Pharaoh: A Novel (Jack Howard)
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Perfect for fans of Clive Cussler and Dan Brown, Pharaoh is a pulse-pounding new adventure starring intrepid marine archaeologist Jack Howard, on the trail of a shattering revelation about an ancient secret buried deep under the Egyptian pyramids.
1351 BC: Akhenaten the Sun-Pharaoh rules supreme in Egypt . . . until the day he casts off his crown and mysteriously disappears into the desert, his legacy seemingly swallowed up by the remote sands beneath the Great Pyramids of Giza.
AD 1884: A British soldier serving in the Sudan stumbles upon an incredible discovery—a submerged temple containing evidence of a terrifying religion whose god was fed by human sacrifice. The soldier is on a mission to reach General Gordon before Khartoum falls. But he hides a secret of his own.
Present day: Jack Howard and his team are excavating one of the most amazing underwater sites they have ever encountered, but dark forces are watching to see what they will find. Diving into the Nile, they enter a world three thousand years back in history, inhabited by a people who have sworn to guard the greatest secret of all time.
Praise for Pharaoh
“[David Gibbins’s] love of archaeology and of diving really brings these books to life. . . . Add to this . . . a true passion for history and a writing skill that has grown book by book. By the time we get to Pharaoh the series is a serious example of how this genre should be written; it does not get much better than this. . . . Gibbins makes the astounding seem more than plausible, he writes the history in such a way that the myth feels factual or at least highly plausible, and it’s more that just places and names; it’s a philosophical undertone to the extended plot, to the ethos of Jack Howard and his search for the facts and the truth. . . . History, mystery and myth all brought together to astound the reading senses . . . a true leader of his genre and his art.”—Parmenion Books
“Utterly absorbing . . . When the adventure is as exciting as it is here, it is too good not to be allowed to speak for itself. . . . Put aside your assumptions of what a thriller should be and instead immerse yourself in one of the best historical adventures you’ll read this year.”—For Winter Nights
Praise for David Gibbins
“What do you get if you cross Indiana Jones with Dan Brown? Answer: David Gibbins.”—Daily Mirror (U.K.), on Atlantis
“An exciting mix of fact and fiction, with shades of Clive Cussler and Indiana Jones.”—York Evening Press, on Crusader Gold
reasoning?” Mayne nodded. “Using triangulation you could thus calculate distances from any points of fire along the river shore.” “The Mahdi holds the island and all the shoreline to the west, but the fort and the adjoining riverbank to the east is dead ground, of no value to him because it’s too far away for his riflemen to shoot accurately, and his artillery is concentrated to the west and south where it can do greater damage to the entrances into the city. That fort provides good cover,
to a lot more IMU involvement in Spain, and I’d love to push for that. But I’ll be waiting for you. And I won’t take no for an answer.” “Roger that, Sofia. I’ll be back. Meanwhile we’ll liaise with the Spanish Civil Guard and have round-the-clock protection over the site.” “You’ve got it. They’re on standby already.” Jack tapped on the intercom. “Is Captain Macalister there?” “I hear you, Jack.” “Is the Lynx helicopter ready?” “As you requested. And the IMU Embraer jet is at Cartagena
directly behind Hiebermeyer, its jaws chewing from side to side and its hooded eyes looking out indifferently, apparently disconnected entirely from the scene. Suddenly its tongue came out and wrapped itself around Hiebermeyer’s face, drooping down over his chest to lick up the milk and then withdrawing again. The animal licked its lips contentedly and backed off with a sigh. Costas guffawed, and Hiebermeyer spluttered, trying to wipe his face again while still holding the baby. Aysha quickly
the clues are in the wall carving and in the closed door of the temple. The carving shows Akhenaten stripped of ornaments, as if he’s walking away as an ordinary man, not as some priest-king. That fits in with the image of a penitent man going in search of the Aten, like a pilgrim who has cast aside worldly goods. And the door suggests finality, as if he’s closing the door on the old religion and walking away free of it. Let’s imagine Akhenaten himself in there, carrying out some kind of
to engineering problems, not to create them. In many ways this was an engineers’ war: a war of survey, of intelligence, of logistics. And Buller knew perfectly well that the problem with overengineering lay with Wolseley, whose fastidious attention to detail and obsession with repeating his renowned river expedition had prevented the dash across the desert that could have seen a British force at the gates of Khartoum weeks ago. But Buller owed his career to Wolseley, and he was astute enough to