Journey of the Pharaohs - NUMA Files Series 17 (2020)

by Cussler, Clive

  Twisting his head about like an owl, the professor studied the walls until the answer appeared. “Of course,” he said, grinning. “Tutankhamen’s crypt was hidden by a landslide as well.” He pointed toward a sloping pile of debris that jutted out from the canyon wall. “That’s got to be it. Let’s hope we can dig our way in.”

  They turned around, drove back to the rockslide and parked. After dismounting their ATVs, Robson and the professor climbed up to the top of the debris, where they found a narrow gap.

  “Tight fit,” the professor said, ducking his head inside. “I should want a little more room to be on the safe side.”

  Robson shook his head. “We’re not moving the whole mountain only to find it’s the wrong cave. Get in there.”

  “Right,” the professor said, suddenly remembering he was technically a prisoner. “Coming?”

  “Don’t like closed-in spaces,” Robson said. “Jail will do that to you.”

  The professor nodded politely. Reaching into a pocket, he produced a headband with a light attached to it. He pulled it over his head, made sure it was snug and then switched the light on. A flashlight from a second pocket fit into his palm.

  Getting down on his hands and knees, the professor crawled into the cave and vanished.

  Robson and his men waited outside.

  “What if he gets killed by a booby trap?” Fingers asked.

  “Then we know we found the right place,” Robson joked, “don’t we?”

  “But we won’t know if he’s dead unless we go in and search around ourselves,” Gus pointed out.

  “Relax,” Robson said. “You ever heard of a trap that still worked two thousand years after it was set? Besides, if there were any traps in there, they’d have killed the archeologists who found this place a hundred years ago. Now, pipe down, you’re annoying me.”

  With the ATVs shut down and his men holding their tongue, Robson came to appreciate how utterly silent the canyon was. He could hear small trails of sand sliding down the rock pile as he moved, he could hear lizards scurrying around in a brush fifty yards away.

  The silence made the time drag. Finally, Robson had had enough. He grabbed a flashlight of his own, switched it on and moved to the opening. Before he could climb in, the grinning face of Professor Cross appeared in the entry.

  “It’s all here,” the professor said giddily. “Everything. Everything we could have possibly hoped to find.”

  CHAPTER 57

  By the time Barlow’s helicopters landed, Robson and his men had spent thirty minutes digging at the debris. The pile wasn’t entirely gone, but by using shovels and pry bars and chains attached to the ATVs to drag the larger boulders away they’d managed to take several feet off the top. A four-foot-high opening had been excavated at the apex and the inclines accessing the cave had been flattened and smoothed considerably. It now resembled a dirt ramp leading up, in and then down.

  “Good work,” Barlow said, studying the progress. “We’ll need that space to get everything in and out.”

  “Another twenty minutes and we’ll have this looking like the on-ramp to the motorway,” Robson said.

  Barlow wasn’t about to wait that long. “Let your men do the rest. I want you and the professor to show me what you’ve found.”

  Robson laid down his shovel and ordered Fingers, Gus and Snipe to keep working. That done, he steeled himself to enter the dark cave.

  Barlow whistled to the crewmen who’d flown in on the helicopters with him. “Unload everything. We’ll need the lights ASAP and the crawlers soon after.”

  The pair of lights each had a high-powered array of multiple LED bulbs on it. Each was powered with a heavy lithium-ion battery and was capable of lighting up the inside of the cavern like a stadium.

  The crawlers were specialized handcarts equipped with motorized caterpillar tracks. These machines could carry thousands of pounds and would be used later to haul out the heaviest of the items.

  With the unloading under way, Barlow and Robson turned to the cave. Scaling the ramp, they went inside with Professor Cross leading the way.

  They descended the inner slope and began moving through the dark tunnel. With their eyes used to the brightness of the ravine, they saw only what their flashlights illuminated.

  “The interior of the cave is perfectly flat,” Barlow said, noticing how smooth it was underfoot.

  “That should come as no surprise,” Professor Cross said. “The Egyptians were wonderful engineers.”

  Robson kept glancing back at the entrance. “Are you sure you need me?”

  “Keep moving,” Barlow ordered.

  They continued on, spotting a row of small statues up against the wall. Behind them, in a state of disrepair, were parts of several chariots. A pile of furniture and decorative items stood nearby.

  “There’d better be more than this,” Barlow warned.

  “Of course,” the professor said. “These are just the gifts for the Afterlife. The treasure is this way.”

  They pushed on past the hastily stacked furniture and arrived in a huge open room. Even in the poor illumination of a couple of handheld flashlights, Barlow could see that this room was filled with ornate carvings, life-sized statues, artwork and mummies. In the center, he spotted a sarcophagus.

  As his crewmen arrived, he ordered the lights to be set up. “There and there,” he said, pointing to a couple of areas spaced widely apart. “Be quick. I want to see it in all its glory.”

  The men arranged their portable floodlights and set them up quickly. Switches were thrown and, one by one, the powerful LEDs came on. Each unit’s bulbs pointed in slightly different directions, but most of the light was aimed upward and out, first hitting the walls and ceiling, then reflecting back on the artifacts.

  As each section of the cavern was illuminated, more treasure appeared. As Barlow turned from one quarter to the next, he grew almost hysterical. It was better than he dreamed. His tractor-trailers couldn’t carry half of it. He would have to pick and choose. He knew the royal items would be the most valuable and found himself focused on the sarcophagus in the middle of the room.

  He turned to Professor Cross. “I thought you said there would be at least fifteen Pharaohs buried down here.”

  “I’m sure there are more around here somewhere,” the professor said. “We’ve only explored a small part of the cave.”

  Barlow nodded and walked toward the sarcophagus with Professor Cross at his side.

  As they went that direction, Robson looked the other way. With the lights on and the large, open space, he’d forgotten his claustrophobia and begun imagining his portion of the wealth.

  Looking around, he took it all in, stopping only when his eye fell on something that didn’t belong among the Pharaoh’s treasures. He blinked twice to make sure it wasn’t a trick of the shadows or a figment of his imagination.

  In the far section of the cave, up on a platform at the end of a smooth ramp, he spied a dust-covered vintage automobile. The machine had a long, sleek hood and gracefully curved fenders that swept down over multi-spoked wheels. Running boards graced the side of the car and a pair of forward-jutting headlights stuck out in front of the vehicle’s radiator. It appeared to be very well preserved. Even the tires, though showing signs of age, were still inflated.

  He walked toward it, climbing the ramp that led up to the platform. As he neared the vehicle, more details emerged. The machine was a two-seater convertible with its top down and only a simple, flat-plate windshield sticking up in front of the passenger compartment. A tarp that must have been placed over it at one time appeared to have slipped off and now lay on the ground. Though the vehicle was covered in dust, Robson could see it was painted a lustrous black.

  Stopping at the top of the ramp, he spoke without turning back to the others. “Did the Pharaoh own a car?”

  All eyes turned toward him and the automobile.

  “The Granzinis must have left that here,” the professor said. “Or one of th
e archeologists.”

  Robson looked into the passenger compartment. It sported a wooden steering wheel, a metal instrument panel and a badge that read KISSEL. He assumed that was the make or model, though he himself had never heard of it.

  The more he studied it, the more certain he was that this wasn’t a car an archeologist would own. He figured it must have belonged to the Granzinis, but why the smugglers would have left it in the cave escaped him. Nor could he come up with a reason to drive such a fine automobile into a desert canyon in the first place.

  He reached inside, touched the steering wheel and noticed a placard attached to the instrument panel. Sweeping the dust away with his fingers revealed engraved letters. The sign read Property of C. B. DeMille.

  The name rang a bell, but Robson couldn’t place it.

  Meanwhile, back in the center of the cave, Barlow and Professor Cross were crouching beside the sarcophagus, studying what they’d found.

  Professor Cross wiped it clean of dust, gazing at the painted blue and gold stripes on the facial portion. The paint was cracked and fading. He touched the lid, rubbing more dirt off and getting a sense of the texture. He rapped his fingers against it.

  “Appears to be made of wood,” he said. “Usually the outer case is made of stone and the inner casket is made of gold, but perhaps stone was too heavy to carry down here.”

  “It’s the golden death mask and the body that matters,” Barlow said. “Do you have any idea how much people will pay to have the mummy of a Pharaoh in their private collection? Let’s open it.”

  The two men found a seam and wedged their fingers into the gap. Lifting it up, they raised the lid a few inches at a time. It slid upward with ease, feeling surprisingly light. When it pulled clear of the lower half, Barlow shoved it away, allowing it to topple over and thump noisily to the ground.

  Barlow looked immediately for his prize. But instead of a golden casket or a mummified Pharaoh, he found something else entirely.

  Kurt Austin lay in the sarcophagus. He wore a satisfied grin on his face and held a .45 caliber pistol in his hand, the barrel of which was aimed at a spot directly between Barlow’s eyes.

  Both Barlow and Professor Cross froze.

  “Austin?” Barlow stammered. “How … I saw you killed.”

  “So you did,” Kurt replied. “But I’m old friends with Osiris, god of the Underworld. When I told her what you were up to, she canceled my reservation and sent me back here to put a stop to it.”

  CHAPTER 58

  From his position by the vintage car, Robson couldn’t clearly see what was happening at the center of the cave. He saw Barlow and the professor raise their hands, heard them mumbling something and then saw them getting down on their knees. For a second, he thought they were performing some ritual or even praying.

  Before he could figure it out, a whistle from behind the old automobile got his attention.

  Spinning quickly, Robson came face-to-face with Joe Zavala, who held a short-barreled MP7 submachine gun in his hands.

  “Get on the floor,” Zavala said. “Hands on your head.”

  Robson had no choice. He took a final glimpse toward the center of the cave as he lay down. He saw Barlow and Professor Cross getting the same treatment. They’d been caught as red-handed as it gets.

  With the leaders of the group captured, the men who’d brought in the lights panicked. Seeing the guns, they made a quick evaluation of the situation and took off running.

  The man nearest to the exit got halfway there before a woman, whom Robson knew as Morgan Manning, appeared from behind a statue of Anubis and hit him in the midriff with an ancient-looking staff. The wooden pole shattered, sending pieces in all directions, but the impact was enough to drop him to the ground.

  He stayed down, holding his stomach, as she pulled out a 9mm handgun. Seeing that any hope of escape was cut off, the other man surrendered, dropping to his knees and putting his hands behind his head.

  At the center of the cavern, Kurt stood up. He was pleased with the operation. He kept the Colt pointed at Barlow as he stepped out of the sarcophagus, waiting for the man to try something.

  Instead, Professor Cross began to speak. “Thank you,” he said, starting to get up. “Thank you for rescuing me. You have no idea how abhorrent it’s been. I’ve barely been able to—”

  Kurt fixed him with a glare. “Stay where you are, Professor. We’re not done here.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “But I do,” Kurt said. “Now, get on the ground. You chose the wrong team.”

  The professor looked deeply wounded as he lay down, but he didn’t protest further.

  Kurt shouted to his friend, “Joe?”

  Joe’s voice echoed as he shouted back. “Got the drop on this one.”

  Morgan spoke next. “These two aren’t going anywhere either.”

  “Paul? Gamay?” Kurt called out. “Time to secure the prisoners.”

  Paul and Gamay emerged from another section of the cave. They made their way to Morgan first. While she guarded her two captives, Paul zip-tied their hands and Gamay sealed each man’s mouth with a length of duct tape.

  “Barlow and the professor next,” Kurt said.

  “With pleasure,” Gamay said.

  She and Paul turned toward the center of the cave, but the roar of an engine filled the space as one of the ATVs came charging into the cavern.

  Morgan turned to fire but was forced to dive out of the way to avoid being run over. Paul and Gamay leapt to safety as well and the rider sped past them and rushed headlong toward the stash of treasure—and directly at Kurt, Barlow and Professor Cross.

  Kurt had no choice. He raised his pistol and fired twice, knocking the man off the machine with the first shot and blasting the front right tire with the second.

  The tire exploded, sending the ATV into a diagonal spin. It bounced off a wall, flipped and tumbled. Kurt was forced to dive behind the sarcophagus, hitting the ground just as the four-wheeler slammed into the side of it, sending fragments of painted wood and dust exploding into the air.

  Kurt rolled to get clear and then popped back up. He saw Professor Cross running deeper into the cave and Barlow leveling a snub-nosed pistol in Kurt’s direction.

  Kurt and Barlow fired at each other, dodged to their respective sides and then fired again. Neither of them took a hit, but Barlow had the better position, protected behind the wrecked ATV. All Kurt had was the thin wooden husk of the shattered sarcophagus to shield him.

  Up on the platform, beside the vintage automobile, Joe saw Kurt was in danger. He raised his weapon and fired down at Barlow, forcing the man to halt his attack and go for better cover.

  The choice gave Joe’s prisoner a chance to make his own move. The instant he wasn’t covered, Robson rolled over, pulled a pistol of his own and began firing at Joe.

  Joe dropped down behind the Kissel and listened as the slugs hit the metal of its engine block. When the firing stopped, he looked beneath the car and saw Robson sprinting in the opposite direction.

  Jumping up, Joe took a shot at Robson, but the bullet pinged harmlessly off the rock wall as he escaped into another part of the cave.

  Paul and Gamay ran up the ramp, joining Joe behind the old car.

  “They’re all in the back half of the cave,” Joe shouted. “We have them trapped.”

  No sooner had he uttered the words than a hail of bullets came at them from the front. Robson’s mates from the streets of London had come inside to join the fight.

  Gamay shook her head. “You just had to say something, didn’t you?”

  The battle quickly turned into a four-way cross fire, with Barlow and Robson’s reinforcements at the entry, Kurt and Morgan taking cover near the center, Joe and the Trouts on the far side by the vintage Kissel and Barlow, Robson and Professor Cross trapped deeper in the cavern.

  For a brief while, one side took potshots at the other, but with everybody carrying limited ammunition—and nobody intereste
d in running out—the gunfight soon turned into a stalemate.

  In the absence of gunfire Barlow’s voice echoed from the depths of the cave. “You moved too soon, Austin! You should have waited till we were all in the cave.”

  “I would have preferred that myself,” Kurt shouted back. “Didn’t have much choice once you popped the lid off the sarcophagus. It was worth it to see the look on your face.”

  “It’ll be the last thing you ever smile about,” Barlow insisted. “You should have shot me when you had the chance. You’ll soon realize not pulling the trigger was a mistake.”

  “Trust me,” Kurt said, “your mistake is going to be more costly than mine. You and the professor have run off in the wrong direction. You’re trapped back there. I can wait for reinforcements all day long if I need to, but you’re going to miss the bus home if you don’t get out of here soon.”

  Kurt faced his own dilemma. He couldn’t radio from the depths of the cave—the signal would be blocked, absorbed by all the rock surrounding them. Barlow may or may not have known that, but Kurt wasn’t about to point it out.

  “Waiting for help, eh?” Barlow laughed as he spoke. The laughter was sinister, deep and genuine. “Well, you did surprise me, Austin, I’ll admit that. But now I have a surprise for you. Your reinforcements aren’t going to come. I’m afraid they’re going to be very, very busy.”

  CHAPTER 59

  Glen Canyon Dam, Arizona

  The tour of the Glen Canyon Dam was mildly interesting even to Omar Kai, but they weren’t there to sightsee.

  Having made it through the security screening without any hassle, he and his men walked casually with the rest of the group, mingling with retirees from Utah, a few engineering students from Arizona State and Japanese tourists who’d come down from Las Vegas, where they’d already seen the Hoover Dam.

  After a brief walk along the top of the dam they entered a large elevator, descending five hundred and fifty-eight feet to the foot of the structure. There, they stepped off the elevator and were outside again. They crossed a short open-air corridor and lawn and arrived at the power plant.