The Alexander Cipher Page 0,69
the photographs of the underground chamber, this man Kelonymus went to extraordinary lengths to honor these men. He wouldn’t have done it for a hoax.”
“But it would have been madness,” frowned Yusuf. “Why would these men throw their lives away on such a venture?”
“Because they believed that Alexander’s dying wish had been to be buried in Siwa,” answered Elena. “Ptolemy betrayed that wish when he started to build a tomb in Alexandria. You must remember, Alexander was a god to these people. They would have risked anything to carry out his orders.”
“Please, you’re not asking me to believe that Alexander is buried in Siwa, Ms. Koloktronis,” sighed Yusuf. Ibrahim knew what was on his boss’s mind. In the early 1990s, another Greek archaeologist had announced to the world’s media that she had found the tomb of Alexander in Siwa Oasis. Her claim was universally rejected, but not before Siwa and Alexander had become something of a joke in the archaeological community.
“No,” acknowledged Elena. “Alexander’s embalmed body was on display in Alexandria centuries after this inscription was made. No one’s denying that. However, surely it’s possible that they seized his body and set off towards Siwa, where they had a tomb ready and waiting.”
Yusuf sat back in his chair and looked sternly at Elena. “So,” he remarked, “the true purpose for your presence at this meeting becomes clear. You’re not here out of concern for the proper excavation of this Alexandria find. Oh, no. You’re here because you believe that somewhere in Siwa there is a tomb appointed with—how does this … Alexander cipher of yours put it, again?—yes, with ‘goods fit for the Son of Ammon.’ And you want my permission to look for them, no doubt.”
“Alexander was the most successful conqueror in history,” said Elena. “One of Egypt’s greatest pharaohs. Imagine what finding this tomb of his would mean for this country. Imagine what honors would befall the secretary general whose enlightened leadership made it possible. Your name would rightly be venerated along with the great patriots of this nation.”
“Go on.”
“And you have nothing to lose. I know the chances of finding anything are extremely thin. I know the resources of the Supreme Council are inexcusably tight. But something should be done. Something small. A low-level epigraphic survey of antiquities, say, conducted with the permission of the SCA. Just me and one colleague. Anything more substantial will only provoke rumors. You know what it is with Siwa and rumors.”
Yusuf frowned. “Every hill in the Oasis has been searched and searched again,” he observed. “If this tomb does exist and has lain hidden for twenty-three centuries, do you truly expect to find it in a matter of weeks? Do you know how wide the Siwa Depression is?”
“It won’t be easy,” admitted Elena. “But it has to be worth a try. Think of the alternative. When the contents of the Alexander cipher leak, every treasure hunter in the world will converge on Siwa. If we find the tomb first, we can preempt that, or at least announce that there’s nothing to it. Either would be preferable to a gold rush.”
“There’ll be a gold rush only if word gets out,” pointed out Yusuf.
“But it will get out,” insisted Elena. “We all know it will. That’s the nature of these things.”
Yusuf nodded to himself. “Siwa is the territory of Dr. Sayed,” he said sourly, as though he rather resented his colleague. “And Dr. Sayed has his own ways. You’ll need his permission, too.”
“Of course,” nodded Elena. “Apart from anything else, I understand he has an outstanding collection of reference materials. Perhaps you might speak to him yourself—ask him to give us access. I know, of course, that it will make no difference whatever to your decision, which will be taken solely for the greater benefit of Egypt, but you might perhaps let him know that our backers have set aside very significant fees for all our SCA consultants, including yourself, naturally.”
“I cannot agree to an open-ended expedition,” said Yusuf. “Siwa may be a large oasis, but it is a small community. Whatever your cover story, people will eventually note what you are doing. Your presence will trigger the very result you seek to avoid.”
“Six weeks,” suggested Elena. “That’s all we ask.”
Yusuf rested his hands on his belly. He liked to have the last word on everything. “Two weeks,” he declared. “Two weeks from tomorrow. Then we’ll talk again, and I’ll decide whether to give you another fortnight or not.”
NESSIM PACED BACK AND FORTH