The Pharaoh's Secret by Clive Cussler, Graham Brown Page A

organization called NUMA, it seems.”
    “NUMA,” Hassan repeated.
    Each of them spoke the acronym with disdain. They’d been in the intelligence business long enough to have heard rumors of the exploits this American agency had undertaken. They were supposed to be oceanographers and such.
    “This can’t be a good thing,” Hassan added. “You and I both know they’ve caused more problems than the CIA.”
    Shakir nodded. “As I recall, it was a member of NUMA who saved Egypt from the destruction of the Aswan Dam a few years ago.”
    “When we were all on the same side,” Hassan noted. “Do we have any exposure?”
    Shakir shook his head confidently. “Neither the freighter nor Ammon Ta nor the cargo can be traced back to us.”
    “What about Hagen, our operative on Lampedusa? Ammon Ta was supposed to deliver the Black Mist to him so he could use it to
influence
the governments of Europe.”
    Shakir read on. “Hagen escaped and made it back to Malta. He will try one more time to purchase the artifacts before they’re revealed to the public. If he’s unsuccessful, he’ll try to steal them. He promises to report back in two days.”
    “Hagen is the only link to us now,” Hassan said. “We should eliminate him. Immediately.”
    “Not until he has those artifacts. I want those tablets in our possession or destroyed beyond anyone’s ability to reconstruct them.”
    “Is it really worth this much effort?” Hassan asked. “We’re not even sure what’s on them.”
    Shakir was tired of Hassan’s endless questioning. “Listen to me,” he barked. “We’re about to put the leaders of Europe in a sleeper hold that will give us carte blanche to annex the most valuable part of this continent without any kind of repercussions. If someone finds a clue to the antidote on those tablets—if someone figures out how to counteract the Black Mist
—
then our entire plan, completely dependent on leverage, will fail. How can you not understand this?”
    Hassan shrank back. “Of course, but what makes you think that information will be found on these artifacts?”
    “Because that’s what Napoleon was looking for,” Shakir said. “He’d heard rumors of the Mist, sent his men to the City of the Dead and removed everything he could find. It’s only by luck that
we
were able to piece together the formula from what remained undisturbed and what we recovered from the bay. That means the vast majority of the information was taken. Taken by Europeans from our forefathers. I will not allow them to use it against us. If any of the details happen to exist on these particular relics, they must be retrieved or destroyed. And when it’s done, only then shall we eliminate Hagen.”
    “He’s too weak to do it himself,” Hassan suggested.
    Shakir considered that. “I agree. Send a group of the new agents to back him up. With orders to make him disappear when it’s over or if he becomes a liability.”
    Hassan nodded. “Of course. I’ll choose them personally,” he said. “In the meantime, the
others
have arrived, they’re waiting to speak with you down in the bunker.”
    Shakir sighed. As distasteful as it was, even he had to answer to someone. Osiris was a private military force, the beginnings of an empire that would control governments instead of answer to them. But in many ways, at least until this plan came to fruition, it was also a corporation, with Shakir as its president and CEO.
    The others, as Hassan had called them, were the equivalent of stockholders and members of the board, though all of them had bigger goals than mere success in business. Even unfathomable wealth was not enough for such men. They lusted for power and control, they wanted empires of their own, and Shakir was just the man to give it to them.

14

    Shakir marched toward the shimmering pipeline and the long cinder-block structure that contained one of his many pumping stations. Two of his men stood guard there. They opened the doors and held