The Forbidden Tomb

by Chris Kuzneski

  ‘Where?’ Sarah asked.

  McNutt pointed to the center of the screen. ‘Right there.’

  Cobb glanced at the blob of pixels, then at Sarah, who was scrunching her face in total confusion, then over to a squinting Garcia. It was quite obvious that none of them was having any luck with the image. ‘Josh, what are we trying to see?’

  ‘A monkey man,’ he said proudly.

  Sarah rolled her eyes at the assertion. ‘Monkey shit, maybe. But not—’

  ‘I’m telling you, there’s someone there!’

  McNutt growled in frustration as he rumbled over to the corner of the lounge that she had been using as workstation. He snatched a black marker off the table and rumbled back to the monitor. Then he drew directly onto the television with heavy black ink.

  ‘Not the screen!’ Garcia shouted a moment too late.

  ‘Look here,’ McNutt said as he outlined the blob. ‘This is his head . . . This is his neck . . . And these are his shoulders . . . So all of you can suck it.’

  He reinforced his point by circling the dark blob several times.

  This time it was Sarah who glanced at Cobb for a second opinion. ‘Am I the only one who can’t see this guy? Because I’ll be honest: I’m horrible at those Magic Eye puzzles. I stare and I stare, but I never can see the dog in the funny hat.’

  ‘I always find the dog, but I can’t see the guy,’ Cobb admitted.

  McNutt groaned as he looked around the room for art supplies. ‘Does anyone have crayons or a bucket of paint?’

  ‘Wait!’ Garcia blurted. The mere thought of it made him nauseous. ‘Before you do anything irreversible, let me try some digital magic. If we’re lucky, I might be able to filter out some of the diffusion.’

  ‘Speak in English,’ McNutt demanded.

  ‘I was,’ Garcia assured him as he tapped on his tablet. ‘I would have tried this earlier if our source material was a little bit clearer, but due to the missing sectors, I’m honestly not sure what my formatting palette will do to the image. It might make it better; it might make it worse.’

  A few seconds later, they got their answer.

  The borders of the image suddenly sharpened.

  Sarah looked on in amazement. ‘I’ll be damned. The hillbilly was right.’

  Cobb nodded. He could finally see it too.

  A head. A neck. And a set of shoulders.

  McNutt smiled in victory.

  And then he suddenly stopped.

  Instead of gloating, he leaned in and studied the pixels even closer, so close his nose was nearly touching the man on the screen. Then he backed away, spit on his hand, and tried to wipe the magic marker off the man’s neck. The mixture of saliva and ink on the high-end television made Garcia start to dry-heave, but McNutt ignored the gagging and continued with the task at hand, much to the amusement of Sarah and Cobb.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘I see something else,’ McNutt said.

  She rolled her eyes. ‘No, you don’t.’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ he assured her as he kept spitting and wiping.

  ‘Josh,’ Cobb asked, ‘what do you see?’

  ‘Some kind of mark. Maybe a tattoo. Maybe a scar. I can’t really tell because some idiot wrote on the screen. But it’s definitely something funky.’

  ‘Define funky.’

  McNutt stepped back and pointed at the image. ‘See for yourself.’

  Cobb studied the unusual marking. It consisted of two concentric circles supported by a pair of pillars that narrowed from their base. Unfortunately, it was a symbol that he had never seen before. ‘Anyone know what it is?’

  Sarah cocked her head to the side, wondering what to make of the image that was now clearly visible on the screen. ‘It’s too shiny to be a tattoo. I think it’s a brand – like the ones they get in fraternities.’

  ‘I meant the shape itself,’ Cobb said.

  ‘Oh,’ she said as she looked closer. ‘The outline reminds me of an old-fashioned keyhole. The kind that used skeleton keys.’

  ‘I can see that,’ Cobb admitted, although his gut sensed that wasn’t right. It seemed more abstract. ‘Hector? What about you?’

  ‘Me?’ Garcia said meekly. He slowly peeked to see if saliva was still visible on the screen. Once he realized it had been wiped away, he was able to focus on the image. ‘I don’t know. Maybe some sort of hieroglyph, like the ones from the wall. I can try to check it, but like I said, I don’t know how to do that without sending it to an historian.’

  His words hung in uncomfortable silence as the same thought entered their minds.

  If Jasmine were here, she would know.

  44

  Jasmine opened the door of the hut and ran forward until she saw that there was nowhere to run to. There were no streets, no roads, no buildings, and no one waiting for her on the other side of the door. The scene was empty, without any signs of life, as if she had been dropped in the middle of nowhere and left to die. Confused by the development, her determined sprint quickly slowed to a perplexed, meandering stagger.

  In every direction, all she could see was desert.

  The sand scorched her feet as she tried to make sense of things. She knew that she couldn’t continue walking much longer . . . at least not like this. Though the temperatures in the desert had dropped from the extremes of the summer, she would still need something to protect her feet. Now that she knew what she was facing, she needed to rethink her plan. Begrudgingly, she turned around and made her way back toward the relative safety of the simple hut.

  Driven by curiosity, she paused only briefly at the doorway before walking around the corner of the building, enduring the scalding terrain under her feet for a few moments more as she investigated. Hoping that the rear of the structure would somehow offer some form of encouragement, what she saw had the exact opposite effect. Instead of salvation, she found faint tire tracks that led off into the distance.

  She strained to see something on the horizon – anything that would signal civilization – but there was nothing to be found. No matter which direction she looked, the endless sea of sand stretched out in front of her. Under different circumstances, she would have found beauty in the unbroken vista of rolling dunes and piercing blue sky. But at that moment, she was struck by the horror of her predicament.

  Jasmine didn’t like her options. The men who had taken her would surely return to the shelter at some point in time, and although they had kept her alive so far, she really didn’t want to be around to find out why they had abducted her. She knew she had the element of surprise on her side, but she doubted her ability to defend herself against a group of armed men. Besides, she had never taken a life. If it came to that, she wasn’t sure if she could bring herself to do it.

  On the other hand, she was well aware of the desert’s ability to kill. It showed no mercy, especially to those who ventured into the void without the proper supplies: basics like water, sunscreen, and shoes. In her mind, they were all mandatory provisions to even consider such a journey, and yet after giving it some thought, the desert seemed to be a much better alternative than waiting for her abductors to return.

  Who knew what they had in store for her?

  Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t good.

  To protect her feet on her desperate journey, she tore the sleeves from her shirt and fashioned them into crude moccasins. She knew her arms would fry under the intense rays of the sun, but at least her soles wouldn’t blister. She could keep walking with sunburned shoulders; she couldn’t stand on seared feet.

  With her makeshift shoes, Jasmine was ready to head off into the unknown. She reasoned that the tire tracks led toward the nearest settlement, but she also knew that following that route would increase the risk of meeting her kidnappers. As such, she opted for the opposite direction, hoping it would lead her into the trading routes of desert travelers. It was a calculated risk, but one she was willing to take.

  * * *

  Ja
smine walked for what seemed like days, but it was actually only a single afternoon. The relentless sun robbed her of hydration and energy, but she never lost hope. Even as each step grew more and more difficult, she continued to press on.

  She told herself that if she wore through her sleeves-turned-shoes, she could rip strips from her shirt. When those were reduced to tatters, she would tear cloth from her pants. She would cross the desert in her underwear if she had to, but she would not give up.

  She assured herself of that.

  As she glanced at the sun, she noted that it would soon dip low enough to touch the horizon. She didn’t know how long she had been walking, only that she had been traveling north the entire time. The setting sun to her left had told her that some time ago. Back then, she had hoped she might be able to reach the thoroughfares that ran along the coast if she did not encounter someone on her walk, but now she feared she would find neither. At its current rate of descent, she would only have the sun for another hour or so. Darkness would bring relief from the heat, but it would also signal the coming of a long, hard night in the open desert.

  Even if she survived until dawn, she wasn’t sure she could do this for another day.

  Not without food, water, or divine intervention.

  Her spirit waning, she took a moment to survey her surroundings in hopes of finding shelter for the night. Instead, she found something better. There in the distance, outlined against the setting sun, were three men on camelback. Mustering her last reserves of strength, Jasmine screamed at the top of her lungs. When the trio stopped, she waved her hands wildly above her head, hoping that the erratic pattern would draw their attention.

  A moment later, she watched as the three travelers turned their camels and began racing toward her. Assuming they weren’t figments of her imagination, they would reach her in a matter of minutes. And if they were real, Jasmine would be saved.

  She was exhausted, but she had made it.

  She dropped to her knees and wept.

  * * *

  The first man to reach Jasmine leaped from his camel and landed beside her with a soft thud. Without saying a word, he lifted her chin and pressed his canteen against her cracked lips. The liquid was gritty and brackish, but she swallowed without complaint.

  She knew the water would save her life.

  Once her thirst had been quenched, her savior pulled back the canteen and smiled. For a brief moment, Jasmine was struck by his teeth – or rather, the lack thereof. His mouth was almost completely empty.

  ‘Is good?’ he asked, hoping that she understood his English.

  She nodded and smiled back. ‘Very good. Thank you.’

  He smiled even wider. Then, for the benefit of the other riders, he spoke to them in their native language.

  Jasmine listened intently, trying to decipher the sounds. After a few sentences, she was almost certain that he was speaking in a Berber language common throughout North Africa. She wasn’t fluent in the dialect, but she could understand and speak enough to join in the conversation. She knew they were wondering if she could be moved.

  ‘I’m okay,’ she offered in their native tongue. ‘I can walk.’

  The others froze in surprise as their faces fell slack. Their response made it clear that they had never met an outsider who could understand their words. To them, it was as if she had somehow read their minds.

  ‘I can speak a little,’ she explained. ‘My name is Jasmine.’

  The man beamed and pointed to his chest. ‘I speak, too,’ he replied in the same broken English he had used before. ‘I am Izri.’ He stood, then helped Jasmine to her feet. ‘You are lost?’

  Jasmine shook her head. ‘No. I was taken.’

  She repeated the phrase in Berber to ensure that she had made herself clear. The concerned look on their faces told her that they understood. ‘There is a house in the middle of the desert. I was held there.’

  ‘Who?’ Izri asked. ‘Who take you?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she answered. ‘I never saw them. But they took me in Alexandria and brought me here.’

  Izri’s eyes narrowed in confusion. ‘Why they bring you here?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t even know where “here” is.’

  ‘You are in the desert.’

  Jasmine smiled at the obvious insight and cut right to the point. ‘I hate to trouble you, but can you take me to a phone? I need to call my friends. They must be worried sick.’

  Izri smiled and nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said proudly. ‘We can take you tomorrow. But tonight, you must rest.’

  45

  It had been more than forty-eight hours since Jasmine’s abduction, and the uncertainty of her disappearance was beginning to take its toll on the team.

  They needed to know who had taken her.

  Or where. Or why.

  So far, all they had to go on were the carvings of the pictograph and a single image of scarred flesh. At this rate, their investigation might stretch on for weeks, which was a guaranteed death sentence. Cobb knew they needed more, and they needed it now.

  He turned toward Sarah. ‘It’s time to call Simon.’

  She nodded in agreement. ‘Maybe he can tell us about the brand. If we’re lucky, it’s part of a gang initiation for a local crew.’

  Cobb shook his head. ‘We’re not telling him about the brand. And we’re not telling him about the Semtex or the glow stick. That’s all need-to-know, and right now, he doesn’t qualify. Understood?’

  ‘If you say so,’ she replied tersely. ‘But if we’re not telling him about the things we’ve found, how are we going to use him?’

  ‘We’ll talk about it on the ride in.’

  ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘I’ll make the arrangements.’

  Garcia pulled out a satellite phone and handed it to Sarah. ‘Use this. It’s encrypted and untraceable.’

  As Sarah left the room to make the call, Cobb gave McNutt his marching orders. ‘Reach out to your connections in North Africa. I mean everyone – civilian, military, and other. In fact, start with the others.’

  McNutt knew that Cobb was referring to ex-soldiers and former members of the intelligence community who had come to embrace the shadier side of international relations. Contrary to what most people believed, not all conflicts could be boiled down to black and white. There’s always a gray area in between. For those with the right connections, this gray area can be a great place to make a lot of money.

  ‘I’ll hit up every friendly mercenary this side of the Ganges,’ McNutt replied. ‘What am I trying to find out?’

  ‘Find out who stands to gain from the explosion. Who benefits politically and economically? Get whatever you can: names, goals, bases of operations. You know the drill. If you have assets in the city, use them. Trade what we can confirm about the bombing for information about what might happen next – just don’t let anyone know how we know what we know.’

  ‘And if they need proof that I’m not making this up?’

  ‘Use the footage we shot in the tunnels. Send them screen captures of the bombs if you have to. Just make sure they think that you got the pictures from someone else. I don’t want anything being traced back to us.’

  McNutt nodded enthusiastically.

  ‘Be careful,’ Cobb added. ‘With the explosion so fresh, gathering intelligence on anything right now is going to be messy. Stay off the radar. And I mean way, way off.’

  McNutt looked at Garcia and held out his hand. ‘You have another one of those encrypted phones?’

  ‘In the command center. There should be another one sitting on the chart table.’

  McNutt looked back at Cobb as he backpedaled out of the room. ‘I’ll be above deck if you need me.’

  As the only one left, Garcia was anxious to do his part. ‘Jack, how can I help?’

  ‘I need you to work on that symbol. We need to know if it’s just a random piece of art or if it has a specific meaning. Check body art forums, image databases, and so on. Call Tom Hank
s if that’s what it takes. I saw him work this shit out in a movie. Just find out what that design means. Okay?’

  Garcia smiled at Cobb’s attempt at humor. ‘Okay.’

  ‘Hector, one more thing. If you figure out what it means, don’t tell anyone but me. Not Jean-Marc, not Josh, and not Sarah. You tell me, and only me.’ He paused. His look told Garcia that he wasn’t joking. ‘Nod if you follow what I’m saying.’

  Garcia nodded slowly.

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Jack, I need to ask one more thing.’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Josh mentioned “friendly mercenaries”. I’ve never heard that term before. Is that a real thing?’

  Cobb smiled. ‘It must be. You’re looking at one.’

  * * *

  Cobb dropped the throttle and listened to the roar of the twin Mercury outboard motors. At a combined six hundred horsepower, the thrust of the engines sent the skiff rocketing across the water. Cobb stood at the helm and let the warm sea air wash over him.

  He glanced at Sarah. ‘What’s wrong?’

  It was hard for her to grasp that she had been in the speedboat before. Nothing looked familiar. She didn’t recognize a single thing from her last ride. Of course, the last time she had ridden mainly on the floor, covered in her own foamy vomit and still reeling from the explosion. On this trip, her vantage point was considerably different.

  ‘Nothing,’ she answered. ‘I’m just thinking about Garcia’s mouth.’

  He looked at her with a mix of surprise and confusion. ‘Is there something you want to tell me?’

  She laughed. ‘Actually, it’s the other way around. There’s something you need to tell me.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘What good does it do to tell Simon only part of what we’ve learned? Why not give him the whole picture?’

  Cobb nodded. He knew he owed her an explanation. ‘I’m not saying we won’t eventually get there, but we need to know a few more things before that happens. This conversation isn’t about telling him anything. It’s about asking what he already knows.’