The British Museum, London
‘Do you know what this means?’ Emily’s deep-blue eyes were filled with a new mix of emotions as she spoke. The grief and the pain were still there, still vivid, yet among them were the traces of a resolve that was taking new life inside her.
‘What it means?’ Michael finally took his eyes from the scanner’s display. He was certain of their discovery’s remarkable dimensions, but substance and meaning were two very different things.
‘Apart from the discovery of a manuscript pointing to the Nag Hammadi find, and beyond it, centuries before it was known to scholars?’
‘Apart from that.’ Emily waved aside what might amount to one of the major finds of an academic’s career. ‘This means we have a lead. A lead in Andrew’s murder.’ She grabbed Michael’s forearm with a firm hand. ‘The only lead.’
He stared long into her face, suddenly realizing the true shape of her excitement. This was not an academic astonishment over a significant find. Emily was struggling after anything that would ease her grief.
‘Em, all this does is prove the thieves who killed him weren’t as inept as we thought. They knew they were looking for something that was more than it appeared to be.’ He reached out for her, knowing his words would bring her more distress. ‘This discovery doesn’t bring us any closer to the men who did it.’
‘But it does.’ Emily found herself growing angry that he didn’t see this new material for what it was. ‘They said the map was the last thing that was needed for them to find the keystone. We now know that the map points to that keystone, whatever it is. We know what they’re looking for, and where it’s located.’
‘Emily, that still doesn’t amount to anything.’
‘It damn well does!’ she shot back. ‘It means we know where they’re going!’
Her face was red, and Michael saw the anger and the frustration there. He’d thought that helping Emily uncover the map might shed some light on their situation, but his concern over where this was leading was growing. If Emily’s greatest scholarly strength was her unending drive, it could also be her biggest emotional hindrance. She was not a woman who knew how to give up, how to accept defeat, especially the meaningless, horrifying defeat of a crime she could do nothing to change.
Michael knew that responding with his own frustration would only worsen the situation. He forced himself to speak with a calm, controlled logic.
‘The very fact that we have the part of this document that reveals its end-point, rules out tracking them, Em, if that’s where these thoughts are leading you. Whatever this “keystone” may be, these men don’t seem to know where it is. Look how far they were willing to go to get this map. Breaking and entering. Murder!’
Emily almost snapped back in frustration, but caught herself. Michael was right, though the thought had already occurred to her. His words, however, led her in another direction. Not a chase. A preemptive manoeuvre.
‘They don’t have the map. We do,’ she reiterated, ‘which means only we know the location to the object they’ve already killed to obtain. Without this map –’ she motioned towards the manuscript ‘– they aren’t going to Egypt.’ Then, the inevitable. ‘We are.’
‘Emily, what you’re suggesting is ridiculous,’ Michael finally answered, giving the shock of his wife’s suggestion a moment to fade. ‘I know you’re upset, but what the hell is there to be gained by going off to Egypt in pursuit of . . . of whatever this map is pointing to?’
‘Don’t talk to me about pointless,’ she snapped. ‘A man, barely more than a kid, murdered in our house, that’s pointless! But the men who killed him did it for a very specific reason: to find this keystone.’ She pointed towards the Coptic inscription on the last panel of the map, still shimmering on the display. ‘Now you and I have what we can assume is the only map in the world that points to what those men want. It’s as close as anyone can get to having a way to find them.’
‘But how, Em? For God’s sake, we don’t even know if this is all real!’
‘It’s real enough that this Arthur Bell, whoever he is, was willing to go to some pretty awful extremes to get it, Michael!’ Emily no longer tried to constrain her irritation, her raised voice echoing off the metallic laboratory equipment.
‘But I’ve told you already, without this page, the man doesn’t know where he’s going.’
‘Something tells me he’s not going to stop looking!’ Emily yelled. ‘Think about it. He’s been obsessed over this thing, writing to your office for any clues your collection might have – how many times did he write?’
Michael hesitated slightly. ‘Five, maybe six.’
‘Six times! Then he somehow finds out about this manuscript, and pieces together both that CUA has bought it and that I’m on the acquisition. Finds out where we live. Has men break in and steal it, whatever the cost.’
‘Emily, don’t let anger cloud your—’
‘He’s going to keep looking, Michael!’ Emily pounded her fist down on the aluminium worktable, the sound shaking the room. ‘He’s going to keep looking until he finds a way to get to this keystone.’
‘And?’ Michael’s own voice was now raised to match his wife’s. ‘And then what? Where does this get us?’
Emily drove her gaze into him. ‘To Egypt. To the “X” on this map. To the keystone that Arthur Bell wants.’ She took a few deep breaths, allowing a moment for her meaning to sink in, then spoke with an absolute resolve.
‘We take what he wants. Then we let him come to us.’