Know_files/FINGERPRINTS OF THE GODS.pdf - D Ank Unlimited

Chapter 33
Cardinal Points
Graham Hancock – FINGERPRINTS OF THE GODS
Giza, Egypt, 16 March 1993, 3:30 a.m.
We walked through the deserted lobby of our hotel and stepped into the
white Fiat waiting for us in the driveway outside. It was driven by a lean,
nervous Egyptian named Ali whose job it was to get us past the guards at
the Great Pyramid and away again before sunrise. He was nervous
because if things went wrong Santha and I would be deported from Egypt
and he would go to jail for six months.
Of course, things were not supposed to go wrong. That was why Ali was
with us. The day before we’d paid him 150 US dollars which he had
changed into Egyptian pounds and spread among the guards concerned.
They, in return, had agreed to turn a blind eye to our presence during the
next couple of hours.
We drove to within half a mile of the Pyramid, then walked the rest of
the way—around the side of the steep embankment that looms above the
village of Nazlet-el-Samaan and leads to the monument’s north face.
None of us said very much as we trudged through the soft sand just out
of range of the security lights. We felt excited and apprehensive at the
same time. Ali was by no means certain that his bribes were going to
work.
For a while we stood still in the shadows, gazing at the monstrous bulk
of the Pyramid reaching into the darkness above us and blotting out the
southern stars. Then a patrol of three men armed with shotguns and
wrapped in blankets against the night chill came into view at the
northeastern corner, about fifty yards away, where they stopped to share
a cigarette. Indicating that we should stay put, Ali stepped forward into
the light and walked over to the guards. He talked to them for several
minutes, apparently arguing heatedly. Finally he beckoned to us,
indicating that we should join him.
‘There’s a problem,’ he explained. ‘One of them, the captain here, [he
indicated a short, unshaven, disgruntled looking fellow] is insisting that
we pay an extra thirty dollars otherwise the deal is off. What do you want
to do?’ I fished around in my wallet, counted out thirty dollars and
handed the bills to Ali. He folded them and passed them to the captain.
With an air of aggrieved dignity, the captain stuffed the money into his
shirt pocket, and, finally, we all shook hands.
‘OK,’ said Ali, ‘let’s go.’
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