‘Go on,’ Cobb said.
Ulster clicked forward on the website. ‘The rectangular blocks and papyrus reeds represent the foundation of Alexandria. As you may have noticed, trees are scarce in that region. But the annual flooding of the Nile delivered a bounty of mud that could be formed into sun-dried bricks. These were used to create their homes.’
Cobb nodded, satisfied with Ulster’s translations. Now that he had seen the historian’s abilities firsthand, he was willing to give him one more piece of the puzzle: the brand on the bomber’s neck.
‘This brings us to image three,’ Ulster said as he geared up for his next lecture. ‘If you take a closer look at the overlapping triangles, you will notice—’
‘Let me cut you off right there.’
Ulster paused. ‘Am I going too fast?’
‘Definitely not,’ Cobb assured him. ‘I simply wanted to get your thoughts on a specific image. One that we need to keep confidential.’
Ulster nodded in understanding. ‘Yes, of course. You can count on me. Though I am a bit loquacious at times, I do it within the bounds of secrecy.’
‘Glad to hear it. Please check your e-mail again.’
Ulster did as he was told and opened the new message with a photo of the brand. Even though the symbol was much darker than all of the others, he recognized it immediately. ‘Where did you get this? Did it come from the wall?’
‘No,’ Cobb replied. ‘This symbol wasn’t carved into stone; it was burned onto flesh. You’re looking at the back of a man.’
‘Oh my heavens! Then the legends are true!’
‘Legends? What legends?’
If Ulster had a weakness other than food and spirits it was his tendency to ramble. Even the simplest of questions were often addressed with long-winded monologues that encompassed much more than was asked. It wasn’t arrogance — he had no intention of touting his knowledge or belittling others — he simply felt that some inquiries were worthy of a comprehensive presentation.
Unfortunately for Cobb, this was one of those times.
Ulster took a deep breath. ‘As you probably know, the Sahara is one of the most treacherous places on planet Earth. No fewer than seven distinct deserts encompass more than three hundred and fifty thousand square miles, with virtually no water at all. And it has been that way since the Neolithic Era.’
‘Did you say Neolithic?’ Cobb grunted in annoyance. He simply didn’t have time for the history of Africa. ‘Fast forward please.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Ulster said, racking his brain for the best place to restart. ‘In 525 BC, a Persian army of more than fifty thousand men was ordered to lay siege upon the Oasis of Siwa in western Egypt. Not a single soldier arrived at their destination. How is it possible that no one — not a single soul in fifty thousand — survived a direct march across Egypt? Are you telling me that the sun and sand ravaged an army that was well stocked with food, water, and supplies? Or were there other forces involved?’
Cobb jumped in. ‘Petr, I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. What does any of this have to do with the brand?’
‘I was just getting to that,’ he assured him. ‘As far back as the Persian Empire, there have been stories about the Sahara and the people who defended it. Warriors who could overwhelm any army. Warriors who bore this mark. Nowadays, it’s probably hard to fathom why someone would still worship an ancient deity like Amun-Ra, but ancient religions — Christianity, Islam, and so on — are still widely practiced throughout the world. As a general rule, the more isolated a community, the more fervent their culture.’
‘Meaning?’
‘Isolation breeds purity. Purity breeds devotion. Devotion breeds fanaticism. And based on everything I’ve seen, the bombing in Alexandria was the work of fanatics.’
‘No need to tell me.’
Ulster flushed with embarrassment. ‘Yes, of course. I didn’t mean to suggest that I know more about the devastation than you. I mean, you were there in the rubble, and I was here on my sofa, and—’
‘Petr, relax. I wasn’t insulted by your statement. In fact, I found it insightful. I’ve been trying to wrap my head around the extreme nature of the blast ever since I left the tunnels, and now it makes perfect sense. These men weren’t just protecting symbols on a wall; they were protecting their way of life.’
‘Exactly,’ Ulster said.
‘It also explains the other attack.’
‘Which attack is that?’
Cobb filled him in. ‘We think these warriors were involved in the slaughter of an archaeological team near the Bahariya Oasis. We also have reason to believe that the expedition leader survived the attack. If so, we’re hoping that he has information about the men who took our historian.’
Ulster nodded. ‘You’re referring to Cyril Manjani.’
‘Wait! You know about the Manjani expedition?’
‘You could say that and a whole lot more. The truth is I actually know the man himself. And so do you, on some level. After all, what is a man but his life’s work?’
Cobb was certain that he had never met Manjani, and all of that other nonsense about a man’s work went directly over his head. ‘Honest to God, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Absolutely none. Please explain it.’
Ulster nodded. ‘The map of Alexandria I gave to you in Geneva?’
‘What about it?’
‘It’s his map. He found it on his expedition.’
The words hit Cobb like a sucker punch, so much so that his brain kept interrupting one thought with the next as he tried to piece everything together.
If Manjani knew—
Then that must mean—
And Jasmine found—
Then the symbols might—
After several seconds of utter confusion, Cobb eventually settled on a single question. ‘How did you get the map?’
‘How?’ Ulster said with a chuckle. ‘By opening my mail! Believe it or not, Cyril sent it to me here at the Archives. At first I thought it was some kind of sick joke — after all, I thought he had perished in the attack at the Bahariya Oasis — but once I saw the level of detail, I realized that it wasn’t a prank. It couldn’t be. It was authentic.’
‘But why? If the map was so valuable, why would he give it away?’
Ulster shrugged. ‘I don’t know for sure, but I’d imagine it had to do with the tragic outcome of his expedition. At least that’s what I gathered from his note.’
‘What note? You didn’t say anything about a note!’
‘I didn’t?’ He laughed at himself. ‘Sorry about that. Like I said, sometimes I live my life with blinders, and when I get too involved in one thing, I tend to forget—’
‘Petr! Do you still have it?’
‘Yes! As a matter of fact, I do. Hang on, I’ll read it to you.’
Ulster rummaged through the piles of research strewn about his desk until he found the note that he was looking for. Although the message was written in Ancient Greek, he translated it flawlessly. ‘My dearest Petr, it is with great shame that I send you this map. I hope you may someday finish what I have started. Sadly, I dare not risk my life again to find what I sought. Forever grateful, Cyril Manjani.’
Cobb shook his head, trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle together in his mind. Some things made perfect sense. After the slaughter of his team, Manjani was too scared to use the map that he had discovered during his expedition, so he had sent it to the Ulster Archives, a facility that encouraged the sharing of knowledge in the academic community, with the hope that someone else would continue the search for the tomb.