The Forbidden Tomb (35 page)

McNutt, who was lingering in a nearby hallway, was concerned. ‘Chief, we have no eyes in that room. Repeat. We have no eyes in that room. It might be a trap.’

But Cobb knew better. And so did Sarah.

They had been there before.

The first thing Cobb noticed when he peeked inside was the filtered green light cast by the wall-mounted lamps. It was simply unavoidable; the whole room was bathed in green. From his previous trip, he knew that green was a traditional color of the Islamic faith. He also knew that this wasn’t just a random room in the castle.

This was a mosque – a sacred place of worship.

And standing in the center was Hassan.

The divine symbolism was not lost on Cobb. He knew that Hassan’s intentions were far from holy. In fact, they were a desecration. He had brought them to this room to make one thing clear – that their fate was his to determine.

But Cobb didn’t quite see it that way.

Before Hassan could utter a word, Cobb refused to enter the room. ‘Not in here. It isn’t appropriate.’

It wasn’t a demand. It wasn’t a request. It was a clear statement of fact. There was no way that he was going to conduct business in a holy room.

No matter what.

Hassan, who was used to getting his way, reacted poorly to the situation. He shouted something in Arabic that neither Cobb nor Sarah could understand.

Suddenly, Kamal moved to block Cobb’s retreat into the corridor. He was several inches taller and several inches wider than Cobb. He stared down at him with rage in his eyes. ‘You stay.’

Cobb looked up at Kamal. ‘We’re not meeting in here. Not in this room.’

Hassan shouted again in Arabic.

Kamal translated. ‘You have a problem with Islam?’

Cobb turned and faced Hassan. ‘No. But the things we must discuss are not meant for these walls. Your faith preaches forgiveness. I’m here for vengeance.’

Hassan smiled and switched to English. ‘As am I.’

Dade’s heart pounded in his chest as Hassan walked toward them. The Egyptian joined Cobb at the mosque’s entrance where he took a moment to slip on his shoes. In truth, that was another reason that Cobb had refused to enter the room. He knew it was customary to remove one’s shoes before entering a mosque, and he didn’t want to face a possible gunfight in his bare feet.

He had learned that from
Die Hard
.

Hassan stared at Cobb, sizing him up. ‘Shall we walk?’

Cobb nodded in agreement.

They walked side by side through a long, arched corridor that connected the front and back halves of the building. Sarah, Dade, and Kamal trailed behind, eyeing each other cautiously like warring nations during a ceasefire.

Hassan opened the conversation. ‘You have news about the explosion?’

‘I do,’ Cobb replied. He knew there was no reason to string him along. The purpose of this meeting was simple: he would offer everything he knew about the bombing in exchange for anything Hassan knew about the bombers. ‘They used Semtex, most likely from the Libyan black market.’

‘How can you be so sure?’

‘The bomb pack was crafted from a Tunisian timer. My sources tell me that fits with a configuration popular among Libyan suppliers.’

‘Your sources? Who are you?’

‘American. Former military. That tells you enough.’

Hassan laughed. As he climbed a flight of steps to the second level, he waved his arms and glanced around the stairwell. ‘This whole building was constructed before your Columbus even discovered America. What are you doing in Egypt?’

‘I’m looking for my colleague.’

His tone made it clear that he had no interest in discussing their original mission. The only thing that mattered was Jasmine. ‘The men who took her are the same men who blew up your territory. I believe that puts us on the same side of the equation.’

Hassan grinned. ‘The enemy of my enemy is my friend, yes?’

Cobb shook his head. He didn’t want there to be any miscommunication with the crime lord. ‘Let’s not kid ourselves. You and I are not friends – and we’re never going to be friends. Let’s just say we have a common interest.’

Hassan shrugged. He didn’t care about semantics; he was more concerned with Cobb’s ulterior motives.
Something
had brought the Americans to his city, but he didn’t know what it was. ‘And all you want is the woman?’

‘No,’ Cobb assured him, ‘I also want to punish the men who took her. If you have any objections, please speak now because later will be too late.’

Hassan shook his head. ‘I have none. As you have said, these men have wronged me as well. I wish to see them punished for all they have done.’

‘Then tell me everything. This is your city, and you know the players. If you have any clue about what we’re up against, let me know. In exchange, I’ll hunt them down, and everyone gets what they want.’

* * *

One of the many traits that distinguished Garcia from the rest of the team was the way he saw patterns in seemingly random events. His photographic memory allowed him to match things that he had already seen with whatever new data was presented to him. It was an innate ability that had driven him into mathematics, then computers, then eventually the FBI.

Using his laptop, Garcia watched Cobb’s conversation with Hassan as they moved from hallways to stairwells and back again. Eventually, something bothered him.

‘Josh, do me a favor and slow down a bit.’

McNutt did as told. ‘Problem?’

‘I think Hassan has a shadow.’

‘No shit,’ he laughed. ‘So far I’ve counted six.’

‘And you’ve pointed out all of them.’

‘What’s your point?’

‘I think I found number seven.’

McNutt decided to hear him out. ‘Fine. Who?’

Garcia stared at the image on his screen. ‘The short, bald guy with the sunglasses. He’s been circling the others, but they have yet to cross paths. That’s an unlikely coincidence. He’s intentionally avoiding a run-in, yet he’s staying close enough to strike if Hassan needs him.’

McNutt glanced at the man in question. While his shaved head gave him a slightly intimidating quality, he was barely five and a half feet tall. Furthermore, he was thin and willowy – hardly the bodyguard type.

‘Are you sure the sun’s not getting to you?’

‘Just humor me,’ Garcia said. ‘Don’t lose track of him.’

‘I’ll try, but that may be tough.’

‘Why?’

‘That guy is a shrimp.’

* * *

Cobb had detected six shadows as well. These men thought they had gone unnoticed, but each had been betrayed by their actions. Glances that lasted too long. A pace that was too fast or too slow. Feigned interest in the smallest of details.

Cobb noticed them all.

They might as well have worn little nametags that read: H
ELLO, MY NAME IS:
G
OON.

But it wasn’t a surprise to Cobb. He knew that Hassan would bring a lot of protection. A man of his stature had more than just Kamal, Tarek, and the other tunnel rats on his payroll. That much was certain.

As they exited the lower floors of the citadel and stepped out onto the expansive terrace, Cobb pressed Hassan for details. ‘Given the damage that I saw, there were at least a dozen men in the tunnels – some to set the charges, and the rest to clear their way. These weren’t amateurs. They knew exactly what they were doing.’

‘Did you see them?’

‘Only the dead ones,’ Cobb admitted. ‘They could see like owls and climb like monkeys – like some sort of olive-skinned ninjas.’

‘What about their clothes?’

‘They wore black pants and black tunics. And their weapon of choice was a unique blade that I’ve never seen before. Does any of that sound familiar?’

Hassan did not answer. He simply leaned against the outer wall of the citadel and stared out across the water. His lungs filled with sea air as he closed his eyes, allowing the afternoon sun to warm his face.

Sensing reluctance, Cobb issued an ultimatum. ‘I’m starting to lose my patience here. I’ve given you details about the explosives and the men, but I’ve received nothing in return. Either tell me what you know, or we’re leaving with Dade.’

Hassan opened his eyes and looked back at Cobb. ‘This blade – the one you weren’t familiar with – it was part-saber, part-scimitar?’

‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘It had elements of both. What is it?’

‘It is known as a
khopesh
.’ Hassan nodded in understanding as he turned back toward the sea. ‘You are describing the Muharib.’

* * *

Garcia opened a second window on his laptop and ran a search for
Muharib
.

Meanwhile, he kept a watchful eye on the bald visitor.

‘Hey Josh,’ he said as he scanned the information on his screen. ‘Lex Luthor is about to exit onto the far side of the roof. I think everyone would feel a lot better if you put yourself between him and the conversation.’

‘
Not
everyone,’ McNutt scoffed. ‘Do I look like a human shield?’

Garcia ignored the question. ‘Jack, my searches for “Muharib” all circle back to the Arabic word “hirabah”. It means “unlawful warfare”. Sorry, but that’s all I’ve got.’

* * *

Cobb grinned at the irony. The person on his team with the best chance of knowing anything about the Muharib was the one that they had taken. ‘Go on.’

‘You are a soldier. Are there limitations as to those you will fight?’

Cobb shook his head. ‘I took an oath to defend my country from any foe, foreign or domestic.’

Hassan laughed. ‘I am not asking about geographical constraints. I am questioning your moral limitations. In times of conflict, do you believe that every resident of a rival land is your enemy? Must the blood of innocents be spilled as well?’

Cobb hated the insinuation. ‘Of course not. It goes against everything that I stand for; and everything my country stands for.’

‘And yet, some would argue that is why your country fails. Some would say that the only way to truly defeat an enemy is to wipe their people from the planet. In order to win, you must leave no one behind – for the innocent may someday be corrupted.’

Cobb wanted to disagree but wasn’t given the chance.

Hassan cut him off. ‘This philosophy is the way of the Muharib.’

Cobb was all too familiar with the strategy. It was the driving force behind the ethnic cleansing he had seen throughout Africa and Eastern Europe. Millions of men, women, and children had been murdered simply for living in areas that were connected to religions or ethnicities that the ruling class had deemed intolerable.

‘What are the Muharib trying to destroy?’

‘Anything that threatens their way of life – and that is the problem.’ Hassan pointed north, then swept his hand westward as he continued to speak. ‘The legend of the Muharib extends from Damascus to Marrakesh. No one knows where they truly came from. No one knows their ways. And no one knows their secrets. For countless generations, they have been feared as the shadow men of the Sahara. They have killed thousands, with little rhyme or reason to their actions.’

Cobb was skeptical. The desert that Hassan was describing was larger than the lower forty-eight states. If a single group had laid claim to that much territory, surely someone in the intelligence community would have heard about it. Even in light of the harsh terrain of the Sahara, it seemed unlikely – if not impossible – that a powerful group could hide in it for hundreds of years.

‘Why should I believe that they are anything but an urban legend: boogeymen created to keep children from the desert?’

Hassan laughed. He reached down and picked up a small sliver of rock that had broken from the parapet. He used it to draw upon the wall, defacing the ancient citadel as if it were his personal chalkboard.

His body blocked his artwork as he spoke. ‘I am sure that many felt the same way at first, but a thousand years of slaughtered innocents has a way of convincing most skeptics. Inhuman agility. Nocturnal vision. Ruthless efficiency. And always –
always –
the blade. Tell me, did they bear the mark?’

Hassan moved to reveal his work.

For the first time, Cobb could see the symbol on the wall.

The etching was crude, but its design was unmistakable.

It was the same as the scar that McNutt had noticed earlier.

Hassan knew that his question had hit home. ‘The mark is burned into their skin. It is a symbol of their permanent devotion to their cause. Few who have fought the Muharib have ever lived to speak of it. Fewer still have sought them out.’

Cobb had heard enough. He had the information that he had come for, now he needed to use it. It meant using every available resource. ‘One last thing. I need Simon.’

‘Need him – but why? What use do you have for a traitor? He will only betray you the first chance he gets.’

Cobb lowered his voice. ‘He
is
a bit of weasel, isn’t he?’

Hassan laughed. ‘Yes, he is.’

‘Still, he serves a purpose. He knows his way around the city, and he understands the way the game is played. For this to work, he needs to know – scratch that,
I
need to know – that you’re not going to take him out during the game.’

‘And when this is over?’

Cobb shrugged. ‘If Simon leads us to the Muharib, he gets his freedom.’

‘And if he doesn’t?’

‘You can feed him to your giant.’

Hassan glanced at Dade and laughed. ‘You may have him on one condition: Kamal goes with him at all times.’

‘Done.’

Dade and Kamal stared at each another in disbelief, but neither had the courage to stop it.

Hassan turned toward Kamal. ‘Keep him alive, for now.’

Kamal reluctantly nodded.

Sarah leaned in and whispered to Dade: ‘See! I told you everything would be alright. Not only did we save your life, we got you the best bodyguard in town.’

* * *

Cobb smiled at the latest development as he left the meeting. It hadn’t been his idea, but he almost wished it had been. Partnering Kamal with Dade had taken the thug out of the equation or, at the very least, had made him a known variable.