Clive Cussler - Treasure

"Who's your best demolition expert?"

"Major Dillenger is one of the best explosive ordinance men in the army."

"I need about two hundred kilograms of C-six nitroglycerin gel .

Hollis looked at him in genuine surprise. "Two hundred kilograms of C-six? Ten kilos can take out a battleship. Do you know what you're asking? The nitrogel mix is shock-hazardous."

"Also a battery of spotlights," Pitt pressed on. "We can borrow them from a rock-concert group. Spotlights, strobe lights, and eardrum-blasting audio equipment." Then he turned to Lily. "I'll leave it to you to find a carpenter who can knock together a box."

"Why in God's name do you want all that stuff ?" Lily asked, eyes wide with curiosity.

"You don't want to know," Giordino moaned.

"I'll explain later," Pitt hedged.

"Sounds crazy to me," said Lily, uncomprehending.

The lady was only half right, Pitt thought. His plan was twice as crazy as anything she could conceive. But he kept everyone in the dark. He didn't think now was the right time to tell them he planned to take his act on the stage.

The green Volvo with the taxi markings stopped at the drive of Yazid's villa near Alexandria. The Egyptian army guards, who were posted by the personal order of President Hasan, stiffened into alertness at the gate as the taxi sat there without anyone's getting out.

Ammar sat in the back seat, his eyes and jaw heavily bandaged. He wore a blue silk robe and a small red turban. His Only medical treatment since escaping Santa Inez had come during a two-hour visit to a back-street Buenos Aires surgeon before chartering a private jet to fly him across the ocean to the small airport outside the city.

He no longer felt pain in his empty eye sockets. The drugs took care of that, but it was still agony to speak through his shattered jaw. And although he felt a strange sense of tranquility, his mind functioned as ruthlessly and efficiently as ever.

"We ate here," said Ibn from the driver's seat.

Ammar visualized Yazid's vffla in his mind-every detail as if he could actually see. "I know," he said simply.

"You do not have to do this g, Suleiman Aziz."

"I have no more hopes or fears. " Ammar spoke slowly, fighting the pain of each syllable. "It is the will of Allah."

Ibn swung from behind the wheel, opened the rear door and helped Ammar to climb out. He led Ammar up the driveway and turned him so he faced the heavily guarded gate.

"The gate is five meters in front of you," Ibn spoke haltingly in a voice heavy with emotion. He gently embraced Ammar. "Goodbye, Suleiman Aziz. I will miss you."

"Do what you promised, my friend, and we will meet in Allah's gar-den."

Ibn quickly turned and retraced his steps to the car. Ammar stood without moving until he heard the sound of the engine fade in the distance. Then he approached the gate.

"Stop right there, blind man," ordered a guard.

"I have come to visit my nephew, Akhmad Yazid," said Ammar.

The guard nodded to another, who disappeared into a small office and came out with a folder containing twenty or so names.

"Uncle, you say. What's your name?"

Ammar enjoyed making his last play as an impostor. He had collected on an old debt from a colonel in Abu Haniid's Defense Ministry and received the list of names of those permitted entry into Yazid's villa. He selected one who couldn't be immediately contacted.

"Mustapha Mahfouz."

"Your name is here all light. Let's see your identification."

The guard studied Ammar's counterfeit ID, fruitlessly trying to compare the photo with the heavily bandaged features.

"What happened to your face?"

"The car bomb that exploded in the bazaar at El Mansura. I was struck by flying debris."

"Too bad," the guard said without sincerity. "You can blame your nephew. It was his followers who set it off." He gestured to a subordinate. "If he clears the metal detector, guide him up to the house."

Ammar held out his arms as if he expected to be frisked.

"No need for a body search, Mahfouz. if you're carrying a weapon, the machine will spot it."

The metal detector revealed nothing and did not sound.

The front door: Ammar gloated as the Egyptian army security guard led him up the steps to the front door. No having to sneak in a side passage this time. He sorely wished he could see the look on Yazid's face when they met.

He was guided into what he perceived to be a large entry hall by the echo of the guard's boots on the tile floor. He was helped to a stone bench, and he sat down.

"Wait here."

Ammar heard the guard mumble to someone before returning to the gate. He sat in silence for several minutes. Then he heard approaching footsteps followed by a contemptuous voice.

"You are Mustapha Mahfouz?"

Ammar recognized the voice instantly. "Yes," he answered casually. "Do I know you?"

"We have not met. I am Khaled Fawzy, leader of Akhmad's revolutionary council."

"I've heard good things about you." The arrogant jackass, thought Ammar.

He doesn't know me under the bandages or by the slow rasp of my speech.

"it is indeed an honor to meet you. "

"Come along," said Fawzy, taking Ammar by the arm. "I'll take you to Akhmad. He thought you were still on a mission for him in Damascus. I don't think he's aware of your injuries."

"The result of an assassination attempt three days ago,,, Ammar lied artfully. "I left the hospital only this morning and flew straight here to brief Akhmad first hand."

"Akhrnad will be pleased to hear of your loyalty. He will also be saddened to learn of your injuries. Unfortunately your visit is poorly timed."

"I cannot meet with him?"

"He is at prayer," Fawzy said curtly.

Despite his suffering, Ammar could have laughed. He slowly became aware of another presence in the room. "It is vital he receive me."

"You may speak freely to me, mustapha Mahfouz." The name was spoken with heavy sarcasm. "I will relay your message."

:Tell Akhmad it concerns his ally."

'Who"" Fawzy demanded. "What ally?'

"Topiltzin."

The name seemed to hang in the room for an interminable time.

The stillness became intense. And then it was broken by a new voice.

"You should have stayed and died on the island, Suleiman," said Akhmad Yazid in a menacing tone.

Ammar's calm did not desert him. He had set his genius and last bit of strength for this moment. He was not about to wait for death. He was going to step forward and embrace it. Not for him a life of perpetual darkness and disfigurement-revenge was his deliverance.

"I could not die without standing in your forgiving presence one last time."

"Save your babble and remove those stupid bandages. You're losing your touch. Your crude imitation of Mahfbuz was fourth-rate for a man of your skills."

Ammar did not reply. He slowly unwrapped the bandages until the ends came free, and he dropped them on the floor.

Yazid audibly sucked in his breath when he saw the hideous disfigurement of Ammar's face. Sadistic blood ran in Fawzy's veins: he stared with the perverted duill of one who enjoyed the sight of human wreckage.

"My payment for my service," Annnar slowly rasped.

"How is it you're alive?" Yazid asked, his voice shaken.

"My faithful friend Ibn hid me from the American Special Forces for two days until he fashioned a raft out of driftwood. After drifting with the current and paddling for ten hours, by the grace of Allah we were picked up by a Chilean fishing boat that set us ashore near a small airport at Puerto Williams. We stole an airplane and flew to Buenos Aires, where I chartered a jet to bring us to Egypt."

"That does not come easy to you," muttered Yazid. "You realize you signed your death warrant by coming here," Fawzy purred with anticipation.