The Pharaoh's Secret (NUMA Files 13)

As Kurt ran off, Joe pressed the gas pedal down and moved deeper into the corridor, looking for the elevator. He really wasn’t interested in blasting apart the quickest way out, but if he had to, then that’s what he’d do.

59

Shakir and Hassan ran down the hall and came out into the large open room with the golden Sphinx, the ancient boat and the collection of sarcophaguses. As they ran past the boat, their feet splashed throu

gh an inch of water.

“The complex is flooding,” Shakir said.

“That makes no sense,” Hassan replied. “The pumps are still on. I can hear them.”

The water could be seen bubbling up in the low spots. Shakir knew exactly what had happened. “They’ve reversed the water flow. Instead of draining the aquifer, they’re pressurizing it.”

“If that’s true, we have a problem,” Hassan said. “This room was flooded when we found it. It will flood again. We have to get out of here.”

Shakir was disgusted. “You really are a coward, Hassan. There are only three of them! Better we kill them and set the pumps back to normal.”

“But they’re in some kind of tank.”

“It’s an armored car,” Shakir said, having gotten a good look at it. “Where they got it from, I have no idea, but it’s not indestructible. All we need is a trap and better weapons. Go to the armory, get some RPGs and bring them back here.”

Hassan glanced around the room. “Come on,” he said to the soldier who was with them.

As the two men ran off, Shakir positioned himself near the center of the room. He spotted another one of his men heading for the outlet tunnel. “Stay and fight,” he shouted.

The man ignored him, racing up the ramp toward the access tunnel. Shakir raised his pistol and fired several shots, hitting the man as he reached the top. The deserter fell and tumbled off the edge of the ramp, dropping into the crocodile pit. The hungry crocs were on him in a second.

—

Hassan used his key code to open the armory door. Inside lay racks of assault rifles, boxes of ammunition and, against a far wall, a set of Russian-made RPGs. He handed one to the soldier who’d come with him. “Get this to Shakir,” he said.

The man didn’t question the order and took off running.

Hassan spent a moment checking another of the RPGs and then, when he was sure he was alone, moved to a phone. The hardwired line was connected through the control room to the station on the surface. He hoped the line wasn’t out.

After seconds of static, the voice of the section leader came on the line. “Give me Scorpion,” Hassan said.

Scorpion came on the line. “I’m headed to the elevator with two squads of men.”

“Send them on without you,” Hassan replied. “And meet me at the third exit, the old salt mine tunnel,” he said. “Bring a Land Rover. We’ll need to travel quickly.”

Scorpion didn’t question the order. Hassan hung up. The water was swirling around his ankles. It was seeping into the cave from a thousand cracks in the ground. He had no desire to drown down here. He went to the door, looked down the tunnel that led to the burial chamber and took off running in the other direction.

Live to fight another day.

—

Shakir waited in the burial chamber. The first soldier came running with an RPG over his shoulder, but where was Hassan?

Before he could question his subordinate, another figure dashed into the room, coming from the opposite direction.

It was the Italian woman. She was cutting across the open floor toward the laboratory tunnel. She appeared to be covered in dust. With the reduced lighting, she was well inside the room before Shakir noticed her. But that was her undoing.

Shakir crouched down and waited. She would make a perfect bargaining chip. The Americans were soft. For a beautiful woman, they wouldn’t be able to surrender fast enough.

As she neared the center of the room, the crocodiles roared in their containment pool, fighting over the surprise feeding that had come their way moments before.

The sound distracted her, and Shakir lunged forward, grabbing her and knocking the machine gun out of her hand.