The Forbidden Tomb

by Chris Kuzneski

  Behind the torchbearers came two more men whose sturdy physiques stretched the fabric of their tunics. Their muscles bulged as they strained to carry a cylindrical stone slab into the ancient cell. They carefully set the ancient relic in the center of the floor before they took their place among the others.

  Together, the group formed a ring around the stone.

  Finally, the high priest entered the room. Dressed in an ornate cloak, he had a regal air about him that was oddly comforting, as if he knew the secrets of the universe and would be willing to share them for the betterment of mankind.

  Jasmine breathed in the smoke and irrationally filled with hope.

  Perhaps he was there to explain it all.

  Her imprisonment. Their history.

  Maybe even the tomb itself.

  * * *

  Despite his size, or perhaps because of it, Kamal found himself alone in the dark. As he lumbered through the desert, he searched the ground for Dade’s trail and eventually found something much more interesting than footprints.

  Kamal literally stumbled across two dead shadow warriors, their blades still clutched in their hands. He initially thought that they had been casualties of the firefight – wounded men who had tried to seek refuge – but he knew that didn’t make sense.

  Injured Muharib would not retreat.

  They would fearlessly fight to the death.

  Leaning close, Kamal could see that they had been killed efficiently. He also knew that no one who had made the trip from Alexandria – including Dade – would have been able to shoot four rounds so accurately. When it came to shooting, his colleagues relied on the quantity of their ammunition over the quality of their aim.

  The marksmanship meant that Dade was not alone.

  Kamal crouched low, at least for him, and scanned the darkness for signs of trouble. The shrubbery to his left hid no threats, but he wasn’t as sure about the odd ring of cement that he suddenly noticed. He approached it cautiously, his finger on the trigger, ready to fire at whoever or whatever emerged from the hole.

  Instead, he found it sealed by a heavy metal plate.

  Sliding back the cover, Kamal reached two important conclusions.

  This underground compound was the home of the warriors.

  And he was way too big to fit down the chute.

  * * *

  Sarah had always been a tomboy. Even as a child she had been tall and lanky, with an athletic frame built more for basketball than beauty pageants. Not that she ever minded. She was perfectly happy with a physique that matched her psyche. While most of her female classmates were doing their nails, she just wanted to be one of the guys.

  Many years later, she finally had her chance.

  With the loose-fitting tunic draped over her body and a hood draped over her head, Sarah looked the part of a Muharib warrior. As long she kept her face hidden from view, she and Dade could move through the underground hallways without drawing attention. Once they had reached Jasmine’s cell, the plan was to put her in a tunic and carry her, as if she had been injured in the battle above.

  In truth, the only reason Dade was there was to help carry Jasmine to the surface.

  Prior to the mission, Sarah had memorized the map of the complex. She knew exactly which turns to make to ensure the shortest path to Jasmine’s cell. If all went according to plan, Garcia would only inform her of the Muharib’s movements; the rest would be up to her. Unfortunately, things went to hell almost immediately.

  ‘Sarah,’ Garcia said, ‘something’s happening. A bunch of guards just went into her cell. I think they’re going to interrogate her.’

  * * *

  The priest gazed upon the stone slab in the center of the room. Reverence filled his eyes as he basked in its glory. ‘Do you know what this is?’

  Jasmine shook her head, surprised by his query.

  He had posed it in English, not Arabic.

  ‘This is from the original temple of Amun. It was broken from a pillar two millennia ago, but we have found a home for it here – safely protected within our walls. It is a sacred relic, having borne witness to great acts of honor and adoration.’

  Turning his attention to Jasmine, the priest sat on the flat piece of rock. He ran his hands along its smooth sides, as if touching it could summon unearthly power.

  ‘Tell me, what does Alexander mean to you?’

  She swallowed hard. ‘He was the greatest conqueror the world has ever known.’

  The priest shook his head, disappointed with her response. ‘You know him only by his mortal acts. But he is so much more. You see him as flesh and bone. But his spirit is everlasting. He is heralded as the vanquisher of all who opposed him, yet you deny the very reason for his success.’ He leaned closer. ‘You cannot defeat a god.’

  He closed his eyes, taking a moment to acknowledge the importance of the man he and his followers had deified over two thousand years ago. When he opened them again, his tone was that of a lecturer, not a preacher.

  ‘The Vatican. Mecca. The Western Wall. What do these sites have in common? To invade these places is to encroach upon holy ground. Doing so would draw the wrath of millions of followers – each of them eager to see justice done to those who dared to desecrate their faith. Do these numbers alone give credence to their outrage?’

  ‘I . . . I don’t understand.’

  ‘Why are the large fellowships of Catholicism, Islam, and Judaism able to profess their concept of god without ridicule, yet you insult our beliefs? Why should we be disrespected in such ways?’

  Jasmine pleaded. ‘Whatever I’ve done, I meant you no harm.’

  ‘Harm?’ the elder mocked. ‘You seek the tomb of our righteous son, the progeny of Amun himself, yet you claim to be without blame? It is that ignorance that threatens our way of life. You yearn for riches and glory in your attempt to find his body. You call yourselves “scholars”, “explorers”, and “historians”, but you are really just thieves in the night. You and your ilk think nothing of disturbing our sacred grounds—all in the name of what? Science? History? Treasure? Tell me, how do you justify your disrespect of our master and your obvious contempt for his followers?’

  He waited for an answer, but none was forthcoming.

  * * *

  The more Garcia listened, the more confused he became.

  The interrogator appeared to be more intent on delivering information than extracting it. Not only that, but he seemed to pay no heed to the battle happening above. His voice and demeanor were calm and collected, his actions not rushed in any way. Even with the enemy at his doorstep, he did not exhibit one degree of panic.

  His lack of fear was disturbing.

  The entire scene was unsettling.

  Garcia knew that something was wrong.

  76

  Garcia had been so caught up in the events in Jasmine’s cell that he had almost forgotten about Sarah and Dade. By the time he noticed the four shadow warriors moving toward their location, it was almost too late.

  He kept his tone relaxed, knowing that a sudden reaction from Sarah would alert anyone watching the camera feeds from inside the bunker.

  ‘Sarah,’ he said, ‘you’ve got four men headed your way, just around the farthest corner. I need you to move into the armory coming up on your left. Keep your pace and you’ll make it. You’ve still got ten seconds to get there . . . nine . . . eight . . .’

  In his own head, Garcia was screaming for them to hurry.

  * * *

  Sarah and Dade moved steadily toward the room in front of them. There was no hitch in their stride or any noticeable change in their movements – nothing that would give them away. As Garcia reached the count of ‘two’, they pushed through the unlocked door and gently closed it behind them.

  Garcia breathed a sigh of relief as the guards walked past. ‘See, no problem. A whole second to spare.’

  ‘Thanks,’ she whispered. ‘Let me know when it’s clear. In the meantime, I’m going to check out their suppli
es.’

  ‘Don’t stray too far,’ Garcia warned as he searched for her on his computer screen. ‘There’s a camera mounted above the door. Right now I can’t see you. I’d advise you to keep it that way.’

  ‘Will do,’ she said as she grabbed Dade’s sleeve.

  He nodded in understanding. He would stay by the door.

  In person, the armory was even more impressive than it had been on screen. The cache that they had accumulated would rival those of the world’s most formidable warlords. The guns alone were enough to stage an invasion – if that invasion had taken place fifty years ago, because many of the weapons were antiques.

  The real prize, however, was the explosives.

  Each pound of Semtex could do the work of a thousand guns.

  And that was just the beginning of their arsenal.

  * * *

  A curious grin spread across the elder’s face.

  ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘do you understand the concept of faith?’

  Before Jasmine could speak, he answered his own question.

  ‘Of course you don’t. Your version of faith allows you to pick and choose your level of devotion, paying tribute when it suits you. Meanwhile, our faith is all-consuming. Our devotion is absolute. It has not faltered in more than two thousand years. Even when our city was overrun by Romans, we triumphed because of our faith.’

  ‘You did what was needed,’ she said.

  She hoped to make a connection.

  Instead, it fueled his indignation.

  ‘Do you think you know us? Do you think you understand sacrifice?’ He shook his head. ‘You know nothing! We planned in advance for the oracle’s prophecy to come true – never questioning, never doubting that the flood would eventually come. Every action in Alexandria was a calculated endeavor, from the feigned acceptance of the Roman doctrine to our adoption of their culture. The clothes we wore, the words we spoke – all maneuvers that allowed us to keep an eye on Alexander. Our forces were always outnumbered, but we were never outsmarted. First we took their temple. Then we took the tomb. For centuries no one suspected our actions, and no one discovered our hidden message. But the moment it was found, we took care of that as well!’

  As much as it pained him to destroy a sacred piece of their history – a temple in the bowels of the city that they had maintained over the centuries – the elder had done so without remorse. The preservation of their religion far outweighed the protection of a landmark.

  * * *

  Garcia didn’t like what he was hearing. The speech in Jasmine’s cell had suddenly gone from educational to heated. The once calm façade of the priest had started to crumble, revealing the furious disposition below.

  Garcia worried that the shouting hinted at what was to come.

  He feared it was a prelude to violence.

  He checked his screen and saw that the hallway was finally clear. ‘Sarah, it’s time to go! Things are getting loud in there, and I don’t like it. I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this – like he’s about to erupt.’

  * * *

  Sarah stepped into the hallway, with Dade following close behind. She knew they were close, but she couldn’t afford to be careless. Not with so much at stake.

  Stay calm. Don’t run.

  Find Jasmine. Get the hell out.

  If their path stayed clear, the only thing that stood between them and Jasmine’s cell was a long corridor that ended with two quick turns before it continued on. Sarah knew there were no cameras covering the zigzag section of the hallway. They couldn’t linger long, but it offered them one last chance to gather themselves.

  One quick moment before they made their final push.

  * * *

  The elder rose from the block to deliver his final words. ‘We have no quarrel with those who mean us no harm. But those who seek to desecrate our lands in search of our relics will be met with the full force of our power. Amun will reward us for our faith. He and his son protect us. They guide us. They are the source of our strength. And our strength is unsurpassed because we are fueled by god.’

  As if on cue, the muscular guards charged toward Jasmine and grabbed her. Despite her flailing arms and cries of anguish, they easily dragged her across the floor, delivering her to the sacred stone. The guard who had slapped her earlier grabbed a fistful of hair and yanked her head back as she was pulled roughly to her knees.

  * * *

  When Sarah reached the twist in the hallway, she paused briefly. She needed to know what Garcia was keeping from her. Firelight danced across the wall in front of her, as if making that final turn would lead her into a raging inferno.

  ‘Hector,’ she whispered, ‘what’s going on? I see flickering flames and a bunch of shadows on the wall. What am I facing?’

  ‘Sarah!’ he shouted. ‘Go now! Go right now!’

  She reached under her tunic and pulled out her gun, waiting for more intel on the situation. ‘Tell me what I’m facing!’

  * * *

  For the first time, Jasmine could see finer details of the stone.

  From a distance, she had believed that the earthy tone was a natural feature of the rock. Her eyes grew wide when she realized the discoloration in each cut was man-made. The crimson stains were dried blood left by centuries of executions.

  She stared up at the elder, nearly paralyzed by fear. She watched as a guard removed the elder’s cloak and handed him a curved sword. She tried to scream at the sight of the blade, but she could barely muster a sound.

  The elder looked down at her. ‘You must pay for your indignities.’

  ‘Wait, wait, please wait,’ she muttered, summoning the last bit of courage she could muster. ‘The tomb! I need to know: where is the tomb?’

  The elder smiled, leaned in close, and whispered in her ear. ‘That is not for me to say. Amun will tell you himself when you meet him.’

  With a subtle nod, the brutal guard slammed her face against the stone. The other two held her arms far to the sides so she couldn’t squirm away.

  * * *

  Garcia leaped to his feet, knocking over his chair. ‘Oh God. Someone—’

  He started to hyperventilate. ‘They’re going to—’

  His knees wobbled as he gasped for breath. ‘Sarah . . . now!’

  * * *

  The elder raised the sword above his head, said a few words in his native tongue, then brought the blade down with all of his might.

  The last sound that Jasmine ever heard was the snap of her neck.

  A moment later, her head rolled across the floor.

  Just as Sarah reached the cell.

  One second too late.

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  Sarah stared in horror as Jasmine’s head tumbled across the stone. Time seemed to stand still as the gathered priests in the chamber all turned to face the interloper. She could see the confusion on their faces – their utter shock that someone had infiltrated their sacred dwelling and dared to intervene.

  In the middle stood the elder, his blade wet with blood.

  Once glance was all it took.

  Sarah simply snapped.

  Their numbers should have given them an advantage, but her Glock more than evened the odds. Before the men could react, she raised her pistol and fired at the elder. In her rage, the shot missed its mark, yet it still accomplished her goal. Rather than striking his body, the bullet shattered the clay lamp that dangled at the elder’s side, spraying his tunic with oil. In a flash, the burning wick ignited the fuel, engulfing the elder in a wave of fire.

  As the others lunged forward to extinguish the flames, Sarah unleashed hell. Bones broke and lamps exploded as she emptied her clip in a vengeful fury. When Dade reached her side, she tore her backup pistol from his grasp and emptied that as well.

  The onslaught crippled the men and set the entire room ablaze. Pools of burning oil crept across the floor, hungrily consuming the fallen priests. They writhed in agony as their bodies were roasted like meat on a spit. Without guns to fi
re back or the ability to stand, all they could do was burn as Sarah tried to make sense of the scene.

  She stood there, dazed, unable to look away.

  How could this happen?

  Why did you kill her?

  What did she do to you?

  Sarah had been taught to never leave a colleague behind – even those who had been killed in action – but she had to face facts: there was nothing she could do with a burning body. Her stomach churned in revulsion as she realized that she couldn’t take Jasmine with her. As much as it pained her, she had to worry about the living.

  At least those who fought on her side.

  Just then, one of the guards tried to crawl toward the safety of the hall-way, but she slammed the door in his face, sealing him and the others inside. There were no screams of pain, no cries for help inside the chamber. The priests endured in silence. The only sounds were the crackling of the flames and the sizzling of their flesh.

  In the corridor, Sarah fell back against the opposite wall, nearly overcome with grief. Reeling from the tragedy, it took a moment to find her voice. ‘Jasmine . . .’

  ‘I know . . .’ Garcia sobbed. ‘She’s dead.’

  * * *

  Cobb’s stomach rolled as the news sank in. Despite all that they had done and learned, their efforts had come up short. Regardless of their initial mission in Florida, this had been a rescue operation since the moment they had lost Jasmine in the tunnel beneath Alexandria. She had become the focus, not the tomb.

  And now, she was gone.

  His years of service had made him resistant to pain, but not immune. Losing a fellow soldier was bad enough, but Jasmine was a civilian, the lone member of their team without government training. Hell, even Garcia had worked for the FBI.

  But not Jasmine.

  In his heart, Cobb knew that he should have persuaded her to walk away after their first adventure. He should have forced her to take the money and run, but somehow he had convinced himself that he could protect her from danger.