The Tomb (Scarrett & Kramer Book 3)

by Neil Carstairs

  “What a fuck up,” Kramer whispered.

  Ben nodded. He had nothing else to say. Kramer lifted her head, staring around as if she hadn’t seen all the troops before. “Who’s going to tell Pete?” she asked.

  No answer. Kramer looked at Ben with empty eyes. “I guess it’s me, then.”

  Ben looked down at Emily where she huddled in his arms. He couldn’t bring himself to say anything.

  “Fuck it,” Kramer said, and stood. She wiped her hands on her blouse before looking down at Ben. “See if you can get Emily over to the DSI offices. I’ll meet you there.”

  ***

  Kramer tracked Pete down to a trauma unit where Army medics were stitching up the wound in his side.

  “The round chipped a bit of bone from his hip,” a nurse told her as they walked towards Pete’s bed. “He’ll be sore for a week or two, but there should be no other long-term effects.”

  “Good.” Kramer hesitated and put a hand on the nurse’s arm. “Listen, I’ve got bad news for him. His fiancée died in the shooting. I have to tell him.”

  The nurse crossed herself. “We can pull privacy curtains around. And I’ll let the doctor know in case Pete needs sedating.”

  “I think he will,” Kramer said, with a catch in her voice. “He was in head-over-heels in love with Jane.”

  Reaching Pete, Kramer saw him lying with one arm tucked under his head. He had a thick bandage wrapped around his hip, and his face wore the relaxed look of someone on painkillers. Behind her, the nurse pulled the curtains into place. Pete looked at Kramer and said, “Is Emily okay?”

  “She’s fine,” Kramer said, not moving. She could feel the muscles on her face locking up, creating a mask of sorrow that Pete couldn’t miss.

  Pete smiled. “Thank God for that.” He shifted on the bed and seemed to ask as an afterthought. “And Jane?”

  Kramer closed her eyes. She didn’t want to cry in front of him. The next time she looked, Pete had half sat up. “Jo?” he asked, his voice soft.

  “I’m so sorry, Pete.” Kramer took a step towards the bed. “She was protecting Emily.”

  “She’s hurt?” he asked, with an edge of desperation.

  Kramer looked down. “No. Pete, she died. She was shot. There was nothing anyone could do. The army medics were with her within seconds, but it was too late.”

  “Jane’s dead?” Pete fell back onto the bed, his mouth open as he fought to control his breathing.

  The nurse must have heard. She came from behind the curtains and held Pete’s hand. A doctor appeared, along with another medic, and they held Pete down so his wound didn’t get disturbed. Kramer stood there and watched, feeling useless as the doctor gave Pete an injection of something that knocked him out. Someone asked her if Pete had any family who could visit. Kramer didn’t know. “I’ll find out,” she said. “We should have next of kin details.”

  Kramer walked away. Troops still filled the corridors, standing at every corner and intersection. Kramer ignored them. She wanted out of there, but when she finally stepped out into the daylight, she found it was as bad as being indoors.

  ***

  The DSI offices were like a morgue. Three dead. In the middle of Fort Bragg. Just like that.

  Emily lay on a couch in Dawson’s office, still wrapped in the Mylar blanket. Ben looked in on her every couple of minutes. Dawson had called in a doctor who had given Emily half a sleeping tablet, and now she was resting Ben worried about her waking up. No-one in the office had much to say. Luke and Chris were part of the unit, transferred in from the Rangers when the DSI moved to Fort Bragg. And Jane, well Jane had been part of the team as well, even if she and Pete had moved away for Emily’s schooling. Everyone likes Emily and everyone liked Jane.

  Ben saw Kramer walk in. She had a face like stone. Ben turned away, still ashamed that he had let her be the one to tell Pete Walsh about Jane. Kramer came and stood next to him.

  “Where’s Emily?” she asked.

  “Sleeping in Dawson’s office,” Ben said. “How did Pete take the news?”

  “How do you think?” Kramer snapped.

  Ben nodded. “Sorry,” he said.

  “Yeah.” Kramer rubbed her eyes. “I feel sick.”

  Ben stood and moved his chair beside her. “Sit,” he said. “I’ll get you a coffee.”

  By the time he came back Dawson had returned from wherever he’d been. He stood in the centre of the room and waited until he had everyone’s attention. Ben gave Kramer her coffee and perched on the desk next to her.

  Dawson stared around. “The shooters have been identified. They are, or were, all servicemen in an infantry unit. I’ve had their personnel files sent over. I want their lives torn apart. The Feds will be doing the same, as well as the army, but I want us to be ahead of them. Wherever they came from, I want us to be there first. Questions?”

  “What about current operations?” Ben asked. “We were trying to trace the stolen statuette.”

  Dawson stared at Ben long enough that Ben thought he might turn to stone. “You’ll have to stay on it,” he said.

  “No.” Kramer looked up from her coffee. “We need to track down where the shooters came from and kill whoever sent them.”

  Dawson pointed at her. When he spoke, his voice came out as a growl. “I know you’re upset, Jo. We all are. But right now I’m giving you an order. Stay focused on your current assignment.”

  Kramer seemed ready to argue. Ben put his hand on her shoulder. “We’ll be on it,” he said. “But if you need our input, let us know.”

  Dawson waited for Kramer to give an indication she agreed. It came in the form of the very slightest of nods. As Dawson turned away, Kramer looked up at Ben with eyes as cold as ice. “We’re going to kill the people who started this. Yes?”

  “Yes.” Ben nodded.

  Kramer sighed. “So let’s find that statuette, and then we can go to war.”

  Chapter Ten

  Itzel sat on the hard bed of a crappy motel and listened to the angry voice of the High Priest. Her phone lay in front of her, set to speaker, so she didn’t have to hold it to her ear. He had been shouting now for five minutes, sometimes so loud the phone descended into a series of harsh, broken sounds. Itzel wished she could be somewhere else rather than listen to the related disaster that had unfolded at Fort Bragg. That the girl lived was a problem. That the men they sent to kill her were all dead was at least some good news.

  The High Priest fell silent, and Itzel hoped she had allowed him to vent his anger enough that she could go to sleep. But then his voice returned, colder and calmer now.

  “She has to die. The gods have demanded it.” Itzel didn’t ask who the High Priest referred too. “Where are you?”

  “I don’t know,” Itzel said. “Some small town. I didn’t even see its name.”

  “Why have you stopped?”

  Itzel closed her eyes. Sometimes his demands were too much to take. “We’re exhausted. None of us can sleep properly in the car and need to take a proper break before we have an accident.”

  The silence from the phone seemed to indicate that he accepted the reason. “I am coming north.”

  Itzel looked at the phone in shock. “Is it safe for you?”

  “No. But I have to. The gods have demanded the life of the girl, and only you and your companions are in a position to do it. I will collect the goddess from you. I will take her to the Place of Retribution and we will re-model the world.”

  “Place of Retribution?” Itzel frowned. She had not heard of this before. A cold chill ran down her back.

  “The gods revealed it to me,” the High Priest said.

  “And what does it mean?”

  “It means we will reclaim what we lost.”

  Itzel’s hand hovered over the cellphone. She wanted to end the call. The room temperature seemed to have dropped a couple of degrees, and it was all she could do to sit there without shivering.

  “Find out the name of the town you are in
and send it to me. I will meet you there. Once I have the goddess, you will go and kill the girl.”

  “But it will be impossible to reach her now,” Itzel said.

  “Are you questioning a command?” His voice dropped low.

  Itzel looked around. The corners of the room darkened. She heard a soft, scuttling sound like claws on wood. Another degree fell off the temperature, and the shadows edged closer. Itzel could hear the High Priest breathing. A ragged sound somewhere between a sigh and a snarl. She wanted to speak but her throat locked up as the ceiling light blew with a ‘tink’ sound.

  A shape materialised before her. Itzel tried to move back, her legs leaden in their response as the form before her leapt onto the bed. She saw it now. A man with the head of a jaguar. A god. It squatted on the bed, and Itzel knew if she made the wrong move it would pounce.

  “Itzel?” the High Priest’s voice came from the phone. “He is with you?”

  “Yes.” She barely got the word out.

  “You questioned me. You questioned your gods.”

  “I only wanted–”

  The god came at her faster than Itzel’s eye could follow. Hands caught her arms and lifted her from the bed. She hit the wall above the headboard hard enough to see stars. The lights in her eyes blinded her to the next move as the god twisted and flung her onto the bed. The weight of his body fell on top of her, pressing Itzel into the mattress and smothering her. Divine hands clawed across her body, ripping at her clothing. Itzel bucked, dislodging the god for a moment. She saw the soft glow of the phone’s screen and grasped for it. “I’m sorry,” she shouted. “I’m sorry.”

  Cold hands were snaking around her ribcage, the fingers pressing into her breasts.

  “Please!” her voice rose.

  The god released her. His weight disappeared, and Itzel lay alone in the motel room once more.

  “You will wait for me,” the High Priest said.

  Itzel watched the ‘call ended’ message pop up. She rolled onto her back and stared up into the dark. Her spine ached from its impact with the wall, and she could feel tender spots across her skin where the god had scratched her.

  The knock on the door made her jump. Itzel landed beside the bed, squatting down as if in more danger.

  “Itzel? Itzel?” Ramon, his voice muffled through the door. “Are you okay?”

  On legs that didn’t quite support her bodyweight, Itzel shuffled across the dark room. She hesitated by the door. “I’m okay, Ramon.”

  “I heard a big bang,” he said. “And I thought I heard you screaming.”

  “It was nothing. A bad dream.”

  “Okay,” he said, drawing the word out in a way that showed he didn’t believe her.

  Itzel waited. She knew he hadn’t moved from the other side of the door. “Give me a minute,” she said.

  Itzel felt her way to the bedside table and turned on the side lamp. With the light on, she found a new top in her case and changed into it. Itzel dug out a wig and quickly slipped it into place. A look in the bathroom mirror to make sure nothing looked too bad and she returned to the door. Ramon smiled when she opened it.

  “I was worried,” he said.

  “Thank you.” Itzel took her key card from the wall slot. “Do you want a coffee?”

  “Sure.” Ramon’s smile grew wider at the thought of spending time with her.

  They walked side-by-side across the parking lot to an all-night diner. The garish interior design did little to ease the growing pain in Itzel’s head. Maybe the god had done more damage than she thought. A waitress came over, and they ordered two coffees before Ramon decided he wanted pancakes as well. There were a few other customers, mostly lone men; travelling salesmen, truckers and the lonely.

  “What’s the name of this town?” Itzel asked.

  “Lavonia,” Ramon said.

  Itzel stared at him. “Seriously? It sounds like a plant.”

  “Yes.” He laughed at the look on her face. “Lavonia, Georgia.”

  Itzel sighed and typed the name into her phone before sending the message.

  “Why d’you want to know?” Ramon rubbed his hands as the pancakes arrived. They formed a stack about two inches high and dripped with maple syrup. Itzel felt her stomach turn at the sight.

  She waited until the waitress retreated and said, “The High Priest wanted to know.”

  “Oh?” Ramon started to dig in and forgot all about the message. He smiled as if he’d tasted heaven. “Fabulous.”

  Itzel shifted in her chair. None of the other diners paid any interest in them. Behind the counter, a cook shouted instructions and someone out of sight in the kitchen shouted back. Itzel’s phone trembled as it received a message.

  Stay there. I will be in touch.

  “He’s coming to meet us,” Itzel said.

  “Who is?” Ramon formed the words around a mouthful of pancakes.

  “The High Priest.”

  Ramon swallowed, his eyes as wide as the plate on the table. “Here?”

  “Yes.” She could see he thought as she did. Shock, followed by uncertainty.

  “Why?”

  “To collect the goddess from us.”

  Ramon frowned. “What do we do afterwards?”

  Itzel checked around. The waitress stood on the other side of the diner serving another customer. No-one else was in earshot, but she lowered her voice all the same. “We are to go and find the girl the army men failed to kill, and finish the job.”

  Ramon pushed the plate of pancakes away as if they had suddenly been rendered tasteless. “That’s impossible,” he said.

  “Shush.” Itzel made a quietening motion with her hand. “The gods are listening.”

  “They are?” Ramon looked around.

  “Yes,” Itzel said. She leaned across the table. “They are listening and if you say something they don’t like they will punish you.”

  Ramon shivered. “It’s not that I don’t like it,” he said to the space around them. “I think it’s impossible.”

  Itzel smiled at the way Ramon got out of that one. She didn’t think he had the brains for it. Sitting back, she spread herself across the bench seat. “What do you think of my hair?”

  “It’s nice,” Ramon said. “What colour is it?”

  “Auburn.” She flicked the ends that trailed onto her shoulder.

  The move made Ramon’s eyes drop to her breasts. They flicked up almost immediately with embarrassment. “Sorry,” he said.

  “Don’t be.” Itzel gave him a smile. “At least for tonight.”

  “Tonight?” he looked confused for a moment, and then hopeful. “You mean?”

  “I mean you can look. You can pay me compliments. You can be as friendly as you like.”

  “Okay.” Ramon wiped his hands on his thighs. “Can I come to your side and sit next to you?”

  Itzel shook her head. “No.”

  “Oh,” he said, his face crestfallen. “Why?”

  “Because Yancha is coming into the diner.”

  Ramon turned, trying to mask his disappointment.

  “Enjoying yourselves?” Yancha asked as he dumped himself beside Ramon.

  “Of course,” Itzel said. She decided that both men needed a show. She took a deep breath. Ramon’s eyes fixed to her chest. Yancha shook his head.

  “Don’t try that on me, puta.”

  Itzel blinked. Anger flared, pure and hot in her chest. “Don’t call me a whore,” she snarled at Yancha.

  The older man laughed. “I got a call from the High Priest. You are no longer in charge here. I am. And if I say you are a whore then that’s what you are.”

  ***

  Another knock on her room door. Itzel opened it, expecting Yancha but seeing Ramon. He said, in a voice just above a whisper, “Can I come in?”

  She stepped back and closed the door behind him. He stood nervously in the centre of the room until Itzel pointed him to the one chair as she sat on the edge of the bed and asked, “Why are you here
?”

  “I can’t believe that the High Priest put Yancha in charge.”

  Itzel shrugged, “Believe it.” She waved her phone. “I got a call too.”

  “What are you going to do?” Ramon glanced at the door as if he expected it to burst open at any moment.

  “Take my orders.”

  “Just like that?” Ramon didn’t seem to believe it. “Where’s the woman I know? The one with a killer spirit who takes no shit?”

  “In hiding, because she’s scared,” Itzel said in a quiet voice.

  “You? Scared?” Ramon laughed. “Scared of what?”

  “The gods,” Itzel said.

  That made him pause. Ramon glanced around the room. “Have they visited you?”

  “Yes.”

  Ramon stood. “Sorry,” he said. “I need to go.”

  Itzel couldn’t quite believe the change in him. Was he that scared of the gods? Well, of course he was. Like her. She waited for him reach the door before she said, “You like me in this colour hair?”

  “What?” he turned.

  “The wig.” She stood and walked towards him, hips swinging. “Or do you prefer me out of it?”

  Ramon reached behind him, his hand seeking the door handle. He missed it twice as Itzel’s wig hit the floor and she began to unbutton her blouse. Itzel hid her smile. Poor Ramon couldn’t tear his eyes from the flesh she revealed.

  “What are you doing?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

  “I’m a whore,” Itzel said. “I’m doing what whores do and taking my clothes off so you can fuck me.”

  That got his eyes up to meet hers. “No, Itzel. Not like this.”

  She slipped the blouse off and reached around to unclasp her bra. Ramon’s hand found the handle. Itzel heard the click as the door opened and Ramon stumbled out into the night air. She saw him staring as the door swung shut at the moment her bra fell to the floor. Itzel knew he would be running back to his room. For all his bravado, Ramon was a little boy. A soft sound came from behind her. Itzel turned, darkness filled one wall, and she saw the shape of a god forming. It stepped out. Skull head. If it could smile, it would. Hollow eyes stared at her, desired her.