The Genghis Tomb Read online

  “Have you forgotten our rule?”

  “Oh, yeah,” the boy said, his face suddenly contrite beneath his mop of reddish brown hair. “Sorry, dad. Guess I kinda did . . .”

  Marko poked Jake’s arm. “So tell me, already.”

  “It’s a rule we got,” explained Jake to his buddy. “Like when I’m in any of the labs, or out at dad’s diggin’ place. There’s always lots of really neat stuff lying around, but I can’t touch any of it until he’s done checkin’ it out.” He spun back to his father. “Right, dad?”

  “Right, sport.” David found it difficult maintaining a straight face. “And as for the horn there, I’ve still got a little more checkin’ out left to do—so I’m thinking later will be a much better time.” He glanced at his wrist. “Let’s say another hour, or so. How’s that work for you fellows?”

  “Alright! And then Marko gets to hold it, too?”

  “Of course. After all, he’s your guest for the day.”

  This settled, the boys darted back outside to play.

  Still amused, David swiveled around on his stool, watching through the lab’s thick, plate window as the rambunctious twosome ran whooping across the compound’s tailored lawns in pursuit of yet more adventures to occupy them. And why the hell not? he mused. Have at it, guys! Technically speaking, the boys were in his charge for the entire day, but he saw no reason to monitor their every move. It was the early weeks of a beautiful spring. Besides, they were both exceptional kids.

  Thinking on this, he gave a tight shake of his head, wishing he, too, could find something—anything!—of real interest to fill his long days. Not a man who handled idleness well, he felt bored out of his skull. Here it was already mid-April, a period when by all rights he should be immersed in another full season at his excavation site less than twenty kilometers away. But it wasn’t going to happen. Not anytime soon, anyway. For the third time in the past six years, legal disputes between the University of Thessaloniki and the site’s surrounding property owners had again shut everything down. At best, David figured he faced another two months of inactivity.

  Frustrated, he picked up the last of his loose paperwork.

  At forty, David maintained himself in reasonably decent shape. At just over six feet tall, he still retained the lean, athletic build and full head of dark hair he enjoyed as a teenager—which only served to enhance the appeal of his strong, angular features. Though American by birth, he’d moved to Greece thirteen years earlier to work alongside his renowned great-aunt, the late Dr. Edith Whitely, a woman long recognized as the leading expert on the ancient Hellenistic world—and he’d come to love the time spent here among her rambling, well-maintained collection of buildings overlooking the suburbs of Greece’s second largest city. The deep blue sky, the red tiles over brilliant white stucco, the lush grass and narrow, gravel walkways . . . it all combined to make a true convert of him.

  Despite recent changes, he still felt completely at home. Now the growing complex—for such the property was fast becoming since its donation to the University of Thessaloniki—contained several labs, a sizeable library, a teaching center, plus a half dozen other additions just now in the groundbreaking stage. Unfortunately, however, this current flurry of construction activity did little to alleviate his present boredom.

  And not without good reason.

  Though one wouldn’t guess it to look at him, at the moment David was arguably the best-known working archaeologist in the entire world—and had been for the past few years. But it was an unsought status that he actually hated, a reality he’d pay good money to alter. Nevertheless, it was the price one paid for being the man who six years earlier had found the jewel-encrusted sarcophagus and preserved remains of no less than Alexander the Great. Now the universal public linkage forged between him and that astounding discovery in Egypt’s western desert appeared unbreakable—a constant and annoying impediment to any hope he had of ever regaining the privacy once enjoyed in his personal life.

  Worse, he foresaw no ready resolution to his present dilemma, for he was caught up in a ‘catch-22’ situation partly of his own making. Locating Alexander’s hidden tomb had involved far more people than just him—and therein lay the rub! To fully reveal the complicated series of events preceding the discovery, the Egyptian government would, of necessity, have to make several awkward disclosures—everything from unreported murders to the black-marketing of ancient antiquities throughout Europe—things not yet divulged to the public at large. And not the least of these embarrassing revelations would have to be the existence of a functioning Amun priesthood layered within its own government offices.

  Now how embarrassing was that going to be!

  In one sense, David felt he’d been blindsided by what he should’ve foreseen as the inevitable result of agreeing to Egypt’s self-serving decision. Made to be the sole focal point of this stunning discovery—yet greatly restricted in what he could reveal—he found himself forced into the uncomfortable position of continually denying requests by the international media for detailed interviews. Needless to say, this sort of inexplicable behavior only served to further pique the world’s curiosity, branding him as some sort of reclusive kook. For this reason alone, he often found himself wondering just how great it might be to simply turn back the clock and do things differently. In point of fact, but for the magnitude of the find, he sometimes regretted any of it ever happened.

  But then who the hell am I kidding?

  It annoyed him, of late, how easily he drifted into such nonsensical conjectures. Instead of wallowing in self-pity, he knew he should actually spend each waking day thanking his lucky stars! The simple truth was that without that remarkable adventure he’d never have met and fallen in love with Elizabeth. Nor would he now have little Jake, their mutual pride and joy.

  The welcome jingle of the phone drew him to his feet, glad for any sort of distraction as he stepped into his spacious office. Renovated only a few years back, it was far grander than he’d ever requested or required, but who was he to argue how the university’s budgeting committee spent its money? This unexpected largesse—along with exclusive use of his own private lab—were just two of many perks recently thrust upon him. Apparently being famous—or even infamous—had its rewards, he thought as he reached across his oversize desk and picked up on the third ring. The call display informed him it was Maria Travlos calling, the wife of his colleague and long-time best friend.

  “Hey, Maria. Checking up on Marko, are you?”

  “Well, yes,” she admitted with a chuckle. “So tell me honestly, is my little terror being much of a bother?”

  “No, not a bit. Marko and Jake are having a great time. I’m insulted you’d even ask. Worried I can’t handle both of them on my own?”

  “Of course not. But since you raised the subject, what are they up to?”

  “At the moment? Out running wild and playing like kids are meant to do. Despite what you and Elizabeth probably believe, not all men are totally incompetent.”

  She laughed as he intended; then asked, “And speaking of Elizabeth, when does she get back from Athens? Late this afternoon, right?”

  “Actually, not until sometime tomorrow.”

  “Oh, what changed her plans? No problems, I hope . . .”

  “No, everything is on track,” he assured her. “These semi-annual meetings with her company directors from back stateside are a royal pain for her, but a responsibility she takes very seriously. As for me, I stoically accept her brief absences as just another of the burdens I bear being married to one of the wealthiest women in New England.” He paused as she again laughed. “But seriously, when she called earlier this morning, I could tell she was already pretty whipped, so I convinced her to keep her room at the Sheraton for another night and rebook her flight for tomorrow. Her biggest concern, of course, was how I was going to handle the—”

  “Marko’s sleepover! Oh, God, David, I completely forgot! You’ll be totally on your own with those two. I
feel terrible about this. Maybe the best thing is I drive over and bring him on home. We can always reschedule something for—”

  “Nonsense. As I seem to recall, the whole idea behind this was to give you enough free time to prepare for Nick’s return. Besides, the boys would be crushed if we canceled out on it now.”

  “Are you really sure, David?”

  “Positive. We’ll be fine. So when does Nick get in?”

  “Well, unless he phones and says different, his arrival time out of Alexandria is still set for around four tomorrow afternoon.”

  “On what? Egypt Air or—”

  “An Olympic flight. I have it written down and posted in two or three places.”

  “By the way, Maria, remember we’re still expecting you guys over for dinner this Sunday afternoon, right?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Good. So how long does Nick get this trip? A few weeks, surely.”

  It was the wrong question.

  “How I wish! You know, he hasn’t been back for over a month—and now all he gets is a pitiful seven days! Can you imagine how frustrating this is? I swear, between Marko and me, I don’t know who misses him the most. My poor little guy has struggled along with only a part-time father for the last—Oh, what’s it been now? At least two full years, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, I’d guess every bit of that,” David agreed, feeling growing twinges of guilt. After all, it was solely upon his recommendation that Nick received the job in the first place. When the Egyptian government first announced the discovery of Alexander’s tomb, they made a goodwill gesture of inviting a dozen regional countries, including Greece, to appoint qualified representatives to participate in this totally unique and historic excavation. Now David had to wonder if he’d done Nick any real favor. The opportunity was guaranteed to advance his friend’s career enormously—but at what price?

  “You still there, David?”

  “Sorry, I was just thinking. If it helps any, Maria, my understanding is the final work of emptying the tomb-complex is almost wrapped up. With the focus now shifting to Alexandria—and thankfully well away from that god-awful site out in the middle of nowhere—I suspect these long separations will soon become a thing of the past. In fact, it wouldn’t surprise me a bit if he then starts popping home every weekend.”

  Her mood immediately brightened. “Really?”

  “Why the hell not? The flight-times and cost back and forth from Alexandria are really next to nothing. In fact, I can even envision you and Marko zipping over to stay with him every now and then. When that time comes, my inside information says he’ll have excellent hotel accommodations, the Egyptian government footing the bill. And knowing Marko, I have to believe he’ll absolutely freak at getting advance peeks at all those treasures.”

  “God, will he ever!” She hesitated for several seconds. “Thanks for giving me a better perspective on all this. I do appreciate it. I’m sure I would’ve figured it out on my own, but it’s still nice having a sympathetic shoulder to cry on every now and then.” Pausing again to chuckle, she added, “You know, David, believe it or not, I think just maybe I’m finally—finally—beginning to appreciate what it is Elizabeth sees in you.”

  “Do tell. And on that sorry note . . .”

  Grinning, he hung up the phone.

  It was then he noticed the blinking light on his machine. Punching ‘play’ he heard a woman’s voice informing him the mailroom had just signed for a registered envelope sent to him care of the university. It could be picked up any time before five o’clock. The temptation to dial back was fleeting, for he felt confident what it must be. And if true, then the timing was spot-on perfect. After years of unintentional delays, he was finally about to make good on his half-forgotten promise to Nick regarding a rather odd inheritance he’d received.

  Well, better late than never, he thought, returning to the lab.

  The physical examination of the horn proved cursory; a careful weighing, plus jotting down a few basic measurements. Nothing else about it warranted much more of his attention. Clearly it came from the now extinct ancestor of today’s domestic cattle, for there was no denying its distinctive lyre-shape, nor the unusual way the horn was set at a sweeping, forward angle. As to how long ago it was, however, that someone took the time to sheathe it in leather—thus creating an actual historical artifact—would be almost impossible to nail down with any real precision.

  He turned to the sound of approaching laughter, intercepting the terrible twosome’s eager entrance. “You’re back a bit early, Jake. I still have a few minutes left on the clock. While you’re waiting, suppose you can do your old man a big favor?”

  “Anything, dad.”

  “Do you remember Constance, that nice lady in the mailroom?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, she’s holding a piece of mail for me. Can you run over and—?”

  “No problem! Come on Marko.”

  When alone again, David rotated the piece on the table, examining it from several different angles. Though it was only marginally rare, by itself an aurochs horn did hold some intrinsic value—but hardly enough to generate real excitement. Much more interesting, of course, was the smooth protection wrapped around it. Fashioned out of a single piece of leather, the material’s abutting edges were laced together along the horn’s spine, making an almost seamless join. Clearly the work of a craftsman. Yet it offered no identifiable indicators for estimating an actual age.

  David sat back, anticipating Nick’s likely disappointment.

  Too bad. But things are what they are.

  However, it really did make for a nice family souvenir, especially when combined with the colorful description of its discovery in 1912. The source for this was an old journal written by Nick’s great-grandfather, a surveyor named Valentin Sedov—and since this too had been passed down through the family, the solid provenance of the artifact was beyond question.

  While he reflected on this, Jake and Marko returned with a large, manila envelope. As anticipated, it was from Beckman Analytic out of London, U.K., doubtless containing the last bit of information necessary to finish up his report. Heading into his office, he said, “Give me about ten minutes, guys. This won’t take long to read. Then we’ll call it a day and go get something to eat.”

  “Can we pick up the horn now?” asked Jake. “You did kinda promise, right?”

  “I don’t see why not,” David replied over his shoulder. “Just remember what I said about being careful. It’s not a toy.”

  “We know, dad.”

  David slipped into the padded chair behind his desk, sliding out the envelope’s contents as he did so. Four weeks earlier he’d mailed a small fragment of the horn to London for radiocarbon dating, hoping it would be of an adequate size to be tested by their accelerator mass spectrometry. Since the thin piece of bone was already loose—destined to fall out on its own anyway—he saw no reason not to make the attempt. After all, Beckman Analytic was a highly respected lab, one he’d used on a regular basis. By the time David scanned ahead to the last of several pages, he saw the piece had indeed proven large enough. By their analysis, the approximate date for the living animal was pegged at 1220 C.E., allowing for a conservative margin for error of thirty years, give or take.

  Surprised—and a bit intrigued—David place the sheets back into the envelope, wondering what, if anything, could be deduced from this. Unfortunately, this early dating in no way proved the leather sheathing was equally old. Far from it. Whoever the unknown craftsman was, he could’ve used a horn of ancient origin. Who could say with any confidence that it was anywhere near as old? He breathed a resigned sigh, thinking it unfortunate that radiocarbon testing wasn’t a viable option when it came to leather. It could be done, of course, but the amount of material required for testing animal hide was far too prohibitive. After all, what would be the point of nailing down a date if the artifact was virtually destroyed in the process?

  Until this moment the boys h
ad been quiet in the lab. Perhaps a bit too quiet. Now David heard them begin shouting, trading angry accusations. This can’t be good! Getting up to investigate, he caught only the tail end of their heated exchange.

  “It’s all your fault, Jake!”

  “Is not!”

  “Is too! You’re the one who broke the—”

  “Broke what?” David pulled them apart. “What’s going on here? You guys know better than this . . .”

  Jake rushed to get his version out first.

  “Okay, dad, I—I guess it was kinda my fault the lace broke,” he confessed. “But honest, it was Marko who peeled it back like that! Not me! I told him no, but he said he wanted to look at more of those funny little pictures.”

  “Funny little—?” Confused, David looked down at the horn, his narrowing eyes drawn to the obvious damage in question—and in that briefest instant, all his recent feelings of utter boredom disappeared. Both corner edges of the leather were indeed folded back—but it wasn’t ‘funny little pictures’ revealed on the material’s underside. Instead, he found himself staring at a field of reddish-black vertical columns of beautifully precise writing.

  Definitely not Chinese—yet somehow vaguely familiar.

  Well, I’ll be damned!

  CHAPTER TWO

  “So, David, I take it you’re now certain this writing is old Uighur script?”

  Nick Travlos posed the question as his host returned with their mixed drinks. While waiting, he’d intently perused the three overlapping photocopies spread on the patio table’s glass surface. When positioned in the proper sequence—as they presently were—they collectively comprised the entire text revealed on the underside of the old leather. Three days had passed since Jake and Marko made the accidental discovery.

  “I assume this Vladimir fellow in Ulan Bator confirmed it, right?”

  “Well, not exactly,” David confessed. “At least not in so many words, anyway—but I’ll get into that in a couple minutes.” Retaking his chair, he glanced across the flagstone terrace to where their wives were busy gathering up utensils and paper plates from around the barbecue. Only recently introduced to the joy of American style burgers—a Sunday treat both kids now loved—they were already off racing each other across the sun-drenched lawn.