The Jericho Deception: A Novel (41 page)

One of the guards moved a hand to the butt of his rifle and strode toward him. He managed a smile he hoped wouldn’t look forced. The guard stopped inches from him, eyeing him up and down. His eyes lingered on his hand-woven bag.

“Hello,” Ethan managed.

“Why are you nervous?”

Do I look nervous?

“Not nervous at all. Just hot.” He tugged at the collar of his oxford shirt. “Took a sail on a felucca.” He pointed to the Nubians, who had already cast off. “But now I’m late to meet my group.” He nodded toward the sea of people streaming from a line of waiting tour buses along the street. The words spilled out of his mouth faster than he wanted.

“British?”

“Me, uh, yeah.”

As soon as he went along with the mistaken nationality, he wondered whether the Egyptians could distinguish an American from a British accent. If Wolfe had alerted the local authorities to keep an eye out for any Americans, appearing British might help him go undetected.

“You like Beatles?”

“The Beatles?” His father was an obsessive fan. He smiled. “
Abbey Road
—a classic.”

The guard shook his head. “
Sergeant Pepper
is best.” He laughed and turned back to the other officers.

Ethan tried to be subtle as he wiped his palms on his khakis. He didn’t breathe again until he’d crossed the street and entered the maze of sidewalk stalls selling souvenirs. Tourists, mostly European, milled about the tables. The universal cry of “Good price, Mister!” rang out from the merchants selling tour books, postcards, T-shirts, and hats.

When a short man in a white galabeya stepped in front of him with a fistful of baseball caps, Ethan started to sidestep him but then paused. He selected a tan hat with the word “Luxor” stitched in gold across the front.

“How much?”

“Dollars or pounds?”

“US dollars.”

“Five.”

Not bothering to bargain, he produced a five and handed it to the man. He pulled the cap low across his forehead. Just as he started down the sidewalk, he spotted the man. He was perusing tour books about fifty feet to Ethan’s right. He picked one up and flipped through it, then returned it and did the same with another. He never looked at Ethan, but his presence squeezed the air out of his lungs. He’d never seen the man before, but the creased black pants, the pressed white shirt, the sunglasses that hid his eyes, and the close-cropped haircut told him all he needed to know.

Ethan turned and walked in the opposite direction. After a few steps he stopped at a T-shirt vendor’s stall and pretended to study the selection. He never even heard the sales pitch from the woman with a colorful scarf around
her head; his entire attention was focused on his peripheral vision. The man hadn’t moved.

He dropped the T-shirt he’d been pretending to admire and kept walking. He kept his pace brisk, but not so fast that he looked as if he was trying to avoid someone.

Maybe I’m just being paranoid,
he thought.

“Hurry up, Durward,” called a mid-sixties woman in a loud British accent. “The bus is leaving.”

“They won’t leave for Karnak without us, Dear,” replied the man a step ahead of him. He wore a safari hat over pink skin and white hair.

When the two stopped at the next intersection, Ethan glanced across the street. Tourists were loading onto a bus. He had an idea. He vaguely recalled from his undergraduate days that the temple of Karnak was the largest archeological site in Egypt after the pyramids of Giza. He crossed the street with the British couple, resisting the temptation to look behind him to see if the man with the crew cut was following. A mid-thirties woman with her hair pulled into a bun on top of her head, a Burberry umbrella in one hand, and a clipboard in the other counted off the group as they boarded.

“Excuse me,” he said to the guide after the English couple stepped on, “I’m John Stevens”—the fictitious name was the first that came to his mind—“and my tour group left without me. You wouldn’t be heading to Karnak, would you?”

The woman looked him up and down; her eyes seemed to linger on his shoulders. “You Yanks have a history of independence, don’t you? Always wandering off on your own as if everyone will wait around for you.” Then she broke into a grin.

He shrugged and returned the smile. “I feel really stupid. If you have any room on your bus—”

“We have two extra seats. Take the one in the front row”—her eyes dropped down his torso again—“next to me.” She reached out and touched his elbow. “I’m Robin.”

He stepped onto the bus. “Thanks, Robin.” As he ducked his head in the doorway, he caught a glimpse of the other side of the street. Standing on the sidewalk was the man, watching him.

R
achel snatched the ringing phone from the bedside table.

“Hello.”

“Rachel?”

“Ethan, is that you?”

She collapsed on the hotel bed at the sound of his voice. He and Chris should have been there yesterday. She’d been terrified that Axe had killed them. The last image she and Mousa had seen as they disappeared over the dune was Ethan hunkered behind the other SUV while sparks of gunfire exploded around him.

“Thank God you made it,” he whispered over the sound of other voices in the background.

“Where are you?” She longed for his touch.

“Tour bus, heading to Karnak.”

“The ancient temple site?”

“Long story. One of Wolfe’s men may have spotted me. I’ll try to lose him in the crowds there.”

She turned to Mousa, who had just entered through the connecting door to his room. “They’re at the temple of Karnak.”

“That’s close.” The Jordanian sat on the twin bed opposite her. “We could be there in ten minutes.”

“Mousa and I will come meet you guys!” She had a difficult time containing the enthusiasm in her voice.

When he didn’t immediately respond, a disturbing thought crept into her head. “Ethan, Chris is with you, right?”

“Chris”—his voice faltered—“didn’t make it.”

“He didn’t make it?” The phone trembled in her hand. “You mean—”

“I . . . I can’t believe it either. Chris is dead.”

Tears began to roll down Rachel’s cheeks. At Yale she’d found the graduate student smart and funny, although she’d never felt romantic about him despite his open flirtation. After her initial shock at waking up in the Monastery, she’d believed his naivety about Wolfe’s plans. He would never have knowingly put her or Ethan in harm’s way. And now he’d given up his life to help them escape. She tried to speak, but the burning in her throat prevented the words from coming out.

Mousa rested a hand on her shoulder and took the phone. “Hello, Ethan.”

“Mousa, I’m relieved to hear your voice.”

“Likewise. We’ll get a car and a driver from the hotel and pick you up at Karnak. That will be safer than you wandering around the open parking lot looking for a taxi.”

“Where should we meet?”

“Go inside the main temple. You’ll pass two giant statues of Ramses the Second. We’ll meet you there. Hundreds of tourists will be milling around. You’ll be safe in the crowds.” He handed the phone back to Rachel.

“Hi again,” she managed.

“I spoke to your dad.”

“What did he say?” She wiped the tears from her face.

“I texted him a summary of what’s happened, but”—he paused—“our conversation was cut off before I could explain more. Will you call him?”

“Yeah, I’ll do it now, before we come meet you.”

When they hung up, she sat on the bed and stared into Mousa’s kind face. She struggled with the conflicting emotions flowing through her body. Her sadness at learning of Chris’s death battled her joy at hearing Ethan’s voice. More than anything she wanted to throw herself into his arms and feel his lips against hers.

For the first time in two days, Ethan felt hopeful. Talking to Rachel made him forget how tired he was. He passed the phone he’d borrowed back to Robin.

“Thanks. My friends are going to meet me at the temple.”

“Well, you can tag along with us as long as you’d like.” She leaned in close and whispered in his ear, “It’s nice having someone my own age around.”

She winked at him, picked up the microphone clipped to the back of the driver’s seat, and stood to address the busload of seniors.

“I hope everyone enjoyed the last five days on the boat, but today is sure to be one of the highlights of your trip. In just a few minutes we’ll be arriving at the temple of Karnak. The ancient Egyptians began construction on the temple complex approximately four thousand years ago in the heart of the city of Thebes.”

“Thebes?” a loud voice called from several rows behind Ethan. He turned to see the woman he’d followed from the market poke her head into the aisle. “I thought we were in Luxor.”

Robin seemed to catch herself beginning to roll her eyes. “Thebes is the Greek name for Luxor.” She paused for a breath and continued, “As I explained on the boat, Thebes—or Luxor, if you wish—is one of the oldest cities on Earth. Its history dates back more than five thousand years. It was the capital of Egypt for centuries.”

“Didn’t Homer write about it?” a balding man with small, round glasses asked from the rear.

“In
The Iliad
,” the guide said. “Now, the complex, as you’ll see, is made up of a number of temples, courtyards—even a lake. It’s expansive, so stay within eyeshot of me.” She raised the Burberry umbrella. “We’ll spend most of our time in the temple of Amun-Ra, considered to be the most important of the ancient Egyptian deities. As I’ll explain in more detail when we arrive, he is a conglomeration of two earlier Gods: Amun, the distant creator god, and Ra, the sun god who brings warmth and light to our everyday lives.”

Ethan listened with interest.
A god who is both distant and near
, he thought. Then an image flashed through his head. His vision on the river had shown him a view of a reality that was as intimate to his life as he was, yet hidden from ordinary view as well.

The bus veered to the left, pushing the British guide into his side. Her body lingered for a moment longer than necessary before she righted herself.

“Egyptian drivers,” she said in his ear.

He glanced out the window. They pulled into a concrete parking lot so expansive they could have been entering Disney World. In a few minutes he would be reunited with Rachel. He ached to feel her touch, but the image of Wolfe’s man staring at him from the sidewalk still blazed in his mind. Would he, a doctor and college professor, be able to avoid trained CIA spooks? He pushed the question away. He couldn’t afford to have any doubt in his mind. His life, and more importantly Rachel’s, depended on his thinking clearly.

“H
e’s on a tourist bus,” the voice in Axe’s earpiece said, “heading to Karnak.”

“What about the girl and the Arab?”

“No sign of them. Just the professor.”

“On my way.”

Axe relayed the intel to the driver of the black Suburban. They’d landed the Black Hawk in the desert just outside the city. His strategy of spreading his men around the small but crowded town while he coordinated their movements from the back of the SUV had paid off. He would now have all of his men converge on the tourist site. The professor would be trapped.

“We may have a problem,” the voice in his ear continued. “I think he made me.”

Axe shook his head. This entire operation had been characterized by sloppiness. When it was over, he was going to kick some ass.

“When you get to the temple, cover the entrance and any other escape routes. Recon only.” He spoke the next words slower, emphasizing each syllable. “Don’t make contact. I’m going after him myself.”

He thought about the hidden compartment underneath the middle row seat that held several M4 rifles and a metal ammo box of loaded magazines. Unfortunately, with the tight security around the site and the Egyptians’ fear of terrorism, he couldn’t bring a gun inside the temple grounds, not even a compact sidearm. He recalled the shooting at Hatshepsut’s temple that had
left sixty-two tourists dead in 1997. The terrorists had dressed as Egyptian police, walked into the heart of the temple with submachine guns, and opened fire on the mass of tourists. Since the incident, security at the major architectural sites had been increased significantly.

He reached down, hiked up his pants leg, and ran his fingers inside the upper part of his calf-high black boots. He could feel the bumpy grip of the handle’s composite plastic. The knife strapped just above his ankle only had a five-inch blade, but in the hands of a trained soldier, it was more than enough to do the job.