The ferocious Israeli sun beat down on Justin’s neck and made it itch. When he was younger, his friends made fun of him for his pale skin, giving him nicknames like albino and vampire. Even his mother constantly berated him regarding his unwillingness to go outside during the day. However, every time he ventured beyond the shade of his room, his bleached skin reddened up like a lobster and then blistered. He knew the itch on the back of his neck indicated a conflagration of viscous liquids headed there now. He prayed they would find shelter soon.
Carl walked at the front of the group, picking his way through the narrow streets as he headed further in to the city centre. After ten minutes, he found an isolated coffee shop on the outskirts of a busy bazaar and selected an empty table.
“So, the chevron on the symbol from the ossuary was a pyramid?” asked Louisa, fanning herself with her hand.
“Correct, and the circle is a representation of the Eye of Horus. Realising that actually ties up something that has always bothered me. The Sphinx has a stele between in paws; a stone tablet with writing on it. The writings speak of Akhenaten’s grandfather, Tuthmosis the fourth. The story recounts how the young prince was travelling through the desert when he came across the head of the Sphinx exposed from the sands. The Sphinx speaks, telling Tuthmosis that if he rescued it, he would become king. So, Tuthmosis organises an excavation of the Sphinx, and promptly gets his wish.”
“What bothers you about that?” asked Justin. “It’s obviously just invented; another myth.”
“We know there were extensive works undertaken at Giza by Tuthmosis. We know his artisans were probably there for years, living in and around the old worker village of Khufu, and that is whom I have the problem with. By the time Tuthmosis turns up, it’s a more than a thousand years after the pyramids have been built. However, he comes along long after the site has been supposedly ransacked and writes a stele that names Khufu as the constructor.”
“So? We know from archaeology that Khufu built the great pyramid at Giza.” said Louisa.
“But how did he know that Khufu is the builder of the pyramid?”
Justin shook his head. That was a strange question. There were numerous reasons to know for sure Khufu built the Great Pyramid at Giza. “The worker’s village sat to the side of the pyramid complex mentions him by name, repeatedly.” he said, trying the most obvious one.
“The worker village is a good place to start.” said Carl, his jovial tone suggesting that it was incorrect. “Carbon dating on the deposits found there shows that it was undisturbed until we dug it up in the nineteenth century. Therefore, that cannot be where Tuthmosis got his information from, as he never excavated it to see it.”
One down, thought Justin, trying to recall any others. He enjoyed the way Carl made people think as he spoke. Challenging the listener to fill in the blanks for themselves and not just take his word for what he said. “The Sphinx temple had statues of Khufu in niches by its walls. He probably saw those.” he said, remembering a Discovery documentary on the temple complex.
“Again, Tuthmosis would have known statues were movable objects. He wouldn’t have linked a statue with a name on it to a site’s builder. That’s like saying Leonardo Da Vinci built the Louvre because his signature is on one of the paintings there.”
Justin had to concede that was a good point. Not only did it take away another reason, it probably invalidated most of the documentary he watched. There had to be something else. Modern archaeologists were sure Khufu built the Great Pyramid. He was certain there was irrefutable proof somewhere. “The graffiti left by the original workers on an internal sealed chamber!” he said, excitedly remembering the clinching piece of information. “That’s your proof.”
“You’re right!” said Carl, in a congratulatory manner. “The Great Pyramid has a series of chambers inside it. Above the largest, the King’s Chamber, a series of relieving spaces were constructed to prevent the weight of the stones above it crushing the room. In the top one of these relieving spaces there is some graffiti partially obscured behind an immovable plinth, which has the name of a work-gang on it and the cartouche of Khufu.”
“So, why do you have a problem with him being the builder if you know that’s true?” asked Chris.
Justin could tell the continued discussions were boring the hell out of Chris. He was a man who wanted facts, direct and honest. He was used to specific information, delivered succinctly, with no preamble of waffle. It meant Carl’s thought-leading style was probably torture.
“OK, so what did you find out about the trees from the Garden of Eden?” said Carl, trying to force the group to a further revelation. “Think about what we talked about, the symbol on the Dollar Bill, and then think about the evidence for Khufu being the builder of the Great Pyramid. Try to imagine about how you would go about getting into the pyramids if you lived around four thousand years ago.”
Justin thought back to documentaries he had seen about the pyramid builders. Men in skirts, walking up and down sand ramps, carrying buckets, or leading horses pulling sleds weighed down by massive blocks. However, Carl wanted to know how you would get into one after they were finished.
Justin knew the outside of the Great Pyramid was once covered in a casing layer of polished limestone, obscuring the locations of all of the entrances. Therefore, they would not know where to even start trying to get in, let alone how. In addition, he knew from history that when Europeans first tried to find a way inside the structure, they had to use dynamite to blast through the stone. Ancient people would have no such advantages. On top of that, why did Westerners not just use the entrance the robbers created? Why did they have to use dynamite at all?
Justin closed his eyes, as his brain continued to try to find an answer to the puzzle. However, he could not think of one. How did they get into the pyramid? What did the pyramid builders have to do with the Tree of Life or the Tree of Knowledge from the Bible? Moreover, how did any of that relate to the All Seeing Eye on the dollar bill? With nothing coming to mind, he shook his head.
“With only brute force at your disposal, the only way to get inside a pyramid is to do what Egyptologists suggest was done to build one, just in reverse. They constructed a ramp up the side and took it apart from the top down. That’s how Tuthmosis got to see the graffiti there! Because Tuthmosis did not just free the Sphinx, he excavated the pyramid itself! Without doing that, he would have absolutely no reason to believe Khufu was the builder. The symbol on the dollar bill is simply telling you what Tuthmosis did; he took the top off the Great Pyramid and found knowledge.”
“But I thought the Pyramids were a necropolis.” said Louisa.
“Herodotus, who we have talked about earlier, wrote that Khufu never used the great pyramid as a tomb, but was in fact buried elsewhere. In one of his journals, he says Khufu’s body lies in a subterranean region on an island surrounded by the waters of the Nile. Diodorus Siculus, a famous Roman historian, also comments that Khufu was interred in an obscure place. As far as modern history is concerned, the first people to enter the Great Pyramid were Arabs in the ninth century. Led by Caliph Al Mamoun, the Arabs broke inside by boring into the limestone. After months, they reached a descending passageway. However, they found that he only entrance to the supposed burial chambers was blocked with an enormous granite slab. With no other way in, they had to dig round this too. After a year of effort, they finally reached both the King’s and Queen’s chamber’s, only to find them both completely empty. No coffins, no mummies, no gold, no baskets; nothing. Think about it, Khufu’s body was supposedly in the King’s Chamber, but tomb robbers came along and stole everything long before the Arabs arrived. Therefore, when they turned up all they found was an empty room and a cracked sarcophagus. Nothing has ever been so stupid as to believe that story as being truth. Did the robbers clean up after themselves for some reason? Did they waste their time removing all the smashed pots and rotted fruit husks that should have been stacked from floor to ceiling? Grave robbers never waste their tim
e doing stuff like that. Then again, how did they get round the granite slab that stopped the Arabs? The only answer I have is that when we turned up it was already empty because it was never a tomb. That chamber’s sole purpose was to hold the Ark. It’s our lost race’s Pioneer spacecraft. The Great Pyramid’s construction is encoded with astrological markers so future people could find out who built it and when. Placed on the Giza plateau to stand the test of time, it was located in the heart of the Verdant Crescent to show where they lived. They probably left the Ark of Ra because they didn’t want it to be lost to the deluge.”
“And our chevron and circle symbol?” asked Louisa.
“That’s where religion takes over. Sometime in the past, we decoded the knowledge they left behind, but were too stupid to realise what it actually meant. The circle under the chevron marks people out as continuing a sad tradition of thinking the Ark was a gift from God and not the remnants of an extinct civilisation.”
“Now we all know the history of absolutely everything ever,” said Chris, sarcastically, “are you likely to get to the part where you tell us what we’re supposed to be doing next?”
Carl laughed, apologising for taking so long to get to the point. “If Moses did make a copy of the Ark then there’s one group of people from history who might have recorded, or found out, where the original went, as the Bible follows the path of the copy. That is probably why after Moses dies, the Ark seems to lose all its power and slowly disappears from the story. Maybe, at some point even the Bible writers knew they were carrying around a dud. Therefore, to get the answers we need, I require some help. Do you have any contacts in the city Chris?”
“I do, but getting in touch with them could have consequences. We could be on their radar.” said Chris, apprehensive about the request.
“We’re not going to get anywhere near where we need to be unless we get assistance. We need a blackout and a localised evac. Where we’re headed is one of the hottest spots in the city. It’s remotely monitored and guarded at all times. Even though most of the world believes it’s not even a monument.”
Chris leant back in his seat and nodded, as Carl handed him a SIM and explained what needed to happen.
After a lengthy conversation, Chris’ mood changed. It appeared he was happy to finally be getting somewhere. “We’re on. Our contact is a man called Paul. We should get to the district as soon as we can.”
Carl left twenty dollars for their tab, before walking to the edge of the bazaar. A few minutes later, after speaking with one of the shop owners, a silver taxi arrived.
The car was nowhere near the same standard as the one they hired at the airport. It was still a Mercedes, but a nineteen seventies, rusted version of one.
Justin wriggled uncomfortably on the back seat. The coverings were stained a brown colour that needed no explanation of origin, and most of the springs were gone. To his side, Louisa looked disgusted that she was being forced to travel in such a wreck.
At the end of their journey, Louisa darted from the car and began to dust herself down, Carl paying the driver and making his way to the curb.
The district they found themselves in was relatively modern. A bank of apartments stood on both sides of the road. They were simply constructed and painted white, but were a nice contrast to the overpowering sandstone from the centre of the old city.
As Justin stood and baked in the harsh afternoon sun once more, a man ambled toward them.
In his early thirties, the man sported long, dark, braided strips of hair, which fell down the sides of his head. Wearing the modern, wide-trimmed hat of an orthodox Jew, his face was pleasant and his movements were neither aggressive nor agitated. He walked slowly, head held high as he approached Chris.
“Mister Martin.” the man said, his vocalisations slurred in the manner of Hassidic Jews. “It is a pleasure to have you here. Do you wish to accompany me to my friend’s house, where we can discuss your requirements?”
Chris shook the man’s hand and motioned for everyone to follow, as he led them down the street and into one of the apartment complexes.
Justin was relieved to find the apartment block air-conditioned. A cool draught wisped around his neck and removed the stinging pain settled there. All he needed now was a beer and this place would be perfect.
Following the man, they arrived at an unmarked, ground floor apartment, where he made a series of timed knocks before removing a key from his pocket, unlocking the door, and ushering them inside.
The interior was stark. A single, moth-eaten couch, which looked like it was reclaimed form a tip sat in front of a wooden television with a dial on it to change channel. In the corner, a lone table, loaded down with what looked like radio equipment, leant against the wall. The only piece of modern technology in the entire room was a laptop, rested on the thighs of a man in jeans. When they entered the room, the man turned and cracked out into a smile.
“Afternoon Paul.” said Chris, smiling back. “Looks like a step up in comfort from Baghdad.”
“Colonel!” said Paul, putting the laptop down and stepping over to shake his hand. “I thought you’d given up the wild life? Last I heard you had a cushy desk job.”
Paul was probably a few years younger than Chris, but his tired complexion made him look older. A deep scar traced his face, and he wore a peaked baseball cap to cover where it continued across his skull.
“As I said Paul, I’ve been reactivated for a one-off mission. It’s a big one too.”
“Must be. No intel sent through, no paperwork on operatives. It’s got to be one hell of a high priority job. We haven’t seen a black op in Israel since I’ve been here. I’m happy for the excitement, if I’m honest. You always did get the good ones, colonel!”
“While you prep, can my team use your bathroom to get freshened up? It’s been a hell of a few days.” said Chris, turning knowingly to Louisa.
“Yeah sure, colonel. I’ll get on with setting this thing up. It’s good to see you again.”
By the time the sun was creeping down behind the blocks of apartments, the group were congregated in the living room, refreshed and waiting for the off.
“I’m just about set here.” said Paul, his finger hovering over the enter key on his laptop. “Ishmael will walk you down to your target. He has a small explosive charge on him, which should allow you entrance. He will monitor the street so he can give you a heads up on your remaining time, but if you work to twenty minutes before any response turns up, you shouldn’t be far off. Good luck, colonel.”
“Cheers Paul.” said Chris, shaking the man by his hand.
“Follow me, please.” said Ishmael, as he walked briskly out of the apartment.
The white walls of the buildings around them were bathed crimson by the late evening sun. When they reached the road, Ishmael crossed it and took them down a path that meandered between two apartment blocks. He checked his watch as he walked; slowing his pace slightly as he began to measure precisely the position he should be at a given moment. Almost on cue, the lights in the garden around them and those in the buildings surrounding their walkway went dark.
They continued until they reached a small opening, made on the convergence of three paths. To their left was a raised dais of concrete, surrounded by a metal fence. Around the plinth, four cameras pointed to its surface.
Ishmael took a small drill from his pocket, as a siren burst into life and echoed screams drifted from the buildings. “Your twenty minutes have begun.” he said, as he jumped atop the slab and quickly drilled four neat channels. He dropped white sticks into the holes, tied together by wires. “If we could all take a few steps back, please.” Once everyone moved, he took a box from his pocket and pressed its singular button. The explosion was not loud, sounding like a car backfire, a jet of white dust rising from the surface. He took a mini-maglite from his pocket, twisted it on, and handed it to Chris, before turning and walking back to the road to act as lookout.
Chris took the torch and s
hone it through the three-foot wide hole. Through the dust still lingering in the air, it was clear to see a red, sandstone bluff to the back of the opening. Cut into its surface, a rectangular opening sat below a five-foot wide chevron and circle.
“Oh my God!” said Louisa. “Who’s tomb is this?”
“That’s probably where opinions differ around here Louisa.” said Carl, as he began to crawl inside. “But for some people this is the first century AD tomb of a man known as Jesus Christ.”
Chapter 33