Glancing around at the other royal mummies contained within the room, Erica thought that instead of making ancient Egypt come alive, the petrified bodies emphasized the enormous time that had elapsed and the remoteness of ancient Egypt. She looked back at the face of Seti I. It looked nothing like the beautiful statue she’d seen the day before. There was no resemblance whatsoever. The statue had had a narrow jaw with a straight nose, whereas the mummy had a very wide jaw and a hawklike hooked nose. It gave her the creeps, and she shivered before turning away. Motioning to Selim to follow, she walked out of the room, eager to be leaving the dusty museum for the field.
Erica’s taxi whisked her out into the Egyptian countryside, leaving the confusion of Cairo behind. They drove south on the west bank of the Nile. Selim had tried to continue conversation by telling Erica what Ramses II had said to Moses, but had finally fallen silent. Erica did not want to hurt Selim’s feelings and had tried to ask him about his family, but the guide did not seem to want to talk about that. So they drove in silence, leaving Erica at peace to enjoy the view. She loved the color contrast between the sapphire blue of the Nile and the brilliant green of the irrigated fields. It was time for the date harvest, and they passed donkey loads of palm branches festooned with the red fruit. Opposite the industrial city of Hilwan, which was on the east side of the Nile, the asphalt road forked. Erica’s taxi careened to the right, its horn honking several times despite the fact that the road ahead was clear.
Gamal was only five or six car lengths behind. He was literally on the edge of his seat, making small talk with his driver. He had removed his gray suit jacket in deference to the heat, which he knew was only going to get worse.
Almost a quarter of a mile back, Khalifa had his radio blaring, and the discordant music filled the car. He was now convinced that Erica was already being followed, but the method was peculiar. The taxi was much too close. At the museum entrance he had gotten a good look at the occupant, who appeared to be a university student, but Khalifa had dealt with student terrorists. He knew that their simple appearance was often a cover for ruthlessness and daring.
Erica’s taxi entered a grove of palms that grew so close together it gave the appearance of a coniferous forest. A cool shade replaced the stark sunlight. They came to a halt at a small brick village. On one side was a miniature mosque. On the other was an open area with an eighty-ton alabaster sphinx, lots of pieces of broken statuary, and a huge fallen limestone statue of Ramses II. At the edge of the clearing was a small refreshment stand called the Sphinx Café.
“The fabled city of Memphis,” said Selim solemnly.
“You mean Mennofer,” said Erica, looking out at the meager remains. Memphis was the Greek name. Mennofer was the ancient Egyptian name. “I’d like to buy us all a coffee or a tea,” said Erica, seeing she’d hurt his feelings.
Walking to the refreshment stand, Erica was glad she had been prepared for pitiful remains of this once-mighty capital of ancient Egypt, because otherwise she would have been very disappointed. A large group of ragged young boys approached with their collections of fake antiquities but were effectively driven off by Selim and the taxi driver. They mounted a small veranda with round metal tables and ordered drinks. The men had coffee. Erica ordered Orangina.
Perspiration running down his face, Gamal got out of his taxi clutching his El Ahram. Although he had been initially indecisive, he finally convinced himself he needed a drink. Avoiding looking at Erica’s group, he took a table near the kiosk. After obtaining a coffee, he disappeared behind his newspaper.
Khalifa kept his telescopic sight on Gamal’s chubby torso, but he allowed the fingers of his right hand to relax. He had stopped seventy-five yards short of the Memphis clearing and had quickly unsheathed his Israeli FN sniper’s rifle. He was sitting low in the back seat of his car with the rifle barrel resting on the open driver’s window. From the moment Gamal had emerged from his car, Khalifa had had him squarely in his sights. If Gamal had made any sudden movement toward Erica, Khalifa would have shot him in the ass. It wouldn’t have killed him, but, as Khalifa told himself, it would have slowed him down considerably.
Erica did not enjoy her drink because of the swarm of flies that inhabited the veranda. They were not deflected by a waving hand, and on several occasions they had actually landed on her lips. She got up, told the men not to hurry, and wandered in the clearing. Before getting back in the taxi, Erica stopped to admire the alabaster sphinx. She wondered what kind of mysteries it would tell if it could talk. It was very ancient. It had been made during the Old Kingdom.
Back in the car, they drove on through the dense palm forest until it thinned. Cultivated fields reappeared, along with irrigation canals choked with algae and water plants. Suddenly the Step Pyramid of Pharaoh Zoser reared its familiar profile above a row of palms. Erica felt a thrill of excitement. She was about to visit the oldest stone structure built by man, and for Egyptologists the most important site in Egypt. Here the famed architect Imhotep had built a celestial stairway of six enormous steps rising to a height of about two hundred feet, inaugurating the pyramid age.
Erica felt like an impatient child on her way to the circus. She hated the delay of bouncing through a small mud-brick village before crossing a large irrigation canal. Just beyond the bridge the cultivated land stopped and the arid Libyan desert began. There was no transition. It was like going from noon to midnight without a sunset. Suddenly on either side of the road Erica saw only sand and rock and shimmering heat.
As the taxi came to a halt in the shade of a large tour bus, Erica was the first one out. Selim had to run to keep up with her. The driver opened all four doors of his small car to encourage ventilation while he waited.
Khalifa was becoming more and more confused about Gamal’s behavior. Ignoring Erica, the man had taken his newspaper into the shade of the pyramid’s enclosure wall. He had not even bothered to follow Erica inside. Khalifa deliberated for a few minutes, wondering what would be best for him to do. Thinking that Gamal’s presence could possibly be some sort of clever ruse, he elected to stick close to Erica. He removed his jacket and shifted his Stechkin semiautomatic to his right hand with his jacket draped over it.
For the next hour Erica was intoxicated by the ruins. This was the Egypt she had dreamed about. Her knowledge was capable of translating the debris of the necropolis into the prodigious achievement that it had been five thousand years previously. She knew she could not see everything in one day, and was content to touch the highlights and enjoy the unexpected, like the cobra reliefs she’d never read about. Selim finally accepted his role and stayed mostly in the shade. He was pleased, however, when Erica motioned about noon that she was ready to move on.
“There is a small café/rest house here,” said Selim hopefully.
“I’m very excited to see some of the nobles’ tombs,” said Erica. She was too excited to stop.
“The rest house is right next to the mastaba of Ti and the serapeum,” said Selim.
Erica’s eyes brightened. The serapeum was one of the most unusual ancient Egyptian monuments. Within the catacombs the mummified remains of Apis bulls had been interred with pomp and circumstance befitting kings. It had been with enormous effort that the serapeum had been dug by hand into the solid rock. Erica could understand the effort devoted to construction of human tombs, but not for the bulls. She was convinced that there was a mystery associated with the tomb of the Apis bulls that had yet to be unraveled. “I’m ready for the serapeum,” she said with a smile.