The Forbidden Tomb (55 page)

Meanwhile, Cobb and Sarah were busy setting up a search grid with laser pointers, stakes, and string. This would allow Garcia to walk back and forth in straight rows while they marked potential discoveries with tiny flags.

A few minutes later, it seemed entirely unnecessary.

Garcia had seen enough. ‘Um, Sarah, I think you can stop.’

‘Why?’ she asked as she hurried to his side. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he assured her. ‘I think we found it.’

Sarah looked at the display and could clearly see the flat, wide stonework that he had noticed. It looked like a cobblestone patio; only each stone was roughly three feet across. The clean, straight layout of the pattern was undeniably man-made.

‘Find out where it ends,’ she said, trying to keep her emotion in check. ‘Maybe it’s just a walkway.’

Garcia glanced around. ‘A walkway to where?’

‘Don’t argue. Just do it.’

After all that had happened, she couldn’t allow herself to get too excited. So far, she hadn’t seen enough to start jumping with joy. The stone certainly wasn’t a natural feature of the desert, but that didn’t mean it was the tomb.

She could hear Jasmine’s voice in her head.

Be thorough.

Don’t jump to conclusions.

Garcia did as he was told, walking in a straight line while intently watching the display. After ten paces, the image hadn’t changed. When he saw the same pattern after twenty-five steps, he wondered if it was the machine, not him, that was making a mistake. He couldn’t imagine something that large being buried beneath him. But still he kept on. Finally, after more than fifty strides, the image disappeared. Backing up slowly, he saw the pattern return to view.

He had found the outer edge.

He shouted back toward the truck. ‘Jack, grab a marker.’

A few moments later, Cobb drove a thin plastic flag into the ground to identify the boundary. ‘What are you guys thinking?’

Neither Garcia nor Sarah was willing to venture a guess.

This was just one wall.

They needed time to map the entire structure.

* * *

While Egyptian pyramids were marvels of engineering that rose triumphantly above the ground, Macedonian tombs were decidedly less grandiose. Instead of elaborate complexes like those found in Giza, Alexander’s ancestors were placed below ground in simple stone vaults; their only embellishments were the temple-like pillars that marked their entrance. Despite their differences, each structure had its advantages, the virtues of which could be debated by architectural historians until the end of time.

Not surprisingly – given the way in which the Muharib melded foreign cultures with their own ideals – this structure appeared to exhibit a combination of characteristics. It was buried and flat like Macedonian tombs, with two distinct columns at one end. Yet its considerable size suggested the multi-chambered approach found in Egyptian pyramids.

The only way they would know for sure was to dig.

Garcia studied the layout, then drew an X in the sand. ‘You asked for my best guess, so here it is: we aim directly between the pillars. Even if this isn’t a Macedonian tomb, that has to be our way in. Why else would be it be marked like that?’

Cobb looked at Sarah. ‘What do you think?’

She grabbed a shovel and drove it into the sand. ‘I think we’d better keep moving.’

Cobb nodded. ‘I think you’re right.’

At the moment, Cobb had more on his mind than finding an entrance. He stared to the west as the final, lingering streaks of daylight began to vanish, leaving only the darkness behind. He wondered if the Muharib were out there, watching his every move.

Waiting like vampires in the night.

Driven by their thirst for blood.

Awad stared at the infidels as they plundered his holy ground.

Disgust filled his face, and anger fueled his rage.

He had known he would see them again.

After killing Hassan, he had escaped to the desert to find his brethren. Though most had perished at the bunker disaster, there were still pockets of disciples spread throughout the barren terrain. He called upon them in his time of need.

He had underestimated the trespassers twice before.

It would not happen again.

For more than a decade, Awad had guarded the ancient wall beneath the streets of Alexandria. His was a life of sacrifice – both literally and figuratively. Not only was he responsible for killing those who ventured too close to the temple, but he had also been forced to protect Hassan. Awad loathed the man and had considered slaughtering him many times before finally getting his chance. Unfortunately, keeping Hassan in power for all those years had been in the Muharib’s best interest. As long as Hassan controlled the territory above the ground, Awad could control the tunnel below.

His service to Hassan was just a means to an end.

And it ended with a slice of his blade.

Though he didn’t quite know how the infidels had made it this far, it honestly didn’t matter. Whether it was Dade’s involvement or simply dumb luck, these foreigners had not only escaped the cisterns unscathed, but they had managed to locate the Muharib stronghold. Had he known the level of their resilience in advance, Awad would have personally taken charge of their massacre in Alexandria.

Now, he was the only thing that stood between them and their prize.

For hours he had watched as they desecrated his shrine, biding his time as the sun and the digging exhausted the intruders. The harder they worked, the easier they would be to kill, once the sun disappeared and the darkness arrived.

Theirs was a quest for riches.

His was a chance at redemption.

Only one side would win the war.

* * *

Earlier in the day, McNutt had relished his seat in the shade, but all that changed when the sun slipped below the horizon. The balmy breezes of the afternoon had given way to brisk winds, and the temperature had plummeted into the forties.

Suddenly, he envied the others as they dug.

At least they were staying warm.

Though the process was grueling, Cobb, Garcia, and Sarah pressed on through the night. At first, finding the entrance had seemed like an impossible task as sand kept filling their hole, but now they could plainly see the progress they had made.

They were more than halfway there.

They would reach the doorway by dawn.

* * *

Awad studied the scene from afar. Though the efforts of the intruders were impressive, he knew it wouldn’t matter in the end. They might as well have been digging their graves. Blinded by greed, they had forgotten about the threats that lurked in the darkness.

He smiled, knowing that they would soon be defenseless. Even their lookout – once attentive and vigilant – had grown weary of his post. Instead of focusing on the surrounding terrain, he shivered as he glanced aimlessly at his phone.

It was only a matter of time.

Awad knew that the longer he waited, the more convinced they would become that they were alone in the desert. He had seen it dozens of times before. Despite the centuries of rumors that evil forces protected the desert, the lust for treasure always displaced common sense. The anticipation elevated their pulse, but it also lowered their guard.

They were already weak.

Now they were vulnerable.

Soon, it would be time to strike.

* * *

Having finally found their rhythm, the team burrowed deeper by the minute. Their muscles ached, but they fought through the pain, anxious to reach the structure below. As the walls of the pit grew higher, so did their spirits.

Nothing could stop them now.

* * *

Awad watched as the lone guard left his post and strolled toward the crater that the others had created. The moment of truth was finally here.

It was time to launch their attack.

Regardless of their superior numbers, their strategy remained the same. They would use the cover of darkness to approach the site with stealth. Once they were gathered near the edge of camp, Awad would raise his blade and lead the slaughter.

This would be his finest moment.

The son would be protected.

Amun would be pleased.

And order would be restored.

* * *

Sometimes plans just come together, and this was one of those times.

Despite the temperature and his apparent boredom, McNutt was highly aware of his surroundings. Thanks to the rattlers in the ground and the comm in his ear, he knew exactly where the Muharib were and when they would attack.

After that, it was all about patience.

He waited for the last possible moment to leave the roof of the SUV to make his way toward the giant hole that his teammates had dug in the sand.

Eventually, the hole would give them access to the tomb.

For now, it would save their lives.

‘Get down,’ McNutt called out to his friends. ‘It’s time.’

Sarah and Garcia dropped their shovels and hustled to the bottom of the slanted pit where they would be safe from the attack. Cobb joined them a moment later, after turning off the lantern that had lit their surroundings. For the next thirty seconds, the hole would be the safest place in the desert, guarded by an unseen force.

All that was left was the signal.

Sarah had suggested it, and the others had agreed.

Somehow it seemed appropriate.

McNutt smiled as he pulled the glow stick from his pocket. He activated the tube with a crack and a shake, and then held it above his head.

To the Muharib, light represented everlasting life.

To the Marines, it represented death.

* * *

Staff Sergeant James Tyson grinned when he saw the signal.

It was about goddamned time.

He and the rest of his Force Recon unit had been waiting patiently from their position just beyond the dunes. For hours they had tracked the shadows in the darkness. Despite their legend, the Muharib were not ghosts. They couldn’t escape the infrared and thermal vision employed by the Marines – especially since they knew where to look.

They had McNutt to thank for that.

Ever since their meeting at Biketoberfest, Tyson hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that he would be seeing his buddy again real soon. The Middle East was a vast and varied place, but Marines had a way of finding each other when it mattered most. Combine that with their personal penchant for mischief, and it was only a matter of time before someone’s phone started to ring. This time, it had been his.

Hell, he had even told McNutt that he would be in the region.

That was an open invitation for trouble.

McNutt had called to offer what he knew about the Alexandria bombing – which was more than the Pentagon. He had explained to Tyson that the men responsible for the tragedy belonged to the same group that had been involved in the Siwa explosion. Their conversation had been short, but McNutt had known all the right things to say:

Unchecked threat.

Regional terror.

Target of opportunity.

By the end, Tyson had been ready to lend his services, and McNutt had been more than eager to accept.

All they needed was a place and time.

Those were here and now.

‘Green light,’ Tyson exclaimed as he stared through his scope. ‘We’re a go. Repeat. We’re a go. Fire. Fire. Fire.’

* * *

Considering the pain and suffering the Muharib had caused, McNutt wanted to participate in their demise. He wanted to stare them in the eye and pull his trigger. He wanted to watch them die as they gurgled blood at his feet.

Instead, he followed through on his promise.

He signaled the Marines, and then joined his friends in the pit.

A moment later, the horizon exploded with silent bursts of muzzle flare. Pink mist filled the air as the Muharib were cut down where they stood. Skulls were shattered, and brains erupted. Blood showered the sand like crimson rain.

McNutt knew that the desert warriors were known for their ability to strike without warning, but they had nothing on the US Marine Corps. His fellow soldiers had perfected the art, and they relished the chance to show off their talents.

Shadow after shadow fell to the ground.

Until only one remained.

* * *

Moments earlier, Awad had been leading his men into battle.

Now, he was all that remained of their faith.

An invisible force had wiped out his legion in the night.

It was a scene dripping with irony.

And blood.

With nowhere to run or hide, Awad knew he had been defeated. In what should have been his time of triumph, he had failed himself, his brethren, and his god. He only hoped that Amun’s punishment would be swift.

A second later, a bullet answered his prayers.

Awad fell dead in the sand.

Despite their defeat, their deaths seemed a fitting tribute to their cause. The Muharib had defended the tomb to the bitter end, dying for what they believed.

In the end, their blood was spilled on holy ground.

And they died next to their god.

When the ambush was over, the Marines swooped in to cover their tracks. Since their actions weren’t exactly sanctioned, they needed to erase any evidence of their involvement, and that included the bodies of the men they had just killed. When they were finished with their cleanup, all that remained was blood-soaked sand.

The Saharan winds would take care of that.

As his men loaded the last of the corpses into the cargo transport they had secured for the mission, Tyson walked over to the others. Despite his relationship with McNutt, he kept his headcloth drawn tight and his goggles on to conceal his features. Officially, he and his unit were never there. As such, he couldn’t risk exposing his face.

McNutt nodded toward the large truck. ‘That’s not exactly subtle. Are you sure you can stay under the radar in that thing?’