Will Adams - The Alexander Cipher

Mansoor emerged from the stairwell and walked over to join Ibrahim. "Well?" he asked. "Do we go for it?"

"Yes."

"Destructive or nondestructive?"

Ibrahim nodded thoughtfully. A good question. In a fortnight, if the hotel group got their way, tons of rubble would be bulldozed down the stairwell as a makeshift landfill site; its mouth would be sealed and a parking lot laid over the top, so that no one could ever get down there again. If that were to happen, then they first needed to remove everything of value, including the wall paintings and sculptures and the mosaic from the rotunda floor. It was perfectly possible, but it took time, expertise, and heavy equipment, and they'd need to start planning now. On the other hand, Alexandria was wretchedly short of historic sites, particularly early Ptolemaic ones. If they could negotiate permanent access with the hotel group, this site would make a valuable addition to the city tour, but only if these original features remained in place and were properly protected during the excavation. "Nondestructive," said Ibrahim finally. "I'll talk to the hotel people. Perhaps they'll realize the value of having an antiquity on their property."

Mansoor snorted. "And perhaps they'll give us complimentary penthouse suites whenever we ask, out of the kindness of their hearts."

"Yes, well, let me deal with them. But you can handle the excavation, yes?"

"It won't be easy," said Mansoor. "I can put Shatby on hold. There's no great urgency with that. We can transfer the crew and the generator and the lighting. But we'll still need more people."

"Put the word out. You have a budget."

"Yes, but with a large crew we'll need ventilation; and I don't want people removing rubble up those steps. That's a recipe for accidents. We'll need to put a lift above the stairwell. And Augustin will want a pump; I know he will. And it's not just what we'll need on site. There are fifteen hundred loculi to be emptied, which means six or seven thousand sets of human remains turning up at the museum or the university over the next fortnight. We'll need to have trained specialists ready to receive them." He snapped his fingers. "Our two weeks will be gone like that, you realize."

Ibrahim smiled. Mansoor always liked to build up a problem in his mind so that his satisfaction at solving it would be all the greater. "You'd better get started, then," he advised. AKYLOS! Nicolas could scarcely believe it. But what was written was written. And the restoration of Macedonian greatness was written, and not just in the book of Daniel.

"What was all that about, then?" shouted Julia Melas over the roar of his Lamborghini Murcielago roadster's engine. She was an aspiring journalist from a Canadian newspaper, interviewing him and his father for a feature on Macedonia. There was a large expatriate community in Canada-a source of both moral and financial support. And she wasn't at all bad to look at, either. Maybe if things panned out well…

"We in the Dragoumis Group sponsor historical research all over the world!" he shouted back. "Truth isn't restricted to one location, you know." He braked to turn up into the hills, but a white truck appeared around the corner ahead, hurtling downhill faster than its age and size would suggest prudent. Nicolas was in no mood to wait, not with such a pretty girl beside him. He gave the Murcielago a squirt of acceleration and cut in front of it, and the driver braked and veered and sounded his horn impotently. Julia gave a little shriek and glanced admiringly at him. Nicolas laughed exultantly. He felt good. Things were moving at last. Life was like that: nothing for a year, two years, and then everything all at once.

"You were telling me about Aristander," she yelled, the wind swirling her skirt up around her thighs, so that she had to press it coyly back down.

Nicolas slowed a little so they could talk in more reasonable voices. "He was Alexander's favorite seer," he told her. "After Alexander died, Aristander had a vision that the land which held his body would be unconquered through the ages."

"And?"

"A man called Perdiccas, Alexander's heir apparent, wanted to bury Alexander in the royal tombs at Aigai, alongside his father, Philip." They crested a hill; the fertile plains of northern Greece spread out beneath them. He pulled to the side, parked, got out, and pointed Aigai out to her. "The tombs were discovered thirty years ago. They're magnificent. You should go visit."

"I will," she nodded. "But this man Perdiccas-he obviously didn't bring Alexander's body back here."

"No," acknowledged Nicolas. "Another Macedonian general, Ptolemy, took it to Egypt instead." He shook his head regretfully. "Think of it! But for that, Macedonia would have been unconquered through the ages!"

Julia frowned. "You can't seriously mean that."

"Why not?"

"But… it's just a prophecy."

Nicolas shook his head. "No. It's a historical fact. Consider: Perdiccas was the one man with the authority to hold the entire empire together. And he tried to recover Alexander's body from Ptolemy, but Ptolemy hid on the other side of the Nile, and Perdiccas lost hundreds of men to drowning and to the crocodiles when he tried to cross it. His own officers were so angry that they murdered him in his tent. After that, the empire was doomed. Alexander's legitimate heirs were assassinated, and it became every man for himself. But, now, just imagine if Perdiccas had succeeded…"

"Yes?"

He put his left arm around her shoulder, pulling her to stand beside him, then sweeping his other arm around the magnificent vista, all the way down to the dazzling blue Aegean. "Look at that," he said proudly. "Macedonia. Isn't that a fantastic sight?"

"Yes," she agreed.

"Perdiccas was an honorable man. He'd have protected Alexander's son from assassination and kept his empire still together. And if Alexander the Fourth had been one tenth the man his father had been, Aristander's prophecy would indeed have come true."

"I thought you said Alexander's body was taken to Egypt," observed Julia. "And Egypt hasn't exactly been unconquered through the ages, has it?"

Nicolas laughed. He liked a pretty girl with spirit. "No," he acknowledged. "But look at what did happen. The Ptolemies kept the throne for as long as they respected Alexander's remains. But then Ptolemy the Ninth melted down his golden coffin to pay his troops, and that was the end of them. And who took over from the Ptolemies?"

"Who?"

"The Caesars. They revered Alexander, you know. Julius Caesar wept because he fell so far short of Alexander. Augustus, Septimus Severus, Caracalla, and Hadrian all made pilgrimages to sacrifice at his mausoleum. He was their hero. But then there were riots, Alexander's tomb was desecrated, and the Romans lost Egypt to the Arabs. The message is clear, isn't it?"

"Is it?" Julia frowned.

"Honor Alexander and prosper. Ignore him and perish. And in Macedonia, of all places on the earth, Alexander would most certainly have been honored. So it follows that we'd never have been conquered."

Julia backed away from him, clearly a little disconcerted. She checked her watch and forced a smile. "Perhaps we should get moving," she said. "Your father's expecting me."

"Of course," said Nicolas. "We mustn't keep Father waiting." He climbed back in his roadster, started it up, savoring its throaty roar. The way he drove, it was just fifteen more minutes to his father's house.

"Wow!" muttered Julia as it came into view.

"A recreation of the royal palace at Aigai," said Nicolas. "Only bigger." His father now rarely left this estate. He'd grown increasingly reclusive with the years, had largely handed over his business empire to professional managers so that he could concentrate on his true ambition.

Costis, his father's head of security, came out to greet them. "This is Julia," said Nicolas. "She's here to interview my father. But I need a few minutes with him first."