That also failed. As did Latin, Hebrew, French, Russian, Spanish, Morse Code and computer binary.
"This is a complete waste of time and effort,” Richard declared, a golden ray from his wand flashing the liquid demons into vapor at its slightest touch. “These squares are not in the order of any alphabet I know."
"Still, there is something faintly familiar about that array of squares,” I said, raking my brain for what it was. There was a fleeting memory from my past just outside of range, I could sense it was there, but not quite clearly enough to get even a brief glance.
"Want me to help?” Jessica offered.
In spite of our situation, I hesitated before saying yes. It was no easy thing to allow another person access to your mind, even a close friend like Jess. But this was an emergency, so I said yes and shouldered my weapon. Stepping close, Jessica cupped my face in her warm hands and our gaze locked. Involuntarily, I stiffened as her thoughts gently slid into my mind, then completely relaxed under a soothing caress softer than a lover's kiss.
Instantly, the years flowed backwards like the fluttering pages of a book in the wind. I was a PI in Chicago, a cop on the South Side, a security officer for my father's trucking firm, in high school, a sophomore, November, 14, Tuesday, 11:45 am, in Chemistry, my teacher droned on about something incredibly dull...
"Got it!” I cried as we broke apart. “Its the periodic table."
"Nonsense,” George snorted, working the bolt on his weapon to clear a jam. “Doesn't resemble it a bit."
"Not the new, modern version, but the old original. Dimitri Mendeleef's simple one, circa 1869."
He got the idea. A couple of thousand years ago, the molecular structure of water would be big juju. Forbidden knowledge. Far beyond the understanding of most common folk, who thought everything was made of the four elements. And sometimes they got those confused.
Reaching above the door, I pressed the first square—hydrogen. It sank, but rose again as soon as I let go. I pressed it once more and now it locked into place with a click. Holding my breath, I counted to the eighth square that should be oxygen and depressed it. The square sank, locked into position and noiselessly the massive stone door swung inward.
"Retreat!” Mindy shouted, charging through the open doorway.
Maintaining defensive fire to protect our rear, the team moved into an antechamber, a seamless cavern of natural stone only a few yards wide. There was no other exit in sight.
"Close the door, please,” Jessica said, taking cover behind the wall and shoving fresh shells into her weapon. Countless waves of the water demons were washing onto the shore, marching at us in nightmarish precision.
"Now would be good!” George shouted, firing a stream of caseless HE from his bulky assault cannon.
Confidently, I searched on the other side of the door, but saw only smooth blank stone. No symbol, no keyboard. No nothing.
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CHAPTER EIGHT
"Find another keyboard!” I ordered, searching the walls.
Rosary dangling from his gunbelt, Father Donaher took a position in the doorway alongside George and hosed the front ranks of the creatures with his flamethrower. In a loud hiss, they disintegrated, only to be replaced by dozens more.
"This is getting serious,” he shouted above the roar of the burning spray. “Close the freaking door!"
Jessica dramatically touched it with a single finger and Mindy gave it a roundhouse kick. “We're trying!"
"No time for halfway measure!” Richard shouted, rolling up his sleeves. “Stand back!"
We cleared away fast. Gesturing wildly, the wizard shouted in a foreign language and the chamber was instantly immersed in total blackness.
"Did the spell work?” somebody asked from the dark.
"Yep,” a smug voice replied.
Flashlights clicked and in the bright white beams we saw that the doorway was closed solid with a stout wall of red fireplace bricks.
"Good work, man!” I said, slapping him on the shoulder.
He smiled. “Thanks."
"Why bricks?” Jessica asked curiously.
"First thing that came to mind."
Father Donaher adjusted the pre-burner on the sizzling nozzle of his weapon. “Come on, George. Let's form a firing line just in case they can get through."
Grimly, George nodded. “Check."
But as the soldier stepped away from the brick wall and the toe of his boot cleared the swing line of the door, the stone mass promptly closed and locked. Stunned silence followed.
"A regulated door,” Mindy gasped in sudden understanding. “The damn thing won't close as long as somebody is in the way."
Growling a curse, Richard grabbed our chubby gunman by the collar. “You almost got me killed, Renault!” he snarled.
"Won't be the first time, Anderson!” George snarled back.
They bumped chests for awhile, making dangerous-sounding threats, then broke apart laughing.
Strange as it sounds, I have heard of some military leaders who don't allow this kind of horseplay by soldiers. In my opinion, they're the kind of idiots who are either easily defeated by the enemy, or else get killed from friendly fire. Humor relieves tension and improves morale. Besides, it was the first time anybody had actually joked since the disappearance of Raul. We were starting to pull together again.
"Hey, look!” Richard cried, pointing his wand.
We turned and on the cavern wall behind us was a tunnel not there before. Ten feet wide and high, the passage led deeper into the cliff, the end beyond the range of our flashlights.
Mindy angled her beam around for a better look, but nothing new was shown. “Must have formed when the outer door closed."
"Makes sense,” Donaher agreed, stroking his moustache. “Typical security arrangement."
"Security infers they have enemies."
"They do now,” George said gruffly, taping his flashlight to the end of the barrel on his assault cannon.
I was going to immediately proceed into the tunnel, when I noticed the slightly hangdog appearance of the group and remembered that we had been on the go since 4am this morning. Fifteen straight hours. This was no place to pitch camp, but a short rest couldn't hurt.
"We'll hold here for ten minutes,” I said, checking the load on my grenade launcher. “If the water guys haven't gotten through the door by then, we break for lunch."
"Here?” Jessica asked, arching an eyebrow. “I thought we would at least go down the tunnel a ways."
"Why?” Mindy replied. “This way, we know one direction we won't be attacked from."
Jess gave a slow nod. “True enough."
Everybody assumed an attack position, weapons ready and the ten minutes passed with agonizing slowness. As the second hand on my watch swept to twelve, I breathed a sigh of relief. My innards were gnawing on each other and my head still hurt from the plane crash. Luckily, this double barrier did the trick.
"Okay, short break,” I said. “Water and MRE packs only. No cooking, no fire. Standard guard rotation."
Gratefully, the group allowed their packs to slide to the ground and set about opening food packages. I took the first shift, dry swallowing aspirins from my pocket med kit and keeping my butt to the wall where I could watch the door and tunnel.
For a few minutes there was no sound except ripping mylar, crinkling plastic wrap, munching and slurping. Wolfing down his food, George relieved me and I happily joined them. Aspirins make very poor luncheon fare.
Chewing a military meatloaf sandwich, Donaher was busy with the flamethrower, checking gauges and thumping tanks. “I'm afraid this is pretty much drained,” he announced sadly. “No more than a ten second charge left in it. Hardly worth carrying anymore."
"Then here,” Jessica said, offering the pump-action shotgun. “Take this."
He hesitated. “But, Jess..."
"It is your preferred weapon, correct?"
"Well, yes."
"Then
take the shotgun. There are plenty of stun bags, and I'll use one of the M16 rifles. Doesn't make much difference to me. I hate all weapons."
That was certainly true. On just regular day-to-day living, I toted my S&W .357 Magnum into the shower. But even on a field assignment, Jessica only carried a taser. She once explained that it had something to do with the negative psychic vibrations of an offensive weapon disrupting her mental harmony. I chuckled to myself. Telepaths. Can't live with them, can't live without them.
"I heard that,” sang out Jessica, removing the plastic wrapper from an apple.
Oops.
Lowering his canteen, Richard wiped his mouth and recapped the container. “Any ideas about that tunnel?” he asked the group at large.
"Probably a security corridor, similar to the one at our HQ,” I said. “Once past the outer door, people who know what they're doing can stroll along without being molested. But a stranger will blunder about tripping alarms and other nasty stuff."
"There are an awful lot of assumptions in that,” Mindy observed around a mouthful of candy bar. “We don't even know who we're dealing with yet. Animal, vegetable or mineral. Mortal, spirit or construct."
"Good, bad or neutral,” Jessica added, finishing the litany.
"When do we ever know anything for certain?” Father Donaher said. “Faith, lass, there's a bit of good in the most evil of men, and a touch of bad in each of us."
"But death is for keeps,” Mindy snarled, teeth savaging her candy bar.
If they were getting this philosophical, I decided the group had rested enough. Standing, I brushed the crumbs from my khaki jumpsuit. Where was Armani when you needed him?
"Okay, break over,” I announced. “Let's check the supplies and get going."
By reflex, we cleaned the site and packed the refuse. Feeling immensely refreshed, I stood guard again while the rest of the team routed through the mounds of supplies in a fast inventory. Work would keep their minds off our recent loses. As the Eskimos say, food is sleep. Smart folks.
"So what are we missing?” I asked, when they were done.
Checking a list in her hand, Jessica reported. “The barrel of water, the big tent, all of the mountain climbing gear, the inflatable raft, the flare gun and the scuba outfits."
"No loss on the last,” Donaher said, loudly blowing his nose on a bandana.
"Thank you, Elephant Man. How about weapons?"
"The Surface-to-Air Missiles are gone,” George said glumly. “And so are two of our satchel charges. We have all of the Uzi machine guns and plenty of ammo, but no clips for them."
Swell. “Dump the guns next to the flamethrower, but keep the ammunition. It'll fit our pistols. Anything else? How ‘bout my briefcase?"
"Not here,” Richard frowned, poking at the stony ground with his staff.
I spat an oath.
"Was it something good” Mindy asked. “Or merely useful?"
"Very useful,” I replied sadly. “Extremely so. It was a miniature atomic bomb."
Silence.
"A Snoopy?” George asked in awe.
I nodded. He whistled.
"We had a nuke?” Jessica asked, her voice rising in pitch.
"Yep. A miniature atomic bomb, about half a kiloton yield. Not enough to destroy the whole island, but more than sufficient to convince anybody that we mean business."
"Damn,” Mindy said, grinding a fist into her palm. “That is a major loss. Should we try and go get it?"
After a moment's thought, I shook my head. “Too darn dangerous. We'll just have to solve the situation, or leave before zero hour in...” I checked my watch. “Twenty two hours."
There were murmurs of approval. Horace Gordon had said, that none of his people are expendable. Well, usually not.
While George booby-trapped the collection of useless weapons we piled by the door, the rest of us distributed the remaining ammunition and explosives on the cart for easy access. Then Richard tightly tied down the canvas sheet with easy-open slip knots, as Mindy oiled the wheels.
Finally, we gathered in front of the mouth of the tunnel. Checking the entrance for traps, it proved to be clean and I proceeded carefully inside. The smooth walls of the tunnel curved to become ceiling, the rock strangely warm to the touch.
However, the floor was properly cold, smooth and very clean. There was no way of telling if anybody had ever gone this way, or we were the first. Comforting thought.
"Two meter spread,” I whispered, gently working the bolt on my machine gun and easing off the safety. “Silent penetration. Single file. Mindy take the point position, George cover the rear."
"Check."
"Gotcha."
The air in the tunnel was deathly still and the noise of our boots echoed slightly. Nothing we could do about that. Our sneakers were in the frozen sea plane. The team only penetrated a short distance when we confronted a T intersection. Peeking to the left, Mindy reported a Y branching and Richard said he saw another T to the right.
"It's a Phoenician maze,” Donaher said scowling, resting the shotgun on a shoulder.
At once, I was suspicious. This was almost too easy. “The Egyptian solution?” I asked the priest and he agreed.
About three thousand years ago, the Egyptians started building pyramids protected by mazes filled with deathtraps. Now, it was too much to ask of anybody to expect them to remember a hundred specific twist and turns through the maze, so the builders settled upon the simple solution of the left wall. Never let your hand off the left wall and, eventually, you will reach the end of the maze alive and safe. Of course, this is a well-known trick nowadays, but if this place really was thousands of years old, the people who constructed the maze might think the solution still secret. The ploy had worked once before for us in Peru, when we went after the Aztec Book of the Damned and it just might work today.
With a sigh of steel on steel, Mindy drew her sword, the rainbow effect of the blade casting crazed shadows on the walls. “Let's go,” she said and we followed close behind, our fingertips brushing stone.
Three hours later, tired and dusty, we reached the end of the maze. Nothing to it. The last turn put us on a barren ledge facing a large empty room. The walls and ceiling were rough hewn, barely squared off, but the floor was a network of perfectly formed, one meter rectangles, seven in a row, ten long. At the far end of the room was a simple wooden door. Personally, I was wondering why the owners just didn't erect a sign here saying; “Beware, Death Trap. Please Advance and Die. Thank you."
"Want me to fly over and check the door?” Jessica asked, brandishing a bracelet.
"Don't waste it on this,” I said. “Might need it later."
"Want me to?” Richard offered, sniffing his flower.
"No. You're going to lead us across."
In defense, he held up a hand. “Whoa there, pardner. I did that radioactive morgue in Dallas."
"Correct, and I did the trans-dimensional mansion in Atlanta, and George did the hat store in Miami, so it is your turn again."
"Damn."
"Fair's fair."
The wizard started removing his backpack. “Yeah, yeah, just give me a minute. I hate this part of the job."
"As do we all."
Rid of his excess baggage, Richard experimentally gave the front seven squares a good hard rap with his wand. Nothing happened. Extending an arm, he tapped the next line of squares. Still nothing. But that was normal. The squares were probably set to activate on a weight limit, or body temperature, or mass proximity.
George uncoiled some rope from the haversack and starting tying it about Richard's waist. That was so we could pull the wizard back if there was trouble. However, George and Donaher held the rope loosely in their hands, just in case whatever got the man threatened to haul them in also. This was a most unforgiving business we were in.
Rummaging through his pockets, Richard came up empty. “Anybody have some change?” he asked.
"Are you nuts?” Mindy asked. “Carry loose c
hange in battle? Might as well put a bell around my neck."
Richard looked at George, looked at me and I extended a hand to George. “Gimme."
"What? Give you, what?” he asked innocently.
Impatiently, I snapped my fingers. Grumbling, George dug into a pocket and unearthed a small bag of cookies. Our soldier boy did not retain his manly shape without constant effort.
Properly equipped, his staff held horizontally in both hands, Richard moved to the right and gingerly stepped on the first square. When there was no reaction, he exerted more pressure with his leg, then shifted his weight until he was standing fully on the square. Satisfied, he placed a cookie on the square to mark it. Kneeling, he examined the squares in front of him and chose the one on a diagonal. Step, pause, weight, shift, stand. Another success. He repeated the process on the square directly in front of him. Success.
It was strange thing, but there was no real rhyme, or reason to a job like this. You had to move almost entirely by feel, on instinct. I used to think this would be a piece of cake for Jess. She could simply read the feelings of victory where somebody made it through and easily detect the sense of horror where a person had failed and died. But actually, the reverse is true. The two feelings were separated by mere inches, spaced so close together, occasionally overlapping, that often she would boldly walk right into the death traps and avoid the safe regions at any cost.
Again, the wizard stepped carefully ahead. But this time as he shifted his weight, the square gave a creak and then dropped from view. A hideous grinding noise rose the exposed hole and stone dust flew up to pepper the shoes of the wizard who was floating in the air above the hole, both hands firmly wrapped around his staff.
Levitating to the right, Richard chanced a landing. No problem. As we watched, the stones closed over the opening and the floor was whole once more.
"What was down there?” I asked.
"A set of whirling blades,” he replied in a croak. “Resembled the insides of a blender."
"Nasty,” Jessica muttered. Donaher agreed.
Exercising extreme caution, Richard moved ahead another square, then went diagonal again. Of the five squares available to him, the wizard obviously didn't like the looks of any of them, but chanced straight ahead. As his foot touched the stone, it depressed with a click. Simultaneously, the wizard was airborne backwards and a column of stone rose from the floor upward to resoundingly impact on the ceiling. The square pillar and ceiling ground against each other for a minute, then the column sank to floor level and all was as before.
Judgment Night [BUREAU 13 Book One] Page 11