Rook gave her the last of his money, picked up the phone, and dialed. It was answered on the third ring by a man with a rough voice.

“Maksim Dashkov?” Rook said.

Suspicion filled the man’s voice. “Yes, who is this?”

“A friend of Galya’s.”

“Galya,” the man said in a whisper. “I haven’t heard from her in two years. How is she?”

Rook wasn’t sure how the man would respond, but he deserved the truth. “She’s dead.”

“Dead? How?”

“I can’t tell you that now,” Rook said, looking out the window at the three sailors. “But her dying wish was for you to help me.”

There was a pause on the other end. Then the man spoke. “Where are you?”

Chapter Sixty-Nine

SIXTY-EIGHT

Babylon, Iraq

THE LAST THING King remembered was looking down at his feet and seeing them disappear beneath the sand. He dropped his weapon as he reached out for some nearby brush, but was unable to reach it. Then he was in the earth, swallowed down and shat out. After falling ten feet, he struck his head on something solid and lost consciousness.

He awoke with a throbbing pain on the side of his head and a scratching thirst in his throat. Other than the colors dancing in his vision, he could see nothing. The pain grew worse when he remembered the last words he’d heard from Knight.

The Tower of Babel isn’t here.

If this isn’t the tower, King thought, then where am I?

In the darkness he found his small Maglite flashlight and turned it on, keeping its beam close to the stone floor. In the dim light he touched his hand to the raw spot of his head. He felt a sharp sting as the salt from his hand made contact with the wound. But there was very little blood on his hand, which meant the wound wasn’t bad.

He turned the flashlight on the wall and found a solid brown surface. Columns built into the stone rose from floor to ceiling every few feet, but appeared more decorative than supportive as they were hewn from the stone that made the wall. King aimed his flashlight up at the ceiling. It, too, was solid brown stone, but there was a sand- and stone-filled gap above him. More sand surrounded his body on the floor.

Standing over the weak spot, King had provided just enough pressure to loosen the sand. He’d been sucked down into the tunnel before it sealed above him again.

He stood with the flashlight in hand and looked for his rifle. Not seeing it, he remembered its fate. Damnit, he thought, and then drew his Sig Sauer handgun.