Will Adams - The Alexander Cipher

This book has been over a decade in the contemplation and writing, and during that time Ive received help, encouragement, and advice from a great many peopletoo many to acknowledge individually. But I would particularly like to thank my UK and U.S. agents, Luigi Bonomi and George Lucas, and my editors, Wayne Brookes and Jaime Levine, both for seeing something they liked in the original manuscript and for helping me make it better. Id also like to thank Colin Clement for correcting my worst excesses about life and archaeology in Alexandria and Egypt. It goes without saying that where any mistakes remain, they are mine alone.

The Ras Mohammed Reefs, Sinai, Egypt

D ANIEL KNOX was dozing happily on the bow of the dive boat when the girl came to stand with deliberate provocation, blocking the afternoon sun. He opened his eyes and looked up a little warily, because Max had made it clear that she was Hassan al-Assyutis for the day, and Hassan had a proud and thoroughly warranted reputation for violence, especially against anyone who dared tread on his turf. Yes? Knox asked.

So are you really a Bedouin? she gushed. I mean that guy Max said like you were a Bedouin, but I mean you dont look it. I mean, dont get me wrong, you kind of look it, I mean your complexion and your hair and eyebrows, but

It was no surprise shed caught Hassans eye, thought Knox, as she rambled on. He was a sucker for young blondes, and this one had a charming smile and startling turquoise eyes, as well as an attractive complexion, with its smattering of pale freckles and pinkish hints of acne, and a slender figure perfectly showcased by her lime-green and lemon-yellow bikini. My fathers mother was Bedouin, he said to help her out of her labyrinth. Thats all.

Wow! A Bedouin gran! She took this as an invitation to sit. What was she like?

Knox pushed himself up onto an elbow, squinting from the sunlight. She died before I was born.

Oh, Im sorry. A damp blond lock fell onto her cheek. She swept her hair back with both hands, holding it there in a makeshift ponytail so that her chest jutted out at him. Were you brought up here, then? In the desert?

He looked around. They were on the deck of Max Stratis dive boat, tethered to a fixed mooring way out in the Red Sea. Desert? he asked.

Tch! She slapped him playfully on the chest. You know what I mean!

Im American, he said.

I like your tattoo. She traced a fingertip over the blue-and-gold sixteen-pointed star on his right biceps. What is it?

The Star of Vergina, answered Knox. A symbol of the Argeads.

The who?

The old royal family of Macedonia.

What? You mean like Alexander the Great?

Very good.

She wrinkled her nose. You a fan, then? I always heard he was just a drunken brute.

Then you heard wrong.

She smiled, pleased to be put down. Go on, then. Tell me.

Knox frowned. Where did you even start with a man like Alexander? He was besieging this town called Multan, he told her. This was towards the end of his campaigns. His men were fed up with fighting; they just wanted to go home. But Alexander wasnt having that. He was first up the battlements. The defenders pushed away all the assault ladders except his, stranding him up there alone. Any normal man would have leaped for safety, right? You know what Alexander did?

What?

He jumped down inside the walls. All on his own. It was the one sure way to make his men come after him. And they did, too. They tore the citadel apart to save him, and they only just got to him in time. The wounds he took that day probably contributed to his eventual death, but they added to his legend, too. He used to boast that he carried scars on every part of his bodyexcept his back.

She laughed. He sounds like a psycho.

Different times, said Knox. You know, when he captured the mother of the Persian emperor, he put her under his personal protection. After he died, she was so upset, she starved herself to deathnot when her own son died, mind, but when Alexander died. You dont do that for a psychopath.

Huh, she said. It was clear that shed had enough talk of Alexander. She rose onto her knees, placed her left palm flat on the deck on the far side of Knox, then reached across him for the red-and-white icebox. She threw off its lid and tested each of the bottles and cans inside for coldness, taking her time, her breasts swinging free within her dangling bikini-top as she did so, the nipples pink as rose petals. Knoxs mouth felt a little dry suddenlyknowing you were being worked didnt make it ineffective. But it reminded him forcibly of Hassan, too, so he scowled and looked away. She sat back down with a thump, an open bottle in her hand, a mischievous smile on her lips. Want some? she asked.

No, thanks.

She shrugged and took a swallow. So have you known Hassan long?

No.

But youre a friend of his, right?

Im on the payroll, love. Thats all.

But hes kosher, right?

Thats hardly the smartest way to describe a Muslim.

You know what I mean.

Knox shrugged. It was too late for her to be getting cold feet. Hassan had picked her up in a nightclub, not a Sunday school. If she didnt fancy him, she should have said no, simple as that. There was naive and there was stupid. It wasnt as though she didnt know what she was doing with her body.

At that moment, Max Strati appeared around the line of cabins. He walked briskly over. What happens here, then? he asked frostily. He had come to Sharm el-Sheikh on vacation twenty years ago and had never gone home. Egypt had been good to Max, and he wouldnt risk that by pissing off Hassan.

Just talking, said Knox.

On your own time, please, not mine, said Max. Mr. al-Assyuti wishes his guests to have a final dive.

Knox pushed himself up. Ill get things ready.

The girl jumped up, too, clapping with false enthusiasm. Great! I didnt think wed be going down again.

You will not join us, I think, Fiona, Max told her flatly. We have not enough tanks. Youll stay here with Mr. al-Assyuti.

Oh. She looked suddenly scared, childlike. She put her hand tentatively on Knoxs forearm. He shook her off and walked angrily toward the stern, where the wet suits, fins, masks, and snorkels were stored in plastic crates next to the steel rack of air tanks. A swift glance confirmed what Knox already knew: there were plenty of full tanks. He felt a sudden tightness in the nape of his neck. He could feel Maxs eyes burning into his back, so he forced himself not to look around. The girl wasnt his problem, and she was old enough to look after herself. He had no connection to her, no obligation. He had worked his balls off to establish himself in this town, and he wasnt going to throw that away just because some brat had misjudged the price of her lunch. Of course, his self-justifications did little good. He felt sick in the pit of his stomach as he squatted down by the crates and started checking equipment.

The MAF Nile Delta excavation, Northern Egypt

HELLO! CALLED OUT GAILLE BONNARD. Is there anyone here?

She listened patiently for an answer, but none came. How odd. Kristos had been clear that Elena, who needed her help translating an ostracon, would be waiting for her in the magazine, where they stored and documented all their finds. But there was no sign of her or her truck, and the magazine was closed. Gaille felt a rare flicker of irritation. She didnt mind making the fifteen-minute walk from the cemetery site, but she did mind having her time wasted. Then she noticed that the door of the hut was hanging ajarsomething she had never seen before. She knocked, pulled it open and looked within, allowing in a little sunlight. The interior walls were lined with shelves stacked with battery lamps, hammers, mattocks, baskets, rope, and other archaeological equipment. There was a dark square hole in the floor, too, from which protruded the top of a wooden ladder.