The Chosen One

Jethwa clearly didn’t like the ongoing discussion he couldn’t understand. He pulled the infidel woman closer, obviously upset at the conversation in the incomprehensible foreign tongue. He pressed the knife against her throat. A gaunt, red trail trickled down her neck.

“Release them if you wish to live,” Abernathy said. She repeated his words in Arabic.

The indignant mullahs stared at him, their ire all-encompassing.

“Porter, you got him?” Abernathy said without taking his eyes from the hostages.

“Yep.”

“I’ll take the other one. Sanders, get ready to grab both Americans the moment we fire.”

Only the smallest part of the Pan-Arabs was exposed. There was no margin for the slightest miscalculation. Porter knew his kill would have to be perfect. If it wasn’t, the mullah would slit her throat before Sanders could get to her.

“Now,” Abernathy said.

Both fired at the same instant. The bullets whizzed by, passing no more than a millimeter from the captives’ ears. The raucous gunfire consumed the resonating space. Behind the slain forms, the seasoned stone was splattered with exploding brain cells. Each was dead before the knife fell from his hand. They slumped against the stained wall and slid onto the floor.

Wells let out a terrifying scream.

Sanders rushed forward, grabbing the pair. He hurried them to the opposite wall. Porter and Abernathy trained their M-4s on the slender opening at the end of the space.

“How many are in the final room?” Abernathy asked.

“Aw . . . I’m not certain,” the visibly unnerved Wells said, trying to regain her composure. “People are constantly coming and going. What do you think, Chuck, probably about six or eight?”

“That sounds about right,” her cameraman said.

“Do they have any weapons?”

“Yes . . . maybe . . . I don’t know!” she said. “We were only in there once, and at the time I wasn’t in a position to notice.”

“Okay. I sure hate to lose a rifle, but we can’t take a chance with either of your lives. Sanders, give us your rucksack then get them to safety,” Abernathy said. “Collect Captain Morrow on the way and get him medical attention as fast as you can. If we don’t come out in the next twenty minutes, seal the entrance and wait for orders from the group commander.”

Sanders nodded, pulled the canvas bag up over his head, and handed it to Porter. He motioned for the hostages to follow as he headed toward the way out.

“What about my equipment?” Chuck said. “If I leave it, I’ll probably never see it again.”

Abernathy glanced at the cameras and satellite equipment. “All right, gather it up real fast and take whatever you can carry.”

* * *

—

Sanders was soon escorting the captives toward the distant entranceway. As they started into the Grand Gallery they stepped over the bodies of General el-Saeed and the dead mujahideen. When they reached the far side and entered the restrictive tunnel, Captain Morrow awaited. His unseeing eyes were set in a fixed stare. After verifying his commander was dead, Sanders decided that for the moment he’d no choice but to leave the body where it lay and lead his charges to safety.

75

7:18 P.M., NOVEMBER 6

THE GREAT PYRAMID COMPLEX

THE GIZA PLATEAU

Porter and Abernathy had reached the far edge of the final, short passage. The King’s Chamber was inches away. One more room to conquer and the war would end.

Despite everything he tried, with those in the burial vault hidden by the large sarcophagus near the opposite end, Porter couldn’t identify how many were present. He did, however, recognize the sounds of ammunition magazines being loaded, rounds chambered, and safeties released. The unidentified force within the eternal crypt definitely had weapons.

* * *

—

Upon the contested plateau, the fractious fighting was nearing its end. The swarming fighter aircraft and unyielding Marines had seen to that.

Crouching inside the wind-crusted barrier’s weatherworn crevice, Muhammad Mourad stared at the lifeless mujahideen lying in front of him. A few feet away, the misshapen bodies of the dead Stinger gunners were tossed in a brutal heap. The singular purpose for the infidels’ frenetic raid was unmistakable. He knew they’d come for him. He realized what the result would be if they discovered his presence. Even so, his faith wasn’t shaken in the slightest. Allah would protect him, of that he was certain. He was also just as convinced his God would expect him to use the infinite gifts he’d been given to find a way to save himself.

He looked at the silent images in front of him. The Americans would be after a diminutive man dressed in peasant clothing. He had to fool his determined pursuers in order to have any opportunity to escape. His sole chance was to somehow change how he looked. There weren’t many options. He couldn’t put on one of the mujahideen uniforms. The infidels would shoot, without question, anyone so dressed. That left a single choice. He crawled over and started stripping the blood-drenched clothing from the smaller of the two air defenders.

* * *

—

Much to Erickson’s relief, with the arrival of the third pair of Hornets, the swaying battle turned toward the Americans. The bullish counterattack the small band of Marines in front of the Great Pyramid had anticipated never materialized. A few groups of disorganized defenders arrived to tangle with his men. Despite their efforts, they proved to be little more than an annoyance.

It didn’t take long for the platoon leader to realize the hilltop was nearly secure. The crimson-stained robes of the slain mujahideen were everywhere he surveyed. Nothing arose to threaten the tenacious Marines. The worst was past. Other than an occasional burst of gunfire, the onrushing night was almost serene.

* * *

—

When they reached the spot where the compressed passageway dead-ended into the original tunnel, Sanders stopped. It wouldn’t be much farther now. They were almost home.

It would be a relief to leave behind these spectral walls. Still he wasn’t about to let down his guard. Before heading up to the entranceway, he needed to alert those waiting outside of his presence. “Hey, guys . . . hey, Marines, don’t shoot, it’s Americans coming up the tunnel,” he called out. He peered up at the opening. “Did you hear me? We’re Americans.”

“We heard you just fine,” Erickson said. “Come on up.”

Wells couldn’t believe her ears. But there was no mistaking whose voice she had heard. Lauren would recognize it anywhere. For the first time in many days, she knew Sam was alive. The gritty reporter would soon exit the ancient gravesite with an unending smile upon her face.

* * *

—

Lying inside the short tunnel, out of sight of those within the final chamber, Porter and Abernathy reached into the rucksack and took out the shielding gear. They needed to shelter their eyes and ears from what was about to happen. The protective equipment in place, each soon gripped a stun grenade. Given the direction of the toss, both would have to use their left hands. Neither, however, was concerned about the added challenge. To bounce the cascading grenades off the wall behind the cowering Pan-Arabs they would only need to lob them a modest distance. And there was no need for the throws to be perfect. With the grenades’ ability to disable, especially in the encased space, all that was required was getting them close.

Unlike a fragmentation grenade, the ordnance they gripped wouldn’t explode in the conventional manner. Nor would it kill. Instead, each would send out a brilliant flash of light to blind for five to ten seconds and leave an “afterimage” that would keep the victim from focusing. Along with that would come a one-hundred-and-seventy-decibel soundwave creating hearing loss and damaging the middle ear. The resulting loss of equilibrium would temporarily incapacitate the enemy, allowing the Green

Berets to dispatch them all.

Porter and Abernathy grasped their grenades and pulled the first ring. With the grenade’s short fuse, the moment they pulled the secondary pin they had to toss them or risk losing a hand. They glanced at each other. Both were ready. Each made a second pull.

The final pins were out. They tossed the sailing ordnance toward the far wall. The moment it left their hands, they scooted toward the safety of the antechamber. With mere seconds remaining, each dove into the sheltering room. Both arching throws ran true. As the grenades hit the consecrated stones a few feet above their prey, the timers expired. Unimaginable levels of disconcerting sound and crippling light overwhelmed those inside. Behind the sarcophagus, their dazed forms were sprawled across the timeless granite.