"You'd think they'd be grateful to get rid of a snake like that."

  "In a rational world, that would be the case. But we all know there isn't much that's rational out there these days. It seems like terrorists have more rights than the good guys."

  "Don't get me started," Elizabeth said.

  "I need to be able to give the White House something. Have you heard back from your team yet?"

  "No, I haven't, and it's beginning to worry me."

  "The communications satellite is in position," Hood said. "They should be able to contact you."

  "That's what's worrying me. The last I heard from them was right before we hit the camp. Since then, nothing."

  "They did confirm that the tomb was there, correct?"

  "Yes."

  "Did they give you any indication of what was in it?"

  "Nick said it was intact, that no one had been in it since it was sealed. He also said there was enough gold inside to handle the national debt."

  "The president will like that."

  "If we can believe ancient accounts, Alexander was buried in a sarcophagus of solid gold. That alone would be enough. He was also supposed to have been buried with a king's ransom in gold and jewels. It's probably all still there."

  "We better hope it is and that Nick is right," Hood said. "Otherwise, I'm going to be looking for another job and we'll both be under investigation."

  "President Hopkins might be wise to prevent that from happening," Elizabeth said. "He can pretend he didn't know what we were doing, but I can prove that he did. He needs to understand that if he tries to take us down, I'll guarantee a scandal that will keep him from being reelected."

  "You want to play hardball?"

  "Is there any other game in Washington? In any event, if that tomb turns out to be filled with gold it won't matter, will it?"

  "How did we get this cynical, Elizabeth?"

  "Goes with the territory," she said. "You can't do what we do without becoming cynical. For me, it started when I was working with the Justice Department task force looking into 9/11."

  "They sidetracked you, didn't they? Shuffled you off to some RICO investigation."

  "That's right. They were covering things up and they didn't like it when I told them that. I kept doing it and my boss told me I wasn't a team player. I was told to keep my mouth shut and stop making waves. Finally, they decided to get rid of me."

  "You were ready to quit, weren't you? Why did you stay in Washington?" Hood asked.

  "Someone has to do the right thing. But truthfully, if President Rice hadn't reached out to me, I don't think I would have stayed."

  "That would've been our country's loss."

  "Flattery will get you everywhere, Clarence. Which makes this the perfect time for a request."

  "What is it?"

  "Can you get someone to take a look at that tomb? I'm afraid Nick and the others might have been sealed inside. I was watching on the satellite when something happened. There might have been an explosion. Or perhaps, the tunnel into the tomb collapsed. In any event, I haven't heard from them since then."

  "I can try," Hood said. "But if the entrance is blocked off, there's nothing I can do about it. Cairo is not in a cooperative mood. The situation is explosive."

  "I understand."

  "I'll tell the president the tomb contains enough treasure to justify his actions and the destruction of Masuda's camp. After that, it's up to him. Nothing is going to get settled until someone gets in there to check it out."

  "Or Nick and the others turn out to be okay."

  "Yes, of course," Hood said.

  She heard the hesitation in his voice, mirroring her fears. Fears the team was far from okay. Fears she would never hear from them again.

  She didn't know if she could handle that.

  49

  They sat in the dark, waiting for dawn.

  The stench in the cave was overwhelming. They'd tried bandannas across the lower part of their faces to keep the dust and smell at bay. It didn't do much good. Nick had slept for an hour or two, but it hadn't helped. His clothes were still wet. He was cold. They all were.

  Every time they moved, it disturbed the layers of guano, sending fine particles into the air. Selena sneezed, then coughed.

  "It will be light soon," Nick said. "Then we'll get out of here."

  "I've been thinking," Ronnie said.

  "That's never good," Lamont said.

  "What about?" Nick asked.

  "About the scroll that got us into this mess."

  "What about it?"

  "Just that I wish we'd never seen the damn thing."

  The sudden thunder of thousands of flapping wings filled the cavern. The bats were returning to their roost. Ronnie turned on his light. They watched the colony settle itself. A fresh rain of droppings fell down onto the cavern floor.

  "Damn it," Lamont said. "Got me again."

  This time, no one laughed.

  "I see daylight," Selena said. "There."

  She pointed to the right. The wall of the cavern sloped upward toward a glimmer of light.

  "It's steep, but we can get up there," she said.

  "Selena, you lead," Nick said. "Take your time. Ronnie, you next, then Lamont. I'll bring up the rear."

  They started up toward the light. At first it was difficult to see, but the light grew brighter as the rising sun cast more light into the cave. The slope was hard rock, covered with bat droppings that made it slippery and treacherous. The fumes made Nick dizzy. He took shallow breaths, trying to breathe as little as possible. He looked down. They were far enough above the cavern floor that a fall would almost certainly be fatal.

  They climbed until the slope leveled out and they found themselves in a large cave. Nick shielded his eyes against sunlight streaming in. The roof was high enough to stand. They made their way to the mouth of the cave and looked out. The side of the mountain sloped down to a sandy wadi a hundred feet below. From where they stood, they could see the Gulf of Suez in the distance.

  Nick took a deep breath of the clean air, then another.

  "Man, that sun feels good," Lamont said.

  "You're covered in bat shit," Ronnie said.

  "We all are," Nick said. "At least we're out of the stink."

  He'd put his headset in his pack after Nephthys triggered the trap sealing them in the tomb. Now he pulled it out. Water had gotten into the pack. The headset was wet, along with everything else.

  "These are supposed to be waterproof. I guess we're about to find out if they are."

  He turned the unit on and was rewarded with a burst of static.

  "Base, this is Bravo One. Do you copy? Over."

  There was no response.

  "Base, Bravo One. Do you copy. Over."

  "Well?" Selena said.

  "No luck."

  He put the headset away.

  "I wonder how far we came from the tomb?" Selena said.

  "I don't know. It can't be more than a few miles."

  "That's the Gulf out there," Ronnie said. "How about we go catch our ride home?"

  They started down the side of the mountain. Five hours later they were back on the beach where they'd hidden the Zodiac. The raft hadn't been disturbed.

  "I don't know about you, but I'm going to wash this stuff off me," Selena said.

  She stripped down to her underwear, walked into the water, and ducked under the surface. She came up sputtering.

  "It's warm. Come on in."

  They followed her in. Soon they were laughing and splashing at each other, letting go of some of the tension. After a while they got out. They washed the grunge off their clothes and laid them in the sun to dry.

  They settled down to wait until it was time to rendezvous with the freighter.

  They took turns sleeping and standing watch. Night fell, bringing with it an offshore breeze. For an instant, Nick caught the faint scent of lemons, then it was gone. At 2100 they launched the raft and headed out onto the water. Nick watched his GPS and signaled Lamont when they reached the rendezvous coordinates.

  It was a little before ten when they saw the lights of the freighter approaching.

  "There she is," Nick said.

  "About time something went right," Lamont said.

  50

  Colonel-General Kerensky reminded himself to stay calm as he went through the tall double doors leading into Orlov's office, wondering if he would still have a job when he came out again. When Orlov learned of the failed attempt on Antipova, he would be annoyed. It was never good to make the President of the Russian Federation annoyed.

  Orlov was behind his desk, signing papers. Kerensky walked to the front of the desk, saluted, and came to attention. Orlov ignored him, continuing to shuffle through the papers on his desk, scribbling his signature.

  Making sure I know who is in charge.

  Kerensky felt his blood pressure rising. Humiliation in the presence of this man was nothing new for any of Orlov's senior generals and advisors. For a brief instant, Kerensky fantasized stepping forward and smashing Orlov's head and those arrogant blue eyes down onto the polished surface of the desk.

  Almost as if he could read Kerensky's mind, Orlov suddenly raised his eyes and looked at him.

  "You look tired, General. Sit. Tell me what happened in America."

  He already knows. Of course he does.

  Kerensky took a seat on a gilded chair with a red cushion placed near the desk. The legs of the chair had been cunningly shortened, placing him slightly below Orlov's level.

  "Mister President, I regret to inform you that the initial attempt to eliminate the problem of Colonel Antipova was unsuccessful. A second attempt resulted in the unfortunate termination of our agent."

  "Our agent, General?"

  "I meant to say my agent, sir. Ilya Baranov had completed many missions for the Motherland. His loss will be felt. Antipova is proving to be unexpectedly difficult."

  "I assume you have a solution for this difficulty? I would not want to have this conversation again."

  The message was clear.

  You have one more chance. Don't blow it or someone else will be running SVR and you'll be lucky if you end up commanding a platoon in Siberia.

  "Yes, Mister President. I have already taken steps to resolve the problem. It will not be necessary to have this conversation again."

  Orlov smiled. "Excellent, General. I am sure I can count on you to bring this unpleasant affair to a successful conclusion. I am sorry for the loss of your agent. He had a family?"

  "No, Mr. President."

  "Ah. Perhaps that's for the best. Well, don't let me keep you from your duties, General. Keep me informed."

  Kerensky stood and saluted. "Sir."

  Outside, Kerensky cursed under his breath. So. One more opportunity. Baranov's untimely death had created a serious problem. It was still difficult to accept that two of his best assets had been eliminated by this damn woman.

  So far there had been no indignant protestations from the United States about Russian assassins making problems on American soil. Kerensky was beginning to think there might not be any. Baranov would have taken pains to ensure he left no evidence of who he was, but Antipova would certainly have recognized him. It looked like the Americans were uninterested in turning this particular fiasco into an international incident. For whatever reasons, he was grateful that particular can of worms remained closed.

  Damn Baranov! Getting himself killed and leaving me in this situation. Damn Antipova, the ungrateful bitch. Damn Orlov.

  Back in his office, Kerensky considered his backup plan one more time. He could find no flaws. He took a pad from a drawer in his desk and wrote down a series of numbers, placed the piece of paper in an envelope, then summoned his aide.

  "Major Ouspensky, take this to the communications room. Give it to Senior Lieutenant Vishinsky. He'll know what to do with it."

  "Sir."

  The aide took the envelope and left the room. The final chapter in Antipova's checkered history was about to begin.

  51

  Yevgeny Kutzov had never been to America, but he'd seen many American movies. He liked American movies, especially the ones that featured car chases and lots of shooting and violence. There were plenty to choose from. Even a mediocre American movie was better than watching the crap that passed for daily entertainment on Russian television. Kutzov thought he had a pretty good idea of what America was like from watching all those films. The reality was different and overwhelming.

  Moscow was no stranger to traffic jams and shopping malls, but the sheer number of shiny new cars and trucks in Washington, the astounding opulence of the supermarkets and malls, the exclusive stores, was almost beyond belief.

  Then there were the people themselves. The men he saw in Washington looked self-satisfied, full of themselves. The women were much more interesting.

  He was struck by the difference between Russian and American women. Russian women were often beautiful, at least when they were young. Their beauty was a heritage of the steppes and tundra, not to mention centuries of invaders who had come and gone. They displayed a beauty born of the diverse ethnic mix of the motherland. Russian women always had something going on behind their eyes, a sense of wariness and knowledge of life different from the vibe he got from Americans. American women were beautiful, it was true, but they seemed so well fed, so healthy. They struck him as domesticated and naïve. Being women, he assumed they had a wild side like their Russian counterparts. But on the whole, they seemed well behaved.

  Unlike his target.

  Antipova was anything but well behaved, Kutzov was certain of that.

  Kutzov had known Ilya Baranov well enough, though not as a friend. He doubted Baranov had ever had friends. Legends in Kutzov's profession didn't allow themselves to have personal relationships. The news that Antipova had killed him sent a shockwave through the select cadre of SVR assassins.

  Baranov had failed. Now it was his turn. That was all right. Someone had to take Baranov's place as the best.

  Antipova was taking on legendary qualities of her own. Kutzov's reputation and status would be greatly enhanced when he succeeded in killing her. That he would succeed, he had no doubt. She'd had a run of luck, but no one's luck lasted forever.

  Kutzov's passport identified him as a Czech citizen. He spoke fluent Czech if required, but there was no reason for anyone to think he was Russian. He didn't expect anyone to question his nationality.

  He'd taken a room in a three-star hotel, comfortable but not ostentatious. Baranov had stayed in an SVR safe house, but Kutzov wanted nothing to do with any SVR facility. For all he knew, that safe house had been Baranov's downfall. Perhaps the Americans had known about it. Underestimating the abilities of the American intelligence agencies was a serious mistake, one he wasn't going to make. He assumed Antipova had discovered Baranov was after her and had been ready for him. How else to explain his death?

  Kutzov needed no files or pictures to remind him of Antipova's details. He had a photographic memory and had reviewed everything before he left Moscow. All the particulars of her life here were embedded in his mind. The only thing he wasn't sure about was whether or not she was still living at the Harker Group house in Virginia. He was familiar with all the details of Harker and her group as well. They were a potentially dangerous complication.

  Kutzov considered himself a student of human nature, but it didn't take a genius to know those people would defend Antipova and protect her with their lives if needed. He could admire that kind of commitment, but it wouldn't do her any good. If he had to, he'd eliminate all of them.

  Brochures in his room praised the virtues of various restaurants and attractions in the area. It was getting late and he'd had a long day getting here. Kutzov decided to have dinner at one of the upscale restaurants advertised in Dupont Circle. It looked expensive, but no one back in Moscow was going to question what he spent after Antipova was terminated. Success washed away many sins. Perhaps after dinner, he'd explore some of the Washington nightlife.

  Whistling an old Russian folk tune, Kutzov left his room.

  52

  Kalima Abadi's ascension to the role of high priestess in the cult of the Sun God was a foregone conclusion. Nephthys had prepared the way.

  The rituals and ceremonies had taken three days of purification and prayer, of offerings to the god. On the third day, Rafiq had performed the final initiation rite by taking Kalima on the altar before the statue of Alexander, before the eyes of witnesses. The transference of his masculine power to her through the sexual act symbolized the passage of the power of Alexander to his high priestess.

  There was nothing Rafiq would not do for Kalima. He hadn't minded sharing her with Nephthys. What pleased Kalima, pleased him. The witnesses had no need to know Rafiq and Kalima had been lovers for over a year, nor would it have mattered if they did. Virginity was not a requirement for the role of high priestess.

  The desecration of the tomb and the death of Nepthys demanded retribution. American Marines now prevented access to the site. The tomb had become a flashpoint in international relations, with the White House claiming the troops were there to protect an important archaeological site from destruction by fanatical terrorists, as had happened in Iraq and Afghanistan. Egypt had called for an emergency meeting of the UN Security Council. World media was salivating over rumors of a new war in the Middle East. The fact that no one knew much about anything didn't stop an endless parade of so-called experts from appearing on television, looking solemn and throwing out doomsday scenarios.

  It was only a question of time before someone found a way into the tomb. Kalima hoped and believed the god would provide a way in the future to turn the disaster to advantage. Whatever happened, one thing was clear. Punishment of those who had offended was required.