To prove her point, she pointed her flashlight at the walls above, and he quickly noticed the poor condition of the chamber. While the other rooms gave the sense that they could fall at any moment, here it had actually started to happen. The stones in the pillars and the arch supports were cracked and crumbling. And there were chunks missing from the ceiling. They had no way of knowing if the damage had been caused naturally by floods, earthquakes, or drainage, or if it was the result of construction in the city above. One thing was certain: the years had taken their toll on this chamber.
An uneasy feeling twisted in Cobb’s gut. He wasn’t one for omens, but he had a bad feeling about this place. ‘Let’s keep moving.’
‘Good idea,’ she said.
But their choices were limited. They had just entered through the passageway from the south, and their only other option was at the far side of the cistern. Despite the danger, Jasmine urged them to head that way because the tunnel would take them closer to Caesar’s Well. That is, if the city’s blueprints were accurate.
Because of the treacherous footing, it took a few minutes to make their way down the path, over the water, around the crumbling stone pillars, and into the final passageway. The tunnel took them north through the foundation of the ancient city for another hundred feet or so before they were presented with a final challenge.
One that Jasmine didn’t expect.
‘What the hell is that?’ she shrieked.
In the café, McNutt winced in wide-eyed pain as Jasmine’s voice reverberated throughout his head. He would have gladly ripped out his own tooth if it meant avoiding another shout like that. He glanced around the room, searching for anyone with the look of an oral surgeon. ‘Someone wanna tell me what’s going on?’
‘We can’t go any further,’ she answered.
‘Why?’ McNutt mumbled.
‘We hit a wall,’ Cobb explained.
It wasn’t a figure of speech. The final tunnel was blocked by an actual wall. Not a pile of rubble with a safety fence, or an ancient wall made of stone.
This bastard was made of brick.
Cobb leaned into the barricade, then kicked it, hoping that he could force his way through. But it held firm, not giving an inch. ‘It’s solid.’
Jasmine hadn’t even considered the wall’s strength. She was more concerned about its substance. ‘Why is it made of brick? Does it look new?’
Cobb pounded on it with the back of his hand. ‘Not particularly. Don’t get me wrong: it’s much newer than the cisterns themselves, but this wall has been here a while. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s older than I am.’
‘No way,’ Sarah teased, ‘it can’t be that old. They didn’t have tools when you were a kid. They didn’t have fire.’
‘Ouch,’ Cobb said.
‘Nothing but caves, and clubs, and woolly mammoths.’
‘Those suckers were tasty,’ he said with a smile.
‘Yum.’
He playfully pushed her away. ‘Hector, can you—’
‘Already on it,’ Garcia blurted as he pounded away on his keyboard. Having already hacked the city planning office, he had access to everything on their system. He quickly scanned through page after page of construction logs, hoping to spot something that would help them determine the age of the brick wall. ‘Hang on… here it is.’
The others listened as he summarized what he had found.
‘There was a survey conducted to determine the structural integrity of the tunnel… engineers found evidence of erosion and other deficiencies… the decision was made to eliminate access to the deeper underground areas… sealed by means of a wall… okay, right here: a brick wall, constructed by the city engineers by mandate of the city council, approved on September the first, 1939, and erected immediately thereafter.’
Sarah had to laugh. ‘So much for having a modern map. Then again, I guess anything less than a century old is modern by Egyptian standards.’
‘September the first, 1939,’ Garcia mumbled. ‘Why do I know that date?’
Cobb answered as he glanced around the tunnel. ‘You probably learned it at school. The invasion of Poland marked the start of World War Two.’
‘Oh yeah. Hitler. I’m not a fan.’
Sarah glanced at Cobb. ‘What are you looking for?’
He pointed toward the south. ‘Back in the cisterns, remember the ductwork we saw in some of the rooms? I couldn’t figure it out, but now I know what it was. Air vents.’
‘Why?’ Sarah asked.
‘The war,’ he explained. ‘Someone realized that these giant chambers could protect them from air raids, so they added a ventilation system and turned this place into a giant bomb shelter. The vents would provide fresh air and eliminate carbon dioxide. Plus, they’d have fresh water from the cisterns.’
‘That’s ingenious,’ Sarah admitted. ‘There’s enough space down here for hundreds of people. Maybe even thousands.’
Cobb nodded. ‘Space is good. So why block off the rest of the system?’
Sarah kicked the brick wall. ‘We’re going to have to get through here to find out. Anyone have any ideas?’
McNutt coughed and cleared his throat.
Cobb smiled. ‘That you, Josh?’
McNutt coughed again.
Sarah laughed. ‘Hey hillbilly — you know you can just pull out your cell phone and pretend that you’re talking to somebody. You know that, right?’
McNutt swore under his breath.
It was a thought that hadn’t occurred to him.
19
‘Bigfoot’ was actually named Gaz Kamal. And ‘Biggerfoot’ was Farouk Tarek. Both of them were loyal soldiers, deputies in the service of the local district kingpin, a man known simply as Hassan. They had each spent several years of their lives behind the walls of Egypt’s Tora Prison, and they had vowed never to go back.
It didn’t mean they had abandoned a life of crime.
It only meant that death was preferable to incarceration.
Their boss dabbled in everything from the ‘protection’ of small businesses to the sale of exotic firearms. If it happened in his territory, Hassan owned a piece of the action. To ensure that no one operated in his area without paying the proper toll, Hassan had a network of informants to keep him abreast of local activities.
And his sources were everywhere.
Kamal and Tarek were enjoying dinner at one of their favorite restaurants when their cell phones began to vibrate in unison, notifying each of a new message. The day of the week or time of night didn’t matter; as Hassan’s enforcers they were always on duty. Protecting their boss, his interests, and his territory was a full-time assignment.
Glancing at his phone, Kamal saw a picture message from one of their most trusted scouts. Their platter of stuffed pigeons and couscous would have to wait. He clicked the icon and waited for the image to download, curious about the subject matter. He nearly jumped out of his chair when he saw the photo of Sarah.
‘It’s her,’ Kamal said in Arabic. ‘Dade’s friend.’
Tarek glanced at the image. ‘I’ll get the car.’
Someone had recognized her from their description.
Better still, they now had a picture of their target.
Ten minutes later they were standing in the opulent foyer of their employer.
A spectacular mural depicting the Egyptian tale of the Treasure Thief wrapped around the entryway. It related the adventures of Horemheb, the master builder who had been called upon to construct an impenetrable vault for Pharaoh Ramses III. Horemheb did as he was instructed, but left a hidden entrance so that his son might someday help himself to the treasure. Try as he might, the pharaoh could never catch the commoner who continually robbed his coffers. In the end, the son admitted his crime, but he had proven to be so brilliant in his deception that he had fallen into favor with the very king he had deceived.