The Pharaoh's Secret

10

Vice President James Sandecker lit a cigar with a silver Zippo lighter he’d bought in Hawaii almost forty years prior. He had plenty of other lighters, some of them very expensive, but the well-traveled Zippo that was worn smooth in places from the touch of his fingers was his favorite. It reminded him that some things were built to last.

He took a puff on the cigar, enjoying the aroma and then exhaling a lopsided ring of smoke. A few furtive glances came his way. Smoking wasn’t allowed on Air Force Two, but no one was going to tell the Vice President that. Especially when they’d been sitting on the taxiway, going nowhere, when they were supposed to be winging their way to Rome for an economic summit.

Truthfully, they’d only been holding for ten, maybe fifteen minutes, but Air Force One and Air Force Two never waited on the ground unless there was a mechanical problem. And if that was the case, the Secret Service would have made the pilots taxi back and taken the Vice President off the plane until it was fixed.

Sandecker pulled the cigar from his mouth and looked over at Terry Carruthers, his aide. Terry was a Princeton man, incredibly sharp, never one to leave a job undone and outstanding at following orders. In fact, he was too good at following orders, Sandecker thought, since it seemed to mean taking the initiative was not a big part of his vocabulary.

“Terry,” Sandecker said.

“Yes, Mr. Vice President.”

“I haven’t sat on a runway this long since I flew commercial,” Sandecker explained. “And to give you some idea of how long ago that was, Braniff was the hottest thing going at the time.”

“That’s interesting,” Terry said.

“It is, isn’t it?” Sandecker said in a voice that suggested he was getting at something else. “Why do you think we’re delayed? Weather?”

“No,” Carruthers said. “The weather was perfect up and down the Eastern Seaboard when I last checked.”

“Pilots lose the keys?”

“I doubt that, sir.”

“Well… maybe they forget the way to Italy?”

Carruthers chuckled. “I’m fairly certain they have maps, sir.”

“Okay,” Sandecker said. “Then why do you think the second-most-important person in America is cooling his heels on the taxiway when he’s supposed to be flying the friendly skies?”

“Well, I really wouldn’t know,” Carruthers stammered. “I’ve been back here with you the whole time.”

“Yes you have, haven’t you?”

There was a brief delay as Carruthers processed what Sandecker was getting at. “I’ll run up to the cockpit and find out.”

“It’s either that,” Sandecker said, “or I’m going to have a level-three conniption and put you in charge of a nationwide review of the country’s entire air traffic control system.”

Carruthers unlatched his seat belt and was off like a shot. Sandecker took another draw on the cigar and noticed the two Secret Service agents assigned to the cabin trying to suppress their laughter.

“That,” Sandecker said, “is what I call a grade A teaching moment.”

A short time later, the phone in the arm of Sandecker’s chair began to flash. He picked it up.

“Mr. Vice President,” Carruthers said. “We’ve just been told about an incident in the Mediterranean. There’s been a terrorist attack on a small island off the coast of Italy. It resulted in a toxic explosion of some kind. All air traffic is being diverted, grounded or rerouted at this time.”

“I see,” Sandecker replied, serious once again. There was something in Carruthers’s voice that suggested more. “Any other details?”

“Only that the first news of this came from your old outfit, NUMA.”

Sandecker founded NUMA and guided the organization for most of its existence before accepting the offer to become Vice President. “NUMA?” he said. “Why would they be the first to know about this?”

“I’m not sure, Mr. Vice President.”

“Thanks, Terry,” Sandecker said. “You’d better come back and have a seat.”

Carruthers hung up and Sandecker immediately dialed the communications officer. “Get me in touch with NUMA headquarters.”

It took only seconds for the transfer to go through and in short order Sandecker was speaking with Rudi Gunn, who was NUMA’s Assistant Director.

“Rudi, this is Sandecker,” he said. “I understand we’re involved with an incident in the Mediterranean.”

“That’s correct,” Rudi said.

“Is it Dirk?”

Dirk Pitt was now NUMA’s Director, but during Sandecker’s term as Director Pitt had been his number one asset. Even now, he spent more time in the field than the office.

“No,” Rudi said, “Dirk’s in South America on another project. It’s Austin and Zavala this time.”

“If it’s not one, it’s the other,” Sandecker lamented. “Give me the details as you know them.”

Rudi explained what they knew and what they didn’t and then indicated he’d already had a conversation with a ranking officer in the Italian Coast Guard and the director of one of the Italian intelligence agencies. Other than that, he had little to go on.

“I haven’t heard from Kurt or Joe either,” Rudi admitted. “The captain of the Sea Dragon said they went ashore hours ago. Nothing since then.”

Another man might have wondered why two men would be crazy enough to enter a toxic zone with only makeshift protective gear, but Sandecker had recruited Austin and Zavala precisely because that’s the kind of men they were. “If anyone knows how to take care of themselves, it’s those two,” he said.

“Agreed,” Rudi said. “I’ll keep you posted, if you’d like, Mr. Vice President.”

“I’d appreciate that,” Sandecker said as the engines started to wind up. “Looks like we’re moving here. When you speak to Kurt and Joe, tell them I’m heading that way, and if they don’t get themselves squared away double-quick, I may have to check in on them myself.”

It was all in jest, of course, but it was the kind of subtle boost Sandecker had always been great at providing.

“I’ll tell them, Mr. Vice President.” The tone in Rudi’s voice was noticeably more positive than it had been at first.

Sandecker hung up as the plane swung onto the runway and began to accelerate with its engines roaring. A mile and a half later, the nose came up and Air Force Two lifted off, beginning its long journey to Rome. As it climbed up, Sandecker sat back in his seat, wondering for quite a while just what Kurt and Joe had stumbled upon. He never imagined that he’d find out the answer in person.