The Alexander Cipher Page 0,25

this mysterious underground necropolis, had given as his home address. It was a wretched-looking place, tall and pockmarked with discolored gray walls, its front doors broken and hanging loose, intestinal wires spilling out of the intercom. Mohammed was already waiting in the lobby. His eyes lit up when he saw Ibrahim’s Mercedes, and he walked proudly and slowly across, turning around as he did so, like an actor or a sportsman milking his time on the stage, wanting as many of his friends and neighbors as possible to see him climb in.

“Good morning,” said Ibrahim.

“We travel in style, then,” said Mohammed, pushing back the passenger seat as far as it would go to accommodate his legs, yet still struggling to fit.

“Yes.”

“My wife’s very excited,” said the big man. “She’s convinced we have found Alexander.” He glanced slyly at Ibrahim, as though to gauge his reaction.

“I doubt it, I’m afraid,” said Ibrahim. “Alexander was buried in a huge mausoleum.”

“And this isn’t part of it?”

Ibrahim shrugged. “It’s very unlikely. It wasn’t just Alexander, you see. The Ptolemies were buried there, too.” He smiled across at Mohammed. “They wanted Alexander’s glory to rub off on them. It didn’t work all that well, though. When the Roman emperor Augustus made his pilgrimage to Alexander’s tomb, the priests asked him if he’d like to see the bodies of the Ptolemies, too. You know what he replied?”

“What?”

“That he’d come to see a king, not corpses.”

Mohammed laughed loudly. Alexandrians had always enjoyed watching the powerful get taken down a peg or two. Ibrahim was so pleased that he ventured another anecdote. “You know Pompey’s Pillar?”

“Of course. I can see it from my site.”

“Did you know it had nothing to do with Pompey? It was actually erected in honor of the emperor Diocletian after he led an expeditionary force here to quash an uprising that had made him so angry he vowed to revenge himself on the Alexandrians until his horse was knee-deep in blood. Guess what happened?”

“I can’t think.”

“His horse stumbled and grazed its knees, so that they became covered in blood. Diocletian took this as a sign and spared the city. His officials put up his pillar and statue in remembrance. But do you know what the Alexandrians did?”

“No.”

“They built a statue, too. But not to Diocletian—to his horse.”

Mohammed guffawed and slapped his knee. “To his horse! I like that!”

They were drawing closer to the city center. “Which way?” asked Ibrahim.

“Left,” said Mohammed. “Then left again.” They paused for a tram. “So where was Alexander’s tomb?” he asked.

“No one knows for sure. Ancient Alexandria suffered terribly from fires, riots, wars, and earthquakes. And then there was a catastrophic tsunami during the fourth century. First it sucked away the water from the harbors, luring citizens out to pick up the fish and valuables just lying there. Then the wave struck. They never stood a chance.”

Mohammed shook his head in wonder. “I never heard.”

“No? Anyway, the city fell into ruin and all the great sites became lost, even Alexander’s mausoleum. And we’ve never found it since, though we’ve tried, believe me.” Countless excavators had tried, including Heinrich Schliemann, fresh from his triumphs at Troy and Mycenae. All had come up empty.

“You must have some idea.”

“All the sources agree that it was on the northeast of the ancient crossroads,” said Ibrahim. “The trouble is, we’re not sure where that was. All these new buildings, you see. Two hundred years ago, yes. A thousand years ago, easy. But now . . .”

“People say Alexander is buried beneath the Mosque of the Prophet Daniel. They say he’s in a golden casket.”

“They’re wrong, I’m afraid.”

“Then why do they say this?”

Ibrahim was quiet for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “You know that Alexander appears in the Qur’an?” he asked. “Yes, as the prophet Zulkarnein, the two-horned one. Leo the African, a sixteenth-century Arab writer, talked of pious Muslims making pilgrimages to Alexander’s tomb, and he said it was near the church of Saint Mark, as the Mosque of the Prophet Daniel also is. And Arab legends talk of a prophet Daniel who conquered all Asia, founded Alexandria, and was buried here in a golden coffin. Who else could that be but Alexander? You can certainly see why people might confuse the mosque with Alexander’s tomb. And then, oh, about a hundred and sixty years ago now, a Greek man claimed he’d glimpsed a body wearing a diadem on a throne in the mosque’s vaults. It’s a very seductive idea. There’s only one problem