want to say thank you,” he said. “What you’ve done on this expedition was above and beyond the call of duty. Your actions saved our lives.”

“It was Tahnoon and his people,” Gannon said, gesturing to him. “They deserve all the credit.”

Serene translated what Gannon had said.

Tahnoon bowed.

Dr. Aziz spoke to Tahnoon in Arabic.

Serene translated it back to English for us, “Dr. Aziz said that the Bedouins are a proud and brave people and that we will forever be indebted.”

Again, Tahnoon bowed.

“Now,” Dr. Aziz said, turning to us with wonder in his eyes, “how on earth did you get out of there? The entrance was completely closed off by the earthquake. Is there another way into the tomb? Since you are standing here, I assume there must be!”

“You know,” Gannon said, “we’re not really sure. After the earthquake, we climbed out of a small hole and found ourselves somewhere in the middle of the desert.”

“The distance we traveled underground didn’t equate to the long distance we had to travel to get back to camp,” I said. “Honestly, I don’t understand it.”

“That is very interesting,” Dr. Aziz said. “Another Egyptian mystery, I suppose.”

“What about the tomb itself?” Khalid said.

“Yes, we must know.” Dr. Aziz continued. “What did you find? What is down there? The chambers can no longer be seen on the radar. It’s as if everything underground has disappeared.”

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” I said, “but I think the entire complex was buried in rubble.”

“Please, describe the complex to me! Describe the tomb! Was Cleopatra inside? Was Mark Antony at her side? I must know!”

Dr. Aziz was shaking with excitement as we all described what we had seen.

“Did you document any of this?” he asked.

Serene and I showed him the notes we’d made in our journals.

“That’s all we have,” I said. “Gannon’s camera was destroyed during the earthquake.”

He took the journals in his hand and sat quietly for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

“Your journals have a value beyond measure,” Dr. Aziz finally said. “With your permission, I will keep copies of your field notes at the Youth Exploration Society offices in Cairo.”

“Of course,” I said.

“It would be an honor,” Serene replied.

“It could be the only record we’ll ever have of Cleopatra’s tomb,” Dr. Aziz continued.

“What do you mean?” Gannon asked. “We know she’s here.”

“Yes, but the damage from the earthquake was so severe, it may be that we’re never able to find the tomb again.”

“I’m really sorry we couldn’t help you discover your 100
^th
tomb,” Gannon said. “But I said it before, and I’ll say it again. Maybe some things aren’t meant to be found. They’re meant to remain a secret. Forever.”

Dr. Aziz nodded.

“You might be right, Gannon,” he said. “You might be right.”

NILE HOTEL


7TH FLOOR, ROOM #721


When we got back to our hotel in Cairo the international press was waiting. Somehow word had gotten out and people were desperate to find out if all the rumors were true. It was a total madhouse, with flashbulbs going off in our faces and people shouting all kinds of questions.

“Tell us what you saw inside the tomb!”

“Did you really find Cleopatra?”

“Was Mark Antony buried with her?”

“What is the location of the tomb?”

“Do you have photographs?”

“How much damage was done by the earthquake?”

Dr. Aziz told us he would put out an official statement in the coming days explaining everything that had happened, so until then we’re keeping our mouths shut.

My parents muscled their way into the frenzy and helped pull us through the masses into the hotel lobby. We ran past the front desk and escaped into the elevator, while a few security guards did their best to hold back the press. Once the doors of the elevator closed, it was really quiet all of a sudden. We all just looked at each other in silence while soothing elevator music played from the speakers.

Finally, my mom spoke.

“You mind explaining what’s going on?” she asked.

“Seems you boys are quite the media sensation,” my dad added. “Can’t wait to hear what you got yourselves into this time.”

“I don’t have the energy to explain it all right now,” I said. “I’m as tired as a camel who just crossed the Sahara. Besides, you wouldn’t believe us anyway. Trust me on that one.”

“Of course we would,” my mom said. “Come on. Tell us everything that happened.”

“You’re just going to have to read our journals.”

I took my journal from my pack and handed it to my mom. When she flipped it open, sand poured onto the floor. The pages were dirty and brittle from exposure to the dry, desert air. Sloppy handwriting filled each page from top to bottom.

“This thing is filthy,” she said. “As far as your grade is concerned, I wouldn’t keep my hopes up. For starters, the penmanship is awful.”

“Oh, come on, Mom. If you shoveled dirt from sunrise to sunset, your penmanship wouldn’t look so hot either. We could barely lift our pens at the end of the day.”

“I’ll tell you something else,” Wyatt added. “I expect a top grade and nothing less. If you only knew what we went through, you’d be amazed we wrote a single page.”

“Okay, relax,” Mom said, “When I grade your work, I’ll take that all into consideration.”

The elevator door opened, and we walked to our room.

“I’m really intrigued,” my dad said, taking the journal from my mom. “I’m going to start reading right away.”

My dad opened the door and we entered the room.

“Whatever you do,” I said, “don’t wake me. I don’t know about Wyatt, but I could sleep for a week straight.”

“Without a doubt,” Wyatt agreed.

“Enjoy the adventure,” I said to my parents, and collapsed onto the bed.

I was out before my head hit the pillow.

A view of Cairo and the Nile

MARCH 21, 2:49 PM


TEA HOUSE, KHAN AL-KHALILI


21° CELSIUS, 70° FAHRENHEIT


We had one last thing to do before we left Egypt.

This morning the hotel manager arranged for a car to pick us up a block away. He led us to an exit in the back corner of the hotel, as the press was still camped out in the lobby. From there, we sprinted across the street and jumped into the car.

“Khan al-Khalili bazaar, please,” Gannon said.

We found the shopkeeper seated at a table in the corner of his store, sipping a cup of coffee. Oddly enough, he did not look surprised to see us.

“The famous young archeologists,” he said. “I’ve heard the news. So, tell me. Is it true?”