Ali moistened his lips. "Of course. Whatever you say."
"I thought you'd have second thoughts." Dawson's gaze shifted back to the tomb opening. Ali was a complete asshole, and he was tempted to break the slimy toad's neck. But he knew Kontar's tomb, and Dawson might need him once he got down to Peseshet's chamber. He felt a flicker of excitement as he thought of that chamber and the bitch who ruled it.
If there was a chamber. Tavak had thought it existed and had Ali mark off the possible route to reach it. It had been amusing to have Tavak prepare the way for him, and he was beginning to feel eager and excited.
Are you dead, Tavak?
God, I hope not. There are so few men who can make me stretch and give me a challenge. Tavak was the leader Sorens could only dream of being. It was a pity Dawson couldn't let him survive.
Why was he lying to himself? There was no way he'd let Tavak live. Dawson might enjoy that challenge on some level, but the hatred he felt toward Tavak was a constant burning and tearing that had driven him since he'd been hired to do this job. Sometimes he even dreamed about the son of a bitch and woke up in a rage.
But he would let him live for a little while.
Yes, live, Tavak. I want you alive and able to talk.
A few hours of "persuasion" and he'd know everything Tavak knew about Peseshet's tablet.
Then he could permit himself to toy with him and loose all the corroding fury inside him. He would no longer have to remember the humiliation Tavak had heaped on him. It would all be erased. He would be the superior one, as he should be.
And when Tavak was broken, then he could let him die… slowly.
* * *
Norton leaned forward in his desk chair and squinted at the caller ID screen on his phone. Rachel Kirby.
Bitch.
He'd just been told that she'd practically ripped the IV out of her arm and fled the hospital with one of her lab assistants. But at least now she was calling him. In the two years he'd known her, his only decent chance of an actual conversation with her was if he climbed into his car and schlepped to the university. The prima donna couldn't be bothered with returning his phone calls.
He punched the talk button. "This better be good news, Kirby."
"It is. You'll have all the processing power you need within twenty-four hours."
Her voice sounded tense. Jangly. Not the icy-cool Rachel Kirby he knew and detested. Maybe their conversation had had more effect than he'd thought. "Is that a promise?"
"It's an offer."
"What do you mean?"
"You need to do something for me. There's no time for explanations or bargaining. And it has to be done immediately."
"There's always a catch, isn't there?"
"You haven't heard the catch yet. I'm talking about something that needs to be done seven thousand miles from here."
"What?"
"Outside Cairo. I know you have the capability. What happens when you get intel about a possible terrorist?"
"Is that what we're talking about here?"
"No. But you'll need to use whatever contacts you have in place."
"You're insane. You want the CIA, not me."
"Don't tell me you don't have a finger in every dirty mud puddle in or out of the U.S. If you can't help me, you can pull strings to make it happen."
"Why should I bother?"
"Whoever has been siphoning off our computing cycles is in Egypt. He's gotten himself into a jam. He needs a bit of rescuing."
"This isn't what the NSA does, Kirby."
"What about when one of your own gets into trouble? You'd pull in all the help you could get. Tap some favors with the CIA. Besides, the NSA is very good at furthering its own interests. That's exactly what you'd be doing."
"But a rescue mission? It sounds like if we do nothing, it's a problem that will take care of itself."
"I don't want it to take care of itself. The man who's responsible is John Tavak, and I need to talk to him. He's responsible for Jonesy's brain drain, and he has some other information I need."
"Dammit, I thought your system was secure. If any of my projects have been compromised… "
"Your information is safe. I designed the entire network to go down if there was that kind of breach."
"But this Tavak person obviously managed to get past your other safeguards. Why should I trust that—"
"I know better than to believe you'd trust anyone or anything," she interrupted. "If you have concerns, you can talk to him yourself. But you'll need to hurry, or he'll be dead and not any use to either of us."
The bitch was cold as ice and trying to ram her agenda down his throat. He'd love to tell her to go to hell. But he wasn't going to do it. He needed her damn computer, and she was the keeper of that particular temple. "How quick would I have to move?"
"The sooner the better. Four hours tops."
Norton swore beneath his breath. "I can't put together a job that fast."
"You can if you want to do it."
"Just to get back what you owe me? Go screw yourself."
She was silent. "I think you're about to do that to me, Norton. Spit it out."
"I want my processing cycles back plus a reserve of a third more to be used at my direction."
"You son of a bitch."
"Take it or leave it."
She didn't answer for a moment. "I'll give you an additional fourth of power and only for the next three weeks."
"A third."
"Good-bye, Norton."
It was time to back away. He had satisfactorily taken her down a peg and gotten his own back. He might be able to squeeze some more after he got his hands on Tavak. "I won't be greedy. I don't want to take anything away from your medical research groups. I'll accept your offer."
"You're all heart," she said sarcastically. "I'll give you the GPS coordinates and all the other information Tavak gave me. Get moving, Norton."
CAIRO, EGYPT
Nuri settled back in his chair at the outdoor cafe and tapped the bowl of the hookah. He cast a glance around. It was almost 1 A.M. and the place was packed, just like most of the other cafes along al-Azhar Street. He closed his lips around the wooden mouthpiece and sucked a lungful of double-apple-molasses tobacco smoke.
The cafe's owner had been a friend of his late father's, and he'd recently been victimized by a group of thugs offering "protection" for his cafe. Nuri offered to confront the hoodlums on their next visit and show them the error of their ways.
How did his father's friend know to come to him? Nuri wondered. They hadn't seen each other in years. Had his reputation really spread that far?
No matter. He would take care of those thugs.
There was a squealing of tires at the curb. Nuri turned to see a familiar pickup truck loaded with six men and three canvas-covered crates.
Nizam was behind the wheel. He called out the window. "Get in. We have a job."
"What's the pay?"
"Trust me. You'll want to do this one."
Nuri glanced at the men sitting in back. They were Nizam's best and most expensive, and he guessed that there was enough artillery under the canvas wraps to fight a small war.