The Forbidden Tomb

by Chris Kuzneski

A high-voltage ‘fuck-you’ to those who didn’t belong.

  Ultimately, he decided not to find out.

  * * *

  ‘Crap! I thought he was going to do it,’ Hector Garcia blurted from behind his computer screen. He had been watching McNutt on a variety of closed-circuit security feeds ever since he had turned off the dirt road. A seismic trigger embedded under the pavement had set off an alarm, alerting those inside that someone was approaching.

  ‘Thought who was going to do what?’ asked Jack Cobb, a former major in the US Army. As the unquestioned leader of the team, he had more pressing concerns than watching surveillance video. That was Garcia’s responsibility. That, and notifying Cobb if someone was headed their way.

  ‘McNutt,’ Garcia answered. ‘He’s been trying to figure out how to get through the gate for the last few minutes. So far, he’s losing.’

  ‘Can you put it up on the big screen?’ Cobb asked.

  ‘Sure.’

  After a flourish of clicks and keystrokes, the entire collection of security footage was displayed in a grid on the ninety-inch television that hung above the fireplace. Cobb watched as McNutt stepped back to the gate’s control panel and lowered his face to the surface. Cobb pointed to feed number three – the view from the camera underneath the touch pad. A few clicks later, McNutt’s bloodshot eyes filled the entire screen.

  ‘What’s the hillbilly doing now?’ asked Sarah Ellis from a nearby couch. Trained by the CIA and a master of security systems, she could only shake her head in embarrassment as her colleague tried to open the gate. ‘What’s he looking at?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Garcia guessed. ‘I think he thinks the pad is a retina scan. He’s trying to press his eyeball on the glass.’

  Sarah burst out laughing. ‘Oh . . . my . . . God. He’s dumber than I remember – and that’s saying something because I’ve had pet rocks smarter than him.’

  ‘Than he,’ Jasmine Park said as she entered the room. As the lone academic in the group, she was the only one who noticed Sarah’s improper grammar. ‘If you’re going to make fun of his intelligence, you should use proper English.’

  ‘Says the chick from Korea.’

  ‘Actually, I was born in America.’

  ‘Then you should know that it’s rude to correct someone’s grammar – particularly someone with my skill set.’

  Jasmine smiled and glanced at the video feed. McNutt had turned away from the screen and was walking back toward his bike. ‘Is he leaving?’

  ‘I hope so,’ Sarah said as she crossed her fingers. ‘I’ve been giving it some thought, and I have the perfect candidate to replace him. Not only is she great with guns and explosives, but she’s smart enough to make ice. And that isn’t an expression. McNutt once asked me if ice cubes came from Alaska.’

  Garcia turned from his computer. ‘When did he do that?’

  ‘When we were in Alaska. He wanted to bring some back as souvenirs. He was going to pack them in his suitcase.’

  Garcia stared at her, unsure if she was joking. ‘Really?’

  Sarah shrugged, her blank face revealing nothing.

  Jasmine pointed at the television. ‘Seriously, is Josh leaving?’

  Garcia looked up at the screen and realized that McNutt still wasn’t in view. He quickly tapped a button on his keyboard and switched to a wider angle, this one from a camera mounted on top of the gate. It showed McNutt returning to his bike and unbuttoning the cover of a large golf bag that was strapped to the sissy bar.

  Sarah hopped to her feet. ‘What’s he doing now?’

  ‘I have no idea,’ Jasmine said.

  ‘I do,’ Cobb said with a growing sense of alarm. ‘Zoom in.’

  Garcia did what he was told, and the group watched in horrified fascination as McNutt lifted the cover from the bag.

  Instead of clubs, it was filled with his private arsenal.

  McNutt, an ex-Marine sniper and weapons expert, made his selection and lifted it from the bag. The Vampir – a Russian-made rocket-propelled grenade launcher – was designed to immobilize armored tanks. The gate was sturdy, but it wasn’t that sturdy. The owner hadn’t considered missile attacks when he had designed it.

  Grinning with childlike delight, McNutt aimed the shoulder-mounted launch tube at the base of the gate as Cobb sprinted across the room and activated the intercom.

  ‘Stand down, soldier!’ Cobb shouted.

  On the screen, a startled McNutt spun on his heels.

  ‘Who said that?’ he demanded as he aimed the tube at the touch pad.

  ‘Lower the RPG,’ Cobb directed. ‘We’ll open the gate.’

  McNutt approached the intercom. ‘Major, is that you? You in there?’

  ‘Yes, Josh, I’m here.’ Then, just to be safe, Cobb clarified his answer. ‘I’m in the house, not the box.’

  McNutt laughed at the comment. Unlike some members of the group, who viewed McNutt as a mentally challenged psychopath, Cobb knew most of it was just an act – a way for McNutt to amuse himself when he was away from the battlefield. Some people picked up on his sense of humor right away while others, particularly Garcia, didn’t. This only made things funnier to McNutt, who always looked for ways to mess with him.

  Like threatening to use a grenade launcher on their home base.

  Cobb hit the button that opened the gate. ‘See you soon.’

  ‘Thanks!’ McNutt shouted, his mouth no more than an inch from the touch screen. ‘Give me a minute. I gotta pack my missile first.’

  Garcia switched the angle back to the control panel’s underside camera. Suddenly McNutt’s mouth filled the television screen. ‘Look at that. I can see his tonsils.’

  Sarah rolled her eyes. ‘Oh my God. I’m surrounded by idiots.’

  2

  McNutt gunned his engine through the winding driveway that led to the main entrance. Surrounded on nearly every side by a man-made inlet, the house was designed to be easily defensible. The lone bridge across the moat was a small isthmus that looked completely natural but was actually artificial and layered with explosives. With the touch of a button, the peninsula could be quickly transformed into an island.

  Were it his estate, McNutt would have built a Mediterranean palace to rival the mansions on Star Island in Miami Beach instead of the 4,000-square-foot ranch that served as their headquarters. It looked more like a bunker than a beach house. But it had been built with practicality in mind, not prestige. Not only could it withstand an aerial assault, but the squat construction was perfect for the coast. The hurricanes and tropical storms that threatened Florida every year had nowhere to sink their teeth – and neither would zombies if they ever decided to attack.

  Though he disapproved of the architecture, McNutt was downright envious of the house’s features. After years in the military, he could recognize an Echelon-class Signals Intelligence satellite receiver when he saw one. This wasn’t a standard household satellite dish. It was a top-of-the-line, military-grade device used to transmit secure SIGINT communications. Combined with its own freshwater treatment plant and electrical substation, it was clear that the house was envisioned as a base of operations.

  McNutt parked in the roundabout driveway and cut the engine. As he did, the front door opened and Cobb stepped outside.

  ‘Howdy, chief. Long time, no see.’

  ‘You’re late,’ Cobb growled.

  McNutt frowned and checked his watch. ‘No, I’m not. You said to be here by five. By my count, I’ve still got thirty minutes. I’d have been here sooner if it weren’t for that stupid gate.’

  ‘I said to be here by five o’clock on Monday.’

  ‘It’s not Monday?’ McNutt grinned sheepishly. ‘Sorry, Major. Time flies when you’re on leave. One day you’re having a couple of beers with your buddies, the next day you’re running naked through the streets of Tijuana with the mistress of a pissed-off Federale while being chased by a gang of midgets. You know how it is.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I don’t. And I�
��ve told you before: stop calling me “Major”. You never know who’s listening.’

  ‘Sorry, chief.’

  ‘And at what point in your escapades did you decide that a rocket launcher in a golf bag sounded like a good idea?’

  ‘The night the midgets almost caught me. They’re small, but surprisingly quick. Their little legs are like propellers.’ McNutt laughed at the image in his head as he unstrapped the makeshift gun case and slung it over his shoulder. ‘You have to admit: it’s the perfect cover down here. Even on the back of the bike, no one gives a golf bag a second look. You should see what I have in the pouches.’

  ‘Later,’ Cobb said. ‘We’ll talk about that later. Come inside. We’ve been waiting for you all day.’

  McNutt nodded and entered the house.

  The opulent home had a spacious floor plan, including a living room, library, kitchen, and parlor. Valuable paintings hung on the walls. The furniture that once seemed cold and sterile – as if the protective plastic from the factory had only recently been removed – now seemed familiar and comfortable. The team slept in sparsely appointed bedrooms off a hallway in the northern end of the house. McNutt wondered if the clothes he had left in the dresser drawers were still there or if they had been discarded in his absence.

  If they had, he would have to go shopping.

  The final area was a formal dining room that looked out on a magnificent terrace. Interlocking swimming pools, landscaped with palm trees and adorned with sculptures, gave the space the feel of a fancy resort. As they walked past the huge picture window, McNutt glanced at the private marina to the rear of the property. A single yacht was parked in the slips. He knew from his past visit that the boat’s name, Trésor de la Mer, translated to ‘Treasure of the Sea’.

  McNutt smiled. It meant that his employer was here.

  He hoped that he had remembered to bring his checkbook because the team still hadn’t been paid for their first mission.

  * * *

  McNutt followed Cobb into the kitchen where three anxious faces stared at them from across the countertop. As with most homes, the space had become the de facto meeting point. Whenever they all needed to gather in one place, it was inevitably the kitchen.

  ‘Holy shit, the gang’s all here,’ McNutt said.

  To the untrained eye, they looked like a mismatched set. Cobb was broad-shouldered and handsome, with a narrow face and piercing gray eyes that gave him a ‘leading man’ quality. McNutt was strong and scruffy, with hair and clothes that almost always looked like he had just slept under a bridge. Meanwhile, Garcia represented a new wave of hacker. He wasn’t pale and frail like the stereotypical nerds who never left their mothers’ basements. He was tan and athletic and reasonably attractive.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ Sarah demanded.

  ‘We were getting worried,’ Jasmine added.

  Their comments couldn’t have been more fitting.

  Sarah was tall, sleek, and agile, a physically gifted athlete who stood in stark contrast to the softer features of the much shorter Jasmine. Of all the team members, the two women had the least in common – not only physically, but also emotionally. Sarah was aggressive and combative, always looking for a weakness that she could exploit to her advantage, whereas Jasmine was kind and respectful, more concerned about others than herself. Part of that was their upbringing, and part was their training.

  Sarah had learned her craft at Quantico.

  Jasmine had learned hers in a library.

  ‘Where he’s been is not important,’ Cobb said before McNutt could regale them with tales of debauchery from south of the border.

  ‘It is to me,’ Sarah countered. ‘We’re all in this together. I don’t need him going off on a bender and announcing what we found to a crowded bar.’

  Garcia shrugged. ‘Even if he did, do you really think anyone would believe him? I mean, c’mon. Ancient trains? The occult? Covert operations in Transylvania?’

  ‘Exactly!’ McNutt said. ‘Thanks, José, for the vote of confidence.’

  ‘Actually, it’s Hector.’

  ‘Close enough. They both start with the same letter.’

  ‘Actually, they don’t.’

  ‘They don’t? Since when?’

  ‘Since, um, they invented the alphabet.’

  McNutt fought the urge to grin. He knew damn well what Garcia’s name was; he simply chose not to use it. ‘Well, that explains it. I don’t know the alphabet.’

  ‘That’s enough,’ Cobb announced. He didn’t raise his voice. His tone alone let everyone know that he was done with their banter.

  The group gave him his due respect and stopped at once.

  ‘Sarah, keeping things to ourselves was never part of the arrangement. You’re all free to say whatever you want to whomever you want. But you all know the risks of letting this information get out.’

  Sarah started to object, but Cobb cut her off.

  He glanced at McNutt. ‘That being said, I’d consider it a personal favor if you would keep your mouth shut about team activities.’

  McNutt nodded. ‘I haven’t told a soul.’

  ‘Good,’ said Cobb, who had figured as much. McNutt wasn’t a trained spy like Sarah, but he was a former Marine who was programmed to be loyal to his unit. ‘Hector, is there anything on the Internet about our recent activities?’

  ‘Nothing,’ the techie replied. ‘It’s like there’s a coordinated effort to keep our news out of the news. It’s actually a bit odd, if not altogether disconcerting. Nothing stays off the radar like this – especially not something as interesting as what we went through.’

  Cobb glanced at their host – a Frenchman named Jean-Marc Papineau – who had quietly entered the kitchen through a back hallway and had listened to the tail end of their conversation. Impeccably dressed in the finest clothes from Europe, he carried himself like royalty, as if he were the king and the world was his playground.

  Ever since they had met a few months earlier, Cobb had wondered how far Papineau’s reach extended. He had worked wonders in Eastern Europe, obtaining everything that the team had needed for their mission, including a retrofitted train. As impressive as that was, it paled in comparison to his latest trick. In an age of camera phones and social media, how did he keep their major discovery from the rest of the world?

  It took more than money to do something like that.

  It took influence and power.

  ‘Jasmine,’ Cobb continued, ‘have you heard anything from your sources?’

  As the resident historian, she had connections at several universities around the globe. Even if their quest had not made the newspapers, the academic community had their own channels of communication. If anyone had gotten wind of their historic discovery, she would have heard about it from one of her peers.

  ‘Yes and no,’ she admitted. ‘The rumors about a major find are out there, but it’s just scattered rumblings. I’ve heard so many versions of what might have happened that I don’t even know where to begin. We’ve been credited with finding everything from the Amber Room to the lost city of Atlantis. The stories are unbelievable.’

  Cobb stared at Papineau. ‘Anything to add? Can we expect an official confirmation of our discovery anytime soon?’

  The team whirled around, surprised by his presence.

  ‘Nothing official,’ he said as he took his place next to Cobb at the front of the group. ‘In fact, I plan on crafting a few more rumors that I would like each of you to spread through your sources. The more, the better.’

  ‘What kind of rumors?’ Sarah asked.

  Papineau smiled. ‘Given that it involved the Russians and a famous treasure, I thought my tale about the Amber Room was particularly poetic.’

  ‘Your tale?’ Jasmine asked, confused.

  ‘Yes, my dear. Mine.’

  ‘But why?’

  Cobb answered for him. ‘Because it is far easier to lie about an event than to deny it took place. The world knows something happ
ened, so it’s up to us to control the narrative. To put it in spy terms, this is disassociation through disinformation. We need to keep the world off our scent until our mission is complete. Correct?’

  Papineau shot him a glance but said nothing.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Sarah hissed. ‘What are you talking about? We already completed our mission when we found the treasure. That was the deal.’

  Cobb shook his head. He knew that wasn’t the case. ‘That’s what we were led to believe, but Romania was only the first step. Isn’t that right, Jean-Marc?’

  ‘It is,’ he confirmed.

  Sarah slammed her fist on the counter, and then stormed toward the Frenchman. ‘You lying sack of shit! You promised me five million dollars for my services. I did everything you asked and more. You owe me my goddamned money!’

  Cobb stepped in front of her before she reached her target.

  Papineau took a step back. ‘Calm down, my dear. You’re absolutely correct. You earned your money. Five million dollars to each of you, as promised.’

  ‘That’s more like it,’ Sarah blurted.

  ‘Or . . .’ A grin returned to his face. ‘You can double your take.’

  The room grew still as the comment sank in.

  McNutt was the first to speak. ‘Did you say double?’

  ‘I did indeed. Ten million dollars. Each.’

  ‘What’s the catch?’ Jasmine asked.

  ‘The “catch”, as you say, is that none of your money – including that which you are already owed – will be available to you until after you have completed the next task. It will remain in trust until the mission is over.’

  ‘And if we fail?’ Sarah demanded.

  ‘You will have the original five million waiting for you upon your return,’ Papineau assured her. ‘However, our relationship will cease to exist. We will sever all ties, immediately and permanently.’

  ‘Meaning the next task may not be the last task.’

  Papineau shrugged. ‘I wish I could tell you what the future has in store for us. Unfortunately, I cannot. There is only so much I can guarantee this far in advance.’

  ‘That’s not good enough,’ Jasmine said. A few months earlier, she had been timid and vulnerable, but after surviving multiple attacks in the field she had emerged with a new level of confidence. ‘I’ll do it, but I have a condition.’