The Pharaoh's Secret

by Clive Cussler

Hassan spent a moment checking another of the RPGs and then, when he was sure he was alone, moved to a phone. The hardwired line was connected through the control room to the station on the surface. He hoped the line wasn’t out.

  After seconds of static, the voice of the section leader came on the line. “Give me Scorpion,” Hassan said.

  Scorpion came on the line. “I’m headed to the elevator with two squads of men.”

  “Send them on without you,” Hassan replied. “And meet me at the third exit, the old salt mine tunnel,” he said. “Bring a Land Rover. We’ll need to travel quickly.”

  Scorpion didn’t question the order. Hassan hung up. The water was swirling around his ankles. It was seeping into the cave from a thousand cracks in the ground. He had no desire to drown down here. He went to the door, looked down the tunnel that led to the burial chamber and took off running in the other direction.

  Live to fight another day.

  —

  Shakir waited in the burial chamber. The first soldier came running with an RPG over his shoulder, but where was Hassan?

  Before he could question his subordinate, another figure dashed into the room, coming from the opposite direction.

  It was the Italian woman. She was cutting across the open floor toward the laboratory tunnel. She appeared to be covered in dust. With the reduced lighting, she was well inside the room before Shakir noticed her. But that was her undoing.

  Shakir crouched down and waited. She would make a perfect bargaining chip. The Americans were soft. For a beautiful woman, they wouldn’t be able to surrender fast enough.

  As she neared the center of the room, the crocodiles roared in their containment pool, fighting over the surprise feeding that had come their way moments before.

  The sound distracted her, and Shakir lunged forward, grabbing her and knocking the machine gun out of her hand.

  She reacted quickly, swinging at him and connecting with a punch to his jaw, but Shakir only laughed. He flung her sideways, into the edge of the nearest sarcophagus, knocking her woozy. She tried to stand and run, but he tripped her, then yanked her to her feet and slapped her down with an open palm to the face.

  “Stay down,” he ordered.

  She tried to get up once again, but he kicked her in the ribs, knocked the wind out of her and then stepped on her. This time, he cocked his pistol and aimed it at her skull.

  Renata went still.

  She had to be expecting a bullet, he thought. If she was lucky, a well-placed one. But he had other plans.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll kill you soon enough. I just want your friends to see it happen. Up close and in person.”

  He turned to the soldier with the RPG. “Climb up on the Sphinx. You’ll have a perfect shot from there.”

  “What about Hassan?”

  “I expect Hassan’s courage has run out.”

  60

  Joe drove to the elevator room and found a protrusion of metal framing that extended downward from a vertical shaft cut into the rock above. The metal lattice was wide and sturdy and Joe knew the elevator car would be best suited for lifting freight, heavy equipment and large groups of men, like those he’d seen in any number of mining operations around the world.

  The car hadn’t arrived, but the gears were turning. Considering that twenty or thirty armed men would be in the car, Joe stopped it from touching down.

  Unfortunately, like most elevators, the car was controlled from above, where a heavy drum attached to steel cables raised and lowered it on the rails. The only thing Joe could do was ram the metal framework in hopes of bending the guide rails and jamming the descent.

  He got the Sahariana into position and revved the engine. He was about to charge when he noticed that water was flooding into the room from the hall and spreading across the floor in broad, probing fingers.

  “We seem to have sprung a leak,” he muttered to himself.

  Realizing they might need the elevator to escape in, Joe relented on ramming it and quickly changed over to plan B.

  He parked the AS-42, climbed into the gunner’s position and raised an armored plate that protected him. He then locked and loaded both the 20mm antitank gun and the heavy Breda machine gun.

  The shadow of the elevator car came into view and then the bottom of the car. The wide metal box slid down into place. There were no doors, just a cage wrapped around a grated floor. At least twenty of Shakir’s soldiers stood inside.

  Joe wasn’t interested in gunning down a group of trapped men, but if even one of them got twitchy, he would pull both triggers and not stop until the guns were empty.

  The elevator car hit the ground with a resounding boom.

  “I’d head back to the surface, if I were you,” Joe shouted with his fingers tight on both triggers, eyes peering through a tiny slot in the armored plate. The lights of the Sahariana were blazing away, blinding the men in the cage.

  The outer gates of the elevator cage opened. The men inside clutched at their weapons but were packed in so tightly they couldn’t raise them.

  “You don’t have to die today!” Joe yelled.

  The inner gates began to open. Joe expected them to make a break for it, and get massacred in the bargain, but no one moved.

  They stared back at him, squinting against the glare of the lights. Finally, without a word, one of the men pressed a button. The gates closed, the steel cables pulled taut and the elevator lurched upward, rising rapidly and vanishing into the ceiling.

  Joe angled the submachine gun upward, tracking the elevator car, until it disappeared into the shaft. Moving forward, he watched the grated floor of the car rising. Thirty seconds more and he was convinced that they had no plans to return. He hopped back into the driver’s seat.

  By Kurt’s earlier estimation, it was four hundred feet to the surface. A two-minute ride at least. Four minutes round-trip. He knew they had at least that much time.

  He revved the engine and rumbled back toward the control room. By the time he reached it, he was driving through a foot of water.

  He found Kurt halfway down the hall, pinned down by a few of Shakir’s men. Taking aim with the antitank gun, Joe blasted away. The heavy projectiles tore chunks of rock out of the wall and the group scattered.

  Kurt sprinted to the vehicle. “In the nick of time,” he said. “How’d it go at the elevator?”

  “Sent them back up top after a stern talking-to,” Joe said.

  “Do you think they’ll come back?”

  Joe looked around. The cavern smelled of smoke from the explosions and gunfire. It was barely lit and rapidly filling with water. “Would you?”

  “Not on your life,” Kurt said, climbing in.

  “Guessing you didn’t catch up with Renata,” Joe said.

  Kurt shook his head. “Got pinned down by these guys. Let’s go find her and get out of here. Otherwise, we’re going to end up swimming for it.”

  Joe put his foot on the gas and the Sahariana went forward, pushing a small wave ahead of its bow and leaving a wake behind its stern in the dark. At a low point in the tunnel they almost washed out, but the air intake was high on the frame and they forded the dip and rose up the other side.

  “Where is all this water coming from?” Joe asked.

  “The Nile,” Kurt replied. “I reversed the pumps. Shakir’s system is now forcing water from the river back into the aquifer at high pressure. I guess it’s bubbling up here.”

  “And filling up the dry lakes in Libya and Tunisia,” Joe said.

  Kurt grinned. “I’m hoping for geysers in downtown Benghazi.”

  They continued forward, passing two bodies floating in the water—Shakir’s men.

  “Renata’s been this way,” Kurt guessed.

  They continued moving, and farther down the water was halfway up the side of the car.
/>   “Don’t suppose this thing is amphibious?” Kurt asked.

  Joe shook his head. “Another foot or two and we’re sunk.”

  They rumbled through the tunnel and out into the central burial chamber. “The lab is on the other side,” Kurt said.

  Kurt scanned the room as Joe drove them into the open space. No one was in sight, but halfway across a sudden whoosh caught his attention.

  From the corner of his eye, Kurt saw a trail of smoke and fire streaking their way. There was no time to react or even shout. The RPG hit several feet in front of them and off to the side. It blasted a giant crater in the flooded floor, mangled the front end of the AS-42 and flipped the vehicle over on its side.

  Kurt remained conscious, but his ears were ringing and his head pounding. He found himself in the water.

  He looked forward to the driver’s seat. “Are you all right?”

  “My legs are pinned,” Joe said. “But I don’t think anything’s broken.”

  He was straining, trying to get loose. Kurt put his shoulder against the bent metal of the dashboard and forced it.

  Joe came free and landed in the water beside Kurt.

  “We’re lucky that missed,” he said in obvious pain. “A direct hit would have killed us.”

  “I guess the place isn’t totally abandoned yet,” Kurt said.

  “No, it isn’t,” a voice shouted from beyond the wrecked vehicle.

  Kurt recognized that voice. It was Shakir’s.

  61

  Kurt and Joe pressed against the wreck of the AS-42, which was sitting in two feet of water that was slowly getting deeper. The antitank cannon was useless and Kurt’s Beretta submachine gun was nowhere to be found.

  “It doesn’t matter whether you kill us or not,” Kurt shouted. “This place is going to flood and water will be pouring out every hole. That’s going to attract attention. You’re finished, Shakir. Your scheme has failed.”

  The first response was laughter. “I’ll find a way to shut the water off and undo what you’ve done,” Shakir replied. “This is no more than an inconvenience.”

  “Not true,” Kurt shouted. “I used your computer to send a message to my superiors. By the time you reach the surface, the whole world will know about you and what you’ve done. They’ll know you’re responsible for the drought. They’ll know about Piola and the others who’re doing your bidding and they’ll know that the toxin you’re using to put people to sleep comes from the glands of the African bullfrog. Next time you tell someone you can kill them and bring them back to life, they’re going to laugh!”

  A series of shots pinged off the underside of the AS-42 and Kurt knew he’d hit a nerve.

  “I’m not sure making the gun-toting lunatic angry is a great idea,” Joe said.

  “We’ve got an armored car between us and him,” Kurt said.

  “He might be aiming for the gas tank.”

  “Good point,” Kurt said. “At least we’re soaking wet if he hits the mark.”

  By now, the water was up to Kurt’s hips and rising an inch or two every minute. Kurt considered swimming for cover when he saw something that made him change his mind. Across from them, farther down the chamber, something long, low and green slithered over what remained of its retaining wall.

  “We have a new problem,” he said.

  Joe had seen it too. “Tough decision,” Joe said. “Get shot or get eaten.”

  The water was flooding the entire room, the first place it went was the low point of the crocodile pit.

  “You may think you’re going to escape,” Kurt shouted to Shakir, “but you’ll never get past the crocodiles.”

  “They’ll be too busy devouring you to bother with me,” Shakir replied. “We’ve got the high ground.”

  Kurt looked through a gap in the twisted metal. Shakir was standing on top of a sarcophagus in the center of the room, something lay at his feet.

  “You’ll be wet before long,” Kurt said. “But I’ll make you a deal. You and your men go out the access tunnel and we’ll go back and take the elevator. We can kill each other some other time in a drier place.”

  Another crocodile came over the wall and then two more. They vanished in the water and Kurt doubted it would be long before they found the overturned vehicle and the two snacks hiding beside it.

  “I’ll make you a better deal,” Shakir said. “You and your friend stand up with your hands over your heads and I’ll execute you quickly.”

  “How is that a better deal?” Kurt shouted.

  “Because the alternative involves you remaining where you are and listening as I put a bullet in each of the Italian woman’s knees before tossing her in the water.”

  “You had to ask,” Joe said.

  Kurt shook his head in frustration. “At least we know where she ran off to.”

  “He’s going to kill me anyway,” Renata shouted. “Just go. Get out. The truth surviving is more important.”

  Kurt twisted his body and peered through the mangled front end once again. “He’s standing on one of the sarcophaguses. Renata’s down in front of him. But the RPG came from the other direction. Do you see anyone over there?”

  Joe nodded. “There’s someone up on the Sphinx. Must not have another rocket or we’d be toast.”

  Kurt glanced at his friend. Joe was bleeding from a gash above his eye and holding his ribs. “We’re not really overburdened with options here, buddy.”

  “Nope,” Joe said. “The way I see it, we can fight and die. Surrender and die. Or wait here for the water to rise and drown. If we don’t get eaten alive first.”

  As Joe spoke, he pulled the Breda machine gun off of its mount.

  “I’m guessing you want to fight,” Kurt said.

  “Don’t you?”

  He shook his head. “Actually, I’m going to surrender,” he said with a wink of his eye.

  Joe’s face registered shock, but Kurt opened his palms and showed Joe the two vials of the Black Mist. One fit neatly in each hand.

  “Can you hit the guy on the Sphinx?” Kurt asked.

  Joe worked the slide to make sure the Breda wasn’t jammed. “I have ten shells left. I think one of them might have his name on it.”

  A gunshot and a scream startled them. “That was only a flesh wound!” Shakir shouted. “The next one will take out her kneecap.”

  With a vial in each palm, Kurt put his hands behind his head and got in position to stand.

  “Give them the fastball,” Joe said. “Don’t mess around with the slider or the curve.”

  Kurt grinned and stood slowly, half expecting to get shot the instant he came out from behind the overturned car.

  He straightened up and looked Shakir in the eye. Renata was down on her knees in front of him.

  “Your friend as well,” Shakir shouted.

  With his hands behind his head as requested, Kurt glanced down at Joe and then back to Shakir. “His leg is broken. He can’t stand.”

  “Tell him to hop!”

  Joe nodded. He was ready to fire.

  “Tell him yourself!” Kurt shouted. He cocked his right arm and hurled the first vial toward the stone sarcophagus Shakir was standing on. It just missed and splashed harmlessly in the water, skipping like a stone.

  Shakir watched the projectile fly past and flinched, expecting an explosion. When it didn’t come, he raised his weapon and fired at Kurt.

  Kurt had already switched the second vial into his right hand and flung it, sidearm this time. It hit the stone lid of the pharaoh’s coffin right underneath Shakir’s feet. The vial shattered, the contents of the bottle directed upward by the curved edge of the coffin.

  Shakir was covered in the Mist and he staggered back, his vision blurring. He knew instantly what had happened, but it mattered little: the Mist was taking him. He fired once more in
Kurt’s direction and fell back as the recoil knocked him over and into the water.

  At the other end of the wrecked vehicle, Joe had popped up and braced the heavy machine gun on the front fender. He opened fire at the target on the Sphinx. The report of the Breda boomed through the burial chamber like the sound of a cannon.

  The soldier in position on the Sphinx pulled back behind the edge of the statue as the first shots flew wide. But the next burst cut into the statue’s flared headdress, punching holes right through it and out the other side.

  The soldier realized his mistake too late. The Sphinx was made of plaster and covered with gold leaf and semiprecious stones. The weapon Joe was using fired shells designed to penetrate armor. They blasted through the headdress like they were punching holes in paper.

  He dropped to his knees as one of them hit him. The next hit finished him and he fell to the side and slid off the back of the Sphinx. He crashed into the water and came to the surface, floating facedown.

  62

  Kurt glanced around, listening. The chamber had gone silent. The shooting was over. And then a disturbance near the Sphinx stirred the water as one of the crocodiles knifed down the lane, snapped its jaws on the dead soldier’s body and rolled over in a swirling death spiral.

  “Better get Renata,” Joe said.

  Kurt was already moving, grabbing a gas mask from the wrecked vehicle, pulling it over his face and cinching it tight.

  Even having spent half his life in water, Kurt was always amazed how hard it was to run once the water level reached above one’s knees. He charged forward and found Renata floating and unconscious. He grabbed her, threw her over his shoulder and climbed up on the stone coffin.

  From there, he could see the dilemma. The hungry crocodiles had made their way out of the pit. They were moving around the shallow waters now filling the burial chamber in search of a meal. He counted four, but that didn’t mean he was seeing all of them.

  Behind him, Joe had climbed onto the side of the AS-42 and was safe for the moment. But the water was still rising. Seeing no danger between them, Kurt waved Joe over.