I said, “What do you mean, ‘he was a hybrid, like all his clan’?”
“I told you that all the men and women who have shaped history have been guided and influenced by the Saurians. A number, perhaps the most important, have been hybrids.”
I pulled a face. “And this guy was important? I’ve never heard of him.”
She raised an eyebrow at me and moved on, crossing the square toward the far exit, with slow steps. “Few people have. But he created an empire of learning, poetry, art and religious tolerance. He paid a pension for life to any scholar or scientist who would settle here. While Europe was in the grip of the Dark Ages, mathematicians, scientists and scholars from all over the world were drawn to his kingdom. Muslims, Christians and Jews all lived here together in peace.”
We had reached one of the many great doors in the wall and she stopped again to look at me.
“But, more important than that, the present-day conflicts in the Middle East, the fundamentalist movements in Islam, even the Crusades, all have their roots in the Umayyad massacre by Abu Abbas and Abd-al Rahman’s escape to the West. He was told in a prophesy, you know, by a Jewish astrologer, that he would save his family by going to the West, to the Land of Hope. Hesperus, España. And he did.”
I said, “Why are you telling me this?”
She stared at me a moment then turned and walked through the great door out into the crowded street. I followed. We were on a corner, and just to the left was the Hotel Marisa.
We were lucky. They’d had a cancelation and we were able to get a double room. We climbed the stairs, threw the bags on the bed and took turns to shower. While Maria was in the bathroom, I stood at the window. Our room overlooked the mosque, and to the right I could just see the dome of the cathedral. Below, the street was teeming with people. I searched for Rinpoche but there was no sign of him or of any black Audis.
She came out of the bathroom, naked and toweling herself. We watched each other a while. She smiled.
We had some food sent up and, at about seven, we went out and bought some clothes. The ones we had were pretty rough and attracting too much attention. We changed in the toilets at the Corte Inglés superstores and had dinner at a restaurant in town. All the while, I was keeping my eyes peeled for any sign of Golika-Rinpoche and his pals, but there was nothing. Not a hint.
At eleven, we walked back through Las Tendillas, the main square of the town. In the amber lamplight with the crowds and the fountains playing, you could almost imagine that everything that had happened in the last couple of weeks had been a dream. A weird nightmare. This happy, beautiful city was reality, not the facility in Algiers, not the Saurians or the hybrids. Not the madness of the slaves, the mind control and the killings.
She stopped me and placed her hands on my chest, looking up into my face. For a brief moment, she was Maria again and my heart thudded with hope. I could hear the water from the fountain splashing in the warm night air. Somewhere some kids laughed, a motorbike revved and the traffic hissed and hummed under the city lights. Her eyes seemed to gleam with hope. With a dream.
She said, “Liam…”
I held her face in my hands, wanting to believe I could get her back, that she would come back to me.
She said, “Can’t we just escape? Can we just lose ourselves? Change our identities, run, find some place where none of this is real? Just you and me?”
Was it Maria talking? My belly burned with hope.
I bent and kissed her then whispered in her ear, “I love you, Maria.”
We half ran, half stumbled back through the lamp-lit alleys, suddenly laughing like teenagers. We ran up the stairs to our room and surged through the door, kissing and undressing each other. We fell on the bed, tangled in each other’s arms and legs, kissing, biting and gripping like we were going to fuse into one single, crazed being. My whole world was her skin and her face against mine. I was inside her, biting at her neck and shoulders, biting her lips, seeing Maria’s face, hearing Maria’s voice, knowing it was Maria. And my mind was full of her sighs, her voice and her cries as crazy spasms racked our bodies over and again until we collapsed, exhausted and sweating, in the heat of the night. Then there was stillness and silence.
I had been sleeping. I didn’t know how long. I could feel Maria’s body close to mine, with her back to me. There was a restlessness in my mind. I was wide awake. I rose from the bed and went to the window. The sandstone walls of the mosque were floodlit in amber, making the cobbles of the street look like burnished bronze. There were no people. The city was asleep.
Then I saw him. He was just a black silhouette, down in the street, leaning with his shoulder on the wall of the mosque, looking straight at me. I stepped back from the glass. He had tracked us and that meant just one thing. I listened to Maria’s breathing. As far as I could tell, she was asleep. I dressed quickly, slipped the Sig into my waistband then peered out of the window again.
He was gone.
I moved to the door and eased it open. The landing was dark and quiet. I could hear voices downstairs, the guy on reception speaking softly but firmly. Golika-Rinpoche’s voice, smiling, wheedling. Then silence. The main door opening and closing. Then there were feet on the steps. I counted three, maybe four sets. I slipped out of the room and closed the door behind me. In the light filtering up from reception, I could make out the shadows of four men stretching out and dancing on the wall as they climbed the stairs.
The landing made a dogleg opposite my door. I stepped across and flattened myself to the wall on the corner and waited. The footsteps stopped. They had reached the landing. There was some muttering. Then more footsteps and two hulking shadows passed me and stopped at my room. The other two must have stayed at the head of the stairs.
I heard the soft click of the lock. The door opened. The two hulks moved and blended into the shadows of the room. Then I moved fast. I slipped around the corner. They were both looking down at the reception. Three strides got me to them. A shot fired with the muzzle of a gun pressed against a body makes no sound. The body acts as a silencer. I grabbed the nearest guy by the hair, pressed the Sig into his neck, aiming at the second guy. I fired. The bullet tore out his vertebra and smashed into the second guy’s throat. Neat. They’d both died in silence.
As they slumped, I had a good look at them. Neither of them was Rinpoche. I headed back to my room. I walked in quickly and quietly. Maria was sitting up in bed. I couldn’t see her face. The two goons were staring down at her.
Then Maria gave a little squeal. “Liam!”
They spun to face me. I raised the automatic but the nearest guy grabbed my wrist and slammed his left fist at my floating ribs. I swayed and dropped my elbow to deflect most of the force, but I was off balance and we fell in a heap on the floor. He tried to straddle me, but I gripped his collar and head-butted him in the nose. I heard him grunt, then there were powerful hands grabbing my shirt and my hair from behind and pulling me to my feet. As I came up, the guy I’d head-butted was on his knees spilling blood from his nose. But before I could follow up, the goon who’d grabbed me started wailing into me with his right fist, while yanking at my hair with his left to keep me off balance.
Most of his blows hit my arms and my shoulders. Keeping me off balance was also making me a moving target, but a couple of his punches hit home. He was a big guy and strong and I was feeling it. I still had the Sig in my hand, but everything was happening too fast and I couldn’t take aim. Then I stumbled on one of our bags and fell. He came with me and planted his knee on my chest. His left hand had my right hand pinned down with the Sig in it and his right fist was drawn back for the killer blow.
Then something shattered around his head. There was a shower of shards. He swayed for a moment then keeled over to one side. Maria was standing over him, staring at me. I looked at the other guy. He was staggering to his feet, still holding his nose.
Maria was saying, “We have to go!”
I heaved myself up, my head spinn
ing with sick pain, and swung a big kick between the guy’s legs. It wasn’t his day. He whimpered and sank back to his knees. We scrambled. I snatched my wallet, my cell and my car keys. Maria was grabbing clothes and pulling them on as she made for the door. I could hear a wheezing voice from the floor saying something about a motherfucker. I took that to be me. I didn’t take offense.
I went through the door first. I was saying, “Rinpoche is here. I think he’s downstairs…”
“Rinpoche?”
“Yeah, Golika, your pal Steve… Just stay behind me.”
I stepped over the bodies at the top of the stairs and peered down. There was no sign of anyone in reception. I went halfway down and saw the receptionist slumped over the counter. His throat had been cut from ear to ear. Rinpoche wasn’t there. Nobody was there. I took the last few steps two at a time and peeked out of the door. Nobody. I signaled Maria to follow.
I said, “We need to make it to the car, fast.”
I stepped out into the street. Even at this time—in the small hours—the air was sultry. Across the road, there was a big iron street lamp bolted to the sandstone wall of the mosque. Inside it, I could see three geckos on the glass. I peered down the street to the right. Pools of dull yellow light made the shadows look darker. At first I couldn’t see anyone, but then, maybe a hundred yards away in the direction of the car park, something shifted in the dark then resolved itself into two shapes moving our way. Then I heard staggering footsteps behind me. The goons were coming down, and they’d be real pissed. I cursed myself for not taking them out when I’d had the chance.
I took Maria’s hand. “Come on! Run!”
Instead of running right, toward the car park, we ran straight, down a long, cobbled road that descended at a gentle gradient into shadows. Behind me, I heard a couple of shouts then the thud of running feet. I had no idea where we were going, but I figured I’d make it up as we went along. One thing I knew, we had to move.
At the bottom of the hill we hit a T-junction, with the mosque making the corner on the right, leading to a large, open square and a winding alley climbing to the left. It made sense to go left, so I turned right and ran like all hell was on my tail till we came into the open, cobbled square. Then we ducked left into the shadows.
We were by the river. I made a mental note that the car park was to my right. In front of me there was a big arch, like the Arc de Triomphe, only smaller, and just beyond it was the old Roman Bridge, spanning the river Guadal Quivir. Everything was quiet. The only sound was the sigh of the river. Old, wrought-iron lamps cast a dull, orange glow over sandstone walls and cobbles. On the bridge, Victorian street lamps stood like black wraiths, and in the pool of light under the nearest, a single black figure watched us.
I said to Maria, “We’ll make for the bridge, try to get across and lose ourselves on the other side.”
She hesitated. “That figure—”
I smiled on one side of my face. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
By the look on her face, she didn’t think it was funny. We ran.
Behind me, I heard a smack like someone dropping a heavy hardback book on a tiled floor. Then there was a smack and a whine. As we ran through the arch, the bridge became visible again. The yellow sandstone seemed to glow golden in the diffused lamplight. There was another crack and another ricochet. The figure I’d seen before was moving toward us and resolving itself into Rinpoche.
I scanned behind me. There were five men, fanning out, running at us.
I grabbed Maria’s wrist and shouted at her, “Run! Run for the bridge!”
It was a desperate plan. It wasn’t even a plan. It was just desperate. But it was all we had.
When we emerged from the arch, the silhouette was standing, legs straddled, blocking our way. Behind us, five pairs of feet were pounding the cobbles. Angry voices were shouting, but I wasn’t listening. I knew just one thing. I had to get Maria past Rinpoche and onto the bridge.
Then all hell broke loose. The five goons were on us. I heard Maria scream and her wrist was wrenched from my hand. As I turned, from the corner of my eye I saw Rinpoche run. I pulled the Sig and tried to aim. There was a flash and a crack. Somebody screamed. Maria was stumbling. Two guys closed in on her as she fell. A guy behind her collapsed. I ran for her and there was a blur in my peripheral vision. I lashed out and kicked one of the guys in the head. As he went down, I shot him. Maria was on her hands and knees and the other guy didn’t know whether to go for her or me. While he thought about it, I shot him between the eyes.
Then six tons of brick hit me in the back. I sprawled and my chest went into spasm so I couldn’t breathe. I rolled over and saw Maria scrambling over to me, screaming for them to leave me alone. Rinpoche was laughing, doing a little Bruce Lee dance. Two guys were watching him, panting. Two. I looked around. I saw three guys were down, dead. I had shot two.
Rinpoche thumbed his bottom lip and smiled. “Time to die, Murdoch. What to do, huh? What to do?”
I grabbed for the Sig. I was slow. My chest felt like I had an iron bar through it and my hand was shaking. The speed of his movements was terrifying. He spun and his heel smashed into my hand, sending the Sig spinning across the road.
He was maybe four feet from me, smiling his idiot smile, and he had death in his eyes. “Now,” he said. “Time to die, now.”
Then he gave a start, froze and frowned down at his chest. There was a dark patch there that was spreading. I heard two phut! sounds and the two guys who were watching him keeled over. Footsteps echoing behind me in the dark and another phut! Rinpoche gave a little shake and slowly sank to his knees. Maria was staring behind me. I struggled to my feet. My savior looked at me. Behind him, maybe twenty yards away, I saw my Daemon idling by the sidewalk. Now Tom was watching Rinpoche, who still looked confused.
He said, “You were early, old chap.” And he put a third bullet in his head.
Rinpoche died.
Again.
Tom turned to me. “I hope you don’t mind, I hot-wired your car. Shall we go? The Brigadier is anxious to talk to you.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Tom had given Maria a sedative and she had curled up and gone to sleep in the back. Then he and I had taken turns driving. He drove fast and with impressive skill. In twelve hours, we’d reached Calais, by way of Madrid, Irun and Paris.
When we got to Calais, Maria began to stir and Tom gave her another shot.
He’d smiled apologetically at me and said, “Let’s just keep her confused for the while, shall we?”
We’d taken the ferry to Dover then he’d driven us to a nondescript suburban house in St. John’s Wood, North London. We arrived about six in the evening. He’d let us in with a key and locked and bolted the door behind him.
He’d pointed at Maria and said, “You’re downstairs, in that room.” He indicated a door on the other side of a small drawing room. Then he pointed at me. “You are upstairs, first floor, first door on the right. There are sandwiches and beer in the kitchen if you’re hungry, but get some sleep. Professor Whittering and His Nibs will be here in a couple of hours.”
Maria went straight to her room without saying anything. I gave Tom my cell, told him what was on it, had a couple of sandwiches and a beer then collapsed into bed and slept for three hours like I was dead.
* * * *
I woke and showered at nine. There were fresh, clean clothes on a chair by the window. I dressed and went down. I found Russell and Hook in the dining room. They were having soup. They looked up as I came in and Russell dabbed his mouth with a large linen napkin.
“Liam. Good to see you alive. Take a seat. Soup?”
I sat and shook my head. “No, thanks, Russell.”
He poured me some white wine and a girl came in and took away the soup plates.
When she’d gone, I said, “Where’s Maria?”
“She’s still sedated.”
I nodded. “How did you find me?”
Ho
ok smiled. “The same way you found them. We put one tracker on your car and another in the Sig. I guessed you’d ditch the car in Algeciras, but it was a fair bet you’d hang on to the Sig for dear life, wherever you went.”
I nodded again. “Fair bet. Did you know what I was going to find in Algeria?”
Russell glanced at Hook. The brigadier stared at his glass and pursed his lips. Then he shook his head. “No. Not really.”
“Not really?”
“We’ve downloaded the information from your phone. It was excellent work. We need to debrief you. We have some idea what they are about, but we have no idea how they are doing it. Maria could be very valuable to us if she has information.”
I drained my glass. The door opened. The girl came in again with a trolley bearing a silver platter and a couple of silver dishes. She served us sirloin steak, potatoes and two veg, then poured a powerful Burgundy from a crystal decanter.
Then Hook said to her, “All right, Margarita. Leave the decanters on the dresser and you can retire.”
She thanked him, brought in a tray of whiskey and port and left.
Over the steaks, I told them the whole story with every detail. When I finished, they were quiet for a while. Russell stared at his glass. Hook was studying the backs of his hands and chewing his lip.
Finally, he said, “You have strong feelings for Maria. Can you be objective about her?”
“I can be objective about her.” I started cutting my steak. Then I laid down my knife and fork and said, “How much of what Maria told me was hogwash? Are they serious about all this Atlantis crap? I know we’ve talked about hybrids and reptiles before, but this is crazy.”
I was saying it, but again, in my gut, I knew the answer.
Hook raised an eyebrow at the back of his hands, like he could see my face there. “Crazier than growing people on giant cannabis plants?”
Russell chuckled and shook his head. “Things are crazy, Liam, until we see them and live them, then they become mundane. You’ve seen this Golika, the chap you call Rinpoche—rather inappropriately, I might add. You’ve seen their craft. Good heavens, Liam! It must be clear to you by now that something out of the ordinary is going on.”
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