Sphinx Scrolls

By Travis James

Book One of the Thoth Scrolls series: Sphinx Scrolls charts mankind’s journey from hunter gathers to starting to explore space. It tells how the Egyptian god, Thoth, came to Earth to guide mankind’s development. We journey with him and his team from his home world to Earth. And see how the early years tested their abilities to survive on a stone-age world. How the Earth itself, tested their resolves. Then a terrorist act of barbarous proportions leads to the discovery of scrolls that tell the story of mankind’s development by this god like man, from the stars.

The discovery of the library Thoth left under the Sphinx opened up a Pandora’s Box. Other worlds had not survived the opening of the library either by becoming completely subservient to the knowledge or by using it to fight increasing technological wars. The final showdown between science and religion was fought when the scrolls where translated and mankind was faced with the knowledge the god of creation was a simple man on a mission.

Ownership and control of the scrolls became the preoccupation of various churches and groups who sought to control the knowledge they contained. They squabbled and fought, completely unaware the library information was being secretly investigated and released. Answers to mankind’s greatest problems were now in sight but greed and money began the ultimate corruption of science. All the while, completely unaware, mankind was being groomed for a role no one could have foreseen or imagined.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Travis James
• Release date: May 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005689919

Book preview

Preface

The spirit of Mary Lindy Everett, first woman president of the United States of America, looked down upon her lifeless body. She hovered there satisfied with her accomplishments; she had moved man one step closer to peace.

However, she was unaware of the impact her life is to have on the coming chain of events. Events whose effects were to be far greater than any human mind could or would want to imagine.

Chapter 1: Mary Lindy Everett, Earth 2021

LANDMARK AGREEMENT TO BE SIGNED TODAY

Israel and Palestine to sign Ramadan Agreement. Israel to return territories after Palestinian elections on December the 23rd. Palestine will formally recognise Israel’s right to exist.

The Israeli and Palestinian Prime Ministers were smiling as they entered the Paris banquet hall. The crowd stood and let out a roar of applause. Even as they walked to the table, each had thoughts about the turmoil that preceded this day and the threats each had received. Above all, they worried if the extremists would accept this accord. The Israeli Prime Minister knew he could control most of his people, but so far, no Palestinian government had succeeded in controlling the jihadists. Would they accept peace, or would they ignore the accord and continue to attack Israel?

To many, bloodshed was the only way to achieve what they deemed to be Allah’s Will. Pictures of the carnage from last night’s suicide attack flashed though the Israeli Prime Minister’s mind, leaving him with a feeling of dread for the future. This has to stop! He shook his head to clear the thoughts. Behind them the Egyptian and United States Presidents walked; their applause was not as great but still enough to convince the two peace brokers their efforts were well received. The orchestra played the Palestinian national anthem, followed by the Israeli anthem.

President Mary Lindy Everett walked up to the podium while the orchestra was playing. She stood there and thought that even the simple act of the Israelis suggesting the Palestinian anthem be played first was an indication of just how far these two former enemies had come. Mary looked at the two Prime Ministers, and thought, Yes this will work…It has to! Then she thought about the amount of money being secretly promised by the World Bank if these two combatants signed.

She looked around the banquet room. The rich red curtains seemed to ripple as though they were alive; the air seemed electric. Mary shook her head. No, it’s just the excitement of finally getting these two nations to the table. An aide, seeing her shake her head, caught her eye and mouthed the question, Are you OK? She closed her eyes for a second and nodded. The red in the curtains was still rippling; the air had a noticeably light blue tint, almost as though it was full of electricity. No one else seemed to have seen the colours. Her bodyguards were looking in the same direction, but they were not reacting.

Then the memory of her mother’s stroke hit her Oh no, not me too!

Why do you fear the signs from a God who is well pleased? She whipped her head around, but she was alone. A feeling of calmness washed over her.

"Be at peace child; this is a job well done." Again, the voice from the same direction, but again there was no one there.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I, along with President Moswen, am pleased to be able to join you in witnessing this historic signing of the Ramadan Accord. It follows many other attempts at peace in the Middle East, but this has one important difference. Both the Israeli and Palestinian people have endorsed it.

The crowd thundered.

The two Prime Ministers sat at the table as aides slid copies of the accord in front of them. Zuhar looked down at the papers in front of him. Two vertical columns of text, one in Hebrew the other in Arabic. Together they described a way out of the mess that had plagued their countries for decades. He sent a silent prayer – this had to work. He took the pen being offered by his aid and signed. It was done! After they had signed, the aides swapped the documents over and again they signed. Then, as one, they stood and shook hands. Everyone in the great hall stood and applauded. Peace had finally come to the Middle East. Finally, Presidents Everett and Moswen added their signatures.

The party after was a gathering of the world’s heads of state. Everyone congratulated the Prime Ministers and the Presidents for all their hard work. No one mentioned the warnings that Uhud Mujahideen and the other pro-Palestinian terrorist organisations had aired two days ago. Everyone hoped that when the deal was done, the terrorists would see this as the culmination of their struggle and let peace have a chance.

Prime Minister Zuhar stood with two African envoys who were discussing the attributes of a locally grown coffee, but his mind was elsewhere. He knew he was a marked man. Uhud Mujahideen had told him several times that his days would be numbered as soon as he signed the peace accord. Completely ignoring the idle chatter, he walked to a corner of the room and stood still. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his two bodyguards move closer.

"Well, it’s done, for good or bad. Only Allah will decide. I’ve committed myself and Palestine to this path."

****

Mary Lindy Everett laid her head on the pillow and smiled to herself, That will show those stupid bastards in the White House. Her memory wound back to the heated discussions she had with Charles Wineford, her chief advisor on the Middle East. It can’t be done. It's been tried before. Those bastards don’t want peace. His blood gorged head and that ludicrous red wig stared back at her from within her mind. Now it’s done Charlie! You can bite your arse. She smiled to herself; she had accomplished something none of her predecessors had been able to achieve. Then she added And I’m a woman Charles! and quietly chuckled to herself.

As sleep came, a long-forgotten childhood dream, started to replay in her mind. A tall angel stood at the foot of the child’s bed. You chose a difficult path child, but you have been successful. People will remember you for hundreds of years. As the dream played, her fear increased. Sweat began to form on her skin. The dream ended exactly as it had done all those years ago; the angel simply disappeared. The fear subsided. Even now, at her advanced age, she was still scared of angels. Even when she went to church, the carved angels looked menacing to her. With the dream forgotten so many years ago, her analysis could not come up with any reason for this fear.

Her term as president was drawing to a close. She would not re-nominate. She was tired. Too many battles, too many small-minded men who could not see past the fact she was a woman. Now, two months after the signing, things were slowly moving forward in the Middle East. She laid her head on her pillow and sleep came quickly. The angel came back and stood at the foot of her bed. Child, you have completed your task. It’s time to rest.

"You mean peace will finally come to the Middle East?"

"No! Not yet! Man has one more lesson to learn. But come; your task is finished." The angel smiled at her.

"Will man ever find peace?"

Sensing her anxiety, the angel shook its head. "You value too much this life you live. Know, it is one of many score that you will live. Other peoples have found the peace you so earnestly desire, but they have become stagnant and lost their will to live. The universe is littered with the remains of their civilisations. This is not humanity’s destiny. He is an adventure, an enquirer. That is why he is here."

She frowned at the angel in her dream. The way it spoke about the peace man so desperately longed for scared her. The civilisations that had achieved peace had died out. Why? The very thought depressed her. Must man always be at war?

Now she understood why she feared angels; she was about to die. She felt her heart rate climb. There was no pain, just a peacefulness that flooded over her, until finally the middle cerebral artery ruptured, imploding her brain. Seconds later, as her spirit looked down upon her lifeless body, the angel stepped up to her, held out its hand and took hers. Before her flashed everything, she had achieved, her children and their children, the changes she had made to her state and then to the country. Finally, a copy of the accord floated into her vision. You achieved this when so many others have failed. The angel said to her.

"When will we be at peace?"

"Soon. It is this passion that makes you special amongst all the peoples of the universe."

"That we are warlike?"

"No, the very aspects of your character. This passion – this curiosity that leads you to strive."

Fourteen days later the world’s leaders gathered again, but this time to salute the passing of one of the Ramadan Accord architects. As her body made its final journey to the Arlington National Cemetery, thousands lined the road. Most openly grieved her passing but others were secretly rejoicing. In their eyes, she had changed too many things; America must return to its old ways, its old values. Their country still was, in their view, the one world superpower. To the general population she had given her country a new sense of self. She had fought and gained equality for all people while lifting the country out of the malaise that followed the depression. But this had come at the price of commerce losing its place in the hierarchy as a new socialism swept the country. The old order would die hard.

Chapter 2: Beesa Noadah

Mohammed Baja stood in front of the camera and carefully read the speech his commander had given him. It called for a Palestinian homeland now and the destruction of Israel and America. He shook his gun at the camera and shouted, Allah is great.

Beesa Noadah took her place and read her speech. She also called, Allah is great, as she punched her fist into the air. Two more martyrs stood before the camera. The cameraman called them all to stand together. As they shouted in unison, Allah is great, the camera panned across the faces and did not fail to pick up the look of knowingness that comes from a complete and utter belief in the jihad. It was a look that was common to zealots of all faiths just before they committed the most unspeakable atrocities in the name of their God.

The next morning saw Beesa, once more playing her role as a kind, loving teacher in the El-Al-Min Kindergarten. Tomorrow would be a great day for their cause, one more step in the long road to making Palestine a free state again. A thought crossed her mind about the treaty that had been signed and now, just maybe, she did not have to do this. Then she remembered Joseph, their section leader, saying how it was a joke. Israel and the West would find a way to stop the plan. Palestine must have freedom now, not when the West said they could. She dismissed the thought as being unworthy of her.

She looked at the sweet young faces with well-concealed hatred; these Israeli children deserved to die after what their parents had done to her family. A young girl came to her and pulled on her dress, causing her to look down. A flare of hatred almost caused her to smack the child away, but she could not let her true feelings show; she must play the game for one more day.

At home, she did her daily chores; she washed her baby brother and then helped her mother prepare the evening meal. They sat in front of the television and watched the cursed news from Israel her father demanded they watch each night. She nearly choked when her father let out a loud cheer when the Prime Minster of Egypt told a news reporter that the treaty was the best thing to happen to the Middle East. There would be peace. Her father would not understand.

Papa, we need freedom now, not when they say we can have it.

Quiet girl! was all the answer he gave.

But Papa, we are and will always be second-class citizens.

Girl, you don’t understand much. Palestinians will never be second-class people.

But we are if we wait for them. She threw her nose at the TV screen in a sign of disgust.

No girl! He never called her by her name; she was always ‘girl’. Why do you think it's taken so long to get our land back and why do you think they took it in the first place?

He’s an Eli-lover! crossed her mind in disgust. They have taken it that’s all that matters.

Ha! How little you know. He looked at her; she was beginning to become rebellious, not like the daughter he used to have. Or is it that you don’t want to know? A frown momentarily crossed his face as he thought of the two sons he had lost to this madness.

She opened her mouth but thought better of it. She sat there waiting for the proper hour so she could go to her room and watch the Palestinian shows, the ones that told her how glorious it was to die for Allah.

The morning broke early; it was going to be another hot day. She had woken early and spent longer than usual on her prayers and then wrote her remaining brother a letter telling him what she was about to do. She still could not get last night’s dream out of her head. For the last week Azhar, her elder brother, had been appearing in her dreams; he just stood there shaking his head. Last night he walked up to her and said, "These are innocent children; they have no part in our struggle. Killing children is not Islam’s way." But, as always, she would say to herself that she was a Palestinian fighter, a Shah Ida. Preparations had gone too far for her to pull out. Walking around the room, she made sure that nothing on her explosive vest rattled or made a noise. Stopping for a moment, she wondered what it would be like to die like this, but she quickly dismissed this as a weak Western thought. She was a Shah Ida. She was not afraid of death.

She finished dressing and went down for the morning meal; her father had already left for work. She bent over and kissed her mother on the head, bending so her mother did not feel the explosives. Beesa tried to strike up a conversation with her mother, but a sleepless night had left the woman very drowsy. The Noadah house was typical of a labouring family, nothing lavish but always comfortable and loving. Pictures of her two dead brothers hung on the wall opposite where she ate. Her father had always privately disagreed with the boys’ martyrdom, but to his friends and the outside world, he played the proud father who had given two sons to the cause. Now a daughter would be added to that list. But Beesa was sure her death would mean little in this male oriented land.

Only the border checkpoint posed any real danger. She had cultivated a friendship with the usual guards, so she did not expect any trouble there. Her uncle drove as they wound their way along the donkey track that made its way from her settlement to the checkpoint. Every bump made her hold her breath. Instead of the steady flow of cars as they approached the checkpoint there was a jumble of stationary cars. Normally the cars were given a cursory check by the guards and allowed to proceed through; something was wrong. She looked at Bebti, her uncle, with a horrified look, Perhaps they know?

No, they don’t. Perhaps one of the officers has been reprimanded for not being careful enough. Just relax and smile like you always do.

The cars crept forward. The soldiers were searching the cars. Something was wrong; they never searched the cars. Beesa turned to Bebti, What if they find the explosives?

How would they do that? Look at the soldiers; they’re searching the cars, not the people. Relax!

They both sat there in silence as the jumble inched its way forward. Beesa did not see Bebti reach down into the door pocket and put a little black box, with a single switch on it, in his pocket. If they found Beesa’s explosives, he would kill as many of them as he could. They both stared at the soldiers looking for familiar faces, but none of the soldiers Beesa had befriended were there; this was a new squad.

Neither spoke as they watched car after car being searched. Finally, after what seemed hours, they drove in between the lines of Israeli soldiers. An unfamiliar officer ordered them out of the car. Bebti walked closer to Beesa as he wanted to be sure the transmitter would activate the explosives and that he would be killed as well. He did not want to spend the rest of his life in an Israeli jail.

As the soldiers searched their car, the officer studied their papers. You work at the El-Al-Min Kindergarten?

She nodded; too scared to speak in case her voice gave away how scared she was.

My son goes there.

Beesa shot a look at Bebti; she was going to kill this man’s son. A tear started to form, but just in time she reminded herself, he was an Israeli.

Finally given the signal that the soldiers did not find anything, the officer ordered them back into the car and on their way.

Now past the checkpoint, they sped along sealed roads. As the gum trees flicked by, Bebti casually thought to himself that if Israel were to take over Palestine, they would build better roads than the mule tracks they had to use. Several times during their drive to the kindergarten, he asked her if this was really what she wanted. Without thinking, she always replied by saying that this was what Allah wanted. To think about the answer would mean she doubted her actions and she had to be strong, strong for Palestine; her name would go on the honour role of those who had given their life for its freedom.

As she got out of the car, she had an almost overwhelming need to hug her uncle, but that was not done, she was not married to him.

Thank you, Uncle. May Allah walk with you?

May Allah walk with you, my child? Tears started to flow down his cheeks. He was about to lose another member of his family to this insanity.

Be strong Bebti. I will be a Shah Ida. She said the last word with pride, although she knew in her heart that as a woman her name would scarcely warrant a mention. With that she turned and walked towards the kindergarten. Even with the hold up at the checkpoint she still had time to do her usual inspection of the Assembly Hall. Everything was in place.

Mohammed Baja walked up to her. Where have you been? You’re late. He scowled at her.

They searched the cars at the checkpoint. Almost as an apology.

They didn’t find anything? His forcefulness made her nervous.

She shook her head and walked back to the desk to start the morning roll call just as the children began to trickle in. One by one she ticked their names off the list; there would be ninety-six children here today. With each boy, she wondered if this was the child of the officer at the checkpoint.

As the duty teacher, Beesa stood amid her students as they sang their school song. The assembly hall was packed with children and teachers. She looked over to Mohammed Baja, the school handyman. He had introduced her and her brothers to their section commander. He smiled and nodded. Now it was up to him; strange, in this society the man always had the last say even when it came to your own martyrdom. She shook her head slightly to clear the thought.

She raised her fist into the air and began to shout, Allah is great. Allah is great. Allah is … The last thing her mind registered was a violent bump and then flying through the air. Nails and pieces of glass speared out in all directions. The smaller children standing closest to her were picked up by the explosive force and tossed around like rag dolls as the projectiles buried themselves in the soft bodies. Larger children and the teachers standing further back were mown down like hay in a field.

The explosives in the fire extinguishers sheared the roof columns. The expanding ball of superheated gas pushed upwards, lifting the roof off its walls. Dust and flames burst out of the ever-widening gap between the roof and the walls as the roof climbed up into the air. The walls were now free to blow outwards allowing more flames and smoke to billow out. With the pressure beneath dissipated, the roof plummeted down onto the crumbling walls. The weight of the falling roof buckled and bent the fractured walls; they simply folded up, allowing the roof to continue its downward journey to ground level.

Dust billowed up as bits of the building and body parts rained down on the car park surrounding the hall. The flying glass, metal and bricks cut down the few parents who had stopped in the car park to have a quick talk. For many seconds there was utter silence and then the screams of the trapped and dying could be heard.

People rushed out of the neighbouring buildings and started to dig with their bare hands. Many bore cuts and abrasions from glass that had been shattered in their own buildings. Smoke continued to rise out of the building, but by some luck, the building did not catch fire. The billowing dust began to settle turning everything a pale grey colour. People rushed to ring the emergency number to report the explosion; so many the emergency phone number jammed, and it took several minutes for the operators to clear the confusion and get a concise picture of what had just happened.

Ambulances and fire engines rushed to the scene only to be confronted by a lingering cloud of grey dust and a building that was less than quarter its original height. People were everywhere, trying to dig with anything they could lay their hands on; it was chaos. Police tried to restore some semblance of order, but as soon as they moved one group away, another took its place. The screams and calls for help were made even worse by the fact that everyone knew these were innocent children.

More than one fought back tears at the knowledge that his or her child was inside this crumpled mess. Soldiers arrived and started to create some sort of order. One by one the children’s bodies were brought out. A total of thirty-four children and teachers had died and over sixty were injured. Cars and trucks ferried the injured to hospital. The dead were laid out in rows in the car park, coats and pieces of cloth thrown over them to cover the injuries. Families started to come and soon scores of hysterical family members began to block the road as they searched for their children.

The last two martyrs were cleaners at the local hospital; they went about their normal duties. The first injured had not arrived yet. They moved about in a surreal atmosphere, knowing that in less than an hour this place would be flooded with victims, their parents along with doctors and nurses conscripted from other hospitals and private practices. Reporters would come to tell the story of the Allah’s revenge. Each time the phone rang they looked up to see the look on the face of the emergency room receptionist.

Finally, the phone call they were expecting came through; the emergency receptionist put the phone down. Her face went white. All her strength drained from her, but she knew she had to act quickly. She stood up and found her legs would not work, but she willed them to move. She struggled to the side of the partition so everybody could hear her; in a voice completely bereft of emotion, The bastards have bombed the El-Al-Min Kindergarten. At least forty dead, and as many wounded…mostly chi…children. Having delivered her message, she sank to her knees; her child was there today. For one minute there was absolute quiet in the Emergency Room as people tried to assimilate what she had said. Now the doctors were issuing orders; long practised procedures were being swung into action. The two cleaners smiled and went about their work as each sent a silent prayer of praise to Allah. They knew the victims would arrive in less than half an hour, but they would wait for at least two hours until the bulk of the parents, officials, emergency workers and press would be in the hospital.

Time seemed to crawl for the two cleaners as they waited for the victims to arrive. Now three hours later, there were people everywhere; the Emergency waiting room was packed but people still tried to push their way in. Above the shouts and general confusion, the wails of hysterical parents pierced the air. Reporters and their cameramen were elbowing their way through the crowd trying to get a grip on the catastrophe. To add to the confusion security officers were yelling and pushing the crowd around as they tried to maintain some semblance of order and clear a path so the orderlies could wheel in the never-ending stream of injured. The two cleaners busied themselves by moving things around so more people could pack into the room. Darius nodded to the other and they pushed themselves towards the centre of the crowd.

The twin explosions threw bodies up into the air and across the floor of the waiting room; body parts were thrown through the shattered windows. Within seconds, remote circuits ignited the explosives the pair had hidden in fire extinguishers. Again, doctors and their patients were tossed about like rag dolls as the explosions ripped through the examination cubicles. The heat from the explosion melted plastic bottles of petrol secreted in the ceiling; the petrol dropped down on the crowd and immediately ignited. The place became an inferno as more of the plastic petrol bombs ruptured spilling burning petrol on to the crowd below. Smoke and toxic chlorine gas from burning plastics billowed up the stairwells, choking both patients and staff as it made its way up through the hospital floors. The air conditioning unit picked up this deadly mixture of gases and faithfully delivered it to every room in the hospital.

Chapter 3: Terrorists

HUNDREDS DEAD AS PALESTINIAN TERRORISTS BOMB KINDERGARTEN AND HOSPITAL

Palestinian terrorists detonated explosives in the El-Al-Min kindergarten, killing an estimated forty children and their teachers. Later explosions destroyed the emergency section of the Tel-Aviv General Hospital.

While the world’s papers called the bombings an outrage, the Uhud Mujahideen leader drank whisky with the section commander. A victory to surpass all others. His eyes glistened as he recounted how the Israeli announcer had almost cried as he described the carnage and called this humanity's darkest day. Over two hundred hated Israelis dead and many more expected to die from their wounds. Palestine must be granted its freedom now, not in twelve months.

He sat back and tried to visualise what it must have been like in the assembly hall and later at the hospital, so many of those bastards dead and suffering. Even now, he was not able to accept that this was not about Palestine, but more about the sheer love of murdering Israelis. He was proving once again his power over them. Next, he would send his men to America. It was their turn to suffer again.

Emergency meetings were held in Israel and America. The Ramadan Accord was well and truly in tatters. The Israeli people were demanding retribution; the common people were demanding the use of nuclear weapons. The United Nations sent envoys to Israel to try to stop the use of nuclear weapons. While the Arab community spoke as one in their condemnation of the killing of children, the Islamic League warned Israel that the use of a nuclear weapon against their brothers in Palestine would mean an all-out Middle East war that would escalate to a war between Muslims and Christians throughout the world.

Prime Minister Zondek had no choice; the Knesset had demanded immediate action. Tanks rolled from Israel into Palestine and into towns reported to be terrorist strongholds. The villages where Beesa and her fellow terrorists came from were prime targets. Her father had tried to reason with the soldiers, but they could only see the wholesale murder she had caused. Her parents were given five minutes to come out of the house before three tank shells reduced it to a pile of rubble.

Other houses, chosen at random, were blown apart; men of all ages were lined up against a town wall and told to strip. Many carried bleeding wounds and bruising from rifle butts. The men’s clothes were taken away and burnt; they were then marched around the town naked. Signs were hung on several saying, I supported the killing of innocent children. The Israeli soldiers wanted to do more than just shame these men, but they were under strict orders not to do anything the outside world could condemn. Weeks later, the anger at this senseless murder of innocent children was still percolating around the world.

Unknown to all those on the ground, one of the most secret American spy agencies was moving a satellite over Palestine. As it flew over Egypt, a stray pulse turned the microwave emissions camera on, and it recorded a series of microwave bursts as it passed over Egypt. The satellite was instructed to scan the Middle East looking for any sign of nuclear emissions or anything else that could be deemed useful in their hunt for the terrorist headquarters or arms stockpile. Meanwhile on the ground, the hunt for the Uhud Mujahideen leaders intensified. Hundreds of suspects were rounded up by the armed forces. As this happened the Palestinian people forgot about the dead children and hospital workers and complained to the world community about the unnecessary cruelty the Israeli soldiers were showing by incarcerating innocent men.

Chapter 4: Sphinx

Jo, look at this! Analyst Herman pointed out a luminous spot just under the front left paw of the Sphinx.

Think it’s a nuclear weapon? answered Jo. They had spent far too many hours analysing photos from the satellite; the fatigue was causing their minds to wander.

Give it up Herman. We need a break. She got up and found all the sore points in her back. Let’s tackle it again tomorrow; we’re not getting anywhere tonight.

Despite their efforts over the coming months, they found no useful data that could lead them to stockpile of weapons. At last, the photos and files were placed in a filing cabinet in the Middle East room of the bureau.

Attendances at Friday prayers had fallen dramatically as Muslims the world over were shocked into appraising how their concept of Islam stood up against the wanton and premeditated killing of so many innocent children. The Twin Towers of New York had been different; that had been aimed at the financial section of New York and the majority of victims were adults, but this bombing was purposely and deliberately aimed at very young children.

One man kneeled in the mosque as his cleric glorified the killings as a great day for Islam and a new push to free Palestine. It was too much for him. He stood and shouted, We didn’t have to kill those children; this is not our way.

They were Israeli, someone else shouted back.

Yes, but they were children, tears began to gather in his eyes.

We want our land now, not when the Americans tell us we can have it, another replied.

Oh, you fool! We asked for that date. I know I was part of the negotiating team. We wanted nine months so we could plan the election and organise how we would allocate the land and houses. More tears now ran down his face. Do none of you read the papers? Don’t you think? All you do is follow blindly. Now the world sees all Muslims as child killers. We killed over fifty children and teachers and you stand here and praise this act. He was almost sobbing.

We are fighting for our land! This is a jihad. We will do whatever is necessary to free our country, the Imam responded.

We had our land on the terms we wanted, and we asked for that time frame. Now that stupid bitch has stopped everything. Only Allah, blessed be his name, knows when and if the handover will occur.

Now the world knows we are serious. We want our land back now, the first man shouted back, full of pride.

Look what they did to our houses, how many they destroyed, someone else shouted.

His shoulders slumped forward; he knew he was fighting a losing battle. They would never understand. Why is it that we never remember that we are the first to throw the stones at the Israeli troops? We are the first to fire rockets into their settlements. We are the ones who send suicide bombers into their towns. All we remember is that they fight back. And now on the eve of getting what we want, we sent that cursed.... He looked down in shame and shook his head in disbelief. We only ever remember what we want to remember; we take no responsibility for our actions. All we can do is condemn them when they strike back. The man stood still for several seconds, tears running down his face. He looked around at the men he had prayed with for so many years and asked for guidance and then he knew what he had to do. With Allah’s grace I reject this form of Islam and all its barbarity. May Allah forgive all those who believe this was done in his name? He turned and walked out of his mosque.

The cleric shouted at him to stop this foolishness and return. But even as he walked out other men secretly admired his strength, his inner knowing and his ability to stand up for what he believed.

Police Officer Mahwatt was assigned to check houses for anything suspicious; his job was to search every house for explosives or anything else of concern. Even though he was Palestinian, he held no great feeling for the Uhud Mujahideen and the other organizations. Their methods left him wondering about their true intentions. Although he realised the local people saw the police as Israeli functionaries, he wished they could understand that he was only carrying out orders. They did not realise he was only following the orders of the Palestinian government that wanted the world to think it was doing everything it could to dismantle the anti-Israeli organizations. He knew he would never find anything; sympathisers within the police force would always warn of a pending search.

Two more houses and he would be finished for the day and then he could go and have a shower and a coffee. He knocked on the door and waited. Nothing happened. He knocked harder. Finally, a bearded man came to the door reeking of alcohol.

Something clicked in Mahwatt’s brain. Are you Ahmad Samir Omar? This man looked just like the head of the local Uhud Mujahideen organisation.

The man looked down his nose at the police officer. And why would an Eli-lover want to know that?

Are you Ahmad Samir Omar? Mahwatt asked again.

The bearded man looked him in the eye and spat in his face, but before he could close the door, the police officer had his foot there.

Are you Ahmad Samir Omar?

Fuck off asshole! I won’t speak to the likes of you. By now his head was telling him all about the whisky he had consumed last night. The headache was beginning to get worse. This wretched Eli-lover was not making it any better.

He leaned up against the doors and held his head in his hands. Piss off w ... Before he could finish Mahwatt lunged at the door sending them both tumbling down the hallway.

For the sake of Allah, get off me. Don’t you know who I am?

Are you Ahmad Samir Omar? asked Mahwatt again as he stood up and looked down at the man lying spreadeagled on his back.

Yes, by Allah’s grace, I am. He looked up hoping the police officer would accept his authority in Uhud Mujahideen. Now in Allah’s name, GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!

The police officer just stood there and glared at him.

Then you are the leader of Uhud Mujahideen? The day had been a long one and too many people had spat in his face. Now he had found the one person he hated more than the Israeli Prime Minister.

Mahwatt looked down, slowly pulled out his gun and put it over the prostrate man’s left kneecap. The bullet showered blood, bone and sinew over the floor. The man screamed.

You stupid arsehole. We could be halfway along to getting a free Palestinian state, but you had to send that cursed bitch to blow up the kindergarten. Now the world thinks of us as child killers. May Allah have mercy on your putrid soul? With that he moved the gun to the other knee and blew that to pieces. Again, the man screamed and cursed.

I did it for Palestinian freedom.

Crap! We had our freedom. We could have had our own state by year’s end and now it’s all stopped thanks to you.

You don’t understand we had ...

Oh, I understand. This has nothing to do with freedom; it's all about killing Israelis, about revenge. Mahwatt walked further into the house, but there was no one else home.

Pity! I was hoping to show you how it felt to have your children die, just like mine did at El-Al-Min.

They were casualties of war. The Uhud Mujahideen leader was beginning to think there was a way out of this, if he could just get the officer to see that it had to be done.

Bull-shit they were killed by you; you blood crazed, stupid, crazy man. Tears started to flow down his face as images of his now dead child came to torment him once more.

But we wouldn’t be where we are now without the bloodshed and sacrifice. You should be proud your children died for Palestine.

May Allah prepare a special spot in Jahannam for you? The final bullet shattered the Uhud Mujahideen Leader's skull, leaving brains and blood flowing all over the floor.

The following day Mahwatt led his section leader back to the house. Ahmad’s body lay just where he had left it; obviously, no one dared to call at that house. The pair searched the house and uncovered plans for El-Al-Min and future suicide raids in Israel, USA and Egypt.

As the search continued, the Mahwatt came across a file that contained all the names of past and present people who supported the Uhud Mujahideen leaders and a list of those who had trained to be martyrs. He did not hand this last list to his section leader. He kept it, hoping that the suicide bombings would stop. However, one more suicide bombing in a crowded train station crystallised his decision. Over the following two weeks, he visited each of those people and killed them with a single shot to the head. It would not be until he had killed all fourteen that he walked into his commanding officer’s office, handed over his revolver, and offered himself up for court martial.

****

Despite warnings of more conflict or even another Israeli - Palestinian war, the world’s anger pushed the peace accord along. No one wanted these deaths to destroy this chance of peace. So exactly one year after the bombing, the presidents of Israel and Palestine stood on the grassed area that was once the site of the El-Al-Min kindergarten and shook hands. Palestine had regained its territories. A tall obelisk reminiscent of those outside the temple at Karnack was planned to commemorate those who had died that fateful day and to celebrate man’s ability to overcome hatred.

Chapter 5: Microwave Images

A further three years would pass before the existence of the satellite microwave images became known again. With their girlfriends off to the movies, Herman and Jason had commandeered Jason’s lounge with a couple of good scotches to watch the World Cup final. The photos came to Herman’s, now none too sober mind, when Jason mentioned reading a piece in one of Edgar Cayce’s prophesies about a vast store of information being hidden under the Sphinx. The pair discussed the possibility while the adverts interrupted the game. But, it was blown away when the Korean team netted the deciding goal in a very close final.

****

Jason was not a believer in prophecies. He considered himself a no-nonsense man who dealt with cold facts, although even he would admit that his specialty, prehistoric archaeology, was often based more on myths than hard evidence. Now a strange dream was recurring every night, something to do with a strange glow in some photos and a goal being kicked by the Korean football team. He pieced it together; he rang Herman to ask him about the photos and if he still had them. Initially Herman denied the existence of the photos, trying to put it down to idle curiosity based on the consumption of far too many drinks. Jason persisted; he knew he was not that drunk and, he distinctly remembered Herman saying the photos existed and how he and his supervisor had wondered if it was a nuclear weapon.

Three days later, he sat with a very nervous Herman in a backstreet café drinking coffee and looking at the photos, they turned out to be a series of six, each showing the Sphinx as it moved under the satellite microwave imaging cameras. Each photo had the same illuminated area beneath the front left paw. They were taken by the most secret of all the satellites and the disclosure of its existence alone would have sent Herman to jail for twenty years or more. He did not dare contemplate what he would get for actually showing them to someone outside the intelligence community. Despite all the arguments Jason could muster about needing to examine the photos, Herman refused to hand them over. He would not even allow Jason to touch them for fear his fingerprints would indicate someone else had been handling them. Someone in the office had said that security often looked at the photos and checked the fingerprints.

The meeting was unexpectedly terminated when the sound of a police car racing by with its siren wailing got the better of Herman’s already paranoid fear. Herman was reduced to playing the worried saboteur; he left the café via the toilet door and drove home the long way, dropping into his mother’s place for a very brief chat. Now if anybody asked where he had been, he could say he had seen his mother; the polygraph would not register that as a lie.

Chapter 6: Jason and Malgosia, Earth 2024

Jason sat alone amongst the noise of the women chatting about their latest lovers or the exploits of their children, punctuated by the screams of kids playing hide and seek around the tables. He was tempted to just leave this alone and go back to chasing the mythical tribe of white people who were supposed to have lived in the Samoan Islands. He tried to think about the latest clues for their existence, but try as he might, his thoughts were broken by quick flashes of the photos and a name, Edgar, Edgar somebody. Somehow, the white tribe seemed to lose its importance; these photos were far more important. Herman was gone; he doubted he would ever see the photos again.

The Internet had hundreds of pages about the Sphinx, its supposed age and the library beneath its paws. Dozens of books had been written about pre-Egyptian civilizations. While most fell into, what he considered to be, the hair brained New Age habit of taking one simple fact and exploding it into a completely new theory, about everything from ancient maps to a new birthplace for humanity or even aliens being responsible for the transport of large stone artefacts. A scant few held any grains of truth. Some were even brave enough to raise questions and point out that no explanation existed as to how or why the Sphinx and other large monuments around the world existed.

He also managed to find web pages that dealt with the numerous readings by Edgar Cayce concerning the Sphinx library and its prophesized discovery prior to the end of the twentieth century. Further investigation on the internet showed pages dealing with the tunnels and graves underneath the Giza Plateau. The fact that tunnels had been discovered, some with sarcophagi many meters below the surface, made Jason think again about the veracity of the Casey readings. Several eminent Egyptologists described burial wells where the bodies of whole families or groups were interred in niches cut into the walls of rooms dug deep below the surface. Slowly a grain of truth began to show through all the hype. Several fringe groups had incorporated the tunnels and their supposed links to extra-terrestrials and advanced civilizations into their belief systems. Some web articles went as far as suggesting the plateau was riddled with tunnels both natural and manmade and then complaining that the Egyptian authorities were keeping all tunnel research secret. Still sceptical about the possible truth of these readings by Edgar Cayce, Jason had his archaeology students write a paper on the Giza Plateau and the tunnels.

It was not until one of his students submitted a paper linking the cycles of ages as described in the Indian Vedas with the possible existence of an advanced