The Lost Tomb

by N. J. Croft

  She was about to step out and follow when a black SUV crawled out of the alley beside the building he’d just exited. She went still as she memorized the license plate. The same vehicle had passed as he entered.

  Was someone else following him?

  Friend or foe?

  She’d better find out and soon, because she didn’t want to lose him now.

  Chapter Six

  Noah’s heart missed a beat each time he opened up his computer, but so far, there were no more emails.

  It was frustrating. He felt like his life was on hold, unable to move on.

  Now he sat, staring at the envelope Tom had dropped on his desk before he left for the evening. It was from Peter and no doubt contained the promised reports on Eve’s accident. He hesitated to open it. While he’d seen death many times—often the results of terrorist attacks, and bombs were a messy way to die—nothing could prepare you for the death of someone close to you. Especially if that death was violent.

  Taking a deep breath, he ran his finger under the flap and tipped out the contents onto his desk. Three pieces of paper and a bunch of photos.

  Leaving the photos until last, he read through the reports, but they contained nothing he didn’t already know. No surprises. The last paper was a handwritten note from Peter saying he’d asked around and gotten no hint there was more to Eve’s death than the official police reports contained and that the tech experts had so far been unable to find the IP address for the sender of the email, which suggested whoever had sent it had access to some very impressive technology.

  He flipped over the photos. The first showed a plane standing on a runway. Medium-sized with seating for ten or so people. A company insignia painted on the side—Blue Sky. He’d never heard of them. The second showed the site of the accident and the burned-out wreck of the plane. The crash had happened so early into the flight the plane would have still held plenty of fuel to burn. Likely, it went down quickly—there had been one brief message from the pilot, stating he had engine trouble and was turning back. After that, nothing. If he’d had time, he would have dumped the fuel. Not that there was any chance of landing safely. They’d crashed on a rocky mountainside.

  Had Eve been aware she was about to die?

  He hoped not.

  He turned the last picture over slowly, knowing what it would show. A corpse on a slab in a morgue. But staring at the photo, he felt nothing. The body was unrecognizable, the flesh burned away, the bones blackened. It could have been anyone. In a way, he was glad, though part of him needed to see her one last time. He still found it hard to imagine her gone.

  He tucked the reports and pictures back in the envelope and shoved them in a drawer.

  What did he have?

  A dead ex-wife.

  An anonymous email.

  And what sounded like a secret organization searching for the tomb of Genghis Khan and a magic talisman, because they wanted to take over the world. Which was where things fell apart, because whoever it was would have no reason to kill Eve and every reason to want her alive.

  He circled back around to this being related to him and his past. He’d made a list of possible individuals and organizations that might want revenge. Alex, who had taken over command of Project Arachnid, was pulling the files for him and would flag anything of interest. But Noah had checked that morning, and so far nothing had come up.

  He needed more information.

  He eyed the computer in front of him. Maybe he should divert some company resources.

  Drumming his fingers on the steel desktop, Noah considered the possible consequences. Worst-case scenario: he’d be killed by whoever had murdered Eve—if she had been murdered—and his kids would be orphans. But a more likely outcome would be finding himself out of a job, and he needed his salary to pay for the new nanny. Who was—praise the Lord—working out fantastically. Just as well, because after a slow start, he’d gained access to everything he needed and was up to his ears in work.

  The information had started coming in. Anything terrorist-related ended up on Noah’s desk. The scope of the senator’s organization was huge, spanning the globe. He’d never had access to resources like this in the army. There were reports from the police, military—how the hell did they get hold of those?—even conversations overheard in bars and churches and mosques around the world.

  The extent was frightening in a way, that a private company should have access to this amount of information.

  His phone rang. He picked it up. “Senator Clayton is on her way up, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  Michaela Clayton had flown into the country that morning for official meetings but managed to fit in some time with him before she returned to the States later that night. She’d said she wanted to talk face to face. Just checking in with him. Making sure Noah had everything he needed. And hopefully giving him a clearer view of exactly what his role was. What she expected him to do with the information. How he was supposed to justify his exorbitant salary.

  He was looking forward to the meeting.

  …

  As the elevator took her up to the top floor, Michaela Clayton closed her eyes and cleared her mind. It had been a long day full of meetings, but she would hopefully manage a few hours to sleep on the flight back.

  First, she wanted to meet with Noah Blakeley. It was time to assess his usefulness and his commitment.

  While he possessed the qualities she needed, Tom had some doubts as to whether it would work out. Not whether Noah was up to the job, but more as to whether he would be comfortable utilizing the resources available and embracing the overall long-term strategy of the company.

  She was hopeful, because the fact was they both wanted the same things—an end to terrorism. An end to the people and organizations that held the world to ransom.

  The building was quiet as she stepped out of the elevator and crossed the carpeted floor. She didn’t bother to knock, just pushed open the door. Noah was seated behind his desk but stood as she entered.

  The similarity to his uncle was amazing, and she felt herself softening toward him. Peter had been a good friend over the years. Though dressed in jeans and an open-necked shirt, Noah was a far more casual figure than his uncle.

  He walked around the desk, coming to a halt in front of her, his hand held out. She took it, and his grasp was firm.

  He glanced behind her. “No secret service tonight?”

  “I left them in reception. I presume I’m safe with you.”

  “Perfectly.”

  “Good. So how are you? I’m thinking London must be a big change from what you’re used to.”

  “The English are an alien species, ma’am.”

  “They are indeed. And please, call me Michaela.” She smiled. “I don’t suppose you have anything to drink? It’s been a long day.”

  “Scotch?”

  “Wonderful.” Peter always kept scotch in his office—another similarity.

  She crossed over to the cream leather sofa and sank down while he went back to his desk and pulled a bottle and two glasses out of the drawer. After pouring them both a measure, he sat on the opposite end of the sofa.

  She raised her glass. “Welcome to Clayton Industries.”

  He raised his own glass and took a swallow of scotch. “Thank you. I’m grateful for the opportunity.”

  “How are you settling into the job?”

  “Fine.” He relaxed back in the seat. “Although I could do with a little more information as to what you’re looking for, specifically. What you’d like me to achieve here.”

  “A similar role to the one you performed in Project Arachnid, but without the actual active duty—we’ll pass that on to someone else.” She studied him over her glass, trying to determine the best approach. “Perhaps if I explain a little about why I offered you the job, it might give an insi
ght as to what I’m expecting of you.”

  He raised a brow. “Should I be worried?”

  She gave a short laugh. She liked his attitude. Polite but not intimidated. “You have a reputation for being able to get into the minds of terrorists.”

  “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

  “Maybe not, but it’s a useful ability and enables you to see patterns. I’ve spoken to people, and all the breakthroughs on Project Arachnid were down to your insights. I’d like you to do the same for me, but with slightly more resources at your disposal.”

  “To what end…Michaela?”

  “Twofold. Firstly, I’m a businesswoman as well as a politician. I’m sure you’ve looked closely into the structure of Clayton Industries and must be aware that we have branches all over the world. Information regarding terrorism can be very useful. In some countries, the effects on the economies after a big attack can be devastating. We would like advance warning if possible.”

  “I’m not sure it is—reliably, at least—but I’ll see what I can do.”

  “Excellent. There’s also a bigger picture. I strongly believe the world is teetering on the edge of the abyss.” She watched his face as she spoke, but he gave little away. “It will take very little for the balance to shift, and we’ll be plummeting into hell. I’d like to prevent that. While there’s a lot I can do within the governmental structures, there are limitations and barriers to the free flow of information. With the resources of Clayton Industries at your disposal, you have access to far more. Over the years, we have built up a network of information sources unrivaled by any organization, private or public. Make use of it.”

  He was silent for a moment, at a guess trying to decide whether to ask something.

  “If you have any concerns, Noah, ask now.”

  “I’ve been…impressed with the level of information available. It’s staggering. I suppose I’m wondering—is it…sanctioned?”

  “You mean is it legal? Let me ask you something first—does it matter? We’re fighting a war here. We need to use whatever weapons we have at our disposal or we will fail.”

  He nodded. “I guess I’ve been part of the system for too long. So while I understand what you’re saying and agree to some extent, at the same time, I’m not willing to use any means; there are lines I won’t cross.” He shook his head, his expression rueful. “I’m just not quite sure where they are yet.”

  A good answer—probably as good as she could hope for at the moment. “That, of course, is a decision you need to come to yourself. But you have the opportunity to make a real difference here. How much of a difference is up to you. Take a little time and consider where your lines are. In the meantime, it shouldn’t affect your usefulness.” Though it could become an issue, and she needed to put some safeguards in place, just in case.

  He blew out his breath. “That’s good. I’m looking forward to getting to work.”

  “I’m guessing you’re going to need help. Have a word with Tom—he can get you whatever resources you require.”

  “I’ll do that.”

  “I’m flying back tonight, but please let me know if there’s anything you need. Any questions you want answered. I look forward to seeing what you come up with.”

  She placed her empty glass on the table and rose to her feet, smoothing down her skirt. She caught him watching her—was there a glimpse of male appreciation there? Perhaps.

  They walked side by side. At the door, she turned and held out her hand. “How is your family?” she asked as he took it. “How are the children coping with losing their mother?”

  “Truth? I don’t know. We don’t communicate very well.”

  She gave his hand a squeeze before releasing her hold. “It will take time. But you’ll get there.”

  “Maybe.” He frowned, and she got the impression he was considering saying something further but hadn’t decided.

  “There’s something else on your mind?” she asked.

  “You’re very perceptive.” He exhaled. “I received an anonymous email. It claimed my ex-wife was murdered.”

  She pursed her lips. “And you believe it?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. It seems crazy. And so far, I’ve not come up with any evidence to support it.”

  “You’ve been looking into it?”

  “Of course. Crazy or not, it isn’t something I can ignore. I need to know one way or the other. If Eve was a target, maybe the children are in danger as well.”

  She rested a hand on his arm. “Of course. Reallocate some of our security to your children. Then you must use the company resources to conduct your research—they’re at your disposal. And I’ll let Tom know you’re to have any help you need.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s not entirely altruistic. You’ll work better if this is resolved.” What had happened to Eve Blakeley? She’d love to know. Perhaps Noah would discover the truth. She took a step back, looked up into his face. “Change is coming, Noah. Make no mistake. And we are all going to have to decide where we stand and what sort of world we live in on the other side.”

  And she turned and left.

  The meeting had gone well. She liked him.

  But she was in no way sure of him.

  …

  Noah went back to the sofa, poured himself another scotch, and sat back in his seat. He had the resources of the company at his disposal. That was incredibly generous, and he’d use what he could. And he’d function better knowing the children were safe.

  He needed to decide how best to move forward, but his mind kept straying to the rest of the meeting. He had a real chance to make a difference here. Do something useful in his life without the restrictions that had chafed so much during his time with the military.

  An alluring thought.

  And dangerous.

  Rules and laws existed for a reason. You didn’t just bypass them because you could and you had the money to make it possible.

  Or was he being naïve? Maybe that’s the way the world had always worked. And it could in fact be used as a force for good. As Michaela suggested, he’d spend some time and see where he was comfortable drawing his lines. How things worked out. He glanced out of the window to darkness; he hadn’t realized how late it was.

  He picked up the phone and punched in his home number. “Jenny, it’s Noah. I wanted to check on the children.”

  “It’s past eleven o’clock, Noah. They’re children, and they’re in bed asleep.”

  Shit. Really? “Sorry, I got caught up in something at work.”

  “No problem. Harper was disappointed you didn’t make it to dinner, but I let her watch an extra half hour of TV to make up for it. I suspect she thought it was a good deal.”

  “I bet.”

  “I’m going to bed myself now.”

  “I’ll try not to wake you when I get home.”

  “Good night.”

  He finished his drink and headed back to his desk. So much information at his disposal, even if he hadn’t yet decided whether to use it. He’d gotten lucky with this job. At least one thing in his life was going in his favor.

  As for the rest? He wasn’t so sure.

  Chapter Seven

  In the week since the meeting with Michaela, Noah felt like he hadn’t stopped moving. His brain bulged with the sheer quantity of information pushed into it. At the same time, he was thinking with a clarity he hadn’t experienced in a long time.

  He’d worked out the key words and phrases he was interested in. And, deeper than that, the concepts he was looking for. Subtle indications in the chatter. In turn, he’d developed filters that helped flag information that might be of interest. He now had a team of twenty people working for him, analyzing the information as it was reported. He’d interviewed the people Tom had brought along himself. It wasn’t merely intelligence he
was looking for but intuition. They had to be extensions of Noah’s own mind.

  He’d hardly seen the children in that time. Usually, he left before they got up in the morning and wasn’t home until after they were asleep.

  He’d taken Michaela at her word and arranged for two of the Clayton Industries security employees, a man and a woman, both ex-military, to watch the children. Jenny knew; the kids didn’t. The last thing he wanted was for them to feel they were in any danger. And mostly he believed they weren’t—all his inquiries had come up blank, and there had been no more emails. There was just that little niggle in his gut.

  He’d learned to trust his gut a long time ago. He wasn’t taking any chances. Not with their lives.

  So far the security detail had seen nothing untoward, which was good. He didn’t want to pull the kids from school. It would be summer break soon, and he planned to send them to their grandparents—they would be easier to watch unobtrusively there.

  It was five-thirty in the morning, and the house was quiet, but when he pushed open the kitchen door, he came to a standstill. Harper was perched on a stool at the breakfast bar, dressed in red pajamas, a glass of milk in front of her.

  “Morning, sweetheart,” he said with forced cheerfulness.

  She looked him over and pursed her lips, no doubt taking in his running gear, but she didn’t speak.

  He sidled to the fridge, grabbed the milk, and drank straight from the carton. She raised an eyebrow, and he cleared his throat. “I wanted to apologize,” he said. “I know I haven’t been around much lately.” He gave a shrug. “I’ve been busy at work. New job…”

  “No worries, Daddy.” She smiled. “It’s okay. Actually, it’s pretty much like old times, except without the mom or the dad.”

  He winced. Ouch. But what could he say? She was right. He had an urge to hug her, promise he’d do better, but he was in no way sure he could. All the same, he made a mental note to free up some time at the weekend to spend with them.