Translated from the original German version by
Vernon D. Cook
Preface
About Hannah Peters
Prelude
Dedicatory
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Thanks
Epilogue
Author
One of the driest areas on our planet.
A landscape full of extremes.
A world full of miracles …
The Sahara. Nine million square kilometers of sand, rock and silence. The native Tuareg say that Allah removed everything superfluous from it so that man would not recognize the true nature of things. They call the Sahara the sea without water. But as lyrical as the title may sound, it is not entirely accurate. Recent research has shown that deep within the Sahara lies one of the greatest natural wonders of all time. A huge reservoir of free-running fresh water, which is embedded in tunnels, caves and deposits. The country of Libya has already begun to tap into this reserve and build the largest artificial river in human history. The project is known as GMMR – Great Man-Made River (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Great_Man-Made_River), and it is considered to be the eighth wonder of the world, although many geologists have doubts about its long-term viability.
The water that is pumped to the surface there comes from a time when the land was still green and fertile. A time when there were lakes that were more than a hundred thousand square kilometers in size and on whose shores elephants, giraffes and lions lived. Then, some six thousand years ago, the climate began to change. The rain dried up and the land became barren. Left behind were endless expanses of rock and sand, sprinkled with a few oases. How did this all come about and how is it possible that despite the drought, there is still so much fresh water deep down?
That is not the only puzzle the Sahara affords us. There is another that is every bit as strange.
The Sahara has been inhabited by humans since earliest times. Hunters, farmers and ranchers came and went, leaving their mark in the form of rock paintings and engravings. But nine thousand years ago, and virtually overnight, a culture emerged that left images of such perfection and strangeness that they are still a mystery to scientists today. Huge floating figures with antenna-like appendages, helmets, spikes and spacesuits, which the famous African explorer Henri Lhote called Great Martian Gods. But what do the images represent? Are they masks, are they gods, or perhaps even aliens? Where did these people come from, where did they obtain their drawing skills and, above all, where did they go? One thing is clear: this culture disappeared as quickly as it appeared. Even today no one knows where they went or why no trace of their whereabouts was left to subsequent epochs after their disappearance. The only thing we have left of them are their staggeringly strange works of art.
When I began my study of the Sahara, I had no idea that I would someday be writing a novel about it. I was fascinated by the beauty of the landscape and its people, and their ability to survive in such harsh climatic conditions. When I came across the puzzling images mentioned above, a thought began to form. What if the two phenomena were linked together? What if they were just two parts of a single mystery, a riddle that transcends our imagination? As a writer, you have to ask such questions in order to stimulate the reader’s imagination and inspire him or her to look at the world with open eyes. It’s just a question of getting the right mix of fact and fiction …
Most of the places described in this book actually exist, as do the works of art that are mentioned.
For more detailed information on the topic of the Sahara or rock art, please contact the German Frobenius Institute of the Goethe University Frankfurt or Gesellschaft Stonewatch.
I met her for the first time, in our small apartment in west Stuttgart, surrounded by pictures, travelogues and books of art, in the autumn of 2001. At the time, I was working full-time as an illustrator, making cover art for Heyne Publishing, non-fiction young adult books for Ravensburger and cover paintings for the Fantasy Productions series The Black Eye. I had had the idea of writing a novel for quite some time and even had two, albeit unpublished, manuscripts in my drawer. Always in search of new material, she suddenly came into my life.
She was around forty years-old, of medium build, wore glasses, had wild brown hair and a mischievous smile.
She sauntered along my bookshelf, letting her fingers glide over my National Geographic collection. “Why don’t you write an archaeological novel?” She asked. “You could travel to exotic places, discover foreign cultures and go in search of legendary mysteries. You’ve obviously been obsessed with the idea for several years. The whole thing smacks of excitement, love and adventure. It would make a great story line. If you want, I’ll help you.”
I looked at her and hesitated. She looked so different from those oversized Hollywood legends like Indiana Jones or Lara Croft, who used weapons and explosives to break into ancient temples and seize their secrets. A rather thin, inconspicuous woman, but one who had an insatiable lust for adventure and uncovering secrets. And apparently hiding some secrets of her own. Barbs that life had dealt her, old wounds that had never healed.
I decided to take her up on her suggestion and accompany her on one of her expeditions. What did I have to lose? After all, at least I wouldn’t have to venture into unknown territory alone.
In Medusa, she carried me away into the Sahara, into the land of the Tuareg, the sandstone mountains and rock paintings. She showed me places that I had never heard of before and inspired me with hair-raising and life-threatening adventures.
When the novel appeared in 2004 and jumped to the bestseller list with over 150,000 copies sold, I realized that our little flirtation had become much more than that. Hannah had taken me by the hand and shown me the way. Now this was starting to get serious. A true relationship. A long-distance relationship – after all, there were other novels to write – but at least it was a relationship.
Four more novels followed at varying intervals and our close relationship continued, only to have her leave me shortly thereafter for an indefinite period of time. On and Off, as is often the case with modern couples.
In Nebra (2009) she invited me to discover the wonders of early European cultures, more precisely, the mystery of the Nebra Sky Disk and the Witch Cult of Brocken. After that, it became even more dangerous. Valhalla (2014) forced me to travel to a place I never would have visited under normal circumstances – the world of eternal ice, freezing cold and months of polar nights. It was comforting to know that Hannah suffered just as much as I during that time. Neither one of us was made for such temperatures. We long for warmth, light and wide-open spaces. Fortunately, this adventure ended well, without frozen limbs or any other permanent damage. Then came Babylon (2016) and Wicca (2019). The first took place in the area of the Iraqi-Syrian border, in the heart of the terrorist organization of the Islamic State, and origin of the Tower of Babel, and the second was a scavenger hunt across Honduras and Jordan to the southern coast of England in search of the Tree of Life and the secret of eternal life.
After that, Hannah said goodbye to me and went off on some new hair-raising adventure, leaving me behind to return to my work. Because that’s the way she is: she goes whenever she feels like it and she comes back when I least expect it.
On and Off.
Fifteen years have gone by. For me. How many has that been for Hannah? I have no idea because there is a difference between real time and novel time. For some reason, time goes by differently between the covers of a book. Sometimes faster, sometimes slower – there doesn’t seem to be any set rules.
Hannah has aged little in those years. She is now with John and has a daughter. She has matured, is more complex and smarter, and yet she still looks the same as when we first met. With that mischievous look on her face, the dusty clothes and a map in her hand.
I do know one thing for sure: the next time she walks through my door and smiles at me, it will be like it was back then. I’ll become restless and confused. I’ll get a tingling sensation and a thirst for adventure will come over me and I’ll feel an irresistible urge to stop everything and follow her. It doesn’t matter where, the adventure is what counts.
Because that’s what binds us, Hannah and me.
And now I invite you to follow Hannah on her first adventure. The present version has been slightly revised by me. The story is of course basically the same, but the narrative has been linguistically smoothed out and, in some places, its content and chronology have been adapted to subsequent adventures. Have fun with Medusa.
Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody.
Mark Twain
Thou canst not stir a flower without troubling of a star.
Francis Thompson
For Bruni,
in deep gratitude
for all those wonderful years …
The gravel crunched under her boots as she walked up the dry river bed. The morning dew was glistening on the tips of the dried grass. The call of a goat echoed mournfully through the depths of the nameless valley. An occasional fly buzzed through the air, searching for shelter from the encroaching heat of the day.
Hannah Peters peered over the rim of her glasses into the cobalt blue sky. Not the slightest cloud was visible. Although the sun was already high enough to cast shadows on the rock walls to her left, the air was still carrying the cold of the night with it. But in two hours there would hardly be any shade at all down here. Then the air would begin to shimmer and every step would become a torment. By then she must have reached the designated area. A steep precipice at the confluence of three wadis, which the natives simply called dry valleys because water only occasional flowed there. The terrain looked ideal on her map. It was as if it had been made just for rock paintings.
Hannah rummaged around in her backpack looking for her watch. She ran across her passport, which wasn’t much use to her here, before she finally found it. It was already past seven o’clock. Damn. She had hoped to have been underway for over an hour by now, but she had to go and drink that date wine last night. Her tongue was already sticking to the roof of her mouth, but it was too early to take a drink from her canteen. It was always a good idea to ration her water, a lesson she had painfully learned previously. She also wanted to keep moving so as to avoid the midday heat of the sun.
She was just about to increase her pace when she heard a strange snort that didn’t seem to fit in the silence of the rocky valley: the snort of a large animal.
Hannah came around a ledge and stopped dead in her tracks. Not more than fifty meters away stood an addax. Hannah had once seen a herd of these animals, but that had been out on the wide-open plains of the desert. She had never heard about individual animals coming this far into the mountains. It was a buck, with gray-brown fur and twisted horns that were at least a meter long. A beautiful animal.
It was holding its nose in the air and testing the wind. Its flank was trembling as if the animal was under a great deal of strain. What was it so afraid of? Hannah let her gaze wander over the area but couldn’t see anything. She also knew that it was dangerous to be so close to a nervous animal. Slowly, so as to not frighten it, she backed away, her eyes scanning the surrounding rocks for shelter.
Suddenly she heard some falling rocks. The buck lifted its head and looked nervously around. A fearful groan came from its throat. It reared up and took off at breakneck speed. Hannah froze. The antelope was thundering towards her at a full gallop, its sharp horns lowered. Like a freight train, shot through her head. She was completely unprotected. There were no rocks she could hide behind and no trees she could climb. Her pulse quickened. She swore she could feel the hooves shaking the ground. She opened her mouth to scream, but her voice got stuck in her throat. She was so stunned that all she could do was stare at the terrible horns, when all of a sudden, something knocked the antelope’s legs out from under it. The massive body came crashing to the ground, where it slid in a cloud of dust until it lay at her feet. It seemed like an eternity before Hannah could breathe again.
The buck was now lying motionless at her feet. Trembling, she took a few steps back and wrapped her arms around herself, unable to comprehend what had just happened. She hadn’t heard a shot or anything else that would have caused the buck to fall. It wasn’t until the dust settled that she noticed two sand-colored dogs crouching next to the antelope. They must have run up so fast that she hadn’t noticed them coming. Or was it the awful dread that had clouded her vision? They were large animals with long snouts and short fur. One of them had caught the antelope by its hind leg and was holding onto it with its huge teeth. The other one had its teeth in the animal’s neck. Threatening growls were issuing from their throats.
Hannah stumbled back and dropped onto a flat rock. With trembling fingers, she reached into her backpack and pulled out her canteen. The cool water did her good. She closed her eyes for a moment and felt the weakness begin to fade. When she looked up again, she saw a Targi, a Tuareg man, standing in front of her. His eyes were shining from under the blue veil that was covering his face.
“Ça va?” His voice was full and clear. He spoke perfect French. Too stunned to be afraid, she nodded and forced a smile.
“Oui. Tout va bien. Merci” She wiped the dust off her face. The Targi nodded. Then he turned and went over to the antelope. Only then did she realize that the dogs belonged to him. With a sign from their master, they released the animal and lay down in the gravel a few meters away and watched expectantly. Up on the ridge, Hannah spotted two horses, magnificent, pitch-black animals. They were excitedly stamping their hooves as if anxiously awaiting their master’s orders. Hannah’s gaze wandered over to the antelope again and she was surprised by what she saw. The animal had been wounded in the fall, but it was still alive. It was lying indifferently on its side in shock. The Targi calmingly caressed the animal’s snout for a while. Then he gently turned the animal until it was lying on its back. It was amazing to watch how the animal allowed it all to happen without resisting. It simply lay motionless, staring into the air, legs bent.
Hannah held her breath as the Targi took out a knife. With an almost tender gesture, he opened up its belly just below the rib cage. He then brought his right hand out from the protection of his robe and inserted it into the body of the animal, just where the heart must be. Hannah watched the scene, fascinated. There was hardly any bleeding. The antelope’s eyes were peaceful, almost as if it were confidently awaiting its own death. There was nothing to indicate that the animal’s life was forcibly being taken from it. The Targi squeezed the heart, slowing its beat and eventually bringing it to a standstill. Hannah watched in amazement as the antelope’s body went limp and its eyes dulled.
With skillful movements, the Targi cut the insides out of the animal and stuffed most of them in a leather bag. He tossed pieces of the intestines to the dogs, who zeal accepted their share of the spoils with great. He cut two pieces from the kidneys, one for himself and another for Hannah. When she hesitated, he nodded encouragingly at her. “Here, take it. It’s good for the nerves. Strengthens the blood.”
She knew it would be an insult to reject the gesture so she reached for the thumb-sized piece and stuck it in her mouth. It was warm and had an iron taste to it, but it was surprisingly tender. Nevertheless, her stomach rebelled. She swallowed down the entire piece of raw meat, trying to suppress her rising nausea. The Targi stood up and removed the veil that had been protecting his face from the sand and sun. Hannah was surprised to see the face of an old an. He was perhaps fifty or sixty years-old. The hair that framed the weathered face was already beginning to gray.
“Kore. Kore Cheikh Mellakh, from the Kel Ajjer tribe,” he said, stretching out his hand. They touched hands and then both brought their right hand over their heart. Hannah had lived long enough in Algeria to know the customs.
“Hannah Peters. I’m an archaeologist studying and cataloging stone age rock paintings.”
“Ah, the woman who speaks with the kel essuf. I’ve heard of you.”
“I hope it was only good things.”
“To be honest, the men around here think you’re crazy. Any woman who would go around these parts all alone must be crazy, they say. No Tuareg would willingly go where the ancients dwell.”
“But I’m not alone. My coworkers are less than a day away in base camp. Besides, I’ve been studying the ancients, as you call them, for nearly ten years.”
“Strange we haven’t met before. I come back to this place every two or three years to hunt.”
“It’s probably because I’ve been working in other areas up till now. This is the first time I’ve been in Sefar.” She looked at him curiously. His feet were in ornately painted and embroidered sandals. Around his neck he wore a traditional gris-gris, an amulet made from various small leather containers in which the Tuareg carried fetishes and suras from the Koran to protect them from the spirits of the desert.
Hannah got an idea. “Perhaps you could help me out,” she said. “I was on my way to a certain spot.” She pulled the map from her backpack. Then she pointed to the spot she had marked. “Are you familiar with this place? Are there any kind of drawings or etchings there? Rock paintings or anything like that?”
The Tuareg stepped closer. His eyes betrayed uncertainty. Hannah pointed to another spot. “See. We’re here. This is the ravine we’re in and the steep rise to the right and left is the plateau.” She watched the man. He slowly began to understand. He ran his cracked fingers over the paper while studying the map. “That place over there?” He shook his head. “No, there’s nothing there. You should save yourself the trouble.”
Hannah was disappointed. All this way for nothing. Today was just not her day. The man returned to his work on the antelope while Hannah folded the map. He whistled for his horse and, with a great deal of effort, put the heavy body on the back of the packhorse and hung the leather pouches on the saddle. Then he mounted his riding horse. “Don’t be disappointed. The plateau still has many secrets for people such as yourself. I put you in danger and to make up for it, I’d like to show you something that may interest you.” He held out his hand.
Hannah hesitated. She wasn’t sure whether she should accept the invitation. However, the Tuareg were normally very accommodating toward women. It was the women who took care of the camp during the long months that the men were away. They therefore had a lot of influence and the men respected them. But there were always black sheep even among the Tuareg.
“I don’t know. I need water and my coworkers are waiting for me.”
“Water is no problem. Come. You won’t regret it.”
Something in the man’s eyes convinced her of his honest intentions. She took the outstretched hand and swung into the saddle behind him.
An hour later, she was sitting under the fluttering roof of a khaima holding a glass of tea in her hand. The inhabitants brewed Thé de Tuareg from green balls of leaves. It was sweet and strong. Hannah liked the drink. Its preparation was laborious, but time had no meaning in a Tuareg camp.
She looked around while sipping on her tea. She loved the Sahara. She was in one of the most beautiful places she could ever imagine. Tassili N’Ajjer, the plateau of rivers, as the Tuareg called it. A plateau in southeaster Algeria, eroded by wind and water, as untouched and pristine as it was in the beginning of creation. South of their present location lay two mountain ranges, the Hoggar and the Aïr. Both were dark and volcanic; places straight out of Dante’s Inferno. In the west as in the east, there was only sand. Endless sand. Oceans of sand, waves that could reach a height of two hundred and fifty meters. It was the realm of the Ergs, the largest sand desert in the world. No human being could survive there, except the Tuareg. Compared to this desert, the Tassili N’Ajjer looked like the Garden of Eden. Here there were springs, cypress groves and date palms, and here and there one encountered snakes, goats or fennecs. Even birds lived here. Crows, vultures and even owls. The Tassili N’Ajjer was like an island on which the creatures of the Sahara were protected from flood of sand.
Hannah watched as Kore returned to his antelope. Four skillful cuts around the ankles and another on the skull. He then blew air under the skin with a special air pump and pulled the pelt off like a glove. He carefully hung it out to dry and began to cut the antelope up into smaller pieces, stowing them in leather bags. Meanwhile, he repeatedly tossed small pieces to the dogs, but never enough for them to get full. They shouldn’t be allowed to lose their hunting instinct. When Kore had finished his work and it was clear that there was nothing more for the both of them, they retreated to the rocks to hunt for themselves.
“So,” he said, turning to his guest after his work was done. “Please excuse my rudeness, but I had to take care of the meat first so it wouldn’t spoil. It can cure in the bags now until I return to my camp.”
Hannah waved her hand. “That’s understandable. Incidentally, you have good helpers. What kind of dogs are they?”
Kore smiled. “Mongrels. They’re the best hunters. They’re always hungry, never satisfied. They’ve never lost their hunting instinct. Besides, they also know that they shouldn’t kill the prey. They are very docile.” He sat down and poured himself a cup of tea. “So, tell me, why are you looking for rock paintings?”
“Because they fascinate me. They are also found in southern Africa, but nowhere are they better preserved and more magnificent than they are here in the middle of the Sahara. The dry air preserves the engravings and colors better than any museum.” She felt the teacher in her coming out, but Kore showed no sign of disinterest, so she continued. “The problem is finding the pictures. In an area the size of Europe, they are as hard to find as the proverbial needle in a haystack. But here, northeast of Djanet, you find the most beautiful and important pictures in all of Africa. Perhaps in the entire world. At best, only the paintings in the caves on the Vézère in southwestern France can compete with them. Caves with dazzling names like Font de Gaume, Les Combarelles or Lascaux. Places that have become world famous.”
Kore nodded thoughtfully. “There are no names here, only the rocks and the paintings of the ancients.”
“Yes, but they are of incomparable beauty. When I saw them for the first time, I knew that one lifetime would not be enough to study them all.” Her voice trailed off.
Kore ran his fingers over the teacup. “What does your family think about you going off into the desert alone?”
“My family?” She laughed bitterly. “I haven’t had any contact with them in years. My father hates me because I didn’t live up to his expectations. He wanted me to either take over his business or become a respectable wife. Those were the only two options. Well, unlike my sister, I must have been a disappointment.” She paused. It had been a long time since she had spoken so openly to anyone, not even to her assistant. But it had been a long time since she had found someone who listened to her so patiently. With painful clarity, she suddenly realized how lonely she was. She straightened up. “Didn’t you want to show me something?”
Kore looked at her with his fathomless eyes. “I’m sorry for being so curious. That was rude.”
She waved him off. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have bored you with my problems. But it’s nice to be able to talk to someone again.”
He smiled. “May I offer you another cup of tea?”
“Thank you, but I’ve had enough.”
“Good. Then we should go. It’s not far.” The Targi clapped his hands and the dogs immediately came back. Kore got up and left the shade of the tent with Hannah.
Immediately, drops of sweat began forming on her forehead. It was not yet noon, but you could already burn your bare feet on the gravel. Kore strode ahead and headed for a narrow spot between the rocks. The dogs slipped through first, closely followed by their master. Hannah stayed back, looking around. The place didn’t look very promising. She had developed an unerring sense of where to find rock formations over the years and the rocks here showed signs of wind erosion. If there was ever anything here, the blowing sand of the desert would have destroyed it long ago. But she also knew that one should never jump to conclusions. Maybe he didn’t want to show her any rock paintings.
She followed the Tuareg down the narrow corridor. The farther they went, the narrower it became. In a couple of places, the walls nearly came together. Her camera rubbed against the rough rock. “Damn,” she cried when she noticed that the case had been scratched. She took the camera and put her arm around it to protect it.
After a few more meters, the walls moved apart, exposing a view of a fairytale-like hollow. Surrounded by bizarrely cut rocks that reached into the sky on all sides, the hollow formed an almost perfect circle. In the center was a rough masonry well beside which a cypress tree was growing. Judging from its shape and size of its trunk, it must have been there for well over three thousand years. It was so old that it almost seemed petrified. A living fossil, went through Hannah’s head. With the well at its side, it was of almost supernatural beauty.
“Fantastic,” she mumbled. “Why is it that nothing is known about this place?”
“Perhaps not by you, but we Tuareg have known about this for generations. We keep it a secret. It was once an important source of water and place of worship, but the well dried up generations ago, and with it, so did the pilgrims.”
Hannah held the camera up to her eye, but Kore shook his head. “No pictures, please. This is a sacred place. According to the Koran, no images should be made of such places. I’m sorry.”
Hannah looked at him, disappointed. “What a pity. This place could become famous. Just this tree …”
“That’s exactly the point. To tell you the truth, the Koran doesn’t really have much to do with it. It has to do with the silence. Can you imagine what this would become if the world found out about it?”
Hannah knew what he was talking about. She had seen how tourists treated the sacred sites of other cultures. Still, she felt the need to share her discovery with someone. Someone close to her. Kore seemed to guess her thoughts.
“I understand your desire. But think hard about if and to whom you reveal this to. This has been a sacred site for us Tuareg for thousands of years, and it should stay that way. But I wanted to show you something else.” He pointed at the rocks. “See that fissure behind the tree, there on the other side?”
Hannah’s gaze followed his outstretched arm. At first, she thought it was just a shadow, but then she could see that an ancient crevasse had formed there. Probably due to the enormous temperature fluctuations. The wind and water had smoothed its edges. Drawn by irresistible curiosity, she approached the gap. It wasn’t until she got close that she noticed that Kore and his dogs weren’t following her.
“Aren’t you coming with me?”
“No,” he said with a determined expression on his face. “This is a place of the kel essuf. For us it is taboo. But it should be of great interest to you.”
Hannah smiled. How could he know that if he had never been there? “Are you sure? I could use a good guide. Needless to say, I would show you my appreciation.”
Kore waved no with his hand. “Let’s leave it this way. You go on alone, it isn’t far. But you probably won’t have time to talk with me again after you enter the ravine. I’m on my way to the Aïr Mountains, more precisely, the Montagnes Bleues, in whose cool shade I’ll be spending the summer. I would be pleased if you were to visit me there and tell me what you find here today. I’ll leave you enough water by the cypress tree. Goodbye, Hannah Peters. May Allah protect you.”
“Farewell, Kore. And thanks for everything. Allah es malladek!” She raised her hand to wave goodbye, but Kore was already on his way back.
She turned back to the crevasse. Her heart pounding, she stepped into the mystical twilight. The rocks looked like tanned leather. As Hannah ran her hands over the rough surface, she felt overwhelming curiosity rising up inside her. Why had Kore been so secretive? What was she going to find inside the gorge? High above, the wind was whistling over the plateau. She heard a howl that echoed off the cliffs. It sounded like voices calling her. Sometimes it sounded like whispers in her ear and at other times like distant cries. Hannah turned around, but no one was there. A shiver went up her spine. No wonder the Tuareg thought the place was haunted by ghosts. She forced herself to think about the physical cause of such a phenomenon. The steep walls enclosed a column of air that was stimulated by the high wind. The voices were nothing more than vibrating molecules of air. It was simple. But she couldn’t seem to shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone in this place. Hannah, Hannah, the voices seemed to cry. They were very clear.
She folded her arms across her chest and walked on, step-by-step. With every meter she went, the threatening feeling grew. It was the first time she had ever felt anything like this. Why had Kore sent her into this gorge? Why hadn’t he come with her? Was he trying to scare her? If that was his plan, then he had succeeded. She was about to turn around when she saw something. It was a shadow on the rock wall. A shape, and over there was another. Blurry, yet somewhat familiar. Arms, legs, bodies. They were huge. They were …
Hannah held her breath. There were more. They covered the rock walls as far as the eye could see. Thirty, forty. Gigantic beings from the ancient times. And they all seemed to be staring at her as if they had been waiting for her since time immemorial. Hannah, Hannah, shouted the voices.
She stumbled forward, and with each step it became clearer that she would have to disappoint Kore. This place would be impossible to keep secret.
Something powerful had seized her and refused to release her. Something that seemed to have a will of its own. A being from the dark past. She was drawn deeper and deeper into a world of myths and legends. The faces told stories and whispered about the mystery at the bottom of the gorge. And Hannah trudged on through the hidden world until she got to the point where all knowledge ceased and legend began.
Six months later …
The cloud of dust approaching from the north twisted and curled like a gigantic snake of sand, and moved over the plain kilometer after kilometer. The summer heat was causing the air to shimmer, adding even more to the impression that a living, breathing creature was moving towards them.
“Come quickly, Hannah. You won’t believe this.” Abdu Kader, her assistant, had been standing on the edge of the cliff for a few moments, binoculars held up to his eyes.
“What is it?” Hannah watched while attempting to tame her brown mane with a hair tie. “Is it something important?”
“Possibly. It looks like military vehicles.”
Hannah jumped up. She reached for the small pair of binoculars she always kept in a bag next to her sand goggles and hurried over to Abdu. After a short search, she had the vehicles in sight.
“Those aren’t military,” she exclaimed. “It’s the team we were told about.” She tried to get a closer look at the vehicles, but the dust cloud was obscuring the details. But what she saw amazed her. “I assumed they would be sending us a small film crew,” she said, “but I see I was wrong. Those are Hummers, three of them.”
She recalled seeing a heavy cargo plane whiz over them two days ago headed toward Djanet, the only place around with an airfield. She remembered wondering what a big aircraft like that was doing in this part of the desert. Now she knew the answer.
A dusty road led from Djanet to their camp. Up here, a hundred meters above the plain, a dry wind that burned the skin was blowing. Down on the plain the heat was already murderous. Hannah stood next to Abdu. “It looks like they’re stuck.”
Abdu nodded. “They didn’t take the warning signs seriously and now they’re stuck in the sand.”
Hannah looked down at the convoy and agreed. “I told them to wait until fall, but they didn’t listen to me. I would have expected the National Geographic Society to be more professional. First, they waste months bickering over the budget and then suddenly they can’t get here soon enough. They didn’t even bother to tell us who was leading the team. I hope they’re not sending us an amateur.”
Hannah had lived in the desert long enough to know that an expedition to this region in the height of summer was extremely difficult, even for people with years of experience in the Sahara. Apart from the merciless temperatures, it was also the season for sandstorms. Being caught by surprise by one – out on the open plain and unprotected like those vehicles were down there – could be deadly. The sand would pile up around them in a matter of minutes. She had experienced it herself. After an hour, the vehicles would simply become part of the desert.
Hannah squinted. Only someone like her, who had lived here for many years, could calculate the risks involved with the unpredictable winds. Those people were extremely lucky that everything was calm down there right now. Damn carelessness.
“Shall I go down and help them?” Abdu inquired.
Hannah shook her head. “No. They need to try to get out of this themselves. Let’s call it their first test. If they can’t even make the short hop from Djanet to here, how are they ever going to make it any deeper into the desert?”
“Do you think they’re going to make it then?”
“I’ll bet you a bottle of date wine. The question is whether they can handle it.”
Abdu’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “You’re very kind today. Aren’t you happy about this?”
“Of course. I just don’t want to make it too easy for them, understand?” After all, I’ve spent years dealing with laborious detail work. Let them experience some of the hardships we’ve gone through.”
Abdu shook his head. “Strange way of thinking. I always thought that this was exactly what you wanted. And instead of welcoming them with open arms, you put obstacles in their path.”
Hannah sighed. “I often ask myself whether I’ve done the right thing. Perhaps a simple article in Archaeology Today would have been sufficient. Now we have a film crew here that would turn everything upside down for a one-hour spot on the Discovery Channel. Squeezed between all the commercial breaks, mind you. What if it turns out that my assumptions are incorrect? I’ll look like a fool in front of the whole world. I think it’s simply a fear of being too overconfident.”
Abdu nodded. “Possibly. But for some reason I don’t think that’s the real reason for your being upset. Could it be that you’re feeling guilty about making a promise that you’re not going to keep?”
She looked up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You do so. I’m talking about your promise to Kore – to keep this place a secret.”
She smiled. Abdu knew her better than she knew herself. “I admit that I didn’t tell the truth, and even if Kore is disappointed with me, I thought that making this public was the right thing to do. I didn’t make this decision lightly though. I truly feel that something of tremendous cultural importance is hidden here. Sometimes you just have to set priorities.” As far as she was concerned, the discussion was over.
Her companion nodded in his usual typical way and then looked down again. “It looks like they’ve gotten the vehicles free. Shall I go out to meet them?”
“You stay right where you are! I gave them specific GPS coordinates. They have to find their way here by themselves.” She winked at her companion. “Just another test.” With that, she left Abdu behind shaking his head and went back to the tents.
The two thin-walled tents were put up against a cliff and underneath an overhang. The smaller one served as sleeping quarters, and in the other their records, the computer, the satellite navigation system and the rest of the technical equipment, including a voice recorder and a digital camera provided by the Frobenius Institute, were stored. The tents, which were from the Algerian Army, remained open most of the time. The technical equipment was carefully stored in aluminum boxes that were well-protected from the ubiquitous sand. Hannah preferred to put her notes down on paper and she practically ignored the electronic aids, which remained virtually unused.
She knew from experience that the technical equipment was always the first to go in the high temperatures, and the more complicated it was, the faster it went.
Abdu didn’t have his own tent. He loved sleeping in Hannah’s trusty, old Toyota Landcruiser, whose green color had faded to a dull yellow over the years. The tattered leather seats were covered with finely woven Tuareg fabric and were very comfortable. The vehicle had nearly become a member of the team and it had saved their lives on more than one occasion. Still, it was nothing compared with the three huge pitch-black monsters that were heading for their camp like giant insects. Hannah was smart enough to know that just one of those vehicles cost over eighty thousand dollars. That would have been enough for her and Abdu to live on comfortably and do their research for two years.
While Hannah was going over her notes from the last few days, Abdu sauntered over. The way he was moving made her think he had something on his mind.
“What’s the matter?” she asked indignantly.
“I don’t want to bother you,” he replied, as she was putting away some loose notes in a folder. She sighed. If Abdu was wanting to talk, there was no point in resisting. He was far more stubborn than her. “Okay, so what is it?”
With a serious look, he grabbed a folding chair and sat next to her. “It’s about what we were talking about earlier. I somehow get the feeling that you’re disappointed.”
“Disappointed? I don’t know why. Everything is going great.”
“Don’t play dumb with me,” he replied, rocking back and forth on his chair, nibbling on a blade of grass. “That doesn’t work with me.”
She smiled. “You’re terrible, do you know that?”
Abdu’s teeth shone white as he grinned at her.
She dropped her hands to her thighs in a gesture of mock resignation. “Okay then, I’m pissed off. Why? Just think about it. We’ve already spent so many years working here doing basic research, but has anyone ever taken any notice? Aside from a few colleagues who read my reports in the archaeological journals, of course. But now that we’ve discovered something truly sensational, they come. Above all, the National Geographic Society, the most prestigious and wealthiest geographic society in the world.”
“You’re exaggerating …”
“Seriously? The NGS finances hundreds of research projects all over the globe and it even has its own cable channel. The National Geographic Magazine is the world’s most successful magazine of its kind. One or two articles there and everyone will know our names.”
“And why does that bother you? I thought that’s what you always wanted.”
“Yes, but didn’t our previous work deserve to be published too? Have we been working in a vacuum these last few years?”
“Aha!” Abdu’s eyes lit up. “Now we’re getting to the heart of the matter. That’s your injured vanity speaking. You don’t want someone else to get the credit for our work, right?”
“That’s exactly it. Satisfied?” She slapped the folder shut and stored it in its place behind the aluminum boxes. Then she started to dust off the folding chair.
Abdu took a long time to respond, and when he spoke, he appeared to be weighing his words carefully. “The discovery is too big to be kept secret or to wind up as a footnote in Archaeology Today. You know that as well as I do,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter whether we get credit for this or someone else does. It was really the Tuareg who made the discovery. This is their territory, their sacred place. They have only allowed us to visit it. And you have decided to divulge the secret and that’s something you’re finding hard to stomach. At some point you’re going to have to answer to the Tuareg and your own conscience for that.” With that, he stood up and left without saying another word.
Hannah took a deep breath. He was right and she knew it.
A half an hour later, the expedition vehicles appeared on the high plateau. Hannah thought they looked like malicious bugs with their high wheel bases. The distinctive rectangular label National Geographic Society was printed in yellow letters on the doors. With her knowledgeable eye, she immediately saw that the vehicles had undergone extensive modifications. They were equipped with winces, armor, external mounts and devices that allowed sleeping cabins to be set up on the roofs of the vehicles. It all gave her the impression that no cost or effort had been spared. They weren’t just vehicles, they were objects of prestige. The fact that they had sent such vehicles could only mean that they expected to find great things here. The excited faces of the team members could be seen through the windows. The fact that the vehicles had gotten stuck in the sand seems to have gotten to her and she felt a twinge of guilt.
The drivers turned the vehicles into the shade of the overhang. When the door of the leading vehicle opened, she realized why she hadn’t been informed about who would be leading the team. They were obviously afraid she would have some objections if she learned who the team boss was going to be. The tanned legs in sand-colored boots belonged to none other than the French journalist Irene Clairmont. Hannah knew her face from the magazines, documentaries and newscasts. Irene appeared to be around the same age as herself. She was also a child of the wild sixties, Hannah noted with amusement. She had become famous for her numerous remarkable achievements, including being one of the first women to climb Mount Everest without the aid of oxygen. That had to be around 1996, if Hannah remembered right. Her polar expeditions were just as spectacular as her months-long visit with the last of the mountain gorillas. For years she had been the undisputed leader in nature documentaries, a field that was otherwise dominated by men. As Hannah stared into Irene Clairmont’s face, she realized how important the significance of her discovery must be.
Irene’s shoulder-length blond hair fluttered in the wind as she approached them, smiling.
“Dr. Peters, we meet at last. I can’t tell you what a pleasure this is.” Her voice sounded deeper than it did on television. They exchanged warm handshakes. “Sorry for barging in on you like this. I imagine how this must look to you. And then there’s those awful boxes.” She pointed at the vehicles. “Sponsored by American General Motors. Can’t do anything about that. You shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.” She shrugged her shoulders. “May I address you by your first name?”
“Gladly,” Hannah replied before she had a chance to think about whether that was what she really wanted. But the openness of the woman was positively overwhelming. Irene had charisma, that was for sure. The wrinkles around her mouth suggested a degree of rigidity, but her appearance was pleasant.
“I’m pleased too, Irene. We saw your plane go over two days ago. Did you have some problems with the authorities?”
The expedition leader waved her hand. “The usual. Complicated forms, costly expedition permits, filming permits and lot of supply issues. They see the equipment and then the haggling starts. The fact that the country is practically in a civil war complicates matters. President Bouteflika and the generals he is a puppet to, have long been dividing the cake up among themselves. They simply can’t agree on who should get the biggest slice. It’s the same game that is being played out in most parts of the world. Anyway. But let’s talk about more pleasant things.” Her eyes began to wander. With an enchanting smile, she stuck out her hand to Hannah’s companion. “You must be Abdu, right? Lebes?”
“Lebes.” Abdu raised a surprised eyebrow. “Hamdoullah, Lebes?”
“Lebes. Giddegid. Hamdoullah!”
Abdu’s brought his hand to his chest and he bowed. “I am honored that you have mastered the Tuareg’s greetings.”
Hannah noticed a glint in his eye. Irene had impressed him with her charm, she could feel it.
“That’s because this is not the first time I’ve been in northern Africa,” Irene said. “I made a movie about the wedding rituals of the Wodaabe back in 1989. On that occasion, I was able to learn a few words of your language. I’m so happy to be here. Please, let me introduce you to our team members.”
Meanwhile, the rest of the team had parked the vehicles and were on their way over to them. All men, Hannah noted with some irony. As charming as Irene Clairmont was, she obviously would not tolerate the presence of another woman on the team.
She motioned the group over with an inviting gesture. The first to arrive was a short, stocky man with a full beard and cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth.
Irene patted him on the shoulder. “May I introduce Malcom Neadry? He’s a native Welshman and our manager. Have you seen The Flight of the Condor? It won an Emmy for best nature documentary. That was his job. Fortunately, we convinced him to leave the BBC and come to work for us.”
Hannah couldn’t remember having seen the film, but the man with the shiny bald spot didn’t make a very good impression on her. It was as if the muscles that were responsible for smiling were underdeveloped. Irene then walked over to a tall man with short-cropped hair and nickel-rimmed glasses perched on the tip of his nose. “Albert Beck from Berlin. He’s responsible for getting the audio right – and not just in our films. Albert is not only a fantastic audio engineer, but he is also a gifted sax player. He’s been on our team for three years. And this is Gregori Pattakos from Greece.” She put her arm on the shoulder of the dark-skinned man, whose narrow features were reinforced by a goatee. “He’s our geophysicist. He has the difficult task of making the geological connections understandable to the audience during the broadcast.” With that, she gave him a look that revealed more to Hannah than just a friendly acquaintance. Then she turned to a man in baggy khakis, who looked like he had been born with a grin on his face. His fidgety manner reminded Hannah of a ferret.
“Patrick Flannery from Ireland, our technical know-it-all. He and Malcom are practically neighbors. They’re only separated by a narrow strait. Patrick can build a satellite receiver out of a piece of wire and a nail in no time flat. And besides that, he can drink more than all of us put together. It comes in handy when you want to impress foreign cultures. Last, but not least, we have Dr. Chris Carter here. He’s from Washington, D.C. and he’s the only new member of our group. A great climatologist and an excellent photographer. He will document our expedition and publish an illustrated book on it. The contracts have already been signed.”