There was also a small chance that Gretchen and the men who had followed them were on the same side. Mako assumed either her phone or her car had been used to track them in DC. Whether she was an accomplice or a victim to the surveillance was an open question that he had to answer.
Mako fought off the feeling of her soft skin brushing against his and tried to stay objective.
He cursed when his phone vibrated in his palm. Needing the features and information stored on his personal device, and worried about clearing customs if carrying multiple devices, he had ditched the burners. He had intended to replace his SIM card when they arrived in Luxor, but now it was too late. Turning the power on to pull up the map had been a mistake, and he imagined the blinking dots illuminating computer screens halfway across the world when the phone connected. Both his friends and enemies now knew where he was.
The damage was done. He watched the screen as several messages came in simultaneously.
“Shit.”
Mako couldn’t help but notice Gretchen’s face was almost touching his as they peered at the text.
We have John Storm. Standby for directions.
“Shit.” He was half a world away. Before he could formulate a plan, the caller continued.
We need to talk.
Mako knew as soon as he had turned on his phone that Alicia would know where he was. It took him a second longer to realize that she had access to everything on it, including the pictures and map. He shut off the power. Looking around at the barren landscape, with no cell towers in sight he assumed service was spotty at best. Anyone tracking his location through the phone’s signal would think he had entered an area with no service.
Mako caught Alaa’s glance in the rearview mirror. “How far away are we?”
The Valley of the Kings had been their first destination. With the map being so vague, they really had no starting point for their search, so the obvious course was to go where everything was buried. If nothing else, by playing tourist he would get a primer on what they were looking for. There was no doubt that whoever had his father was after the same thing.
Alaa made a quick left turn onto a long, winding road that looked similar to the one they had just left. The van crested a small rise. Ahead was a dusty parking lot with a single-story rectangular building behind it. A handful of vans similar to theirs and several tour buses were lined up at the entrance.
Mako glanced at his watch. It was just past ten, and he wondered why the site wasn’t open. Just as he was about to ask Alaa, the driver/guide opened the door. Mako felt the intense heat the second the seal was broken.
“Give me a minute,” Alaa said, as he stepped onto the hard-packed sand.
The door closed. While the air conditioning fought to dispel the heat, Mako and Gretchen watched Alaa walk toward the gate. “Wonder what’s up?”
She took the phone from Mako’s hand and turned it on. “They already know where we are.”
Mako watched as she opened the web browser and did a search for the Valley of the Kings. A single blurb caught his eye: Rockslide at Valley of the Kings reveals tomb. Gretchen pressed the link to open the story. There were a few details about a minor earthquake that had triggered a rock slide late last night. The epicenter was still to be determined and, fearing instability at the grave sites, the Valley of the Kings, the Valley of the Queens, and the Valley of the Workers had all been closed.
Just as they finished reading, Alaa was back at the van.
“Earthquake has closed the site. The guard said at least an hour.”
They were here already, though Mako knew Third World time was measured in days, not hours. Hoping this would be different with the bus loads of tourists waiting, he decided to stay. They also had nowhere else to go. Mako took the phone back and turned off the power. He wasn’t ready to talk to Alicia or John’s captors yet. He expected there was little physical risk to John this early in the game. Whoever was holding his father needed Mako more than Mako needed them—at least for now.
There was always the chance that Alaa’s phone also had been compromised, and Mako decided to forego any further searches or communications. Alaa chose to take the time to educate his charges with every scrap of Egyptian history he knew. Gretchen listened intently, but Mako’s attention wavered as he struggled to put all the players into the correct positions. An hour later, he was back where he’d started when the line of vehicles started to inch forward. Seemingly at random, every other vehicle was turned around.
They reached the gate, where Alaa stopped and rolled down his window. A uniformed officer stuck his head inside, but Mako avoided making eye contact. He knew if he did, it would be read as an insult. Alaa had several small bills rolled up in his hand and discreetly offered them to the officer. To Mako’s surprise, the officer refused them and motioned at a man wearing a suit.
The man greeted Alaa with a suspicious look and started speaking in Arabic. Mako could only watch the man’s body language for any sign of what the discussion was about. Finally, Alaa pulled out a considerable roll of cash and handed it to the man. His expression never changed as he pocketed the money and signaled to the guards to let them through.
“What was that all about?” Mako asked as they entered the empty parking lot.
“The suits are the bosses. Normally it’s only a few small bills to the guards to get in. Today, the boss wanted more. Something big must be happening. I told him I had a rich American who wanted to see the famous tomb of King Tutankhamun. It should allow you to orient yourself with the valley.”
As they pulled into the parking lot, Mako hoped he had found a local who could actually help. He liked the way Alaa operated.
With Alaa leading the way, they left the van and walked toward the long rectangular building, sited lengthwise toward the parking lot. Its stalls, though now closed, were for vendors. They soon reached a ticket booth.
“I have to get you tickets,” Alaa said.
Mako knew the “fee” to enter had nothing to do with an entrance fee. He handed Alaa a US twenty. The man walked up to the booth and returned a moment later with two tickets and a wad of cash.
“Separate the small bills. You will need them.”
The request didn’t surprise Mako. He had been around enough to know that the people of underdeveloped countries found ways to survive. While an annoyance, the small amount of cash would make their days and mean nothing to him. He shrugged and sorted the cash into two piles. He placed one in each of his front pockets.
Alaa led them past the entrances to several tombs. The once-rich sites had been excavated to the extreme. Sometimes just two stone columns and a lintel marked an entrance to what looked like a dirt mound. In others, the portals appeared to be cut into the surrounding hills. They appeared random, facing different directions and at different elevations.
“The gravesites were picked for their geological features. This area is mostly limestone. There are voids and caverns throughout that the builders chose to ease the excavation.”
Mako hadn’t entered a grave yet, but was impressed with the engineering required for an ancient people to understand and utilize the natural features. From Alaa’s lecture earlier, he recalled a fascinating fact. The Egyptians were the only society that seemed to devolve instead of evolve. Their culture had appeared to have peaked at the time of the oldest discoveries. The great pyramids predated these more rudimentary tombs by almost a thousand years.
Passing several more portals, Mako glanced at the signs stating who the tomb had been built for. Alaa led them to one of the smaller sites. A robed man standing by the open steel gate took their tickets.
“Go ahead, I will be waiting in the shade,” Alaa said.
Mako exchanged a look with Gretchen and ushered her forward. They stooped to enter, and Mako blinked several times to acclimate himself to the interior light. It was well lit, but paled in comparison to the bright desert outside.
Alaa had told them not to expect much in the way of decorations,
and he was correct. The walls were carved, but the unexpected and early demise of the Pharaoh hadn’t allowed enough time for the artisans to complete their work. The catacomb itself was nothing special. The find was. The discovery of an intact pharaoh’s tomb had rocked the archeological world.
They exited less than ten minutes later to a different scene than they had left. Men were running everywhere.
“A new tomb had been found,” Alaa said.
Uniformed police and guards ran to get ahead of the workers and tourists now moving like a herd toward a point in the back of the valley. Mako, Gretchen, and Alaa fell in line behind them.
The forward motion suddenly stopped and the crowd spread out on the lip of a cliff. Alaa led Mako and Gretchen to a point toward the end of the line of people leaning and craning their necks to get a better view of the cliff face. It was immediately clear where the rockslide had been.
A gaping hole had been exposed in the limestone cliffs.
15
The Valley of the Kings, Luxor, Egypt
Ahmed breathed deeply, wishing Beecher had picked a more accessible site for the grave. Within twenty-four hours scaffolding would be set up to allow easier access to the site, but for now, he was forced to climb. Once he caught his breath, he looked down on the desert spread out before him. He was impressed by what Beecher had accomplished. It appeared that a section of cliff face had sheared off. Seismic action wasn’t uncommon here, and once the grave was discovered, the event—or non-event—that had opened the site would be forgotten. Aside from the fallen sections of the cliff—the debris left from his work—there was no sign of man’s hand.
Beecher’s avoidance of explosives had been the key. Whatever magic he used to open the cavern had worked. He might be repulsive, but the man knew his business. Watching Rashi and her entourage fawn over the newly found portal, he knew they had succeeded.
Ahmed had officially closed the Valley of the Kings to all but the few tourists who would inevitably bribe their way past the guards. With the wide expanse of desert and hills surrounding it, there was no way to cordon off the site anyway, and the few visitors were sure to post pictures on social media, giving even more attention to the find.
The early press was important. He knew it would be days, if not weeks, before the tomb was opened. The process of opening a new site was a painstaking and tedious process. At this point any publicity would help the cause.
The excavation crews working above would be on hand as well. Their foremen would be happy to grant an interview for a few pounds. His half-hearted effort at security was mostly for show. As Ahmed stepped back onto the projection in front of the cavern and looked up, he saw the small crowd gathered above. Most had phones and cameras extended over the cliff face. A small effort had to be made, but his underlying goal was to publicize the find. In that he had succeeded.
The superior feeling he got when his underlings performed as expected was worth the frustration he had endured to reach this point. He stood aloof and watched Rashi, the reporters, and the photographers swoon over the portal. There was nothing to be done except play the gracious host.
Protocol, established over several hundred years of European-sponsored expeditions, called for the excavation to be put on hold until the benefactor could attend the “unveiling.” In Carter’s day it had taken three weeks for Lord Carnarvon, the dig’s financial backer and fifth earl of Highclere Castle, the real Downton Abbey of TV fame, to travel from England. After a single step underneath the workers’ huts had been discovered, all work had been halted until he arrived.
Today, with a government jet at his disposal, Ahmed arrived the next morning. Knowing the timeline didn’t hurt, either.
The group had inspected the portal and now stood on the small ledge outside of the cavern. “Rashi.” He kissed her on the cheek before she could protest. “Do you think?”
Her spirits were high enough that she accepted the gesture. “It is too much to wish for,” she said. “Did you see it?”
“I was waiting for an invitation.”
She took his hand and led him inside the cavern. His heart jumped in his throat, but it wasn’t from the stonework in front of him.
Several feet inside the opening, where there was just enough space for the small group to stand, a massive stone stood before them. Surrounded by two columns and a lintel, it resembled a door—which it was. How Beecher had managed to erect the facade overnight made him all the more valuable. Rashi briefly inspected the seal around the portal with a flashlight. Ahmed held his breath, but she looked up and smiled. He knew this was just a cursory inspection, but it had passed.
Rashi stepped aside to allow the photographers a better view and answered questions from the reporters.
“When will you open it?”
The group fell silent.
“This is an archeological site, not a treasure hunt. This will be done properly. There is no timeline.”
The reporters had been chosen by Ahmed, but he knew the question needed to be asked and answered. To him, the answer was perfect. He needed the time to seed the tomb, and stringing the world along would only make the unveiling more spectacular.
Rashi moved back to the slab and ran her hands over the narrow joint surrounding it. Ahmed placed himself between the reporters and her. He leaned closer, wondering if she had seen something out of place. When she extracted a small knife from her bag and flipped the blade open, he held his breath. The mortar had to be green and would easily scrape away with the slightest touch of the blade.
“The mortar is a slightly different color. Can you hold the light?” She handed the flashlight to Ahmed.
At first he wavered the light to obscure the area she was interested in, but after a scolding look, he gave up and shone the light where she indicated.
She placed the blade in the small crack and scraped a tiny piece of mortar away. The dust settled into her hand and she rubbed her fingers together. “It looks authentic. Carbon dating will tell.”
Ahmed released his pent-up breath. It was common for thieves to reseal tombs to prevent any knowledge of the theft to leak out. Three thousand years was a lot of opportunity. The tests would, of course, reveal nothing of the subterfuge. Curious about this phase of the operation, he had asked Beecher. The man had smiled at him and laughed. Ahmed hated him for it, but knew Beecher had it covered.
While she inspected the rest of the cavern, Ahmed scanned the cliff face looking for the back door that had to be there. He wasn’t surprised when he couldn’t find it. As he looked back toward the desert below, he saw a string of army trucks, some hauling trailers, heading toward them. A few minutes later, soldiers climbed out of the back of the lead truck and took positions around the area. From this moment forward, the site would be guarded around the clock. Men climbed out of the other trucks and started unloading steel scaffolding from the trailers. Within an hour there would be a stairway from the desert floor to the cavern.
This was the most activity the site would see for several days. Grave openings were painfully slow. Everything had to be documented and recorded.
Ahmed turned back to see Rashi exit the cavern. Her orders came out in a staccato blast as she directed her two assistants in the next steps they needed to take. One man was to deal with the media, the other the archeological world. Her inspection, though brief, had given her confidence that the tomb was both real and untouched—a rare find.
Ahmed watched her, wondering if the first part of the plan had succeeded. Ultimately, her decisions about the tomb, even her subconscious ones, might not be based on moral or ethical truth, or even physical evidence. Ahmed could only hope her passion for finding the grave, the result of years of work, would cover for any discrepancies she might find. He knew from personal experience that humans were very good at seeing only what would justify their picture of the world. So far, everything had played out perfectly. The site was, after all, what and where she expected it to be.
Ahmed wandered away. His plan
was working on both fronts—now he just needed to secure the relics to place inside the grave. Kosma had the forgeries well in hand, but those would come later. He needed to get the authentic relics to Beecher and there lay the problem—Ahmed didn’t yet have them. His contacts in America had failed, but swore they had things in hand.
Whoever John Storm was, he held the key.
16
Key Largo, Florida
The excitement Alicia had felt when the files were found turned to anxiety when she discovered Mako had been tailed. That had turned to frustration when he had disappeared, and now it was pure white-hot anger when his phone blipped on, showing his location.
On top of Mako being in Egypt, she had gotten a message that John was being held hostage. Alicia wasn’t good at looking from the outside in. She was used to being in the center and directing operations.
The CIA contracts awarded to her were rarely straightforward. Most were engineered to allow denial of the operation if it should go off the rails. TJ annoyed her to no end quoting the Mission Impossible line: As always, should you or any of your IM Force be caught or killed, the Secretary will disavow any knowledge of your action. It was to a large extent true.
The CIA’s hands-off policy once they awarded contracts had its benefits, though. Alicia had experienced firsthand how the Agency tended to micromanage their own operations. Knowing there would be no help coming if they got in trouble gave Alicia license to do some digging on her own. Through her own efforts, she generally knew more than the Agency wanted her to.
TJ took a sip from his Coke. “Take a break. Something happens, I’ll let you know.” He sat in his captain’s chair, scanning the screens on the wall in front of him.
Alicia had been staring at the same screens for almost twenty-four hours, during which time Mako’s phone had been activated twice. She wasn’t sure if he was intentionally sending breadcrumbs or if it was accidental. Both were possible with him. Mako’s behavior was often erratic, but this time she suspected that whoever was holding John Storm hostage was pulling Mako’s strings. Somehow she needed to take back control.
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