The Forbidden Tomb (5 page)

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.

‘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.’

‘Thanks, chief.’

Cobb turned toward their host. ‘Well?’

Papineau ignored Cobb and spoke directly to McNutt. ‘Joshua, you were in the service for several years. How often do you visit your fallen brethren?’

‘Often.’

It was an honest response from a former Marine.

In the United States, there are 131 national cemeteries that are recognized for their burials of military personnel. The largest two – Arlington National Cemetery in Virginia and Calverton National Cemetery in New York – cover more than 1,700 acres and serve as the burial grounds of more than 750,000 soldiers and their families. McNutt made it a point to visit several of these locations every year.

‘And when you pay your respects, what do you leave behind?’

McNutt pondered the question. His boisterous demeanor was momentarily somber and reserved. ‘Sometimes it’s a personal memento. Sometimes it’s shell casings. Sometimes I pour them a drink from my flask. It all depends on the guy.’

‘You leave them tribute. You honor them with an offering.’

McNutt nodded but said nothing.

‘Alexander was honored as well,’ Papineau said as he began to pace around the table. ‘For centuries after his death, great leaders from far and wide made pilgrimages to his tomb to pay their respects. Julius Caesar, Caligula, Augustus – they all came to honor him. It is a tradition that we continue today, bringing tokens of appreciation for the sacrifice of mortal men, particularly those we admire. Therefore, I ask you this: what would you bring to honor one of the greatest conquerors of all time?’

‘Chocolate?’ Sarah said with a laugh.

McNutt made a face. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t bring chocolate on a trip to the desert. It would melt on your camel. I suggest virgins. Lots of virgins.’

Jasmine shook her head. ‘I think you’re confused. Alexander wasn’t a Muslim.’

‘Neither am I,’ McNutt said, ‘but I wouldn’t turn down a bunch of virgins. They travel well, and they’re good for any occasion.’

Garcia nodded in agreement, but wisely said nothing.

Sarah rolled her eyes. ‘Anyway, what’s the answer?’

Papineau shrugged. ‘No one actually knows what was brought. If any records were kept, and there’s no way of knowing if they were, they are no longer available.’

‘Why not?’ Garcia wondered.

‘Are you familiar with the Library of Alexandria?’

‘Of course I am,’ said Garcia, who frantically tried to pull up information on the historic landmark. ‘Just give me a second.’

Jasmine wasn’t about to wait. ‘The Library of Alexandria was the finest collection of information in the ancient world. It was a repository of every significant text known to man. Scholars heralded it as the center of knowledge, a place where the rulers of Egypt could study the past in preparation for the future. It stood as a monument to the nation’s wealth and affluence, a symbol of their prosperity until it was destroyed by fire hundreds of years ago. The exact date and time are still unknown, though several theories abound.’

Papineau grimaced. ‘The loss was catastrophic. Every record, every map, every drawing of the city of Alexandria was consumed by the blaze – as were details about the tomb and the golden hearse. Since the fire various clues and myths have surfaced, but historians have never been able to place them in the proper context.’

Cobb nodded in understanding. ‘It doesn’t matter if you know that the tomb was located next to the market if you have no idea where the market was. Is that it?’

‘Exactly,’ Jasmine said. ‘We have bits and pieces about the city that we could string together into a very rough sketch of ancient Alexandria, but we have never had a primer: something that told us how to arrange the pieces.’

‘Until now.’

‘Until now,’ she said excitedly. ‘Your map may be the key to unlocking the entire history of Alexandria. The Roman occupation. The Persian rule. The Muslim conquest. The location of the tomb and more. There’s no telling what your map might allow us to uncover. How soon until you can arrange for me to see it?’

Cobb shrugged. ‘Oh, I don’t think it will take that long.’

‘Can you give me a number?’ For her, the suspense was intolerable ‘A week? A month? A year?’

Cobb rubbed his chin and pretended to do some math in his head. ‘I don’t know . . . maybe two minutes or so. Half that if I really hustle. How long does it take to run up and down a flight of stairs?’

Jasmine gasped even louder than before. ‘You mean it’s
here
?’

Cobb nodded. At the conclusion of their previous mission, he had pursued a mysterious IP address that had secretly monitored their secure transmissions from Eastern Europe. Hoping to learn more about Papineau’s agenda, Cobb followed the signal to the Beau-Rivage hotel in Geneva, Switzerland where he intended to confront Papineau’s silent partner –
if
, in fact, he had one.

Instead, Cobb quickly realized he had been duped.

The signal was nothing more than a digital breadcrumb, intentionally left so that Cobb would follow it to the five-star hotel where a private dinner had been arranged with one of the top historical experts in the world, a man named Petr Ulster.

Neither Cobb nor Ulster knew who had arranged their conversation – a nameless benefactor had paid their bills – but by the end of their meeting, Cobb and Ulster had bonded, and Ulster had entrusted Cobb with a copy of the ancient map.

‘Where?’ Jasmine demanded.

Cobb stood. ‘It’s upstairs in my duffel bag.’

While Cobb retrieved the map from his bedroom, the others waited in calm silence – all except for Jasmine, who cracked her knuckles and bounced her knees up and down in order to dispel her nervous energy.

‘Relax. It’s just a copy,’ Sarah said.

Jasmine took the bait. ‘
Just a copy?
I understand it’s
just a copy
, but it’s a copy of something that I didn’t know existed until a minute ago, and depending on its authenticity and accuracy, it may give us the inside track to one of the biggest archaeological finds of all time, not to mention millions of dollars for us and billions of dollars to Jean-Marc. So trust me: it’s more than
just a copy
. It’s
everything
.’

Sarah smiled. She wasn’t teasing Jasmine to be mean; not that she hadn’t done that in the past. She was pushing buttons because she enjoyed the fire that the new and improved Jasmine exhibited from time to time. Her words weren’t meant to inflict pain; they were a subtle call to action. It was her way of reminding Jasmine that she was a lot tougher than she thought, that she should never be afraid to speak her mind when her views were challenged, and that she was a key member of the team.

Plus, it was a lot of fun to watch her freak out.

Sarah shrugged. ‘Okay, okay. It’s a
rare
copy. I get it.’

Garcia, who was oblivious to Sarah’s true intentions, refused to make eye contact with her as he continued to assemble information on Alexandria. Ninety percent of his efforts were geared toward preparing research; the other ten percent was just to look busy. He prayed that neither woman would drag him into their argument. He was smart enough to realize that it was a no-win situation, so he kept his head down.

Cobb reentered the room a moment later. He was carrying a large cylinder that was fancier than the cardboard tubes commonly used to ship posters. This one was made of brushed metal, with a heavy leather shoulder strap connected to each end. While Jasmine held her breath, he took his seat and unscrewed the top cap of the case.

‘Hector,’ Cobb said, ‘can you illuminate the tabletop?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Can you make the surface bright like a drafting table?’

Garcia tapped on his keyboard, searching for the right command. When he found it, the top of the table began to glow. It was a clean, almost blinding sheen of white.

‘Perfect,’ Cobb said. With that, he removed the map from the canister and spread it across the table for everyone to see.

Against the gleaming tabletop, the dark lines of the map stood out like ink stains on a wedding dress. The ancient city was presented as a tangled web of intersecting lines and shapes, stretching south from the Mediterranean Sea to the northern edge of the Western Desert. The markings were so dense and overlapping that it was nearly impossible to determine where one stroke ended and the next began.

Despite her eager energy, Jasmine was more confused than captivated – and she wasn’t alone. No one knew what to make of the sprawling mess in front of them.

McNutt furrowed his brow. ‘What are we looking at?’

Cobb had anticipated their confusion because he had felt the exact same way before the document had been explained to him in Switzerland. ‘That, my friends, is the entire history of Alexandria compiled into a single map. Every building that’s ever been built or razed; every footpath, trail, road, and highway that’s ever been laid; every well and every waterway that’s ever snaked its way through the ancient city – all assembled into one map for our plundering pleasure.’

He took a step back and allowed them to get a closer look.

‘Notice,’ he said confidently, ‘the labels were written in accordance with the era. They represent the people who controlled Alexandria during the time of construction. If it was built by the Egyptians, the label was written in Egyptian, and so on.’

Sarah tried to decipher the map, but it was no use. She spotted at least ten distinct languages, none of which was English. ‘Jasmine, please tell me that you can make sense of this. Otherwise, this document is useless.’

‘I can translate
some
of the map,’ she explained. ‘But I don’t know anyone that could decipher these labels with a single glance. It’s going to take some time.’

McNutt voiced his doubt. ‘Forget the labels. Look at those lines. How is anyone supposed to follow that mess? It looks like Spider-Man took a shit on the table.’

Garcia laughed. ‘I’m with Josh. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.’

‘Me neither,’ Sarah admitted.

‘Nor I,’ Papineau added.

‘Thankfully, I do,’ Cobb said as he walked around the opposite side of the table and subtly moistened the tip of his thumb and index finger with his tongue. Then he grabbed the top corner of the map and gave it a slight twist. ‘Like most problems in life, it’s best to attack them one step at a time.’

The paper separated into multiple layers, revealing that the map was actually a collection of pages. Each sheet of translucent paper had been perfectly stacked on the sheet beneath it. When viewed together, the image was cluttered and difficult to comprehend, but the individual maps were much easier to understand.

Cobb flipped to the last page in the stack. ‘The bottom map predates Alexander’s arrival in Egypt – before the city of Alexandria came to exist.’

McNutt stared at the image. ‘So . . . we’re looking at a map of nothing?’