Next, as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, her vision started to return. She focused on the vertical lines and realized what they were: a giant iron gate backlit by a series of dim bulbs that provided the only light in her cell.
Wait. That gate looked familiar. She had seen it before.
Suddenly, memories came flooding back to her. She was in the tunnel, tied up in the back room, where she had been attacked by the guards.
The site!
Oh my God, they were there to rob the site!
Panicked, she tried to swing her legs around, tried to contort her body so she could see if the relic was still inside. Unfortunately, as she struggled to get a better view, she kicked up a swirl of dust that filled her lungs. Coughing was instantaneous. Blood and mucus sprayed from her nose as she gasped for breath. Pain erupted in her head, throbbing in unison with her racing heart.
Tears streamed down her face, clouding her vision once again.
Alone. In agony. In the darkness. Barely able to breathe.
She didn’t think it could get any worse.
But she was wrong.
Trevor Schmidt and his crew slipped into the tunnel, barely making a sound. All of them had packs slung over their shoulders and weapons in their hands. For big men, they ran silently. Years of training taught them how to move with stealth. The skill would serve them well as they strived to complete their mission.
From this point forward, noise would be kept to a minimum. Hand signals would be used when possible. Their watches were synchronized to the millisecond, freeing them of the need to speak. Some of their actions would be based on time, not verbal authorization. They would do what they were supposed to do whether the others were ready or not.
It was the advantage of a multipronged attack.
Even if someone was killed or captured, the survivors could still make a difference.
Schmidt led the way, creeping down the ramp at a steady pace. They followed him in single file, always keeping space between themselves in case there was an alarm or a mine or anything they hadn’t prepared for. The odds were against it—their source had been quite versed on the infrastructure of Mecca—yet they expected the unexpected. Ready for anything.
Well, almost anything.
When they hit the bottom of the ramp, Schmidt sent one of his men to inspect the back tunnel while the other two worked on the maintenance shaft that branched in the opposite direction. The soldier clicked on a flashlight and disappeared into the darkness, only to return a minute later, confusion etched on his face.
“What?” Schmidt whispered.
“You have to see this.”
“What is it?”
“I have no fuckin’ idea. That’s why you have to see it.”
Intrigued, Schmidt signaled for the others to keep working while he investigated the rear tunnel. The passageway had been carved with precision, lit with the same bulbs that lined the initial entry ramp but protected by a giant iron gate that had been anchored in the ceiling and floor. It prevented them from going any farther. Why it was there, he wasn’t sure. But as far as he was concerned, it didn’t really matter. They would be heading in the opposite direction.
“You wanted me to see this?” he asked.
The soldier shook his head. “I wanted you to see this.”
He stuck his flashlight between the bars and shined it into the back room. Shards of broken bulbs littered the floor, intermixed with large chunks of stone and rubble. He tilted the beam upward, revealing a man-made stalagmite that had recently been chiseled to its core. All that remained was a large hole, several cubic feet of empty space where something had been stored.
Hoping to get a better view, Schmidt turned on his light, too. “What is it?”
“I’m guessing a tomb.”
“A tomb? Why do you say that?”
Instead of answering, he swung his beam to the rear corner of the room, where Shari Shasmeen lay motionless on the ground. Her eyes were closed. Her arms and legs were tied. Blood covered her face and clothes. She looked like a corpse.
Schmidt tilted his head to get a better view. “Is she dead?”
“Can’t tell from here. If you want, I can shoot her to make sure.”
He glanced at his watch. They had more important things to worry about.
“Why bother? If she’s not dead now, she will be soon.”
42
They parked their trucks in an alley, several blocks south of the Great Mosque.
It was as close as traffic would allow.
Mecca was a multiethnic city, filled with people of all colors and nationalities. Still, to blend in, Payne and Jones had to dress the part. They wore white Saudi thobes (full-length cotton gowns that nearly touched the ground when they walked) and white skullcaps. The Arab-American soldiers added some variety. One donned a red-and-white ghutra (headdress), held firm by a black igal (ropelike cord); the other covered his thobe with a light brown bisht (cloak). The remaining two wore beige taqiyah caps (brim-less and accented with white-thread embroidery) and thobes of the same color.