The Arab Fall (A James Acton Thriller, Book #6) (James Acton Thrillers) (16 page)

“Probably
why Shakespeare wrote about it,” mumbled Reading.

“I
didn’t know you were a Shakespeare fan,” said Laura.

Reading
shrugged. “School, the occasional play. That’s about it.”

“Are you
sure you’re not a closet fan?”

Reading
shot her a look that left her giggling.

“So what
happened?” asked Chaney, hanging on every word it seemed.

“Octavian
captured Cleopatra, but she was permitted to carry out the burial rites, then
she too committed suicide.”

Chaney
gasped. “Why?”

“She
knew Octavian planned to parade her in chains in Rome, and she wanted none of
it. She killed herself using what was probably a king cobra, to bite her chest.
When she died, her son was briefly named Pharaoh, but he was killed by Octavian,
ending the rule of the Pharaohs; Egypt becoming a Roman province called
Aegyptus.”

“So why
here? Why bury her in the middle of nowhere”—Chaney raised his hand—“sorry,
Professor—in a small town like this?”

Laura
smiled at the apology as Acton continued. “I find it highly unlikely she would
have been buried here. Most think she is buried near Alexandria, and with much
of the ancient parts now underwater after a series of earthquakes, it has
always been assumed it had been lost forever. But”—Acton shrugged, looking over
his shoulder at the new dig site—“it would appear somebody moved her tomb,
probably to protect it from grave robbers. And from what we’ve seen, I would
guess that they were successful.”

“Until
we came along,” laughed Terrence.

“Until
we came along,” repeated Acton, his voice drifting as he wondered who might
have been protecting the tomb, and whether or not they were still around.
It’s
been two thousand years.
He frowned.
That means nothing.
His own
experiences over the past couple of years had proven that two thousand years
only meant an organization could grow to immense proportions if needed, or
remain a devoted few, still thriving, if the devotion were strong enough.

We
need more guards.

“Umm,
Professor?”

Laura
leaned toward Acton to see the face the timid voice belonged to.

“Yes,
Angela?”

“What
would happen if they found out about the tomb?”

“Who
found out, dear?”

“The
fanatics. Like those who destroyed the Buddhas.”

“Oh,
don’t worry about that. We’re quite safe here,” said Laura, exchanging a glance
with Acton who suddenly felt as unconvinced as she sounded.

For he
knew when word got out, they might be in serious danger.

En route to Nubian Desert, Egypt, University College London Dig Site

Morning of the Liberty Island Attack

Colonel Soliman hung onto the dash of the truck, eyeballing Mansoor who
was behind the wheel, apparently trying to hit every hole in the road he could
find. He kept his mouth shut, as he knew time was of the essence. Their two
trucks of men, two dozen in total, as well as a third truck for those at the
tomb, had departed within an hour of hearing the news. The location was remote,
and their observers had been chased off but remained near, and would join them
when they reached the camp, which Soliman estimated should be less than five
hours away at this point.

The only
thing that could stop them now was a checkpoint, more frequent now with the
chaos after the so-called elections, which was why Mansoor was taking the back
roads to the site. It was a few hours slower, but even the army didn’t care
about this area.

The real
question was whether or not the press would beat them to the dig site. He had
had his contacts immediately call the press to claim they were at the site and
that it wasn’t true, but the feedback had been less than encouraging.

Everyone
wanted to confirm the story and were sending out teams.

And they
would take the faster main roads, and some would have had a massive head-start
since he himself only found out from an advance copy of the paper his connections
afforded him.

If they
couldn’t beat the press to the site, he didn’t know what they would do. He
glanced over his shoulder at the men crammed into the back, their automatic
weapons at the ready, their military uniforms genuine, though those wearing
them no longer soldiers defending their country.

They
were now soldiers of The Brotherhood.

And what
task he would ask of them, he did not know, though he feared the worst.

Safe House, Cairo, Egypt

Imam Khalil lay on his bed, eyes closed, listening to the sounds of
the city. Images played across the back of his eyelids like movies, imagining
the glory of today’s deeds to be carried out by his followers in the name of
Allah. He opened his eyes and surveyed the austere room without moving his
head.

It
will be difficult.

He knew
once he went public with his address to the world, he would be the most hunted
man in the world, and would eventually die, hopefully years later like Osama,
with a gun in his hand, having lived out what remained of his life in relative
comfort.

He had
followers. He had connections. And he would need them all to survive in the
days to come.

And this
small room in this small house was only the first of many he would be rotated
through over the coming months and years. If, Allah willing, all went perfectly,
the Muslim Brotherhood would complete its takeover of Egypt, tossing aside its
long alliance with the United States and the Infidels, and organizing a joint
Arab invasion of Israel to eliminate the cancer that festered in their region.
Push them into the sea; leave what remained for the filthy Palestinians. Empty
the refugee camps so they could return to their own “land” and stop leeching of
the good people of Egypt, Lebanon, Jordan and elsewhere.

He
always enjoyed a good chuckle watching or reading the Western press when they
would refer to the Palestinian situation. They quite often seemed to ignore the
fact that the Arab nations surrounding Israel were home to millions of
Palestinian refugees, and none had been allowed to become citizens of their new
homelands, all forced to continue to live in squalor for fifty years as the
Arab nations wanted them even less than the Israelis did. The Palestinians
throughout most of history never truly had a country, always subjugated by one
empire or another, and the idea of a Palestinian nation was a modern construct
created by Westerners who had no understanding of how much of the world had
worked before they conquered it. Most modern borders throughout the Middle East,
Africa and much of Asia were drawn by men in London and Paris, who had a
penchant for straight lines, ignoring tribal histories in favor of borders
composed of neat lines, rivers and mountain ranges.

And the
legacy?

Afghanistan,
Pakistan and India. The Kashmir region ignored, not to mention the fact there
is no concept of borders amongst Pashtun culture. Then there was Turkey, Iraq,
Iran, ignoring the Kurds, and Syria, Jordan, Israel, Egypt, and others,
ignoring the Palestinians. It wasn’t the Jews who had forced the Palestinians out;
it was the ignorant post war leaders who did, by arbitrarily drawing lines on
maps to suit their needs, rather than those of the indigenous peoples.

And in
the end the Palestinians were forgotten, the Arabs were insulted, and they
immediately went to war with Israel. And that infidel state had continually won
the wars, and expanded their territory. All perfectly legal, since they were
invaded, and didn’t invade to take over territory, but the public relations
campaign waged by the Palestinians and the Arabs had confused the issue so
much, many if not most in the West thought Israel was the aggressor.

But
soon we will be once again.

And with
one final push, one concerted effort with the newly restored Islamic
fundamentalist states working together, the Jewish question would be solved
once and for all, and the single blot on the map of the Arab world would be
gone forever, a page in the history books never to be taught to the children
who would live there in the future.

Khalil
closed his eyes again, a smile on his face as he pictured a world free of the
Jews.

If
only Hitler had been given more time.

He
wasn’t one of those naïve holocaust deniers. He knew it had happened. He simply
didn’t think it was a bad thing. Ridding the world of the Jews, along with the
homosexuals, mentally and physically handicapped, was merely the responsible
thing to do. By ridding the world of them, Hitler intended to create a purer
race, and he had succeeded. Look at Europe today. More peaceful than it ever
has been throughout its tumultuous history. And why? What had changed?

Hitler
had removed eleven million problems. Six million Jews, along with five million
other
problems
.

A
glorious achievement.

And his
beloved Egypt would soon follow. The Jews were pretty much gone already. Now it
was the Christians. With enough pressure, enough violence, those who weren’t
killed in the streets or their churches, would flee to the West as refugees,
and the Islamic State of Egypt would be happy to see them go, leaving behind a
purely Islamic nation.

But
first to go would be the false idols. And he could think of nothing more
egregious than the pyramids and other structures built to honor pagan false
gods. These would be eliminated over time, the first of which would be this
afternoon.

There
was a knock on his door that had him sitting up and swinging his legs from the
bed.

“Enter.”

The
owner of the house he was now staying in, Fadil, entered, holding up a copy of
the newspaper, shaking it in the air.

“I
thought you should see this.”

“What is
it?”

Rather
than answer, Fadil unfolded the front page and jabbed a finger at the headline.

Khalil’s
heart leapt as he saw the page, his chest tightening as adrenaline pumped
through his veins as he thought of the opportunity this news brought. To think
that today they were going to attack the Pyramid of Cheops, most likely in a
failed yet heroic battle, when here lay an even better, unprotected opportunity
that would enrapture the world with its audacity.

Today
they would destroy the Tomb of Cleopatra.

Nubian Desert, Egypt, University College London Dig Site

Professor James Acton looked at the computer screen, the satellite
connection he was using nowhere near the speed he was accustomed to, but as the
CNN.com site refreshed, he cursed as he saw a link pop up on the left listing
the top stories.

Cleopatra
Found?

“We’ve
got trouble.”

Laura,
lying in her cot, looked up from her eReader.

“How’s
that?”

“The
story just broke on CNN.”

Laura
swung her legs from the cot, putting the eReader under her pillow. “Blast!
Already? You’d think they’d at least verify the story before running it.”

Acton
chuckled. “Not today, hon. Remember 9/11? CNN and the other stations were
reporting everything, unverified, so they wouldn’t be scooped. I remember
watching the coverage, and the outlets were reporting seventeen planes
unaccounted for, explosions on Capitol Hill, helicopters being shot down at the
Pentagon. It was ridiculous! The news is no longer the news, it’s just opinion
mixed in with some verified facts now and then. There just isn’t twenty-four
hours of interesting stuff happening in the world to keep the viewers’
attention.

“When I
was a kid I would sit on my parents’ couch and we would all watch Tom Brokaw,
Peter Jennings or Sam Donaldson read the news, depending on who my dad wasn’t
mad at that week. You’d get the day’s news in thirty minutes, and it was the
news. You could flip between the channels, and they’d all be reporting the
same, verified facts, and occasionally one would scoop the other. But once CNN
came along, everything changed for the worse.” Acton shook his head. “I love
sitting in front of the TV watching news, listening to the commentary, but too
many people nowadays think it’s
all
news.”

He
looked at Laura who was grinning.

“What?”

“Done?”

His eyes
narrowed as he looked at her puzzled, then it dawned on him what she was
talking about.

“Ha ha.
Yes, my diatribe is finished.”

“You
should have the university do a study.”

“Remind
me when we get back.” Acton stood up. “We better get the site ready for the
newshounds. They’ll probably be here by the end of the day.”

Laura
rose and they both exited the tent. She stepped over to a pole that had a bell
attached to it, and rang the bell several times, signaling the students to
assemble at the main tent. Heads poked up from grids, out of tents and one from
the port-a-potty, and within minutes everyone had gathered, including the
ex-SAS guard.

“May I
have everyone’s attention please,” said Laura, raising her voice over the
flapping of the tent behind her, a stiff breeze suddenly blowing. “CNN is
reporting our discovery, most likely from one of our laborers who fled
yesterday. That means we will probably have company soon.”

“Should
we be worried?” asked Terrence Mitchell. He had been on this very site when
Laura had been kidnapped, and Acton knew full-well how terrified all the
students had been based upon Reading’s account when he found them. It was a
tribute to their courage that they all came back.

“No,”
said Acton, shaking his head. “We might get a deluge of reporters that will quickly
die off as they discover we won’t give them access. They’ll get bored, might
leave some local crews here for a bit, then things will get back to normal.
You’ll probably all get your fifteen minutes on camera, become social media
celebrities, get on all the talk shows when you get home, date famous actors,
then when the next big discovery is found, you’ll all be dumped like
yesterday’s King Tut exhibit.”