The Sphinx

CHAPTER 24

“They’re stalling at UNAOC. The Russian Ivanoc now chairs the committee, and he’s afraid. It’s as if everyone is holding their breath hoping this deadline passes and nothing happens.” Lisa Duncan had just arrived back from Cairo, to find Mualama still sitting between the paws of the Sphinx, impatiently waiting. “Why do you not call for some help of your own?”

Duncan had considered calling in the Special Forces team from Area 51, but she had a feeling the Egyptians would react violently to such a blatant transgression of their national boundaries. And she wasn’t exactly confident that Mualama knew where he wanted to go or what he expected to find. An exact definition of what the Hall of Records would look like had been one fact absent from all the information the archaeologist had given her. Overriding that reasoning, though, was the fact that she wanted the team free to be able to help Turcotte, since it looked like he was more likely the one on the trail of the needed key.

“Everyone’s afraid to rock the boat… And who the hell are you?” Duncan was looking over Mualama’s shoulder at the robed figure that had just appeared out of the darkness.

“My name is Kaji.” The old man’s face was like part of the desert, his skin dark brown, full of deep lines. A worn turban was wrapped around his head, a gray robe over his frail shoulders.

Mualama turned in surprise. “The same Kaji who was with Professor Nabinger under the Great Pyramid?”

“There has always been a Kaji here. My father, and his father before him, and thus it has been for as long as there is a memory.”

“You were with von Seeckt when he opened the lower chamber of the Great Pyramid,” Duncan said.

“What does that matter?” Kaji asked. “That is the past.”

“It matters,” Duncan said. “You took von Seeckt’s dagger. Did you take anything else from the Germans?”

Kaji considered her. “You have something in mind?”

“I don’t have time to play,” Duncan said. “Did you take the Spear of Destiny from them?”

“No.” Kaji looked at Mualama. “You have been searching for many years. I have heard stories of the tall black man who travels far and asks many questions.”

“And your people have been trying to hide the truth from me every step I took,” Mualama said.

“My great-grandfather went with Burton into the Roads of Rostau and never returned,” Kaji said.

Duncan forced her way between the two men. “What do you want with us?” she asked Kaji.

Kaji shifted his gaze from the African to her. “I understand you have found something else. A key.”

“Christ!” Duncan exclaimed. “Is there any such thing as a secret anymore?”

“I know all that happens on the Highland of Aker,” Kaji said. “Do you have the key?” he pressed.

“Yes,” Duncan said.

“Then nothing is safe, and as it has been told through the generations of my family, it is time,” Kaji said. “I will take you to see what it is you seek.”

“I seek the Spear of Destiny,” Duncan said. “Is it here?”

Kaji’s answer was blunt. “I do not think so.”

“Then we’re wasting our time here,” Duncan said.

Mualama placed a large hand on her shoulder. “There is nowhere else to go. Your friend Turcotte is on the best possible trail for the Spear. What lies hidden here could be just as important.”

Duncan considered that. “Why is it time now?” she asked Kaji.

“No one has ever had the key before,” Kaji said simply.

“What is it the key to?” Duncan pressed. “The Hall of Records?”

“The truth,” Kaji said.

Duncan checked her watch. She knew there was nothing else she could do right now about the Spear… it was in Mike’s hands. If she could find something here, it might give her some leverage with Lexina. “All right. Let’s find the truth.”

Kaji extended a hand toward the causeway that led from the Sphinx to the Great Pyramid. “This way.”

Sweat had soaked through Turcotte’s shirt, drenching his combat vest. The access tunnel Yakov had discovered had immediately turned into a vertical shaft about fifteen feet wide that went up as far as the light from the small penlight could illuminate. Thin metal stairs ringed the shaft, and they had begun the long trip up.

Turcotte had no idea how long they had climbed, and the light showed no end yet. Even Yakov had to stop now every twenty or thirty sets of stairs and lean against the wall to catch his breath. Turcotte’s calves burned as he forced himself upward, one step at a time.

“Wait,” Yakov gasped, halting once more.

Turcotte didn’t have the energy to answer. Yakov turned off the penlight and the shaft was plunged into darkness. At least for the first minute. Then Turcotte noticed that he could make out, very faintly, the stairs above. “There’s a light on above us,” he noted.

Yakov nodded. “The top of the shaft.”

“Where do you think we’re coming out?” Turcotte asked.

“With the luck we have had,” Yakov said, “I would say the middle of Red Square during a military parade.”

“Our luck’s bound to change,” Turcotte said.

“But not necessarily for the better,” Yakov commented, then began climbing toward the light.

Kaji swung the gate open, the dark tunnel leading into the Great Pyramid beckoning.

“Why do you have access to the Pyramid?” Duncan asked as Kaji locked the gate behind them.

“I am the wedjat of the Highland of Aker,” Kaji said, as if that explained everything.

“What about Hassar?” Mualama asked as they headed down the entrance tunnel. “Hassar is a lackey of a government which fears secrets of their own past,” Kaji said.

Duncan was overwhelmed simply by the aura of the surroundings. The light from their flashlights disappeared into darkness far down the tunnel. She thought of the age of the Pyramid, the first men who had walked down this corridor when it was completed. The weight of stone above her, the sheer massiveness of it all. Even being on the deck of a Nimitz-class carrier was nothing compared to this. The sound of their shoes on the stone echoed off the rock walls and then into silence.

Kaji pointed. “That is the way up to the Queen’s Chamber, the Grand Gallery, and the King’s Chamber beyond.” He nodded his head toward a narrow tunnel that descended. “That is the way we must go.”

They went down. Duncan knew this was the way that von Seeckt must have gone over fifty years earlier. She imagined the SS soldiers scurrying down the same tunnel on their secret mission, and that brought to mind all that von Seeckt had told her.

Kaji suddenly stopped and put his hand on one of the stone blocks on the right side of the tunnel. The stone rotated, and a secret tunnel was opened to them.

“It has been many years since anyone has gone this way.” Kaji ushered them through.

They hustled down the tunnel, passing between the smoothly cut stone walls. Kaji paused once more, opening another stone block. Duncan could see that two tunnels, one on either side, were now open.

“To the right links back up with the lower chamber of the Great Pyramid,” Kaji said. “Where your von Seeckt and the Nazis found the black box.”

“If you are a Watcher, why did you guide the Nazis there?”

Kaji coughed and bent over to catch his breath before answering. “I didn’t. They knew where they wanted to go without needing assistance from me. I went along to see where they went and what they would do. And they were too many to stop. And by allowing them to find one of the six divisions of the Duat, the other five remained secret. Sometimes trade-offs must be made.” He pointed. “We go to the left.”

Duncan glanced at Mualama. She had a feeling both of the men were holding something back. She saw little reason for Kaji to guide them to the Hall of Records, and she didn’t think that Mualama had told all he knew.

She noted when they were no longer in the Pyramid, as the walls changed from stone blocks to a tunnel bored through solid rock.

“We are heading toward the Sphinx?” Mualama asked.

“Yes,” Kaji answered shortly.

“What is that noise?” Duncan asked, hearing a distant roar.

“The River of Aker.” Kaji was walking steadily down the tunnel, his leather sandals shuffling along the dusty floor. “The Nile makes a loop under the Highland and then back again.”

“How far do these tunnels go?” Duncan asked.

Kaji suddenly stopped and was looking at the wall on the right side. “I have not traveled all the tunnels, so I do not know.” He pressed his hand against the wall and the outline of a stone appeared, then slid up into a recess above. Duncan had never seen the likes of that technology, and she knew it had to be Airlia.

Kaji motioned for them to go through. They squeezed past and he followed, the door shutting behind them, the outline melding into the rock and disappearing.

Kaji began hacking, and Duncan knew from the sound that he was seriously ill. When he was able to get his breath, he pointed down the tunnel where darkness waited. “The Hall is that way.”

Duncan shined her flashlight where he pointed, but it was as if the very light was being sucked into the darkness. “What is that?” she asked.

“The Old Ones had strange ways,” Kaji answered. “You must go through the darkness to come into the light.”

“I think you should go first,” Mualama said.

Kaji shuffled forward and disappeared into the darkness.

“Do you trust him?” Duncan asked.

Mualama shook his head. “No. I believe his great-grandfather tried to kill Sir Burton down here.”

“Thanks for letting me know that now.”

Mualama stepped forward. “But we will never know what is on the other side unless we go.” He disappeared, leaving Duncan alone.

She stepped forward toward the darkness. It was unlike anything she had ever seen, as if the light were being absorbed by the air. Her ears popped from a decrease in pressure as she continued forward, moving by feel, totally blinded. Her stomach spasmed as she almost fell to her knees, but she forced herself to continue moving. The experiences reminded her of the feeling she’d had when Majestic had operated the gravity drive of the mothership in Hangar Two.

She blinked as she was abruptly blinded by light.

“That is the Hall of Records,” Kaji said, but Duncan barely heard him as she stared down at the Black Sphinx on the floor of the cavern.

Yakov shoved the grate at the top of the stairs away and climbed up, Turcotte following. They were in a room illuminated by a few bulbs. Turcotte blinked, adjusting to what was to him a brightly lit area. There were several large objects in the room, and he had to look at them for several minutes before he recognized what they were: elegant horse-drawn coaches.

“Where the hell are we?” Turcotte asked.

“Remember when I said luck could always get worse?” Yakov asked in turn. “If I am correct, we are in the basement of the Kremlin Armory.”

“And that’s bad?” Turcotte walked around one of the carriages to the lone door in the room, a thick heavy wooden one with metal bands across it.

“The Armory is where the greatest treasures of Russia are housed,” Yakov said. “These carriages were probably used by the czars… there is always an exhibition of one or two on the main floor. The Faberge eggs are housed above us; the crowns of the later czars; the Icon of the Virgin of Smolensk.”

“And?” Turcotte tried the handle on the door. It turned freely. As far as he was concerned, it seemed things were getting better.

“Do not open that door. I would wager you a large amount of money,” Yakov said, “that you will trip an alarm if you open it. And there is always a heavily armed platoon of guards on standby in the Armory itself and over a battalion of men stationed on the grounds of the Kremlin.”

Turcotte stopped turning the handle. Yakov came over and examined it, then pointed. “A laser along the inside. Open it more than a quarter inch, and you will trigger the alarm. There are many more such alarms once we get through the door. It is, as you Americans say, out of the frying pan, into the fire,” Yakov summed up his take on the situation.

Turcotte checked the AKSU. He had four rounds in the magazine and no spares. “How are you doing?” he asked Yakov.

The Russian held up the pistol. “Two bullets left. And I would prefer to kill as few of my countrymen who are just doing their job as possible.”

Turcotte reached into his shirt and pulled out the SATPhone. “Let me see if I can get us a fire extinguisher.”

The talon passed over the west coast of the United States, Warfighter and Stratzyda in its nearby wake. Four hundred miles below, millions of unsuspecting people went about their business in San Francisco.

Underneath Soda Lake in the center of Ngorongoro Crater, Lexina had tried calling Duncan once more but received no response. She went to the second number she had… direct access to the Cube at Area 51.

The SATPhone was answered on the first ring. “Major Quinn.”

“There is not much more time.” Lexina didn’t waste time on an introduction. “I want the key.”

“We’ll get you your key,” Quinn said. “It’s taking us a little while.”

“How can it take you so much time when you already have it? I will do as I promised. To show you I mean what I say, watch Stratzyda.” Lexina cut the connection. She turned to the black sphere and forwarded commands to the talon’s computer, which in turn controlled Stratzyda.

Directly over Oakland, two long doors that even the makers of Stratzyda had hoped would never be opened, slowly slid apart, revealing the blunt nosecones of the cobalt bomb reentry vehicles.

“Goddamn Russians” was Kincaid’s comment as the front screen relayed the view from a ground telescope of Stratzyda. “All the crap that went wrong with Mir, you’d think this wouldn’t work after all these years.”

“They’ve always been better at making weapons than anything else,” Major Quinn said.

“The President has this, doesn’t he?” Kincaid asked.

“It’s being relayed to the War Room,” Quinn confirmed. “But with Interdictor destroyed, there’s not much anyone can do.”

“Where the hell is Turcotte?” Kincaid muttered.

“Oh God!” Quinn exclaimed, looking up at the screen. “She isn’t waiting!”

With a puff of a small rocket firing, one of the reentry vehicles separated from Stratzyda. It moved away, gravity pulling it down, the small engine orienting its path on an angled trajectory.

“Where’s it heading for?” Quinn demanded of the people monitoring the equipment in front of him. The Stratzyda was over Stockton, California.

“We don’t have a solid lock yet,” one of the technicians responded. “It’s in a glide path rather than a direct downward shot. Warhead passing through three hundred and fifty miles altitude, descending rapidly.”

The view on the screen switched to the tracking imagery from Space Command.

Quinn breathed a momentary sigh of relief as the black line indicating the warhead edged eastward, away from Oakland and San Francisco. “Give me a targeting and impact point and time!” he yelled.

Kincaid had shoved one of the technicians out of the way and was rapidly typing into a computer. He stiffened as numbers appeared on the screen. He swiveled around on the seat. “Time to impact is four minutes. Target and impact point is right on top of us.”