The Alexander Cipher Page 0,68

Abbas, secretary general of the Supreme Council for Antiquities. The great man was waiting for them in an ornate conference room, talking on the phone. He looked up sourly, then waved them vaguely at chairs. Ibrahim set up his laptop while he waited for Yusuf to finish discussing mathematics homework with his son. He found dealing with his boss immensely trying, not the least because he himself was a fastidious man, and Yusuf had grown grotesquely fat since orchestrating his palace coup and unseating his energetic, popular, and highly respected predecessor. Even watching Yusuf wrest himself from his chair was a mesmerizing sight, like seeing some ancient ship of war setting sail. He would prepare for the feat moments ahead of time, readying his muscles as if wind were filling the unfurling sails, and the rigging would creak and the anchor would haul and, yes, yes, yes, movement! Right now his forearms rested like giant slugs on the polished walnut table, but every so often he would lift a finger to his throat, as though his glands and not his incessant consumption of rich foods were to blame for his obesity. And when people addressed him from the side, he would move his eyes rather than his head to look at them, his pupils sliding to the corners—the very caricature of shadiness. Finally, he ended his call and turned to Ibrahim. “Such urgency,” he said. “I trust it has a purpose.”

“Yes,” said Ibrahim. “It does.” And he turned his laptop to show his boss Gaille’s pictures of the lower chamber, while explaining how they had been found.

Yusuf’s eyes lit up when he saw the burial caskets. “Are those… gold?” he asked.

“We haven’t had time for analysis yet,” said Ibrahim. “My priority was to seal the site and inform you.”

“Quite right. Quite right. You’ve done well. Very well.” He licked his lips. “This is a remarkable discovery. I see I will have to supervise the excavation personally.”

Elena leaned forward—not much, just enough to catch his eye.

“Yes?” he asked.

“We’re both aware of our exceptional good fortune that you could spare time from your other commitments for this meeting, Mr. Secretary General, for we know you are a man with extraordinary demands upon your time.” Her Arabic was stilted and clumsy, noted Ibrahim, but her posture and use of flattery were impeccable. “We’re glad that you, like us, consider this find to be of historic importance, and are delighted that you’ll be involved in its ongoing excavation. However, sharing this exciting news with you wasn’t the only reason Mr. Beyumi and I were anxious for this meeting. There’s something else that needs your wisdom and urgent consideration.”

“Something else?” asked Yusuf.

“The inscription,” said Elena.

“Inscription? What inscription?” He glared at Ibrahim. “Why haven’t you told me about this inscription?”

“I believe I did, Secretary General.”

“Are you contradicting me?”

“Of course not, Secretary General. Forgive me.” He reopened his photograph of the inscription.

“Oh, this,” said Yusuf. “Why didn’t you say you were talking about this?”

“Forgive me, Secretary General. The fault is mine. You’ll note that the characters are Demotic, but the inscription is actually in Greek.” He nodded at Elena. “A colleague of Ms. Koloktronis’s deciphered it. I can explain how it works, if you’re interested. Otherwise, here is a copy of the translation.”

Yusuf’s mouth worked as he read the text, his eyes going wide as he assimilated the implications. It wasn’t surprising, reflected Ibrahim. Memphis had been known to ancient Egyptians as White Wall. The word desert came originally from Desh Ret: the Red Land. Kelonymus referred to Alexander as the “Son of Ammon,” so the place of his father, it followed, was the Oracle of Ammon in Siwa Oasis, where old sources suggested Alexander had asked to be buried. The inscription, therefore, asserted that a group of shield bearers had stolen Alexander’s body from under Ptolemy’s nose in Memphis and had taken it across the Western Desert to a tomb they’d prepared within sight of the oracle of Ammon in Siwa Oasis. Ptolemy, however, had pursued them, and they had killed themselves rather than fall into his hands. All except Kelonymus, Akylos’s brother, who had avoided capture and who had later brought all his comrades’ remains back to Alexandria for burial, in fulfillment of his vow.

When Yusuf had finished he blinked twice. “Is this… is this to be believed?” he asked.

“The translation is correct,” answered Ibrahim carefully. “I’ve checked it myself. And we believe it to be sincere as well. After all, as you’ve seen from