Текст книги "26 - Storm Cycle "

Автор книги: Iris Johansen

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For God's sake, Egypt.

THREE

"I'm going to die, aren't I?" Ben whispered.

"Hell, no. We still have air, and that means that we can survive. I managed to clear some of those rocks away, and it looks like the rest of the tomb may be fairly clear." Tavak stared down at Ben's bruised and bloody torso. Damn. "I just don't want to move you just yet."

"I don't think there's—" Ben's words drifted off as he lost consciousness.

Shit.

Tavak checked his vital signs. Ben's heartbeat was fainter than it had been just a few minutes before. He had to get him out of here before long, or he could die. How? He'd have to go it alone and come back for Ben. But even if he made it through the rubble, he'd still be a sitting duck when he reached the entrance to the tomb.

He leaned back against the wall, his gaze resting on the woman in the mural on the far wall.

Peseshet.

She looked powerful, serene, and uncaring that she'd drawn him into this hellhole of a tomb. "You're right, it's not your fault," he murmured. "I got my ass into this, and it's up to me to get my ass out of it."

If he was careful, and lucky, he'd be able to make it to the surface. But once on the outside of the tomb, he'd need someone to run interference. Who could he trust that could get here fast enough?

No one.

All right, then who was clever and determined enough to jump over the obstacles and make it happen anyway? Think, dammit.

A name jumped into his mind. He rejected it instantly, then he stopped and began to think.

Possibly.

If he could furnish motivation, and he thought he could.

Yes.

He reached in his backpack for his computer and flipped it open. "Okay, Peseshet, let's go for it… "

* * *

Rachel and Simon were halfway to the lab in Galveston, and she had just begun to check the network links binding Jonesy to the relay in Galveston when she heard the tonal signal that she had e-mail.

Dammit. She didn't want to get out of the program now.

"Are you going to answer it?" Simon asked.

"Of course, I'll at least see who it is. Allie sometimes e-mails me." She saved the program and went into e-mail. Three old messages from Norton, one from Val, and the latest one from a John Tavak.

"Who the hell is—" She stiffened. "Holy smoke, this message didn't come directly to this laptop. It was transferred from Jonesy."

"What?"

"You heard me. It was transferred from Jonesy's closed network."

"How?"

"I don't know how. It should be impossible. But I'm going to find out, dammit." She clicked open the document.

Hello, Rachel Kirby, I do hope you don't blow this message away. I don't think you will since I took the precaution of sending it through your beloved computer. Curiosity alone should make you read it. I'm writing this from a Fourth Dynasty tomb in Saqqara, and I'm not in the best situation that—

"Saqqara… " Her shocked gaze flew to Simon's face. "Egypt. Simon, it's from Egypt."

"I'll be damned," Simon murmured.

"You're not the one who should be damned," Rachel said through set teeth. "This has to be the bastard who has been tapping Jonesy."

"Why would he decide to contact us now and let us know who he was?"

That was what Rachel was wondering. Her gaze shifted back to the monitor.

By now you're trying to guess why I'm blowing my cover. The reason is pure self-preservation. I'm in something of a fix and I had a talk with Peseshet and she suggested that you were the answer to saving my neck. Not that you' d probably want to do it. And since Peseshet has been dead for over four thousand years, she may be considerably out of touch. But since I've been thinking of the two of you as mirror images of each other, I thought I'd give it a shot.

There's not much time. I have a wounded friend and partner who may die if I don't get him out of this tomb. Unfortunately, once we reach the surface, there will probably be a few scumbags waiting who will want to kill us both. Not a good choice.

Good riddance, you're thinking. I can't blame you. So I thought I'd better throw something out that would pique your interest.

Peseshet.

Look her up. You won't find much but she'll intrigue you. She was the overseer of a staff of female physicians in the time of the pyramids. Her son's tomb is in the Louvre in Paris. She was totally brilliant, but not much was known about her.

But I know a good deal about her, and I'm going to know everything before I'm done. The tidbit that might interest you is that she claims to have found a way to regenerate damaged cells of the central nervous system. It wasn't high on her list. She seems to have been more interested in other cures. Cancer and heart disease were her main focus, but she had more opportunity to experiment on the injured laborers who were building the pyramids. After six years she stated that she' d had almost total success. Her cures were always inscribed on tablets, and presumably could still be in existence. In fact, I've enclosed a portion of the cure that Peseshet created at the end of this message. Only a portion because that was all she teased us with. But it may be enough to excite you. Check it out. But at supersonic speed, please, because I don't have much time.

Interested? Of course, you are. And your next reaction is going to be anger and disgust that I' d use such an obvious ploy to get what I want from you. Justified since I've already stolen a hell of a lot from your Jonesy. When I was researching the potential for total cellular regeneration of the nervous system, I came across your name and the foundation you' d set up. Since I needed massive amounts of cycles to do the research to help me locate those tablets, it appeared that fate had taken a hand. I could find your cure and snatch a billion or so for myself by selling her cures to the world. We' d both be happy.

But to do that, I have to stay alive. I know you're desperate, and I'm counting on it. You're looking for a miracle, and if you find a way to save my bacon, I promise I'll perform one for you. I've enclosed directions to the tomb where I'm waiting rather impatiently to be rescued by you. Peseshet thinks you can do it.

I agree with her.

John Tavak

"Who the hell is John Tavak?" Simon said. "Besides being an opportunist beyond the scope of imagination."

"I never heard of him." Rachel couldn't take her gaze from the message in front of her. "I should ignore this e-mail, shouldn't I?"

"He's trying to manipulate you."

"Yes. The chances are that it's all a bunch of crap."

Total cellular regeneration.

"He's a criminal. He's dangling that cure like a carrot before a donkey."

"But he's absolutely brilliant. We both agreed that he had to be a genius to be able to do what he did with Jonesy."

"He's a criminal," Simon repeated.

Total cellular regeneration.

"What if he's telling the truth?"

"Rachel, get a grip. He's trying to use you."

I know how desperate you are.

Oh, yes, she was desperate, and he was ruthlessly playing on that feeling of mounting panic.

"Rachel."

"Do you think I'm blind?" she asked fiercely. "I don't give a damn if he's trying to manipulate me. I'd let the devil himself use me if he could promise me a cure for Allie."

"Promises are cheap."

"But life isn't cheap. Allie's life isn't cheap. And it has to be bought and paid for any way I can do it."

"You're going to do it."

"Maybe." She cleared the screen. "Let's see if he told the truth about the only thing I can check. What was her name? Peseshet." The information about the woman physician was scanty, just as Tavak had said it would be. "Not much here. But she was an important physician, and part of her son's tomb is in the Louvre."

"That doesn't mean anything. You're crazy, Rachel."

"Probably." She looked at a photograph Tavak had embedded in his message. It featured a portion of a stone tablet, along with a translation of the carvings. "It says here that the principal ingredient of her treatment was the crushed bones of Horus."

"What's a horus?" Simon asked.

"Horus is the name of an Egyptian god, but it probably means something else in this context. I'll send this to Dr. Carson at Allie's foundation and ask him to look at it and report back immediately."

"You're actually going to try to save the bastard."

"If I can. 'If' is the key word." She activated the portable printer and punched a button that printed out the directions to the Saqqara tomb. "If he's in that tomb, if he's telling the truth, if he can deliver what he promised."

Simon's lips twisted. "A miracle."

"A miracle," she repeated. "My miracle." Her smile was tiger bright. "And if he doesn't produce it, I'll cut his nuts off."

* * *

It was done.

Tavak shut down the computer. Rachel wouldn't reply to the e-mail. She would either act or she wouldn't. He would have to wait and see if she made her move. Or left him to rot down here.

His gaze went to Peseshet sitting on her throne, serene and confident and completely uncaring of whether he lived or died.

But Rachel Kirby would care if he'd convinced her that he could give her what she wanted.

"She's a hard nut to crack," he said softly. "Kind of like you, Peseshet. I think you would have liked her. Or maybe not. You were pretty damn arrogant with all those healers you oversaw. You and Rachel might have come to blows. It would have been something to see. I wish that I—"

Ben was coughing. Perspiration was filming his face. Fever? Dammit, Tavak could only give it a little more time, then he'd have to leave him, head for the surface, and make his play.

His gaze wandered back to the mosaic on the wall. "If you've got any influence with her, I wouldn't complain if you hurried Rachel along a bit. After all, we're trying to make a damn goddess of medicine of you."

But she already knew she was a goddess. Just as Rachel knew exactly what and who she was.

He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall.

Come on, ladies, let's get the show on the road.

* * *

"What are we waiting for?" Sorens asked Charles Dawson. "They've got to be dead. Let's go in."

"Don't be impatient." Dawson settled himself more comfortably outside the tomb, his hand grasping the stock of the M16. "Tavak is unpredictable and has as many lives as a cat. We'll wait and see if he surfaces. It's much safer staying out here and picking them off than having to worry about him ambushing us in the dark." He smiled. "Everything comes to he who waits. You've never learned that, Sorens."

Sorens shrugged and turned away.

Donald Sorens was clear as glass, Dawson thought with impatience. He believed he was an egotistical bastard and was salivating to find a way to take him down. It's not going to happen, Sorens. There are people who were meant to lead and people who were meant to serve. You're way down on the food chain.

He turned to Ali, who was hovering a few feet away, and said mockingly, "You've been shaking in your shoes since the explosives went off. I take it you're in no hurry to rush down into the depths?"

Ali shook his head. "I'm not going down there. It could collapse and I—" He stopped as he met Dawson's gaze. "It wouldn't be safe," he finished lamely.

"But it would be less safe if I had to go down there without a guide, wouldn't it?" he asked softly. "And if I were forced to do that, I really couldn't let you walk away from here. So I think that you should be content to keep me company."

Ali moistened his lips. "Of course. Whatever you say."

"I thought you'd have second thoughts." Dawson's gaze shifted back to the tomb opening. Ali was a complete asshole, and he was tempted to break the slimy toad's neck. But he knew Kontar's tomb, and Dawson might need him once he got down to Peseshet's chamber. He felt a flicker of excitement as he thought of that chamber and the bitch who ruled it.

If there was a chamber. Tavak had thought it existed and had Ali mark off the possible route to reach it. It had been amusing to have Tavak prepare the way for him, and he was beginning to feel eager and excited.

Are you dead, Tavak?

God, I hope not. There are so few men who can make me stretch and give me a challenge. Tavak was the leader Sorens could only dream of being. It was a pity Dawson couldn't let him survive.

Why was he lying to himself? There was no way he'd let Tavak live. Dawson might enjoy that challenge on some level, but the hatred he felt toward Tavak was a constant burning and tearing that had driven him since he'd been hired to do this job. Sometimes he even dreamed about the son of a bitch and woke up in a rage.

But he would let him live for a little while.

Yes, live, Tavak. I want you alive and able to talk.

A few hours of "persuasion" and he'd know everything Tavak knew about Peseshet's tablet.

Then he could permit himself to toy with him and loose all the corroding fury inside him. He would no longer have to remember the humiliation Tavak had heaped on him. It would all be erased. He would be the superior one, as he should be.

And when Tavak was broken, then he could let him die… slowly.

* * *

Norton leaned forward in his desk chair and squinted at the caller ID screen on his phone. Rachel Kirby.

Bitch.

He'd just been told that she'd practically ripped the IV out of her arm and fled the hospital with one of her lab assistants. But at least now she was calling him. In the two years he'd known her, his only decent chance of an actual conversation with her was if he climbed into his car and schlepped to the university. The prima donna couldn't be bothered with returning his phone calls.

He punched the talk button. "This better be good news, Kirby."

"It is. You'll have all the processing power you need within twenty-four hours."

Her voice sounded tense. Jangly. Not the icy-cool Rachel Kirby he knew and detested. Maybe their conversation had had more effect than he'd thought. "Is that a promise?"

"It's an offer."

"What do you mean?"

"You need to do something for me. There's no time for explanations or bargaining. And it has to be done immediately."

"There's always a catch, isn't there?"

"You haven't heard the catch yet. I'm talking about something that needs to be done seven thousand miles from here."

"What?"

"Outside Cairo. I know you have the capability. What happens when you get intel about a possible terrorist?"

"Is that what we're talking about here?"

"No. But you'll need to use whatever contacts you have in place."

"You're insane. You want the CIA, not me."

"Don't tell me you don't have a finger in every dirty mud puddle in or out of the U.S. If you can't help me, you can pull strings to make it happen."

"Why should I bother?"

"Whoever has been siphoning off our computing cycles is in Egypt. He's gotten himself into a jam. He needs a bit of rescuing."

"This isn't what the NSA does, Kirby."

"What about when one of your own gets into trouble? You'd pull in all the help you could get. Tap some favors with the CIA. Besides, the NSA is very good at furthering its own interests. That's exactly what you'd be doing."

"But a rescue mission? It sounds like if we do nothing, it's a problem that will take care of itself."

"I don't want it to take care of itself. The man who's responsible is John Tavak, and I need to talk to him. He's responsible for Jonesy's brain drain, and he has some other information I need."

"Dammit, I thought your system was secure. If any of my projects have been compromised… "

"Your information is safe. I designed the entire network to go down if there was that kind of breach."

"But this Tavak person obviously managed to get past your other safeguards. Why should I trust that—"

"I know better than to believe you'd trust anyone or anything," she interrupted. "If you have concerns, you can talk to him yourself. But you'll need to hurry, or he'll be dead and not any use to either of us."

The bitch was cold as ice and trying to ram her agenda down his throat. He'd love to tell her to go to hell. But he wasn't going to do it. He needed her damn computer, and she was the keeper of that particular temple. "How quick would I have to move?"

"The sooner the better. Four hours tops."

Norton swore beneath his breath. "I can't put together a job that fast."

"You can if you want to do it."

"Just to get back what you owe me? Go screw yourself."

She was silent. "I think you're about to do that to me, Norton. Spit it out."

"I want my processing cycles back plus a reserve of a third more to be used at my direction."

"You son of a bitch."

"Take it or leave it."

She didn't answer for a moment. "I'll give you an additional fourth of power and only for the next three weeks."

"A third."

"Good-bye, Norton."

It was time to back away. He had satisfactorily taken her down a peg and gotten his own back. He might be able to squeeze some more after he got his hands on Tavak. "I won't be greedy. I don't want to take anything away from your medical research groups. I'll accept your offer."

"You're all heart," she said sarcastically. "I'll give you the GPS coordinates and all the other information Tavak gave me. Get moving, Norton."

CAIRO, EGYPT

Nuri settled back in his chair at the outdoor cafe and tapped the bowl of the hookah. He cast a glance around. It was almost 1 A.M. and the place was packed, just like most of the other cafes along al-Azhar Street. He closed his lips around the wooden mouthpiece and sucked a lungful of double-apple-molasses tobacco smoke.

The cafe's owner had been a friend of his late father's, and he'd recently been victimized by a group of thugs offering "protection" for his cafe. Nuri offered to confront the hoodlums on their next visit and show them the error of their ways.

How did his father's friend know to come to him? Nuri wondered. They hadn't seen each other in years. Had his reputation really spread that far?

No matter. He would take care of those thugs.

There was a squealing of tires at the curb. Nuri turned to see a familiar pickup truck loaded with six men and three canvas-covered crates.

Nizam was behind the wheel. He called out the window. "Get in. We have a job."

"What's the pay?"

"Trust me. You'll want to do this one."

Nuri glanced at the men sitting in back. They were Nizam's best and most expensive, and he guessed that there was enough artillery under the canvas wraps to fight a small war.

Nuri walked over to Nizam. "CIA? MI6?"

"Does it really matter?"

"Of course not."

"Then get in."

SAQQARA, EGYPT

It was time to move.

Dawson motioned to Sorens. "No Tavak. We go after them. Has Kipler rigged the other charge on the other side of the tomb?"

Sorens nodded. "But why bother? Let's just use the entrance."

"No. There's no way we're going to go barreling down that main corridor. One blast to give us access and one final blast to destroy the tomb once and for all. It's cleaner this way."

Kipler finished setting his charge and gave the thumbs-up sign.

Dawson nodded. "Blow it."

Kipler turned his back to the tomb entrance and twirled his finger to indicate for the others to do the same. He raised a small black box, pressed a button on its top surface.

A muffled explosion opened up a hole in the sand.

Dawson smiled. "See? No major cave-in and we have our very own entrance. Flashlights, everybody. Johnson, you stay out here and keep watch."

Kipler joined them as Dawson, Sorens, and Ali turned on their high-powered flashlights and crawled through the hole. The rubble had formed a makeshift staircase for them to maneuver to the tomb's main level.

"Where's Peseshet's chamber located, Ali?" Dawson asked.

"I'm not sure. It should be right around the corner," Ali gasped. "I can't breathe. I knew we should have come in the main entrance."

"You're not sure? You'd better be right, Ali."

A few minutes later they rounded the corner and through the ruin of stone and debris he caught a glimpse of the gold-flaked mural on the far wall.

"Holy shit, it's actually here," Dawson murmured. "Tavak found her. I shouldn't have—" Kipler stepped forward, but Dawson blocked his path. "Wait a minute. Do you see Tavak?"

Kipler motioned toward the rubble. "No way he survived this."

"You think not? I once saw him survive a—"

Gunshots. Aboveground, outside the tomb.

"What the hell?" He whirled toward the entrance, where pounding footsteps echoed in the next chamber. He and Kipler raised their weapons.

Johnson appeared, running toward them. "Eight men in a truck," he said breathlessly. "Lots of artillery. They could be following me in here."

Dawson muttered a curse as fury tore through him. He had been so close. Close to Peseshet's secrets and close to killing that bastard, Tavak. "You're sure we're that outnumbered?"

Johnson nodded. "And they're too well equipped. I saw at least two AK-47s. They're not Egyptian police. They opened fire as soon as they saw me."

"It doesn't matter who they are. We have to get out of here now. Head for the front entrance of the tomb. They'll probably be following Johnson down the hole we blew." Dawson reached into his bag and pulled out a camera. "Don't stop for anything. Open fire if you see so much as a shadow."

"But our own men are—"

"It doesn't matter. If those bastards take positions inside, we're finished. Move!"

Johnson and Kipler ran through the chamber with their guns ready.

Dawson turned with his camera and squeezed off several photos of the mural wall behind him. He had come prepared to cart it away, but this would have to do. Maybe he could come back later and get a closer look. Dammit!

Are you here, Tavak? Did the bitch give up her secrets to you?

It didn't matter.

Dawson bolted for the entrance, jamming the camera back into his bag even as he checked the ammo cartridge of his semiautomatic. Now that he knew the mural was here, he wouldn't stop until he knew everything it had to reveal. And every instinct was telling him that Tavak was still alive. He wouldn't be cheated for long.

Just a postponement, Tavak.

* * *

Gunfire. Automatic weapons. At least one was an AK-47, Tavak could tell and there was no mistaking the sharp reports from a pair of M9s. A battle was raging outside the tomb.

But why?

He had heard Charles Dawson's unmistakable voice in the adjacent chamber, then the sound of men running. Dawson wanted to kill him almost as much as he wanted Peseshet's priceless treasure. Why hadn't he tried to follow through?

More running footsteps coming down the corridor toward the chamber where he and Ben lay.

Dawson again?

He slumped to one side and closed his eyes.

"I've found him." Someone was kneeling beside him, turning him over.

In an instant Tavak snapped his arm around the man's neck and jumped to his feet. There were four other men in the chamber, he realized quickly. Before they could react, Tavak had the man's gun and was using him as shield. "Step back. Or I'll blow his head off."

"That's most uncordial of you," a tall, bearded man with an AK-47 cradled in his arm said. "But Abu probably deserves it for being so careless."

Tavak's gaze circled the men in the room. All bronze-skinned, all carrying weapons. "Where's Dawson?"

"If that was the man who was shooting at us outside, I assume he's on his way back to Cairo. He didn't seem eager to stay." He shrugged. "We let him go. Our job was just to see that you were safe."

"Who are you?"

"Nizam. I assume you are John Tavak." He added, "Would you please release Abu. He's looking a little pale. I don't believe he likes that gun at his head."

"Your job? Who sent you?"

Nizam ignored the question as his gaze fell on Ben. "He does not look well." He gestured. "Nuri."

Nuri quickly knelt beside Ben and opened a large medical kit. He prepped a hypodermic needle.

"Don't touch him," Tavak said. "Or your friend, Abu, will be on his way to paradise."

"It is only midiocane," Nuri said. "He's gone into shock. If I wanted to kill him, I'd do it with something less subtle." He looked at Tavak. "May I?"

Tavak hesitated. He wasn't sure what was going on, but he had to rely on instinct. He slowly nodded.

Nuri injected a clear substance into Ben's chest.

"Are you a medic?"

Nuri nodded. "By talent, not occupation. We need to get your friend to a hospital."

"Will he be okay?"

"Difficult to say. But we'll get him the very best help."

"We mean you no harm," Nizam said. "You have very strong allies, Mr. Tavak. We've been well paid to see that you come out of this tomb alive."

Tavak believed him. Take a chance. He released Abu and pushed him away from him. "You still haven't told me by whom."

"My employers prefer that I keep their names confidential," Nizam said. "Now it is time we left this place. We not only have to worry about the Egyptian police but the return of the man who was so eager to kill you."

Two of Nizam's men unfolded a stretcher made of canvas and long wooden dowels. Under Nuri's direction, they gently moved Ben onto it.

Tavak glanced at the mural of Peseshet. Nizam was right, Dawson might very well return. If he'd had time, he might have photographed the mural, but there was a chance he might think it necessary to get a closer look. He'd not gotten what he wanted, and the bastard would never give up. "Why don't you go on to the hospital with Ben? I'd like to stay here for a little while."

"You wish to confront your enemy." Nizam shook his head. "That was not my orders. You must come with us."

"Must? That doesn't sound very friendly."

"I am most friendly." He smiled and gestured with the AK-47. "Come along, my friend. Let me complete my mission with nothing but the happiest of endings."