The Revelation Relic

by Rob Jones

“This arch is odd,” he said. “Arches are old. Very old. They started right back in the time of the ancient Sumerians. Romans loved them and made a lot of improvements with them with concrete, but the Ancient Greeks weren’t big on arches. They found them inefficient and preferred horizontal beams or lintels.”

  “The point, Hunter?”

  He turned and saw Jodie arching an eyebrow.

  “The point is that this doesn’t look Roman to me, and if it’s not Greek then it must have been built by an older culture.”

  “We can worry about that later,” Amy said. “A priest is dead and thanks to Agent Gubenko we know who did it – the Wolf Pack. That means Colonel Neverov and his men are on this island, and probably at the end of this tunnel. We have to stay vigilant and keep moving.”

  They moved away from the sealed arch and continued along the passageway until they reached a freshly dug hole in the earth. Staring inside the hole, Amy saw a glow stick twenty feet down, partially covered in dust. Someone had dropped it down a few moments earlier. She sighed. “Max?”

  Hunter curled his fist into a ball and pounded the rock wall with it. “Looks like Neverov really did get here first. Damn it!”

  Blanco said, “I wonder if he’s still down there?”

  “There’s only one way to know for sure,” said Hunter. “And that’s going down and getting dirty.”

  “You make it sound almost romantic,” Amy said.

  “No matter what I do or say,” Hunter said, “I’m just naturally charming like that.”

  “Get in the hole, Hunter,” Jodie said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Hunter climbed down the rope. Thanks to his army training and a determination to keep fit in his new career, the descent took little effort and he dropped down the last few feet, landing with a gentle puff on the powdery dust below.

  “The Eagle has landed,” he called up, rubbing his hands together to relieve the friction burns.

  “And what do you see?” Amy said.

  He switched on his flashlight and swept it around in a circle. “Dome-shape structure carved out of the bedrock. Smooth walls, good workmanship. One tunnel leading off in a northerly direction. Beside it, a very narrow split in the rockface, a rift cave, probably. There’s some Koine Greek carved on the arch above the tunnel.”

  “What does it say?”

  Hunter stepped closer, angling the beam up at the carved letters. “Ti stene e pule kai tethlimmene e hodos apagousa…”

  “Wait, we’re all coming down,” said Amy, and then led the rest of the team down the rope until they were standing beside Hunter. Looking at the carved lettering, she put her hands on her hips and frowned. “English, please.”

  “I can read the letters, but I’m not sure of their meaning.”

  “It’s from the Bible,” Lewis said. “Matthew, 7:14 – For the gate is small and the way is narrow that leads to life, and there are few who find it.”

  Amy looked at the former marine with admiration. “What’s its meaning in this context, Dr Lewis?”

  “Hard to say but in biblical terms it’s usually interpreted as Jesus comparing the way into life as being through a gate. The King James version is different – it reads “Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.”

  “Why is that important?”

  “Because when I say strait I’m not saying straight,” he spelled out the last word. “Straight means not crooked, but strait is an archaic word for cramped or having a restricted capacity. I think John was using this passage of Matthew to give us some sort of clue, to help us find our way down here.”

  “He’s telling us to go inside the rift cave,” Hunter said.

  Quinn looked at the split in the rock with horror. “But that’s even narrower than the one we just walked through, Max! It’s barely wide enough for me, never mind you or Sal or Ben!”

  “Quinn’s right,” Jodie said. “That’s just crazy. The arch around that tunnel entrance was built for a reason.”

  Hunter shone his flashlight inside the stone portico and angled it down the slope. There, in the darkness of the tunnel, he saw a body, crushed to death by a block of stone falling from above. “Yeah, and that reason is it’s booby-trapped.”

  “Huh?” she said.

  “It’s one of Neverov’s men,” he said. “Dead as a doornail because he wasn't lucky enough to have me on his team.”

  “It was Ben’s translation that gave us the clue,” Jodie said.

  “Ah yes,” Hunter said with a smile. “But it was my inference that pointed the way to the rift cave.”

  “Do you even know what modesty means?” Jodie said, slowly walking away from the portico and toward the rift cave.

  “Sure,” he said, coolly walking past her. “When it comes to being modest, I’m the best in the entire world.” He met her rolling eyes with a wink and turned sideways to go inside the narrow rift cave. The others followed his lead and began to shuffle sideways through the split in the rock. Soon, the small chamber behind them was nothing but a memory.

  Hunter was anxious, but kept it to himself. The rift cave was inches wide and getting narrower. Doubts about his deciphering of the hidden message back in the chamber rose in his mind. Had he made a mistake? Was he leading his teammates to their deaths? Caving deaths were not uncommon. It was a dangerous business and he knew it.

  Now, the cold slimy rock was only an inch from his nose as he shuffled forward, his flashlight pointing the only place he could point it – at the ground and slightly angled off to his right. He heard Quinn sniffing in the dark. Was she crying?

  “Hey, Quinn,” he called out.

  “What?”

  She sounded small.

  “You hear about those two guys who found a bat in a cave?”

  “No.”

  “They decided to play baseball with it.”

  Lewis groaned, but only a polite chuckle from Quinn.

  “Don’t worry,” he said. “There’s always light at the end of the tunnel, and in our case I mean this literally.”

  “We’re getting to the end?” Amy said.

  He felt a wave of hope ripple through the team. “Sure is and the rift’s getting wider. We’re through!”

  He stepped out of the fissure and into a large cavern. Sweeping his flashlight around, he saw a jungle of stalagmites and then the unmistakable outline of a manmade altar. The stone table was just inside an alcove on the far side of the cavern, framed beneath a crumbling stone pediment. Hanging around the altar were dusty sanctuary lamps and ornate candelabra and above it hung an intricate altar canopy and dossal curtain. In the corner of the cave, four giant pillars towered up to the roof. On the cornice of each one was a different carving matching those on the statues – an eagle, an ox, a man and a lion.

  “Well, we found something,” he said. “But no sign of John’s man statue.”

  He walked over to the altar and sighed.

  “Max?” said Amy.

  “It’s as I thought,” he said. “Looks like Neverov beat us to it. Damn it all to hell!”

  “Huh?”

  “There’s nothing here,” he said. “Nothing on the altar, nothing behind it. No statue. The Wolf Pack beat us to it, but how? I just don’t understand how they got here first! The clue about this cave was on the lion statue. Sure, they had the statue for a few moments in Rome, but only Kostas could translate it.”

  “Obviously not,” Amy said. “They must have photographed it and had someone else decipher John’s cryptic message.”

  “Or one of us is a traitor,” Lewis said, lifting his flashlight up to his chin and illuminating his face like a ghost. “But who?”

  “Stop it, Ben,” Amy said. “And don’t be so stupid. No one here is a traitor, but Max is right to ask how Neverov got here before us. Whatever we were looking for is gone. Neverov and the Wolves got to it first.”

  And then the cave was filled with noise. Russians screaming, automatic w
eapons roaring. The orange and white strobing of muzzle flashes lit the ghostly stalactites above their heads like snarling fangs.

  “Down!” Hunter yelled. “Everyone get down!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  The team scattered in all directions, seeking cover wherever they could find it. Hunter’s new sanctuary was the altar, behind which he now rolled to a stop and reached for his handgun. The Russian terrorists on the other side of the chamber tracked him across to his new cover position with their automatic weapons and opened fire, rounds drilling into the marble walls over his head.

  He raised his head above the top of the altar just enough to see the men and returned fire, killing one on the spot and driving the others back out of the chamber. He heard an explosion to his left – a grenade, to be sure – and turned. At the far end of the tomb, Jodie was dragging an unconscious Quinn to the safety of one of the colossal stone support pillars standing in the four corners of the giant cave.

  To their left, Amy, Blanco and Lewis emerged from behind a boulder and ran over to the same pillar for cover. The Brooklynite was firing on some men just out of Hunter’s view and giving Amy and Lewis time to get over to Jodie and Quinn. Bullets struck the apex of the pediment and blasted a cloud of rock dust down onto their heads.

  “How many more are there?” Hunter yelled.

  Blanco squeezed off another three rounds, the powerful recoil jerking the handgun back with each shot. “Half a dozen.”

  Before Hunter could reply, more Russians burst into the chamber, guns blazing. Sweeping their automatic guns across the cave, they made their way across to the altar’s enormous marble predella. By the time they reached it, their assault had shredded much of the previously beautiful masonry to ugly rubble and debris. In the crossfire, all of the sanctuary lamps and candelabra had been destroyed, and the altar canopy and dossal curtain were nothing but tattered, smoking rags.

  Neverov’s army was fast and ruthless. Their provenance in the Russian Special Forces was obvious to Hunter as he watched them fan out into groups. One kept Amy and the others pinned down in the corner while another was keeping him tucked down behind the altar. Every time he tried to get into a good firing position, they opened fire on him with an incandescent rage he had never before encountered. But he had to get a shot at them. Bullets left pockmarks on the wall behind his head as he reached for a handhold, then he swung himself up and fired blindly through the chaos.

  They returned fire again, driving him away from the altar and over to one of the columns. It was a retreat but he had no choice. With no one to stop him, Neverov reached the altar, pulled the shredded dossal curtain apart and stepped inside the back of it. Hunter tried again, crawling to the foot of another column with a better angle and leveling his gun at the terrorists’ leader. Squinting down the sights, he lined them up over Neverov’s head, but before he could get a single shot off he was instantly driven back behind the marble pillar.

  “Damn it!”

  “Must try harder, Hunter.”

  Even under the circumstances, he couldn’t resist a grin.

  “Thanks, Jodie.”

  “I though you guys were on first name terms by now?” Amy asked.

  “Whatever gave you that idea?” Jodie said.

  Distracted by the conversation and fearing a trap, the Russians unleashed another savage wave of automatic fire on both positions. Hunter tucked his head down away from the flying marble chips and dust as Amy’s screams filled the cave.

  “How’s Quinn?” he called out.

  “Still out cold,” Lewis said. “Probably just as well.”

  Hunter knew what he meant. Quinn hated gunfire and battles, especially in a confined space like this. Maybe it really was for the better, but she had been out for a while now and he was starting to get concerned.

  “Can you get a shot at them?” he called out.

  “Yeah, sure,” Amy said. “We just thought we’d save our ammo for target practice after the mission. Jeez.”

  “Just asking.”

  From behind the altar curtain, Neverov called out for his second in command. Lugovoy obeyed instantly, breaking cover and darting through the curtains into the darkness behind the altar curtain.

  “Looks like something’s got the old boy interested,” Hunter said. “I’m going in again!”

  Medinsky was closest to the curtain, and now he spun around, unshouldered his Steyr and screamed as loud as he could while firing all over Hunter’s position, driving him back once again. It seemed never to stop, and the English archaeologist wrapped his arms around his head as the air was filled with rounds and marble dust.

  “I don’t think he likes you very much, Max,” Blanco said.

  “No shit.”

  “But I think he if he just took the time to get to know you a bit better, maybe he might.”

  “Funny, Sal.”

  “Look out, Max!”

  It was Amy’s voice. He poked his head out from behind the cover and saw Medinsky running toward him, gun still firing, slung low with the stock up against his hip. He was screaming in Russian and casually sweeping the muzzle from side to side to ensure every inch of his hiding place was covered in as much lead as possible.

  Hunter scrambled back and raised his handgun, firing on the Russian, but his bullets went too high, burying themselves in the cave roof above his head. Medinsky’s enthusiasm to kill the Londoner had tempered his judgement; the Steyr was out of rounds and now he threw it off to his side with another scream of rage.

  “What a shame,” Hunter said. “I bet you were looking forward to that.”

  The Russian said nothing, but launched himself at the Englishman with fury in his black, hate-filled eyes. Hunter fired his last shot at him but the bullet went wide; the Russian had already jumped into a rolling-dive, anticipating the shot.

  These guys are even better than the Creed

  He fired again but got nothing but a dry click; he was out of ammo. He saw Blanco break cover. He was trying to reach him and help.

  “Get back, Sal!”

  The advice was unnecessary; the Russians surrounding the altar fired on him and forced him back behind the pillar. Hunter cursed, but had no time to worry about the others.

  Medinsky came out of the dive and was on his feet. His hand reached out and grabbed at Hunter’s throat. He missed, curled his other hand into a fist and punched it hard into his stomach, just below his ribcage. The strike was good and fast and sent him doubling over in a coughing fit. The Russian seized his chance, driving his knee up into Hunter’s face and blasting him back off his feet and crashing to the ground. Hunter felt dizzy and sick and started to lose his vision. He shook his head and took a deep breath, coming back around just in time to see the hulking figure of Medinsky padding over to him with a serrated combat knife gripped in his hand.

  “Time to die, Hunter.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  The Russian grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him to his feet, pulling his knife hand back ready to strike. Hunter registered the lethal threat and smacked the blade out of his hand. With no weapon, Medinsky simply curled his hand into a fat, meaty fist and drew his arm back like a bow string. Apparently, a punch would suffice, the Englishman thought.

  “I’ve dreamed of this moment, Hunter.”

  “Hey, what you do in your own time…”

  Medinsky grunted with rage and unleased his fist toward Hunter’s face. The archaeologist saw it coming and darted his head to the right, allowing the Russian’s tight fist to smash into the rockface behind his head. The skin on his knuckles burst apart and sprayed blood over the cave wall, sending him into a convulsion of pain. Grabbing his damaged hand, he spun around, chest heaving up and down as he took another swing at his enemy.

  A shot rang out in the gloom. Hunter watched Medinsky come to a thundering stop, bleeding fist mid-air. More blood now, not dripping from his smashed knuckles but from his stomach. The blood bloomed on his camo fatigues and ran down over his tact
ical belt. Falling to his knees, the big Russian mercenary looked confused.

  “Who shot me?” he asked.

  Hunter scrambled into the cover of a boulder less than a yard from his foe. “Not me.” Another shot rang out, louder now followed by a puff of dust as the bullet ricocheted off the top of the boulder. Hunter ducked down further behind it. “And not my team, either. Whoever it is, that one was meant for me.”

  Medinsky was still on his knees, exposed on the cave floor with blood pumping from the wound in his stomach. He brought his two bleeding hands, encrusted in sand, up to his ashen face and pressed them against his temples. “He’s up on the ledge.”

  A third shot exploded with a bright muzzle flash high above them and blew off the top of a stalagmite just in front of their position.

  “I know,” Hunter said. “I can see him. Goatee beard and shaved head. He’s moving back into the shadows of that alcove, the bastard. He’s definitely not one of ours.”

  “Then, he must be one of the Brotherhood.”

  “Brotherhood?” Hunter asked. “What Brotherhood?”

  Medinsky was losing consciousness and if Hunter wanted to know more, he knew what he had to do. He took one more look up at the sniper and then broke cover, scrambling the short distance over to Medinsky and grabbing hold of him by the straps of his chunky tactical vest.

  “What are you doing?” the Russian asked.

  Hunter said nothing. The shooter had tracked him over to Medinsky and opened fire again, this time a sustained burst of gunfire chewed into the sandy cave floor all around him as he heaved the dying man’s bulk back into the cover of the boulder.

  “You saved my life.”

  “What’s left of it.” Hunter looked at the wound and winced. “What Brotherhood, Medinsky?”

  “Why should I tell you?”

  “Because one of them just blew a hole into your stomach and you’re dying.”

  “I’m not afraid of death.”

  “That’s not the point,” Hunter ducked as another round pinged off the boulder and flicked up a cloud of dust and rock fragments. “You tell me who the Brotherhood are, and I promise I’ll kill the man who shot you.”