The Forbidden Tomb (56 page)

‘I got here just fine, didn’t I?’ Tyson scoffed. He quickly scanned the group for any signs of injury. ‘Anyone hurt?’

Cobb shook his head. ‘Just fine, thanks to you.’

He saluted out of respect. ‘No worries, Major. Happy to help.’

As the son of a Marine Corps brigadier general – and a decorated soldier in his own right – Cobb was well known in certain circles. Normally, he hated the recognition, but at that moment he was willing to make an exception. ‘If you or your men ever need anything, just let me know. I’ll put in a good word wherever I can.’

‘I appreciate that,’ Tyson said. He turned to McNutt and held out his arms. ‘And you – you’re buying at Bike Week.’

‘See you there,’ McNutt answered in the midst of a brotherly hug.

As Tyson backpedalled toward his men, he had one final observation. ‘So the giant hole in the ground is for . . .?’

‘Giant flowers,’ Sarah joked. ‘We want to see if they’ll grow out here.’

‘Bullshit,’ Tyson growled.

The entire group tensed, including McNutt.

Tyson stared at them for an uncomfortable length of time before he started to laugh. ‘For the flowers, I mean. I hear manure makes all the difference in the world in a climate like this. That and water. Lots of water.’

Sarah smiled. ‘Good to know.’

Just like that, their arrangement was clear. McNutt and the others would never mention the Marines, and in return Tyson and his men would keep quiet about the excavation. It was an agreement that worked for all involved.

* * *

Cobb waited for the Marines to clear out before his team went back to work on the entryway. With their focus no longer split between the dig and their safety, they made short work of the remaining few feet of sand. As the sun’s first rays began to light the eastern sky, their shovels hit something solid.

Even though they had been expecting it, the clang of metal against stone still gave them a moment of pause. In some odd way, it struck them as proof that all of this was real. Only then did they fully comprehend the magnitude of what had happened. They would never see Jasmine again. Their friend was dead, as were those responsible for her death. All to protect whatever was hidden beyond this wall.

A few quick blasts from McNutt’s sonic pulse baton were enough to loosen the mortar around the stones. After opening a large enough gap to fit through, they lowered themselves into the chamber beyond. Given all that they had been through, they would face this final leg of their journey together.

Buried beneath the sand, the chamber was as dark as it was silent. They had the sense that no living soul had seen these walls in more than fifteen hundred years, and yet the air inside was remarkably sweet.

McNutt breathed deeply. ‘Why do I know that smell?’

‘It’s honey,’ Sarah explained. ‘It was a common tribute left for the pharaohs.’

‘How do you—’ Garcia caught himself. He already had the answer. She knew about the honey because Jasmine had told her. He tried to change the subject. ‘That’s a good sign, right?’

Sarah shrugged. ‘Let’s find out.’

One by one, they turned on their video flashlights.

Despite the massive width of the structure that the GPR had detected, they found themselves in a narrow corridor. It was flanked on each side by archway after archway after archway, each leading to a different room. Curious, McNutt ran ahead and peeked inside the nearest cavity. He was shocked by what he saw.

Honey wasn’t the only tribute left behind.

‘Holy shit!’ Before the others could reply, McNutt disappeared into the room. His voice echoed from beyond the wall. ‘You guys need to see this!’

A moment later, they found McNutt sprawled on the floor of the large enclosure. He flapped his arms and legs excitedly, as if making snow angels. Only instead of fresh powder, he was frolicking on a massive pile of ancient coins.

‘I feel like Scrooge McDuck,’ he said gleefully.

Garcia laughed at the scene and decided to celebrate with McNutt. Without thinking things through, he ran a few steps and then dove face-first into the pile.

Instead of a splash, there was an awful
clank
.

Followed by a loud howl of pain.

‘Ouch,’ Garcia mumbled, face down in the pile of coins.

McNutt scrambled over to him. ‘Maria, are you okay?’

Garcia laughed and groaned at the same time. When he flipped over, several coins were stuck to his face. ‘That
never
happens in cartoons.’

McNutt flicked a coin off Garcia’s forehead. ‘That’s because cartoons aren’t real.’

‘Good to know.’

Smiling at the scene, Cobb and Sarah reached down and grabbed a handful of gold and silver coins from the floor. They represented a wide mixture of countries and cultures that had paid homage to Alexander; so many, in fact, Cobb imagined that the priests had shoveled the donations into wheelbarrows instead of bagging them for transport. Tens of thousands of them covered the floor like wall-to-wall carpeting.

Sarah glanced around the room. Everywhere she looked, piles of money glinted in the beam of her flashlight. ‘Do you think all the rooms are like this?’

‘Beats me,’ Cobb admitted.

McNutt sat upright like an obedient dog that had just been asked to fetch the newspaper. ‘Not if I
beats
you first!’

The pun had barely left his lips before he sprang to his feet and sprinted through the opening back into the hallway. Garcia followed hot on his heels. As he ran, the remaining coins fell off his face.

Sarah crossed her fingers. ‘Please let the other rooms be booby-trapped.’

Cobb smiled and motioned toward the exit. ‘Come on, let’s make sure they don’t do anything too stupid.’

Back in the corridor, they watched as McNutt and Garcia darted in and out of the rooms, breathlessly describing the contents of each space. Looking closer, Cobb noticed inscriptions above each archway and presumed they were a record of those who had left these offerings. He couldn’t read any of the names – they had been chiseled in an ancient language that he couldn’t decipher – but the gifts they had left were universally recognizable. There were tributes from nations far and wide and the spoils of war from every conquered land, all of it stored for safekeeping.

All of it kept to honor the king.

Meanwhile, Sarah walked further down the main corridor, searching for the priests’ most treasured possession. Eventually, her light revealed a gleaming archway that differed from the other walls. As she drew closer, the polished alabaster – the sacred stone of Amun – almost appeared to glow in the darkness.

‘Guys, over here!’

Sweeping her light across the length of the wall, Sarah stared in wonder as the others gathered around her. Chiseled in the white surface were symbols that resembled those left behind in the cisterns. From what she could tell, the images picked up where the message in Alexandria had ended. Together, they combined to tell a magnificent story of honor, devotion, and sacrifice.

A tale that few had ever known.

Just like the pictograph had suggested, the tributes left for Alexander over the centuries had been smuggled from the city right before the flood in 365 AD. Removed through the tunnel and taken away by boat, the riches had made their way along the coast before being offloaded in Amunia. From there, a caravan had transported them to Siwa, following the same route that Alexander had taken centuries before.

While the citizens of Alexandria recovered from the devastation of the tsunami, the high priests were busy sealing their treasures inside the tomb that they had constructed in the desert. Though a pyramid had been considered, the largest the world had ever seen, they decided a Macedonian tomb would attract far less attention.

Having claimed their most valued asset from the Roman Empire, the disciples of Amun meant to hide their bounty for all of eternity. Once the tomb was sealed, no one would be granted access – not even the priests – for the risk was far too great.

But today, the seal was finally breached.

Together, the four of them stepped into the final chamber. They stood in awe as the glow of their lights illuminated a towering statue of Amun in the back of the room. As they moved further into the space, they could see that he was not alone. There, under his watchful eye, was the glass sarcophagus of legend.

Inside lay the body of a king.

The mortal son of Amun.

Alexander the Great.

Wednesday, November
12

Two days after the team’s discovery, Maurice Copeland had yet to celebrate. As he walked the halls of the tomb for the first time, the treasure that surrounded him barely excited him. To most people, this magnificent fortune would have been a life changer, but it meant little to a billionaire like Copeland, who already had more money than he could spend in ten lifetimes.

To him, the tomb was simply a means to an end.

A way to get the item that he actually desired.

Few historians had ever heard of the Pieces of Eight – a collection of relics that led to a bounty of immeasurable value and incalculable worth – and most who were familiar with the legend viewed it as a myth, like the golden city of El Dorado. But Copeland wasn’t like most people. Assured by experts that the Pieces of Eight did not exist, he risked his fortune and his reputation to prove them wrong.

Through bribes and good fortune, Copeland had obtained the first piece at the conclusion of his team’s previous mission in Romania. Countless lives had been lost and several million dollars had been spent, but in his eyes it had all been worth it.

The existence of a single piece gave credence to the legend.

The Pieces of Eight were real.

Copeland had immediately turned his attention to the second piece, which was rumored to be buried in Alexander’s tomb. Finding the tomb had been Papineau’s responsibility, but that’s where his duties ended. He knew nothing about the Pieces of Eight and neither did his team. To keep them in the dark, Copeland thanked Papineau for his discovery, then told him to evacuate his team before they were linked to the violence in Siwa. Anxious to leave the desert and to put the bad memories behind them, the team didn’t argue. They concealed the entrance and left immediately.

Their mission was over, and they were headed home.

Meanwhile, Copeland’s crew moved into position.

Just as he had done in Romania, Copeland had arranged for a separate team to remove the treasure after it had been found. There was no need for multi-lingual historians, computer geniuses, or stealthy thieves. Instead, Copeland had hired a private security force that would follow his every command and keep their mouths shut. These men couldn’t care less about the historical significance or cultural value of the items inside the tomb. All they cared about was Copeland and his bank account.

He paid handsomely to protect his life and his secrets.

In exchange, his men would do anything that was asked of them.

After locating the entrance and establishing a perimeter, the recovery team locked down the burial site without even going inside. That would happen later. For now, they had more important things to worry about than the treasure.

Copeland’s men had no way of knowing if the entire Muharib force had been eliminated, and they wanted to be ready if more swordsmen arrived to defend their legacy. In addition, the destruction of the compound near Siwa had drawn the attention of a dozen governmental entities, everything from the Egyptian Army to the Environmental Affairs Agency. Because of their investigations, not to mention the hordes of satellites that were focused on Egypt because of the tragedy in Alexandria, the scene was still too ‘hot’ to risk the removal of the treasure.

It would be another week before they could act.

But Copeland couldn’t wait that long.

He needed to know if the second piece was inside.

And he needed to know
now
.

As he stared at the glass sarcophagus, Copeland wondered how many great men had come before him. He knew that kings and conquerors throughout the ages had made the pilgrimage to Egypt to pay homage to Alexander. He also knew that many of them believed that Alexander’s body somehow made its owner invincible.

Copeland chuckled at the concept.

Those are the true Fools of Alexander.

The hope of divine intervention had no place in Copeland’s philosophy. He too had fought battles and shed blood in the pursuit of his goals, and his experiences had taught him the only way to accomplish greatness was to be smarter, faster, bolder, and more committed than his opponents. Those were the qualities that separated leaders from followers; it had nothing to do with blessings from the great beyond.

It was a tenet that had served him well.

Copeland took one last look at the casket then casually turned and walked away. He realized that the body would be heralded as the crowning jewel of the discovery, but that didn’t mean it was the most valuable. For those in the know, there was a greater prize hidden in this vault.

Fortunately, he knew exactly where to look.

As he strode confidently through the tomb, Copeland studied the names engraved above each archway. He was quite sure that each chamber contained riches far beyond the comprehension of normal men, but he was uninterested in these baubles. There was only one name he was searching for, and the object he sought would put the rest of the collection to shame.

And then he saw it. A single name in an ancient language emblazoned across the stone. A sign – a literal sign – guiding him toward what he had come to find.

T
IBERIUS
C
AESAR
A
UGUSTUS

Copeland grinned at the sight. Despite the name on the wall, he knew that the second emperor of the Roman Empire had never visited the tomb. Instead, his tributes had been delivered by a legendary general in the Roman army – a man named Paccius.

As one of Tiberius’s most trusted confidants, Paccius played a major role in the expansion of the Empire before he mysteriously vanished on a trip to the British Isles. Some believed he had been killed on the battlefield; others suspected he had faked his death in order to carry out secret missions for the emperor. Whatever the case, it had happened long after Paccius’s trip to Alexandria.