The Tomb of Eternity

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Hawke knew Vetrov’s plaything was the A380, and noted with dismay that Luxor Airport’s runway was, at ten thousand feet, more than long enough to accommodate the giant Airbus both at landing and takeoff. This was confirmed when he looked down from the tiny Gulfstream and saw the A380 parked neatly on the apron to the east of the airport.

Vetrov had beaten them to it, and there was no way to know how far ahead they were. There was also no way to know if Lea Donovan and Bradley Karlsson were still alive. The anger rose in Hawke like a wave of lava as he thought about what he had seen Vetrov doing to Alex back at the dacha, and then imagined the same happening to Lea, somewhere out in the Nile.

Making matters worse was Maria. He was battling hard to put his wife and her slaying out of his mind, but every time he saw the Russian woman’s face he lost another part of that battle and had to refocus all over again.

The sleek Gulfstream hit the Luxor tarmac and deployed the reverse thrusters. Moments later it was taxiing to the airport and pulling up not far from the gargantuan A380. Hawke registered with disgust as he read the words VETROV INDUSTRIES written in black on the side of it.

As they walked down the steps of the aircraft, Eden was already on the phone, organizing back-up.

“Peter Henderson again?” Hawke asked him, referring to the British Ambassador.

Eden was hard to read, but there was something strange about the way he looked at Hawke when he replied. “No, an old friend of mine from way back — an Egyptian named Arafa. He’s more than half-way up the greasy pole of the Egyptian Army — a Brigadier General. He’s going to send a few chaps to help us out, but it might take him a few hours to sort it.”

“When we say back-up, we’re talking about…”

“Between fifteen and twenty soldiers from the Field HQ of the Southern Military Region in Assiut.”

Hawke nodded, always grateful for back-up. It often made all the difference.

“Commander?”

“Man named Koura. He’s a naqib, or captain, which makes you the ranking officer in command of the mission.”

“I was a sergeant, Rich.”

Eden gave him a knowing glance. “We both know you were a major before you got demoted. You’ll carry that rank today.”

“Come off it, no one’s going to take orders from a burned-out English Special Forces sergeant out here.” He looked up at the Egyptian sun. “Koura can lead his own men.”

“Naturally, but he knows literally nothing about what’s going on here, Hawke. No idea of the big picture at all. I’m not arguing the point with you. You’re the OC today and that’s the end of it.”

Hawke backed down. Maybe he could lay some other ghosts to rest today as well — like the day those bastards knocked him down to sergeant. But something was bothering him. “Why this Arafa bloke? Why not just call Henderson?”

“We’ll talk about that later.” Eden put his hands in his pocket.

“Looks like there’s going to be a lot of talking later.”

Eden’s reply was short and clipped, in his usual style.

“If we survive the day, yes.”

Hawke laughed. “I mean it, Richard. I want answers.”

“And you’ll get them but for now we’re behind Vetrov, so let’s get on with it.”

They clambered into a couple of hired SUVs and went their separate ways. Sir Richard Eden, Alex, Ryan and Maria went to the Hilton Luxor to set up a base camp while Hawke, Scarlet and Lexi tooled up and headed straight to the Karnak Temple.

It was time to say hello to Osiris.

Maxim Vetrov watched eagerly as Kosma placed the explosives on the ancient wall. With Dario Mazzarro’s help, it hadn’t taken long to work out that the other half of the map was in a secret chamber beneath the Tomb of Osiris in the Karnak Temple. They were now standing at the entrance to this chamber, sealed up countless centuries ago by unknown hands.

Kosma finished his work while Kodiak kept Lea and Karlsson covered with a compact machine pistol. He wanted to kill them, and had told them so, but Vetrov had ordered him to keep them alive. They may turn out to be useful, he had said.

“Do it!” barked Vetrov, sensing his destiny drawing ever closer. “Blow the wall!”

Kosma obeyed and detonated the explosives, blasting the ancient stones to smithereens with the modern technology. When the dust settled, they made their way into the hidden recess behind the wall and descended into the darkness.

The tunnel quickly narrowed and the ceiling grew ever lower until they had to crouch to make their way through to the end. The walls were covered in glyphs and constructed of solid blocks of limestone, perfectly fitted together in a way even modern tools would struggle to replicate. Vetrov slid his hand along them in awe as he studied the workmanship and the hieroglyphs.

He could feel his fate racing toward him like a new dawn. Here, deep beneath the surface of Luxor, far below the Temple of Amun, was the Tomb of Osiris — a real man-god who walked the earth for countless millennia. But like Poseidon, he had been killed and his powerful rule brought to an end, and Vetrov knew who had done it.

The Athanatoi.

They were the ones responsible for Poseidon’s death, and they too had killed Osiris, and all the others.

But not him.

He would never let them kill him, because he knew who they were, and the power they wielded. He also knew he was about to seize that power for himself. Dealing with the Athanatoi would be a pleasure he would savor, but it could keep for now. Now, he had more urgent concerns, like securing the final piece of this most ancient of puzzles from Osiris’s cadaverous grasp, and sacrificing Donovan and Karlsson to the real gods. Those who had to be appeased.

After that Hawke and his pathetic, indigent army of drop-outs and mavericks could easily be wiped out. Then there would be nothing between him and the greatest destiny any mortal man could ever dream of.

Nothing.