The Shroud Key (24 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

We follow the cobbled road on its gently sloping uphill climb through the northern edge of the Giza Plateau. In the desert darkness, the three pyramids loom over us not like huge, triangular piles of seventy-ton blocks of solid Aswan limestone, but instead, sheer mountains that dominate the landscape. Hooking a right, Sameh drives off-road and heads across the flat desert past some rectangular ruins of what was once a temple and beside it, a settlement constructed for the Egyptian workers who were conscripted to build the great pyramids. Moments later we arrive at Mankaure’s tomb.

As promised, there are two guards watching over the pyramid’s entrance.

They occupy a piece of ground about ten feet in front of the tomb door. It’s protected by a small wall-less hut constructed of a wood roof supported by four metal poles. Their white and black uniforms are illuminated in the dull white light that oozes from a single exposed light bulb that hangs overhead. We pull up to their hut and exit the vehicle.

Sameh greets the two guards with the peace and love of Allah. They greet him back, while at the same time, keeping an ever ready hand on the automatic assault rifles which are strapped to their shoulders.

“You are the TV,” says the first man like a question. He’s not tall or short, but he bears a thick black mustache which he is constantly grooming with the thumb and forefinger on his free, left hand.

“You should be expecting us,” states Sameh.

Mustasched man shoots a glance over at his taller, thinner, clean shaven partner. Clean Shaven Partner nods, winks.

I don’t like the wink. It sends a chill up and down my back bone.

“You may unload your gear,” says Mustached Man. Then, to his partner. “Help them.”

Without a word, Clean Shaven Partner makes his way to the Land Cruiser’s tail gate.

Anya shuffles over to me.

“I don’t like this,” she whispers. “Something’s not right.”

“Just stay close to me,” I insist, speaking under my breath. “I agree. I’m not getting the warm and fuzzies from these guys either. But then we have no choice but to play the game.”

Sameh opens the tailgate while Andre assists in unpacking some of the gear. He lifts a camera onto his shoulder while Anya grabs some of the sound equipment, and I grab hold of the cordless hammer drill. Meanwhile, Sameh grabs two of the Maglites, handing one to me.

“I suggest we find out precisely what we’re dealing with inside,” barks Andre, “before we lug the rest of the equipment all the way down into the tomb.”

Knowing that hidden directly below the archaeology and camera equipment is our arsenal of weapons, I cannot agree more.

“Good idea,” I say, closing the hatchback. Then, “Gentlemen and lady,” I say taking the lead position, “the body of Christ Almighty is among us.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

The interior lighting inside the pyramid’s tight opening is dim and sparse, but at least it is operational. It’s a straight shot down a rectangular tunnel so narrow and cramped that we are forced to crouch while maintaining our balance on the steep, thirty-five-degree downward decent. We hold to banisters mounted to the stone walls with our free hands while lugging the equipment with the others. Attached to the floor are wood boards that act as ladder rungs to keep us from sliding down into the tombs on our backsides.

Keeping a close watch on our tail are the two guards. I never counted on them entering into the pyramid along with us, and I know the others didn’t either. If the rest of my team is thinking like me, they know that sooner or later, the guards will have to be dealt with. Just how we’re going to deal with them, I haven’t the slightest clue. Of course, I could just shoot them. But that would be murder. Murder is not my strong suit. Chase the kind.

We make it onto the first landing, which also accesses a small storage area that once housed treasures that Menkaure would carry with him into eternity and beyond. Golden chariots, royal beds (one for every night of the week so that the evil Gods would never know precisely where he was sleeping on any given ancient evening), mummified remains of favorite pets, plus chairs, toys, bows and arrows, food, even solid gold statues of royal guards whose job it would be to guard the tomb against intruders. Now the treasure is all gone, looted not long after the tomb was first sealed thousands of years ago, the loot no doubt taking up precious space in a wealthy private collector’s home museum.

Located at the end of the landing is another narrow tunnel that runs almost the identical length of the first one. Leading the way, I don’t hesitate to begin the climb down towards what I know will be Mankaure’s tomb which still houses his empty sarcophagus. If the professor’s academic opinion is correct, the sarcophagus contains a secret door that will provide entry into an unknown series of antechambers and crypts.

I come to the bottom of the tunnel, step onto the landing.

It’s at this point, the electric light, such as it is, ends, and what lies ahead is draped within a blackness so thick and so seemingly eternal, it makes my throat constrict and my mouth go dry. Unlike the air outside, the atmosphere inside the room is cool, moist, smells of must and, dare I say it, death. Directly before me is a large, square arch created from the same perfectly carved limestone as the walls that surround it, the joints in between the stones so narrow, so perfect, I defy anyone to stick a fingernail into it without getting it stuck.

I flick on the Maglite.

“Careful, old boy,” Andre warns from behind. “Little booby traps can pop out at us from anywhere at any time.”

“In this tourist trap?” I say, feigning my tough guy stance.

“Didn’t say anything about traps set by the ancients. I’m thinking more along the lines of traps set by out new radical, extremist Muslim friends.”

“Hey you, infidel,” barks one of the attending guards, “you keep your mouth shut about the faith of Allah. I would be happy to shoot you in the back.”

I make out the sound of Anya chuckling under her breath.

“Boys will be boys,” she whispers.

“Please,” Sameh scolds, as though his nerves are getting to him the closer we all come to entering into the cold, darkened chamber. “Focus on the task ahead.”

Thumbing the latex-covered black button on the Maglite, I shine its powerful round beam of white light into the burial chamber.

It’s then I see the face of a man staring back at me.

CHAPTER FORTY

I know this face.

I know this man.

Because I shot him in the leg only this morning out in the desert. He is the man whom I first saw in the Kings Hotel Bar. The man who followed me to Amuns antique shop in the bazaar. The wealthy oil man responsible for kidnapping Andre.

More flashlights ignite in both directions.

For a brief second or two I am blinded. The same few seconds I use to draw my 9mm from my shoulder holster, thumb back the trigger, aim the barrel for the mustached man’s face.

“If you breathe,” I say, “I will send you straight to hell.”

From behind me comes the sound of small arms being cocked. Then, stepping from out of the dark chamber and into the light, two bandits dressed in long robes.

“Sameh,” I say, shooting a glance over my shoulder at him. He too has drawn his weapon and has it aimed at the bandits. He’s also holding the bright beam of Maglite on them, pointing it at their eyes, as if trying to blind them.

I glance over my other shoulder.

Both Andre and Anya too have weapons drawn. God bless them. They are waving the weapons not at the bandits protecting the injured Mustasched Man, but at the guards who accompanied us down here. The same guards who now also have their weapons aimed directly for our brain pans.

“You are surrounded, Chase Baker,” says Mustasched Man, wincing from the pain in his wounded leg. “You have no choice but to put down your weapons.”

“You look pale,” I say, holding my aim directly for the thin space between his eyes. “That leg must really smart.”

“You leave me with little choice but to shoot you, right here, down inside this cold, cold crypt.”

“You won’t kill us. You want the bones. So long as we know where the bones are and you don’t, you’re not going to shoot us. Besides, your men take a shot at us, you are the first to die. Be a shame to spatter your brains all over this ancient wonder of the world.”

He attempts a smile, but he’s in so much pain I can see the hurt in his gray teeth.

“I didn’t say I would kill you,” he grins. “I said I would shoot you. But I will keep you alive long enough to retrieve the information I need in order to locate the bones.”

“He wants to torture us,” Sameh says, steadily holding both his gun and the Maglite on the bandits.

“Thanks for the translation,” I say.

“Chase,” Anya says. “I’ve never killed anyone before.”

“Might be a good time to start,” Andre says.

“Mexican stand-off,” I say, glancing down at the small puddle of blood that’s collecting around the Mustasched Man’s left foot. Then, staring into his dark eyes, “We’re not giving up our weapons. So what do you plan on doing now? You gonna bleed on us?”

He doesn’t answer me. Instead he barks something in Arabic which results in he and his robed bandits slowly back-stepping into the darkness.

“Keep a bead on them, Sameh,” I bark. “And the light.”

We follow them into the dark chamber.

Behind me, I listen to the footsteps of Anya and Andre, and the guards close on our heels.

“Something’s got to give, Chase,” Sameh says.

That’s when it comes to me. Shifting my flashlight to the right, I spot Menkaure’s empty sarcophagus. A vault that was carved out of solid granite. It’s positioned up against the far wall.

“Anya,” I say, a little under my breath. “I need you to listen to me.”

“I’m listening.”

“I want you to go to the crypt and lie down inside it. Andre will cover you.”

“It’s a goddamned coffin, Chase.”

“Do it now,” I insist.

I watch Mustasched Man’s ever shifting eyes as she side steps to the sarcophagus, all the time, keeping her weapon poised on the two pyramid guards. When she places one foot into the crypt, I pull the Maglite away so that she becomes completely hidden in darkness.

I shift the light so that it shines directly into Mustasched Man’s face. Droplets of sweat are dropping off his forehead, into his bloodshot eyes, making them sting. Or so I imagine.

“Sameh, Andre,” I say, under my breath. “Follow my lead. I’ll take out the flashlights. You take out the bandits.”

Those pain-filled eyes on Mustached Man go wide like he knows precisely what’s coming. And he does.

“Shoot them!” he barks, as my finger comes down on the trigger and the burial chamber goes black.