"I didn't see anything," said General Metcalf.
"I saw it too," the President agreed. He leaned toward the microphone sitting on the table in front of him. "General Chandler?"
"Mr. President," the General replied swiftly.
"Dale Nichols swears he saw someone enter the tunnel after Pitt and Topiltzin."
"One of my aides thought he caught someone too."
"So I'm not seeing things," Nichols sighed.
"Do you have any idea who it might be?"
"Whoever it was," Chandler said, alarm showing on his face, "he wasn't one of ours."
"I see that you limp," said Capesterre.
"A little memento of your brother's mad scheme to murder President Hasan and Hala K l."
Capesterre gave Pitt a questioning look but he did not pursue the subject. His mind was taken up with keeping an eye on Pitt's every move while staying alert for the least sign of in trigue.
A little farther on the tunnel broadened into a circular gallery. Pitt slowed and came to a stop in front of a coffin supported on four legs that were carved in what looked like erect Chinese dragons. The entire work gleamed gold under the overhead lights. A stack of Roman legionary weapons leaned against one wall.
"Alexander the Great," Pitt announced. "The art and scrolls are stored in an adjoining chamber."
Capesterre moved closer in awe. He hesitantly reached out and touched the top of the casket. Then suddenly, he jerked his hand back and spun to face Pitt, his face a mask of rage.
"A trick!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the tunnels. "This is no two-thousand-year-old coffin. The paint isn't dry. " 'The Greeks were very advanced-"
"Shut up!" Capesterre's right sleeve fell away, exposing the revolver.
"No more smart talk, Mister Pitt-Where is the treasure?"
"Give me a break," Pitt begged. "We haven't hit the main depository chamber yet." He began to edge away from the coffin, feigning fear. He backed up until his shoulders touched the wall holding the ancient swords and spears. His eyes darted to the casket as if expecting its resident to sit up.
Capesterre caught the furtive glance and his lips glazed into a knowing smile. He pointed the revolver at the coffin. He pulled the trigger and four holes appeared on one side but exited in great shredded gouges on the opposite. The reports were deafening inside the rock chamber.
They sounded as if the gun was fired under a giant bell.
Capesterre took hold of the rid over the coffin's upper half. "Your backup, Mr. Pitt?" he snarled. "How simple-minded of YOU."
"There was no place to hide him," Pitt breathed regretfully. The green eyes showed no fear and his voice was tightly controlled.
Capesterre threw open the lid and stared inside. His face went deathly pate and he shuddered in horror before letting the lid drop with a loud thump. A low moan escaped his lips, growing into a long, drawn-out "no"
sound.
Pin turned slightly so the shield covered the movement of his right hand. He edged away from the chamber wall until he stood facing Capesterre's left side. Then he glanced uneasily at the hands of his watch. He was almost past his deadline.
Capester stepped fearfully toward the coffin again and lifted the lid; this time he let it fall open and backward. He forced himself to stare inside.
"Paul . . . it really is Paul," he stammerrd in shock.
"from what I was told," said Pitt, "President Hasan wasn't about to allow Akhmad Yazid's followers to entomb him in a shrine as a martyr. So the cadaver was led here where you two can lie together."
Grief slowly replaced shock as Capesterre stared at his brother. Then his face twisted in bitterness and he asked in a vicious undertone,
"What was your part in all this?"