The Forbidden Tomb

by Chris Kuzneski

  ‘Touché,’ she said before heading toward Manjani.

  The patio overlooked the striking blue water of the Aegean. Waves crashed gently in the background as Manjani worked at the table he had commandeered near the far wall. The carafe of coffee and the empty plates that had yet to be cleared told Sarah that he was a regular, and that the staff were content to leave him alone.

  She had to admit. His office had a hell of a view.

  As she approached his table, Manjani caught her from the corner of his eye. He instinctively recoiled as he shielded his laptop from her prying eyes.

  She caught it all and realized he was spooked.

  She knew better than to ignore the reaction.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry to interrupt. I was just wondering if you’re on the Internet right now?’ She pretended to catch herself. ‘Oh, umm, can you even understand me? Do you speak English?’ She started to pantomime her question, suddenly aware that she had no idea what gesture would convey the concept of the World Wide Web.

  The bewilderment wasn’t part of her gambit, but it fit in seamlessly.

  Her moment of honest confusion had broken the ice.

  Manjani smiled. ‘Yes, I speak English. And yes, there is access to the Internet.’

  ‘Perfect!’ she gushed. ‘I hate to bother you, but can you tell me who won the game? We’ve haven’t seen a computer since the weekend, and my boyfriend is simply beside himself. The longer he waits, the grumpier he gets.’

  Manjani stared at her. ‘Which game?’

  ‘Wow, I honestly don’t know. Sports aren’t my thing at all.’ She turned around and waved at Cobb. ‘Honey, which game did you care about again?’

  Cobb didn’t have to pretend or lie. In the chaos of the past few days, he hadn’t found the time to check any weekend scores from the NFL. ‘The Steelers.’

  ‘The Steelers,’ Sarah repeated.

  Manjani, who had much better things to do than to check scores for tourists, begrudgingly typed in the data and quickly found the result. ‘Pittsburgh won, 31-3.’

  ‘Yes!’ Cobb replied with a fist pump. ‘Thanks.’

  Sarah lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Thank you so much. You just made his day – and mine. Maybe he’ll shut up now and enjoy himself.’

  Manjani reluctantly cracked a smile.

  ‘I hate to push my luck,’ she said when she spotted an opening, ‘but do you know if there’s anything good to see around here? Besides the water, of course. We’re going to see enough of that while we’re sailing around the islands.’

  Manjani stared at her quizzically.

  His body was rigid and defensive, but his expression was soft.

  Sarah wondered if he was actually thankful for the company.

  ‘Yes,’ he eventually said. ‘There’s a monastery on the eastern side of the island, not far. Near Chora. It’s built into the cliffs. Simply beautiful.’ He looked at her jeans. ‘You will need a long skirt. Women are not permitted to be dressed like this.’

  She smiled. ‘Lucky for me, I brought one. My friends told me that it wouldn’t be tropical this time of year, so I brought plenty of long sleeves for the cool nights.’

  Manjani nodded his approval. In the summer months, the temperature in the Greek Islands was typically in the low-to-mid-eighties. But in November, the temperature regularly dropped below sixty degrees.

  ‘Does this monastery have a name?’ she asked.

  ‘It is known as the Monastery of Panagia Hozoviotissa.’

  ‘Wow. Try to say that three times fast.’

  He smiled. ‘It’s a mouthful, I know. It’s even worse in Greek.’

  ‘Wait! That was in English?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said with a laugh. This time, it wasn’t forced or stilted. After a rocky start, he seemed to be loosening up. ‘So, what brings you to Amorgos?’

  Sarah stepped closer, placing her hand on an empty chair at Manjani’s table. ‘We’ve been meaning to do something like this for a while. We talked about Paris, or maybe Hong Kong, but then I saw the Greek Islands on a travel site. Beautiful scenery, friendly people, and really affordable in the off season. The plan is to bop around the Aegean for a couple of weeks, take in the sights, and eat as much baklava as I can.’

  ‘Sounds like a tasty plan to me.’

  She laughed and pointed at the empty chair, asking for permission to join him. He considered the request for an unnaturally long time before he smiled warmly and closed his laptop, as if to say his computer could wait until later. It was obvious that he trusted her enough to chat for a bit but not enough to see what he was working on.

  Still, his frosty demeanor was melting.

  She eased into the seat. ‘Do you have any suggestions on what to see? We checked out the Acropolis in Athens before we caught our boat. That place was amazing. It’s, like, there’s American history – and then there’s Greek history. They’re, like, two completely different things. One’s modern and the other one’s ancient.’

  ‘I’m afraid I’m not much for history. At least not anymore.’

  ‘Really? I find that surprising.’

  ‘You do? Why’s that?’ he laughed.

  She calmly placed her hand on his. ‘I was told differently.’

  His smile withered. ‘By whom?’

  ‘Your old friend, Petr Ulster.’

  She saw a flash of fear in his eyes and a lump catch in his throat. Then she noticed his muscles tense as he tried to pull away. With a few simple words, she had triggered his most primal instincts: fight or flight?

  Manjani, who was unarmed, was too old for fisticuffs.

  But he was very tempted to run.

  She subtly shook her head. ‘You have nothing to fear. Not from us.’

  He stared at her. ‘Then why have you come?’

  Instead of answering, she leaned forward in her chair. She had only known Manjani for a few minutes, but it was long enough to get a feel for him. Her years of experience had revealed a lot about the man, and she needed to trust her skills.

  She could see the guilt in his eyes.

  He felt responsible for his team’s slaughter.

  ‘Dr Manjani,’ she whispered, ‘if you want to walk away, we’re not going to chase you. Honestly, we won’t. We’ll leave the island and disappear forever. But just so you know: you are the only person on the planet who can save our friend.’

  ‘Your friend? What do you mean?’

  She pulled a folded copy of his map from her pocket and showed it to him. ‘Your map told us where to start, but we need to know more if we’re going to find her.’

  ‘Who?’ he demanded. ‘Who are you talking about?’

  ‘While we were exploring the tunnels underneath the city, our friend – our historian – was abducted by the men who attacked your team. To have any chance of finding her, we need to know what happened in the desert and how you got away.’

  It was obvious that Manjani didn’t want to talk, much less think, about the details of the slaughter, and yet the guilt he felt was so pronounced it kept him glued to his chair, as if the bodies of the victims weighed him down. ‘And if I help you, what are you going to do about it?’

  ‘We’re going to save her and kill them.’

  Her answer caught him off guard.

  So much so, he needed a moment to think.

  Manjani stared at his map as a wave of emotions crashed into him like the water against the rocks below. Somehow, someway, he knew that he would eventually be found on the tiny island of Amorgos, but he had always assumed it would be by the shadow priests of Amun, not a couple of Americans who were searching for them.

  If not for the danger, the irony would be delicious.

  ‘Not here,’ Manjani said as he threw money on the table to pay his tab. Then he tucked his computer under his arm. ‘Come with me.’

  60

  Jasmine sat in the center of the dungeon floor staring at the ancient door. The mere sight of it had once lifted her spirits, but now it taunted her. F
or all she knew, it was the only thing standing between her and freedom.

  After spotting the body in the corner of her cell, she had gone back to her exploration of the room. The heavy chain attached to the shackles around her ankles had kept her from investigating the entire space, but she was determined to scour every inch that she could reach. Hindered by the lack of light, she had felt her way around the edges of the chamber until she found the door. The smooth texture of the wooden slab had been easy to distinguish from the rough masonry of the wall.

  Finally, she had found the handle.

  For a moment, it had given her hope.

  Though the keyhole presented a much different challenge than the barrel locks of the handcuffs in the desert hut, Sarah had explained the function of tumblers in great detail during Jasmine’s training. By no means was she ready to take on Fort Knox, but she understood the basics of what she needed to do. With enough time and a healthy dose of luck, Jasmine was sure she could unlock the door.

  If, and only if, she found something that resembled a lock pick.

  So far, that had proven to be a difficult task.

  Comically, it wasn’t until sometime later that she had faced the larger issue at hand. Even if she had been able to open the door, she was still chained to the wall. And the shackles around her ankles had no locks to pick – they were solid rings of iron that had been hammered into place.

  Jasmine winced at the memory of her oversight.

  It sounded like something McNutt would do.

  She lay back on the floor and shifted her focus to the oil lamp that dangled above, strangely wishing that it had been a candelabrum. At least the melting wax of a burning candle would have offered her a sense of time. She knew it was an arbitrary sense since she had no way of knowing how fast a random candle burned, but at least it was a measurable unit. She would have been much more at ease knowing she had been trapped for three candles . . . or twelve . . . or two hundred.

  Instead, all she had was the continuous flame of the lamp.

  With nothing else to entertain her, she began to reflect on her predicament. She knew that her exposure to the events of the last couple of months had changed her outlook considerably. She also knew that much of that change was brought about by her growing relationships with the team, particularly Sarah. Before their adventure, she would have resigned herself to the inevitable, patiently waiting to be rescued. But the confidence she had recently gained meant she now understood the need to make her own fate.

  Accepting her imprisonment wasn’t an option.

  Jasmine closed her eyes and thought back to the events in the tunnel when the silence was shattered by a sharp grating noise that echoed through the cell. She couldn’t place the direction of the sound because of the acoustics in the room, but she wanted to be ready if she was about to have visitors. She tensed, focusing on the self-defense techniques that Cobb had insisted she learn before their last adventure. All of the repetition, all of the muscle memory – it had led to this moment. Or had it?

  She heard the sound again.

  This time, she was able to locate the source.

  It wasn’t coming from the door.

  It was coming from the grave.

  Amazingly, the man in the corner of the room – the one she had assumed was dead – had suddenly come to life. As he emerged from his drug-induced sleep, he struggled to sit up on his own. Every time he tried, his chain rattled against the stone floor and he flopped over like a toddler learning to walk.

  A moment passed before he spotted Jasmine in the center of the room, watching him from afar with a mixture of empathy and fear. His sunken eyes locked on hers as if pleading for his life. Eventually, he mustered the strength to ask a single question, one bathed in desperation and doubt.

  ‘Where . . . are . . . we?’

  61

  After leaving the café, Manjani led Sarah and Cobb to a barren stretch of coastline near the harbor, where they could talk in private. Sensing anger and distrust from Manjani, Sarah knew she had to repair some of the damage she had caused by her deceit in the restaurant. She wasn’t planning to reveal classified details regarding her past, but she felt that she needed to be truthful about some basics in order to gain his trust.

  ‘Dr Manjani, my name is Sarah.’ She motioned toward Cobb, who was lagging behind while searching for any signs of trouble. ‘And that’s Jack.’

  ‘Let me guess: he’s not your boyfriend.’

  Sarah shook her head. ‘No, he’s not my boyfriend.’

  ‘Bodyguard?’ Manjani asked.

  ‘I’m her colleague,’ Cobb answered. They didn’t have time to explain the nuances of their relationship; and even if they did, he didn’t see a reason to tell Manjani any more details than were absolutely necessary. ‘Sorry about dropping in unannounced, but we’re in a bit of a hurry.’

  ‘Are you working for the Archives?’ Manjani asked.

  ‘No,’ Cobb replied, ‘Petr Ulster is merely a friend. He offered to help us out when the shit hit the fan. I guess we have that in common.’

  Manjani nodded but said nothing.

  Sarah took it from there. ‘Considering what you went through, I can understand your reluctance to talk about the incident in the desert. Still, anything that you can tell us about your expedition will be helpful to our cause.’

  Manjani remained quiet as they walked along the edge of the water. They could tell from his sluggish pace that events from the past weighed heavily on his mind. The only question was whether or not he’d be willing to share the details.

  Eventually, they came across a decrepit wooden bench that looked older than the ground itself, as if the bench was the seed from which the island had grown. Despite its sagging boards and weathered exterior, Manjani looked at it like it was an old friend. When he sat, the bench groaned and creaked but its form held true.

  ‘Sometimes I come here to think,’ he said to himself as much as the others. ‘And when I do my mind invariably drifts back to that day.’

  Sarah was tempted to sit next to him for support but ultimately decided against it – not only to give him some room to breathe, but also for the short-term health of the bench. She honestly didn’t know if it could handle additional weight.

  Manjani stared at the ripples on the water as he slowly opened up about the past. ‘It was our third week in the field when we made an important discovery: a small settlement that had been completely buried in the sand. At first, we assumed the village had been abandoned and that the Sahara had gradually reclaimed the terrain, as the desert was apt to do. And yet, as we dug deeper, we soon realized the village was completely intact, including several male skeletons huddled in the corners of the rooms.’

  ‘A sandstorm?’ she asked gently.

  ‘Undoubtedly,’ he answered while keeping his gaze frozen ahead. ‘Although it was a horrible tragedy for those we found – and I can think of few worse fates than being swallowed by sand – it was a remarkable discovery for me and my team because it gave us an ancient snapshot of a forgotten culture, right down to their archaic swords.’

  Cobb winced when he heard mention of the blades.

  From that alone, he could guess the rest.

  Still, he allowed Manjani to fill in the details.

  ‘Two nights later, I needed some time alone to ponder the significance of our discovery. So I grabbed my GPS and a backpack full of supplies and headed to the top of a nearby dune. I know it’s foolish to head off into the desert on one’s own – trust me, I would never let my students be so careless – but I have spent the past twenty years in the Sahara looking for tombs and pharaohs, so I know a thing or two about navigation.’

  ‘How long were you gone?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Ninety minutes. I even timed it to be sure. Fifteen minutes out, an hour to eat and think about the discovery, and fifteen minutes back. As long as I kept my pace and my direction was true, I would end up in the same place that I started.’

  ‘Did it work?’
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  ‘Of course it worked,’ he replied. ‘As I mentioned, I’m a seasoned veteran when it comes to the desert, and it’s a good thing, too, because the wind really started to pick up on my way back to the campsite. So much so, my tracks were completely erased.’

  He paused, recalling the horror that followed. ‘When I crested the last dune, I could see my team being slaughtered in the valley below. The shadows simply cut them down where they stood . . . I couldn’t hear their screams over the gusting of the wind, but I could see them . . . They were reaching out to me, begging for help.’

  He swallowed hard, fighting back his tears. ‘There was one student in particular, a brilliant scholar by the name of Marissa. She was the youngest one in the group. She had this smile that could light up a room . . . Everyone adored her, even me. I could see her there in the campsite . . . She was right there . . . For a minute, I thought maybe, just maybe, I could run down the dune and save her, but before I could . . .’

  His voice faded into sobs of grief.

  And Cobb felt his pain.

  He knew from experience that the worst thing that could happen on a battlefield wasn’t death; it was watching someone you cared about suffer. That feeling of hopelessness never went away. In fact, sometimes it worsened. Over the years, Cobb had awoken to his own screams in a tangle of damp sheets more times than he could count, and the lingering nightmare in his head always focused on the soldiers under his command that he wasn’t able to save and the family members they left behind.

  Those were the images that haunted him.

  Not his own death, but the agony of others.

  ‘Trust me, there’s nothing you could have done to save her. Absolutely nothing. If you had charged in, you would be dead, too.’

  Manjani nodded as he wiped away his tears. In his heart he had known the truth for months, but it was nice to have someone agree with him.

  ‘What happened next?’ Cobb asked.

  ‘When it was over, I watched the shadows drag the bodies into the swirling haze of the approaching storm, knowing that I would never see my team again, knowing that the desert would be their grave. So I wrapped a towel around my face, lowered my head into the wind, and tried to escape.’