With her small degree of freedom, Kelly now tried something new.
CHAPTER 21
Not once had Turcotte or Yakov discussed the possibility that the blockage might extend farther than they could dig. In a strange way, that felt good to Turcotte, reminding him of his classmates at Ranger and Special Forces schools, where he’d worked with the other students on difficult tasks without having to chat about it or discuss the impossibility of the obstacles before them. In such situations talk was wasted energy and time.
Turcotte knew that they were getting closer to the deadline with each passing minute, but he had long before learned to focus his mind on the most immediate task at hand. He was doing everything he could right now. His training and his experience had taught him to avoid panic by taking things one step at a time.
His hands were bleeding from the concrete and stone he’d been lifting and carrying, the pain past the point of sharpness, into a numb, pounding ache. As he headed into the narrow opening they had excavated, Yakov slid out, tumbling large chunks of concrete with him. Turcotte slithered past, along the fifteen-foot-long dig. Several times concrete beneath him moved, which highlighted the possibility that blocks above might collapse. It was dark when he reached the end and he worked by feel, carefully discerning the size of a piece of rubble with his hands, then slowly pulling it out.
Turcotte knew his limits, and he had a very good idea how far past those limits he could push his body. He estimated being able to work about three more hours before having to rest. Then the next work segment would be more difficult to begin because of aching muscles and scabbed-over wounds. And shorter because of less energy. The largest concern he had was lack of water. Taking it one step past how long he estimated he could work, Turcotte figured he and Yakov had about two days of life if they didn’t break through.
Checking his watch, he realized that was about five or so hours more than everyone in the United States had if he did not find the key.
Duncan and Mualama’s arrival in Cairo was not as inconspicuous as they would have liked. Thousands mobbed the edge of the airfield where the bouncer came in for its landing, eager to see the alien craft on its first visit to Cairo despite the early hour. Duncan would have preferred landing directly at the Sphinx site, but the Egyptians had refused them permission to do that and directed they arrive at the airfield.
Duncan had no idea how word of the visit had been leaked, but she had to assume that it had occurred somewhere in UNAOC. The two quickly disembarked, eager to move to the Giza Plateau. The head of Egypt’s Supreme Council of Antiquities (SCA) was waiting for them with a car, looking none too happy. Mualama had told her that he had met Dr. Hassar before, at archaeological seminars, but he had never really talked to the man. Hassar’s first words to them were not positive.
“Get in the car, quickly,” Hassar snapped, holding the door open and looking at the crowd anxiously.
Duncan and Mualama scooted in, followed by Hassar, who barked at the driver in Arabic to go. As the car headed for the airfield gates, Mualama stuck out his hand. “I am pleased to be here, Dr. Hassar.”
Hassar ignored the hand; his attention was focused outside the thick window. He rapped a knuckle against the glass. “Bulletproof. I had to call in a favor from a friend of mine in the Foreign Ministry to get this car.” Hassar pointed at the crowds. “They are not all here because of the bouncer. Word has slipped out that you want to attempt to go under the Sphinx. There are many who oppose doing that.”
Based on what Mualama had told her, Duncan had known they would be flying into a hornet’s nest. The SCA had long resisted all attempts by archaeologists to do any work around the Sphinx. Egypt also had a very bad reputation with regard to foreigners, women in particular. The Muslim fundamentalists believed so strongly in fighting the inroads of what they considered decadent Western culture that attacks on tourists were not uncommon.
Duncan decided to cut to the heart of the matter. “Do you oppose it?” she asked.
Hassar seemed surprised at the directness of the question and the source. “Yes, I do. But not because I believe it is sacrilegious or I despise foreigners, as the fundamentalists do.”
“Why, then?” Duncan asked.
“Because it is a waste of time.”
Mualama leaned forward in the seat. “There are open spaces under the Sphinx. That has been proven through various seismic readings.”
“Yes, I know,” Hassar conceded. “A Japanese team using ground-penetrating radar found a hollow to the south of the Sphinx. Not a large one, mind you. Readings indicated a space just a few meters across.”
“And they found a similar hollow on the north side of the Sphinx,” Mualama added. “Which indicated there might be a tunnel going completely under the entire structure.”
“Doubtful,” Hassar said.
“I am more interested in what lies near the paws,” Mualama said.
“The altar found between the paws was added later. By the Romans. You know that.”
“I believe the Hall of Records lies under the paws,” Mualama said.
Hassar sighed. “The Hall of Records? Cayce’s ‘visions’? The ramblings of a madman.”
“There may be more to his theories than scientists like us would like to admit,” Mualama said.
“Ahh!” Hassar slapped his forehead in disgust.
Mualama knew where the other man’s reactions came from, but his own wanderings and studies over the years had forced him to reevaluate many preconceived notions. The name Cayce had come up numerous times during Mualama’s studies, always quickly discredited by scholars and scientists. Edgar Cayce was an American, born in Kentucky in the late nineteenth century, who died in the last year of World War II. He was considered one of the world’s greatest psychics… that thought brought a smile to Mualama’s lips… if one believed in psychics.
“Cayce was a great believer in the myth of Atlantis,” Mualama said. “And now we know that Atlantis did exist.”
“There is not yet any empirical proof that Atlantis existed,” Hassar argued. “We have the word of Professor Nabinger,” Mualama said. “And the stones off Bimini. And the history of the Airlia.”
“Nabinger was corrupted by the guardian,” Hassar said firmly. “Why are you willing to believe Nabinger, yet UNAOC is putting the surviving members of Majestic on trial? Both were in contact with the guardian, were they not? Do you simply prefer what you heard from Nabinger?”
They had passed the outskirts of Cairo and the three great pyramids were in sight across the Nile, the Sphinx crouched in front between the pyramids and the river.
Mualama was incredulous. “How do you explain the mothership, then? The bouncers? The Airlia on Mars?”
“I don’t have to explain them, and I don’t have to believe that there was an island of Atlantis.” Hassar stabbed his finger into Mualama’s chest. “I have had those people pestering me for years to dig under the Sphinx.”
“What people?”
“An organization that honors Cayce and thinks he was a true… a true… ” Hassar sputtered, searching for a word, then gave up. “I have responsibilities. This entire Plateau”… he waved his hand out the window as they passed the first pyramid on the right… “is in my care.
“Do you know how much damage pollution from Cairo causes on the stones? Do you know how many people come here with their crackpot ideas about the pyramids and the Sphinx? And want to run tests? I have people who want to hold religious… or what they call religious… services inside the Great Pyramid. I’ve had actual requests from people who want to commit suicide at the very top… they believe that they will pass on from there directly to a better life!”