The Sphinx

CHAPTER 29

“Stratzyda is closed.” Kincaid was staring at imagery just downloaded from Space Command. “She’s floating free, distancing from the talon.”

Major Quinn slumped down into his seat, all energy gone after the events of the last three days.

On the other side of the conference table, Kincaid was shuffling through other photos he’d downloaded… copies of the latest imagery from Hubble of the Cydonia region of Mars. The four piles of rubble were larger, and the camera was now able to make out a small cleared area that revealed a spiderwork of black metal.

“What the hell is that?” Kincaid murmured.

In the chamber outside the veil, Mualama turned his attention from the center to the corridor as the sound of boots tramping on the metal floor echoed against the walls.

Kaji stepped into the passageway with his hand held up. “You cannot trespass here.”

“You are a fool, old man,” replied a low voice that made the hair on the back of Mualama’s neck stand on end.

Mualama stepped behind Kaji and saw a tall figure in black robes in front of a group of armed men. A hood hid the man’s face. Near the back of the group, two men held a young Egyptian man captive.

“I have heard of you, Al-Iblis,” Kaji said. “Even you cannot pass here.”

“I have your son,” Al-Iblis said. “The next in the line of the wedjat of the Highland of Aker. The last in the line.” He waved his arm, and one of the commandos slid a knife across the young man’s neck, bringing forth a gush of blood.

Kaji screamed something in Arabic and leapt forward, to be met with a swing of Al-Iblis’s right arm. Mualama saw something flash in the light, a thin black blade that sprung from under the flowing sleeve. It sliced through Kaji’s neck, and the wedjaf’s head toppled from his body even as the dead man’s hands reached for Al-Iblis. Slowly the body collapsed next to the head. Mualama stood still as the blade retracted, disappearing into Al-Iblis’s sleeve.

“You are Professor Mualama.” Al-Iblis made it a statement, not a question. He saw the medallion around Mualama’s neck. “I gave that to Burton in Mecca long ago. But he betrayed me.”

“That was over a hundred years ago!” Mualama said.

“I have walked the Earth before the dawn of your time,” Al-Iblis said. “My names have been many and woven into legends on every land. You are the one who has been tracking the clues left by Sir Richard Francis Burton. Very smart. My man almost had you in Brazil. I have also tried to learn what Burton knew. I came close once, many years ago.”

“You are Domeka?” Mualama remembered what he had been briefed on at Area 51.

“That was one of my names for a time,” Al-Iblis allowed.

“What is your real name?” Mualama asked, trying to stall, wondering what Duncan was doing.

Al-Iblis shifted his dark gaze past him, toward the veil. “Duncan is in there. We will wait for her.”

Turcotte pushed the autodial for Duncan’s SATPhone and listened to the phone ring and ring.

“Orders, Major?” Captain Billam was in front of Turcotte.

Turcotte shut off the phone. He knelt down and picked up a handful of sand, letting it pour through his fingers. He remembered landing in the desert on the other side of the world after destroying the Airlia talon fleet. Another desert, the same war, taken to another level, and now he was out of contact with Duncan. “Load up,” Turcotte ordered.

“Destination?” Billam asked as they headed toward the bouncer.

“Egypt.”