The Cairo Codex (45 page)

“Justine! That’s sounds a bit too mystical. I . . .”

“Love you, Mom. Gotta go. Bye.”

“I
S THERE ANYTHING TO THE RUMOR
, Dr. Mostafa, that the diary of the Virgin Mother has been found?” asked the interviewer on Al Ahram television. Having explored new finds in the western desert and a tomb that could possibly belong to Hatshepsut, the half-hour program was nearing its end.

“Little at this point. But of course, speculations run wild,” replied Mostafa, with exaggerated nonchalance. “What I can tell you is that an ancient book has been found, somehow appearing in the bag of a young American woman who is not an archaeologist.” He struck a dismissive air. “As you know, artifacts found out of context—taken from their place of origin—are highly suspicious. We validated the time period during which the document was written, but the contents raise many questions.” Mostafa filled the chair and the studio with his sense of regal presence, exuding authority and charm like some people exude fear.

“Questions? Such as . . .” asked the eager interviewer.

“Many writings have been discovered in the past several decades that appear to have been written by members of a radical and discredited cult known as Gnostics. A godless bunch. Findings such as the Gospel of Thomas and the Gospel of Judas are good examples. Their claims are in direct contradiction to centuries of religious teachings and more solid evidence. These documents have been largely discredited by the world’s religious scholars. What we have here may be another such example.”

“Your comments whet my appetite, Dr. Mostafa. Can you reveal any of the contents? I’m sure that our audience would be most interested. One of the wildest speculations around is that the book may have been written by the Mother of God herself. What can you tell our listeners about that?”

“A foolish conjecture, I assure you. I can promise your audience that they can continue to count on my office for breaking news as soon as the information becomes authenticated.”

“At this point, then, you would warn listeners not to be taken in by the rumors?”

“Exactly,” said Mostafa, flashing his infamous smile.

“My visa’s been revoked,” Andrea said with characteristic calm as she curled up on Justine’s couch. “I’ll even have to get coverage for the balance of my classes.”

Justine kicked off her shoes and released her body into the embroidered armchair across from the couch. “Revoked? What happened?” She was chilled by the news, though not entirely surprised.

“It’s begun, Justine. No telling what will happen next,” Andrea said, her black eyelashes fluttering like small velvet fans holding back the tears. “Mostafa . . . the Imam . . . the Copts . . . the plan is being set in place to discredit us. Me, at least,. You may not have seen Mostafa’s interview last night.”

“I didn’t. I was on the phone much of the evening. And working on a school report.”

Andrea summarized the Great Man’s claims in the Al Ahram interview.

Justine was stunned; she was speechless for several moments. “My god! I had no idea he would lie so directly! Can’t the University do anything? At least get your visa extended for the rest of the semester? This is so abrupt.”

“The AUC President asked Minister Ghalib to intervene. We’ll see. But you need to prepare yourself for what’s ahead,” said Andrea, twisting the golden ankh on the long chain around her neck.

Justine could feel her chest tightening. “Mom pointed out what we already knew: the churches—and mosques—are very practiced at deflecting truth.” She grabbed two bottles of Evian from the fridge, handed one to Andrea, and began to pace back and forth across the room. When she turned around, An-drea was crying.
Why am I surprised? Did I think Andrea was too mature, too strong . . . beyond crying? Is anyone beyond crying?
She sat down beside her friend, taking her hand as tears welled up in her own eyes.

“Don’t be shocked by anything that happens now,” said Andrea, so softly it was difficult for Justine to hear her. “The gears have been put into place to erase the evidence of apostasy, faithlessness.”

“Evidence? You mean the codex?” Justine was startled once again.

“A small item appeared in the paper this morning. It’s titled, ‘What is this we hear about a diary?’ Or some approximation in Arabic.”

“Such a small town! It continues to amaze me how rumors can go viral—it’s as though the city were an engorged Internet!”

“You’re so right. Rumors move faster than a dust storm in this damned desert,” affirmed Andrea. “Speaking of secrets, did your mother understand why Ibrahim asked you to talk to her?”

Justine walked into the kitchen and grabbed two glasses and a bottle of Antinori cabernet she’d been saving for a special occasion.
This occasion warrants indulgence
, she reasoned. Returning to Andrea, she replied: “Ibrahim first knew my mother when she was a devout young woman. Apparently, he thought she’d want to preserve the beliefs of the church. At one time he knew her very well . . . but he doesn’t know her now.”

“What do you mean ‘very well’? Were they involved?” Andrea asked with an air of amusement.

“A young woman, twenty-seven years his junior, seduced by the charming professor, a friend of the family,” Justine said. “My father never knew. At least that’s what she claims.”

“I never suspected, but I should have. Ibrahim was quite a womanizer in his day.” Andrea tilted her head and winked.

Justine stared at Andrea. “You, too?” She allowed herself to be astonished once again. “Will surprises never cease?” She grinned. “And I thought Ibrahim’s flirtatious manner with you was just an unrequited fantasy; really, it was fond memories.”

Andrea waved her hand as though such old news was not worth pursuing. “I’m surprised that Ibrahim would still think of Lucrezia as the innocent he knew years ago. He’s losing touch.”

“A victim of those finely edited memories, I suppose. And age.” Justine grew pensive, calm. “I’m sure to be asked to leave Egypt. But I have no intention of going quietly. We must write about what we’ve found. Can you agree to that?” She tightened her grip on her friend’s hand. Andrea flashed an enigmatic smile. “Where is the copy right now?”

“It’s still with Ibrahim, as far as I know,” said Andrea, staring into the ruby liquid. She glanced up. “You’re taking this better than I expected.”

“I’m fearful—fearful of abandoning my work with the girls, fearful of leaving friends, fearful of the effects of all of this on my career, even fearful of what is still unknown. Embarrassed, too, since I was warned about extracurricular involvements. It makes sense that they would need to discredit us. Me as the unqualified discoverer of an unprovenanced find, and you as the major translator. Isaac, being Jewish, can be easily discredited. That just leaves Ibrahim. Do you think the codex copy is safe with him?”

“I’m not sure . . . I’m not at all sure. He violated our trust once before. But there are others on the team; can they get to all of them? How about Al Rasul? Amir?”

“Many of these men have known each other for a long time, so nothing would surprise me. As for the copy of the codex, we need to find out if it’s safe, how to get access to it. The sooner the better. When do you have to leave Egypt?”

“I have a week to find a replacement for my classes and conclude other obligations to the university. At least, that’s where it stands right now.”

Justine’s cell rang. “Yes, okay, I understand,” she said, ending the call. “Nadia’s picking me up,” she told Andrea. “We have an appointment with the Minister. She sounded ominous.”

J
USTINE
’
S MORNING RUN ON
R
ODA
I
SLAND
was fierce, fast, a failed effort to clear her head of the disturbing meeting with the Minister of Education. Dr. Ghalib had been the carrier of bad news: her expulsion from Egypt. Embarrassed, humiliated, Justine had fought back tears of anger and sadness as she apologized for depriving the schools of her services, for using poor judgment, for permitting her passions to pull her into uncharted territory.

She stepped out of the shower as her phone rang. It would be Nadia again, arranging for a meeting this morning at the Marriott. She grabbed the phone as though it were an offending appendage. “Okay, Nadia. More bad news? Am I going to prison?” she nearly yelled into the phone. Calming herself, she asked, “What time are we picking Andrea up?”

“I don’t think prison is likely,” said Amir.

“Oh! Amir. Hi,” she said, discombobulated. She could almost feel his amusement over the phone. “Please forgive me. I’m feeling a little touchy this morning.” She sat on the bed and dried her wet hair.

“No kidding. I think you’ve answered my question. I called to find out how the meeting with the Minister went.”

She told him. Then paused. “Any other theories on the theft?” Throwing the towel on the floor, she hugged the phone between her chin and shoulder and walked to her dresser, picking out lingerie and a deep green silk blouse—
a mistake in this heat
, she reminded herself, but everything else was dirty or needed ironing.

“A few thoughts—not much more. As we agreed, everyone has a motive, and it probably involves a number of co-conspirators. And there are actors on- and off-stage.”

“What do you mean?”

“The invisible crowd. Thousands of options. But I’m persuaded that Mostafa and his cabal are involved somehow, although he appears to also be the victim. A clever ruse, I suspect. Then there’s the Alex crowd. Perhaps even Grandfather.”

“How does the Brotherhood figure in?” She buttoned her blouse and grabbed gold hoop earrings from a side table. They were warm in her hand.

“Anything is possible with the Brotherhood, although most of these folks would find working with them offensive. On the other hand, there are many professionals in the organization and it’s often difficult to know who’s a member.”

“The young priest from Santa Barbara was at Muqattum. Strange bedfellows,” she reminded him. “Amir,” she paused, giving full consideration to what she was about to say. “Do you think Nasser is involved? The Nazarene Essenes have a great deal at stake here. They’re searching for a female god.”

“Nothing I’d like better, but I don’t think so. If you’ll forgive my saying so, they’re disorganized and have few contacts with the Supreme Director’s office or the Museum. But anything is possible.”

And Nasser was genuinely surprised when I told him about the theft.
“Amir. I’ve broken off my relationship with Nasser.” She let her words hang in the air. He said nothing. Embarrassed, she continued: “There’s a missing piece of this puzzle. What are we not seeing?”