A Date with Destiny(Anthony Colombo) A DATE WITH DESTINY

The sky was clear and the thermometer was holding steady at sixty-two degrees. There were thoughts of an early winter. The leaves of the campus maple trees were beginning to change colors. It was bright bouncy weather not the gray days that usually came before winter storms in this part of North American. At this time of year, Professor Malcomb reveled in all the wonders of Mother Nature as he walked the nearly deserted campus lanes of Bridgeway College to his early morning classes.

The professor is a man in his early fifties, but looked much younger. His philosophy was simple; one could do almost anything as long as it was in moderation. This, coupled with an exercise regime of swimming, running and weight lifting each day, seemed to keep him fit. As if all this wasn't enough, when the professor had some spare time, he biked, hiked, camped, played baseball, football and on and on and on. For sport, he would run with the track team during their workouts.

All his life Timothy Malcomb was interested in the lives of others. Oh, modern man was OK, but it was early civilizations that piqued his desire to know more. He had been to Egypt, Rome, Israel, Mexico, the Yucatan and Honduras. He had been on, in, around and under everything from the pyramids to blue holes in the Everglades. He was a professor of anthropology and loved every minute of the time he spent in the past lives of others. He could touch a carved stone dating to a time before Christ and see the people; hear the children and be a part of them. It was as if he were transported back to their time by the stone itself. He would not just feel the images of another era, he could see the people going about their daily activities, engaging in conversations and working.

Before Harrison Ford, and the movies of Indiana Jones, there was Doctor Timothy Malcomb. He was the real Indiana Jones. You might even say that the modern character was based on the life of this doctor. Tim, as his friends called him, was six feet five inches tall. His muscular shoulders, arms and "V" shaped chest were evident even under the bulky lab coat he was so found of wearing during his lectures. His tanned complexion, sun-bleached hair and high cheekbones gave him a viral Nordic look. Yes, he has several female students and one young English professor enamored with him, but unlike his movie counter part, Dr. Malcomb never had to climb through the window of his office to get away from a room filled with wild women.

Like the movies, however, the good doctor had several close calls. Once while in Honduras, he was busy investigating a mound that measured nearly six hundred feet around its base and stood over one hundred and seventy feet high. He and several Indian laborers had felled three trees and removed a large quantity of dirt in order to uncover three carved stones one atop the other to study them. The carvings were a part of this city’s history. The message was intended to proclaim the prowess of the village’s king and his people. The long dead artist would never know who other than his people would ever see his work. It is a safe bet that he didn't know it would serve to inform a people completely unknown to him of the marvelous deeds his people had accomplished.

So intent was Dr. Malcomb on the wonder before him, he never heard the shot that killed Emilio Martinez. The impact of the bullet dropped Emilio to his knees, and his lifeless body pitched forward landing across the stone steps. The doctors first thought, "heat prostration." The temperature here was one hundred and fifteen degrees with humidity of ninety-eight percent. The thought of heat quickly evaporated when Dr. Malcomb saw crimson colored liquid oozing from between Emilio’s lips. Stunned, the doctor twisted his body around, drawing his Colt 45 caliber automatic from its holster in preparation to shoot at an unseen threat. It was, however, too little too late. Before the good doctor could complete the maneuver, a rifle butt crashed down on the side of his face. He never saw the shooter, or the man that struck him.

From the throbbing in his head, he could be sure only that it wasn't a dream. Slowly, he became aware of his surroundings. The jungle night was black, and it was everywhere. The thick jungle canopy blocked out the stars so completely that the darkness seemed to have weight, and pressed down on top of him like the rubble of a fallen temple. To make matters worse, Tim found himself tied in a seated position. Homemade rope bound his hands, to a stake. He could see the silhouettes of four men squatting around a fire. They looked dirty and dressed in ragged peasant cloths. They had finished eating, and were now talking about the good doctor's welfare. Every so often one of the men would turn his head in the direction of Doctor Malcomb checking to see if he had rejoined the world of the living. From what the doctor could make of the conversation, the four were discussing what they could do with the treasures this "gringo" must have found in the lost city. As they talked, Tim over heard one man boasting about how Tim’s men begged for their lives like women before they died. Because they couldn't get anything for the other men, they need the doctor alive.

Although his Spanish was very poor, Doctor Malcomb was able to determine that they wanted him to tell them where he and the others hid the treasure they had looted. And, in the event there were no riches, the doctor would be offered for ransom. He listened to the men talk. When the gringo woke, he would be beaten until he told of the treasure. If this failed, the thought of more beatings would put him in the mood to write a note to friends in the United States explaining his situation and requesting money for his freedom. With the note in their hands, they would then kill him to avoid his asking embarrassing questions about his friends, and being identified by him later.

The more they boasted, the more they drank. Finally, the strong native brew over came their bravado and they slipped into a deep drunken stupor. The doctor now had the time he needed. It was just after daybreak that the ropes parted freeing his bloody aching wrists. Quickly he got to his feet and moved cautiously to the sleeping figures. At his feet lay the four animals responsible for the deaths of his six companions, six very good men with families of their own. Knowing what they were capable of, he knew that when they woke, they would see he had escaped. It was a five-day trip through thick jungle to the nearest town of maybe a dozen peasant farmers with no communications to the outside world. Even if he made these men his prisoners, he couldn't make the trip without sleep. He knew full well what he had to do. He knew the doing would also bring him the satisfaction of knowing his friend’s lives would be avenged. To himself he said, "Emilio, my friend, my brother, I'll get you home. I won’t leave any of you out here with these pigs!"

He was a nonviolent person and yet here were four things with no more care in them than one would exercise in the killing of an ant, which had snuffed out the lives of men he knew. The kind of knowing that comes from living together becoming part of one another's families; becoming brothers. Cautiously, he bent down and picked up his automatic from under the hand of the sleeping form before him. Rage built inside him like steam in a closed pot until the lid was blown off. Seething with anger, Dr. Malcomb kicked the foot of the man nearest him. Sobering quickly when he saw the doctor holding a gun on him, he nudged his friends, he must have been thinking, there is safety in numbers. When all were awake and staring up at the doctor, Malcomb spit some Spanish words of his own, "you are all lice! You are worse than lice! You are not fit to live with the rats! Do you know who these men were that you killed? Do you even care? They had families, you swine! They were my friends." Directing his attention to the four prone figures, he said, "Get to your knees and put your hands behind your head!" Obediently, the men formed a line in front of the doctor; their backs were to him. Malcomb moved to a position directly behind the first man. Slowly, he raised the .45 until it was pointed at the back of the man's head. Suddenly, there was a loud explosion. The sound startled the doctor. He didn't feel his finger squeeze the trigger, nor did he feel the jerk of his hand when the gun recoiled. He looked down, and at his feet there lay what was left of the first man. He looked to his left and the other three men had not even moved. He remembered the Incas had a ball game they played in which the losers forfeited their lives, and wondered if these were just the losers of another game?

Well, at any rate, while doctor Malcomb took nearly a year and a half to see to the care of his friends and their families, someone else discovered Tikal.

Last summer, Tim went to Egypt to lay the groundwork for what he hoped would be the biggest find since Howard Carter had discovered the tomb of King Tutankhamen. In the years after Carter had opened the tomb of King Tut, he had explored the area around the Valley of The Kings finding what he thought might be a path leading from the valley to a more distant place. Carter had even erected signposts to mark the way using his initials "HC."

Howard Carter, however, failed to follow up on his findings even after he had located several promising sites. Some speculated that it was the curse of King Tut and the mysterious deaths connected to the find of the ancient king that was responsible for his plight. Now it was to become Dr. Malcomb's turn, and maybe his claim to immortality. He saw the writing on the wall literally, and was ready. Based upon his findings, he had secured the backing of the Smithsonian and several other large contributors. He had received approval from the Egyptian government and their offer of support in the form of laborers and their military to protect the men, equipment and the site from marauding bands. If everything went as planned, there could be nothing but success, and only a year to wait.

His American team consisted of three postgraduate students and four seniors from his archeological class back at Bridgeway. It so happened, each came from well-to-do families, but the good doctor based his selection upon their dedication and scholastic ability, not their financial standing. Still it was nice that each of their families would be able to provide all the amenities to keep, not only their children comfortable during the long hot months ahead, but see to the welfare of their teacher as well.

The semester moved as quickly as the doctor had predicted. Soon there was the Christmas break followed by the Easter break. These holidays meant time away from the class for his students, but for him it meant trips to clandestine places protected by the American military for more work. An army airplane would be waiting for him at the local airstrip. All too often he was the only passenger on the plane. It wasn't his skill as an archeologist that interested the military; he was a gifted mathematician, electrical engineer, and a physicist. These were the skills desired by the military for the work to be accomplished by the good doctor. Doctor Tim often referred to these other gifts as the "knacks" that he relied upon to finance his real love, "digging up the past."

The father of the project was Albert Einstein. He had formulated the concept in the early twenties. The Minnesota Institute of Technology had been so impressed with the idea, and backed by a generous grant from Uncle Sam, they had dedicated an entire wing of its prestigious engineering building to the concept. Los Alamos had nearly six hundred people committed to its completion. Every minute of every day saw the efforts of over four thousand people directed toward only one goal. To date all these efforts were being funneled into the laps of nine men; Doctor Malcomb was one of these nine.

It would be the responsibility of these men to unite all the parts. Only they would know what the combined parts would be capable of accomplishing. Oh, others might be able to speculate a little the closer they got to the final magic nine men, as they had come to be called, but their guesses, and that is all they would be, would not even be close. Even given the fact the thing would need as much electrical power as was required to run every electrical device in California, Nevada and Oregon, and that the completed project would be housed in a structure covering two city blocks would not provide enough information to anyone as to what its final use would be.

The time had come for the Doctor Malcomb to start the wheels turning for his trip to Egypt. He had to make sure that everyone had their personal gear, passports, train, plane and steamship reservations were in order. There were meetings between his staff and himself to fine-tune the responsibilities of each member. He wanted each person to enjoy, learn from and preserve the past. He was well aware that in the excitement of the hunt things could be overlooked, lost or, God forbid, destroyed. This expedition had the potential of being the richest find in modern times both in terms of treasure and information.

Based upon his studies, Dr. Malcomb was sure he was on the trail of the real resting place of Cheops; a pharaoh whose body many believed had been stolen by grave robbers hundreds of centuries ago. When the great pyramid was opened and the king’s chamber was found empty, the world wondered. Unlike the world, however, Malcomb did more than wonder. Three trips to Egypt and thousands of hours of research had convinced Dr. Malcomb that robbers had entered the tomb. Unlike the others, he believed that before the king’s body could be defiled, priests removed it as they had done with other great kings, to protect them. After all, if the priests had removed the body of Cheops' father Snefru to protect it long after his burial, why would they ignore the son? Finally, if the body had been removed by the priests, it followed that they would have moved the body to a place of safety along with what ever treasure might be left after they had discovered the tombs original entry and desecration. Malcomb was sure he had uncovered enough evidence to prove his theory concerning the true location for the final resting-place of the son of the inventor of the pyramids.

Tim had never undertaken any expedition simply for the glory involved in it. However, this was sure to be the greatest adventure in modern history. It was almost certain to reap benefits financial and other wise for all in the party. No one had demonstrated even the slightest interest in locating other tombs. The only indications that any search had ever taken place were the faint initials "HC" scratched on the rock face of a very narrow trail that lead to what Tim hoped would be the second Valley of the Kings. He had been over the trail and mapped every inch of it. There were no signs to indicate the trail had been used recently, nor were there any signs at the end of the trail to indicate digging had taken place in resent or the ancient past. The signs, so to speak, were to his liking.

Finally, the day came to set sail for the Promised Land. Once aboard ship, the entire team met in the good doctor's room. There was much toasting and the merriment lasting well into the wee hours of the next morning. The doctor, however, was a man of business first, and once the frivolities were out of the way, he got right down to the business at hand. Maps were studied. Ancient texts were reread. Each team member was individually briefed. Everyone knew just how important all the years of work were to Dr. Malcomb, and coupled with their admiration of him; they made up their minds to suffer his stuffiness.

The twenty days with stops in Gibraltar, Rome and Alexandria sped by. All too soon they were collecting their equipment and meeting the representatives of the Egyptian government on the shore of the Nile at Cairo. From here it was an overland trip to the plans of Giza and the site of the pyramids. These pyramids would serve as a symbolic starting point for Dr. Malcomb. He was not superstitious, but he felt he owed the great Cheops a moment of respect, and in his own mind the empty monument to his greatness was the logical place to begin. With the amanitas out of the way the party would board Egyptian dhows for the trip up the Nile to the Valley of the Kings.

For now, everyone was taken aback by the impressive sight of the pyramid complex. The three large structures seem to span time itself. They existed through the rise and fall of empires. They saw the coming and going of dictators and their armies. For a long time all anyone could do was stand and gasp at the magnitude of these three piles of stone. One could only imagine what splendor they must have presented the ancient world when their construction was finally finished. Now their outer walls had been scavenged for the fine casement stones to be used to feed the egos of modern rulers in creating edifices to their own vanity. It seemed to Dr. Malcomb the real sin was not committed by the tomb robbers but by these later day vandals. What, if anything, could this other group of brigands possibly use as a defense for their vile conduct? Even in this state of desecration Malcomb was touched by their grandeur.

With his eyes shut he could hear the chants of the stone puller's as they dragged tons of stone blocks higher and higher. His mind's eye could see the tomb designer and the priests mulling over the plans for the crypt and the secret devices that would be employed to protect the burial chamber. If you stretched your imagination just a little further, you could even smell the cook fires and the meager fare waiting the tired workers at the end of a workday, the length of which, would cause modern labor unions to revolt. Even in the pyramid he was struck dumb by the marvel of the skill of people so poorly equipped and yet so masterful in the execution of their building ability. Before the time of mathematicians, engineers and architects, these "unschooled backward" people had laid the foundation for many of our modern sciences.

Humbled by the majesty of these stone mounds, Malcomb began his trip up river. The Egyptian dhow is a small ship that has traveled the Nile since before time began. It was the means by which many of the massive stones were brought to Giza, and how the pharaohs themselves reached their final resting-places. It seemed fitting to Dr. Malcomb that this was the way for him and his party to reach their jumping off point for this particular expedition. The trip took them past Memphis, Saqqara, Dahshur, Meidum, Amarna and finally Abydos. At Thebes the tiny ships docked and put their cargo ashore, the trek inland was about to begin.

The main contingent of Dr. Malcomb's party would be waiting with all of the heavy equipment near the trailhead. Malcomb's chief concern was how to get machines never dreamed of in the days of the pharaohs to the site where they would be needed for the initial dig. The trail was suited for their camels and pack mules, but bulldozers and heavy tractors were another story. All the others were wrapped up in the excitement of the moment; Dr. Malcomb was chastising himself for his oversight. Well, if nothing else, he had the help of the Egyptian Government and through them, access to a vast army of laborers. The Egyptians would have the American equipment and he had his dig.

Two days and two nights on the backs of camels gave each member of the party a real understanding of just what was meant by the term, "ship of the desert." The native cooks that accompanied the retinue prepared meals fit for kings, but nervous stomachs were reluctant to eat more than just a few bits. This coupled with the ill tempers of the hairy beasts, cold nights and hot days made for a most miserable trek.

The camp site was reached but there was only enough daylight left to prepare the evening meal and set up the camp. Men from the Egyptian army were posted to guard against any outsider and to control the laborers who might consume too much home made beer, something even the pharaohs relished.

Early the next day Dr. Malcomb made his way to the place where he felt the tomb was to be found. Calling his team together, he mapped out assignments, and delegated work details. Most of the heavy digging was to be done in the early morning hours to avoid the intense heat of the afternoon. There would be frequent breaks to allow the workers time to cool down and prevent injuries due to fatigue and heat prostration.

Days past and tons of chipped stone were removed. Malcomb began to wonder if he had selected the right location. All he had discovered thus far were the unfinished chiseled marks on the face of the great granite wall. He could see the doubt on the faces of all his people. At first only his closest associates showed any sign of concern because the laborers were to be paid even if nothing was found. But, now everyone felt the strain. Then on the night before Tim had decided to throw in the towel, he made one more trip to the site. He was alone. All the others had settled down in camp to eat and turn in for the day. The sun had dipped below the horizon leaving some residual light. The good doctor's emotions were the lowest they had ever been. He had wagered all and lost. Standing at the base of the granite cliff on top of what seem to be a never-ending pile of stone chips his legs gave out and he slumped to a squatting position. The weight of the world was on his head and he was unable to fight it off. Slowly, his chin sagged until it came to a rest on his upper chest. His eyes closed. He wallowed in self-pity as he rocked back crushing his back against the solid stone behind him. A lighting bolt of pain jogged him alert. He pressed his hands to the wall in an attempt to rise. Instead of getting to his feet, however, he felt more than the sharp fragments cutting into his backside; he felt a smooth straight edge. With his fingers, fearing a lie by his own eyes, he traced the edge. It ran parallel to the ground. Above it was the chiseled rough rock of the stone face, and below the line, a polished surface. The edge continued on into the remaining debris in three directions. Clawing at the rubble with his fingers until they were raw and bleeding, he cleared enough of the surface to see the hand polished stone of the upper portion of a tomb entrance. Suddenly, as if his body was one compressed spring, he shot to his feet screaming.

Even though his fingers were dripping blood, his screams were not those of pain but of joy. "It's here! God bless America, its here," he yelled. An echo off the walls of the canyon answered his shouts; "it's here!" It was as if the gods of ancient Egypt were telling him he was right. He smiled and yelled back, "I know, and thank you," but they were only his own words coming back at him and not, "you're welcome."

In camp, the shouts startled the others. Then, they heard, "it's here." Jumping to their feet all the members of the team began to run in the direction of the site. They hadn't gotten far when they met the doctor running to tell them of his find. One of the students noticed the doctor’s hands. His blood was forming pools on the ground below him. Still, Dr. Malcomb tried to shack off the attention of the others, but they knew too well that infection in this climate could be a killer. Everyone remembered the story of how Lord Carnarvon had died from an infected mosquito bite. Literally, hog tying him, Dr. Malcomb was taken back to camp for first aid. Only after the doctors hands had been medicated and wrapped was there enough time for the others to appreciate the value of the information they had just been given. Tomorrow the real work would begin in earnest.

When the sun rose the next day, it found Dr. Malcomb already at the site. Work from this point on would be painstakingly slow. Shovels would be replaced with trowels, brushes, sifting screens and hands. Every detail of the tomb would be documented and recorded. It took another two weeks to clear the remaining rubble from the carved stone door.

The carved stone door stood twenty-four feet high, but when it was removed a tunnel measuring five feet by five feet was revealed. The walls and ceiling of the tunnel was ruff hewn. The floor was smoother and dropped away at a very steep angle. Passage down the tunnel was treacherous at best and required both patience and concentration to avoid serious injury. At a distance of about one hundred and fifty yards, the tunnel widened into a gallery nearly fifteen feet wide with a corbel ceiling rising thirty feet above their heads. The walls were polished and painted with stories of great adventures, battles, enemies captured and treasures acquired for the great Pharaoh Cheops. The slope of the floor leveled off and the gallery continued for almost two hundred feet. At its end were three doors, two of which proved to be intentionally false by design hoping to confuse potential tomb looters in the dark. Door Number three, however, led to the treasure room. Once inside, it appeared to be untouched and contained riches beyond belief. To reach the tomb itself, required great effort for the door to the ascending passageway was above the floor of the treasure room, and rose at an even greater angle than the decent. In the tomb, the walls were covered with the expected hieroglyphs telling of the journey into the next life and invoking the protection of the gods for the dead. It amazed all how well preserved everything was, but even more astounding was the hieroglyphs in the burial chamber itself. They identified the inhabitant as "Timal the favored of Pharaoh Cheops." They told of his great military ability and his building skills. The hieroglyphs alluded to the man's ability to ride in a chariot with the gods, and how he came from the gods to serve the mighty pharaoh. They told a story of love without bounds between the king and this person. They explained all the treasures in the tomb had been placed there at the request of the king himself so that Timal could live as a king in his next life.

The time had come to open the sarcophagus. With the massive lids removed, the skill of the embalmers radiated through the generations. The body itself was housed in four coffins each more magnificent than the one before it. Finally, the mummy itself lay exposed for the first time in over thirty centuries. The linen used to cover the body appeared fresh. The parts of the body that were exposed had turned black, colored by the materials used to preserve it. The skin, even though discolored, was drawn about the bones and leathery but so well preserved the pores could be seen with the naked eye. There was much to learn from the body relating to the arts of preservation as well as the conditions under which the man lived, and, sadly died. Dr. Malcomb would go with the body to the Cairo museum. In his absence, the tomb and its contents would be itemized, studied and finally turned over to the military for transportation to the museum.

One week later, Dr. Malcomb found himself in a military surgery. He would be joined by a team of doctors consisting of pathologists, anthropologists and a whole list of other 'ologists. Together, under sterile condition, the body would be x-rayed and then the wrappings would be removed. Once the body was accessible it would be opened and examined to determine the cause of death.

When the x-rays were developed, they were examined. Dark shadows could be seen in different locations on the body. These spots were believed to be jewels placed for a number of reasons, some known only by the priests. The heart scarab is an example of this kind of practice. The heart and other organs were removed and placed in jars, or wrapped and placed back in the body. In many cases the heart would be removed and replaced with a jeweled beetle or scarab. In the case of Dr. Malcomb's mummy, the heart scarab was visible on the x-ray plate as a round disk shaped object. After x-ray, the linens were removed carefully one strip at a time. The procedure took hours. The body was being treated like it belonged to a living person. When a strip of linen was removed to reveal a jewel, the process was stopped to photograph the jewel in place. The jewel was then removed, and the unwrapping resumed. Finally, they had come to the last strip of linen. This one covered the heart scarab. The forceps pinched the frayed end of the linen strip and slowly pealed it back. Suddenly, all eyes opened wide, and it was clear that mouths gaped even under surgical masks. There in place of the heart scarab was a pocket watch. The polished cover was closed and gleamed as bright as the sun in the artificial light of the surgery. Dr. Malcomb's trembling hand reached out and picked it up. His fingers caressed it as if it were the beating heart of a living man. Suddenly, the lid popped open in his hand. Inside the lid was the inscription:
To Dr. Timothy C. Malcomb
From a Grateful Nation
For Your Work on the Philadelphia Project
11-30-44
F. D. R.

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