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Anne went straight to her room after they arrived at the hotel, saying she needed to rest. What she really needed was to regain her composure, to separate her feelings for Michael from the experience on Bigeh. She’d been attracted to him from the beginning when he popped his head out from the back office of his uncle’s jewelry store, licking cinnamon off his fingers. Then she had discovered they’d shared a life here in Egypt sometime in the distant past. She had loved him then, but they had never married. Perhaps that was the source of the sadness she’d felt, but Tahir said there were no marriages in the old civilization. Their fates were tied together as Keepers of the crystals, but Tahir also held a key and she didn’t remember any lifetimes with him, although there had been a spark of recognition when she first met him.
Michael was handsome, that was certain, but it didn’t stop there. He was intelligent and successful in his field. She’d checked him out online and found he’d authored two dozen articles in respected magazines and another dozen in alternative publications. Not to mention his book. Sophisticated, well traveled though he was, he was kind and considerate to everyone—the servants, waiters, cabdrivers.
Was she in love? She had to admit she was teetering on the brink, but today she would have taken him farther into the spindly trees on Bigeh if they’d been alone. How much of that feeling was residue from the Isis initiation? She marveled even now how quickly the vision had come and how vivid it had been. But what did it mean? Perhaps it had been the sexual alchemy Tahir spoke of. Anne had embodied the essential feminine, the divine lover, all sense of individuality subsumed by that power. She’d become Isis, and the man who’d come to her had embodied the divine masculine, Osiris. This was separate from the individual Michael and Anne.
Or was it?
After a long nap, Anne woke feeling more like herself. It was all right to slow down. The family still hadn’t cleared him. She dressed in a floral print dress and walked to the Sultan’s Terrace to join Michael and Tahir for tea. As usual, they were deep in conversation. Tahir was smoking a hookah pipe that had been set next to the table, looking like the caterpillar in Alice in Wonderland. Both men stood up when she arrived and Michael pulled back a chair for her. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. I needed a good sleep.”
And you?” she directed the question at both of them.
“Good, but my knees need a rest,” Tahir answered. “You will enjoy the market without me slowing you down.”
Anne was taken aback. Here she had decided to go more slowly with Michael, and fate immediately put them alone, or practically alone, she thought, glancing over to see who had followed her. Tonight it was Bob.
“Perhaps a shopping excursion then,” Michael said. “I need some pants, remember?”
Anne laughed. “Yes.” Turning to Tahir, she said, “When we came on this trip, you said we were going to be initiated, but, I hope you’ll pardon the question,” she added, seeing his lips purse, “I feel just like a tourist. Egypt is beautiful, but—”
Tahir laughed at her diplomatic tone. “So you are wondering what are these initiations? They are not what you expected?”
“Yes.” She was relieved he’d come straight to the point. “I thought we’d be learning more about . . .” She glanced around, leaving the rest unsaid.
“We are tracing as near as we can the pattern of initiation students underwent in the past. Of course, then the ceremonies were much more elaborate and people prepared for them longer. But we don’t have time for a lifetime of study. Besides, you’ve both done this in the past.”
Anne looked up quickly. “We have?”
“Most certainly. And the temples are no longer in our hands.” His eyes looked sad for a moment. “But the energy is still here. The sites themselves are the keys, or perhaps the—how you say?” He made a gesture of turning a dial back and forth.
Michael said, “Combination lock?”
“Exactly.” Tahir clasped his hands together. “The combination to open us to the Neters within us.”
Anne’s forehead wrinkled.
“The Neters, what people call the gods and goddesses of Ancient Egypt, live in us,” Tahir said. “The Neters are principles, attributes of the one unified consciousness. By visiting the sites, we turn on that aspect of our own awareness. You’ve already experienced this.” Seeing Anne’s face, Tahir changed his example. “Weren’t you full of energy after visiting with Khnum?” He looked at them both.
“Now that you mention it, I did feel more energetic than I have in a while,” Michael answered. “I just thought it was from finally having some fun.” He smiled at Anne. She dropped her eyes and took a quick sip of tea.
“Khnum rules our physical existence, our survival,” Tahir explained.
“First chakra,” Michael added.
“You could say this, but it is simplistic. Just as it would be too simple to say Isis is the second chakra, even though this is partly true.” He glanced furtively at Anne. “Each temple is a vital link in the chain, or a part of the combination that will prepare us for our ultimate goal: restoring the energy flow in the most vital temple on Earth.”
“And the Hall of Records? What is it exactly?”
Tahir sat back in his chair. “This is not something that can be explained in words. It is an experience. By the end of our time, the knowing will come to you.”
A couple walked up to the point and stood close to their table. “Beautiful, no?” said the man, commenting on the sunset in a Spanish accent. They all looked up to see the sun poised on the western horizon, the sky streaked with orange and purple. The rounded rocks on Elephantine Island took on shape and definition as the sun baked them a warm gold. The Nile turned a deeper shade of blue.
Tahir’s tall form drooped a little in his chair. Anne and Michael decided to leave him to watch the sunset rather than drag him off to their rooms for further instruction. They got directions to the open-air market, then stood up from the table.
As they turned to leave, Tahir said, “Remember, tomorrow we sail downriver to meet the great Neter Sobek and face our fears.”
The Spanish couple began asking Tahir questions about the temples they’d visited. When she and Michael were out of earshot, Anne said, “He’s getting to be just like my grandmother, full of solemn pronouncements.”
“He reminds me of Robert, my teacher in New York.”
In front of the hotel, Michael raised his hand and a cab pulled up. Bob sat in front, but kept a close eye on Michael. On the way, Michael told Anne a bit about Robert and his group. “He’s a learned man. He’s dedicated his life to uncovering and preserving metaphysical knowledge. I was truly blessed to work with him.”
“I only wish my own training hadn’t been interrupted.” She told Michael a bit about Cynthia and how her mother had pulled her away after the dedication ceremony. She chose her words carefully, aware the driver might overhear. Soon they arrived at the market.
The market stalls were stuffed with colorful gallabiyas, brilliant silk scarves, statues of various pharaohs, queens, and Neters, papyrus paintings, jewelry, and tourists viewing the wares. Between the tourist shops, Anne caught glimpses of spices, vegetables, and huge wedges of meat hung toward the back of shops. As they walked, the sellers in the stalls called out to them about how much money they would save if they shopped with them. She took Michael’s arm so as not to lose him in the crowd. She saw a promising shop with beautiful gallabiyas hanging from every square inch and steered him in that direction.
“What do you think? Should I go native?”
“Absolutely. You’d look ravishing in these.”
“But the women here don’t really dress in these. Where do they shop?”
“These are so much more colorful. Support the local economy. Buy something.”
“Only if you get one.”
“Actually, I own several already, but not quite so bright,” Michael said, pulling out a tangerine with gold trim.
Anne made a face. “Why haven’t you worn them?”
Michael shrugged. “I usually wait for an occasion. Certainly, at the conference cocktail party.” He pulled out a royal blue with gold trim.
“Nice,” she said. “We’ll wear them to face our fears tomorrow.”
“Actually, I’d advise pants. It may involve some crawling through tunnels.”
“You know already. Tell me.” Anne put down the dresses she had slung over her arm and grabbed Michael’s hand. “Tell.”
He looked into her eyes and she was suddenly aware of the warmth of his skin. She let go of his hand.
“I didn’t know the first time. Why should I tell?”
“You’ve done this before?”
“Not with Tahir, but I think I know what part of the temple we’ll be going into.”
“No fair.” She stuck out her tongue impulsively, exactly like a ten-year- old girl.
The edges of Michael’s mouth turned up into a smile and she stood gazing up at him. He leaned a bit closer.
“You like the blue? I have good cotton. I make you best price.”
Anne turned to find the anxious shopkeeper holding out the gallabiyas she’d just put down. “Yes, and the pink please. Do you have a dressing room?”
The man frowned slightly, not understanding.
“Is there a place I can try them on?”
“This way.” The shop owner ushered Anne to the back of his booth where a small area was enclosed on four sides by canvas.
“Sukran.” Anne was trying to learn a few words in Arabic and she’d mastered “thank you.”
“Afwan,” the man said, pulling the curtain aside for her to enter.
The gallabiyas were quite voluminous, so Anne decided just to try the garments over her dress. In the middle of pulling the royal blue over her head, Anne heard something rip. “Oh, no,” she said, but then realized the tear had been too loud to be cotton.
Someone grabbed her, pulled a piece of torn canvas from the tent over her head and dragged her out the back of the stall. Anne screamed and stomped the instep of her assailant’s foot as hard as she could, but her tennis shoes were no match for his boots. The man cursed under his breath and another set of arms fastened around her. She struggled to get free, to breathe.
“Anne!” she heard Michael yelling for her, then sounds of a scuffle. The two men wrapped the canvas around her more tightly and one slung her over his shoulder. As soon as her feet were off the ground, she started kicking, trying to find a vital spot. The other man grabbed her legs, tightening the canvas even more, and they carried her exactly like a rolled carpet. Anne continued to make as much noise as she could. She scrunched herself up, then pushed out, trying to loosen the canvas.
They put her down on the ground and one pinned her while the other started searching her body. They felt all around her waist and her pockets. So this was not attempted rape. They were after the crystal. She had no leverage wrapped in this bulky material, but tried to turn and get an arm or leg under her so she could push off. The hands stopped at a lump in her front pocket.
Oh, no, she thought. They’re going to get it.
Then she heard the hard crunch of fist on bone. One of the men staggered. She heard the thump of a blow landing hard. The man lost his hold on her and, kicking out at the second man, she rolled free. Anne struggled to escape the suffocating shroud. She heard more blows land, the sound of feet running. Finally, she freed her head and took a big gulp of air. She looked around wildly.
She saw Bob holding a wiry Arab man down, one of his arms expertly twisted into a pretzel. The other man had apparently escaped.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yes, and you?”
He nodded.
“Only two?” “I saw a van tear off just now. No license plate.” He shot her a wicked grin. “I guess they didn’t expect you to be able to fight.”
“Michael.” She looked around the alley the men had carried her down. “Where’s Michael?”
“No time,” Bob said. “I have to get you out of here.”
☥☥☥
Thomas Le Clair sat in his alcove in the family archive room at his grandmother’s estate, patiently going through Cynthia’s papers for the fifth time. His painstaking search was not very exciting or even dangerous, but the fate of the mission depended as much on his attention to every detail and nuance as it did on Anne’s initiations. He hadn’t heard from his contact in the Vatican for three days and was beginning to worry. What if they’d caught him breaking into the records of the vaults where the church kept the scrolls, secret books, gospels, and artifacts they’d accumulated over the centuries? What if they’d seen the computer files of the documents he’d scanned? Intercepted the fax? Thomas shook his head and tried to concentrate on the manuscript he was studying. There was no use speculating. If he hadn’t heard from Rudolfo by tomorrow, he’d fly to Rome himself.
He put Cynthia’s files away and took down another plastic envelope holding an old Templar document that had been partially burned. Vital sections were missing. It detailed, but in code, the disposition of various treasures. Perhaps today he could read between the lines. Thomas leaned closer to the page, but still could not make out some of the words. He took out a magnifying glass and bent closer still. “Le clef secrete avec Jacques de Molay,” the phrase read. But Molay had been caught and tortured before he’d been burned at the stake. Under those circumstances, he’d probably told them something.
The Templars had probably left the key in Paris, thinking the church needed to find something of value; otherwise they’d know the main treasure had escaped them. At the time, perhaps the crystal hadn’t seemed vital. It was attached to a vague prophecy about an unspecified time in the future. The new head of the order had known the time would be coming at the turn of the millennium, but had he been in Paris when this decision was made? Probably not. They’d most likely resolved to retrieve the key at a later date. This was the task Thomas now faced.
The fax suddenly hummed to life. The documents he’d been expecting. Finally. It was late afternoon in Italy. Rudolfo must have waited until the offices of the Vatican were not so crowded.
Thomas began to read. It was the church report about the Templar massacre, written in code. “Damn it,” he muttered. Now he’d have to dig up the code and translate it. He’d hoped Rudolfo would do it for him, but perhaps he’d been watched and hadn’t had the time. Thomas turned back to the machine, which was still pushing out pages. He took them and found the rest of the Latin document, then the beginnings of a translation. “Thank you,” he whispered.
He took the pages over to a low table and spread them out. After a brief description of the Templar massacre, Thomas found a list of the property the church had confiscated. The list included a document proving the marriage of Yeshua and Mary Magdalene. Birth records of the Merovingians going back to this couple. A case of jewels. The Crown of Three Frogs. The Sword of Clovis II. An amethyst crystal skull. A crystal necklace topped with an Egyptian glyph. Documents transferring ownership of many properties to the church.
Thomas’s blood boiled as he read the list of artifacts, some belonging to his own family. Why had the Templars left such important documents in Paris? There was a scribbled note from Rudolfo at the bottom of the last page, stating that, as far as he could tell, the crystal necklace was still in the vaults. Rudolfo was going to try to find it himself. Thomas grabbed these papers, stuffed them into his briefcase, and went to find someone to go with him into the city. Grandmother Elizabeth had put her foot down and forbidden him to travel alone. “You are just as vulnerable as Anne. You must take at least one bodyguard with you wherever you go.”
Soon they were speeding toward the city in his silver Jaguar, the new security man trying not to grab the roll bar as the tires screeched around turns. It was imperative they get this crystal out of the vaults and to Egypt. He wished Arnold were here, but he knew Anne needed him more. Arnold was such a good thief; he’d come up with a way to penetrate the Vatican vaults if anyone could. Thomas hoped Dr. Abernathy would know who to call for the job. Maybe he could convince him to recall Arnold for a night. Cairo was closer to Italy than New York was.
They arrived at the law offices and Thomas jumped out of the car, making his bodyguard hustle to keep up with him.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d let me do my job, sir,” the man growled as the elevator door closed.
“Oh, sorry,” Thomas said, “I’m rather distracted.”
“Even more reason.”
Thomas hurried down the hall and requested entrance from the secretary by pausing. She waved him in. Dr. Abernathy was sitting at his massive desk reading. He looked up.
“Do you have news?” he asked, seeing Thomas’s expression.
“Yes.” Thomas took the fax from Rome out of his briefcase and handed it to him. “The last page suggests a fourth crystal is being held by the church.”
“Fourth?” he asked.
“Anne has one. Michael has a second, and Tahir assured me he will be able to locate a third in Egypt. This is the fourth.”
Dr. Abernathy scanned the pages before him, then got up and walked to the window. He stood lost in thought for a minute. Thomas waited, his foot jiggling. Finally, Dr. Abernathy turned back to him. “I wish we could spare Arnold.”
“Why can’t we pull him off Egypt for a day or two? Rome is close enough.”
Dr. Abernathy shook his head. “I’ve had some news—”
At that moment, the door to his office opened again and they heard his secretary say, “He’s in a meeting, ma’am.”
Katherine swept into the office. She took a seat and nodded at Thomas. “I’m glad you’re both here.”
“Mother.” Thomas greeted her with a perfunctory kiss on the cheek.
Dr. Abernathy gestured for his secretary to close the door. “Katherine, to what do we owe—”
“Something’s happened,” she said. “Is she alive?”
Thomas looked from his mother to Dr. Abernathy, alarmed.
“Of course, she’s alive. What are you talking about?”
Katherine’s jaw tightened. “Don’t lie to me, Roger.”
“My dear Katherine . . .”
“This afternoon I was working in my office and suddenly I felt panic, like I was being suffocated. I felt hands searching my body.”
Thomas took a sharp breath and looked at Dr. Abernathy, who pushed back in his chair.
“As a matter of fact, I’ve just had Arnold’s daily report. Anne is quite safe. Nothing has happened.”
Katherine leaned forward. “I told you not to lie to me.”
Dr. Abernathy held Katherine’s eye. “I promise you Anne is perfectly safe. We’re taking every precaution.”
“Then maybe this is a premonition.” Katherine didn’t look convinced.
Dr. Abernathy shifted in his chair. “Perhaps,” he said. “Your sensitivity is significant. I’ll convey your experience to Arnold.”
Katherine regarded him through narrowed eyes, then her shoulders dropped. “Please do, because if anything happens to my daughter, I’ll hold you personally responsible.”
“As well you should,” he answered. “Now if there isn’t anything else, we’re in the middle of a very delicate operation.”
Katherine snorted, but gathered her purse and stood up. Unconsciously, she smoothed her dress. “Keep her safe, Roger.”
Dr. Abernathy got up and escorted Katherine to the door, his arm around her shoulders. “You have my solemn word.”
“Good-bye, Thomas,” she said.
“I’ll call you for lunch soon.”
“Good.”
Dr. Abernathy closed the door behind her and turned. “It’s really too bad she never trained properly.”
Thomas frowned.
“As I was just about to tell you, Anne was attacked in the market at Aswan.”
“What?” Thomas grabbed the arms of his chair.
“She escaped unharmed. Arnold was pleased with her response. They were clearly after the crystal.”
“Was it Michael?”
“Arnold thought so, but no. I just received the final report from our investigators. Cynthia was killed by a toxic agent available only to the top echelons of the intelligence community. Michael and the Zohar group could never have gained access to it. It’s looking better for our Mr. Levy, although he’s not one hundred percent in the clear as yet.”
“I have a feeling he’s trustworthy,” Thomas said.
“Now, about this fourth crystal . . .”
☥☥☥
Paul Marchant waited in the shadows next to the north gate of the Giza Plateau. Two guards had just locked up and were strolling down toward the pyramid ticket booth. In a few minutes, another guard appeared. Marchant handed over a hefty bribe, and the man unlocked the gate.
Marchant passed through, handed him an extra twenty pounds, and said, “I’ve just always wanted to climb the pyramid. Please don’t tell anyone. I don’t want to get caught.” He hoped he looked sufficiently nervous.
“No problem,” the guard said, pocketing the money. “Just be down before dawn.”
Once inside, he headed toward the middle pyramid. Usually, nobody went there at night. The moon was waxing toward full, lighting the desert sand before him. Careful to stay in the shadows as much as possible, he made his way across the back end of the plateau.
Mueller hadn’t shown up for their scheduled meeting that afternoon. Last night Marchant had dreamed about Mueller sneaking into his room to steal his crystal, but it was there on the nightstand beside him when he woke up.
Yesterday, when Marchant was supposed to show Anne Le Clair around Sakkara, she’d been nowhere to be found. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen Michael Levy for a few days either. He’d been busy investigating various openings on the plateau, searching for the underground room Mueller had taken him to. He’d chosen the most crowded times of day when the pyramids were crawling with tourists, camel jockeys, guides, and local kids selling water or plastic scarabs. Of course, the locals had sharp eyes, not to mention the antiquities police, but Marchant had discovered long ago that he had a knack for being invisible in a crowd. His explorations had given him what he now thought was a complete picture of the tunnel system. Tonight he was going to the blue wall alone.
It took almost half an hour to hike to the south of the site where he thought the entrance was. He slipped around a small hill, but the sand lay unbroken in the moonlight. He walked west until he came to the next hill. He walked around and there it was, a low entrance that looked exactly like the tombs next to the Sphinx enclosure. He saw no guard. Surely they wouldn’t just leave the place open. Marchant paused for a long while, listening for sounds. No footsteps, no voices, no jeep engine, nothing. Satisfied no one was around, he put on a pair of goggles Donald had procured for him. They were a bit old, but they’d have to do. He pushed a button on the side and looked again at the site, scanning for infrared signals. He pushed the button a few more times, going through the light spectrum. The place was clear.
Marchant crept to the opening of the stairway and discovered a locked gate two steps down. Before Marchant had left New York, Donald had given him a quick lock-picking lesson. This lock proved to be fairly simple. Probably if they’d put too sophisticated a device on this gate, it might have drawn attention. He went through the entrance, then arranged it to look like it was locked. He turned and took the steps two at a time, his heart throwing itself against his chest.
The stairwell led into a tunnel large enough to stand up in. He followed it for a short distance, and it opened up into a large underground cave. He took out a flashlight. A path of footprints in the dust led the way. About fifty yards in, the cave walls gave way to limestone blocks with incised reliefs. He didn’t stop to see what they depicted. Rounding a corner, Marchant stopped dead and gaped. Before him was an enormous underground temple. Two Sphinx statues, much smaller than the original aboveground, sat at the bottom of broad limestone steps that led to an open plaza. A large statue of Osiris lay on its side toward the back of the temple. He hadn’t expected to find this particular Neter here. A series of columns stood against the back of the cavern, holding up a roof that was now covered from above by sand.
Marchant walked a few steps into the temple, awed by the majestic architecture. If they’d built this place after the fall of Atlantis. . . . Farther to the left was a lake, full even now. The desert was still alive with groundwater. This explained the moist smell he’d noticed on his first visit. The lake was lined with small blocks of limestone, indicating it was man-made.
The footprints continued along the side of the cavern and around another curve to a wall with a small passageway cut into it. Marchant duck-walked through to the other side and emerged in the inner temple where he’d been taken on his first trip. He flushed in triumph. Finally, he was here without that insufferable musclehead breathing down his neck. He turned to face the statue of Anubis and mentally asked permission to enter. A wave of welcome emanated from the statue. He walked past the other Neters without acknowledging them, thinking that later he would decipher the code they represented, and climbed the six steps to the blue wall.
It was a deep midnight blue, vibrating slowly. Spirals of gold came and went. He closed his eyes and listened. Subliminally, he heard its song. He stood for a moment longer, making sure of the frequency. Taking his crystal in his right hand, allowing his energy to harmonize with the field, he intoned an “ah” at the same pitch. Marchant chanted for a full five minutes, losing himself in the energy and resonance of the chamber. When he finally opened his eyes, the energy curtain was almost transparent, revealing a small chamber behind it.
The room was empty.
Marchant took a sharp breath and the energy field darkened slightly. He hadn’t expected this. This had to be the entrance to the Hall of Records. It matched all the stories that had been passed down, except it was not exactly beneath the paw of the Sphinx. The more agitated he became, the darker the energy field grew. Taking hold of himself, Marchant forced his breath to slow and lengthen. Again he closed his eyes and chanted, asking for support from the Neters. Immediately, he felt a strong flow of encouragement from the statues behind him. When he’d returned to a place of balance and peace, he opened his eyes again. The field was transparent. He reached out and touched it. It felt like a cool gel, completely smooth, but his hand couldn’t penetrate it. The Hall was still not ready to yield its secrets.
Marchant studied the room behind the curtain. It looked bluish, but he thought this might be a reflection, not a tint or paint. The walls were rose granite like the sarcophagus in the king’s chamber, and blank. No hieroglyphs, no reliefs of any kind. He looked carefully at the crevices between the granite blocks, hoping to find indications of a door or some kind of passageway, but they were smooth and uniform. On the floor lay an intricate inlaid pattern in gold and shades of blue, a smaller star tetrahedron matching the one outside the chamber. This reassured him. He understood the geometry.
Surely this was another antechamber, yet another test to open the real Hall of Records. Perhaps the wall would open onto another hallway that led closer to the Sphinx. Perhaps Cayce had been close. But he was satisfied with his night’s work. Now he knew that at least one other crystal was required to access the room and to open the smooth walls that hid the treasure he’d trained for so many lifetimes to uncover. Marchant had no doubt he would lead the team, since he held the Orion crystal. He stood in front of his goal, a hair’s breadth away, yet it was still unattainable. Patience, he must have patience. The alignment was just a little more than two weeks away.