The Arab Fall (A James Acton Thriller, Book #6) (James Acton Thrillers) by J. Robert Kennedy Page B

centuries rescued several of the tombs in the Valley of the Kings, or
as it was more properly known, the Valley of the Gates of the Kings, but had
clearly failed in this case. Basel felt rage fill his chest as he saw Europeans
scrambling over the sacred ground in excitement, their modern equipment leaving
nothing undiscovered. This tomb had been lost, but a plan was already
formulating as to how to prevent it from being a completely wasted moment.
    His
brother, Nadeem, arrived, jumping off his horse and racing to their position,
dropping to his stomach and scurrying the last few feet.
    “What
have you found out?”
    “The
leader is named Carter. From the markings I saw, it appears to be the tomb of Tutankhamen.”
    “Tutankhamen?”
Basel scratched his beard. “I don’t recall the name. Are you sure?”
    Nadeem
shook his head. “No, I am just telling you what I read before I was kicked
out.”
    “And
this man, Carter, what of him?”
    “Seems
excited, friendly, seems to care about preserving everything as much as possible,
but also doesn’t understand our ways, and is blundering inside, desecrating the
fallen king with every step, with every word spoken in the chamber.”
    “A
warning must be sent,” muttered Fadi, Basel’s second in command of The
Brotherhood.
    Basel
nodded. “Agreed. Have a cobra delivered to this man’s house immediately,
hopefully if he is at all learned in our ways, he will understand the meaning,
that the Egyptian Monarch he has disturbed is angry, and the Royal Cobra is striking
back.”
    “At
once,” said Fadi, scrambling backward from the edge of the cliff, then mounting
his horse, galloping away.
    Basel
turned to Nadeem. “Go back down there and point at some hieroglyphs, tell them
it is the Curse of the Pharaohs.”
    “But
won’t they know it isn’t? We haven’t written the curse on a tomb in over a
millennia.”
    “These
fools have no idea what they’re looking at.”
    Nadeem’s
eyes narrowed and he turned his attention to the valley below, as he muttered
the curse The Brotherhood had inscribed on every tomb they had protected, “Death
shall come on swift wings to him that toucheth the tomb of a Pharaoh.”
    Basel
nodded. “Those words alone should be enough to scare away the laborers, and
perhaps after we are finished with them, make some people think twice.”
    “Why?
What else do you have planned?”
    “The
members of this expedition must die, but it must not appear to be us that has
done it, it must be the curse.”
    Nadeem
grinned then scurried back to his horse to deliver the “curse” as Basel rolled
back on his stomach, watching the proceedings below.
    If
enough die, perhaps future desecrations can be prevented.
     

 
     
     
    al-Hirak, Syria
    One Day Before the Liberty Island Attack
     
    Command Master Sergeant Burt “Big Dog” Dawson, BD for short to his
men, stared through his binoculars, the hazy green of the night vision setting
all too familiar. There was very little movement, the sentries clearly amateur,
having taken their posts at their appointed hour when dusk hit, then all slowly
migrating to a fire and a game of craps which had preoccupied them for the
better part of the past hour.
    A
tank could roll through without these guys noticing.
    He
activated his comm.
    “Bravo
Two, this is Bravo One. Status, over?”
    The
voice of his second in command, Mike “Red” Belme, squawked through the
earpiece.
    “Bravo
One, Bravo Two. We’re in position, all quiet here, over.”
    “Bravo
One to Bravo team. Remember we’re dealing with sarin gas and amateurs, both
dangerous things. Our contact will give us the location of the crate. We go in,
locate it, confirm the gas is inside and intact, plant your explosives, notify
the team, everyone put your gas masks on, and get the hell out of there. And
don’t forget your atropine shots. If you’re exposed, it’s the only damned thing
that will save your ass.”
    Dawson
felt Spock elbow him.
    “What