Christopher Golde

Date:            17th March 1966
Location:     Nubia, Egypt

 

 

        Nigel had entered the ancient room and was now standing frozen, staring in disbelief. His eyes were wide and his mind struggled to digest all at once what he saw. Shamir strolled casually around the chamber with an obvious air of self-satisfaction.

            “Well, Mr Stansen what do you think?”

Nigel, still coping with his excitement, could say little except to sigh, long and slow.

            “This we believe, is the sarcophagus of Moses the prophet,” Shamir said, circumnavigating a large stone box in the centre of the chamber, “we have removed the lid and taken it away for analysis, which I might say, is not the normal procedure, but considering what we have found on the underside of the lid, I am sure you will agree it was necessary.”

            Although Nigel knew subconsciously, that these last words were somehow significant, for now, he would have to put them to the back of his mind for future reference. At this moment, he was far too busy consuming the walls of hieroglyphics that surrounded him. He had entered a room that co-existed both in the present and in the past, ‘three thousand years in the past in fact,’ he thought to himself.

            Somehow, he could not help but feel that he was trespassing in a time that could never belong to modern man, yet, somehow, elsewhere in his mind, he felt as if he actually belonged here.

            In every corner of the chamber stood a large earthen vase, each one ornately decorated with images describing life in ancient Egypt. Nigel slowly moved about the chamber, as Shamir paced him equally on the opposite side of the sarcophagus. Against a wall, between two of the vases, stood a golden chair and in front of that, a footrest, of what appeared to be, and most likely was solid gold. Nigel was aware that the ancient Egyptians had believed so much in the afterlife, that they would pack all of the deceased’s worldly possessions into their burial chambers. Everything they owned and valued in their life on Earth would be provided so that they might have them to enjoy when they got to the other side.

            As he circumnavigated the small underground chamber, he gradually grew closer to the stone coffin at its centre, until at last, he could see over the edge. Deep inside was an obviously ancient body, wrapped perfectly in cloth from head to toe. He was amazed at just how perfect it was.

            Shamir had waited patiently as Nigel paced the room, allowing him to totally consume what the chamber had to offer. When Nigel reached the edge of the sarcophagus and was staring at it, Shamir continued.

            “Your first mummified corpse, Mr Stansen?”

            “I have seen them in museums in Britain but it was never like this Mr Shamir, I can tell you.”

            Shamir seemed pleased that his young visitor was so appreciative of the magnificence of the chamber, but he needed to get down to business.

            “Mr Stansen,” he began, “I have brought you here for a very special reason, not just to show off this treasure. As I have said, we have deciphered most of the hieroglyphics on these walls and what is on the outside of the stone cask. We have every reason to believe this is Moses the prophet, a very important historical leader of the Hebrew people, as I am absolutely sure you are aware.”

            “But why would he be buried in an Egyptian temple,” Nigel asked, even though he realized Shamir was probably about to tell him just that?

            “According to Hebrew Scriptures, Moses was a Jewish boy raised by an Egyptian Pharaohs daughter. He later fell from grace by killing an Egyptian. After banishment and a time of self-discovery, which included a chat with God, he returned to take his enslaved people away from the Pharaoh of the time, which is believed to be Ramesses II. Now it depends on where you read it, but according to popular belief, the Pharaoh had difficulty in reaching an agreement that satisfied his demands and as legend has it, the great plagues descended on Egypt at the bidding of Moses. It seems Mr Stansen that this is all quite true, as the Egyptians themselves write it here on these walls. It also seems that the Pharaoh had a healthy respect for Moses and when he heard of his death he sent his priests to ask the Hebrews if he might help in protecting Moses by offering this resting place for eternity. Now whether the Hebrew leaders had much choice or not, it does not say but it seems he was brought here by the priests and laid to rest as would be a minor Egyptian dignitary of their time.”

            “That’s fascinating,” said Nigel genuinely impressed, “this is indeed a remarkable discovery.”

            “If that was all Mr Stansen it would indeed be remarkable in itself,” Shamir said mysteriously as he came closer to Nigel, “another remarkable thing is that the stone lid of the cask, when removed and turned over, on it what we are certain, are the ‘Ten Commandments’ and even more amazingly they are written in hieroglyphics.”

            “Incredible,” gasped Nigel, understanding immediately the implications of this in many ways more than just the one, “that would either mean God wrote them in hieroglyphics or the Egyptians wrote them.”

            “I guess both are possibilities Mr Stansen but I am not so sure either of them wrote these commandments.”

            Nigel puzzled over this last comment.

            ‘What is Shamir going on about?’ Nigel thought to himself. ‘How could anyone else have written them, I suppose Moses himself could have written it, he was brought up as an Egyptian?’

            “I imagine your next thought would be that Moses himself may have written it,’ continued Shamir, pre-empting Nigel’s deductive process, “but again it is doubtful as the evidence we have found would indicate something much stranger. Our reaction was much the same as yours Mr Stansen, as the mystery unravelled,” Shamir added as if to comfort the young man’s obvious confusion.

            “Let me explain the most amazing discovery of all,” Shamir continued, “and then you will know as much as we do.”

            Shamir turned to look at the stone coffin and waved his hand over the top as he spoke.

            “When we studied the top of the cask carefully, we noticed that it had a border of hieroglyphics that went completely around the underside of the perimeter of the stone tablet.”

            Again Shamir paused for effect before continuing.

            “These markings repeated four letters of the Egyptian alphabet over and over. If you know how the ancient language works, you will know that symbols can have different sounds and because these symbols did not seem to make much sense we tried multiple possibilities.  Finally, the only combination that formed any word were the letters ‘X’, ‘R’, ‘A’ and ‘Y’. The puzzle of the letters and their meaning was then put aside for some time as an unsolved mystery, until at last, one of our young Egyptologists suggested that maybe we should x-ray the body.”

            Shamir looked into the sarcophagus again, indicating with his hands the prone figure lying within and continued.

            “It did seem plausible, if not impossible, that this may have been the intention of the message but how on earth could these ancient people, who had no idea of x-rays, be telling us to x-ray anything? I finally decided that we had nothing to lose by doing it, so we started with an x-ray of the stone tablet. Later, we would perhaps x-ray the body, when and if, it was considered safe to move it.”

            This was all sounding too strange for Nigel to comprehend but little did he know this was only the beginning of strange.

            “So Mr Stansen, the tablet of stone that had been used as a cover for the sarcophagus and contained the sacred ‘ten commandments’ written hieroglyphics, was taken away and x-rayed. What we found was nothing short of a miracle. The x-rays revealed that somehow, inside the stone and not visible without the use of an x-ray, there had been inscribed a message.”

            He stepped closer to the young anthropologist removing from his pocket an envelope. From the envelope, in front of Nigel’s confused gaze, he took a number of black and white negatives, which indeed upon inspection by Nigel were x-rays.

            There on the x-ray, he was looking at, somehow etched into the stone was a list of names. On top of this list was his name, ‘Nigel Stansen’.

            Nigel looked at the x-rays in disbelief.

            ‘How is it possible, that my name would be there, on a list, that is supposed to have been written three thousand years ago… and in English’.

            “This must be some kind of joke or trick,” Nigel stammered, “this is not possible.”

            “I am afraid Mr Stansen, this is neither a joke nor a trick and we have carbon dated the lid. It is three thousand odd years old and has never been tampered with; we cannot even find a seam to see how this message was inserted into the stone.”

            Nigel was now feeling faint.

            ‘I must surely wake up at any moment.’

            He searched within his mind for some reality.

            ‘It should be every anthropologist's dream to be recognized three thousand years before his time,’ he thought, trying in vain to lighten up.

            Instead, he felt intimidated, this challenged every logical thought he had ever made or formed.

            “Mr Stansen, are you okay,” Shamir asked concerned at how this had obviously shaken the young man; “maybe you should sit down on the chair for a while.”

            ‘Sit down on that chair,’ Nigel’s mind screamed in panic, ‘next thing I will be waking up buried inside this god-forsaken chamber or even worst wrapped and mummified.’

            He was losing his rationality and he knew it, but he was finding it difficult to regain control. He looked around for the exit and staggered towards the stairs. He made the entrance to the staircase and looked up. He could vaguely hear Shamir talking behind him, but made no sense of anything he said. As he climbed, the stairway seemed to be spinning and he struggled to maintain his balance, groping and grasping at the walls to stay on his feet.

            Finally, emerging from the stairwell, he sprawled onto the temple floor and rolled away as far as he could from the opening and hopefully the nightmare.

            Seconds later, Shamir emerged from the chamber and seeing Nigel sprawled out on the ground rushed to his side.

            “Mr Stansen, are you alright,” he said anxiously? “I am so sorry I did not mean to alarm you like that; lie there and I will get you some water.”

            He stood and walked to the entrance of the tent, giving instructions loudly to someone outside in his native tongue. Nigel could hear other voices as well, some shouting louder than what he thought was necessary to order a glass of water. When Shamir re-entered to the tent, he looked worried, but immediately he returned to the young man’s side and again knelt down. Taking off his jacket, he put it under Nigel’s head.

            Gradually, the young anthropologist started to regain his composure. Soon some water came and he was able to sit, drinking in audible gasps.

            “Are you feeling better now Mr Stansen,” asked Shamir, with a concerned look on his face?

            “Yes, yes, thank you, I guess it was just the shock combined with all the previous excitement,” said Nigel with a softer than usual voice, “I, I am still confused by what you were implying…”

            “Mr Stansen,” interrupted Shamir gently, “we do not understand either, but you must be assured, as far as we can tell, this is no hoax. We were instructed to show this to you and we wanted you to see it for yourself.”

            Nigel turned and looked into the kindly weather-beaten face of the Egyptologist.

            “What do you mean ‘You were instructed’,” asked Nigel not even sure if he wanted to hear why?

            “In the stone Mr Stansen, here!”

            Shamir lifted his hand, once again offering the x-ray to Nigel. The young man paused, but then lifted his hand from the dusty floor of the temple and took the small negative, slowly bringing it into focus. Again, he saw a list of names, with his at the top, but this time, he read on down the picture to where in quite small but quite legible English text, it was written.

 

From this list select the first name and present to them what is written here. If you cannot find the name at the top of the list then proceed to the next name. Once you have allowed one of these names to see the numbers below do not involve any others that are on the list.

The future of mankind is at stake.

433538 5153769

 

            Nigel read the message three times more before he looked again at Shamir’s face. The curator had a quizzical look now as if to say, ‘See I told you so’.

            ‘Why me,’ Nigel thought?

            “Well Mr Stansen, we have performed the instructions as written and now we must decide, with you, what we are to do next,” said Shamir, with great sincerity, as if expecting the answers to now somehow start flowing. “The two gentlemen from our Governments you met earlier, are also aware of this message and want to discuss with you some options of what must be our next step in unravelling this mystery.”

            Shamir stood and as Nigel started to get back to his feet the older man held his arm for support. As Nigel dusted himself down, he looked back towards the entrance to the burial chamber.

            “I will need some time to give this thought,” said Nigel, running his hand through his hair and back over his head, “I guess I should go back down and have a better look around.”

            “We will perhaps have time for that later Mr Stansen,” said Shamir, beginning now to look a little nervous, “I had not said it before because you would not understand why, but it is very dangerous here at the moment.”

            Shamir glanced towards the entrance to the tent and Nigel noticed now he seemed anxious all of a sudden.

            “Because this chamber was discovered by local Egyptian workmen, we had some difficulty in keeping it a secret. Since then, word has somehow got out about who is in the tomb and there are factions here not happy at all with the possibilities.”

            “You mean religious agendas,” Nigel interrupted?

            “Exactly Mr Stansen,” said Shamir, “no-one knows about the message, but the religious implications of this find are explosive enough and we are in danger even being here. We should leave immediately I think.”

            They both began moving for the entrance to the tent when a loud noise, like a gunshot, echoed through the temple. It was so deafeningly loud Nigel almost dived for cover, but before he could even react, one of the guards from outside burst through the entrance and grabbed Shamir’s arm pulling him out. The Egyptologist still had hold of Nigel and they both tumbled forward, out into the main hall of the temple.

            Then, from outside the temple, more gunshot noises erupted and the guard pulled the two men in the opposite direction, towards the back of the temple. They were running now, but Shamir did not let go of Nigel’s arm. They both together tripped and stumbled after the guard, who seemed to be possessed by a superhuman strength that carried them all along at breakneck speed.

            Nigel lost his bearings altogether, as they dashed between columns and down hallways. At last, they burst out into the open air and Nigel could once again see the Nile River. The guard looked both ways and then yelled to Shamir in Egyptian, what Nigel believed, were instructions. Nigel assumed he had said ‘run and run quickly’, because that’s exactly what Shamir did, pulling Nigel along with him.

            The guard remained behind them, obviously to protect their retreat and after going around in what Nigel thought seemed to be a circle, he once again saw the boat that they had arrived in. By the boat stood another two men, completely covered from head to toe in sheets and brandishing large automatic weapons. One of the men saw them come around the corner and ran towards them. Nigel was not sure whether at this stage they should be running in the opposite direction, but Shamir kept careering ahead, so Nigel gave little resistance.

            As they approached the boat, it became obvious these two were on their side and that gave some comfort to Nigel. That comfort was short-lived, as another burst of gunfire heralded out from the temple and the man standing nearest the boat fell, twisting backwards into the river.

            Nigel then realized, whoever it was that was firing on them, was not the least intimidated by the armed guards and getting to the boat was going to be a dangerous manoeuvre. Even with the shots, Shamir pushed on relentless, pulling Nigel along by the sleeve and weaving from side to side as they approached the river’s edge, where the boat sat waiting. Nigel was amazed at the strength and agility of the old man, pulling him effortlessly along, as he struggled to keep his feet underneath him.

            At last, they arrived at the boat and Shamir leapt over the edge sprawling awkwardly onto the deck. Nigel followed even less graciously and landed with a painful thud, his head twisting awkwardly, causing him to lose sight of his companion. Shots rang out from overhead and Nigel saw a wooden railing of the boat disintegrate only inches from his face.

            The guard now stood on the boat above them, fearlessly firing at the unseen assailants. Somewhere within the boat he heard the motor start, gears crunched and suddenly it lurched forward, speeding away from the shore. The guard continued to fire, but at least now, Nigel could not hear any return fire from the shore.

            The young anthropologist looked over in the direction of where he saw Shamir fall, to see him lying sprawled on the deck of the boat, in a somewhat distressed and twisted shape. It was then with some alarm, Nigel noticed that the curator's rather dirty white suit pants were covered in bright red blood.

            Nigel crawled as fast as he could over to the Egyptians body, hoping that the blood belonged to someone else. To his relief, he saw that Shamir was breathing and when he grabbed his arm, a suntanned, wind-etched face, turned slowly towards him. Smiling at Nigel, the curator was obviously happy that his young friend was well enough to be helping him.

            “My God man, are you alright,” Nigel asked, obviously relieved that the older man was still alive?

            “Yes, I think I have broken my leg, that is all,” Shamir grimaced.

            As the boat powered along, the guard that had been firing the shots, bent over Shamir and inspected his leg. He bowed his head profusely and touched his forehead and chin in rapid succession as he spoke, seemingly apologizing for his bosses injuries.

            Shamir replied gently and rested his hand on the large man’s shoulder as if to console him instead. The large guard put his giant arms under Shamir's legs and torso, lifting him effortlessly off the floor. A suppressed cry from Shamir was evidence of the pain he experienced. Nigel had a few bruises, but lifted himself off the deck of the boat and followed behind the guard.

            When the guard lay Shamir down on some cushions to the rear of the boat, Nigel had a closer look at Shamir’s leg, peeling back the bloodied white pants.

            “Well you may well have broken your leg old man, but you for certain have a bullet hole here,” Nigel said, in as cheerful a voice that he could muster.

            “Never mind Mr Stansen, I shall live but you must leave for Cairo immediately we return to Aswan, it will not be safe for you here for now. They probably think you are of some official capacity and will stop at nothing to cover up this discovery. Their strength is most likely limited to this province for now and you should be much safer in the city.”

            Nigel thought for a moment about the stone tablet but was unable to even comprehend what it meant, or what he should do next. The firefight had momentarily taken from him the shock and incredible implications of the message in the stone, but now he wondered how an anthropologist, ‘especially this anthropologist,’ could possibly save humanity, as was implied in the message. He doubted that he was the man for this sort of responsibility.

He would one day learn just how wrong he was.

From “far distant” time he will come to stir and arouse you.
Vain discovery against infinite people.
Evil lurking unseen because of duty.

Branch VI/ Millennium 25 Prophecy 70           -Nostradamus

     Chapter seventeen
           The Prophet