The Arab Fall (A James Acton Thriller, Book #6) (James Acton Thrillers) (17 page)

There
was laughter from the gathered students, and Laura elbowed him.

“You see
I’m clearly not marrying him for his sense of humor.”

More
laughter, and Acton faked a stab to the heart, dropping to a knee as he looked
up at her in mock horror.

“In all
seriousness, we will have company. Untrained company, and we need to protect
our dig. Luckily I’ve prepared for this. We’ll stake off the site, extending
our perimeter to include the new discovery, then set up an area where they can
park, set up their own tents if they want, and have access to our latrines and
a common area for interviews. Our tents and storage facilities are off limits,
the digs and of course the tomb are off limits. Feel free to answer any
questions, we’re not hiding anything, but if they want to see anything, they
have to come through either myself or Professor Acton.”

Acton,
having already risen to both feet, pointed toward the guards.

“If you
discover a security breach, don’t try to deal with it yourself, get one of the
guards. That’s why they’re here. We might have some riffraff come in and try to
steal some artifacts, which is why we’ll need the tomb guarded at all times,
twenty-four-seven.”

Leather
nodded an acknowledgement.

Laura
handed a map to Terrence. “I want you to take charge. Stake off everything with
one meter high stakes and cord as indicated by the blue line on the map.”

Terrence
took the map and looked it over along with several other students.

“Questions?”

Head
shakes and “no’s” rippled through the gathered throng.

“Okay,
get to it, we don’t have much time.”

The
students broke, leaving Acton and Laura along with Reading and Chaney and the
four guards.

“How can
we help?” asked Reading.

“When
they get here, having a copper might settle things down a bit, so be prepared
for that,” said Laura. “I really hate to ask this of you two, but if you could
perhaps keep an eye on things when they get here, maybe in shifts, until things
die down or we see how it’s going, that would be fabulous.”

Chaney
nodded. “No problem. I’ll help the kids with the staking, Hugh, you get some
sleep until our visitors get here. You can take the first shift, I’ll take the
night shift.”

“Sounds
good to me,” said Reading. “I’m going to make a couple of calls first, see if
we can get some local crowd control.”

“Rahim?”

Reading
nodded. “He may be more than he said he was, but he’s still an Egyptian cop.”
Laura handed him the satellite phone and he wandered off to make his call.

“Rahim?”
she asked with a whisper.

“Local
cop who was actually a plant. He and Reading were first on the scene when you
were kidnapped.”

“Of
course, I forgot his name.”

Acton
smiled. “If that really is his name.”

Laura
winked then turned to Leather.

“How do
we think we should use your men?”

Leather stepped
forward, his shades reflecting both their images.

“There’s
one thing we’re forgetting.”

“What’s
that?” asked Acton.

“The
observers. We know someone was watching us, in numbers. To ignore that fact
invites trouble. I think we should be preparing for the worst. I’ve called for
reinforcements, but they can’t be here until late tomorrow.”

Acton
frowned, remembering Reading’s briefing on their uninvited guests after he had
fallen in the hole. In all the excitement, he had indeed forgotten about them,
and it brought an uneasiness he hadn’t felt in some time.

A
feeling he had learned to heed.

“What do
you suggest?”

“We need
to set up several discrete defensive positions, and an evac point.”

“We
don’t want this to look like an armed camp,” said Laura, “otherwise the parents
back home who watch the report will wonder what I have their children in the
middle of.”

“Which
is why I said discrete.” He pointed at the two remaining trucks, one a jeep
that could seat a cramped six, and a lorry that could easily hold a dozen.
“Those are our lives if things get out of hand. We should reposition them to
the rear of the camp. I’ve already scouted out an escape route to the north
that has us on back roads for ten miles then the military checkpoint where we
can be safe.”

“Are you
sure we can be safe with the military?”

Leather
nodded. “It’s the police you need to worry about. Most of the army is fairly
disciplined. They’re content to sit back and watch the Muslim Brotherhood lose
control of the country so the military can take over again with the support of
the people.”

“Okay,”
said Laura, “set up your defensive positions. Just don’t make it too obvious. I
don’t want to alarm the students.” Leather nodded then trotted off with his
men. “Or myself,” she muttered.

Acton
put his arm over her shoulder and squeezed.

“It’ll
be okay.”

“Uh huh.
It never is, so why assume it now?”

She
flashed him a grin and caught the phone tossed to her by Reading as he
approached.

“What’s
up?” asked Acton.

Reading
frowned.

“There’s
a lot of chatter apparently, all around the world. They think something big is
being planned somewhere, but they don’t know where. They think the Internet is
being flooded with false flags to hide the real operation. Otherwise…”

His
voice drifted off, which tugged at Acton’s alarm bell.

“Otherwise?”

Reading
shook his head.

“Otherwise
they’re hitting pretty much everything imaginable. Which is obviously
bollocks.”

“Obviously.”

Acton
felt as unconvinced as Reading sounded.

“Well,
there’s nothing we can do about the world, we can only take care of ourselves,”
said Laura, placing her hands on her hips in defiance to all the flags out
there, false or otherwise.

“And to
that end I managed to contact Rahim. He and a dozen trusted men will be here as
soon as they can.”

Laura
sighed. “Thank goodness. So we just need to keep control of the frenzy until
then.”

“Here
they come!”

It was Terrence
who trumpeted the warning and they all turned to the road to see a vehicle race
around the final bend and into the “parking lot” as they liked to call it.

One man
stepped out, young and greasy from his trip, a camera around his neck, notepad
in the other, and a wide-eyed smile at apparently being first.

Acton
and Laura walked toward him, their best smiles on their faces. Acton hung
slightly behind, letting Laura take the lead since this was her show, content
to be the “muscle”.

“How do
you do, I’m Professor Laura Palmer.”

“Nigel
Hendricks. Associated Press.” He looked around. “Am I the first?”

Laura
nodded. “And hopefully last.”

Hendricks
laughed. “Oh, judging by the lineup at the roadblock I just left, there’ll be a
lot more any minute now.”

Shit!

He
looked about.

“So
where is she?”

“Who?” asked
Laura, playing dumb.

“The
lovely lady! The Queen! Cleopatra of course!”

“All in
good time. Why don’t you get yourself settled over there”—Laura pointed to an
area reserved for the media tents—“and when your compatriots arrive, we’ll take
you all on a tour.”

“But I
got here first!”

Laura
shrugged. “Congratulations. I’ll make sure you’re in the first group.”

And as
if to punctuate her statement, an SUV roared around the bend, barreling toward
the parking lot, followed quickly by another.

This
is going to be a mess very quickly.

Nubian Desert, Egypt, Five miles from University College London Dig
Site

Colonel Soliman pointed to the right at a group of men on horseback.
One held his hand in the air, his Kalashnikov strapped to his back barely
visible save the muzzle projecting over his shoulder. Soliman recognized him
immediately.

“There’s
Rahman!”

Mansoor geared
down and came to a stop beside the men, Soliman immediately exiting the truck
when he was certain Mansoor had turned it off, vowing never again to trust the
man’s driving.

Then
again, he got us here alive and in record time.

“As-salam
alaykum,” he said to Rahman, holding out his hands.

“Wa
alaykum e-salam,” replied Rahman, jumping from his horse. Soliman embraced his
old friend with a smile.

“Tell us
what you have found.”

Rahman nodded
at the horizon. “They have found the tomb, as I told you. We were chased off two
days ago by some of their guards. I think they think we’re thieves.”

“They’re
the thieves,” muttered Mansoor who had joined them.

Soliman
held up his hand. “Have they taken anything yet?”

Rahman shook
his head. “I don’t think so. We returned the next day. It looks like they’ve
set up equipment to get in and out easily, but it appears they’re only moving
stuff in.”

Soliman
grimaced. “First, like good archeologists, they will catalog and document,
disturbing as little as possible. Then they will begin moving things out.”

“We must
stop them. Kill them all if need be,” hissed Rahman. “This is blasphemy!”

Soliman
gripped his friend’s shoulder.

“There are
other ways besides killing, my friend.”

Nubian Desert, Egypt, Thirty-three miles from University College
London Dig Site

Imam Khalil looked at his watch and, turning to his driver, Ali,
smiled. The joy he felt in his heart couldn’t be contained. The number of
Infidels who died today was irrelevant. He actually predicted the numbers would
be far less than what some of his flock were hoping for.

But the
psychological damage would be irreversible.

With
their icons destroyed, the nations of the world would be reminded daily of the
might of Allah and his true believers. The West would cower in fear at the foot
of Mohammad’s followers, and life would never be the same. Imagine if every day
soldiers were hacked to pieces on their way to work. No one would feel safe,
and their Western ideals wouldn’t allow them to protect themselves the way they
should. Sure they’d shut down Muslim immigration, but what of the millions upon
millions of Muslims who were already citizens, most of whom were born in the
very countries they hated?

The
inspiration today’s attacks would provide would lead dozens, then hundreds, and
eventually thousands, to join the struggle against their adopted homelands,
creating chaos, and eventually forcing the Western nations to withdraw their
forces from around the world in order to quell a domestic uprising from within.

This
would allow the Muslim nations of the world to take their true place, at the
forefront of a new revolution, controlling their own resources, without Western
interference. And the West, with its pitiable birthrate, would dwindle away,
too scared to bring in more immigrants to bolster their failing social systems.

And
within a few generations, when there was another billion or two Muslims on the
planet, and hundreds of millions fewer Christians, all living in bankrupt
countries, at or near retirement age, the Caliphate would no longer be a dream,
but just a matter of time.

“Sir,
roadblock ahead.”

Khalil
nodded, grabbing his radio. “Roadblock ahead. You know what to do.”

Ali slowed,
pulling to the side as two other trucks passed them. Khalil sat back in his
seat, AK-47 at the ready, but his heart at ease. If he were to die today, doing
Allah’s bidding, he would be blessed with eternal ecstasy in Jannah. He smiled
as he closed his eyes, the opening bursts of gunfire from directly ahead
greeted with panicked shouts as the poorly manned roadblock, in a forgotten
south-eastern corner of the massive country, was overrun.

The
distinctive rattle of the Kalashnikovs overwhelmed the thunderous response of
the more modern American made Mk43’s the military forces were equipped with.
Though arguably a better weapon, they were simply outmanned.

A lucky
round ricocheted off the hood of their truck, causing Ali to yelp, but Khalil
continued to meditate to the sound of the gunfire, then the shouts of “Allahu
Akbar!” as victory was secured.

He
opened his eyes and watched the barrier being hauled aside as the trucks
reloaded with the now fired up men, hot off one victory, and ready for the next.

Something
flashed on the horizon, causing his head to spin to the right, but whatever it
had been, was gone.

But it
didn’t matter.

Today
Allah is on our side.

Nubian Desert, Egypt, Thirty-three miles from University College
London Dig Site

Abdel lifted his head, spitting out the sand he had nearly eaten
when the gunshots had begun. It was silent now, and he could hear several
vehicles’ engines roaring as they pulled away. He dropped his head back to the
ground, this time on its side, and waited for silence.

That was
when he noticed the damp feeling in his pants.

He
cursed, then begged Allah’s forgiveness, pushing himself to his knees, the
danger momentarily forgotten. He looked down at his open fly and dangling
member, urine staining his pants, he having dropped to the ground in midstream,
his act of relieving himself interrupted by the shots.

Frowning,
he again asked for Allah’s forgiveness as he touched himself, caging his
disgrace, and zipping up his fly. Turning to face the sun, he forced his hips
out to try and dry his pants, when he heard a moan, and the reality of the
situation returned.