The Forbidden Tomb (29 page)

Copeland – a major player in his own right – admired him and appreciated his skills, but he sensed that the feeling wasn’t mutual. He gave Papineau a single chance to prove his respect: an olive branch in the form of a partnership. When word returned that Papineau had not only refused his offer but had actually laughed at it, Copeland was outraged.

The insult stung, but his response would hurt much worse.

Copeland initiated a hostile takeover.

By the time Copeland was done, Papineau was all but ruined. His businesses had been picked clean, leaving him with little more than the suit on his back and a sullied reputation. It had taken Copeland less than a year to destroy everything that the Frenchman had spent his life creating, and all because of a slight.

Like so many others, Papineau had underestimated Copeland because of his battered appearance and his rough upbringing. It was a mistake he wouldn’t make again. When the victor graciously offered him a middling position in his organization, Papineau took it, hoping to learn how Copeland had gotten the better of him and how to get revenge.

That was nine years ago.

Nine long years.

And he still hadn’t found a weakness to exploit.

Copeland glared at him from behind his desk. ‘Tell me, Jean-Marc, has our relationship run its course?’

‘No, sir,’ Papineau said with just the right amount of vigor. ‘I don’t believe we’re finished. There’s still plenty of work to be done.’

‘I agree. But perhaps you’re not the right man for the job.’

‘Sir, I’m not quite sure what I’ve done—’

‘What you’ve done?’ he asked incredulously. ‘
What you’ve done
is increase our risk a thousand fold.
What you’ve done
has jeopardized our entire operation.
What you’ve done
has drawn the attention of every media outlet across the globe!’

He tossed a newspaper across the desk as he continued his rant. ‘I read about your exploits on the front page of the local paper. It was right next to the weather report.’ He rehashed the news in a mocking tone. ‘Hmm, it’s going to be eighty and clear tomorrow, and oh look, Jean-Marc and his band of idiots blew up half of Alexandria!’

Papineau could sense that this was just the beginning of Copeland’s tirade, so he kept his mouth shut and prepared for the worst.

His boss did not disappoint.

‘I have given you everything that you asked for. Not once have I questioned your requests. Guns, cars, houses, yachts – whatever it is that allows you to get the job done. All I ask in return is that you keep your team out of the spotlight. These people should know better than to destroy ancient layers of a city. Or, at the very least, they should have had the good sense to wait until after we’ve found what we’re looking for!’

Copeland took a deep breath to control his anger.

‘So,’ he continued, ‘since you put this team of misfits together, please enlighten me. What the hell were they thinking?’

Papineau defended his team. ‘We had
nothing
to do with the explosion.’

Copeland looked at him curiously. ‘You weren’t exploring under the city?’

‘Yes, we were there, but we weren’t alone.’

Copeland considered the possibilities. ‘The syndicates controlling Alexandria are fiercely protective of their territory. You should have been aware of that.’

‘We were,’ Papineau assured him, ‘but this was something different. When we searched the tunnels, we found the bodies of several local thugs. They had been sliced to pieces, and my team had nothing to do with it. The explosion wasn’t the result of a turf war. It was an attempt to make sure no one ever went down there again.’

Copeland pondered what he had been told. He couldn’t care less about the bombs or the people who were killed in the neighborhood above; he was only interested in
why
the mysterious men had felt the need to bury the tunnels.

He leaned closer. ‘What did you find beneath the streets?’

‘A pictograph in a subterranean temple and a secret tunnel that led to the water. One of the walls was covered in carvings. We haven’t studied the symbols yet because the digital files were damaged in the chaos, but we believe that they illustrate the evacuation of Alexander’s tomb sometime in the fourth century.’

Copeland’s face lit up. ‘Evacuation to where?’

‘We don’t know. That’s where the story ends.’

‘Surely Ms Park has a theory. What does she say on the subject?’

‘What does she have to say? Nothing! Absolutely nothing!’

Copeland raised an eyebrow. ‘Why not?’

‘Because the bombers abducted her.’

‘Well, that sucks,’ Copeland said with a laugh. ‘I was wondering what got your knickers in a twist, and now I know.’

‘Yes, now you know.’

Copeland stared at him. ‘I have to admit, I’m not used to seeing so much backbone from you . . . I’m still trying to decide if I like it.’

‘You’re about to see more.’

‘I can’t wait.’

‘In my opinion, Jasmine’s abduction was completely avoidable. If my team had been properly prepared, none of this would have happened.’

‘I completely agree.’

‘No, I don’t think you do.’

‘Wait,’ Copeland said. ‘You’re blaming me for this?’

Papineau glared at him but said nothing.

Copeland laughed. ‘Don’t stop now. Speak your mind.’

Papineau took a deep breath and considered what to do. Even though he had been given permission to speak freely, he was hesitant to voice his concerns. Still, he knew that mistakes had been made, and he couldn’t afford to have them pinned on him. ‘It would be easier for me to run my team without any more of your surprises.’

‘Which surprises are you referring to?’

‘Cobb introduced a map into the equation. Based on the details he provided, I have to assume that your efforts led to its acquisition from the Ulster Archives.’

Copeland nodded. ‘Of course.’

‘Where did they get it? And why was I left out of its procurement?’

Copeland leaned back in his chair. ‘I’m a very busy man, Jean-Marc. I can’t keep you in the loop on
everything
. Where would I find the time? As for the Archives, the map was sent to them by Dr Manjani a few months ago.’

Papineau gasped in disbelief. He knew that a group of archaeologists had gone missing in April and that their trip to Egypt had been led by a notable scholar named Cyril Manjani. But he was also aware that their camp had been found abandoned and that the entire team was presumed dead. Not one member had been heard from since.

Now Copeland was telling him that Manjani had survived.

Papineau didn’t know where to begin.

‘He’s alive? How did he survive? And where has he been?’ He shook his hands in the air, waving off his previous questions. There were more important things to consider. ‘What is the connection between Manjani and Alexandria? I thought his expedition was lost in the desert.’

‘Dr Manjani shares our interests. He was searching for the tomb of Alexander the Great, just like we are. As for the desert, I have no idea what led him there. I only know that he didn’t find any answers buried in the sand. Given his failure, I was hoping your team could see something in his map that he himself had missed.’

Papineau needed more. ‘You said he escaped. Escaped from what? What
did
he find in the desert?’

‘I think it’s more a case of what found him,’ Copeland explained. ‘He claims his team was slaughtered in the night. After that, he went into hiding, but not before sending the map to the Ulster Archives. From what I understand, he knows the curator.’

‘Slaughtered?’ Papineau growled. ‘His team was slaughtered while looking for Alexander’s tomb – the same thing that
my
team is looking for – and you chose not to tell me about it?’

Copeland’s stare suddenly grew cold. ‘Check your tone, Jean-Marc. They are not
your
team. They’re
my
team. It’s
my
money that they’re spending and
my
money that they’re trying to earn. You’d best remember your place!’

Papineau lowered his voice but continued to make his point. ‘If there was a chance that we were walking into danger, you should have—’

Copeland cut him off. ‘
Danger
? Did you say
danger
? This isn’t the Boy Scouts. We’re not after merit badges. We’re after treasure. Of course there’s
danger
. I wouldn’t be paying them millions of dollars if there wasn’t
danger
.’

Papineau remained silent. He knew Copeland wasn’t finished.

‘If the attack in the desert is related to the attack under the city, I cannot be held responsible. No one could have known that one would lead to the other. After all, the two incidents took place hundreds of miles apart. Besides, that Marine of yours requested enough firepower to invade a small country. You’re telling me that he couldn’t defend himself against some local thugs?’

Papineau shook his head. ‘The men who rigged the bombs were not local thugs. They were something more. I don’t know what exactly, but something.’

‘Well, find out!’ Copeland demanded. ‘I want answers, not problems.’

‘Of course.’

Copeland stood, signaling the end of their conversation. ‘In the meantime, if you need either of the missing historians to understand the symbols on the wall, you have my permission to search for Ms Park or Dr Manjani. However, if you can figure out the message on your own or you know of another expert who can step in and fill their void then their recovery is a total waste of time.’

He glared at Papineau to emphasize his final point. ‘As you know, the only thing that matters to me is the tomb.’

Tuesday, November
4

Sahara Desert

Jasmine woke to the sharp burn of vomit as it bubbled from her stomach.

The tickle at the back of her throat was the only warning of the nasty fluid that would soon follow. It was all she could do to turn her head before she retched, her system trying to rid itself of the potent chemicals that had kept her unconscious for the last few hours. Her arms trembled and her body heaved as she purged until there was nothing left. She rolled onto her back, exhausted from the involuntary efforts.

Only then did she manage to open her eyes.

Though her thoughts were still fuzzy, she could immediately tell that she was no longer under the city. The tunnels had been dark and damp, the floors and walls made of gray stone and concrete. But this room – wherever it was – was bright and dry. Sunlight streamed in through small slits in the wall near the ceiling, illuminating the dirt floor and the rough, reddish-tan bricks that surrounded her. The small room was completely barren, with only a small break in the wall leading to a hallway beyond.

She closed her eyes again, trying to piece together anything that might help her determine how or where she had been moved. She remembered being attacked and struggling to resist, then succumbing to an overwhelming sensation of sleep. Her nausea and clouded mind told her that she hadn’t simply given up; she had been drugged – though the initial dose hadn’t knocked her out completely.

She remembered being jostled about in the back of a van and being pinned to the floor by one of her assailants. At some point they had abandoned the vehicle, she knew, because someone had pulled her from the cargo area and tossed her limp body over his shoulder. She recalled fleeting visions of a cramped bazaar and glimpses of alarmed faces as she was carried through the frenzied crowd. But no one intervened and no one seemed to care, as if this sort of thing was common in Alexandria.

But that wasn’t the case at all.

In her semi-lucid state, Jasmine had actually missed the explosion. She had no way of knowing that the frantic patrons had much bigger things to worry about than a woman being toted through the masses.

For all they knew, she was being rescued, not kidnapped.

The bazaar had not only given her assailants cover from the satellites that were circling overhead, it had also camouflaged their escape on the ground. Their efforts blended in with the panicked retreat of the customers and shopkeepers. In the confusion, Jasmine had been whisked away from the city and delivered to the rendezvous point. After which, her kidnappers were relieved of duty.

Their job was to grab her.

Others would handle her interrogation.

Still reeling from the drugs and nausea, it took Jasmine several minutes to notice that her socks and shoes had been removed, leaving her feet bare. Not only that, her wrists had been bound by heavy metal cuffs connected by a long chain that ran through an eyebolt securely anchored into the floor. The shackles would allow her to stand, but her movement about the room would be restricted to a five-foot circle.

Jasmine could feel the sweat beading down her face as she pawed frantically at the sturdy clamps that encircled her wrists. As the severity of her situation continued to set in, panic and the sweltering heat of the room kept her from catching her breath. Perspiration soaked her skin and clothes as she desperately tried to slip her hands from their steel restraints. The moisture allowed the metal to slide an inch or two, but it wasn’t nearly enough for Jasmine to escape. Each time she tried to pull her arms free, she succeeded only in chafing her skin even more.

When her efforts began to draw blood, she knew it was time to give up.

She would have to find another way.

Jasmine took a deep breath and steadied herself as best she could. She knew she could get through this. She just needed to keep calm and work through the situation, as with any other problem that she had overcome in recent months.

This self-confidence had not been present a year ago. Back then, real-world dangers would have left her paralyzed with fear. Despite working for a newspaper as a translator, her talents lay in research and language skills, not fieldwork. Of all the members of the team, she was the least suited for their missions.

But she had worked hard to narrow the gap.

She knew she could never possess the skills the others had honed over their years of service in the military, FBI, and CIA, but she was determined to eliminate any concern that she was holding them back. When Cobb had instructed her to learn the art of self-defense, she had immersed herself in the training. Day after day, session after session, she had studied the techniques of her sensei, building her skills until the movements became second nature.