Anhur

by Wayne Marinovich

  Marc strode over to one of the many bookcases in his office. Pulling at a copy of Gulliver’s Travels, he heard the click he was waiting for. The secret door opened, a metre wide, and one and a half metres high. Ducking into the dark space, he closed it behind him with a click. He reached to the left of the door and flicked the light switch. It lit up a large space that he could stand in, and also lit a passage that led down winding stone stairs. A passage for kings and mistresses.

  Turning back to the door, he slid the thick bolt across. They would not find the door, and if they did, they would struggle to get it open. The final failsafe came from his days in the French Foreign Legion. Grabbing a cable that hung from a small wooden shelf, he hooked the end onto the ring that had been screwed into the door. The other end was attached to an anti-personnel mine. The men opening this would not take a breath again.

  Rushing down the stairs, he felt the effect of years of luxury and lack of exercise. His heart thumped in his chest as he strained for breath. He wanted to get out of the dirty and mouldy escape route. Reaching the bottom, he felt a cobweb brush his face as he walked towards a wooden door. He squealed, frantically rubbing at his face as he broke into a sweat, flailing at the spiders that weren’t there. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled a bunch of keys and unlocked the heavy black lock. Pulling the door open, he gagged at the smell of the sewer tunnel. This was the worst part. He felt unclean and knew he’d have to take three baths to feel better.

  Walking along a thin ledge above the stream of effluent from the government building, he approached the large archway that went beyond the city wall. The metal gate was open. Placing his jacket over his arm and hand to hide the Glock, he stepped out into the street, turning left. He paced along the stone perimeter wall and reached a corner of the building. Crossing the road would be dangerous because he could be seen from the ramparts by one of the patrolling NEG guards above. He turned right and walked into the sun. Shielding his eyes, he saw an alcove in the wall from another door that went into the NEG building.

  Someone coughed behind him, and he turned to see a Scavenger following him closely. Marc stopped and looked at the man who was dressed in a muddy black jacket, brown waders and a brown headscarf that was wrapped around his face to disguise it.

  ‘Give me all your cash, Floodlander,’ he said and pulled an eight-inch kitchen knife from his jacket.

  Marc realised he must stick out in his tailored suit and manicured appearance. Pulling the coat off his arm, he pointed the Glock at the man. The smell of an unwashed person behind him stung his nose as pain shot up his back, then again in quick succession. The blade from the man who’d been hiding in the alcove was then stuck into Marc’s chest as he hit the ground. The filthy men rummaged through his pockets and came up with the cash and documents. Marc lifted the Glock and pulled on the trigger. The gun roared, and the bullet went up through the man’s throat and out the top of his head. He collapsed on top of Marc, the stench of the sewer filling his nostrils. He could not die like this and tried to lift the man off him, but he was too heavy.

  • • •

  Andrei wiped the rainwater from his face. He walked up the verge and over to the van with its backdoor still open. Gibbs’s boots were visible as his body was placed on the floor.

  ‘Andrei, you ready to go?’ Elijah said.

  ‘I think I’ll ride with my friend one last time.’

  ‘Okay. You still want us to drop you both off in Knoxville?’

  ‘That would be great,’ Andrie said and climbed into the back of the van. The doors closed, and all became dark inside. He blinked his eyes a few times as he grew accustomed to the dark. A cough built up inside of him then he hacked into a bloodstained handkerchief. As he wiped his mouth afterwards, the burning pain in his chest spread like wildfire.

  Looking down at Gibbs’s face, he thought he looked old, unshaven but at peace. Andrei grabbed his hand. It was still warm. ‘It’s going to be okay, old friend. It will all be okay.’

  Chapter 50

  South Eutaw Street, Baltimore, Maryland – 2043

  The whiskey slipped down the professor’s throat. The sting of burnt, wood barrels filled up the back of his mouth and nose, making his eyes water. He placed the tumbler on the small side table next to his large chair. Reaching for the satphone, he redialled the number he had tried what seemed like a hundred times over the last three days.

  ‘Hello?’ a voice answered back. Not the strong accent he was used to hearing.

  ‘Hello. Where is the man who I usually speak to on this number?’

  ‘Who wants to know?’

  Paul recognised a London accent. ‘Can I speak to that man, please?’

  ‘Identify yourself, or I will hang up and toss the phone away.’

  ‘Sorry, I must have dialled the wrong number.’

  ‘Were you a friend of the Hooded Man?’

  Paul felt his stomach tighten. ‘We all know the legend and myth. I knew him by his other name.’

  ‘Kyle Gibbs,’ the man said. ‘Are you the man he’s been speaking to all this time?’

  ‘I’m Professor Paul Hoskins.’

  ‘The professor we helped so many years ago?’

  ‘In San Francisco, yes.’

  ‘Just had to check. This is Smithy here.’

  ‘We never actually met, so it’s great to finally speak, Smithy.’

  ‘Been a long time.’

  ‘It has. Where is Gibbs?’ he said, grabbing the bottle of whiskey and filling up the tumbler.

  ‘He’s dead.’

  Paul swallowed hard and took a long sip. ‘My God, no. Are you sure?’

  ‘We had a little memorial service this morning, but in truth, his body was shipped over to New Europe.’

  ‘Where did he die?’

  ‘Near Knoxville.’

  ‘How? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.’ Paul felt his throat dry up, and his eyes moisten. He needed a belt of something stronger than cheap whiskey. ‘It’s a very sad time for all of us then.’

  There was silence.

  ‘You will have to pick up his mantle and continue his legacy. The people need the Hooded Man.’

  ‘No way, professor. It’s over.’

  ‘It can’t be. We need him more than ever.’

  ‘And we all need to mourn him and move on. Use his death to stir up anger, if you must. But it’s over.’

  ‘No one will mourn him more than me, but the war is still going on out there. The lust for power between the gangs and the NAG is as strong as ever. Innocent bystanders out there will continue to be caught in the crossfire. They need someone to protect them.’

  ‘Another hero will step up from somewhere else. Best you start looking out for him.’

  ‘And all the people who will suffer in the meantime? How will you sleep at night knowing that you’re letting the legend die?’

  ‘I’ll sleep very well knowing that it was Gibbs’s last wish to let the legacy die so his son could live a normal and unhindered life. Free from the burden of a legacy he didn’t ask for.’

  Paul felt the queasiness getting worse, and he downed the last of the whiskey. He sat down in the large leather chair and leant his head against the back. ‘If that was his dying wish, then the legacy will end here. And may God help us all.’

  For news about the final instalment of the Kyle Gibbs Series, please join my newsletter to receive updates and regular free giveaways.

  Other Books by Wayne Marinovich

  The Kyle Gibbs Series

  GIBBS: The early years

  (a Free short story)

  CELT - book 1

  PHOENIX - book 2

  KHARON – book 3

  ANHUR – book 4

  JANUS – book 5

  The Hudson Drake Series

  IGAZI

  ORANG

  TIGER

  Published Short Stories

  FLOODLANDERS

  Website: www.marinovichbooks.com

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rinovich.co.uk

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  Notes from the Author

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  Acknowledgements

  To my parents, Mark and Jenny, for allowing me to spend time reading, instead of doing my chores.

  To all the teachers at boarding school, who believed my bullshit excuses at evening study, and allowed me to do my homework in the school library. There, I escaped from the boring world.

  To Bill King and Walker Cairns, two noble Scottish lads, who listened to my early book ideas over many drinks in bars across Aberdeen. Thanks for being my beta-readers and whiskey companions.

  To Matthew Dannatt, a school friend of old. Thanks for all the great ideas, and military knowledge you brought to the table. Welcome to the team.

  Author Bio

  Many of you know about my passion for our planet. I write about it, and I try to capture its wonders through the wildlife, landscape and urban photographs that I take.

  For as long as I can remember, I have loved reading books and studying nature. Growing up on a farm in South Africa meant that I was always out and about, up to mischief somewhere. My imagination flourished and ran wild as I spent my childhood sitting in trees, climbing on rooftops, fishing in our local dam and bird watching from one of the many hides that I built.

  My love of the outdoors developed in those early years and my passion for all things wild and natural meant that my reading, writing and photography inevitably followed that path.

  Many years later, I am moving ahead with writing and photography on a more serious basis. I hope my passion for conservation and environmental issues will make some small contribution to opening people’s eyes to the beauty and fragility of the planet we live on. I intend to use my blog as one of a few platforms to share my creative content and the content of others who share the same passions.

  The first major environmental piece of work that I worked on was the Kyle Gibbs Series. A series set in a climate-changed world, which is a topic very close to my heart. My second series, The Hudson Drake Series follows a wealthy eco-warrior as he goes about trying to right the wrongs that man has inflicted on the environment.

  I invite you to take this journey with me and look forward to chatting with you as we go.