THIRTY FEET BENEATH THE DESERT of southern Egypt, Yehia Gad stands in a cramped, stone tomb. On the wall, brightly-colored paintings tell the story of an ancient king’s journey into the afterlife. The precise strokes show a mummy embalmed with great care, a perilous battle for his soul, and an eternity spent riding high with the Sun.
Gad moves slowly, encased in a protective mask and gown, and a hat that hides his neat, grey hair. In front of him, on a wooden table, is the body that was buried here more than 3,000 years ago.
The stick-thin figure is little more than a silhouette, black as coal, with empty eye sockets and skin that’s cracked like parched earth. This is Tutankhamun, Egypt’s most famous pharaoh, a man whose people believed was a god on earth.
Gad puts on a pair of white gloves and picks up a biopsy needle.
It is February 2008. President Mubarak reigns over Egypt these days, and the nation’s antiquities service is led by a forceful, charismatic archaeologist called Zahi Hawass.
Gad isn’t the first to attempt to test Tutankhamun’s DNA, but he is the first to get this far. Previous efforts by foreigners were cancelled at the last minute. After decades of outside interference, Egypt’s politicians were reluctant to hand over the keys to the pharaohs’ origins—especially when the results, if dropped into the crucible of the Middle East, might prove explosive.
Be Holy! 