King's Crusade (Seventeen) (8 page)

‘That guy is gonna have a heart attack before the week’s out,’ Jackson muttered pityingly.

It was after ten when they reached the resort town of El Gouna and the Abu Tig marina. Lights were still on in the restaurants and bars that lined the harbor, and tourists and locals strolled along the busy promenades.

Alexa drove to a hotel close to the waterfront and checked them into a room. Jackson’s eyes widened when he saw the pair of fake passports she showed to the receptionist.

‘Mr. and Mrs. Thompson? I hope you enjoy your stay with us,’ the man behind the main desk said with a bright smile.

‘We’ll need an early checkout in the morning,’ said Alexa.

‘Not a problem,’ the receptionist replied with a gracious nod. His smile grew stilted when his gaze fell on their bare ring fingers.

‘She’s allergic to jewelry,’ said Jackson, flashing a grin at the man.

The receptionist’s eyebrows rose slightly. He glanced at their bags. ‘Do you have any other luggage?’

‘No,’ said Alexa. She took the passkey and headed in the direction of the room.

‘And men. She’s allergic to men,’ Jackson added under his breath as he strode after her. ‘Hey, can I have a look at that passport?’

She handed him the document.

‘When did you do this? And isn’t this picture from my Harvard ID badge?’ he said as he scanned the passport.

‘I had it made while you were packing yesterday. Fawkes had it ready at the airport.’ She stopped in front of the door to their room and swiped the passkey across the lock. The lights came on automatically when they crossed the threshold.

Jackson stared at the layout of the twin room with a deadpan expression. ‘For a second there, I thought we were gonna share a bed.’

Alexa gave him a flinty look.

‘A man can but hope,’ he added with an unapologetic shrug.

‘Get some rest.’ She dropped her bag on the bed closest to the door. ‘We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow.’

Chapter Five

T
hey checked out of the
hotel shortly after seven the next morning and made the short journey to the marina on foot. Alexa headed past several luxury yachts until she reached a berth where a sleek, black and chocolate-brown Hunton powerboat was docked.

A man stood on the polished teak deck; a good six feet tall, with wavy dark hair and gray eyes, he looked like a model who had just stepped off a runway in Milan. ‘Miss Adams?’ he said in a faint Florentine accent, his gaze running appreciatively over her form.

‘Yes,’ she replied impassively.

‘You’re dead on time,’ said the Italian. His lips curved in a dazzling smile.

‘Adams? What’d you do, get a divorce overnight?’ Jackson murmured darkly behind her. She ignored him and stepped onto the boat. He hesitated before following her cautiously.

The Italian man’s gaze shifted curiously between them. ‘And this would be?’

‘An associate,’ said Alexa. She caught Jackson’s scowl out of the corner of her eye and felt an odd sense of satisfaction.

She was irascible again after last night. While the Harvard professor had fallen asleep seconds after she turned off the lights, she had lain awake for a good few hours, conscious of his every breath and the movements of his body on the bed next to hers. She had never been so aware of another being’s presence, be they immortal or human, in her entire life. It maddened her.

The Italian man nodded lazily, unfazed by her demeanor. ‘The money has been wired to my account?’

‘It’s being done as we speak,’ said Alexa.

‘Great. I’ll pick up the boat in two days.’ He handed her a set of keys, stepped onto the pier, and untied the vessel.

She caught the dock lines he threw at her and stored them on the deck.

Jackson stuck his head through the open hatch to the cabin. ‘Hey, there’s a galley kitchen and all sorts of stuff down here.’

Alexa turned on the engines and guided the powerboat out of the marina. The Italian waved from the pier before walking off. Jackson eventually returned from his explorations and took the bolster seat next to her.

‘By the way, did I happen to mention that I get sea sick?’ he said with a grimace.

She glanced at him. ‘You were fine on the plane.’

‘Yeah, well, planes and trains are okay. Boats are a problem.’

She waited until they were out at sea before pushing the twin throttles. The boat leapt forward and gathered speed.

‘How fast does this thing go, anyway?’ Jackson watched the choppy waters at the side with a queasy expression as the powerboat bounced over the wash of a fishing vessel.

‘It can do seventy knots.’

‘That’s almost eighty miles an hour,’ he said after a second. She looked at him impassively. ‘Oh boy,’ he murmured.

They passed several islands on their way up the Red Sea and entered the mouth of the Gulf of Suez at the Strait of Jubal less than an hour later. The mountains of the Eastern Desert appeared on their left and tapered off toward the Nile Delta to the north. In the east, bridging the African and Asian continents, rose the Sinai Peninsula; its highest peak, Mount Sinai, was soon visible through a haze of yellow desert dust.

The wind picked up and the waves doubled in size. Jackson grew pale and threw up over the side twice. Alexa ignored him and held the wheel firmly in her grip. Fishing vessels, oil platforms, and reefs dotted the waters around them as they headed toward the southern end of the Suez Canal and Port Tawfik.

The Hunton’s owner had already filed the paperwork for his transit through the waterway. A hefty, undeclared fee to personal contacts on either side of the canal also ensured that the powerboat would make the normal twelve-hour trip in less than half a day.

After notifying port control of their approach on the Hunton’s radio, Alexa slowed the vessel and joined the northbound shipping convoy.

The transit up the waterway was smoother than their passage through the Gulf of Suez, even with the powerboat doing three times the canal’s recommended top speed, a fact that was blatantly overlooked by the Egyptian soldiers posted at regular intervals along the banks. The fields lining the west of the canal were a vivid green under the harsh winter sun. On the eastern side, the yellow dunes of the Sinai Peninsula occasionally disappeared behind episodic sandstorms.

They went through the Great Bitter Lake before Ismailia, passed under the Suez Canal Bridge at El Qantara, and reached Port Said shortly after midday. Alexa guided the boat into the marina on the eastern bank of the canal and docked it in the empty berth assigned to the Hunton’s owner.

A sigh left Jackson’s lips when he stepped onto the jetty. ‘Man, I’m glad that’s over,’ he muttered under his breath.

She finished securing the powerboat and took her bag off him wordlessly. They turned and headed down the road to the ferry terminal, where they caught the next service to Port Said.

As she leaned against the port bulwark of the ship and examined the looming western bank of the canal, Alexa was conscious of Jackson hovering close to her, his stance strangely protective. She was only vaguely aware of the local men’s stares. Although form-fitting, the dark cargo pants, combat boots, army T-shirt, and leather jacket she wore were comfortable, utilitarian in their design, and helped mask her custom-made body holster. She saw no need for false modesty unless it was crucial to the mission at hand. Besides, she could count the number of dresses she owned on one hand. All of them had been ridiculously expensive gifts from her godfather.

They landed at the port terminal shortly and were making their way through the crush of bodies when the back of her neck suddenly prickled.

Alexa froze. Her head snapped around. She caught a glimpse of a short, bald, saffron-robed figure before it melted in the crowd.

She stood perfectly still as she scanned the sea of unfamiliar faces. She was certain it was the same man she had spied close to Jackson’s apartment in Boston.

The Harvard professor stopped a few steps ahead and looked at her curiously over his shoulder. ‘What is it?’

Alexa hesitated. ‘It’s—nothing.’ She filed the event under ‘things to investigate further’ and joined him.

A trip to the administrative offices of the port authority revealed that the Juzur Tawilah had stopped briefly at a cargo handling yard less than a mile south of their current location, before proceeding up the canal to the fishing harbor. They left the building and made their way along the busy streets of the city to the address they had been given. It turned out to be a large depot in the middle of a row of similar constructions, all of which looked out over the water. The place was bustling with activity.

‘Now what?’ said Jackson. They stood in the shadow of a shipping container and studied the warehouse two hundred feet down and across the road from their position.

Alexa observed the layout of the yard with a thoughtful frown. ‘We wait until nightfall.’

Jackson stiffened. ‘You mean, we’re breaking and entering again?’ he countered, staring at her.

‘Yes,’ she replied without compunction.

A sigh left his lips. ‘I worry about how easily you said that,’ he murmured.

They headed into town and found a quiet cafe a short distance from the harbor. Alexa called Reznak and updated him with the recent developments. She omitted her sightings of the mysterious, saffron-robed figure.

‘Boyko Dragov?’ said Reznak.

She could picture the frown on her godfather’s face. ‘Yes. The techs didn’t have anything on him,’ she said quietly.

‘I’ll see what I can dig up,’ he said before disconnecting.

She sat back and closed her eyes while Jackson got on the phone to his contacts in the universities and museums in North Africa and the Middle East. No one had heard of any tombs being dug up in the Eastern Desert in the last two months.

‘The people who did this will not be using normal channels to move the stolen goods.’ Alexa opened her eyes and looked calmly at the Harvard professor’s troubled face.

‘I don’t get it. If they’re not intending to display the artifacts, then what’re they planning to do with them?’ said Jackson testily. ‘Dispose of them on the black market?’

‘Reznak would have heard of it by now if that were the case,’ she said dismissively.

They returned to the warehouse at eight that evening. The shipping yard was quieter than it had been that afternoon, and they easily avoided detection in the darkness. Alexa completed her second perimeter check of the day before joining Jackson in the shadows of the adjoining depot.

‘There’s a light on at the back. The place looks dead otherwise.’ She pulled on a pair of black leather cross training gloves, removed the Sigs from their holsters, and screwed a pair of suppressors on the ends.

Jackson watched her warily while she clipped magazines to her waist. ‘What are you intending to do with those?’

‘Shoot anyone who gets in our way,’ said Alexa. She removed El Bashir’s Beretta from her jacket and handed it to him. He took the weapon gingerly. ‘Do you know how to handle a gun?’

‘Of course!’ he exclaimed with an affronted air. ‘I grew up in Montana.’

Her frown deepened. ‘When was the last time you fired one?’

‘1992,’ Jackson replied promptly.

Alexa stared at him stonily. ‘That’s eighteen years ago.’

He shrugged. ‘So?’

Her fingers flexed unconsciously on her Sigs. She gritted her teeth and spent the next minute showing him how to use the Beretta. ‘If the bullets start to fly, stick behind me,’ she warned him over her shoulder as they made their way across the alley to the warehouse. Jackson grunted something unintelligible in response.

The side exit to the building was closed. Alexa picked the padlock, drew the external bolt, and carefully pulled the door open. There was a faint creak of metal on metal as it moved on its hinges. She crossed the narrow threshold into the dark space beyond and closed the door behind Jackson.

They stood still while their eyes adjusted to the gloom. Shapes slowly materialized in front of them. Rows of shipping crates and containers appeared, soaring on pallets along a series of wide, intersecting aisles that ran the length and width of the warehouse. Suspended high above was a bridge crane on rails.

The building was as silent as a tomb.

Alexa turned and headed quietly toward the back of the warehouse. Jackson fell into step behind her. A dim light soon filtered around the hulking towers of boxes. Faint voices followed. Though she could not make out the words, the general tone indicated that an argument was in progress.

They had barely covered another dozen yards when the sound of a single gunshot boomed across the cavernous interior of the warehouse.

Jackson flinched. His right foot collided with a pile of metal pipes and sent them crashing to the concrete floor. The resulting clatter was almost as deafening as the gun blast.

Alexa stared at him.

‘Oops,’ he whispered with a contrite grimace.

Heavy footsteps rose on the other side of a wall of crates.

‘Who’s there?’ a thick male voice demanded.

The man’s accent was distinctly eastern European. As Alexa pondered whether the voice belonged to the elusive Boyko Dragov, another sound reached her ears above the noise of the approaching footfall.