‘Only the basics,’ McNutt assured him. ‘We mentioned Hassan and the citadel, but nothing else. We were waiting for you to explain the rest.’
Papineau didn’t give him the chance. ‘You call that man a resource? What were you thinking? Aziz Zawarhi Hassan is not a resource – he’s a criminal!’
Cobb grimaced. ‘I guess you’ve heard of him—’
‘Of course I’ve heard of him! Did you really think I would bring you to a city without knowing whom and what to avoid? We all have our own ways of prepping a mission. You have your rekkys, and I have the INTERPOL watch-list. Don’t you get it? We’re trying to stay clear of any unnecessary encounters with the police, yet you go off and do business with a well-known crime lord. Explain it to me, Jack, because it sounds like you’ve lost your mind.’
Cobb couldn’t remember seeing Papineau so animated. He wondered if the irritability was merely a symptom of jet lag, or if something had happened during his trip. Either way, he was fairly confident that Papineau wouldn’t give him a straight answer, so he avoided the topic completely and opted to charge ahead.
‘Are you finished?’ Cobb asked calmly.
Papineau fumed at being talked down to; he’d had enough of that with Copeland in California, but instead of lashing out he bit his lip in silence.
‘Yes,’ Cobb admitted, ‘I reached out to Hassan. And yes, he is a criminal. But no, I haven’t lost my mind – I used it. The men we’re looking for aren’t angels. They don’t spend their days thinking up ways to make the world a better place. They’re killers, just like Hassan. If we have any chance of getting close to them, we needed access to that world. Hassan gets us in. And Simon Dade helps us navigate through it.’
Papineau’s eyes bulged in frustration. ‘Dade? Why are we messing around with him? Hasn’t he caused us enough trouble already?’
Sarah couldn’t help herself. She felt obligated to defend Dade – or at the very least, her decision to recommend him. ‘Without Simon, we’d have never made the connection with Hassan. He might have gotten us into this mess, but he’s doing what he can to get us out.’
Papineau shook his head in frustration. ‘The mess in the tunnel had nothing to do with Hassan. It had everything to do with us.’
‘What are you talking about?’ she argued. ‘Hassan’s goons were followed into the tunnels, and we all got caught up in something that—’
‘No we didn’t!’ he shouted, much to their dismay. From the looks on their faces, Papineau quickly realized that his message had come out a lot harsher than he had intended, so he took a deep breath and started again in a much softer tone. ‘No, Sarah, we didn’t. We didn’t get caught up in a turf war between Hassan and his enemies. His goons weren’t followed, we were. The slaughter in the tunnels was designed to stop our search.’
Sarah stared. ‘What do you mean?’
He took another deep breath. ‘Seven months ago, a group of archaeologists disappeared in the Sahara while on a search similar to our own.’
Before anyone could react, Cobb held up his hand demanding silence. He wanted to know where Papineau was going with this information before they mentioned what they had learned about the Muharib.
‘Where did this happen?’ Cobb demanded.
‘Two hundred miles southwest of Cairo,’ Papineau said. ‘Near some godforsaken village that doesn’t even have a name.’
Cobb knew there was more to come. ‘Go on.’
Papineau continued, eager to share the details he had put together during his return flight. ‘The group consisted of eleven people: ten graduate students and the team leader, a Greek professor named Cyril Manjani. He financed the entire expedition on his own.’
Cobb rubbed his chin in thought. Knowing little about archaeological digs, he wondered if self-financing was common. ‘An expedition for what?’
‘According to my source, Manjani was obsessed with ancient kings. He had spent his entire academic career mapping the discovered tombs and theorizing as to where the others could still be found. He used to drone on and on about Akhenaten, Smenkhkare, and other missing pharaohs, convinced that he would someday find them.’
‘Did he mention Alexander?’ Sarah asked.
Papineau shook his head. ‘Not that we know of, but any scholar in that field would be well aware of the mystery surrounding Alexander’s tomb.’
McNutt didn’t care about theories or assumptions. He wanted facts. ‘What happened to the team?’
Papineau grimaced. ‘That’s where things get interesting. A month after their arrival, two representatives from the Ministry of State for Antiquities were dispatched to check up on the endeavor. They were to verify the activities of Manjani’s team and to ensure that all the rules and regulations of the ministry were being followed. But when they arrived, they found little more than an abandoned site. Not ransacked or ravaged – abandoned. Their tents and other equipment were undisturbed. Their supply of fresh water was untouched. But there wasn’t a soul to be seen.’
‘That’s it? They just disappeared?’ McNutt demanded.
‘Officially, yes. The area had been hit by a series of sandstorms, and the authorities speculate that the group got confused and simply walked off into the desert. Apparently such things are fairly common in the Sahara. People get turned around, and they simply vanish. The windswept sands literally rip them to pieces or bury them alive. Either way, survivors are seldom found.’
Cobb was waiting for the other half of the explanation; the important half, as far as he was concerned. ‘What about unofficially?’
‘Six months ago, one of his friends swears that he received a phone call from a man that sounded a lot like Manjani. The connection was bad, and the caller was rambling, but he remembers the man saying something about demons that simply appeared in the night. Manjani – if it was Manjani – said that he watched his team get barbarically slaughtered. He said they were dragged from their tents and then cut to pieces. And when the bloodbath was over, the demons disappeared.’
Sarah looked at Cobb. ‘Who does that sound like?’
Cobb nodded in agreement. ‘Does your source believe Manjani is still alive?’
‘He does,’ Papineau replied. ‘But he has no idea where he’s hiding.’
Cobb looked at Garcia. ‘Hector, add that to your to-do list. I can’t imagine he’d be stupid enough to use his real identity if he’s trying to stay lost, but check it out anyway. Credit cards, cell phones – you know the drill.’
Garcia was already taking notes on his tablet. ‘Where should I start?’
‘When they’re in trouble, most people run to what they know best. Start with Greece, then work your way out from there.’
McNutt furrowed his brow. ‘Jack, I’m not following. Shouldn’t we be focusing our efforts on the Muharib? How does a missing professor help us find Jasmine?’
Papineau was confused as well. ‘I’m sorry. The Muharib?’
Cobb answered McNutt first. ‘Honestly, Josh, I’m not sure how he fits into this mess, but my gut tells me that he does.’
McNutt nodded. ‘That’s good enough for me.’
Papineau didn’t like being ignored. ‘Again, who are the Muharib?’
Cobb turned and faced him. ‘If my hunch is correct, they’re the demons that killed Manjani’s team and kidnapped Jasmine.’
52
There is a simple tenet that has been drilled into United States Marines for as long as anyone can remember.
Improvise. Adapt. Overcome.
Cobb was Army, not USMC, but he believed in their mantra all the same.
In their struggle to recover Jasmine, it seemed that every hour brought new details needing to be factored into his plan. As the minutes ticked by, he knew the odds of finding her alive fell less and less in their favor, but he wouldn’t give up.
Cobb turned to Papineau for additional information about Manjani. ‘Can you show me where his team was last seen?’
‘Certainly,’ he said, ‘but I’m not
sure what good that will do. There’s nothing to see there and no one to talk to. All traces of their expedition have been taken down or swept away.’
‘And yet I’d still like to know where he disappeared.’
Papineau nodded. ‘Yes, of course, how silly of me. I have a map in my luggage. I’ll get it for you immediately.’
Sarah waited for Papineau to leave before she took a seat next to Cobb. ‘Jack, in regards to Manjani, I think I know someone who can help our cause.’
‘Oh?’
She nodded confidently. ‘If there are any stories floating around about him, this is the guy who would know. I’m telling you, he’ll be able to separate all the bullshit rumors from those worth pursuing. Not only that, he’s one of the best I’ve ever seen at tracking down digital information. If it’s out there, he can find it. I’m talking Garcia-level skills in his realm of expertise.’
Cobb smiled. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think I’ll pass. Given your track record with assets, I’m more comfortable with the real Garcia doing the digging for us instead of Hector 2.0.’
Sarah refused to budge. ‘Do you know how the CIA finds people?’
‘Very slowly,’ he teased.
‘Jack, I’m being serious.’
Cobb sighed. He had a lot to do, but he could see the determination on her face. She wasn’t going to accept his decision without a fight. ‘I assume you send agents out into the field to track down your targets.’
‘Wrong,’ she assured him. ‘There aren’t enough spies in the world to track everyone who needs to be watched. Think about it: there are seven billion people on the planet, and a few thousand spooks to watch over them. That’s a serious lack of manpower.’
‘And a serious misrepresentation of the facts. I mean, the CIA doesn’t need to keep tabs on all seven billion, now do they?’
Sarah just stared at him.
‘C’mon,’ Cobb laughed, ‘you’re not saying—’
‘All I’m saying is that when it comes to finding targets, spies don’t pick up the trail on their own. It’s the bloodhounds that lead us in the right direction.’
‘Sarah, I’m not following. What bloodhounds?’
‘Like I said, the CIA only employs a few thousand people. That means they have to outsource a lot of the legwork. When the Agency needs to find a target, they turn to specialists who have spent their entire lives hunting for people. These guys are known as bloodhounds – or hounds, for short. And trust me, they don’t care who you’re looking for or what you do to the target once it’s found. All that matters is that you meet their price.’
‘How is that any different than Simon?’
‘Simon was a local asset. We used him because he was part of the neighborhood. He’s good-looking and sociable, which meant he could blend in with the crowd. He didn’t have to become one of them; he already was one of them. For an asset like Simon, that’s the biggest risk. Connecting to your environment means you start to personally identify with the community around you. It’s easy to lose perspective. And when something goes wrong, it can tear you apart.’
‘You’re talking about the girls in the slave ring.’
She nodded. ‘All I can tell you is that before that, he never would have worked with a man like Hassan. I think the experience six years ago broke his spirit. He saw evil win, and he felt it always would.’
‘If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em?’
‘Something like that,’ she said. ‘But that’s not my point. Bloodhounds aren’t burdened by the emotions that other assets have. They aren’t tasked with fitting into a community, and they aren’t concerned with making friends. They’re loners driven by one thing and one thing only: the almighty dollar.’
‘So you’re recommending that we reach out to an obsessed sociopath who doesn’t play nice with others?’
She didn’t laugh. ‘Jack, I know this source, and I’m telling you he can help. After we missed our shot at the sex slavery auction, we used him to find the bastards involved. To offset the impact of an opportunity lost, the director was willing to break the bank for information. This guy accomplished more in a week than our agents could have found in a year. He’s pricey, but he’s worth every penny.’
She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘Listen, we have the money, but we don’t have the time. Jasmine is out there right now, praying that we’re doing everything in our power to find her. This guy can help. Trust me on that. And even if I’m wrong, shouldn’t we at least give it a shot? Don’t we owe her that much?’
Improvise. Adapt. Overcome.
Cobb turned to Garcia. ‘Hector, change of plans. Forget about Manjani for now. Focus your efforts on Jasmine and the Muharib – nothing else. You should have all of Simon’s surveillance footage from the city by later tonight. I need you to work through every frame. The camera doesn’t lie, so find out how the kidnappers disappeared.’
Papineau, who had gone to his room to fetch a map, returned and handed it to Cobb. ‘I marked the location of Manjani’s expedition, as you requested.’
Cobb looked into Papineau’s bleary eyes. He could see that he was running on fumes. ‘Jean-Marc, why don’t you get some sleep? You look exhausted. Hector will wake you in a few hours and fill you in on everything he’s learned about the Muharib. Until then, you’re not going to do us any good in your current state.’
Papineau nodded. ‘You’re probably right. And Jack – sorry about before. My behavior was totally unprofessional.’
‘Compared to whose? McNutt’s?’ Cobb said with a laugh. ‘No need to apologize for emotions. Stress gets the best of all of us from time to time. It lets us know you care.’
McNutt hustled over at the sound of his name. ‘Did you call me, chief?’
‘I didn’t, but I was about to.’
‘Wait,’ he said, confused. ‘I heard my name before you said it? How cool is that? I wonder if the blast made me psychic?’
‘I see your point,’ Papineau said as he excused himself from the conversation. ‘There’s no way I was worse than that.’
Cobb smiled. ‘Anything new on the Semtex?’
‘Nope,’ McNutt answered.
‘In that case, I’m giving you a new assignment. I know we’ve got a clear line of sight in all directions on the water, but it doesn’t mean I feel safe. I need you to make sure we can defend ourselves. Keep an eye on the radar, and make sure Hector and Jean-Marc know how to use whatever arsenal you’ve brought aboard. I don’t want the boat getting overrun just because we don’t know where to find the missiles.’
McNutt leaned in. ‘How do you know about the missiles?’
‘How? Because they’re in a crate marked “missiles”.’
‘Oops. My bad.’
‘Anyway, please make sure the ship is secure.’
‘Aye-aye, skipper.’
McNutt turned and headed for the door. He was halfway there when he stopped and turned back. ‘What about the two of you?’
Cobb glanced at Sarah, then McNutt. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You asked me to train Hector and Jean-Marc on our arsenal. Does that mean you’re leaving me alone with them?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Is this because of the bloodhound?’
‘Maybe,’ Cobb repeated. ‘If he can help.’
‘Chief,’ he said timidly, ‘may I speak freely on the subject?’
Cobb raised his eyebrows. ‘You may.’
‘I’m confused about something. If this hound is so damn good at finding people, why do we care about Manjani? Why don’t we hire him to find Jasmine?’
Although Sarah loved making fun of McNutt for his near-constant state of confusion, this was one of the rare times when it was justified. ‘May I?’
Cobb nodded. ‘Be my guest.’
‘Josh,’ she explained, ‘it’s a completely different kind of search. In Jasmine’s case, she’s been taken. That means looking at surveillance tapes for the smallest of clues, and trying to figure out who
targeted her and why. Meanwhile, Manjani is hiding. He’s trying to stay off the grid, but there’s always a chance that he slipped up and made a mistake. We need someone who can find the digital footprints that he’s left behind and verify any rumors. With all due respect to Hector, we need someone with a vast network of contacts and a proven track record of success.’
McNutt nodded in understanding. ‘When you put it like that, it makes perfect sense.’
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘Can I ask you one more question?’
‘Sure.’
‘Is your contact Bryan Mills?’
Sarah laughed. She had recently seen the movie Taken and knew ‘Bryan Mills’ was the name of the character played by Liam Neeson. ‘Unfortunately, no, but my asset is also blessed with a very particular set of skills.’
McNutt grinned. ‘Awesome.’
Meanwhile, Cobb was completely lost by the reference. ‘While you two chat about Bryan Mills – whoever the hell that is – I’ve got a source of my own to call. And trust me, he possesses a very particular set of skills as well.’
53
Küsendorf, Switzerland
(82 miles southeast of Bern)
In less than a minute, Petr Ulster would have his answer. Every action he had taken thus far had been leading to this moment. Soon he would know if the meticulous planning and preparation had ultimately led to success – or if he was doomed to fail yet again.
Like an expectant father in the waiting room, he leaned closer to the window, desperately searching for the slightest sign that everything was okay. He knew to keep his distance, but the anticipation was almost more than he could stand. Sweat dripped down the sides of his face as he stared at the clock, watching the seconds tick down.
Finally, the buzzer sounded.
The moment of truth had arrived.
Ulster lowered the oven door and peered inside. So far, everything was perfect. He slowly wrapped his gloved hands around the tiny crock, careful not to dip his fingers into the scalding liquid below. He held his breath as he gently lifted the bowl from the water. And then, without warning, his miniature soufflé collapsed.
The Forbidden Tomb Page 29