Ivan could have done several things then. What he did do was brake harder as he held onto the steering wheel with one hand. With the other, he reached inside his suit, no doubt going for his gun.
Jack was faster. As he lay against the back seat, Elliot pulled the trigger four times. The bullets smashed through the fabric of the front seat, riddling Ivan’s beefy frame. The Russian was hurled forward against the steering wheel, gasping in agony.
Jack grabbed the front seat with his free hand, hauling himself forward. He put the barrel of the gun against Ivan’s head.
“Slow down to a stop or I’ll kill you.”
To Selene’s surprise, the man obeyed Elliot. A moment later, she realized the desire to live still beat strongly in the man.
The Mercedes pulled off to the side of the road, coming to a complete stop.
“I…listened to you,” Ivan panted. “Don’t…kill me, yah?”
“You need medical help,” Jack told him. “Do as I say and you’ll get it.”
Slowly, Ivan turned his head. As he wheezed, he mumbled something in Russian. His hands released the steering wheel, reaching down within his jacket. The man struggled with something.
“Down!” Jack shouted.
Elliot grabbed Selene, pushing her onto the back-seat floorboard. She felt him slide on top of her. Then, a sharp explosion sent shrapnel shrieking against metal. The hot smell of gunpowder and blood told her that Ivan Rodin had double-crossed them one last time.
-60-
ALAMUT MOUNTAIN
IRAN
It was hotter than ever as Jack and Selene climbed out of the Mercedes, which was parked at the bottom of the mountain.
The journey here since dumping the Russians had taken three and a half hours. Jack had used the men’s suits and clothes to wipe away as much blood and gore as he could. Ivan had been particularly gruesome, his body having absorbed the majority of his hand grenade’s blast.
Jack theorized Ivan had known he was dying and had wanted to take them with him. The Russian had simply lacked the strength to toss the grenade over his shoulder. Shrapnel had almost knocked out the steering system. The lights and other electrical systems had gone dead, but the grenade hadn’t altogether incapacitated the Mercedes.
“Thank God for German engineering,” Jack said.
He’d cleaned up the interior as best as he could. They’d sat on towels and had driven with the windows down. Finally, the increasingly hot weather had forced them to roll up the windows and use the air conditioner despite the burnt electrical smell and the wisps of smoke it had trickled into the car.
It was a little after seven p.m., and the winding road up the mountain was blocked off. A large portion of Alamut Castle—at the top of the mountain—had scaffolding around it. It looked as if the Iranians were renovating the castle and the surrounding area.
“Do we try to find Souk’s Old Man of the Mountain?” Selene asked.
“How hot do you think it is here?” Jack asked in lieu of an answer.
“We don’t have to wonder,” Selene said. “I have a temperature app.” She took out her cellphone. “It’s one hundred and twelve degrees.”
“At seven in the evening?” Jack asked.
“It’s blistering,” Selene agreed. “I feel like I’m breathing inside an oven. Still, what’s your point?”
“Birds committing mass suicide, intense heat, tuning forks that make man-eating sharks flee—I’d like to know why,” Jack said.
“You think it’s all connected?”
“Everything these past few days has been a surprise. Why not?”
“I’d like to find the secret chamber under the castle,” she said.
“Souk’s notebook is making sense to you now?”
“Enough so I have an idea how to find the secret chamber—if it exists.”
Jack peered up at the high castle, at the extensive scaffolding around it. “We’d better get started then. I doubt we’ll get there before dark.”
They began trudging up the winding road. Forty-five minutes later, with the tip of the bloated sun sinking into the horizon, Jack began to sway from exhaustion. He looked pale and shaky.
“How are you holding up?” Selene asked.
He didn’t answer. He had that grim look again, the bitter determination that seemed to be the essence of Jack Elliot.
Before she could worry more, headlights appeared up the road. A car was coming down.
“Jack,” she said.
Elliot stopped, staring at the headlights.
“What should we do?” she asked.
Jack glanced around.
To Selene’s way of thinking, there wasn’t anywhere to hide. “We’d better decide what we’re going to tell them,” she said.
“Start waving,” Jack said. He made a single, tired pass with his hand.
The car was getting closer fast. She could hear the tires rolling on the blacktop.
Selene began to wave with both hands, forcing herself to smile. Their clothes had bloodstains. Would that show up in the waning light? Before she could decide, the headlights appeared from around a curve. The car was heading straight for them.
-61-
LEARJET 85
CAUCASUS MOUNTAINS
Marcus peered at the forest below. They were almost to Grozny. The pilot must have been good after all. He said there’d been more superheated air pockets, but his navigator had figured out a way to sense them before they flew through them.
It was hot outside, though, one hundred and eighteen degrees. On a suspicion, Marcus had checked the internet. It was hot all over the planet, much hotter than normal. People all over the world had already begun to speculate on the reasons.
Marcus believed the hot weather was Mother’s doing. The Day was almost upon them. The heat had something to do with the underground stations throughout the world.
His tablet beeped.
Marcus positioned it before him, clicking on the connection. The robotic voice and blank slate told him it was Mother checking up on him.
“There’s been a change in plans,” the robotic voice said. “The IZENOV people never made it to Grozny. Their bodies are in the woods, several hundred feet from the road. One corpse lacks its head. The other has no heart.”
“Jack Elliot,” Marcus said. He recalled the little man in the Ardennes. He had been right about that one.
“They’re headed to Alamut Castle,” the robotic voice said.
“You mean Station Eight underneath it,” Marcus said.
“An abandoned Station Eight,” Mother corrected.
“Oh.”
“Your inflection suggests it doesn’t matter. You are incorrect. I do not want them inside the abandoned station.”
Marcus almost asked why. Instead, he said, “It’s getting hotter around the world.”
“That it is,” Mother said.
Marcus inhaled deeply, staring at the tablet. He suspected that Mother watched him, gauging every reaction. Maybe the tablet even monitored him: breathing speed, heart rate, that sort of thing.
“The Day must be upon us,” Marcus said.
“Dear, dear boy, you have always been too curious. It is why you have remained in the lower ranks. That being said, I have no greater killer among my children. Go at once to Alamut Castle. Kill Jack Elliot. Capture Dr. Selene Khan. I want her in the Libyan Desert before…within the next twenty-four hours.
“Act with extreme caution, my boy. This is your most important assignment.”
Marcus kept his features impassive. He did not dare ask why.
“Neither of them must leave Station Eight under their own power,” the robotic voice said.
“It will be done,” Marcus said.
Mother cut the connection.
Three second later, he used the tablet, searching for the nearest airport to Alamut Mountain.
-62-
SAHARA DESERT
The huge beast trotted through the desert, its tongue lolling as it panted in
the tremendous heat. Never in its existence had it felt heat like this. Worse, it was unsuited to the alien environment of endlessly shifting sand. Only at night did it know a semblance of peace.
It was free. Free to die of hunger and thirst. Free to be miserable without learning anything it yearned to understand. Why was it unlike any other creature it had ever seen? Why had the humans caged it? What reason could they have for taking it from the cool forest that had been its home?
For a time now, it had searched for meat and water. Without the hidden water bottles, it would have died of thirst already. Fortunately, there were tiny, unwary creatures in this alien place.
The beast had a fantastic sense of smell and hearing. It had used both in order to find and then chew the mousy morsels that had still failed to assuage its eternal hunger.
It had known abundant food as a captive beast. It hadn’t realized being free would bring such tremendous issues of life and death to the fore.
The beast trotted into shade, using a towering dune. The hiss of shifting sand day and night had begun to drive it mad.
Maybe it had made a mistake killing the two captors. Would it be better to endure needles, tests and mockery?
No! It was better to die free, to do as it willed. Then why did it rush toward the maddening hum and the growing vibration it felt in the sand?
The beast wagged its tail and put its shaggy head on its paws. The humans had journeyed to that place. It saw the tracks in the sand and sniffed the burnt rubber of the tires. As it followed the track through the endless waste, the hum increased and the vibrations told it a powerful engine thrummed with life.
For quite some time, the beast had debated with itself. Should it seek better land by turning around and trotting for as long as its strength held out? That was one possibility, and in many ways, it seemed like the wiser choice.
The beast hadn’t been idle in its cage, however. It had judged the extent of the desert as the vehicle journeyed through it. It had watched and reasoned out the speed of the vehicle. The human machines could travel many times faster than it could run. Therefore, the sandy area was huge. It was possible the extent was greater than its strength.
That was galling. For as long as it could remember the beast had yearned to be free of the humans. It had dreamed of hunting in the wilds on its own. Maybe, it would be able to find a female like itself. He would rut, and they would hunt together and rut some more. That would be the dream life.
Instead, because of the masters and their wicked plans, it was stuck in this hot hell of shifting sand.
Therefore—oh, the beast had thought this through very carefully indeed. Therefore, it would torment the masters and hurt them. What else was left? Surely, it would only be a matter of time before the masters sent hunters to track and slay it. The beast knew the masters would never let it know peace.
If only it could make them suffer as they had made it suffer. Why was it different from every other creature it knew? Where could it find an answer to the terrible dilemma of its existence?
Why did it have to face life alone? Others had mates. Others had creatures just like it. Humans had other humans. Great Danes had Great Danes. The mousy creatures of the desert had others just like them. Only it was alone. Only it had to live apart from every other. That was wrong.
Had the humans marked it in some nefarious manner? That seemed all too possible.
With a groan, the beast stood. The hum raised its pitch again. The beast shook its head. It hated the endless hum. It sought the source so it could stop it forever.
How would it do that?
The beast trotted out of the shade and back under the burning orb of the sky. It would attack while it had strength. Without a collar to harm it, the masters no longer had any source of control over it.
The beast planned to destroy the masters before they sought it out and destroyed it.
The Great Danes had not acted like that—and they had died because it was wiser than they had been. And if it wasn’t wisdom but a vicious cunning, the beast accepted that.
It wanted peace. It wanted to know why it was different and why it was alone. It wanted freedom but it also wanted a full belly. If the truth were known, it also wanted green grass, trees and babbling brooks and streams. This was a hell world. The masters would have to pay.
Once it found the source of the hum…then…then it would go to war before its existence ended in this cauldron of blistering heat. It would teach the humans finally that they never should have tormented it in the first place.
-63-
ALAMUT MOUNTAIN
IRAN
Jack was thirsty and tired. The excessive heat combined with his concussion and exhaustion had left him weary, making it difficult to think. He put his hands before his eyes because the headlights were making his head throb.
The lights dimmed, and they seemed to slow their rate of advance. A few seconds later, the vehicle came to a halt. A car door opened. A man spoke to them in Farsi.
“See if he speaks English,” Jack whispered.
Selene shouted at the man.
“Yes, English,” the man said with a heavy accent. “I speak it. What are you doing here?”
“Tell him we’re tourists,” Jack whispered. “No. Tell him you’re a historian. I’m your bodyguard.”
Selene did as bidden.
“You should go back down,” the man said. “The castle is closed for renovation. It is not safe here on the road in the dark.”
“It’s very hot,” Selene said.
The man stayed hidden behind the shining lights and said nothing for a bit. “It is beyond hot,” he finally said. “I’ve never experienced weather like this here. You two look tired. Do you have water?”
“I’m afraid we don’t,” Selene said. “And my companion is dehydrated.”
“For a fact, he looks ill,” the man said. “Yes. I will give you a ride down to your vehicle.”
“Thank you,” Selene said. “Now what do we do?” she whispered to Jack.
The car door slammed. The vehicle inched forward. Finally, the headlights passed them. The vehicle stopped. It was an ancient jeep with a canvas top. The man behind the wheel was massive with a shaved scalp, a long black beard and a long-sleeved shirt.
“I am Samson,” he said, training two intense eyes on them.
“You look like him, too,” Jack said.
Samson’s harsh features softened. “You are a man of the Book?” he asked.
“I guess I am,” Jack said. “I went to Sunday school as a child.”
Samson shook his head.
“It’s an old American custom,” Jack said. “The adults sent their children to a church class on Sunday. Instead of regular school, they called it Sunday school.”
“Ah. Yes. I understand.”
“I’m surprised you’ve read the Bible,” Selene told the man.
“I am not a Muslim, if that’s what you’re implying,” Samson said. “I’m an Assyrian. We are Christians living in a Muslim land. Assyrians no longer have a country of their own, but live in Iran and Iraq primarily.”
Samson opened the jeep door, sliding out. He was huge, six-six. He held two water bottles, giving one to each of them.
Jack twisted his cap and guzzled.
“Here,” Selene said. “You can have mine.”
“No, no,” Samson said. He pulled another water bottle out of the jeep, handing it to Jack.
Jack drank that one too.
“You are a historian?” Samson asked Selene.
She looked at Jack before saying, “I’ve studied the Assassins.”
Samson rubbed his chin, staring up into the deepening twilight. “I am a foreman. This heat—I decided to check the premises. I was heading back down. The renovation team has a camp several miles from here. Since you are Americans… I will drive you up. I can show you a few of the sights. Then, I will have to take you to your car.”
“That’s very kind of you,” Selene said.
“Yes,” Jack said, trying to mask his unease. In his condition, he didn’t believe he could incapacitate the man if the need arose. The man’s size was a complication.
Selene sat up front with Samson, while Jack climbed into the back. The big man put the jeep into reverse, turning around on the mountain road. A moment later, he put it into first gear and started up the mountain.
***
“I’m curious,” Selene said, looking like a child beside the massive Assyrian. “How long have you been working here?”
“Two and a half years,” Samson said.
“Did you ever hear of someone called Souk?”
Samson hesitated before saying, “I don’t think so. Should I know him?”
“He was an Egyptian antique shop owner. He met someone here called the Old Man of the Mountain.”
Samson frowned, and his big fingers tightened around the steering wheel. Selene smiled up at him as the Assyrian’s frown deepened.
“I don’t think you are a historian,” the big man said.
“You’re right,” Selene said, smoothly. “I’m a geologist. I’m Dr. Selene Khan from the University of Hawaii.”
“Geology,” he said. “You study volcanos and strata?”
“Sometimes.”
“What does any of that have to do with Alamut Castle?” Samson asked.
“I’ll answer you with a question,” Selene said. “Have you ever heard a hum when everything becomes very quiet?”
“No.”
Selene felt as if he said that too quickly. “Have you heard of anyone who’s heard of a…a weird hum around here?”
Samson eyed her. His frown no longer seemed quite as severe. “I have,” he admitted.
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