Will Adams - The Alexander Cipher

"The priests carried the physical manifestation of Zeus-Ammon in a golden boat decorated with precious stones, while young virgins chanted," said Elena. "The chief priest read out the questions of supplicants, and Ammon answered them by dancing forward or backward. Unfortunately, Alexander was granted a private audience, so we don't know for sure what he asked or was told."

"I thought he asked about his father's murderers."

"That's one tradition," acknowledged Elena. "The story goes that he asked whether all his father's murderers had been dealt with, and that the Oracle replied that the question was meaningless because his father was divine and therefore couldn't be murdered; but all the murderers of Philip II had been appropriately dealt with, if that was what he meant. Probably apocryphal, of course. All we know for sure is that Zeus-Ammon became Alexander's favorite God, that he sent emissaries here when Hephaiston died, and that he asked to be buried here, too." She picked up a pinch of soil, examined it momentarily, and threw it away.

"It must have been a terrible blow to the oracle's priests," said Gaille. "Thinking they were going to get Alexander's body, then learning it was going to Alexandria."

Elena nodded. "Ptolemy soothed their pain. According to Pausanias, he sent them a stele of apology and handsome gifts."

Gaille climbed as high as she could safely go, then gazed all around. The landscape here wasn't like Europe, where the hills and mountains had been thrust upward by geological pressure and time. This entire region had once been a sandstone plain high above, but most of it had collapsed. The hills that remained were simply the last men standing. She oriented herself north, Al-Dakrur to her right, the great salt lake and Siwa Town to her left. Ahead, the air was so clear, she could see dark ridge lines through her field glasses, many kilometers away. The sand in between was punctured by thrusts of nicotine-brown rock, some no bigger than small cars, others like tower blocks. "Where the hell will we even start?" she asked.

"All great tasks are just a large number of small tasks," observed Elena primly. She spread a chart out on flat ground and rested a stone on each corner. Then she set up a tripod, screwed in a camera and telephoto lens, and began a rigorous study, taking a line from the Siwan Hill of the Dead, sweeping her camera to the horizon, then back again before adjusting it a hairsbreadth to her right. Each time she found a new rock or hill, she photographed it, then invited Mustafa and Zayn to study it through the lens. They squabbled for a while before making a mark on the chart. Each mark would mean a visit and a survey.

Gaille sat on a hump of rock and stared out over the desert, the breeze buffeting her back, whipping strands of hair forward into her eyes. It was unexpected, coming to an alien land yet feeling so at home. And she realized, almost to her surprise, that she was happy.

Nicolas needed somewhere private to make the kind of phone calls that would secure Layla her medical treatment, so he asked Ibrahim if he wouldn't mind his borrowing Ibrahim's villa for the afternoon. Ibrahim was so eager to help that he drove him there himself. "You couldn't excuse me for a few minutes?" asked Nicolas when they arrived.

"Of course."

As ever, he first rang his father.

"Well?" asked Philip Dragoumis.

"I've found it."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure I've found the place. Whether there's anything inside…" He explained what had happened, how he had seen the pictures in the books Gaille had asked Ibrahim to send down to her, and their significance.

"I told you she'd be the one," said Dragoumis.

"Yes, Father, you did."

"Well? What's our plan?"

Nicolas told his father how far he had gotten. They discussed and refined his ideas, decided on the team, the equipment they would need, the weapons and logistical supplies. "I'll take operational charge, of course," said Nicolas.

"No," said Dragoumis. "I will."

"Are you sure?" asked Nicolas anxiously. "You know we can't guarantee your safety away from-"

"You think I'd miss this?" asked Dragoumis. "I've spent my whole life striving for this."

"As you wish."

"And good work, Nicolas. This is well done. This is very well done."

"Thank you." Nicolas had to wipe his eyes. It wasn't often that his father congratulated him, but that only made it all the more special when he did. He ended the call and sat there in a glow. Then he shook his head sternly to refocus himself; this was no time to wallow. Nothing had been achieved yet, and it wouldn't be unless he got busy. He rang his Cairo fixer, Gabbar Mounim, first.

"Yes?" asked Mounim. "I trust everything is to your satisfaction."

"As always," agreed Nicolas. "But there's something else I'd like you to do for me. Two things, actually."

"A pleasure."

"Our mutual friend. I'd like him to summon his colleague Dr. Aly Sayed of Siwa Oasis to an emergency meeting." If Sayed had deliberately hidden these books from Gaille, as Nicolas suspected, he must have made the connection, too, which meant they needed him out of Siwa while they went to work.

"How much of an emergency, exactly?"

"Tomorrow, if possible."

Mounim sucked in a breath. "It won't be easy, but I'll see what I can do. And the other?"

"I don't suppose you have influence at Alexandria's Medical Center, do you?"

Elena was driving back into town when Nicolas called on her cell phone. "We need to meet," he said. "How soon can you get to Alexandria?"

"For crying out loud, Nicolas, I've only just arrived here."

"This can't wait, Elena. Something's happened. My father wants to discuss it with you."

"Your father? He's coming to Alexandria?"

"Yes."

Elena breathed deep. Philip Dragoumis didn't leave Northern Greece on a whim. If he was coming here, it had to mean something truly significant. "Fine," she said. "Where?"

"Ibrahim's villa."

"When?"

"Tomorrow morning. Nine o'clock."

"I'll be there." She snapped her phone shut, already making plans. Leave now and she could be there in time for a night with Augustin. "I'm needed back in Alexandria," she told Gaille.

"Alexandria?" frowned Gaille. "Will you… be gone long?"

"How am I supposed to know that?"

"You want me and the guys to start looking?"

Elena frowned. Gaille had a distressing habit of finding things without her help. "No," she said. "Do nothing until I come back."

"As you wish."

"You mean to tell ME that Knox escaped you again?" asked Hassan incredulously when Nessim had completed his telephone report.

"He had a friend with him," said Nessim.

"A friend?"

"We'll find them," said Nessim, striving to sound more bullish than he felt. His confidence had been shot by what happened. Having the tables turned so completely would do that to a man, as would a night spent struggling to escape from an outbuilding, or wandering half-naked across farmland with a wounded comrade. But, to Nessim's surprise, the thing that had struck him deepest about the entire fiasco were Knox's words about his lack of honor. Nessim was old enough and wise enough to know that insults didn't hurt unless they rang true, and so now he couldn't stop asking painful questions of himself: How had it come to this? What was he doing working for a man like Hassan? Was money really that important to him? "We'll watch all his friends and associates," he said. "We'll put out another reward. It's just a matter of time before we find him again."

"So you keep telling me," said Hassan.

"I'm sorry," said Nessim. "He's better at this than we imagined possible. But now we know. Now we're prepared. Next time we'll have him."

"Next time? How can I be sure there'll be a next time?"

"Another week. That's all I ask."