The Seventh Plague

by James Rollins

  Seichan stirred next to him, stretching an arm, arching her back. She shaded her eyes against the brightness. “What time is it?”

  “Time to look for shelter. It’ll be broiling out there in a couple hours.”

  “How far are we from Derek’s coordinates?”

  Gray checked the GPS map on his satellite phone. “Another twenty miles, and all of them rough.”

  Looking at the broken hills ahead, split by dry riverbeds called wadis and wind-sculpted ridges, he understood the wisdom of their choice of vehicle. The Unimog might only have a top speed of sixty, but it made up for its sluggish pace with pure terrain-hugging grip. Still, before they tackled the obstacles to come, they could all use some time to stretch their legs and get food in their bellies.

  Ahmad must have had the same idea. Far ahead, he whipped his bike around, casting up a rooster tail of sand. He pointed toward where a low cliff leaned away from the sun, creating a shady oasis beneath.

  Gray trundled toward his position as the others woke with various sounds of complaints.

  “We’re going to take a short break,” he announced. “And let the engines cool before the final haul.”

  Kowalski puffed out a long breath. “Good. Cuz I also gotta talk to a man about a camel. Drank way too much water.”

  Ahmad parked his bike and waited for them. He bounced about on his feet and waved an arm, plainly anxious for them to arrive.

  How does that kid have so much energy?

  Gray finally ground to a halt, pulling the Unimog into the shade. A happy bark came from the back bed, and Anjing leaped free and ran to his young master. As the dog and boy met in a timeless dance of greeting, everyone piled out.

  “Come see, come see!” Ahmad urged.

  Gray led the others toward him, while Kowalski headed toward a private spot to have that talk with a camel jockey.

  “Look.” Ahmad pointed to the sand. “Footprints.”

  Gray held everyone back, circling the disturbed area. “Definitely boot treads. And the sand’s also scooped out, like someone sought a cooler bed for the night.”

  “Or for the day,” Jane said. “My father knew the desert. He would’ve traveled only when the sun was down.”

  Derek agreed. “Harold was a tough bird.”

  “But he’d been delirious,” Seichan reminded them. “Who knows who might have camped here?”

  “It was my father. I just know it.”

  Jane dropped to her hands and knees in the shelter. She swept her palms over the areas, working in a spiral out from the center.

  Derek touched her shoulder. “Jane, maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t.”

  Jane shrugged off his hand. “If it was my father, he might have left—”

  A brush of her fingers exposed something poking out of the sand. Startled, Jane yanked her hand back. It was the end of a glass jar, sealed with a rubber stopper.

  Gray lowered to a knee beside her. “Let me.”

  He reached and extracted the object. It was a test tube—with something rolled and stuffed inside.

  Jane sat back on her heels, her eyes wide. “My father must’ve wanted to keep this from his captors and hid it here in case he was caught.”

  “But what is it?” Seichan asked.

  Gray weighed the risk of opening it, cognizant of the disease the professor had been harboring. Still, Ahmad’s relatives hadn’t become ill, and the professor surely hid this for a reason, hoping it would be found by the right people.

  So be it.

  He gripped the stopper, twisted it loose, and shook the object into his palm. It looked to be a tiny scroll of parchment. The others closed around him as he unrolled it. He did so carefully, sensing it was very old.

  Once the scrap was spread out, he discovered a line of hieroglyphics written across its length.

  Jane leaned avidly forward and held out her hand. “Let me see.”

  Derek peered over her shoulder as she took the fragment. “Look at the style of the glyphs. Like the quail chick and the reed. The writing must date back to the New Kingdom.”

  Jane agreed. “Definitely seventeenth or eighteenth dynasty.”

  “What does it say?” Gray asked.

  Jane scrunched her face. “The grammar and syntax are odd. Something about taking a boat to the river’s mouth. Then more about elephant bones.”

  She looked to Derek, who could only shrug, clearly as confused.

  Gray frowned. “Why would your dad go to all this effort to hide this old scrap of parchment?”

  “First of all, it’s not parchment.” Jane rubbed the material between her fingers. “It’s leather. Maybe even tattooed human skin.”

  “And notice how clean and straight the edges are.” Derek pointed. “Like it was cut free with a scalpel.”

  Jane squinted. “From its desiccated condition, I’d say it came from a mummy.”

  “But why?” Gray pressed again.

  Jane turned the relic over in her hands, then stiffened. She held the piece out to Gray. “Maybe because of this.”

  He leaned closer. Faint numbers and letters had been hastily scrawled along the lower edge.

  “Coordinates,” Gray said.

  As everyone stared at him, he pulled out his phone and plugged in the numbers as Jane read them aloud. A moment later, a glowing red dot appeared on the map.

  “Where does it point to?” Seichan asked.

  Gray looked up. “To a spot only two miles from where we were headed. Very close to the X marked on Derek’s map.”

  Jane stood up. “We have to get over there.”

  Gray nodded. He rolled up the fragment and tucked it back into the tube, then pointed to the truck. “Let’s load up.”

  Kowalski strode back to them, moving quickly, glancing over his shoulders and up at the sky. In his haste, he had forgotten to zip his fly.

  “What’s wrong?” Gray asked.

  “I think we’re being tracked.”

  “What?”

  “I was taking a leak, and I saw something moving in the sky, near the horizon. It vanished into the sun’s glare and was gone.”

  “It could’ve been a bird,” Derek offered. “Hawks, kites, vultures hunt even this far into the desert. Especially early in the morning.”

  Gray looked hard at Kowalski. “What do you think?”

  Kowalski rubbed a palm over the nape of his neck. “Maybe. I don’t know. But, hell, even before I saw it, I felt like someone was watching me.”

  Jane turned to Gray. “What should we do?”

  Gray weighed the odds. Kowalski might not be the brightest bulb in the box, but the guy had a keen instinct, especially when it came to surviving. Still, they couldn’t go running back to the Nile, spooked by a hungry vulture. Too much was at stake.

  “We go on,” he decided. “But keep watching our backs.”

  “And the skies,” Kowalski added, finally zipping up. “Don’t forget the skies.”

  Seichan shared a look with Gray, her worry clear. Back in Rufaa, she had been adamant that the stranger sniffing around their truck had been no mere thief. Here could be further confirmation. If so, there was only one conclusion to make.

  We’re heading into a trap.

  7:02 A.M.

  Valya cursed as the drone landed in the sand near her team’s encampment. The exhausted UAV—an RQ-11B Raven—had a four-foot wingspan and weighed less than five pounds. It was one of two birds that they had been using for aerial surveillance. Each had a charge that only lasted ninety minutes, so she had been alternating their flights to keep a watch on their targets, swapping batteries between runs.

  After arriving from Rufaa in the middle of the night, she had followed the enemy’s slow progress across the desert, monitoring from a small ground station hidden under a desert-camouflaged tent. The encampment had been set up in the hills that overlooked the flat terrain between here and the Nile. She had surmised correctly that the others would head first to the location where local tribesmen had found P
rofessor McCabe.

  Knowing there was a slim possibility she could have been wrong, she had hoped to fix a tracker to their truck. Such a device would be even handier now. With the sun up, they dared not use the drones anymore. She had already kept the last Raven aloft too long. For a brief moment, the drone’s optics had caught the large man in the group squinting straight at the UAV.

  Though the bird might not have been spotted, she regretted not withdrawing it sooner. She had taken that risk, hoping to discern what had stirred up the group a few moments ago. She got the briefest sidelong glimpse as they all huddled intently together, looking at something. But the overhang of the cliff thwarted her view.

  What did they find?

  She was especially suspicious considering the Unimog’s course all night. The truck—led by a small sand bike—had been heading in a straight line toward their position, as if the others knew where they were going. She had expected the group to set a more expansive search grid, sweeping back and forth, in an attempt to pick up the professor’s trail.

  Instead, their aim was uncanny.

  They can’t possibly know what’s out here.

  “They’re moving again,” a voice sounded in her ear.

  It was a scout she had sent circling wide to watch for the truck when it climbed out of the shadowy cleft again.

  She swung to the right and spotted a dusty cloud rise two miles to the west, marking their trail. She had another six men spread throughout these canyons and hills. Not counting their group leader.

  “What’re your orders?” Kruger asked, standing stiffly at her side.

  Willem Kruger—like the rest of his handpicked team—was a former reconnaissance commando with the South African Special Forces. He and his crew had been drummed out of the brigade due to accusations of offering armed support to human traffickers on the continent. She did not know if those stories were true. All she knew was their reputation: They were brutal, efficient, and uncompromising.

  Kruger squinted toward the distant dust trail, tracking its progress. “Do we close in on them now?”

  She considered his question, staring at the emblem fixed to the man’s desert khakis. It depicted a black dagger set against a green laurel wreath. It was his old Special Forces badge—but the dark blade reminded her of another knife, her grandmother’s athamé.

  She remembered the promise made last night, an oath carved into cold flesh. Her fingers absently rubbed the black handle of the dagger sheathed under the cuff of her sleeve.

  Her standing orders were to secure Jane McCabe—the others did not matter.

  “No, not yet,” she decided.

  Kruger gave her an inquisitive look.

  “I know where they’re headed,” she said, suddenly sure. “It’s a dead end.”

  And even more so, if they discover what’s hidden there.

  8:08 A.M.

  Jane gripped her door handle as the truck rode over a boulder, tilting precariously. They had been crawling through the challenging terrain for more than an hour.

  “I think I can walk faster than this,” Derek said as the Unimog righted itself, rocking heavily on its suspension. He held tight on the other side of the backseat.

  Seichan sat between them, leaning forward to talk to Gray as Kowalski drove. “How much farther?”

  That’s a bloody good question.

  Gray pointed ahead. “See that cleft between the next two hills? The coordinates Professor McCabe wrote down lie on the far side.”

  Jane spotted Ahmad, still leading the way. He and his bike vanished into the shadows between the cliffs. Anjing gave chase. The pace had been slow enough for the dog to keep up, even running off at times to check out an interesting smell or to relieve herself.

  They lumbered after the boy and his dog, but their speed grew ever slower as the terrain became more difficult. By the time the truck reached the fissure a snail could have outraced them.

  Still, Jane didn’t complain as the Unimog forced its way into the cleft, which looked barely wide enough to accommodate the truck. She pictured them becoming stuck, pinched between the two walls of rock. With no rear hatch and no sunroof, they would be trapped, at the mercy of the sun when it climbed to noon and baked them inside.

  A loud, sustained grind of rock on metal set her teeth on edge. She was sure her fear was about to become reality.

  Even Gray cast his gaze back and forth, looking worried. “Kowalski . . .”

  “Plenty of room,” the driver insisted.

  “Then why are you removing half the paint on my side?” he asked.

  Kowalski shrugged. “What’s a few battle scars?”

  After another tense five minutes, the walls dropped away to either side. The Unimog picked up speed.

  “Told you,” Kowalski grumbled under his breath.

  The gap opened into a bowl of sand the size of a football field. It was surrounded on all sides by rocky cliffs. A gust swirled through the valley, stirring the grains. Small dunes rimmed the edges, like waves on a windswept lake.

  Ahmad had parked his bike in the shade covering half the floor at this early hour. He was down on one knee, letting Anjing lap water from his canteen.

  “Well, I got us here,” Kowalski said as he drew the Unimog into the shade and stopped. “Now what?”

  Seichan frowned. “Place is empty.”

  Jane felt she needed to defend her father, to be his voice. “There must be something.”

  “Jane’s right,” Derek insisted. “Harold wouldn’t have risked everything and hidden these coordinates unless they were important.”

  “We go look,” Gray said. “We’ll spread out into two teams and search the cliffs.”

  “Or why don’t we just go see what’s got that kid so excited?” Kowalski suggested.

  Ahmad waved and pointed toward his dog. Anjing had finished drinking and must have run to one of the walls, drawn by some scent. The dog dug vigorously amid some boulders at the base of the cliff. Sand rocketed high between her hind legs.

  Curious, they all offloaded. The day had already grown considerably hotter, even in the shade. The group hurried to the boy.

  “Anjing find,” Ahmad said. “Come see.”

  Jane looked past the busy dog and immediately saw what had gotten Ahmad so worked up. Flush with the cliff face was a metal door. To further mask its presence from the casual eye, its surface had been acid washed to match the red-gray sandstone of these hills.

  Derek’s attention was elsewhere. He had dropped to run a hand over one of the small boulders. “These aren’t rocks. They’re old bricks. You can still feel the chisel marks.”

  Jane glanced from them to the door. “The stones must have originally sealed this place up.”

  She pictured her father coming here two years ago and opening whatever lay beyond, but this wasn’t his meticulous handiwork. Someone had trampled over it, either ignorant or unconcerned about preserving the history found here, even if it was only an old pile of bricks.

  Anjing dug at the door’s base, clearing away some of the windblown sand from the bottom sill. The dog clearly caught some scent from whatever lay beyond. She remembered the disease carried forth by her father.

  “Ahmad, perhaps you should pull Anjing back until we know what we’re facing.” She turned to Gray. “We should grab shovels. Along with the air masks and helmets.”

  Knowing the risk they were exploring, the team had been supplied with special face masks, similar to those worn by firefighters. Only these were equipped with filters fine enough to be antibacterial.

  Or anti-Archaeal in this case.

  After a short time digging and clearing the door, they all slipped on their helmets and secured their masks. They took time to check one another’s seals. Only Seichan hung back. She carried her face mask by its straps. Her gaze remained on the skies, scanning the edges of the cliffs.

  To guard their backs, she would remain behind with Ahmad and his dog.

  Jane had almost forgotten about th
e threat of someone following them. On the way here, there had been no other strange sightings in the sky. Even now the desert remained quiet. The only sound was the haunting whistle of the wind through the rocks and the hissing sift of sand.

  Of course, there was also the thumping of her heart.

  But the hurried beat was not fueled by fear—well, not entirely at least—but rather by the thrill of discovery. She was on the verge of finding out what had happened to her father. She felt closer to him in this moment than she had in a long time. She imagined his excitement standing at this same threshold. She was sure his heart had been pounding as hard as hers was now.

  Still, this moment of communion was tempered by a deep melancholy. She sensed the depth of her loss more intimately than ever before. Tears welled unexpectedly. She remembered Derek’s comment earlier, how grief caught you off guard.

  With her features already covered by her mask’s clear face shield, she couldn’t even wipe away her tears. So she turned from the others until she could collect herself. It was the sandy scrape of metal that finally drew her attention back around.

  Gray and Kowalski manhandled the door open.

  As they stepped aside, Jane clicked on the battery-powered lamp atop her helmet and shone the beam down the dark tunnel beyond the threshold.

  “Ready?” Gray asked her.

  “More than ready.” She stepped forward. “I’ve been waiting two long years for this.”

  8:40 A.M.

  With Gray in the lead, Derek followed behind Jane, his lamp shining on her legs. The roof of the passage was low, requiring them to keep their helmets ducked. Behind him, Kowalski was bent nearly in half, hunching along in their wake like a gorilla.

  The tunnel dropped at a slight angle, delving deeper under the surrounding hills.

  Jane ran her gloved fingertips along the walls. “Man-made,” she called back to Derek, her voice muffled by her face mask. “Somebody excavated this out of the sandstone. I wonder how far it goes. Maybe it could even be another Derinkuyu.”

  Derek remembered reading about the discovery of Derinkuyu, a subterranean city in the Anatolia region of Turkey. The newly unearthed metropolis dated back five thousand years, encompassing four miles of tunnels, caves, escape hatches, and homes, all on multiple levels. It was just more proof that the ancients could produce engineering marvels with their limited tools. The Pyramids at Giza were only the tips of what truly lay hidden underground throughout this region, waiting to be discovered.