Authors: The Sands of Sakkara (html)
'Damn.' Weaver stood and moved to
the window. The wind was lashing the tall palm trees along the
absent-mindedly. '
the fate of the entire world was decided here.'
'Really? Care to tell me about
it?'
He didn't answer for a moment,
lost in thought as he looked out through the window. 'I could give you a story,
Carney.
Maybe the strangest you've ever
heard. The real question is, would you believe it?'
'Try me.'
He turned back, and his face was
deathly serious. 'On one condition. You don't publish anything I tell you until
after I die.'
I was surprised. 'You look like a
man in remarkably good health, Colonel. That could be a long wait.'
'Maybe not so long. I'm an old
man, Carney, I can't have much time left. And I kind of guess at that stage the
truth of it wouldn't hurt anyone, not with so many years passed. But you know
the oddest thing? I've never told my story to a soul. I could have done, wanted
to, many times, because it haunted me, but I kept it to myself for over fifty
years. And maybe the time's come to unburden it to someone, before it's too
damned late.'
He stared at me. 'You could be
right about fate, Carney. Destiny playing its part. Besides, having read your
work, and if you're anything like your father, I believe you might be an honest
man, one who'll abide by my wishes.'
I met his stare, nodded. 'You have
my word.'
Weaver glanced around the filthy
room, as if suddenly uneasy in his surroundings.
'You mind if we get out of here?'
'I've a taxi waiting outside. I
can give you a lift.'
'On an evening like this, I won't
say no. By the way, I'm staying at the new Shepheard's. It's nothing quite like
the old hotel it replaced, but at least it serves pretty decent American
Scotch.'
'Now you're talking.'
Weaver pulled up the collar of his
trench coat, stepped out on to the landing, and went quickly down the stairs. I
took one last look around the shabby flat, closed the door, and followed him.
The drive to Shepheard's was
something of a trial. For some reason, Weaver hardly spoke, just stared out of
the cab window, lost in a world of his own. I had a terrible feeling he might
have been reconsidering his offer to tell me his story, but when we reached the
hotel, he shook sand from his trench coat and said as we entered the lobby,
'I'll meet you in the bar in ten minutes.
Mine's a very large Dewars.
Straight.'
He stepped into the elevator and I
went into the restaurant bar. The old Shepheard's Hotel had what the guidebooks
like to call atmosphere. It had a certain faded glory that suggested belle époque,
all dark wood and soaring marble columns, rich carpets and antique furniture.
It used to be one of the old grand hotels, built to accommodate wealthy Europeans.
The modern Shepheard's is a pale imitation by comparison, though it still
attracts the tourists. But there were none in the bar that night, just a couple
of foreign businessmen chatting over drinks. I took a seat near a window and
ordered two large Dewars, then changed my mind and told the waiter to bring the
bottle.
Weaver came down ten minutes
later. He had changed into a sweater and cotton pants and he seemed more at
ease as he looked around the bar. 'Damn it, but this looks nothing like the old
place.'
'Does Shepheard's bring back
memories, Colonel?'
'Far too many, I'm afraid,' Weaver
replied almost wistfully.
'And enough of this Colonel
business. I've been retired for over twenty years.' He studied the room. 'Did
you know that Greta Garbo used to stay at the original hotel? Not to mention
Lawrence of Arabia, Winston Churchill, and half the Gestapo spies in wartime
I refilled our glasses and set the
bottle between us. 'I read somewhere once that Rommel telephoned the front desk
to make a reservation after the fall of Tobruk, believing he'd be in
memory serves me, the old Shepheard's was burned down during the riots for
independence in '52.
Apparently, most Egyptians saw it
as an irritating symbol of British imperialism.'
'It seems you know your history,
Carney.'
'Which is why something bothers
me. If everything I've learned about Johann Haider is true, and if he was still
alive after all that time, why would he choose to disappear into hiding and
remain such a mystery?'
'I believe there could have been
several reasons. One of them being the fact that the
evidence to condemn him as a traitor. Probably could even have hanged him.'
I frowned. 'Whatever for? Haider
was a German citizen, surely. How could he have been a traitor?'
'He was certainly a German
citizen, but he was American born. His real name was Johann, though he was
better known as Jack. And his disappearance had to do with the mission you spoke
about, the one he was supposed to have died on. Probably the most daring the
Nazis ever came up with. And it happened right here in
'I don't understand.'
'Haider led a covert team to
assassinate President Roosevelt and Prime Minister Winston Churchill in
direct orders.'
I was stunned. 'Now you really do
surprise me. An American-born assassin sent by Hitler to kill the
It beggars belief.'
Weaver put down his Scotch. 'And
probably the best American President that ever lived, come to that. Haider's
mission was meant to change the tide of the war for the Nazis.
And there was much more at stake
than when Kennedy was targeted in
The future of the entire free world, no less.
And it happened while Roosevelt
and Churchill were attending the Cairo Conference in November 1943, one of the
most vital Allied conferences of the war.
'Among other things, the President
and Prime Minister were in
top-secret plans for Operation Overlord, the invasion of
Had Hitler got his way, and had them assassinated, the Allies would have been
thrown into chaos, the invasion would never have gone ahead, and
have won the war.' Weaver put up his thumb and forefinger, held them the barest
fraction apart. 'Believe me, Carney, it came this close to succeeding. It still
frightens me to think about it.'
I was overwhelmed. 'You're
serious, aren't you? It really happened.'
Weaver said firmly, 'Oh, it
happened all right, don't you doubt it. And it was my job to stop Haider and
kill him. But it wasn't something that ever got a mention in the history books,
it was far too sensitive a matter for that.'
I looked at him eagerly. 'But I
don't understand. Even assuming Haider survived, why would you still want to
find
him after all these years? So he
could be branded a traitor? It's pretty late for that, surely?'
There was a rather sad look in his
eyes. He glanced out towards the
looking back. 'No, the reasons are far more private,' he said quietly.
And then I was aware of a sudden
powerful emotion in his voice. 'But make no mistake about one thing, Carney.
Haider really did help to change the course of world history.'
'You mind telling me how?'
Weaver must have noticed the
confusion on my face, but he didn't reply. Instead, he looked out beyond the
window and his eyes glazed over, as if he were trying to see into the past. The
howling sandstorm had almost died away, lifting the veil off the ancient city,
and suddenly you could see the majestic Nile, the house boats out on the river,
the pungent dark alleyways and soaring minarets, the ghostly outline of the
distance. I could easily imagine how it must have been over fifty years ago, a
city full of mystery and intrigue.
When Weaver turned back there was
a look on his face that was hard to fathom. Grief perhaps, or pain - I couldn't
tell which.
'Maybe I had better start at the
beginning. You see, I knew Jack Haider long before the war. We were childhood
friends.
You might even say we were like
brothers.'
Once, they had all been together.
They were young and the place was
called
discovered the entrance to a secret funeral chamber close to the Step pyramid
of Pharaoh Zoser, near the site of the ancient city of
almost thirty kilometers south of
The international group that arrived in early spring to help with the dig was
comprised mostly of young people in their twenties, from
There were almost a hundred. Some were archaeologists and Egyptologists, others
were engineers or eager adventurers, and they all worked hard together under a
boiling desert sun, intent and happy in their work and determined to enjoy
themselves, despite the gathering winds of war.
For two of the young men, Harry
Weaver and Jack Haider, the
arranged reunion. The son of a beautiful
ancient
Jack Haider was an adventurer by nature.
At twenty-four, he was a year
older than Weaver, who had jumped at his first opportunity to travel abroad.
His father had worked as a caretaker on the estate owned by the family of Jack
Haider's mother, and despite their different social backgrounds, the two boys
had formed an immediate friendship that had begun in early childhood and lasted
ever since. Even after Haider's mother had died, they had spent their summers
together, when Franz Haider came to stay in
But at
there was a problem. Both of them had fallen in love with the same woman.
Rachel Stern was a young
archaeologist of twenty-three, just out of university, the daughter of a
German-Catholic father and a Jewish mother. Blond-haired and blue-eyed, she
seemed to have inherited her parents' intelligence and good looks. They were
both noted archaeologists, and her father, a professor, was director of the
dig. Rachel Stern liked both young men very much, but she couldn't seem to
decide which she loved, so she was content for the three of them to keep
company together.
That summer they organized trips
to
exploring the bazaars and markets, the Valleys of the Kings and Queens and the
ruined
dancing at Shepheard's, or attending parties at the Mena House Hotel, built in
the shadows of the
the small, intimate restaurants and the houseboat nightclubs that flourished
along the
Once, Harry Weaver had a
photograph taken of the three of them together, standing among the tombs in the
scorching desert at
as a backdrop, all of them tanned and smiling for the camera, Rachel between
the men, her arms around their waists. And though no one ever said it, they
each knew it was a happy time, perhaps the happiest in their young lives.
But summer had to end. None of
them could ever remember the exact date they had first met, but they would each
remember exactly when the shadow was thrown across their path: September 1939.
It was the month war had been declared in Europe, Hitler had invaded
and their lives, like so many others, were about to be changed for ever.
Heat shimmered across the vastness
of open desert beyond the pyramids that afternoon as the covered Jeep came to a
halt and Harry Weaver climbed out. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand,
then lifted a battered leather satchel from the back seat, before making his
way to the collection of large canvas tents that had been erected around the
away equipment after the excavation, and were loading it on to a couple of
Bedford trucks, and as Weaver strolled towards the activity a grey-haired,
distinguished man wearing a bush hat and sweat-stained khaki tropical shirt
stepped out of one of the tents.
Professor David Stern had a
studious face, but it wasn't without humor, and when he saw Weaver he removed
his glasses, wiped them vigorously with a handkerchief, and smiled.
'Harry, you're back. And about
time. I was beginning to think we'd have to send out a search party.'
'Sorry, Professor. I stopped off
at Shepheard's on the way to see if there was any news.'
'And what's the word from
hole?'
'
bombers are razing it to the ground. No one expects the Poles to hold out much
longer.'
'That fool Hitler,' Stern said
through clenched teeth. 'Before you know it he'll have
changed the subject as if the present topic were too upsetting, and looked a
short distance away, to where a diesel generator was humming away in the
searing heat. Electric cables snaked into a large hole that had been opened up
in the earth's face with a sturdy wooden safety frame constructed around it, a
ladder leading down into the shaft. 'We're well on our way. Just the last of
the tunnel equipment to be brought up and then we'll concentrate on tidying up
the site face. You picked up the post?'
Weaver lifted the satchel. 'It's
all here, the last mail run. And I made sure the Ministry of Antiquities had
the list of forwarding addresses you gave me for the crew, just in case any
more mail turns up for us after we've gone.'
'Excellent.' Stern put his hands
on his hips, squinted in the strong sunlight as he gazed around the site. 'So,
our time at
do you feel about that, Harry?’
Weaver looked sad. 'To tell you
the truth, I haven't been looking forward to it. It's not often a guy like me
gets the opportunity to visit
I've a feeling this adventure
could be the highlight of my life.'
Stern smiled, slapped a hand on
Weaver's shoulder. 'Nonsense.
You're a young man. What age are
you, Harry? The same as most of the rest of the crew - twenty-three,
twenty-four?'
'Twenty-three, sir.'
'Then it's all ahead of you. And
there are a lot more interesting adventures to come, I'm certain of it.'
'What about you, Professor. You're
still leaving for
Stern nodded. 'In four days' time.
The temporary lecturing position I've decided to accept came out of the blue,
but
a wonderful city, so I'm sure my wife and Rachel will find it interesting. All
in all, it should keep me busy for a while.' He dabbed sweat from his forehead,
then held out his hand for the mail satchel, and nodded towards the shaft.
'Rachel and Jack, plus a few of the others, are still below. This heat is
unbearable, so why don't you go down and help them tidy up and I'll hand out
the letters to the crew.'
Weaver descended the ladder into
the shaft. It was solid rock in parts, a drop of almost fifty feet, and when he
came to the bottom several narrow passageways led off in different directions.
The yellow clay walls and ceilings
were lined with timber supports, and lit by strings of bulbs, fed from the
electric generator up above. The passageways led to the three individual tombs
that had been discovered, the ceilings so low in places that a man had to hunch
his shoulders as he walked. But compared to the sizzling temperature above
ground, the tunnel air was pleasantly cool, chilly almost, and there was a
slightly eerie atmosphere, but Weaver had become used to that, and he
cheerfully made his way along one of the passageways until he came to the end
and heard voices. ‹.
A large sarcophagus, once the tomb
of a relatively unknown princess from Zoser's dynasty, was set into a recess in
the far wall.
The mummified remains had been
removed after their discovery.
The stone coffin lid lay propped
against the wall, its surface beautifully carved with hieroglyphics, and
several of the crew were in the process of removing the equipment and electric
cables from the immediate area. Weaver saw Jack Haider and Rachel Stern busily
working away, their clothes covered in fine dust, and then Rachel turned and
saw him Her blond hair was tied back, accentuating her high cheekbones, and
there were tiny beads of perspiration on her tanned face and neck. Even though
she wore a loose khaki shirt and pants, her figure was evident, and she looked
startlingly pretty as always. She offered Weaver a perfect smile, one that
affected him instantly. Harry. We were just talking about you '
'Nothing bad, I hope.'
'Of course not. We were simply
wondering what had kept you so long. She moved to kiss him on the cheek,
smudging his face with dust. Now look what I've done.'
She wiped the dust away, laughing,
and at the touch of her hand Weaver felt electricity course through him. Every
time he looked at Rachel Stern or felt her touch he was aware of an intense
feeling of attraction, and he fought hard to control it 'I called into
Shepheard's. The news isn't good.
still burning. The word is
'It's all so truly dreadful,'
Rachel said, genuinely concerned.
Isn’t it, Jack?
Jack Haider had a restless,
handsome face, with pale blue eyes and a slight smile fixed permanently in
place, one that suggested he found life infinitely more interesting than he had
hoped But the smile was gone now as he shook his head. 'It's terrible At this
moment, I almost feel ashamed to be German '
Weaver put a hand on his friend's
shoulder. 'I think we all feel bad about events, Jack. But neither you nor any
of the other Germans on the dig started the conflict Hitler did '
'I suppose you're right.' Haider
gazed in awe at the open sarcophagus for a moment, then ran a hand over the
lid's smooth surface. 'I'll be sorry to say goodbye to the last resting place
of our princess. Isn't it incredible when you think about it?’
'What is?'
'For thousands of years she lay
here alone, until we found her. Once, she was probably the object of men's
desire. And now she's mummified remains, lying in the vaults of the
studied, like the others we discovered. And all the important questions you
want to ask, for which you'll probably never find answers. What did she look
like? What kind of life did she have? Whom did she love? I doubt anyone will
ask those questions of us someday. At least she's achieved a kind of
immortality.'
Rachel smiled. 'Jack, you're such
a romantic dreamer.'
Weaver said with wry humor, 'Let's
just hope there isn't a curse attached to our princess, or we're all in
trouble.'
'You don't believe in curses, do
you, Harry?' Rachel asked, incredulous.
'Ask me that question a couple of
years from now, when we're all covered in massive red spots and dying from some
unknown, incurable disease.'
They laughed, and there was a
sound from somewhere behind them, footsteps on the creaking wooden ladder, and
Professor Stern appeared from the passageway. 'It sounds like you're all
enjoying yourselves, and I hate to upset the mood, but I've distributed the
post Harry picked up from
Most of it's bad news, from what I can gather. At least a dozen of the crew
have been conscripted and the general consensus is that they're not too happy
about it.'
'Harry told us about
'I don't even want to think about
it,' Professor Stern said, dejected. 'It has me depressed enough already.' He scrutinized
the area. 'You've been busy, Rachel, I see. You too, Jack.'
'All in a day's work, Professor,'
Haider answered. 'With Harry lending a hand, another couple of hours should see
it through.'
'Before I forget, Jack, there was
a letter for you among the mail.' The professor handed an envelope across.
'From
I believe.'
Haider moved beside one of the
light bulbs, tore open the letter, and read the contents. His face darkened
perceptibly, then he slowly folded the pages and stuffed them in his breast
pocket.
'What's wrong? Is it bad news?'
Rachel asked.
Haider forced a smile. 'Of a sort.
It's from my father.'