‘Being a nerd isn’t a condition – it’s more of a life choice,’ Sarah teased.
Papineau ignored the comment and focused his attention on Jasmine. She wasn’t the type to make outrageous demands. ‘What is it?’
‘Bring my family to America.’
‘No problem. I’ll have them on the next flight.’
Papineau knew that Jasmine’s involvement was motivated by her desire to rescue her extended family from the clutches of poverty. All her life she had saved her money, hoping to finance their trip from the slums of Seoul to a new life in America.
He could make that happen overnight.
‘I need a new laptop,’ Garcia stated boldly. If Papineau was meeting terms, he didn’t want to miss out. ‘Custom-built to my specs.’
‘Done. Anyone else?’
‘A new Harley,’ McNutt said.
‘Same for me,’ Sarah added.
McNutt raised an eyebrow.
‘What?’ Sarah snapped. ‘You’re not the only one who likes to straddle something powerful on the weekends.’
McNutt opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it.
‘Also granted.’ Papineau turned toward Cobb, the only one left. ‘And what about you? What is that you would like?’
‘Me?’ Cobb answered. ‘I’d like to know what you want us to find.’
3
The kitchen conversation was over. It was time to get down to business.
The group descended the hidden flight of stairs that led to the ‘war room’ in the basement. The heavy door of the bunker wasn’t just similar to that of the White House Situation Room, it was identical. When properly sealed, it would keep out water, gases, and toxins. Much of the room on the other side of the door was also copied from the blueprints used in Washington. The main difference was that the President’s foxhole was furnished with efficiency in mind; Papineau’s didn’t skimp on luxury.
The space was climate-controlled to museum-level perfection and decorated with fine art and other expensive trappings. A short railing separated a long glass conference table from the leather couches and amply padded easy chairs, providing two distinct meeting areas: one formal, one far more casual.
The team took their seats around the hi-tech table as Papineau stood at the head, waiting for them to settle in. Then, without a precursory explanation, the lights began to dim. He stepped to the left as the massive video screen that covered the entire wall behind him sprang to life. The map of Eastern Europe that had been used for their first mission was gone, replaced by an image of the Balkan Peninsula.
The countries were not labeled, but Cobb knew the area well enough to know that the borders were not accurate. Or, at the very least, not current. The southern portions of Albania, Macedonia, and Bulgaria were shown as a single area. And what should have been Greece was divided into several distinct territories.
Papineau let the silence linger, waiting for someone to hazard a guess.
Instinctively, the group turned toward Jasmine.
‘That map is at least two thousand years old,’ she said.
Papineau smiled and nodded. ‘Two thousand three hundred and fifty years, to be exact.’
Jasmine did the math in her head. ‘The League of Corinth. Philip’s unified force, at war with the Persian Empire. The Kingdom of Macedon.’
‘Excellent,’ Papineau said.
‘Can someone translate her translation?’ McNutt asked.
Jasmine took it upon herself to clarify her statement. ‘Philip the Second of Macedon was a brilliant military tactician. By 336 BC he had conquered most of Greece. In doing so, he brought the various factions together under his rule. He put an end to their internal conflict and unified their strength against the Persian forces across the Aegean Sea.’ She pointed toward the map on the screen. ‘The area may seem divided, but it was actually governed by a single man.’
‘For how long?’ Cobb wondered.
‘Philip’s reign lasted more than twenty years – a remarkable feat for the time. The map we see here was from the end of his rule, not the beginning. Upon his assassination, all of this land was left to his son.’
‘And his son was . . .?’ Sarah asked.
‘Alexander the Third of Macedon,’ Garcia answered.
As the team turned toward him, they realized for the first time that the conference table was not made of ordinary glass; instead, the surface was the same material as the touch-screen control panel at the gate. What they couldn’t see was the myriad of electronic technology housed in its narrow depth. Manufactured by Payne Industries for US Central Command (CENTCOM), the advanced rendering of the futuristic computer was used to plan military strikes with depth of field.
Eager to show off his new toy, Garcia had entered keywords and dates from Jasmine’s briefing into a government search engine displayed on the tabletop in front of him. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he was able to distribute copies of that information to virtual screens at each of their seats. The ‘virtual reports’ looked like they had been slid across the top of the desk when, in fact, it was nothing more than a fancy special effect. The graphics were so realistic that team members actually tried to catch the reports before they slid off the end of the table.
‘I love this thing,’ Garcia said with a laugh.
McNutt was so captivated by the technology he put his face against the glass and tried to see the gadgetry underneath. ‘Can I play Pac-Man on this?’
Sarah ignored McNutt and concentrated on the name. ‘Alexander the Third. Never heard of him.’
‘Me, neither,’ Cobb admitted.
‘Yes, you have,’ Jasmine assured them. ‘You probably know him by his nickname: Alexander the Great.’
McNutt sat up, suddenly focused. ‘Hold up! You’re telling me that Alex was given all of that land when his father died? Hell, I could be great, too, if I had that type of real estate. All my dad left me was a six-pack in the fridge and some beef jerky.’
Jasmine frowned. ‘When did your dad die?’
‘He didn’t. He just left.’
‘Anyway,’ she said, suddenly uncomfortable, ‘Alexander wasn’t content with his inheritance. He had a much bigger kingdom in mind.’
As if on cue, Papineau changed the image on the wall display to a much larger map. The outline stretched eastward from the Adriatic Sea to the Himalayan Mountains along the border of India. It extended south to the Indian Ocean and Persian Gulf, and into the northern territories of the Arabian Peninsula and much of Egypt. The original Kingdom of Macedon was little more than a speck in the northwestern corner of this new map.
Jasmine continued, ‘Alexander the Great controlled the entire area – more than two million square miles in total. It was one of the largest empires in history.’
Sarah whistled. ‘That’s a lot of land.’
‘Indeed,’ said Papineau, who knew a thing or two about real estate. ‘But that’s only part of his story. Alexander was trained by generals and tutored by none other than Aristotle himself. Their combined efforts resulted in the most brilliant military mind in history. Hoping to reshape the world, Alexander quickly set his sights upon the expansion of his territory. By the time of his death, he was known far and wide as a conquering hero: an unyielding, yet merciful force that swept across the land, leaving unity and prosperity in his wake. To many, he was seen as a god in human form.’
Papineau changed the image on the main screen.
To ensure their focus, all of their workstations went dark.
The group turned in unison as the giant map disappeared and was replaced by an ancient engraving. At first glance, it appeared to be a stone chamber being pulled by more than a dozen horses. The structure was nearly two stories in height, with a round, vaulted roof, and surrounded on three sides by ornate pillars.
‘Upon his death, Alexander was placed inside a coffin of hammered gold. It was then placed inside a magnificent funerary hearse that was nearly twenty feet tall.’
‘Ho
w magnificent?’ Sarah wondered.
Papineau changed the image again, this time to an ancient painting that highlighted the ornate design of the hearse. ‘A vaulted ceiling made of gold and precious stones was supported by a row of solid gold columns. Gold molding adorned the tops of the walls, and intricate gold figures decorated each corner. According to legend, the hearse was lined with a collection of golden bells to announce Alexander’s arrival. They could be heard for miles around.’
McNutt grimaced with disgust. ‘Bells? The greatest general of all time and they honored him with bells? What kind of bullshit is that? This is a guy who rode elephants into battle. You’d think they’d come up with something more manly than that. Like drums. Big-ass kettledrums, played by naked chicks in high heels. Now that’s a funeral.’
‘No,’ Sarah said, ‘that’s a strip club.’
‘Anyway,’ said Papineau, who was rarely amused by McNutt’s antics, ‘the golden hearse weighed a staggering amount. It required the combined strength of sixty-four of the legion’s sturdiest mules to transport the structure on its journey.’
‘To where?’ Cobb asked.
Jasmine answered. ‘His body was to be taken from Babylon – where he died – to Macedon, the place of his birth. Unfortunately, he never made it home. The processional was intercepted by a Macedonian general named Ptolemy Soter, who directed the hearse to the Egyptian city of Memphis. By seizing the body of the dead king, Ptolemy could legally claim rule over Egypt and the bulk of Alexander’s empire. Many years later, Ptolemy’s son, Ptolemy the Second Philadelphus, moved the remains to the north where he was entombed in the coastal city of Alexandria, a city named for the ruler himself.’
Papineau picked up from there. ‘As all of you know, the Middle East is one of the least stable geographic regions in the world and has been for several millennia. During the past two thousand years, control of Alexandria has changed hands multiple times. And not just ruler to ruler – also culture to culture. From the Greeks and the Romans to the Christians and the Arabs, the city has been built and rebuilt more times than you can possibly imagine.’
Papineau nodded to Garcia, who pushed a button on his virtual keyboard. The image on the big screen was replaced by an animated video that focused on the land around the Mediterranean Sea. A giant red dot pulsated in the sea south of Greece.
‘In July of 365 AD, a massive underwater earthquake near the island of Crete triggered a tsunami that devastated the region.’ As if on cue, the red dot erupted on the screen, sending virtual shockwaves in every direction. The camera zoomed to the south, following a path of destruction that led to the city of Alexandria. ‘On the Egyptian coast, the surging water was so powerful it hurled ships more than two miles inland. To this day, construction crews still find chunks of boats in the desert.’
The team grew silent as they watched the video.
Jasmine was particularly moved by the devastation, which reminded her of the recent tsunamis in Asia.
Papineau continued. ‘As you can imagine, the loss of life was substantial; and so was the loss of antiquities. Temples fell, buildings crumbled, and tombs were obliterated.’
He smiled as his statement lingered.
It washed over them like the tide.
Sarah caught on first. ‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying? You want us to find the tomb of Alexander the Great?’
Papineau nodded. ‘I do indeed.’
Cobb leaned back in his chair. ‘Why?’
‘Why?’ repeated Papineau, surprised by the question. ‘Because the discovery of the tomb would be a significant historical achievement, one that would bring closure to one of the greatest mysteries of our time. And if that isn’t reason enough, allow me to remind you and your team of five million other reasons.’
‘I’m not talking about our reasons,’ Cobb explained. ‘I’m talking about yours. You’re not doing this for the fame – I’m certain of that. And you have more money than you could possibly spend in ten lifetimes. So why tackle one of the greatest mysteries of the ancient world if you don’t care about the glory or the reward?’
‘The question is moot,’ Jasmine said, her tone full of frustration. ‘People have been scouring Alexandria for clues for more than a thousand years. Historians have devoted their lives to finding the lost tomb. Every myth, every angle, every hunch, has been thoroughly exhausted by the world’s best scholars, and they have found nothing. I’m telling you, there is nothing left to pursue. No new evidence. No new leads. Heck, there aren’t even any maps of the ancient city in existence. A mission like this is pointless. It would be easier for us to visit Mars.’
‘That’s not true,’ Cobb assured her.
Jasmine stood her ground. ‘Unfortunately it is true, Jack. People have been looking for the tomb for centuries, and as the only historian in the room, I can assure you—’
He cut her off. ‘I meant the part about the maps.’
‘The maps? Wait – what are you saying?’
‘I’m saying at least one map of ancient Alexandria exists.’ Cobb turned his chair and stared at Papineau. ‘Isn’t that right, Papi?’
4
Papineau was surprised by the insinuation. Confusion filled his face. He stared at Cobb, who stared right back. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’
Cobb set his jaw, angered that his host would rather play games than admit he knew anything about the map. ‘And if I call your friend, will he give me the same story? Will he claim that we never met, that he has no idea who I am?’
Papineau blinked rapidly. ‘My friend? Who are you talking about? Really, Jack, I’m not sure what you mean.’
Cobb had interrogated better men than Papineau. Men who had kept their composure through unbearable stress and physical ‘coaxing’, long after Cobb had lost track of the hours. Men who had taken their secrets to their graves. Papineau was an experienced liar – that much Cobb knew for certain – but he had yet to master the craft.
The flicker of emotion in his eyes gave him away.
It was genuine surprise and panic.
He honestly didn’t know what Cobb was referring to.
It was a development that Cobb hadn’t expected, but one that he was prepared to exploit nevertheless. For now, that meant playing things close to the vest about his recent trip to Switzerland and his dinner with a well-known historian.
Cobb chose his words carefully, giving Papineau as little as possible. ‘At least one map from ancient Alexandria still exists. I know this for a fact, because I’ve seen it.’
Jasmine gasped – literally gasped – with excitement. It was the type of sound rarely heard outside of a bedroom. ‘Oh my God! Do you know what this means? It means that we can— wait! Just to clarify: you’re saying you’ve actually seen a map that was created during the era itself?’
Cobb continued to study his host. ‘Yes.’
She gasped again. ‘Where? When?’
Papineau tried to remain calm, but his anxiety was palpable. He more than wanted to know the name of Cobb’s source – he needed to know.
But Cobb wasn’t ready to let him off the hook.
He liked having something that Papineau wanted.
He liked being the one in control.
Not for himself, but for the sake of his team.
Cobb addressed Jasmine. ‘Where and when is not important, but I can assure you that it meets our needs. Furthermore, I can assure you that it is authentic.’
‘Can you borrow the map?’ It was less of a question and more of a plea. ‘Or, at the very least, can I spend some time with it so I can sketch my own?’
Cobb nodded. ‘I think something like that can be arranged.’
Her eyes lit up in anticipation.
Sarah leaned forward. ‘Let me see if I got this straight. We have access to the only known map of ancient Alexandria, and somewhere in the city is a golden hearse protecting the golden coffin of a famous king?’
Cobb shrugged but said nothing.
&nbs
p; ‘Hector, if we assume ten tons of gold – which seems like a conservative estimate to me – how much cash are we talking about?’
Garcia calculated the amount in his head. ‘At today’s market value, we’re looking at a minimum of four hundred million dollars.’
Sarah whistled. ‘Not a bad score.’
Papineau agreed. ‘It would be, but most historians believe that the hearse was dismantled more than two thousand years ago. The gold was then melted down and pressed into ancient coins that fueled the local economy. Even Alexander’s sarcophagus was eventually replaced with one made of glass. Logic dictates that the hearse would have been completely consumed before they turned their focus to the casket.’
‘But there’s still a chance?’ Sarah asked.
‘Sure,’ he conceded. ‘There’s always a chance.’
McNutt signaled for a timeout. ‘Hold up. I’m confused.’
‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ Sarah mumbled.
He didn’t miss a beat. ‘The geek watches you when you sleep.’
It took a few seconds for the comment to sink in.
‘Wait! What?’ she demanded.
Garcia turned bright red. ‘No I don’t! I swear I don’t!’
She glared at him. ‘You better not, or I swear to God I’ll shove your laptop up your ass. Then I’ll pull it out and shove it up there again.’
Garcia didn’t know whether to be scared or turned on.
Cobb cleared his throat and the group calmed down. There was a time and a place for threats, and this was neither. ‘What’s confusing you, Josh?’
‘What?’ McNutt asked.
Cobb smiled. ‘You said something was confusing you . . .’
‘Right!’ he said with a laugh. ‘If the hearse was stripped for parts and the gold is long gone, what are we looking for?’
‘Good question – one that I was about to ask myself.’
The Forbidden Tomb Page 3