The Chosen One

He wasn’t, however, completely confident in his findings. So he waited still longer.

Because the third defender was between the others, he nearly missed him. The first two’s presence masked his position. Yet eventually Porter picked him up. This time he was beginning to feel comfortable with his assessment. There were three people hidden within the gabled expanse. The existence of more was unlikely. Even so, now wasn’t the time to make a mistake. So Aaron Porter continued his keen observations.

Finally, he was ready. He held up three fingers, followed by further signs indicating where in the room their quarry would be. Without a sound, the Green Berets edged closer to the gallery’s opening. Porter had gone as far as he could go without being detected. He pressed against the left wall, making room for Abernathy to slide up next to him.

The mujahideen were great warriors. And General el-Saeed had earned his exalted position by his unquestioned bravery in many a barbarous battle. They were formidable adversaries.

But the Americans had no intention of underestimating their determined foe. Two rifle barrels slid ever so slowly out of the narrow opening. Even to their combat-savvy opponents, the movements were imperceptible. Porter and Abernathy aimed at the enclosed end of the hallway. The enemy was fifty yards away, shielded by the high step and the room’s upward angle. It would be a difficult shot, even for the world-class marksmen.

“Now,” Abernathy whispered.

Both fired. The bullets ripped through the lengthy space. On the left and right, the mujahideen were dead before the sound of the shot reached their ears.

General el-Saeed reacted with blinding speed. He opened fire upon the slender aperture at the far end of the gallery, releasing a long burst from his automatic weapon. He couldn’t see those hidden within, but it didn’t matter. The general’s bullets struck all around the opening. More than a few found their way into the restricting tunnel. Morrow yelped as a ricocheting round passed through the flesh on his left arm and continued on its way. Blood trickled onto the squalid stones.

El-Saeed fired another extended blast from his AK-47.

Porter and Abernathy unloaded their magazines into the remaining Pan-Arab. Round after round tore through the contested room. El-Saeed’s rifle dropped onto the floor below. He moved no more.

With a fresh magazine, the Green Berets lay where they were, making certain no one attempted to enter the space and challenge their presence.

“You all right, sir?” Abernathy whispered.

The captain didn’t respond. Abernathy looked behind him. To his surprise their commander was lying facedown upon the soiled floor. The concerned sergeant turned him over. Morrow grimaced from the girding pain of the careening bullet that had ripped through his chest. Every tortured breath was a wretched struggle. There was no question his injuries were critical. He needed immediate medical attention.

“We’ve got to get you out of here, sir,” Abernathy said. He reached for Morrow.

The detachment leader pushed him away. “Never mind me. Get Mourad.” Morrow dug at his side, taking out his Beretta and handing it to Abernathy. “Finish the mission, Sergeant. Kill the Chosen One, then we’ll take care of my wounds.”

Abernathy propped the anguished captain against the wall. With wounds this extensive, there was nothing he could do to help. They needed to eliminate the Mahdi without delay to have any chance of saving Morrow. Abernathy and Porter recognized, nonetheless, that the worst thing they could do was to rush the assignment and make a mistake. The immensely skilled soldiers begrudgingly accepted the need to stick with the original plan.

“Should we stay here?” Porter asked as he looked at Abernathy. “Or head over to the other side to wait for Sanders?”

“Let’s hold where we are,” his partner said. “We’re going to be most vulnerable while making the crossing. If we run into trouble, a third rifle will help.”

* * *

—

Sanders had heard the gunfire moments earlier. He’d instinctively frozen, waiting and listening. It had taken everything he had to resist the urge to go to his countrymen’s aid.

The shooting quickly stopped. He hesitated, uncertain of what to do. If his comrades were dead and their vanquishers came looking, his life would soon end. He knew the Marines were under orders to do nothing to assist the Special Forces detachment once they’d entered the tomb. This wasn’t their fight. And they weren’t prepared for such an operation.

Sanders threw off the impulse to deviate from his role. He was already too far underground to escape if anyone came looking. If the others had been killed and the Pan-Arabs pressed their advantage, he’d be trapped no matter what he did. So he set aside his fears and returned to crawling toward the pyramid’s underground reaches.

To his relief, he arrived at the staid room dug deep within the bedrock. The downward tunnel was empty. And the space at its end was hiding no one. He turned to rejoin the team.

* * *

—

Without incident, one at a time, the deft trio crossed the Grand Gallery. Porter stood next to the tunnel into the antechamber. The demure room at its end was a few feet away. With so short a distance, it would serve no purpose to attempt to move through undetected. If anyone was in the modest enclosure, the team’s best bet was to stand up the moment they could and dash inside with their rifles ready. And from Porter’s observations, there was no question someone was within the summoning space.

“How many?” Abernathy whispered.

“Two,” he replied. “They’re standing a few feet apart against the opposite wall. No . . . wait . . . there’s three, probably four of them. They threw me for a minute. They’re in two groups, extremely close together.” He got on his hands and knees, peering into the plaintive room.

“Do you see any weapons?”

Porter looked again. “No, but I can’t be certain.”

He listened for the telltale signs of a rifle’s safety being released or a round being chambered. Yet no such sounds appeared.

“All right,” Abernathy said. “Get set. With the way this place is configured we’ll have to rush them. But don’t fire unless you have to. I’d like to see if we can find out from whoever’s in there what we’re facing in the King’s Chamber.”

The able aggressors prepared to move. They’d enter single file with their backs bent, heads pressed against the low ceiling. As the tallest among them, Sanders would have the most difficulty.

For that reason, he’d trail his partners. Each knew he’d have to make a lightning-fast decision whether to shoot the instant he breached the room.

Porter led the mad scramble into the harboring niche.

The deadly group was soon standing inside the antechamber with their rifles raised. Against the far wall waited the final surprise of t

he mission. Lauren Wells and her cameraman were standing near the entryway leading into the burial tomb. Behind Wells, using her as a shield, was Kadar Jethwa. The sneering cleric was holding a long knife to her throat. One of Jethwa’s lieutenants was doing the same to her cameraman.

She frantically held out her hand. “Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! We’re Americans.”

The Green Berets hesitated. They could see the terror in the woman’s eyes. In the back of Sanders’s mind something told him she looked vaguely familiar. The Americans kept their rifles poised, but didn’t fire.

“Tell them to let us through, Miss Wells,” Jethwa said in Arabic. He peeked out with only the slightest portion of his face showing. “Once we’re given free passage, we’ll let you and your cameraman go.”

She repeated his demand in English. Until the threatening cleric had used her name, none of the soldiers had recognized who the prisoners were.

“Let us through or we’ll kill them here and now.” Jethwa brought the knife closer to her exposed jugular. There was no doubt the mullah meant what he said. Once again she translated.

“Is either of them the Chosen One?” Abernathy asked. She shook her head ever so slightly, indicating the answer was no. “Do they understand English?”

Wells took a chance and spoke. Her words were hurried and filled with angst. She knew they easily could be her last. “Not that I know of. Of all those inside the pyramid I’ve only heard Muhammad Mourad speak English. Listen, whatever you do, don’t release these two. If you let them go they’ll kill us for sure.”

“We’ve no intention of letting them go.”