The Chosen One

by Walt Gragg

  He turned to the soldier lying next to him on the unyielding sands. “Sanders, before we head out, crawl over and check on Terry and Donovan.”

  “What’s the point, sir? Neither has moved since the Pan-Arabs nailed them. We all know they’re dead.”

  “Do it anyway.”

  * * *

  —

  Erickson stood at the profound shrine’s opening. He turned to survey the field. The area in front of the northern face was under American control. Nonetheless, with the unrelenting sounds of battle assailing him, he’d no way of deciphering what was occurring throughout the plateau. For all he knew, the mujahideen were preparing a massive counterattack. He had to get a perimeter established.

  He yelled down to ground level. “Sergeant Joyce, how many men do we have?”

  “Not sure, sir.” He began to count.

  “Nine if you include me,” Fife said as he struggled toward where Joyce was standing.

  Erickson looked toward his grimacing platoon sergeant. “Gunny, are you out of your freakin’ mind? You’re going to kill yourself if you don’t knock it off.”

  “Sir, the only thing I’m planning on killing are a few more mujahideen if they’re stupid enough to show their faces. So why don’t we stop worrying about me and start getting our defenses set up?”

  “Okay, it’s your funeral. Sergeant Joyce, I want two men up here to guard this entranceway. You’re to take two more and handle the lower levels of stone. The remainder will defend the area in front of the pyramid. Now let’s get to it.”

  In seconds, the Marines were in place. Erickson looked around. He’d done his best with what he had. He signaled for the Green Berets to move up. As the depleted Special Forces detachment’s soldiers ran toward them, a second Hornet section appeared.

  It wasn’t long before Alpha 6333’s soldiers reached the pyramid and climbed to its entry point. Morrow was all business. “Lieutenant, did you see anyone in peasant clothing exit the pyramid during the battle?”

  “No, sir. From what we saw, no one went in or came out.”

  “Good. Then the bastard’s still in there.” He turned to his remaining men. “Let’s go get him.”

  74

  6:57 P.M., NOVEMBER 6

  THE GREAT PYRAMID COMPLEX

  THE GIZA PLATEAU

  On his belly, Porter slipped inside the downward-sloping passage. A solemn-faced Abernathy was right behind. Sanders and Morrow followed them into the narrow space. Even though there was sufficient room for a stooped walk, they’d be far too inviting a target if they elected to do so. They’d no choice but to crawl, cradling their rifles, to the distant prize. Their faces would be pressed against the clammy floor throughout the journey.

  Ever on the alert, Porter started down the sinister path. The team’s survivors were on edge, uncertain of what awaited. They were ready to repel an attack from any source. Yet as they made their way into the ghostly structure, no one appeared to contest their presence. They moved through the constrained interior unopposed. When he reached the point where the pathway split, Porter breathed a sigh of relief. There was still a long way to go, but so far things were progressing exactly as planned. A few minutes more and the Chosen One would be dead.

  At the spot where the tunnel separated, Morrow motioned for Sanders to break from the group. They had to ensure no one was hiding in the shaft to the underground chamber. If the enemy was lurking below, they could easily come in behind the Americans. If the mujahideen did so, the plan to reach Mourad would be doomed. They’d never make it to the King’s Chamber before forfeiting their lives. If anyone was waiting belowground, they had to be eliminated.

  As the group headed up into the center of the pyramid, Sanders continued down within the severe walls leading to the hidden space. He was quite uneasy with the assignment. He’d no idea what he might encounter. A dozen enraged warriors could be waiting, intent on trapping the invaders. Whether he could handle such determined opposition, he hadn’t a clue. He wasn’t supposed to be doing this alone. The plan had called for Donovan to accompany him. But Donovan was dead and Sanders knew the detachment’s primary responsibility was to get to the Chosen One’s hiding place. If they were going to succeed, they couldn’t afford to send a second person to scour the belowground portion of the pyramid. It would be up to the team’s junior sergeant to handle the task on his own. Once he’d completed his search of the sloping shaft and the distant room at its end, he’d head back to assist his countrymen.

  The distance to the subterranean area was quite far. Sanders would only be halfway to the unimpressive enclosure by the time the remainder of the team reached the Grand Gallery.

  * * *

  —

  Inside the King’s Chamber it was apparent a notable assault was under way. Who and what was involved in the attack the Pan-Arab leadership had no way of knowing.

  In the past minutes, the sounds of the fierce fighting in front of the pyramid had abruptly ended. What had happened beyond the austere enclosure none could guess. Hopefully, if Allah was with them, the mujahideen had triumphed over their reviled foe. Yet each suspected the truth lay elsewhere. In all likelihood, the enemy had defeated the loyal bodyguards.

  If that were the case, their tenuous position within the restraining walls would place them in severe peril. Their lives would likely end this day. Each was certain the nonbelievers wouldn’t rest until they killed the Chosen One and his advisers. They were convinced the Americans would enter the pyramid intent on slaughtering anyone they found. Their only chance was to defeat the aggressors. Once they had, they’d attempt to slip outside and escape into the infinite desert.

  General el-Saeed grabbed his AK-47 and headed toward the antechamber. He stopped at the edge of the burial room, looking at those within its confines. “The infidels will soon come looking for us. We must destroy them if we wish to live. General Akhtar, organize those within the King’s Chamber. Distribute the weapons and set up your defenses on the far side of the pharaoh’s sarcophagus.”

  “It will be done,” Akhtar said.

  “I’m going to make my stand in the Grand Gallery. I’ll take the two mujahideen stationed in the antechamber with me. If we don’t prevail, it’ll be up to you to save your lives.”

  “What about the Chosen One?” Akhtar asked. “Our efforts mean nothing if he doesn’t see tomorrow’s sunrise. His survival has to be our first priority.”

  “For the moment, there’s nothing we can do. We’ve no idea where he is. And from the sounds of battle, the fighting outside has been intense. The defiled ones may have already spilled his blood. If Allah has decreed, the Chosen One’s journey to join the honored martyrs may have begun. In our present situation we’ve no way of helping him. We must first save ourselves.”

  Those present stared at the federation’s military commander. None was particularly pleased, but each understood the general’s impressions were sound.

  “I’ll need someone to guard those in the antechamber until I’m able to eliminate whoever comes in search of us,” el-Saeed said.

  “Set up your defenses, General,” Kadar Jethwa said. “I’ll have one of my lieutenants assist me. We’ll take charge of the woman and her associate.”

  * * *

  —

  El-Saeed and the bodyguards moved to the upper edge of the Grand Gallery. The general’s plan was to wait on the Grand Step. They would lie prone within the narrow space and use the superior elevation to their advantage. With any luck, it would also mask their presence, allowing them to surprise their adversary. They’d no idea who was coming, or how many they’d face, but it no longer mattered. If they were going to endure they had to stop the attackers, find the Chosen One, and escape into the night.

  Each took his position. Three rifles were leveled at the small opening on the far end. The moment the first of the raiders poked his head into the room, el-Saeed plann
ed on firing.

  * * *

  —

  The Green Berets slithered up the passageway. Porter gave a hand signal. They’d reached the Grand Gallery. In their discussions, the team had been unified in the belief that this was the most likely spot for an ambush. The lethal trio stopped, lying motionless in the cramped tunnel just short of the opening. Their breathing was shallow and slow. Not a muscle moved. They’d stay this way for however long it took to confirm what, if anything, waited inside the pyramid’s most expansive area. Porter was inches from where the upward-leading room began. He could see partway into the gallery, but couldn’t be seen by anyone waiting inside. He lay there letting his senses examine the scene.

  Forever passed—although it was barely a minute on the clock.

  Something was there. He was certain of it. Where, he hadn’t yet determined. He continued to take it in. He soon identified a prone presence waiting on the distant side. He was positive someone was near the far wall. It wasn’t long before his well-sharpened abilities told him a second person was hiding close to the stretching room’s end.

  He wasn’t, however, completely confident in his findings. So he waited still longer.

  Because the third defender was between the others, he nearly missed him. The first two’s presence masked his position. Yet eventually Porter picked him up. This time he was beginning to feel comfortable with his assessment. There were three people hidden within the gabled expanse. The existence of more was unlikely. Even so, now wasn’t the time to make a mistake. So Aaron Porter continued his keen observations.

  Finally, he was ready. He held up three fingers, followed by further signs indicating where in the room their quarry would be. Without a sound, the Green Berets edged closer to the gallery’s opening. Porter had gone as far as he could go without being detected. He pressed against the left wall, making room for Abernathy to slide up next to him.

  The mujahideen were great warriors. And General el-Saeed had earned his exalted position by his unquestioned bravery in many a barbarous battle. They were formidable adversaries.

  But the Americans had no intention of underestimating their determined foe. Two rifle barrels slid ever so slowly out of the narrow opening. Even to their combat-savvy opponents, the movements were imperceptible. Porter and Abernathy aimed at the enclosed end of the hallway. The enemy was fifty yards away, shielded by the high step and the room’s upward angle. It would be a difficult shot, even for the world-class marksmen.

  “Now,” Abernathy whispered.

  Both fired. The bullets ripped through the lengthy space. On the left and right, the mujahideen were dead before the sound of the shot reached their ears.

  General el-Saeed reacted with blinding speed. He opened fire upon the slender aperture at the far end of the gallery, releasing a long burst from his automatic weapon. He couldn’t see those hidden within, but it didn’t matter. The general’s bullets struck all around the opening. More than a few found their way into the restricting tunnel. Morrow yelped as a ricocheting round passed through the flesh on his left arm and continued on its way. Blood trickled onto the squalid stones.

  El-Saeed fired another extended blast from his AK-47.

  Porter and Abernathy unloaded their magazines into the remaining Pan-Arab. Round after round tore through the contested room. El-Saeed’s rifle dropped onto the floor below. He moved no more.

  With a fresh magazine, the Green Berets lay where they were, making certain no one attempted to enter the space and challenge their presence.

  “You all right, sir?” Abernathy whispered.

  The captain didn’t respond. Abernathy looked behind him. To his surprise their commander was lying facedown upon the soiled floor. The concerned sergeant turned him over. Morrow grimaced from the girding pain of the careening bullet that had ripped through his chest. Every tortured breath was a wretched struggle. There was no question his injuries were critical. He needed immediate medical attention.

  “We’ve got to get you out of here, sir,” Abernathy said. He reached for Morrow.

  The detachment leader pushed him away. “Never mind me. Get Mourad.” Morrow dug at his side, taking out his Beretta and handing it to Abernathy. “Finish the mission, Sergeant. Kill the Chosen One, then we’ll take care of my wounds.”

  Abernathy propped the anguished captain against the wall. With wounds this extensive, there was nothing he could do to help. They needed to eliminate the Mahdi without delay to have any chance of saving Morrow. Abernathy and Porter recognized, nonetheless, that the worst thing they could do was to rush the assignment and make a mistake. The immensely skilled soldiers begrudgingly accepted the need to stick with the original plan.

  “Should we stay here?” Porter asked as he looked at Abernathy. “Or head over to the other side to wait for Sanders?”

  “Let’s hold where we are,” his partner said. “We’re going to be most vulnerable while making the crossing. If we run into trouble, a third rifle will help.”

  * * *

  —

  Sanders had heard the gunfire moments earlier. He’d instinctively frozen, waiting and listening. It had taken everything he had to resist the urge to go to his countrymen’s aid.

  The shooting quickly stopped. He hesitated, uncertain of what to do. If his comrades were dead and their vanquishers came looking, his life would soon end. He knew the Marines were under orders to do nothing to assist the Special Forces detachment once they’d entered the tomb. This wasn’t their fight. And they weren’t prepared for such an operation.

  Sanders threw off the impulse to deviate from his role. He was already too far underground to escape if anyone came looking. If the others had been killed and the Pan-Arabs pressed their advantage, he’d be trapped no matter what he did. So he set aside his fears and returned to crawling toward the pyramid’s underground reaches.

  To his relief, he arrived at the staid room dug deep within the bedrock. The downward tunnel was empty. And the space at its end was hiding no one. He turned to rejoin the team.

  * * *

  —

  Without incident, one at a time, the deft trio crossed the Grand Gallery. Porter stood next to the tunnel into the antechamber. The demure room at its end was a few feet away. With so short a distance, it would serve no purpose to attempt to move through undetected. If anyone was in the modest enclosure, the team’s best bet was to stand up the moment they could and dash inside with their rifles ready. And from Porter’s observations, there was no question someone was within the summoning space.

  “How many?” Abernathy whispered.

  “Two,” he replied. “They’re standing a few feet apart against the opposite wall. No . . . wait . . . there’s three, probably four of them. They threw me for a minute. They’re in two groups, extremely close together.” He got on his hands and knees, peering into the plaintive room.

  “Do you see any weapons?”

  Porter looked again. “No, but I can’t be certain.”

  He listened for the telltale signs of a rifle’s safety being released or a round being chambered. Yet no such sounds appeared.

  “All right,” Abernathy said. “Get set. With the way this place is configured we’ll have to rush them. But don’t fire unless you have to. I’d like to see if we can find out from whoever’s in there what we’re facing in the King’s Chamber.”

  The able aggressors prepared to move. They’d enter single file with their backs bent, heads pressed against the low ceiling. As the tallest among them, Sanders would have the most difficulty.

  For that reason, he’d trail his partners. Each knew he’d have to make a lightning-fast decision whether to shoot the instant he breached the room.

  Porter led the mad scramble into the harboring niche.

  The deadly group was soon standing inside the antechamber with their rifles raised. Against the far wall waited the final surprise of t
he mission. Lauren Wells and her cameraman were standing near the entryway leading into the burial tomb. Behind Wells, using her as a shield, was Kadar Jethwa. The sneering cleric was holding a long knife to her throat. One of Jethwa’s lieutenants was doing the same to her cameraman.

  She frantically held out her hand. “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! We’re Americans.”

  The Green Berets hesitated. They could see the terror in the woman’s eyes. In the back of Sanders’s mind something told him she looked vaguely familiar. The Americans kept their rifles poised, but didn’t fire.

  “Tell them to let us through, Miss Wells,” Jethwa said in Arabic. He peeked out with only the slightest portion of his face showing. “Once we’re given free passage, we’ll let you and your cameraman go.”

  She repeated his demand in English. Until the threatening cleric had used her name, none of the soldiers had recognized who the prisoners were.

  “Let us through or we’ll kill them here and now.” Jethwa brought the knife closer to her exposed jugular. There was no doubt the mullah meant what he said. Once again she translated.

  “Is either of them the Chosen One?” Abernathy asked. She shook her head ever so slightly, indicating the answer was no. “Do they understand English?”

  Wells took a chance and spoke. Her words were hurried and filled with angst. She knew they easily could be her last. “Not that I know of. Of all those inside the pyramid I’ve only heard Muhammad Mourad speak English. Listen, whatever you do, don’t release these two. If you let them go they’ll kill us for sure.”

  “We’ve no intention of letting them go.”