The Labyrinth Key

by Christopher Cartwright

  And then, off in the distance, an all too familiar pop-pop rang through the air. Ethan swung around. Was he imagining it?

  Soldiers could go insane from the paranoia and anxiety.

  Ethan looked at his team’s faces as they sat packed like mackerel, side by side opposite him, swaying together with every small dune the IFV ran over. They had clearly noticed the shots too. Min gripped his M16 a little tighter, the whites showing on the tops of his knuckles. Ethan carefully stood up and leaned over the driver’s seat. He tapped on Bryan’s shoulder through the uniform.

  Bryan took off one side of his aviation headset. “What’s up, boss?”

  “I think we’ve got live-fire close by. Can you slow down?” Even as Ethan spoke, the pops sounded much more distinct than before, and with great frequency. He looked back at the other three SEALS and barked, “We’re going to get out and check what’s up. Stick together! I’ll take lead, okay?”

  With resounding unison, the men shouted, “Understood, sir!”

  Ethan took a good look at each of the soldiers. Though he could barely make any distinctions beneath the layers of uniform and fully outfitted helmets, he still felt their connection. In a few months he’d gone from a fresh SEAL to leading his own squad of elite soldiers.

  There was a pride in that.

  But pride could get you killed.

  The men jerked up from their seats as the vehicle gradually slowed down. Ethan shouldered his way through and opened the door in the back with the pull of a red lever. Heat flooded into the back and he had to squint against the blinding glare of the sun. With the rear now open, the sound was deafening. Just the way I like it, thought Ethan. Ethan shot a hard look backward at his men and flicked his fingers forward with a crisp, pointed snap. Stay sharp, heads’ up, boys. Some hand signs were universal throughout the military and this one in particular tended to change lives. Hammer time, he thought.

  As soon as they jumped out of the vehicle, Ethan knew in an instant he’d made a mistake. Bullets rained down at them from every angle, coming in heavy from their right, making small puffs of sand where they landed—scarily close to the squad. They had stopped where four dunes intersected from all sides, trapping them like caged mice waiting to get shot up with all kinds of experimental drugs. Stupid, Ethan- stupid! So proud of that training. Where the fuck is it now?

  Instinct kicked in: Ethan pulled Bryan behind the vehicle for cover by the cuff of his neck and everyone else followed immediately. But the damage was done – the targets, now them not the enemy, had been spotted. Now the bullets were homing in, shots consistently bouncing off the IFV with loud pinging noises. He knew that if they simply remained in position, not only would they get overrun, the insurgents would bring to bear their RPG and blow the vehicle to smithereens. Though it could withstand less-powerful mines and rocket shot from close range, the vehicle’s armor became relative when it came to a direct hit from an RPG.

  Time was running out.

  Ethan scooted in the sand to the edge of the vehicle. With a quickness of reflex he learned in training, he stuck his head out from the side and took the scene in. Five, six, seven men spread around the dunes held assault rifles in their hands, firing indiscriminately. Thankfully, none of them had any grenade launchers.

  None that he could see, anyway.

  He couldn’t recognize them despite their lack of helmets or protective gear. If any of them lived to tell the tale, those terrorists were in for a lifetime of imprisonment in America. The enemy was slow to recognize Ethan’s head, giving him time to pop it back in without injury. Now wasn’t the time to take chances. His squad fired from the sides of the vehicle with far greater accuracy than the insurgents. Every time their M16s fired a volley, the return shots slowed as the insurgents were forced to take cover behind the dunes. Eventually they’ll grow some balls and cut through my squad like a hot knife through butter, Ethan thought. Desperation and fanaticism made men bold.

  He craned his head, looking behind him. The familiar hole-riddled caves with their red-colored walls of stone stood reliably. Too far though. He looked up. The machine gun nest sat stoic and peaceful in the midst of the intense firefight. Was it possible for someone to get to the other side, climb up, jump in the nest and mow them down?

  Min was closest to the driver’s seat. Ethan knew it was him because of his size. “Min!” he screamed. “Can you get in and turn this bad boy around? We need the MG!”

  “I’ll try, sir!” The little man fired a few more bullets then clambered inside. He hit the start button and the engine roared to life. Ethan could barely hear it rev up under the constant stream of bullets. The wheels began turning—but there was no movement.

  Was the sand too slippery for traction?

  Min switched the motor off and jumped out while ducking. “The tires on the right are completely blown out. Guess those motherfuckers were smart enough to do that.”

  “Smart enough to not let us escape, but dumb enough to attack us in the first place,” he muttered. In his military voice, he barked, “Team! Retreat! Head for the caves!”

  “What about the IBV?”

  “Leave it! We’ll come back for it later!”

  His squad reluctantly detached from the safety of the armor in front of them and backed up through the squeaking sand, still facing forward. The insurgents seemed to notice. They climbed out from behind the dunes, stalking forward and shooting from the hip, Rambo-style. Ethan would dole out some hard, physical discipline if any of his men ever decided to shoot like that.

  All of a sudden, Brian stopped firing and turned tail, combat boots kicking up sand as he struggled to get to the caves as fast as possible. They were only a hundred and fifty meters away. If they maintained their line…

  Too late. One by one, his men submitted to their “flight” adrenaline reactions. Ethan was hardwired to avoid it at all costs; he could survive anything. But for novices, no matter how well they were trained as SEALs, human nature was always the first weakness. Shit, he thought as he followed suit. If they were going to do something, they would do it together.

  He covered their retreat and bullets spiked up fountains of sand on both sides.

  Fifty meters, forty, thirty… The sand gobbled his entire leg up with every step. The eighty pounds of weight felt like a neutron star. Ethan swore he would sink like he was crossing quicksand if he stopped running. But he kept going; they were too far to give up now. He wasn’t going to die out here. Not like this. And not today.

  In front of them was an unassuming cave, some of the interior lit up by the deeply angled sunlight. If it was just one large interior chamber with nowhere to hide, he and his squad were mincemeat. He did remember, however, from a lecture he’d heard somewhere, sometime, that the Syrian caves were long, complicated interconnected systems. If the insurgents started losing their supposed “Holy War,” they would definitely retreat and hide in the caves. But now, it was his squad who had to hide.

  They tumbled in, rolling through the sand. It was noticeably cooler without the sunshine beating down on the sand grains and making a miniature greenhouse effect underground.

  “Lights.” Five unusually bright beams lit up the dark walls in quick succession. In here, the bullets sounded much less imminent, but they couldn’t drop their guard now.

  “Spread out. In!”

  The team fanned out as the rounds sounded nearer. Ethan found a tunnel leading to the back of the cave. It looked like an unassuming bump of sand in the farthest corner. To the untrained eye it would have been nothing. But it was something to the crew. Suddenly, the ground opened up under him. The horrifying sensation of falling swept over Ethan like a dread he’d never before experienced.

  To his surprise and momentary relief, the fall was amazingly short. He landed on a hardscrabble mix of dead leaves, some wood and the usual, sand. Ethan scrambled to his feet and, with shaking hands, aimed his gun at the hole now above him. But no fight came.

  Shouts and bullets could be hea
rd from above, but no bullets landed on him.

  Ethan didn’t know what to do- those were his men up there! And he’d fucking ended up down here? He turned on his flashlight, at a loss for what else to do. He needed to find a way out of here. He cast around to get a look at his prison. And stared.

  As the sound of fire died off from above, Ethan wondered if his men were alive or dead but couldn’t focus as his brain tried to process the scene before him. On the wall next to him, an image of a maze stood out; almost as if in relief. And in the middle? An intricate stone key appeared to be embedded in… the wall?

  Reaching out with a tentative, shaking hand, he touched the key.

  A shout from above grabbed his attention. He spun around.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Sam Reilly’s House, Lake Oswego, Portland, Oregon

  The birds chirped outside. It was a calm day on the lake and summer scents of barbecue and sunscreen slicked the breeze.

  Hot as hell inside, though.

  Sam gripped the wrench harder, wedged it around the stubborn bolt and turned as hard as he could. His tendons stretched and his teeth ground together, but deep in the core of the thing he felt some imperceptible shift and knew he was going to win.

  Sam coaxed the bolt loose and finished it off with his fingers. It took a few times to get some purchase what with the oil, but Sam didn’t mind getting his hands dirty. Eventually the bolt turned free and Sam sat back with a satisfied sigh and regarded the Thunderbird. He wondered again how things got so tight when she hadn’t been used since he first discovered Excalibur more than six months ago.

  Sam’s moment of triumph was interrupted by the distant ring of his cell phone.

  It took him a moment to understand what he was hearing, still lost in the hum and puzzle of his vintage car. He shook his head and came back to himself. He eased himself out from under the belly, groping for a nearby rag. He wiped his hands as he got to his feet, wringing hard at the oil that coated his fingers.

  He dropped the towel on his workbench.

  Despite washing them as quickly as possible, Sam still felt the grease on his fingers as he strode into the house from his attached outside workshop.

  The cell phone kept ringing.

  Whoever they were, they were persistent.

  Catarina, still wet from her swim in the lake, stepped down the hallway and handed him his cell. Sam mouthed the words thank you, his eyes glancing at her with a mixture of lascivious desire and affection, wondering why he’d felt the need to work on the T-Bird when he could have been swimming with her.

  He smiled, smitten and content to have her in his life.

  Catarina gestured toward the phone. “Are you going to answer that?”

  Sam nodded. He wedged the cell phone under his chin, reaching for a kitchen towel off the stove and wiping his hands as he answered. “Hello?”

  The voice was curt. “Thank you for finally answering your phone, Mr. Reilly.”

  Sam’s eyebrows rose. “Madame Secretary. Good afternoon.” Sam wracked his brains for a possible reason behind the call. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “What do you know about Palmyra?” she asked without further preamble. It was something he liked about the secretary of defense. She didn’t waste words.

  “Syria?” He tossed the towel. “I read the papers and I hear the news, but if I’m to be honest, not a great deal at all. Why? What should I know about its ancient capital, Palmyra?”

  He could almost see her smile as she spoke. “A small deployment of Navy SEALs stationed there discovered something that I… well. I think you’ll be interested in.”

  Sam pivoted and sought the window, phone against his ear. Outside, the breeze blew stiff ripples across the lake. “Really? I’m not that kind of soldier anymore... what happened?”

  “A group of men stationed in Palmyra got engaged in a firefight with some insurgents two days ago. They got pinned down in some ruins outside of the city, hard pressed.”

  Sam frowned. “Enemy fire?”

  “Yes… and heavy, too. They fought their way out but during their escape one of the men got separated from his companions and found himself under the ground.”

  “Go on.”

  “You need to know what he found.”

  “What makes you think that?” Sam frowned. “I mean, what does this specifically have to do with me?”

  She smiled through the phone. “Everything, Mr. Reilly. Everything.”

  Through the windows, Sam saw the breeze pick up on the lake. Sam thought of his car and his project, half-finished in the garage. Maybe he wouldn’t get to finish it this trip after all. More importantly, he wondered if there would still be time to spend with Catarina. “Why?”

  “I could tell you, but it’s easier if I simply show you. Are you near a computer?”

  Sam tossed the towel on the counter, put the phone on speaker and moved toward the laptop on the low wooden coffee table where he’d been enjoying coffee and the news earlier in the day. He settled behind the screen and opened his email. “I am now. What did you want to show me?”

  “Open your email.”

  Sam did so.

  In an unsettlingly brief amount of time, an encrypted email arrived. It wasn’t the first time he’d received a communique from the higher-ups at the Pentagon, but their efficiency never failed to impress and intimidate, no matter how he tried to hide it.

  Sam clicked on it and almost immediately a photograph loaded.

  It was a picture taken inside what appeared to be a stone tomb. For a moment he thought it was a low-res image taken from some kind of handheld surveillance recorder, and he was surprised at the rare shoddy quality. Then the photo fully loaded into stunning resolution and all he could do was stare.

  Along the stone wall was a detailed drawing of indeterminate age, carved in stone and painted. Sam leaned closer to see its details. There, at the center of the wall drawing, was a depiction of a labyrinth, with a strange key at its center.

  “Mr. Reilly? Did you receive the file?” The sharp voice cut through his amazement.

  “Yes.” Sam struggled to process what he was seeing. “I got it.”

  She said, “I believe you know what this means?”

  Sam Reilly swallowed hard and nodded to himself. “It means that my history has finally caught up with me.”

  The Secretary said, “The question is, Mr. Reilly… what are you going to do about it?”

  Sam Reilly took a deep breath.

  He knew the answer to that question, as much as he disliked it.

  “It’s time for me to return to where this all began… where I first heard about the Master Builders – and as much I don’t want to, it’s time for me dig something up that I had hoped would remain buried for all eternity.”

  The secretary of defense said, “I’m sorry it’s come to this Sam. I had hoped that it wouldn’t.”

  He’d hoped so, too. But more times than not, your past has a way of catching up with you. “I understand, Madam Secretary. I’ll be ready for the flight within the hour.”

  He ended the call.

  Catarina looked at him. Noticing the change in his demeanor, her brow furrowed with worry and her piercing gray eyes locked onto his. Her lips thinned. “Is everything all right?”

  Sam took her hands affectionately into his, kissed them, and then kissed her on the lips. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the moment. He could happily spend the rest of his life with this woman, forget about his obligations…

  He would do it, too.

  If only his obligations would forget him and leave him alone.

  She pulled back from him. Her trim eyebrows arched, and her lips parted questioningly. “Tell me, Sam… what’s happened?”

  He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I need to go pack. There’s something I need to do. I’m really sorry.” He kissed her on the lips once more, a long, slow, and passionate kiss. “I’ll try my best to be as quick as I can.”

  “Sam, y
ou’re scaring me. What the hell is going on?”

  He had already returned to his equipment room and begun packing two large duffel bags with what appeared more like military equipment than something a maritime salvage expert or archeologist might need.

  Catarina grabbed his hand and stopped him. “Sam!”

  “I’m sorry. I’ll try and make this as fast as I can.”

  Her eyes narrowed, confusion and concern evident across the planes of her beautiful face. “Where are you going?”

  “Palmyra, Syria, Washington DC, Nevada… among other places.”

  “Why?”

  Sam ignored her question, continuing to pack.

  She persisted. “When will you be finished?”

  “Soon. No more than a few weeks. That is, if I survive.”

  “Sam!”

  He stopped what he was doing and looked at her. “Yes?”

  “I’m scared. Why won’t you tell me what’s going on? What is this all about?”

  Sam closed his eyes and bit his lower lip. He swallowed hard. He knew she had a right to know. All the same, he wanted to protect her as much as he could. But he loved her and for that reason alone, he owed her the truth.

  He opened his eyes and said, “Because it’s time I go back to Hell—and retrieve the Labyrinth Key.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Portland International Airport

  Sam sat on the couch as evening fell, still facing his computer. The only difference was that now, there was a glass beside him. The sun had set, and the light was like he was underwater without his realizing, lost in his own memories.

  The last time he’d seen an image similar in nature to the cave drawing had been inside an ancient fortress in Afghanistan, somewhere near the Khyber Pass.