The Forbidden Tomb (15 page)

Jasmine hadn’t even considered the wall’s strength. She was more concerned about its substance. ‘Why is it made of brick? Does it look new?’

Cobb pounded on it with the back of his hand. ‘Not particularly. Don’t get me wrong: it’s much newer than the cisterns themselves, but this wall has been here a while. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s older than I am.’

‘No way,’ Sarah teased, ‘it can’t be
that
old. They didn’t have
tools
when you were a kid. They didn’t have
fire
.’

‘Ouch,’ Cobb said.

‘Nothing but caves, and clubs, and woolly mammoths.’

‘Those suckers were tasty,’ he said with a smile.

‘Yum.’

He playfully pushed her away. ‘Hector, can you—’

‘Already on it,’ Garcia blurted as he pounded away on his keyboard. Having already hacked the city planning office, he had access to everything on their system. He quickly scanned through page after page of construction logs, hoping to spot something that would help them determine the age of the brick wall. ‘Hang on . . . here it is.’

The others listened as he summarized what he had found.

‘There was a survey conducted to determine the structural integrity of the tunnel . . . engineers found evidence of erosion and other deficiencies . . . the decision was made to eliminate access to the deeper underground areas . . . sealed by means of a wall . . .
okay, right here:
a brick wall, constructed by the city engineers by mandate of the city council, approved on September the first, 1939, and erected immediately thereafter.’

Sarah had to laugh. ‘So much for having a modern map. Then again, I guess anything less than a century old is modern by Egyptian standards.’

‘September the first, 1939,’ Garcia mumbled. ‘Why do I know that date?’

Cobb answered as he glanced around the tunnel. ‘You probably learned it at school. The invasion of Poland marked the start of World War Two.’

‘Oh yeah. Hitler. I’m not a fan.’

Sarah glanced at Cobb. ‘What are you looking for?’

He pointed toward the south. ‘Back in the cisterns, remember the ductwork we saw in some of the rooms? I couldn’t figure it out, but now I know what it was. Air vents.’

‘Why?’ Sarah asked.

‘The war,’ he explained. ‘Someone realized that these giant chambers could protect them from air raids, so they added a ventilation system and turned this place into a giant bomb shelter. The vents would provide fresh air and eliminate carbon dioxide. Plus, they’d have fresh water from the cisterns.’

‘That’s ingenious,’ Sarah admitted. ‘There’s enough space down here for hundreds of people. Maybe even thousands.’

Cobb nodded. ‘Space is good. So why block off the rest of the system?’

Sarah kicked the brick wall. ‘We’re going to have to get through here to find out. Anyone have any ideas?’

McNutt coughed and cleared his throat.

Cobb smiled. ‘That you, Josh?’

McNutt coughed again.

Sarah laughed. ‘Hey hillbilly – you know you can just pull out your cell phone and pretend that you’re talking to somebody. You know that, right?’

McNutt swore under his breath.

It was a thought that hadn’t occurred to him.

‘Bigfoot’ was actually named Gaz Kamal. And ‘Biggerfoot’ was Farouk Tarek. Both of them were loyal soldiers, deputies in the service of the local district kingpin, a man known simply as Hassan. They had each spent several years of their lives behind the walls of Egypt’s Tora Prison, and they had vowed never to go back.

It didn’t mean they had abandoned a life of crime.

It only meant that death was preferable to incarceration.

Their boss dabbled in everything from the ‘protection’ of small businesses to the sale of exotic firearms. If it happened in his territory, Hassan owned a piece of the action. To ensure that no one operated in his area without paying the proper toll, Hassan had a network of informants to keep him abreast of local activities.

And his sources were everywhere.

Kamal and Tarek were enjoying dinner at one of their favorite restaurants when their cell phones began to vibrate in unison, notifying each of a new message. The day of the week or time of night didn’t matter; as Hassan’s enforcers they were always on duty. Protecting their boss, his interests, and his territory was a full-time assignment.

Glancing at his phone, Kamal saw a picture message from one of their most trusted scouts. Their platter of stuffed pigeons and couscous would have to wait. He clicked the icon and waited for the image to download, curious about the subject matter. He nearly jumped out of his chair when he saw the photo of Sarah.

‘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, seeing 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.’

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.’