The Forbidden Tomb

72

It was well after midnight by the time Cobb and McNutt reached their camp on the outskirts of Siwa, but they knew no one would be sleeping. It wasn’t caffeine that would be keeping them awake, it was the surge of adrenalin that all of them felt now they were back in the field. It was a good thing, too, for each of them had duties to tend to in their effort to rescue Jasmine.

Having already survived one massacre, Manjani had no intention of pressing his luck a second time. He opted to stay on the yacht with Papineau, who would be piloting the boat across the Mediterranean toward Siwa. If Cobb, McNutt, and Sarah failed to accomplish their goals — if they were captured, killed, or otherwise defeated by the shadow warriors — it would be up to Papineau to send in reinforcements.

Unless, of course, he decided to cut bait and run.

He had put one team together. He could always do it again.

In his mobile command center, Garcia pored over the streams of information that he was receiving from the hacked communication lines, while Sarah kept a watchful eye through a narrow slit in the tent for any unexpected visitors.

She glanced away to check on Garcia. ‘How’s it going?’

Garcia shook his head in agitation. ‘It’s fine! But this isn’t exactly ideal, you know. I’ve got exabytes of data to comb through, and just two computers. That’s like telling a chef to cook a fifty-course meal with only a pot and a pan.’

‘First, settle down. I wasn’t criticizing; I just asked how things were going. And second, don’t mention food. I’m freakin’ starving.’

‘I’m just saying that I’m working as fast as I can.’

Garcia wasn’t exaggerating. If he’d had access to the array of technology at his home, the expensive gear back in Fort Lauderdale, or even the full complement of devices on the yacht, he could have made short work of the information he was pulling from the enemy’s network. But with limited equipment in a tent in the desert, the process would take considerably longer. Even with his backup laptop pressed into service, it would still take hours to sort through all of the raw feeds streaming through the system.

‘And I’m sorry if—’

‘Shhhh,’ she demanded. ‘Someone’s coming.’

She wrapped her fingers around the grip of her pistol as she glanced at her phone. The program she was running was linked to several motion-detectors that McNutt had buried in the sand around the tent before he had left. The tiny capsules, filled with drops of mercury, were known as rattlers because they would rattle under the pressure of a foot hitting the ground. According to the sensors, someone was approaching.

Sarah was a split second from ordering Garcia to turn off his computers and to grab a rifle when they heard a familiar voice in their ears.

‘Stand down. It’s just us,’ Cobb said.

‘Copy that,’ she said, relieved.

A minute later McNutt emerged from the blackness of the open desert and stepped into the tent. ‘Honey, I’m home. What’s for dinner?’

Cobb entered a moment later. He skipped the pleasantries and cut right to the chase. ‘Have you found anything useful?’

‘Sure,’ Garcia answered. ‘At least I think so.’

‘Show me,’ Cobb ordered as he took off his gear.

Garcia tapped his keyboard, and the single image on the screen instantly split into a grid. Each of the eight squares offered a different feed from one of the cameras inside the bunker. He waited for Cobb to gulp down some water before he started his briefing.

‘There are hundreds of camera angles being routed through the system. It looks like every inch of the place is accounted for. Not the best news if you’re trying sneak in without being seen, but pretty damn useful if you’re trying to map the structure.’

He punched in a different command, and the screen switched from video feeds to an unfinished architectural rendering.

‘What am I looking at?’ Cobb asked.

‘By analyzing all the footage and matching where the angle of one shot intersects with the next, I was able to piece together a rough schematic of the bunker’s layout.’

Cobb was impressed. ‘Is that everything?’

Garcia shook his head. ‘Like I said, there are hundreds of angles to look through. I still haven’t seen them all.’ He pointed to the map. ‘That was drawn by the computer. I just had to choose the right parameters to tell it what to look for as it scanned through the feeds. As you can see, it’s still compiling. That’s why the map’s unfinished. It will keep adding details as it continuously analyzes the incoming feeds.’

Cobb stared at the map, appreciating the advantage it gave them. If they could get inside, they would know their way around. ‘Nice job, Hector. Really nice.’

‘Don’t get too excited,’ he replied as he selected a particular camera feed. ‘Take a look at this.’ He spun on his makeshift seat to face the others. ‘You too, Josh.’

Sarah wasn’t about to be left out. The three of them crowded around Garcia to see what had caught his attention. Once he enlarged the footage to fill the whole screen, they could see that he had located a depository of some kind. Inside row upon row of wide wooden crates were stacked from the floor to the ceiling. It appeared that each box was marked with a serial number spelled out in a different language.

Sarah squinted at the image. ‘What am I looking at?’

McNutt’s eyes bulged from his head. ‘Holy. Fucking. Hell.’

‘My thoughts exactly,’ Garcia replied.

‘I still don’t get it,’ Sarah admitted.

‘Weapons,’ Cobb told them. ‘Lots and lots of weapons.’

McNutt pointed at the description emblazoned on one of the crates. ‘Those are Ribeyrolle 1918s — French rifles used to lay down suppressive fire.’ He tapped a different label. ‘STENs, a nine-millimeter submachine gun.’ He pointed yet again. ‘These are—’

Sarah chuckled. ‘You can barely speak English, yet you can read all these foreign labels?’

‘STENs are English. It’s an abbreviation honoring the guys who designed them: Shepherd, Turpin, and Enfield.’ Despite Sarah’s comment, McNutt’s tone was playful, not cocky or defensive. There was nothing he liked more than talking about weapons — except using them, of course. ‘It’s an impressive collection.’

‘That much I understood,’ Sarah replied.

McNutt shook his head. ‘It’s not just impressive because of its size, it’s impressive because these are antiques. Most of these guns date back to World War Two.’ He pointed to a final crate. ‘Like the Maschinengewehr 30s. MG 30s haven’t been used since the 1940s… by the Nazis.’

Though most of the battles in Egypt during World War II were fought along the Nile, the Western Desert saw its share of action as well. At one time or another, British, Italian, French, Greek, South African and German soldiers all took up arms in an attempt to capture Siwa and/or control the area extending north to the Mediterranean. Unfamiliar with the challenges of the Sahara, hundreds of these men were never heard from again.

Few were prepared for the heat of the desert.

And none were ready for the shadow warriors.

‘It gets worse,’ Garcia said as he changed the feed.

This time, there weren’t any crates. Instead, they saw an entire wall whose shelves were stocked with large packages of what appeared to be reddish clay.

‘Look familiar?’ Garcia asked.

Unfortunately, they all recognized the compound.

It was Semtex.

McNutt whistled in amazement. ‘Forget about a single block. That’s enough to take out the whole damn city.’

‘They’re stockpiling supplies like an army,’ Sarah said. ‘But why?’

Garcia tapped a few keys. ‘I can’t tell you what the guns are for, but let’s be clear: they’re not like an army — they are an army.’

As he scrolled through the feeds, they got a much better sense of the underground structure. There were barracks filled with beds, dining halls crowded with tables, even a library lined with books. Though there was certainly a generator powering the bunker — they were staring at a computer feed, after all — such luxury did not extend to every aspect of the facility. Simple oil lamps lit the majority of the space, giving the footage an ominous hue, as if they were staring at an ancient castle.

Despite the dim lighting, each room was buzzing with activity.

Throughout the facility, robed men tended to their duties of preparing food, sweeping floors, and refilling the lamps that lined the walls. Regardless of the task, they went about their business with humble efficiency. Every act seemed to have a purpose. And every disciple seemed to know his place.

It had the look and feel of a monastery.

Only these monks would kill for their cause.

Cobb stepped away from the computer and pondered their situation while McNutt and Sarah grabbed something to eat. Cobb had seen enough to know that they needed a plan — one that didn’t involve them charging into certain death while Garcia watched on his laptop. Even with tricks and surprises, he knew it would be impossible to take on the vast number of soldiers below without an army of his own.

There had to be a way to get inside.

All Cobb had to do was figure it out.

Before he had the chance, Garcia leaped from his chair and pointed at the video as if he had seen a ghost. ‘Jack! Look at this! Now!’

Unsettled by his urgency, everyone huddled around the screen.

There, chained to the wall, was Jasmine.