"No political motivation at all?" Holliday asked.
"Only the politics of thievery, other people taking other people's things. My Tuareg friends here having their land stolen away for lunatic projects, their cultural history stolen just as surely. Did you know that the Germa site has never been excavated by Libyan archaeologists? French, American, British, yes, colonial powers all. But Libyans? Not on your life."
Alhazred finished his cigarette, then turned and stepped out of the tent for a second, grinding out the butt into the sand at his feet. He stepped back inside the tent.
"So my companions in the Brotherhood decided that we would make money out of it all at least, which is how things started. I was toiling as a field-worker at the Zinchechra site, stealing small artifacts and selling them to smugglers. That's how I met the estimable Mr. Tidyman. We had much in common. He was an expatriate and so was I; we had a shared, partial Canadian heritage. Blood brothers if you will. That led to a whole chain of connections up the smugglers' network, to Cairo, Alexandria, Tripoli, Tobruk, Tunis, Marseille, a lot of places."
"Valador and his fishing boat. The tugboat in Alexandria," said Holliday.
"That's right, the Khamsin." The handsome Lebanese man smiled. "Then I found the tomb and everything changed."
"Imhotep?" Rafi asked.
"Himself," confirmed Alhazred. "I was looking for a place to cache artifacts I'd taken from the main dig when I stumbled on it. The site at Zinchechra is enormous. As well as the old town ruins and the Garamathes' fortress there are also hundreds of beehive tombs from the earlier group who occupied the oasis. I shouldn't have been surprised; the tombs look like miniature truncated pyramids, much like the step pyramid at Saqqara built by Imhotep for King Djoser in 2600 B.C. It's clear now that's where the design came from; Imhotep simply enlarged the scale."
"He was buried in one?" Rafi asked.
"Hidden would be a better description. Like Edgar Allan Poe's 'The Purloined Letter.' I believe the term is 'hidden in plain sight,' " said Alhazred. "In most of the tombs the occupant was buried upright; that's what I expected to find in the one I opened. A tiny space but big enough for what I had in mind. Instead there was a shaft and a passage leading to quite a large underground chamber."
"The tomb," offered Holliday.
"Yes," said Alhazred.
"Sealed?" Rafi said.
"Sealed and with Imhotep's cartouche pressed into the plaster when it was still wet."
"What did you see when you opened it?" Rafi's eyes were like saucers. Alhazred was describing every archaeologist's fondest dream; their heart's desire, in fact.
"Wonderful things," said Alhazred wistfully, remembering. "Not the tomb of a king, like Tutankhamen, but the tomb of a thinking man, an architect, an engineer, an inventor, a doctor and a mathematician. Architectural models, intact clay and wax tablets, wall paintings, small sculptures, a great deal of jewelry. All authentic Third Dynasty. Worth millions."
"If you'd gone public with the find it would have made your reputation," said Rafi.
"Who discovered King Tut's tomb?" Alhazred sneered.
"Howard Carter," said Rafi promptly.
"Not so," said Alhazred. "It was his foreman, Ahmed Rais, an illiterate Egyptian. Carter could have kept digging for the rest of his life and never found it."
"You're saying you wouldn't have gotten credit for the find?" Holliday said.
"Not in a million years. I got my doctorate at the American University in Beirut. The head of the Germa dig was a postdoctoral Fellow at Oxford. Do you know anything about the politics of academia in the archaeology field, Colonel Holliday?"
"Nothing," admitted Holliday.
"I do," said Rafi.
"What luck would I have had getting credit for an enormous find like that?"
"Not a chance in hell," agreed Rafi with a sigh.
"Exactly." Alhazred nodded and lit another cigarette. "So I kept it quiet."
"You and your friends started smuggling artifacts from the tomb," said Holliday. Rafi winced, knowing the historical loss that came from that kind of destructive, unscientific looting. Movies like Clive Cussler's Sahara, the modern Mummy series, and worst of all the Lara Croft: Tomb Raider films extolled the worst kind of archaeology. At least Indiana Jones wasn't in it for the money.
"That's precisely what we did, and we were getting rich doing it, Emil and I. Then Emil tripped over Your Heart's Desire while he was taking a load of booty from the tomb back to Siwa. We knew we were in trouble right from the start."
"I'd hardly call finding a billion dollars in bullion trouble," said Rafi.
"Really?" Alhazred gave a mocking laugh. "A billion dollars that isn't yours in a country ruled by a lunatic dictator crazier than Saddam Hussein? It was trouble, believe me. As soon as we started trickling the gold out a few bars at a time the people at the far end of the smugglers' chain of command started asking questions. Bad people. So we invented the Brotherhood of Isis and became political. It made us more dangerous to the big-time criminals we had to deal with. It also got us friends and a few accommodations about traveling in the revolutionary zones in Niger and Chad. My Tuaregs loved it. Calling themselves the Brotherhood reminded them of their warrior past and gave them status among the other tribes. Problems still exist. We are well hidden here, and remote, but far too many people know about the gold now. Eventually the trouble will come to a head. I would like to act before that happens."
"How did you find out we were coming for Peggy?" Rafi asked.
"She said you would," explained Alhazred. "Both of you. I thought it was bluff and bluster, but then Fusani's body floated up and I knew you were coming." He smiled. "I guess neither of you was a Boy Scout; your knots weren't tight enough."
"Fusani?" Rafi frowned.
"The engineer on the Khamsin," suggested Holliday.
"Quite so," said Alhazred.
"At which point you set us up with Tidyman," Holliday said.
Again Alhazred nodded.
"Yes. It was logical that without papers to cross the border at Sollum you would find your way to Siwa. After that it was easy."
"It's a great story," said Holliday. "But it doesn't get us any closer to Peggy."
"Nor will it, not for the moment."
"Not for the moment?" Holliday said.
"How do we know she's even alive?" Rafi asked bluntly.
"You don't," said Alhazred. "But I can assure you that she is."
"What do you want from us?" Holliday asked.
"I'd like your opinion about something," said Alhazred. "Yours from a military perspective, Colonel Holliday, and yours from an archaeologist's point of view, Dr. Wanounou. Do that for me tomorrow and I'll be happy to tell you where Peggy is." He gave a curt little nod. "We'll head for the tomb tomorrow evening, less chance of being seen. Until then feel free to wander about the camp. Try to escape and Miss Blackstock will be killed within the hour. Understand?"
"Yes," said Holliday. Rafi was silent.
"Good," said Alhazred. He turned on his heel and threw back the tent flap, then disappeared outside.
"Illuminating," said Holliday, leaning back on the pillows, staring thoughtfully at the entrance to the tent.
"How much of that do you believe?" Rafi asked.
"All of it. None of it. Who knows?" Holliday shrugged. "All I do know is that guy talks too much and there's something creepy about him. Something missing."
"Is Peggy alive?" Rafi asked, his voice cracking.
"If she's not I guarantee you sayyed Alhazred is a dead man," vowed Holliday grimly.
15
They awakened with the rest of the camp at dawn the following day. Holliday knew there was a guard outside the tent throughout the night because he heard him singing softly to himself. The songs were all quiet dirges, like memories of the enormous desert they had just crossed. Sleep didn't come easily and his thoughts inevitably turned to Peggy and her whereabouts. He'd told Rafi that Alhazred would die if he'd harmed her in any way, but privately on his own restless voyage through the night, Holliday also promised himself that the man's death would not come either quickly or easily.