RAOUL YANKED the spear from his hand. Steel ground on bone. Fire lanced through his arm to his chest, emptying his breath in an angry hiss. Blood poured. He pulled his glove off and tied the neoprene around his palm, stanching and putting pressure on the wound.
No broken bones.
Dr. Alberto Menardi had the medical background to patch him up.
Raoul stared across the room, illuminated by his flashlight on the floor. What the hell was this place?
The glass pyramid, the water, the starry dome…
The last surviving man, Kurt, returned from the passageway. He had gone to reconnoiter the entry pool. “They left,” he reported. “Bernard and Pelz are dead.”
Raoul finished his first aid and considered the next step. They would have to evacuate quickly. The Americans could send the Egyptian police straight here. The original plan had been to lure the local authorities away with the hydrofoil, leaving Raoul and his team to do a full investigation down here in secret, then make their escape in the clunky, nondescript houseboat.
Now matters had changed.
Cursing, Raoul bent to his pack on the ground. It held a digital camera. He would get a visual record, get it to Alberto, and hunt down the Americans.
It wasn’t over yet.
As Raoul dug out his camera, his foot nudged the sling holding the incendiary grenade. A fold of sealcloth fell away. He ignored it until he noted a slight red glow on the neighboring wall.
Fuck…
Dropping to a knee, he snatched the bomb and rolled it digital face forward.
00:33.
He spotted the deep ding in the casing near the timer. Where the American bastard had struck it with the speargun.
00:32.
The impact must have shorted something, activated the timer.
Raoul tapped the abort code. Nothing.
He shoved up, the sudden motion making his hand ache.
“Go,” he ordered Kurt.
The man’s eyes were fixed on the bomb. But he glanced up, nodded, and ran for the tunnel.
Raoul retrieved his digital camera, took several rapid flash pictures, sealed the camera in a pocket, then strode away.
00:19.
He retreated back to the entry room. Kurt was already gone.
“Raoul!” a voice called to him.
He spun, startled, but it was only Seichan. The bitch was still trapped in the other tunnel.
Raoul waved to her. “It was nice doing business with you.”
He pulled down his mask and dove cleanly into the pool. He snaked down the tunnel and found Kurt waiting beyond. The diver was examining two other bodies, two more of their men. Kurt shook his head.
A savage fury swelled inside Raoul.
Then a rumbling reverberation trembled through the water, sounding like a passing freight train. The tunnel behind him flashed with a dull orange glow. He glanced back as it rapidly subsided. The trembling faded.
All gone.
Raoul closed his eyes. He had nothing to show. The Court would have his balls…and probably more. He considered simply swimming away, disappearing. He had money stashed in three different Swiss bank accounts.
But he’d still be hunted.
Raoul’s radio buzzed in his ear. “Seal One, this is Slow Tug.”
He opened his eyes. It was his pick-up boat. “Seal One here,” he responded leadenly.
“We report two additional passengers aboard.”
Raoul frowned. “Please clarify.”
“A woman you know and an American.”
Raoul clenched his wounded fist. Saltwater burned with a cleansing agony. The fire spread through him.
Perfect.
3:22 P.M.
GRAY STALKED across the length of the hotel suite, the one Monk had prebooked for the group. They were on the top floor of the Corniche Hotel, having arrived twenty-five minutes ago. The balcony windows overlooked the glass-and-steel sweep of the new Alexandria Library. The harbor beyond shone like dark blue ice. Boats and yachts seemed imbedded in place. Calm had quickly returned to the harbor.
Vigor had watched the local news station and listened as an Egyptian newsman reported on a confrontation among a group of drug smugglers. The police had failed to subdue them. The Court had escaped.
Gray also knew the tomb had been destroyed. He and the others had used air tanks and two of the abandoned sleds to flee to the far side of the harbor, where they shed their gear under a pier. But while crossing, Gray had heard a muffled thump through the water behind him.
The incendiary grenade.
Raoul must have blown it as he made his escape.
Once Gray, Kat, and Vigor had climbed out of the harbor, stripped to trunks and swimsuits, they had blended into a crowd of sunbathers and crossed a seaside park to their hotel. Gray had expected to find Monk and Rachel already here.
But there continued to be no sign of the pair.
No messages, no calls.
“Where could they be?” Vigor asked.
Gray turned to Kat. “And you saw them leave with one of the motorized sleds?”
She nodded, face taut with guilt. “I should’ve made sure…”
“And we’d both be dead,” Gray said. “You made a choice.”
He couldn’t fault her.
Gray rubbed his eyes. “And she has Monk with her.” He took a measure of comfort in that.
“What do we do?” Vigor asked.
Gray lowered his arms and stared out the window. “We have to assume they’ve been captured. We can’t count on our security here lasting much longer. We’ll have to evacuate.”
“Leave?” Vigor said, standing up.
Gray felt the full weight of his responsibility. He faced Vigor, refusing to look away. “We have no choice.”
4:05 P.M.
RACHEL CLIMBED into the terry-cloth robe. She snugged it around her naked form while glaring at the cabin’s other occupant.
The tall, muscular blonde woman ignored her and stepped to the cabin doorway. “All finished in here!” she called out to the passageway.
The door opened to reveal a second woman, a twin to the first but auburn-haired. She entered and held the door for Raoul. The large man ducked through the hatch.
“She’s clean,” the blonde reported, peeling off a pair of latex gloves. She had performed a full body-cavity search on Rachel. “Nothing hidden.”
Certainly not any longer, Rachel thought angrily. She turned her back slightly and knotted the robe’s sash, tight, under her br**sts. Her fingers trembled. She squeezed her fingers on the knot. Tears threatened, but she resisted, refusing to give Raoul the satisfaction.
Rachel stared out the tiny porthole, attempting to discern some landmark, something to pinpoint where she was. But all she saw was featureless sea.