The Last Sicarius

by Van R. Mayhall Jr.

  “What the hell was that?” exclaimed J.E.

  CHAPTER 108

  J.E. crawled back from the mouth of the portal in which they were hiding and said, “Something is happening up there.”

  “What is it, J.E.?” queried Cloe.

  As they struggled to hear what was happening above, the shooting from the Karik’s soldiers increased to what sounded like a desperate cacophony of gunfire, but it was clearly not aimed at them. Soon after this started, it became apparent that someone else was returning the Karik’s fire. While Cloe and her cohorts huddled in the corridor, a war was going on upstairs. Grenades and RPGs blasted amid the rifle fire. Men screamed and cried. Suddenly, there was a terrible silence.

  “Get ready,” said J.E. “Somebody won. We may be the prize.”

  In the still of the night, they could hear the whimpering of a man or two, probably wounded. Two single pistol shots rang out.

  “My God,” said J.E. “They’re shooting the wounded.”

  Cloe saw J.E. and the monsignor ready their weapons, checking the ammo clips and cocking them. The group could hear footsteps and men shuffling around over them.

  “Dr. Lejeune!” someone shouted from above. “Hold your fire. We are coming down.”

  She looked at J.E. and the monsignor, but they were as baffled as she. Who was coming down? “What do we do?” she asked the others.

  “We blow the hell out of whoever comes down those steps,” responded J.E. “We do not want to be at the mercy of anyone who shoots helpless men, whether it be the Karik or whoever else is up there.”

  Cloe could now hear footsteps on the top of the stairs leading to this level. They all went to the front of the corridor, but they could see only the very bottom few steps of the staircase. Time seemed suspended as the men advanced down the steps. Cloe could see shoes and now trousers and robes on the stairs. In a minute they would be on them, or J.E. would have blown them off the stairs into the valley below.

  Cloe dropped to her stomach on the cold stone floor and looked up and then moved quickly back. “Hold up. Don’t shoot,” whispered Cloe.

  “J.E.!” yelled a man not yet visible.

  “I know that voice,” said J.E.

  Now the man at the front of the line was fully visible, but he had his hands up and was without any weapons.

  “J.E.!” the other man shouted again. “It’s Tomás.”

  CHAPTER 109

  Relief flooded over Cloe like a tsunami. Tomás! Where had he been? Where had he come from?

  J.E. edged toward the front of the corridor. “Tomás,” he yelled, “what’s going on?”

  “My men and I have captured the famous Karik,” replied Tomás. “We bring you a prisoner.”

  In a moment, all of the men were down on the terrace, with the Karik, one of his men, and Miguel leading the way. Tomás and two of his men followed, covering the Karik’s group very carefully with their weapons. The Karik seemed beaten but unharmed. Head hung low and shoulders slumped, he trudged across the terrace.

  On seeing Michael, alive, Cloe’s heart lifted. “Michael,” she called.

  J.E. ran to Tomás and hugged him. “Tomás, you are a sight for us. We were in a very tight spot,” said J.E.

  “It’s great to see you, Tomás,” added the monsignor. “We thought you had left by the ramp.”

  “I did,” replied Tomás. “But when we began to hear shooting and grenades from the north end of the mountain, we realized the Karik had to be after you. Moreover, since he and his forces had gone to the north, we could not be trapped by them. We could always have retreated to the ramp. We knew this was our chance, so we decided to come back. It seems we have also found the boss, Miguel.”

  “Tomás, it is so good to see you and your men,” said Cloe, joining the group. Cloe could scarcely believe that somehow they had been delivered from the Karik’s forces.

  “We saw the fight at the inner wall of the highest level of the palace,” Tomás continued. “That was very well done, and you cut the odds considerably. But we could not help since the Karik was well covered from behind, and it looked like you might be booby-trapping the area.”

  “Yes, I set out all the Claymores you left us, but I think all but maybe one have been tripped or timed out,” responded J.E.

  “We did not know that, so we had to look for our best opportunity,” said Tomás.

  Cloe looked at Michael and focused on the fact that he was somehow still alive. She was moving toward Michael to embrace him when Tomás addressed him.

  “It’s good to see you alive, boss,” said Tomás.

  “Thanks, Tomás,” said Miguel, apparently overwhelmed. “We didn’t have time to talk above, but you have put me right where I want to be.”

  “Here’s your old .45,” replied Tomás. “It was in your room in Tunis. I have carried it all this distance in hopes of presenting it to you in this very way.”

  Miguel took the weapon, looked it over, and then checked the magazine and jacked a round into the chamber. He then eased the hammer and tucked the automatic into his belt.

  “I feel whole again,” said Miguel seriously.

  Cloe studied Michael carefully, thinking that was a strange thing to say. Tomás turned away from his boss and continued his story.

  “We saw you hold the second level briefly, but the explosives were too much. When you ran to the terrace on the third level and the Karik took the second stage, we knew our chance had come. They were so intent on you, they did not even post a man to guard their rear,” observed Tomás.

  “I gather you had good cover and high ground and were able to fire down on the Karik,” said the monsignor.

  “Yes, to make the story short, we blasted them until they threw up their hands and quit,” said Tomás with a smile.

  “But, Tomás, shooting the wounded?” questioned J.E.

  “That was the Karik, not us. He shot his own wounded men and then threw down his pistol,” replied Tomás, spitting. “Coward!”

  The Karik snickered but said nothing.

  “Well, we have him now, and he will pay for his crimes,” said J.E. “Thank God it’s over.”

  CHAPTER 110

  Cloe wasn’t sure it was over. She looked at the figures on the terrace and was filled with an inexplicable foreboding. Something was missing, or she had missed something. All she knew was that the atmosphere crackled with a terrible expectation.

  Without warning, Miguel turned snake-quick, drew the automatic from his waistband, and shot Tomás in the back. Cloe watched with horror the puzzled look on Tomás’s face as he fell first to his knees clutching his chest and then face first to the hard tiles on the terrace. He did not move again.

  Cloe screamed and looked over at Tomás’s men, expecting them to return fire. But Miguel shot the two of them dead as they stood processing the situation. Tomás and both of his men were down, dead. Miguel had the only drawn gun. J.E. made a move to pull out his.

  “Hold!” shouted Miguel as he pointed the weapon at J.E. and the monsignor. Then he swung it toward Cloe. “If you make one move, I will shoot Cloe.”

  Cloe looked around and at her colleagues and saw Michael had them stymied. His gun was pointed dead at her. His face was the same one she had seen when he told her to shut up and sit down. He was his father’s son. “Michael?” she asked.

  He looked at her, but there was no vestige of the man she had danced with in Tunis or the man she had kissed. How could she have been such a fool?

  The Karik turned to Miguel, bowed deeply, and said, “Master, it is so good to have you with us again.”

  Reality came crashing down on Cloe as she realized Michael had always been his father’s son and had probably conspired with or directed the Karik in everything he had done.

  The Karik and his one remaining thug disarmed Cloe, J.E., and the monsignor. Now guns were pointed at them from three directions.

  “Where are my jars?” queried Miguel.

  “Michael, consider what you a
re doing. How could you follow your father’s footsteps when his organization, under the auspices of this man the Karik, killed your entire family?” pleaded Cloe.

  “Oh, that,” said Miguel with a smile. “Well, I was tired of the woman, but the boys were a mistake.” Miguel continued, his voice now rising and cracking a bit, betraying his emotion. “They went running back to the car for something after I triggered the bomb. I hated to lose them.”

  Cloe was stunned. Michael had killed his family? “Why?” was all she could say.

  “A simple calculation, really,” he replied, now back in control. “If my wife were blown up apparently by my father’s organization, you would believe anything I said about not being a part of it. It gave me credibility. As I have said, the children were unintended collateral damage.”

  “But, Michael, the Karik tortured you at the Armenian hideout,” responded Cloe. “I saw you tortured with my own eyes.”

  “There was never any torture at the chalet. It was a circus trick to fool you. My skin had been coated with fire-retardant chemicals. I got nothing worse than a bit of sunburn,” said Michael, laughing. “The rest was just acting the part. You fell for the whole thing!”

  Cloe crumpled to her knees. She had never been so appalled and humiliated in her life. She thought she had seen evil in the Kolektor, but this was so far beyond what he had done as to be inconceivable. As she leaned over, her gut clenched, and she thought she might vomit. J.E. started toward her, but the Karik pointed his gun at him and told him to back up.

  Miguel laughed again. “You were so easy.”

  Cloe hesitated but found she was no longer humiliated. Now she was just appalled and beginning to get angry. She raised her head and looked directly at Michael. “Why me, you SOB?” she hissed.

  “Because you were always the key to the jars,” he answered. “You were our best lead. You had been with the Sicarii, and they trusted you. I figured that you would lead me to my heritage … to the jars.”

  “But you tried to kill me in New Orleans,” Cloe said.

  “Not at all,” Michael said. “We were very careful, but we had to jolt you out of your comfort zone, translating the materials from the first jars. I needed you looking for the cave.”

  “You planned this whole thing, didn’t you?” Cloe yelled. “Everything—the chance meeting in Tunis, your supposed torture in Armenia, and your capture by the Karik. It all led here.”

  “True,” said Michael. “But you weren’t exactly Miss Innocent, were you? I may have fooled you, but you led the Karik here through the Sicarii’s misdirection and mysterious clues. They intended to put him down. Now they are all dead. Do you deny it?”

  “The Karik is evil and a threat to the treasure of knowledge the Sicarii have safeguarded for millennia,” Cloe said unapologetically. “But you controlled the Karik and everything else. You are the real evil.”

  Cloe could hear the Karik snickering in the shadows, and she knew she was correct. Michael, “the boss,” had been behind everything.

  Michael smiled and asked, “Where are the jars?”

  “There are none here,” Cloe responded flatly, as Michael’s announcement that the Sicarii were all dead began to sink in. “You have failed even with all your evil efforts. The Sicarii have outsmarted you, and now you say they are all dead. No one alive knows where the jars are.”

  “You must know,” said the Karik. “You led us here.”

  “They could be anywhere in the world,” responded Cloe. “I just followed the clues the Sicarii gave me. Like everyone else, I thought the jars would be here.”

  Michael walked over to where the seriously wounded Father Sergio was lying and put his gun to the young camerlengo’s head. The priest did not stir. Cloe cringed, fearing where this might go.

  “Where are the jars?” he yelled.

  “I don’t know, and you have wiped out everyone who might know! You have succeeded in doing what the Romans could not do in the first century and what time has been unable to accomplish,” she replied hoarsely. “The Sicarii are now no more, and with the last of them died all their secrets.”

  “I wager there is one last Sicarius … you!” Michael yelled at her. “This man’s death will be on your head.”

  “I don’t know!” she screamed, but the scream was drowned out by a gunshot.

  Cloe gawked down at Serge, who had opened his eyes and rolled slightly, freeing the gun beneath him, and fired at Michael. The shot missed Michael but hit the last of the Karik’s men, knocking him flat. The man now writhed in agony from a wound in the groin area.

  Michael had jumped back as the priest aimed his weapon, and he now fired two shots into Father Sergio from point-blank range. The terrible sound of the impact of those terminal shots hung in the air. Cloe watched Sergio drop the gun and go limp. She heard his last rasp of breath as he exhaled for the final time. He smiled at her as he died. Cloe screamed again and wobbled on her feet.

  J.E. and the monsignor visibly struggled against the urge to leap forward at the man who had killed their friend.

  Cloe collapsed and fainted.

  CHAPTER 111

  Cloe lay on the cold stone of the terrace and began to hear sounds and sense people around her. She did not want to wake up. She wanted to stay unconscious forever, until there was no more pain. But as she remembered what had happened to Father Sergio, her eyes jerked open. The demon, Michael, was squatting next to her, waiting for her to come around.

  “Ah,” he said, “while you were napping, we all changed positions in anticipation of playing a new game.”

  Cloe sat up and looked around. The monsignor and J.E. were now standing on the precipice at the edge of the terrace where the wall had been blown out. She almost swooned again but held on. There was nothing behind J.E. and Albert but a thousand-foot drop. The wind had picked up, and the two of them swayed in the gusts.

  “For God’s sake, Michael!” she cried.

  “God has nothing to do with this, and they will certainly fall or be shot if you don’t tell me where the jars are,” replied Michael.

  “I don’t know where they are; if I did, I would tell you,” she pleaded.

  “I don’t believe you,” he said. “Which will it be, your friend or your son?”

  “She doesn’t know, you scum-sucking pissant!” yelled J.E.

  The monsignor was fingering the beads of the rosary attached to his tunic. “Michael,” he said, not unkindly, “this is a final chance to change your ways. Can you hear God calling to you?”

  “I hear nothing but the wind and your death song,” said the son of the Kolektor.

  “Every man has a last chance to turn aside from evil. Even Judas had his chance,” said the monsignor. “Turn aside!”

  “How did that work with my father, priest?” spat Michael. “But you have helped make up my mind as to who should go first. Step out, Father, and let’s test your God.”

  “Michael, testing God is a bad idea, as your father learned in his last moments,” said the monsignor. “My God will catch me in the next world. Who will catch you?”

  “Step out, priest!” screamed Michael, taunting the priest.

  “No! Wait,” said Cloe.

  “Have you remembered what I want to know?” asked Michael.

  “I …” Cloe faltered.

  Michael turned and fired a shot just over the monsignor’s head. Albert took a small involuntary step toward the abyss and teetered on the brink.

  Then without warning, a helicopter shot straight up from below the edge of the cliff face like a hot ember climbing a stone chimney, and the prop wash blew J.E. and the monsignor away from death’s door. Sideways to the terrace, the helicopter hovered, and the Swiss sharpshooters shot the Karik’s remaining henchman, who had regained his feet, holding his crotch in one hand and his gun in the other. Another shot rang out, hitting the Karik squarely in the chest. He grabbed the front of his robe, now soaked in blood, and gazed at them with a confused look.

  The mon
signor yelled, “It’s Father Anton and the Swiss!”

  As Cloe, J.E., and the monsignor lay on the stones looking up, the Karik stumbled, spun around, dazed and in pain, and tumbled off the terrace into oblivion. His terminal screams could be heard even over the sound of the helicopter. They were the black screams of horror from a soulless man.

  Cloe looked at Michael and saw panic in his eyes. He turned and ran up the stairs to the next level. The helicopter steadied itself over the terrace, and three of the Swiss rappelled down to the group’s aid. Then the helicopter flared off after Michael.

  J.E. jumped up, grabbed the dead thug’s pistol, checked the clip, and ran up the stairs after the Kolektor’s heir.

  “J.E.!” screamed Cloe.

  CHAPTER 112

  Father Anton turned on the helicopter’s searchlight and scanned the middle and top levels of the palace for the man who had run. Although there was lots of ground cover, there was nowhere to hide from the air.

  Meanwhile, J.E. ran up the first set of stairs and stopped at the top to test whether Michael was waiting for him. Sure enough, a slug banged off the stone near enough to his face that the dust blinded him for a moment.

  J.E. shook it off, fired a shot in the general direction of where Michael had been, and ran after him. As he did, the helicopter roared over him, almost close enough to touch. J.E. saw that Father Anton had activated the searchlight and was taking up station south of the top level of the palace, near the old commander’s barracks. Michael could not get by Father Anton without being seen. Even now, the rest of the Swiss were coming down ropes to further block his escape.

  J.E. rose, stood behind a storage house wall, and yelled, “It’s over, Michael! There’s no place to go. You are trapped. Everyone else is dead.”

  “That’s what you think, soldier boy!” screamed Michael, rising up from his hiding spot and raising his weapon.

  J.E. ducked as a shot hit the wall in front of him. But he had seen where Michael was. J.E. circled around through several corridors that had, at one time, interconnected the storage houses. He figured he was roughly abreast of Michael’s position. J.E. could see the lights of the Swiss coming toward Michael from the rear. Father Anton flew over and then did a one-eighty. He too had spotted Michael. J.E. aimed his pistol when he had Michael in his sights, but he could not bring himself to take the certain death shot. The man was helpless.