Exodus (24 page)
They had found a reference to Natasha’s grandfather, Daoud El-Behery, a contemporary of Sigmund Freud. He had been an educated businessman with global contacts, officially trading in antiquities, as well as a smuggler and an admirer of psychoanalysis. Freud had been a collector of antiquities and many of his artifacts had come from ancient Egypt, several pieces bearing the stamp of the El-Beherys that Daoud must have provided.
Morgan was convinced that Natasha would be hiding somewhere that mattered to her emotionally, and perhaps these links to her family’s past would shed some light on the theory. At this point, it was worth pursuing the hunch, because they had no other leads on where Natasha might be. It was a long shot, but perhaps Morgan would find some clue at the final resting place of Freud’s Egyptian collection in London.
Sigmund Freud’s old house at 20 Maresfield Gardens, Hampstead, was now a museum, so Morgan paid to enter like any other psychological tourist. Freud was always associated in her mind with Vienna, but when the Nazis came to power, Jews who could escape the worsening atmosphere left the city of waltzes, among them Freud and his family. They had arrived in England as refugees in 1938 when Freud was 82, and he had spent his final year in exile. London had become his refuge as Austria was torn apart by the Nazis, but Freud died at the outbreak of war, before the full scale of the atrocities against the Jews were displayed for all to see.
Morgan walked into Freud’s study and looked around in wonder. It was the treasure cave of an eclectic mind, a psychological study in itself. The room was cramped, overflowing with myriad objects lining the shelves and erupting from corners. The walls were densely populated with books, all hardback and most leather bound. Morgan ran her fingers along the spines. The Tomb of Tutankhamun, Osiris: The Resurrection, The Golden Bough, Totemism and Exogamy. These were the books that Freud surrounded himself with, that soaked into his subconscious, that he saw when his mind wandered. They must have seeped into his thoughts, Morgan thought, and changed his world view.
Morgan found the Freud family Bible that had sparked his early interest in religion and the gods of Egypt, full of his underlinings in red, blue and green. She opened it to Deuteronomy Chapter 4 with its pictures of Egyptian gods with falcon heads, human faces and other idols. They referred to a text forbidding the worship of such creatures, but their very presence had ignited Freud’s passion for ancient Egypt. The discussion of idolatry and polytheism was ironically what led Freud to return again and again to these figures.
On the shelves nearby were Egyptian mummy bandages inscribed with magical spells and stained with embalming ointment, superb Hellenistic statues and erotic Roman charms. The collection was an intriguing catalogue of world civilizations where objects rare and sacred, ravaged and lovely were on open display. Morgan thought about her own attic box, her secret treasures and saw that, in a similar way, this collection was Freud's mind made manifest. The things he had amassed were parts of him that he could externalize, representations of his personality. Perhaps her own house would be this full of history when she was in her eighties. If she made it that far, Morgan thought, as pain throbbed throughout her body.
She stood looking at Freud's desk, wondering about the man who had written here, the founder of what some would call the cult of psychoanalysis. The desk was sturdy wood, inset with red leather, a modest size given the huge shadow this man cast over psychology, European literature, art and science. There was only a small space for Freud to write, barely big enough for one A4 piece of paper, as about a third of the desk was taken up by two rows of figurines, gods who had sat watching him work.
Morgan bent to examine a marble baboon, a crescent moon on his head. This was one of the incarnations of the Egyptian god Thoth, the god of writing, knowledge and mysticism. The baboon was considered the most impulsive of the god's incarnations, the one connected to the instincts on which we all sometimes act. Perhaps it became the id of Freud’s psychology, the base part that acts without thought, Morgan wondered. Yet Thoth was also the god who weighed the heart at the end of a life, according to the Book of the Dead. If the heart weighed more than the feather of Ma'at, goddess of truth and justice, then the person would be cast into the jaws of Ammit, devourer of the dead.
Facing the desk on a low shelf were more busts of gods and Morgan wondered how Freud’s writing practice worked? Perhaps they whispered divine truths to him, Morgan wondered, smiling at her whimsy. She examined Freud’s chair, specially designed with a violin shaped back and thin but robust arms, for the psychologist had enjoyed sitting with one leg over the side of the chair when reading. It was reminiscent of a Henry Moore sculpture of a curvaceous woman, the mother figure inviting you to lie back in her arms.
On the floor, seemingly discarded, were two Egyptian stone funerary markers, hieroglyphics clearly marking the death of the King. Morgan smiled, for it was an amazing collection for an amateur. But then Freud had lived in the early 20th century when the great finds, Schliemann's Troy and Carter's Tutankhamun, were global news, and antiquity collecting was all the rage.
Morgan knew that Freud believed that the psychoanalyst was similar to an archaeologist, excavating layer after layer of the patient's psyche, before reaching the deepest and most precious treasures. Freud had a passion for uncovering secrets, for digging down and bringing the hidden to light, dusting off and piecing together the fragments of a shattered past.
Morgan turned slowly to take in the whole aspect. The study was a long double room with french windows hung with heavy curtains. The room had high ceilings and wooden floors but the space was dominated by the rich colors of Turkish rugs and carpets. The deep reds and golds made the room feel cozier somehow, more like a secret chamber.
Moving to the other end of the study, Morgan noticed a Rembrandt print of Moses holding the Tablets of the Law which had been stored in the Ark of the Covenant. It was a black and white cross-hatched drawing with Hebrew letters dominating the scene. She knew that the figure of Moses had haunted Freud for much of his life.
While visiting Rome, he had become intrigued by Michelangelo's statue of Moses at St Peter in Vinculi. The statue was horned, due to a mistranslation of the Hebrew for shining, but the horns somehow gave the figure a gravitas, and Freud had studied and sketched it for weeks. It showed the moment when Moses came down from the mountain with the tablets of the Ten Commandments and found the Israelites worshipping false gods. His anger was such that he smashed the tablets of God in two.
Morgan had read Freud’s last book, 'Moses and Monotheism’. In it he had suggested that Moses had been an Egyptian and a priest in the Aten monotheistic cult, a member of the royal house of Akhenaten. When Akhenaten died, and the cult abolished, Moses found new advocates in the Hebrews, at that time a slave group working on the cities and monuments of Egypt. Moses organized the Hebrews and became their leader, making Egyptian monotheism the basis of their religion. After the Exodus from Egypt, Freud postulated that the Egyptian Jews overthrew and killed Moses, his murder becoming a repressed memory that echoed through their violent history.
Turning from the Moses image, Morgan noticed a print of Abu Simbel, the gigantic temple built in southern Egypt, standing at the edge of the desert to intimidate barbarian hordes. Three giant heads of Pharaoh Rameses II looked out over the waters of the River Nile, a starry sky above them lighting the faces of the ancient kings. A fourth figure crumbled near the central entrance to the tomb from which a light shone as if the temple were in use again, a resurrection of long-dead faith in the modern world.
There was an inscription on the print. Morgan leaned closer to read it and gasped, for it had been gifted to Freud by Daoud El-Behery, Natasha's grandfather. Had he had shared his love and dreams of the place with his granddaughter? Looking at the light in the Temple, Morgan wondered if perhaps that dream was being lived out right now.
Abu Simbel, Southern Egypt. 11.23pm
It was pitch black as the tiny plane banked towards the location of Abu Simbel, in the great red desert 230km south west of Aswan, the nearest city. Morgan looked out of the window into the night, wondering if she had just made a terrible mistake in bringing the team here. This was the only lead she had and if she didn’t find Natasha now, others could find the Ark first.
“The pilot says he’ll be able to land using instruments only,” Nejev, one of the ARKANE local team, said from his seat further forward. Morgan nodded. She had wanted to come alone but Marietti had insisted on a small group to accompany her, given Natasha’s tendency for violence. “But it looks pretty desolate out there,” Nejev continued. “How do you want to proceed on landing?”
“We’ll proceed to the Temple with caution,” Morgan said, “but if she’s here, I think she’ll be inside at the main altar.”
“A couple of men will stay with the plane and I’ll bring two men along with me as your escort.”
Nejev seemed professional and courteous, but Morgan’s thoughts returned to Jake and the night assault they had undertaken together in Tunisia during the hunt for the Pentecost stones. She missed her partner.
The plane bumped down on the deserted airstrip and came to a halt near the entrance building. There was a wire fence but the area was so far away from any cities that there was no need for any enhanced security measures. By day, charter flights brought tourist groups here to marvel, but by night, the ruins were deserted.
Morgan moved to the front of the plane as Nejev briefed his men. She started to open the door.
“Wait, stop!” one of the men shouted from the back. “Don’t open the door. I’m reading heat signatures around the edge of the airstrip.”
Morgan turned, her eyes alive now, the violet slash bright. “She’s here. We have to get to the Temple. Is there anywhere I could slip through?”
The man tapped on his laptop.
“It looks like they have a less protected area, south west from here. You could slip past there.”
Morgan turned to Nejev. “You need to cover my route to the edge of the fence. I’ll take one other man with me but we need to be quick and silent. If you can keep the forces occupied we may be able to make the Temple un-noticed.”
“If you go out the maintenance hatch under the plane, we’ll open the door at the same time and create a diversion for you. If we can hold them here, thinking we’re pinned inside, you should have enough time to get through. We’ll let you know any changes in position through the headset.”
Grabbing her backpack and pulling on the communications device, Morgan motioned for one of the men to follow her. Together they ducked down into the maintenance hatch and out underneath the plane. It was still pitch black and slowly Morgan’s eyes adapted to the dark.
The air was close and warm and a bead of sweat trickled down her back as she stood silently, listening to the night. It was still, with only the slight noises of desert animals scurrying through the dust of the dead kingdom, predators that hunted here on the edge of scarcity. But she knew that Natasha’s men were out there, silently waiting for the moment when the occupants of the plane emerged.
Then she heard the front and rear doors of the plane open, both on the west side. A low voice came through the microphone in her ear.
“The heat signatures show the men moving around to encircle the open doors. You should be able to run east and circle back to the fence line.” Morgan nodded at the man with her. He nodded back in readiness. Then the gunfire started.
Trusting Nejev to handle the combat situation, Morgan ran low and fast away from the plane towards the fence. A few meters from the fence, a burst of gunfire came from the trees in front of them. The man with her dropped to the ground, grunting in pain. Pulling her Sig Sauer P229, Morgan fired back towards the shadowy figure as she ran zigzagging towards the fence. The figure fell and the gunfire stopped. But there would be more men, she only had a small window of opportunity now.
“Man down,” she whispered into the microphone. “He’s on the tarmac, still alive.”
“We’ll send someone out to bring him back in,” Nejev’s voice came over the comms device. “But wait, Morgan, I’ll send another man out to you.”
“No time,” she whispered back. “I’m going in alone.”
Using the wire cutters from her pack, Morgan made a hole and squeezed through it, using her pack to protect her body against the barbs. On the other side, she pushed her way through the dense trees and bushes, guided by the tall cliff she could see looming above her. The sound of gunfire receded as she moved quickly and quietly away from the airstrip. But she reloaded the Sig anyway and held it ready as she proceeded. She wouldn’t underestimate Natasha again.
A few minutes later, Morgan rounded a corner in the path and emerged at the feet of Pharaoh Ramses II, his body rising twenty meters above her. There were four such statues, colossal kings carved in the rock, all wearing the double Atef crown of Upper and Lower Egypt. Statues of his family stood life-size by his feet and a frieze of twenty-two baboons danced across the top of the temple, alive in a petrified jungle of ancient adoration. The temple was designed for the worship of the Pharaoh but also the state deities of Egypt, Ra-Harakhty, Ptah and Amun. Next to the main temple was another smaller one where Nefertari, his queen, was venerated as the goddess Hathor.
