Subterranean by James Rollins Read Free Book Online Page A

over the final stone to reveal the inner sanctum of the high priest. The musty smell of the ancient chamber. The sun on her neck. To be the first to view a secret hidden for centuries. And now to do the same on a secret hidden for millennia. What would she find there? Her ears rang with her thudding heartbeat. Yes, she understood Ben’s excitement.
    â€œSo are you ready to scoop some booty?” he asked.
    She smiled into his laughing eyes. “Hell, yes. I hope there’s still time later to explore those cliff dwellings. I’d even skip lunch for a chance to get at them today.” Taking a hearty bite of her sandwich, she found the bread moist and the meat rubbery. “Especially this lunch.”
    Ben just kept smiling at her. “Don’t like military fare?”
    She smirked at him. “I’m going back for some pudding and a cookie.”
    â€œMom!” Jason cried. “No fair!”
    Jason’s finger dabbed up every stray cookie crumb from his dessert plate. Then he sucked on his finger, savoring the hint of chocolate. “Can’t I have one more cookie?” he begged his mother.
    â€œYou’ve already had two. That’s enough. Why don’t you go to the restroom and wash up?”
    Jason mumbled something under his breath and shoved his chair back. “Fine.”
    Ben piped up as Jason passed, “How about a game of pool after you’re done?”
    Jason’s tight features softened. He eyed his mother. “Can I?”
    â€œSure. Now scoot. We load up shortly.”
    â€œBe with you in a minute, Ben,” Jason said, darting from the mess hall into the restroom across the hall. The bathroom was empty. Jason popped into the middle stall and fumbled with his belt.
    As he sat down, he heard the door swing open, the noise from the hallway intruding until the door swung shut again. Someone whistled a tuneless melody as he approached the bank of toilet stalls and entered the cubicle on Jason’s right. Still whistling, the man dropped his pack on the floor of the stall. Right beside Jason.
    Jason watched, wide-eyed, as a black-haired hand reached down and released the pack’s clasp, then fumbled within it. Jason heard a match strike . . . followed shortly by a long exhalation. He could smell a burning cigarette. Next he heard the unbuckling of a belt, and the whistling continued. As the whistler sat down, the man bumped his pack with his heel, sending it toppling over. A small pile of plastic-wrapped cubes of what looked like gray Play-Doh tumbled into Jason’s stall.
    A spat of foul foreign words flowed from the neighboring stall. He watched as the man reached to the floor of the stall to collect his pack and straighten it up. Jason raised his feet just in time as an arm swept into his stall and scooped up the cubes. More angry words. He could see the tip of a nose as the man checked to make sure he had all the cubes.
    Just then, the door to the men’s room swung open again. Another man crossed to the urinals. Jason heard a zipper whisk down, followed by a characteristic splashing. The man at the urinal sighed. Jason listened as his neighbor buckled his pants, then resecured his toppled pack.
    His neighbor left the stall.
    The man at the urinal spoke. Jason recognized Ben’s accent. “Khalid, you’re not supposed to smoke in here, mate.”
    â€œAh, these Americans have too many rules. Who knows which to follow and which to ignore? Do you wish a cigarette?”
    â€œThanks for the offer,” Ben retorted. “But right now I’ve a date to play pool.”
    The restroom door was shoved open, and Khalid tromped out.
    Jason put his feet back on the floor and stood up. While fastening his belt, he looked down. The Egyptian man had missed one of those plastic-wrapped cubes. It had rolled to the far side of the toilet. Jason reached down and picked it up, wondering what to do. It squeezed like firm clay. He knew he