The Forbidden Tomb by Chris Kuzneski Page B

the restaurants, hotels, and shopping centers, tourists flocked to the district like pigeons to a park. At almost any time of the day or night, men and women of every shape, size, and nationality crowded the streets. Here, no one would think twice about a gathering of three Caucasians, a Latino, an Asian, and a Frenchman.
    Papineau stood on the deck of a seventy-foot, tri-level yacht that was tied into a slip just offshore. Though it didn’t have the personal flourishes of the
Trésor de la Mer
, it was still an impressive craft. It included four staterooms, a gourmet galley, and three spacious lounges. Its massive freshwater reservoir and two hot-water tanks offered those on board the luxury of steam showers, while the satellite and state-of-the-art communications center connected them to television signals and the World Wide Web.
    It had all the amenities of a hotel, plus the ability to relocate.
    It was the perfect base of operations.
    McNutt was the first to join Papineau on deck. ‘What time is it?’ he asked as he groggily stretched his neck and looked out across the marina. ‘Scratch that. Let’s start with a better question: what
day
is it?’
    He was only part joking. For him, the last seventy-two hours had been a whirlwind. No sooner had he arrived back in Fort Lauderdale from his Daytona Beach excursion than he was being told to pack for Egypt. The destination didn’t matter for McNutt – he only had jeans and T-shirts, so his luggage would be the same regardless of where they were headed – but he had hoped for some time to recuperate, not only from his night of drinking, but also from the ride itself. His motorcycle was older than he was, and the worn seat was hard on his ass. And the twelve-hour plane ride certainly didn’t help.
    ‘It’s Friday,’ Papineau replied as he read the morning paper. ‘And it’s eight a.m. local time. I suppose that’s zero eight hundred to you.’
    McNutt yawned and reset his watch. They had lost twelve hours in transit, six hours in the time change, and another seven hours sleeping on the boat. Even with his military training, he still felt exhausted. Papineau could have told him that it was Christmas, and McNutt would have believed him. ‘We have any coffee?’
    ‘Right here.’ Jasmine appeared from the galley deck below carrying a tray with a pot, cream, sugar, and six mugs. She looked around, noticing the absence of half of their team. ‘Sarah and Jack aren’t back yet?’
    McNutt shrugged. He was still waking up.
    ‘They’re still surveying the city. I expect them soon,’ Papineau said.
    Of all the team members, Jasmine was the most eager to make the trip. Per Cobb’s instruction, she had spent the last forty-eight hours researching her theory about the sacred well. He wasn’t challenging her initial conclusion; he simply needed more information before he was willing to make a move. In his mind, there were still too many ‘ifs’ in her equation. In order to justify the risks of exploring the city, he needed more than rumor. He needed the
foundation
of the rumor.
    It had taken a while, but Jasmine had found it.
    Now she just needed to convince him.
    McNutt grabbed a mug from the tray and poured himself a much-needed cup of coffee. ‘I’d still be asleep if it weren’t for Hector’s snoring. Seriously, they should take that dude to a hospital.’
    ‘Why? Do you think it’s a medical condition?’ Jasmine asked.
    McNutt shook his head. ‘I meant they could use him to wake coma patients. Hell, forget the hospital. Take him to the morgue and see if he can wake the dead.’ He glanced at Papineau. ‘You couldn’t find a boat where we each had our own room?’
    Papineau had taken the master suite for himself, leaving the others to determine their sleeping arrangements. Jasmine had claimed the largest of the three remaining rooms for her and Sarah, while Garcia and McNutt had taken the last double-occupancy berth in deference to Cobb. They might have