Copyright © 2014 Chris Kuzneski, Inc
The right of Chris Kuzneski to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publishers or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
First published as an Ebook by Headline Publishing Group in 2014
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cataloguing in Publication Data is available from the British Library
eISBN: 978 0 7553 8658 1
Cover images © Shutterstock and DEA/G. Dagli Orti/Getty Images (lion’s head carving)
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
About Chris Kuzneski
About the Book
Also By Chris Kuzneski
Praise
Acknowledgements
Maps
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Epilogue
About Chris Kuzneski
Author Photo © Daniel Portnoy
Chris Kuzneski is the international bestselling author of numerous thrillers featuring the series characters Payne and Jones, including SIGN OF THE CROSS and THE SECRET CROWN. He is also the author of THE HUNTERS, the first novel in a new electrifying series that continues with THE FORBIDDEN TOMB. Chris’s thrillers have been translated into more than twenty languages and are sold in more than forty countries. Chris grew up in Pennsylvania but currently lives on the Gulf Coast of Florida. To learn more, please visit his website: www.chriskuzneski.com
About the Book
THE HUNTERS
If you seek, they will find. . .
The treasure:
For nearly two thousand years, the legendary tomb of Alexander the Great – and the extraordinary riches concealed within – has remained lost to the world, but recent discoveries may hold the key to locating the fabled vault. Only one team has what it takes to solve the mystery that has plagued historians for centuries.
The mission:
The Hunters – an elite group assembled by an enigmatic billionaire to locate the world’s greatest treasures – are tasked with finding the tomb. When clues lead them to Egypt, they encounter hostile forces that will do anything to stop them. Before long, the treasure hunt becomes a deadly rescue mission that will take the lives of hundreds and leave a city in ruins.
As the danger continues to mount, will the Hunters rise to the challenge?
Or will the team be beaten before they find the ultimate prize?
High-octane action. Brilliant characters. Classic Kuzneski.
BY CHRIS KUZNESKI
Payne & Jones Series
The Plantation
Sign of the Cross
Sword of God
The Lost Throne
The Prophecy
The Secret Crown
The Death Relic
The Einstein Pursuit
The Hunters Series
The Hunters
The Forbidden Tomb
Praise for Chris Kuzneski:
‘Kuzneski writes as forcefully as his tough characters act’ Clive Cussler
‘Riveting and relentlessly paced’ James Rollins
‘Kuzneski is a master in the making’ Vince Flynn
‘Kuzneski does it again with another terrific tale, filled with action and deception, bringing the unimaginable to life. Definitely my kind of story!’ Steve Berry
‘With bullets flying and thrills twenty to the dozen, Kuzneski is on explosive top form . . . You can’t afford not to hunt this one down!’ Scott Mariani
Acknowledgements
Here are some of the wonderful people I’d like to thank:
Scott Miller, Claire Roberts, Stephanie Hoover, and the whole gang at Trident Media. They sold this project/series long before it was written, and they sold my next one, too. That means I get to eat for another year. Sweet!!!
Ian Harper, my longtime friend/editor/consigliere. He reads my words before anyone else – and then reads them again and again until they’re perfect. And if we ever disagree, he usually wins because he’s twice my size and kind of scary.
Vicki Mellor, Emily Griffin, Darcy Nicholson, Jo Liddiard, Ben Willis, Mari Evans, and everyone at Headline/Hachette UK. They took my story and turned it into a book – one with a fancy cover, cool maps, and consecutively numbered pages. As an English major, this last one is particularly helpful because I can barely count to ten.
All the fans, librarians, booksellers, and critics who have enjoyed my thrillers and have recommended them to others. If you keep reading, I’ll keep writing. And if you stop reading, buy my books anyway and give them to friends. They make awesome gifts.
Last but not least, I’d like to thank my family for their unwavering support. Then again, maybe they’re just too worried to say anything bad about me. Let’s be honest: I am kind of twisted, and I do love killing characters.
Speaking of killing, it’s finally time for the good stuff. Without further ado, please sit back, relax, and let me tell you a
story . . .
ALEXANDER THE GREAT’S EMPIRE
EGYPT AND THE EASTERN MEDITERRANEAN
Prologue
Tuesday, April 11
Bahariya Oasis, Egypt
(180 miles southwest of Cairo)
The desert didn’t scare him. He knew the dangers of hiking alone in the Sahara, but he had been doing it for so many years that he was prepared for anything.
A veteran explorer with more than two decades of experience, Dr Cyril Manjani had taken all the necessary precautions before leaving camp. He had notified his team of his travel plans and told them when he would return. He had packed food, water, a GPS unit and a compass, and even some glow sticks in case his flashlight failed. They were the same essentials that he always packed before his nightly walks.
His hike had nothing to do with adventure.
He just needed some time to think.
An expert in Egyptology, Manjani had handpicked the members of his team. Though most were graduate students, they represented the cream of the academic crop from some of the world’s finest schools. Together, they covered a wide range of scholarly pursuits that might come in handy on his latest expedition.
Manjani didn’t want identical opinions on this project.
He needed unique perspectives in multiple fields.
They had been toiling in the desert for three long weeks before things started to get interesting. First they had discovered a stone wall around the perimeter of an ancient site. Then came a series of small huts that had been almost perfectly preserved under the sand. Eventually they had found a much larger structure housing the desiccated remains of several soldiers and a mishmash of objects from several ancient cultures.
That had been yesterday.
Today’s discovery was even more exciting – so much so that he had refused to leave it at camp.
Resting atop a towering dune, Manjani drank from his thermos before tightening the drawstrings around his neck. The April breeze was chilly, and he was grateful for the warmth of his tea and his jacket. Staring out across the vast emptiness of the Sahara, he felt a sense of wonder wash over him. Undulating waves of sand stretched out for miles in every direction. Most saw the bleak terrain as an adversary that must be overcome, but Manjani saw it as a place of opportunity. The landscape was literally filled with the answers to mysteries that had gone unsolved for centuries.
These were the moments he cherished most.
Nothing stirred his emotions in quite the same way.
Manjani checked his watch. He had planned to be gone for ninety minutes at most, and he was quickly running out of time. Before heading back, he turned his attention to the nighttime sky. He was always amazed by how much the city lights obscured his view of the heavens. But out here, in the heart of the desert, the celestial bodies glowed against the darkest black he had ever seen. The contrast was so great that he swore he could see stars he had never seen before.
Though he would have preferred to stay on the dune a little longer, gazing at the panorama above, he felt a sudden chill run up his spine. He pulled his drawstrings tighter and cursed under his breath. He knew a sudden drop in temperature often preceded drastic changes in the weather, and out here, in the middle of nowhere, those changes could be deadly.
Wasting no time, he started his journey back.
The closer he got to camp, the more the breeze picked up strength. He covered his eyes as sand pelted his face, stinging like hordes of microscopic insects. The wind whistled past his ears, drowning out all other sounds around him. Despite the clear sky, Manjani could sense that things were about to turn nasty. As he crested the final dune, he was glad his journey was nearly over.
Unfortunately, his nightmare had just begun.
As the camp came into view, so did the carnage. At first, Manjani assumed that his colleagues’ excitement – and the case of brandy that they had insisted on bringing – had gotten the better of them. They appeared to be frolicking about the camp in a state of mass delirium, yelling and tripping over each other like teenagers on spring break. But looking closer, he suddenly realized his mistake. Their movement was an act of desperation, not celebration. Their screams were born of terror, not triumph.
All caused by the demons that swarmed the camp.
Everywhere he looked, cloaked men set upon the members of his team like bloodthirsty butchers. Manjani could not hear the cries of pain above the wailing gusts, but he didn’t have to. He could see the murderous rampage unfold in front of him. He watched in horror as his comrades were mercilessly dispatched, the assassins striking them down with methodical precision. Their deaths were slow and agonizing, inflicted with startling ease by the razor-sharp blades wielded by the intruders.
Familiar with the folklore of the region, Manjani had heard the stories of bogeymen that guarded the desert, but he had paid little attention to the tales. People had been disappearing in the Sahara since the beginning of time, and he had refused to believe that they had all suffered a violent death at the hands of monsters.
Now he wasn’t so sure.
In his heart he yearned to charge forward, to defend the men and women whom he had convinced to join him on his quest. But in his head he understood that it was a fool’s errand – one that would result in certain death. Without weapons or training, there was nothing he could do against these armed savages. Charging into camp would not save his friends; it would only ensure that he died with them. He realized the only people he could possibly save were those who might have fled before the slaughter.
Though he was ill-equipped to take on the approaching sandstorm, there was no way he could risk returning to the camp for additional supplies. He would have to face the elements with only what he carried on his back. It was a daunting proposition. Manjani knew that desert winds had killed fitter, more prepared men than he. Given the distance to the nearest settlement, he gave himself a ten percent chance of survival, at best.
But those odds were much better than the ones he faced in camp.
That was a war he couldn’t win, and Manjani knew it. He would rather die searching for others who might have escaped – colleagues who lacked his experience with desert survival or equipment of any kind. He owed his team that much. Their lives now rested on him, as did the legacy of those who had already perished.
Someone needed to tell the world what had happened here.
Someone needed to know what he had found.
1
Present Day
Tuesday, October 21
Fort Lauderdale, Florida
Few people knew of the private road through the swamps of south Florida, and fewer still had driven on it. Several harshly worded signs warned trespassers that they weren’t welcomed on the property and would be severely punished when caught. Not by the police or a court of law, but by the owners of the land itself.
In the glades, it was known as jungle justice.
And it was just how things got done.
The longhaired biker ignored the warning signs and turned off the dirt road, eager to take advantage of the smooth stretch of asphalt in front of him. The moment his back tire reached the pavement, he twisted the throttle on his customized Harley and held on tight. His engine roared its approval and he rocketed forward at a dizzying rate of speed, laughing as the trees whizzed past him. Mosquitoes (the size of birds) and lizards (the size of poodles) darted out of his way to avoid a messy death.
Not that he would have cared.
He had killed many things over the years, most of them quickly.
It was what he had been trained to do.
At the end of the road, he slowed to a halt as he approached the massive steel gate that protected the waterfront property beyond. He was familiar with the entrance, having passed through it several times before, but he suddenly realized that he had never actually opened the gate by himself. He had always been with someone who had done it for him. Intrigued, he parked his Harley in the mid
dle of the road, dismounted, and stepped toward the odd-looking control panel.
Strangely, there were no buttons to push, numbers to tap, or switches to activate. All he could see was a flat rectangular touch screen mounted on a futuristic metal stand. At least that’s what it looked like to him. Given the sleek look of the device and what he didn’t know about technology, it might have been a biometric sensor capable of reading his thoughts.
Just like the genie that lived in his iPhone.
Unsure what to do, Josh McNutt swiped his hand above the surface, hoping it was a simple motion detector like one of those fancy faucets. Next, he pressed his fingertips on the screen itself, wondering if it would scan his prints and let him in like the armory at Fort Bragg. When that didn’t work, he tried both palms, one at a time.
But nothing happened.
McNutt stroked the three-day stubble on his cheeks, pondering his next move. ‘Hello,’ he said to the device. ‘Anyone in there? Heeeelllloooooo.’
Eventually, he knocked on the unit as if it were the front door.
Still, no response.
‘Stupid robot,’ he mumbled under his breath.
Growing more and more frustrated, McNutt walked toward the steel gate and reached out to shake the grate. An instant before making contact, he snapped his arms back to his sides, as if the bars had suddenly transformed into venomous snakes. In truth, his reaction was caused by something more deadly. In the past, he had been told that the gate was only the first of the security measures surrounding the estate. The grounds were also encircled with highly electrified wire mesh that could deliver a lethal current. At the last second, he wondered if the gate was armed with the same type of charge.