“Looks that way, sir.”
“Bastard! He doesn’t even want the crystal! He just wants to keep
us
from getting it!” Vilocek cursed and paced around the room. Everyone had stopped what they were doing, and all eyes were on Vilocek.
Madu Jabari was sharp, Vilocek knew, and that attribute only increased when the man was angry. Now Jabari was out for blood.
Their blood.
Even without stopping to pick up his back-up team in Israel, Jabari had enough time to amass a small army of killers and beat them to Jordan. He’d be waiting for them.
They’d be walking into a trap. Vilocek wasn’t about to let that happen without stacking the odds in his favor.
He looked around the room, his features betraying nothing of his inner turmoil. He cared nothing for these people — they were here to serve him; to deliver what he’d fought to preserve and control for so many years. His own men, though loyal, were no more important to him than an old pair of shoes, just waiting to be replaced. He’d used them many times, and he would use them again now. Their death or survival meant nothing — they were all easily replaced.
But for now, they were his only path to the crystal. “Everyone outside,” he ordered. “We’re going to Petra, but we’ll stop along the way for reinforcements. Jabari won’t know what hit him.”
He hoped he had made the right call.
2:22 AM - PETRA, JORDAN
Madu Jabari walked up and down the corridor at the entrance to the City Treasury of Petra. The large inner room was barren, except for a few tourist brochures that had yet to be retrieved by the morning cleaning staff. Two men were with him, and their crisscrossing flashlight beams danced from one wall to the next, taking in every feature of the room. The stark contrast between this plain internal room and the impressive façade outside amazed Madu. From the outside, this new Wonder of the World was a stunning example of the pinnacle of ancient architecture and design.
Popularized by the Indiana Jones movie that used Petra for its climactic scene, the city had been unknown to the western world for centuries. It was originally a Nebataean outpost, built around the 6
th
century BC, and was known as a trading center and the capital of the Nebataean kingdom. Its impressive water delivery systems made it a long-standing powerhouse, and when the Romans conquered the area shortly after the 1
st
century AD they continued to expand and build out the incredible site.
A massive earthquake in the 7
th
century brought much of the water system to ruins, rendering most of the city useless, and after Saladin conquered the Middle East in AD 1189, Petra was all but forgotten to the West, until a Swiss explorer named Johann Ludwig Burckhardt rediscovered it in the late 1800s.
Madu had been here before, as a boy. His father had wanted Madu and his brother Heri to be well-versed in their ancestry, so they spent a significant portion of their childhood traveling with him and his books. He trained them in the world’s important languages — which proved useful later in Madu’s political career — as well as the ancient histories of both eastern and western worlds.
But part of their training in what their father considered the fundamental knowledge of the modern age included tall tales of treasures, legends of gods and their epic battles with men, and the centuries-long dramas that seemed to put classic literary works to shame. While most fathers would readily admit to the stories’ fictional nature, Madu’s father insisted that they were not myths, but actually true stories that had been passed from generation to generation, becoming twisted, contorted, and misconstrued throughout the ages. He told the stories with a sense of wonder and pride, and told the boys that beneath the layers of human hyperbole were stories that had become famous not because they were fantastic, but because they were true historic accounts of their ancestors.
One story in particular that had stuck with Madu was referred to by his father as the “al-Bal’laorah al-Qadeem,” or “Ancient Crystal.” Madu could still hear his father’s voice, softened by the thick red Omar Khayyam wine that he constantly drank, telling him and his brother about an ancient race of people who had built a perpetual power source from a mysterious crystal, only to have it eventually consume them and wipe their civilization from the face of the earth.
He told of the few survivors who eventually rebuilt on a much smaller scale. They took the crystal and hid it away, insisting that no race of men would ever be worthy or capable of controlling it. They believed that the original crystal had been given to them — or left behind — by a visiting race from a distant planet.
Their goal, Madu’s father had told his boys, was to build a map leading back to where they hid the crystal, so its rightful owners could one day return for it. They wanted to ensure that no human being could ever find the crystal, and to that end they built their map in such a way that would also be nearly impossible for people to find. This map was thought to be a line made up of places that, when viewed properly — from above, as the aliens would have seen the earth — would reveal the location of the crystal.
Unfortunately for Madu’s father, no one knew where any of these places were, so a worldwide “connect the dots” was impossible.
Madu wasn’t sure how much of it he believed. Most great civilizations fell, and many idolized or even worshiped symbols or objects. This civilization sounded no different, and yet his own father had been so carried away with discovering the treasures of this lost race that he’d dragged his children around the Middle East looking for symbols and artifacts that might lead him to the crystal.
Madu’s mother had passed away when he was five and Heri only three. Taking it as a sign that he was then free to spend his life wandering and searching, he and his sons became no better than gypsies; the boys spending no more than a few months at a time in one school or another. By the time Madu was old enough to move away, his father had drank himself into a perpetual state of incompetence, and Heri had joined the Egyptian army. Heri died two months later in Operation Badr in 1973, and six months after that Madu was attending his father’s funeral in Cairo.
Now, almost 40 years later, Madu had reached a high point in his political career and was only a few years from retirement. He had climbed high up the bureaucratic ladder, and his life and achievements would be considered a success to most of his peers.
But there was one small thing that Madu could never let go. His greatest weakness, his superiors (and his father) had always said, was his anger, brought on by a need for revenge.
Madu felt that anger now. He had been duped; humiliated by someone he thought he could trust. Vilocek had destroyed and desecrated a sacred archeological and cultural site, and wreaked havoc on Madu’s homeland. The men who had been killed at Giza would be avenged.
He would punish Vilocek for what he had done. And if, in the process, the criminal led him to the prize his father had longed for, all the better. Uncovering an ancient artifact alone would be a boon to his career, but if his father’s legend was even the least bit true, it might be worth much more.
He looked once more around the great hall.
“There’s nothing here,” he snapped.
One of the soldiers looked at him. Nervously, he asked, “Are you sure this is the place?”
“My father would not have dragged me here 20 times if he thought the legend pointed somewhere else.” The other soldier’s eyebrows arched slightly, and Madu wondered himself whether or not his father had simply been crazy. He sighed under his breath and resumed looking around the room. He called for his second-in-command to report on their preparations, then left the Treasury.
3:24 AM - PETRA, JORDAN
Vilocek and his strange entourage had arrived in Jordan and met up with the Israeli team Vilocek had hired, and the entire group was now en route to Petra. The four Israelis were all ex-special forces; now mercenaries-for-hire who certainly looked the part. They briefly sized up their new commanding officer and his ragtag team of misfits, then fell in, chuckling to themselves.
Vilocek didn’t bother with pleasantries. He scrutinized his new men, clearly trying to assess what he’d got for his money. Finally he turned and addressed the group.
“We will enter the city from the east, from the main tourist booth and gates through the area they call the Siq — it’s a crevice in the cliff that runs from here to the open plaza in front of the Treasury.”
He turned to the Israelis. “You are to remain on high alert throughout this mission. Our intel indicates that we may be walking into a firefight. We are expecting resistance; we don’t know how many.”
“Firing orders?” One of them asked in a thickly accented voice.
Vilocek pondered a moment. “We have no reason to believe that we will meet any civilians inside the city –– you are to engage and overcome any hostile forces, but your primary objective will be keeping the rest of us alive.”
The Israeli nodded and stepped back. Vilocek turned to Bryce. “Madu probably has the jump on us. If he’s not already here, he’ll be right behind us. We need to get in and get out as quickly as possible — no screwing around, and don’t try anything stupid.”
Bryce’s tongue pressed against the back of his bottom teeth as he clenched his fists at his side. He knew any escape attempt here would be futile, especially with the new mercenaries to consider. As much as he wanted to punch Vilocek in the jaw, he knew he had to wait it out until they’d found the crystal. There was no way to get himself and his men out of there alive — especially with three civilians in tow. The bastard might be in charge now, but Bryce had his own orders — and they didn’t involve Vilocek getting out of here with the crystal. He exhaled softly, choosing to bide his time.
The four Israeli men watched this exchange in amused silence. They didn’t know the details, but they weren’t paid to care. As the group started moving toward the opening in the cliff face, two of the Israelis jogged to the head of the line while the other two waited to bring up the rear with Beka.
Sunrise was at least three hours away, but the moon was just bright enough to see about 100 feet ahead. As they neared the cliff face, they could begin to make out the details of the Siq and the surrounding rock walls. Formed naturally over countless years, the Siq — or shaft — served as the main passage into the city.
Part of the mystique of Petra was its isolation and inaccessibility. The Siq played a significant role in protecting the city, as it was one of the only entrances into the site, and it was easily defended. It was thought that the Siq was once actually a stream bed filled with running water, though it had long ago been filled in for use as a walkway for the burgeoning tourist industry in Jordan.
Vilocek held up his hand just before they entered, motioning for one of the Israelis and Agent Karn to move ahead and recon the area. Several seconds later, Karn radioed back to Vilocek, whispering an all-clear signal. With that, Vilocek, Corinne and Professor Andrews entered the narrow chasm with the second Israeli soldier. The rest of the group followed at short intervals, two-by-two into the heart of Petra.
3:37 AM - PETRA, JORDAN
As they walked, Bryce noticed a drop in temperature. He wasn’t sure if the weather was actually changing, or if he was simply hyper alert to his surroundings. His body tensed, though his eyes continued to scan the narrow path ahead. The Siq was only a few meters wide in some spots, and it made him feel caged in. He glanced over his shoulder, and the Israeli bringing up the rear returned his glance with a dismissive grin that seemed to say, “I’ve got it covered, mind your own business.”
Again, he noticed a chilling breeze — was it a breeze? — that washed over his bare arms and face. He looked to the front of the line, but most of the group didn’t seem to notice anything.
But Vilocek did.
He suddenly whirled around, tense and alert. He stood still as his eyes darted to and fro, finally settling on the rest of the team.
Corinne was frozen in fear.
“Wh-what is it? Did you see something?”
Vilocek held a finger to his lips as he took another breath and held it. The others, eyeing Vilocek with interest, found themselves doing the same. He looked slightly silly, crouched there in front of them like an ape — but he radiated an energy that was contagious. The armed men each dropped wordlessly to one knee, training their weapons outward in every direction.
Vilocek cocked his head to one side and whispered almost inaudibly, “Stick to the sides. We’re not alone.”
The team shuffled around, unsure of what the older man had seen or heard. Bryce retreated to the safety of the canyon’s northern wall. His three remaining men, Wayne, Jeff, and Sean did the same farther ahead. Beka moved forward, passing Bryce and the two Israeli soldiers, and knelt at a spot farther up the canyon. They had all barely made it to the sparse shelter of the cliff walls when the world around them erupted in a chorus of gunpowder.
“Get down! Get to cover!” Beka shouted.
Bryce spun on the ball of his left foot and dove toward a protrusion of rock in the cliff face. As he crashed down to the hardened sand, he caught a movement from the corner of his eye.
Corinne was throwing her lean body over her uncle’s squatty bulk — what little help it would be — pushing them both into a small recess in the otherwise unbroken southern cliff face. Bryce watched her trying to protect her uncle, and he was struck with admiration at her selflessness.
A bullet ricocheted off the rock inches from his face, forcing him to get back in the game. He looked around, careful not to present an inviting target.
Then Beka’s strange weapon hummed to life with an other-worldly whirring noise.The rhythmic pulsation filled Bryce’s ears as the rest of the group finally began firing back at their unseen attackers.
Bryce heard the crack of a rifle frighteningly close to his position. One of the Israelis fell backward against the cliff face, shot through the throat, blood pouring from his open mouth. More bullets slammed into him as he fell.