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Crown of the Pharaohs: Original Prologue (Deleted Chapter)
Read on for a sneak preview of the prequel novella to the Sean Livingstone Adventure series.
Monsters, Myths, and Microchips
(A Sean Livingstone Adventure: Book 0)
— CHAPTER 1 —
MONSTERS
The most frightening monsters are not made of flesh and blood, they are the untouchable phantoms created in our minds. That’s what Azar Hawati had believed – until now.
Azar forced himself through the tunnel’s airtight seal, emerging into the dark subterranean world like a wide-eyed newborn. The air was damp and cold, every shadow an interminable void. An oppressive silence smothered his ears. He remained still, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light. A flight of ancient stone steps materialised from the gloom. They ascended towards a vast cavern glowing with light.
Goose bumps skimmed up the back of his neck. He took a deep breath to slow his racing heart. It had no effect. His life had led to this defining moment.
Azar climbed the steps, leaving the safety of the neon-lit access tunnel behind. His mirror-black dress shoes echoed through the void. He rarely visited the archaeological sites his teams excavated, but this long-forgotten hall proved an exception; it was rewriting history.
He paused on the top step and appreciated the wondrous sight.
Rows of monolithic columns lined both sides of a rectangular hall, wet and glistening in the stark floodlights. They were constructed from colossal blocks of stone and supported a ceiling even more unfathomable in scale. The craftsmanship rivalled Egypt’s Great Pyramid, and just like the pyramid, the walls were bare and unadorned with the hieroglyphs of his ancestors.
But these details paled in significance to the mysterious power resonating deep within the structure; the reason he was here.
Azar straightened the lapels of his $40,000 Ermenegildo Zegna suit, satisfied the millions spent pumping out the water were a success. Just days before, the entire hall had been flooded and buried 20 metres below the sandy bed of the Nile Delta, lost for 10,000 years to changing sea levels.
Posing as an exploratory gas drilling company, his personal army of soldiers, scientists, and archaeologists had stabilised the structure and prepared for his arrival.
Azar strode into the hall. Massive granite boxes, over six feet in height, stood between the columns. They resembled the sarcophagi found in the Serapeum of Saqqara, an underground necropolis in Lower Egypt. Academics claimed the site was dedicated to the sacred Apis bulls – a claim Azar questioned.
Only one of the Serapeum’s sarcophagi contained the bones of a bull, the rest were empty. Their true purpose remained a mystery. Crude hieroglyphs carved into their sides were probably the work of the ancient Egyptians that discovered them, not the work of the original builders.
But these polished sarcophagi bore no inscriptions and looked to weigh over 150 tonnes each. The gigantic lids had been shifted aside. Several scientists stood atop ladders, peering inside and scanning the interiors.
Squads of elite soldiers dressed in black fatigues and armed with MP5 submachine guns surrounded the sarcophagi. Each man had been personally selected from war-torn countries across the Middle East – the best money could buy.
‘Father!’ called a voice.
Azar turned around. His son Malik appeared from the shadows. He was dressed as a soldier, data pad in hand, weapon slung over his shoulder. At twenty-eight, Malik looked young for his age, but his sharp intellect gave him a wisdom beyond his years. He had been schooled abroad in the most prestigious universities, then trained in Egypt with the deadliest commandos. His clean-cut appearance looked out of place amongst the hardened squad, but he was just as lethal.
Malik was more than a son to Azar; he was a trusted colleague. Malik had taken charge of the Delta Project with confidence and military precision.
‘The sarcophagi aren’t empty like the ones at Saqqara,’ Malik said.
‘Are the remains human or animal?’
‘We’re still trying to identify everything, but there’s a mixture.’
‘Mummified and buried together?’
‘They’re not mummified, and the skeletons don’t appear to be from multiple burials, but… Each skeleton appears to be a single creature, some form of ancient hybrid.’
‘Show me!’ Azar grabbed the data pad. The scans made him straighten with a start, as if someone struck him in the back.
The creature lying in the sarcophagus shouldn’t exist. It was a product of legend and fantasy. The skeleton appeared human except for the enormous wings sprouting from its shoulder blades. Even folded behind its body, the wings barely fit inside the sarcophagus. An oversized bird’s skull lay in place of a human one, arced back with its beak open like a dead bird.
It was the perfect hybrid of a man and a giant falcon.
‘If Horus ever lived, this is what his remains would look like,’ Malik said. ‘At first we thought it might be a hoax, but the carbon dating and DNA sampling confirm we’re the first to set foot in here in over ten millennia.’
‘But this creature couldn’t have been buried here by ancient Egyptians. It’s too old.’
‘That’s right, by at least five or six thousand years.’
‘Whoever the architects of this complex were, they might have assembled the remains to represent their gods.’
‘This isn’t just some ritualistic burial. Each sarcophagus was sealed, air and watertight. The remains exhibit skin, muscles, feathers, fur, even scales. DNA sampling proves they constructed these creatures from living specimens, but not after death. These monsters were real; they lived and breathed.’
‘Only advanced genetic technology could create hybrids like this. More sophisticated than anything we have today.’
‘True, but these hybrids weren’t created at the genetic level. There’s extensive scarring showing where the hosts were dismembered and stitched together…as if by some ancient magic.’
‘This isn’t magic, it’s science.’
Malik pointed to the scan. ‘Take the falcon head here. It’s much larger than a normal bird’s head, but genetically, it’s a falcon. The bird must have been grown to an enlarged size to create the parts for the human body. It’s a unique, one-of-a-kind creation.’
Azar swiped the image aside and examined the next – the remains of a minotaur, a man-bull hybrid from Greek mythology. Next was a griffin, with the body, tail, and rear legs of a lion merged with the wings, head, and front talons of a giant eagle. In a third sarcophagus lay a manticore, another creature with the body of a lion, but this one supported a human head, scorpion tail, and spiny quills along its back. Crammed into another stone coffin appeared to be a six-armed giant, a monster the Greeks called the Gegenees. There was even a man with the head of a ferocious, tooth-filled crocodile, mirroring the Egyptian god Sobek.
Azar swallowed the nervous lump growing in his throat. The collection of hybrids didn’t make sense. Why was there a mixture of Egyptian, Greek, and Persian mythologies?
‘We’ve also discovered additional scarring,’ Malik continued. ‘Not from the operations that supposedly constructed these hybrids, but from battle. They all exhibit claw marks, cuts, abrasions. Many of their bones have been broken, then healed. Some have missing fingers, toes, ears – as though they were designed as fighters.’
‘Were they some form of soldier or guardian?’
‘Maybe, but their body armour bears a closer relationship to Roman gladiators. It’s lightweight and designed for maximum movement. The pieces are exquisite. Most are crafted from high-grade leather, decorated with gold and inlaid with precious gems.’
‘Incredible!’ Azar gasped.
‘But there’s something else.’
‘What’s that?’
‘There’re scratches inside the sarcophagi…as if they tried to claw their way out.’
Azar glanced up at the imposing sarcophagi. A chill crawled over his skin. He suddenly realised what it all meant. ‘This hall is a crypt! The creatures were revered, yet buried alive, only to be remembered by their masters…or master.’
‘Like trophies.’
‘Exactly.’
‘If that’s true, then what do they honour?’
‘The prize awaiting us in the next chamber!’ Azar exclaimed. ‘It’s time to reveal what we’ve come here for.’
Malik nodded. ‘We’ve been waiting for you before activating the mechanism.’
Azar strode past the eager-eyed scientists into the adjoining chamber. It was smaller and simpler. The granite floor, walls, and ceiling were polished to a mirror finish. In the middle of the chamber stood a waist-high stone pedestal adorned with a gold disc, indented in the centre with a giant primeval handprint.
Azar approached. He reached out, tempted to rest his hand upon the imprint. It was almost double the size of his own hand and exhibited an extra finger.
Who made it? Was this the final mark of a long-lost civilisation? Was it human? Alien? The possibilities were incredible and profoundly unsettling. Academics and archaeologists had human history all wrong: this handprint was the proof.
‘We’ve pinpointed the location of the power signature,’ Malik said. ‘It’s coming from behind the chamber wall.’
Azar eyed the far wall. ‘There’s nothing to suggest any kind of doorway or opening. Are you sure that activating this pedestal will reveal the source?’
‘The handprint clearly indicates what we’re meant to do. We’ve assessed the chamber for booby traps, but the only thing we’ve found is a void beyond the wall.’
Azar raised his hand to the pedestal. ‘Let’s find out what’s in there.’
Malik grabbed his wrist. ‘Wait! Someone else should touch it. There’s plenty of men here willing to take the risk.’
‘No!’
‘Then allow me to do it.’
‘I didn’t come down here to be a spectator to history. This is my discovery.’
Malik backed off. ‘Of course. We don’t understand this ancient technology, but we have a safeguard.’ He waved over a scientist.
A bald, over-anxious scientist laid a webbed template of wires inside the imprint, meticulously filling all six fingers, the thumb and the palm of the enormous hand. ‘We believe the system is designed to respond to the required number of fingers. Six. When you press the haptic sleeve, the sensors will mimic a sixth finger and apply the same pressure as the rest of your hand.’
Azar recognised the technology; an extension of the virtual reality systems he’d been pioneering. Remote archaeology was the way of the future. Once perfected, it would allow him to explore sites all over the world without leaving his base.
The scientist peered over the top of his glasses, brow glistening with sweat. ‘It’s also designed to protect you from any electrical feedback.’ He stepped back. ‘Should that happen, which we don’t expect, but –’
Azar waved the blathering scientist away. ‘Enough!’
Over a decade of exploration and preparation, countless hours of research, and a bottomless hole of funding had led to this moment. Azar positioned his hand over the haptic sleeve, spread his fingers as wide as possible, and lowered them into place. The mesh illuminated in a bright blue glow, but it wasn’t coming from the sleeve. It was the pedestal.
The chamber rumbled like a waking giant. The stonework creaked and groaned. A scientist scrambled for the exit. The soldiers sprang to life, chasing the reverberations through the sights of their submachine guns.
Malik leapt to the pedestal, poised to pull his father free.
‘Leave me!’ Azar commanded, enthralled by the luminous blue energy flowing over his hand. It made the hairs of his arm stand on end.
The adjacent wall split down the centre, sending a wave of escaping seawater over their ankles. The scientists scrambled to lift their sensitive electronics from the deluge. The parting wall revealed a small antechamber dominated by an object of unparalleled beauty.
Azar stared, light-headed with wonder.
The elusive relic had remained undiscovered in all the centuries of Egyptian archaeology: a pharaoh’s crown.
Housed inside a floor-to-ceiling column, the smooth elongated crown exuded a luminous aura. Gentle waves of energy swelled over its pearlescent surface and resonated through the chamber in a rhythmic, hypnotic hum.
Azar withdrew his hand from the haptic sleeve and approached the crown. Its design was identical to the Hedjet, the legendary white crown that represented Upper Egypt. Was this the same crown worn by the pharaohs of ancient Egypt? Did it give them their god-like powers and divinity? How did it end up buried beneath the delta in a crypt with mythical creatures? He was certain all his questions would be answered if he touched it.
The crown was calling to him, drawing him in.
He wanted to understand its power.
Azar grasped the crown. The energy transferred to his hands, causing them to glow. A warm tingling ebbed through his body. It electrified his cells, activated his DNA, and connected his consciousness to a vast, untapped knowledge of the universe; one his mortal body could never attain on its own. The feeling was potent. Intoxicating. A god-like state of consciousness awaited him. But there was something else, something dangerous. The force threatened to untether his mind from his physical body. Azar focused his thoughts, opened his eyes, and pulled the relic from the column.
The crown lost its glow.
His blissful state ended. He gazed at the crown, hungry for more, fighting the temptation to place it upon his head. Imagine what it could do then! But he’d tempted fate too many times today. The crown needed to be studied in the safety of his labs.
‘Are you all right?’ Malik whispered. ‘You were glowing.’
Azar didn’t respond. He didn’t know how. His mind was still reeling from the experience, leaving him disoriented and fragile. A soldier placed an aluminium case on the floor and opened the lid. Azar wasn’t ready to let go of the crown just yet, fearing it might sever his unique metaphysical connection to the relic. ‘I’ll carry it myself.’
‘Are you sure? It’s a risky –’
Azar glared at his son. ‘I’m sure.’
The soldiers escorted Azar and Malik back through the chambers, up the access tunnel, and into the glare of the midday sun. They emerged amidst the remains of a temple courtyard. Unlike below, these columns were decorated with vibrant hieroglyphs and covered in green algae from the Nile. Beyond the courtyard stood huge inflatable barriers to keep the tide from spilling into the excavation. Five hundred metres beyond, their command ship the Khnum sat anchored in the deeper water, complete with helipad and submersibles.
The whir of helicopter blades echoed through the temple.
Azar looked up, expecting to see his personal chopper.
Instead, a civilian helicopter circled overhead. A photographer leant out the open door. His telephoto lens glinted in the sunlight and extended towards them. Azar glanced at the crown and realised his mistake – his discovery was no longer a secret.
The helicopter hovered for a moment and flew off.
‘Send our choppers after them,’ Malik cried. ‘Confiscate their equipment and bring them in for interrogation.’
Azar pushed in front of his son. ‘No! Shoot them down.’
‘What?’
‘No survivors.’
Malik hesitantly unclipped his walkie-talkie. ‘Malik to base. Take down that helicopter.’
A flash of light exploded from Khnum’s stern and streaked across the blue sky, leaving a trail of smoke.
Azar smirked with delight as the surface-to-air missile homed in on its target. The helicopter made a sharp turn, but it was too late. BOOM! A ferocious fireball obliterated the vessel. Flaming chunks of shrapnel crashed into the water. ‘Retrieve the wreckage, cover up any evidence of our involvement, then inform the authorities.’
‘Of course.’
Malik’s response was barely audible, but Azar could hear the remorse in his voice. Empathy was a weakness in their line of work. Emotions hindered decisiveness. Malik’s compassion was inherited from his mother, Feyrouz. But Azar didn’t want to stamp it out of his son altogether, not as he had done to himself. It was the last reminder of her existence; a life he forced himself to forget. He had closed off his own emotions since her death and dived headlong into his business, creating more wealth than a person could spend in a lifetime. Success substituted happiness. Not anymore. The crown had shown him he could have both.
It had to be protected at all costs.
This long-lost crown had the potential to unlock the secrets of the past and set a bold new course for humanity – one that he would control.
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