Sarah squinted at the image. ‘What am I looking at?’
McNutt’s eyes bulged from his head. ‘Holy. Fucking. Hell.’
‘My thoughts exactly,’ Garcia replied.
‘I still don’t get it,’ Sarah admitted.
‘Weapons,’ Cobb told them. ‘Lots and lots of weapons.’
McNutt pointed at the description emblazoned on one of the crates. ‘Those are Ribeyrolle 1918s — French rifles used to lay down suppressive fire.’ He tapped a different label. ‘STENs, a nine-millimeter submachine gun.’ He pointed yet again. ‘These are—’
Sarah chuckled. ‘You can barely speak English, yet you can read all these foreign labels?’
‘STENs are English. It’s an abbreviation honoring the guys who designed them: Shepherd, Turpin, and Enfield.’ Despite Sarah’s comment, McNutt’s tone was playful, not cocky or defensive. There was nothing he liked more than talking about weapons — except using them, of course. ‘It’s an impressive collection.’
‘That much I understood,’ Sarah replied.
McNutt shook his head. ‘It’s not just impressive because of its size, it’s impressive because these are antiques. Most of these guns date back to World War Two.’ He pointed to a final crate. ‘Like the Maschinengewehr 30s. MG 30s haven’t been used since the 1940s… by the Nazis.’
Though most of the battles in Egypt during World War II were fought along the Nile, the Western Desert saw its share of action as well. At one time or another, British, Italian, French, Greek, South African and German soldiers all took up arms in an attempt to capture Siwa and/or control the area extending north to the Mediterranean. Unfamiliar with the challenges of the Sahara, hundreds of these men were never heard from again.
Few were prepared for the heat of the desert.
And none were ready for the shadow warriors.
‘It gets worse,’ Garcia said as he changed the feed.
This time, there weren’t any crates. Instead, they saw an entire wall whose shelves were stocked with large packages of what appeared to be reddish clay.
‘Look familiar?’ Garcia asked.
Unfortunately, they all recognized the compound.
It was Semtex.
McNutt whistled in amazement. ‘Forget about a single block. That’s enough to take out the whole damn city.’
‘They’re stockpiling supplies like an army,’ Sarah said. ‘But why?’
Garcia tapped a few keys. ‘I can’t tell you what the guns are for, but let’s be clear: they’re not like an army — they are an army.’
As he scrolled through the feeds, they got a much better sense of the underground structure. There were barracks filled with beds, dining halls crowded with tables, even a library lined with books. Though there was certainly a generator powering the bunker — they were staring at a computer feed, after all — such luxury did not extend to every aspect of the facility. Simple oil lamps lit the majority of the space, giving the footage an ominous hue, as if they were staring at an ancient castle.
Despite the dim lighting, each room was buzzing with activity.
Throughout the facility, robed men tended to their duties of preparing food, sweeping floors, and refilling the lamps that lined the walls. Regardless of the task, they went about their business with humble efficiency. Every act seemed to have a purpose. And every disciple seemed to know his place.
It had the look and feel of a monastery.
Only these monks would kill for their cause.
Cobb stepped away from the computer and pondered their situation while McNutt and Sarah grabbed something to eat. Cobb had seen enough to know that they needed a plan — one that didn’t involve them charging into certain death while Garcia watched on his laptop. Even with tricks and surprises, he knew it would be impossible to take on the vast number of soldiers below without an army of his own.
There had to be a way to get inside.
All Cobb had to do was figure it out.
Before he had the chance, Garcia leaped from his chair and pointed at the video as if he had seen a ghost. ‘Jack! Look at this! Now!’
Unsettled by his urgency, everyone huddled around the screen.
There, chained to the wall, was Jasmine.
73
The arrangement between Cobb and Hassan was simple: Cobb wanted to rescue Jasmine without being chased by goons, and Hassan wanted to kill the men who blew up Alexandria. Though they weren’t exactly working together to accomplish their goals, they had agreed to assist each other for the time being.
Or, at the very least, stay out of each other’s way.
Cobb still had plenty of reservations about Hassan, but he knew the gangster had one thing at his disposal that he didn’t have: a legion of gun-toting thugs who would happily charge into battle if it meant winning favor with their boss.
With this in mind, Cobb had placed a call to Simon Dade, who was running down leads of his own in Alexandria while being shadowed by the giant Kamal, and told him to get word to the crime lord about the compound in the Western Desert.
As for details, Cobb would only provide the GPS coordinates of where to meet, rather than directions to the bunker itself. Cobb knew it would take several hours for Hassan to rally his troops and drive across Egypt. This had given Cobb and McNutt plenty of time to do a rekky, tap into the surveillance system, and formulate a plan of attack.
By 4 a.m. the caravan from Alexandria had made it to the staging ground a few miles east of the bunker. Cobb had chosen this particular patch of desert for its proximity to the thoroughfare that ran between el-Bawiti and Siwa. The spot was accessible, yet secluded. It was far enough away from the bunker to avoid the enemy’s patrol, but it was close enough to mount an attack. And their arrival in the dead of night would give them at least a few hours before anyone questioned their presence.
Hassan’s men were ready for battle.
All they needed was a target.
When Cobb arrived at the rendezvous point, he expected to see an assortment of beat-up trucks and a ragtag group of criminals. Instead, he saw a fleet of Humvees lined up across the sand and scores of men in desert camouflage. For a moment, Cobb wondered if the Egyptian military had somehow gotten wind of Hassan’s activity and had moved in to intercede. But then he saw Kamal, whose unmistakable size stood head and shoulders above the others, and instantly understood who these men were.
Hassan hadn’t rounded up a bunch of street thugs.
This was his personal battalion.
Cobb approached the lead car — an opulent Mercedes-Benz G-Class fit for a prince — and sensed that all guns were trained on him. Kamal quickly stepped forward to cut him off before Cobb could knock on the tinted window. From that action alone, he knew that Hassan was sitting inside the luxury SUV.
‘Where’s Simon?’ Cobb asked as the two men came face to chest.
‘Safe,’ Kamal replied. ‘In car.’
Cobb shook his head. ‘Tell your boss that Simon comes with me. You don’t need him anymore. Tell him that once Dade is free, I’ll lead you and the others to the Muharib stronghold. You can kill them all as far as I’m concerned. I just want the girl.’
Kamal retreated to the Mercedes and spoke through a crack in the lowered window. A moment later, the rear door opened and Dade exited. As he walked toward Cobb, it was clear that he had expected his host to kill him and bury him in the desert.
‘Well, I guess I owe you again,’ Dade said.
‘Nope, just Sarah,’ Cobb replied. ‘She was worried about you, by the way.’
‘Good to know. Where is she?’
Cobb smiled as he extended his hand. ‘She’s sitting this one out.’
Dade thought the greeting was odd until he felt the small earpiece in Cobb’s palm. He fought the urge to smile as he took the device and slipped it into his ear while he pretended to adjust the stocking cap on his head. ‘Sorry I missed her.’