The Forbidden Tomb

by Chris Kuzneski

  ‘It’s her,’ Kamal said in Arabic. ‘Dade’s friend.’

  Tarek glanced at the image. ‘I’ll get the car.’

  Someone had recognized her from their description.

  Better still, they now had a picture of their target.

  * * *

  Ten minutes later they were standing in the opulent foyer of their employer.

  A spectacular mural depicting the Egyptian tale of the Treasure Thief wrapped around the entryway. It related the adventures of Horemheb, the master builder who had been called upon to construct an impenetrable vault for Pharaoh Ramses III. Horemheb did as he was instructed, but left a hidden entrance so that his son might someday help himself to the treasure. Try as he might, the pharaoh could never catch the commoner who continually robbed his coffers. In the end, the son admitted his crime, but he had proven to be so brilliant in his deception that he had fallen into favor with the very king he had deceived.

  It was the story of a criminal who was so skilled at his craft that the highest power in the land had no choice but to recognize his abilities and herald him as a hero.

  Most people saw the tale through the eyes of the pharaoh: a powerful man who came to terms with his own limitations and was gracious enough to forgive and forget.

  But Hassan identified with the thief who had outwitted a king.

  Beyond the mural, two luxurious sitting rooms flanked a wide hallway trimmed in ebony and sandalwood – a corridor that led into the bowels of the mansion. Hassan had never been one to shy away from the finer things in life, even if the opulence might draw attention. He had built his empire from nothing, and he was determined to enjoy the spoils of war. His home reflected that philosophy.

  Kamal and Tarek were still hungry, but now they wanted information, not poultry. They wanted to know more about the mysterious woman who had outrun them two days earlier. They wanted to know why she was in town, what connections she had, and who else had aided her escape. But before they could proceed with their investigation, they had to report to Hassan. His desire to know everything that happened in his territory even extended to the actions of his own men.

  Gahiji Awad, Hassan’s personal bodyguard, met them at the door. ‘The timing of your call was fortunate. He’s been waiting to hear from you.’

  He turned and led them into the house.

  Neither Kamal nor Tarek was particularly fond of Awad, not only for his arrogance, but also his skill set. Standing just over five and a half feet in height, the diminutive bodyguard should have presented little challenge in a fight. At least, that’s what they had first believed. Despite his muscular frame, they dwarfed this tiny man by several inches and several pounds. They should have been able to crush his bones into powder.

  But it would take more than brute force to defeat him.

  The one and only time that Kamal and Tarek had physically challenged Awad, it had almost cost them their lives. Using a form of martial arts that the larger men had never thought possible, Awad had devastated them with a series of moves that bordered on superhuman. In the end, Kamal had three broken fingers, a dislocated hip, a separated shoulder, and three cracked vertebrae.

  And he was the lucky one.

  For weeks after the fight, Tarek couldn’t pee standing up.

  It was the last time they had confronted him.

  Awad guided them to the rear wing of the property to Hassan’s office. It was a magnificent space decorated with the finest Egyptian antiquities. Its warm, reddish hue was offset by the panoramic view of the harbor and the cool blue tint of the open sea beyond. Hassan stared at them from behind his desk. Between the parties, a sterling silver serving tray sat covered on the desktop, as if the news had interrupted his meal.

  ‘Come . . . Sit.’ The drawl of his Arabic was slow and pronounced. He waited for them to take a seat before he spoke again. ‘You have news?’

  Kamal nodded. ‘We have a lead on the girl.’

  ‘The girl you spoke of two nights ago?’

  He nodded again. ‘We described her to our sources on the street. They were given orders to notify us if they saw her. She was spotted this evening.’

  Kamal took out his cell phone and handed it to Hassan so he could see the picture that had been sent. ‘She is the same woman who ran from us in the bar. The woman who was speaking with Simon Dade.’

  ‘What is her involvement with Dade?’

  ‘We do not know. As you are aware, we have been unable to locate Dade these last few weeks. It appears he has gone into hiding. The recent encounter is as close as we have gotten. Again, our deepest apologies.’

  ‘He hides from us, yet he emerged for this girl? Then she is someone worth knowing. Wouldn’t you agree?’

  ‘Yes,’ they mumbled in unison.

  Hassan smiled and leaned back in his seat. ‘Gentlemen, you asked for this meeting, so tell me your thoughts: what does your instinct tell you? What do you make of her?’

  Kamal and Tarek didn’t know how to respond. In all the years they had worked for Hassan, he had never asked for their opinions on a subject. They were simply the muscle. Hassan was the brain. They fed him the information they had gathered, he dictated their actions, and they responded. They weren’t accustomed to choices, and they certainly weren’t called upon for their thoughts.

  Tarek broke the silence after an awkward pause. ‘We do not believe that she is a tourist.’

  Hassan raised an eyebrow. ‘That is all?’

  Kamal sat up straight in his chair. If this was his chance to show his boss that he was capable of more than physical intimidation, he was going to make the most of it. ‘As Farouk was saying, there is something different about her. She does not have the naïve look of a tourist. She carries herself confidently, like a professional.’

  ‘A professional? Like a doctor?’

  He shook his head. ‘Like a criminal.’

  It was an honest assessment, one that had come from years of observation. Alexandria might not be mentioned in the same breath as Caracas, Cape Town, or Juárez, but it still had its fair share of danger. Survival, particularly in their line of work, took a certain level of street smarts. Identifying the hustlers and con artists was an everyday chore, and those who couldn’t were destined to become victims.

  Kamal hadn’t survived this long on his size alone.

  He knew overlooking the girl would be a mistake.

  Tarek joined in, warming to the opportunity to speak. ‘Her meeting with Dade was not coincidence. They knew each other. She trusted him enough to run with him at the first sign of trouble. That is why we sent her description to our people. To determine who she is, and why she is here.’

  Hassan nodded. ‘Do you think she is cause for concern?’

  ‘Concern?’ Kamal echoed. ‘Not at this time. But she is a person of interest. That is why we circulated her photo. We knew she could not hide forever.’

  ‘Good,’ Hassan replied. ‘I want you to bring her to me. No more waiting. No more distractions. You are forgiven this time, but next time I might not be so charitable.’

  Kamal and Tarek glanced at each other, confused. As far as they could tell, Hassan had agreed with everything they had said. So why was he threatening them?

  Kamal was the one to voice it. ‘Sir, have we done something wrong?’

  Hassan glared at them. ‘Do you actually think I didn’t know where you were while this girl was roaming my city? You dare to indulge yourselves with fancy meals while this wildcard walks my streets, and you expect my gratitude for bringing me her photo? If not for your lackeys, you would still be searching for her. Now I see why you have yet to produce Simon Dade.’

  ‘We thought—’

  ‘Silence! I do not pay you to think!’

  Kamal and Tarek could feel Awad circling behind them, like a shark in shallow water waiting to attack. They knew all he needed was permission.

  Instead, Hassan smiled. ‘But as I say, you are forgiven. In fact, I’ve prepared a special treat for you, se
eing as your meal was previously interrupted.’

  Hassan lifted the sterling silver cover off the tray on his desktop. He revealed a Desert Eagle .50 caliber pistol, a gun so powerful that the resulting wound would be bigger than a grapefruit.

  Next to the pistol lay two dead pigeons. Awad had broken their necks only minutes before Kamal and Tarek’s arrival.

  The birds were still warm. Their legs still quivering.

  Hassan pushed the silver tray across his desk.

  ‘Please, gentlemen, finish your meal.’

  20

  Saturday, November 1

  After returning to the yacht, the team watched footage of Sarah and Cobb’s exploration for several hours. The film study may have seemed like overkill, but it served a purpose. Having searched the entire system, the only thing that stood out was the curious brick wall at the end of the final tunnel.

  For some reason, it didn’t seem to belong.

  Garcia did some digging and explained what he had found. ‘Jack’s theory about the bomb shelter is dead-on. It was actually planned by the British military. They saw the tunnels as a way to protect the local population if the Germans decided to bomb Alexandria. The Egyptian government signed off on the plan, authorizing a sizeable project that was intended to transform the empty tunnels into shelters.’

  ‘Transform them how?’ Papineau asked.

  ‘Where needed, they reinforced the stone with concrete to ensure that it wouldn’t collapse. They lined the walls with wooden benches. And they installed a ventilation system to provide breathable air.’

  ‘We didn’t see any benches,’ Sarah offered.

  Garcia anticipated the comment. ‘The benches have mostly been removed in the years since the war. The wood was needed in the ghettos. Some built with it. Some simply burned it. Either way, everyone turned a blind eye.’

  Jasmine appreciated the information, but it didn’t explain the brick wall. ‘It still leaves us with one question: if the goal was to protect as many people as possible, why seal off part of the system? There’s another cistern beyond the brick wall and several more tunnels. There would be room for hundreds of people. Why not use that space as well? Why put the barricade there? And how do we get past it?’

  Silence hung in the air as everyone pondered the issues.

  That is, until McNutt chimed in.

  ‘I’m not great at math—’

  ‘No shit,’ Sarah said.

  ‘But by my count, that was four questions, not one.’ He double-checked his math on his fingers. ‘Yep, cinco.’

  Jasmine smiled. ‘What’s your point?’

  ‘I have no idea how to answer the first three, but the fourth one is easy.’ He broke into a wide grin. ‘If you want to get through, I can get through.’

  * * *

  They weren’t the only ones pondering new evidence. Kamal and Tarek had gone without sleep as well, having spent the night running down their only lead: the cell phone picture of the mysterious woman.

  The photograph had been sent by an elderly shopkeeper at one of the businesses that they ‘protected’. He, like many others, had heard of Kamal and Tarek’s interest in the woman. Hoping to curry favor with the henchmen – the payments that he owed to them seemed to increase every week – the shopkeeper did what he could to find her.

  Since his ailments prevented him from roaming the city, the shopkeeper had asked his grandson to keep an eye out for anyone matching Sarah’s description. The grandson had then asked his friends for help, and one of those friends had snapped the picture of her down the street from the apartment building.

  They didn’t know where she was headed.

  But if she returned, they would be ready.

  * * *

  There were pros and cons about returning to the tunnel so soon after their rekky.

  On the plus side, it was still the weekend, which meant the streets would be filled with people of all shapes and sizes and the local authorities would be preoccupied with maintaining the general peace on the rowdiest day of the week.

  On the other hand, if anyone had grown suspicious of Cobb and Sarah the night before, their reappearance might cause some alarm, especially since there would be more to notice on their return trip. This time they were bringing Jasmine, McNutt, and a wide assortment of equipment.

  After sorting through all the possibilities, Cobb decided it was better to hit the tunnels while they were fresh in their minds than to sit on the yacht and wait.

  The rest of the team agreed.

  Papineau dropped them off in an alley near the apartment building before he returned to the yacht. Meanwhile, Garcia monitored the team’s movement from his makeshift command center, using high-tech toys and surveillance videos.

  Garcia tapped a few keys. ‘Okay, boys and girls, I’ve got all of you up on my screen. That means your devices are transmitting . . . Can everyone hear my voice?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Jasmine.

  ‘Hurry up,’ urged Sarah.

  ‘Who is this?’ asked McNutt.

  Cobb smiled. ‘That’s affirmative.’

  Garcia checked his video screens. ‘The street is clear in front of the building. The lobby is clear, too. Commence on your go.’

  Cobb nodded at Sarah. ‘Clear here. Moving in.’

  To lessen their odds of detection, they traveled in pairs. Sarah and McNutt went first, followed by Cobb and Jasmine. Sarah picked the lock without breaking stride and continued down the hall toward the stairwell. McNutt slowed briefly, placing a piece of tape over the strike plate to prevent the lock from reengaging, before he caught up with Sarah. They continued toward the basement and the boiler room as Cobb and Jasmine arrived at the front door. Cobb opened the door like a gentleman while smoothly removing the tape from the frame. Jasmine walked through before he pulled the door shut behind him.

  All in all, their breach had taken thirty-nine seconds.

  One second less than they had expected.

  Inside the boiler room, McNutt had no trouble removing the metal grate that led to the tunnels below. Sarah instinctively paused to listen for trouble. Hearing nothing but the steady hum of the boiler, she dropped into the system below and turned on her video flashlight.

  ‘We’re clear,’ she said from the tunnel.

  A minute later, the team was standing beside her.

  ‘Now where?’ Jasmine wondered.

  No longer the navigator, she was relying on Garcia to guide them to the far end of the cisterns. Unfortunately, she knew it would take a lot of jumping and climbing to reach the brick wall – and climbing was not her forte. In fact, the last time she had climbed anything of significance was back in grade school, and that incident had resulted in a bloody lip when a classmate pulled her hair and she fell off a jungle gym.

  Today, the stakes would be much higher.

  And so would the obstacles.

  As they approached the first cistern, Sarah pulled a thin climbing rope from her backpack and began tying it around Jasmine’s waist. ‘This will catch you if you fall. It’s not the easiest climb down.’

  ‘I’m going first?’ Jasmine blurted.

  Sarah smiled as she pulled the knot tight. ‘No. I’m going down first to check the holds. If they’re still solid, you’ll come down next. If not, the guys will have to lower you with the rope.’

  Before the others could argue, Sarah was off the edge and making her way toward the floor. Fifteen seconds later she was staring up at them. ‘Jasmine, you’re up.’

  ‘Great,’ she said in a tone that suggested otherwise. ‘So, Jack, how do I do this? Do I just start climbing?’

  Cobb smiled. ‘Yep.’

  ‘And if you happen to slip . . .’ McNutt showed her the tight grip he had on the rope. ‘I swear I’ve got ya.’

  ‘You won’t fall,’ Cobb assured her. ‘I did this yesterday in both directions, and the handholds are solid. Just have a little faith, and you’ll be fine.’

  Jasmine took a deep, calming breath, blew it out
slowly, and then started her descent. Her pace was measured at first, but after she got a feel for the spacing of the slots, her speed picked up considerably for the rest of the climb.

  McNutt went down next, followed by Cobb, who brought the rope down with him. Once he reached the bottom, he quickly spooled the rope around his hand and elbow before he slipped it over his shoulder and nodded for Sarah to take the lead.

  ‘This way,’ she said.

  The others followed as she led them through the twists and turns of the cistern system. Somehow she had memorized the maze and knew how to make it through without any guidance from Garcia – a feat that surprised everyone, including herself.

  Although Jasmine had been amazed by the video footage of the tunnels, it was nothing like being there. In person, the underground cisterns were overwhelming.

  ‘This stuff should be in a museum,’ Jasmine said as she swept her flashlight across the space. ‘It represents the breadth of the region’s history.’

  No one commented, so she continued.

  She pointed to the base of pillar. ‘Look over there. That relief is influenced by the classical Greek style. But the arches in the last cistern were consistent with the angular, geometric design of Persia. The diversity down here is astounding. And it’s so well preserved. It’s amazing to think that by reusing pieces of ancient ruins they were actually protecting them. On the other hand, it’s a shame that—’

  Sarah spun around and shined her light in Jasmine’s face.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Jasmine demanded.

  ‘How should I know?’ she said in a harsh whisper. ‘There could be a herd of elephants charging toward us right now, and I wouldn’t be able to hear them over your historical play-by-play.’

  ‘Sorry. I’m just excited.’

  Sarah softened her tone. ‘Listen, we can discuss the finer points of architecture and what it means to mankind once we return to the boat. But right now, we have to focus on the mission at hand – and that’s getting in and getting out.’