Silver

by Brian January

  From this vantage point he could also see men crouching in the shelter of hoodoos and other limestone formations, their rifles tracking the slope, anxious to blast apart any hint of movement.

  All except for Krell.

  The tall man was standing behind the flamethrower operator, next to one of the open pits, as if he was daring someone to shoot him. His ruined face showed no fear.

  With slow, unhurried movements Skarda slid the Barrett’s muzzle through a gap in the rocks in front of him. Sighting carefully between Krell’s eyes, he curled his finger around the trigger...

  Then a noise made Krell snap his head left and instantly he dropped to a crouch, firing his HK416, as the flamethrower operator swung around in the same direction, the nozzle spewing a gush of fire.

  A tiny clank reached Skarda’s ears. He saw a small object bounce off the tanks on the man’s back.

  April had thrown a timer mine!

  Seeing it, too, the man whipped around, trying to dive for the shelter of the rocks. But his equipment was too cumbersome. In a burst of bright flame the mine exploded, jerking the man around in mid-dive and driving his feet to the stone floor. He screamed, bouncing off, his arms flailing, before he tumbled over the edge of the black pit, his napalm tanks exploding and blowing burning scraps of flesh over the rock formations.

  Krell rolled hard, coming to one knee and letting loose a furious blast of slugs past the line of Skarda’s sight.

  Answering fire returned. April. She’d ducked back out of sight, finding a safe position to shoot from.

  Motion alerted Skarda. Encouraged by Krell’s attack, the men were emerging from cover now, their rifles spitting fire. Sighting carefully, he shot the first of them, then ducked back as a lethal hail of bullets cracked around him.

  His heart hammering, he slid down the loose rock, his feet coming to rest on a tilting shelf of rock. Thoughts raced through his head at lightning speed. They were in the jaws of a trap. He knew it and Krell knew it, too. All Krell had to do was to keep tightening the pincer movement around them and they would be squeezed out.

  It was time to move.

  Scrabbling his way as quietly as he could, he headed in April’s direction, angling upward toward the ceiling. Here the stalactites had dripped down to meet the shattered limestone of the slope in a kind of curtain. Crouching behind it, he could look down into the gallery. On the west, gunmen were circling toward his position, their rifles raised, their eyes searching the rocky slope. Below him, to his right, he could see the fan of April’s dark hair behind the shadow of a shiny, broken boulder. His eyes tracked movement just below. Slinking toward her position, protected by the shields of a line of tooth-like rocks, Krell and a man with dragon tattoos on his arms were moving closer, their figures lit by dancing flames.

  Pulling a mine from his pack, he set the timer for thirty seconds and tossed it under the jut of a large chunk of limestone, then scuttled back—

  The explosion boomed in his ears, the concussion thundering inside his skull. Pulverized stone rained down on him. The point of a spearlike shard struck a rock an inch from his neck, then went flying away. Rifles thundered in unison. The men were getting smarter now. They were aiming at the stalactites above his head, cracking them off and sending them hurtling down at him like a volley of arrows. He rolled, twisting. One of the needlelike points sliced through his upper arm; another into his thigh. Blood spurted.

  Gritting his teeth, he yanked them out, clawing his way backwards over the loose stones in a trail of blood as more of the limestone daggers smashed down around him.

  ___

  When the ceiling exploded, April ducked behind the shelter of the boulder, listening to the crash of falling rock. Then she shoved to her feet and started up the slope at an oblique angle, heading for an outcropping of stone not affected by the blast. From here she could look down onto the cavern below.

  From beneath a pyramid of shattered chunks of stone a tattooed arm stuck out. Movement attracted her eye: Krell, rising to a crouch in the black shadows of a towering boulder, shaking small stones and dirt from his clothing.

  Off to her left, she could hear the rest of his men moving this way. Not good. If she took a shot and missed Krell, revealing her position, she’d be caught in a crossfire. Unslinging the Barrett, she secured it in a notch between two boulders and eased down the slope, freeing one of the Fusion Fulcrum throwing knives from her pack. Loose rock skittered and slid under her feet. She kept her eyes fixed on Krell. So far he hadn’t heard her. He was still in a low crouch, his back to her, his head facing her last position. Her right boot dislodged a big rock, setting off a mini-landslide. He would expect a few stones to keep falling after the explosion, but—

  Whipping around, Krell shot to his feet, the snout of his rifle snapping up—

  April’s hand moved. The Fusion Fulcrum streaked toward him—

  But it never reached its target. His hand lashed out, grabbing the knife by its hilt in mid-air.

  His soulless eyes met hers and stared.

  But she was already swinging up the muzzle of the Barrett. Krell reversed the knife and sent it arrowing toward her. With a quick pivot, she lurched to one side, batting it away with the rifle barrel.

  The Barrett spurted flame.

  But Krell was no longer there.

  Behind her came a loud crack. A massive hunk of limestone, loosened by the blast, was hurtling directly toward her position, dragging with it an avalanche of smaller rocks and stone.

  Slamming her back against the slope, she let gravity pull her down in a tumbling slide, the Barrett spraying a unceasing stream of bullets in front of her. When her boots touched a big boulder, she twisted, levering her body between it and the next rock.

  She was about to scramble away when iron fingers closed around her the back of her neck. In a cascade of rocks she went crashing to the stone floor, the rifle flying out of her grip. Tearing herself free, she sprang up, her black eyes meeting Krell’s cold stare.

  With a quick step forward he lunged at her, his right arm lashing out in a spear hand strike to her throat. Spinning away from his reach, she grabbed at his bicep, but it was snatched away, out of her reach.

  His left fist smashed into her rib cage. Then his right.

  Pain screamed into her brain, but she ignored it. The man was taller, stronger, and faster. If she didn’t end this quickly she knew he would kill her. Dropping low, she switchbladed her left leg out and down, aiming her boot at his kneecap, at the same time crashing her fist into his stomach. But the kneecap wasn’t there and her knuckles hit what felt like a plate of steel.

  Then the iron fingers clamped against her throat and she was slammed flat on her back, her thighs pinned to the ground by Krell’s knees. The fingers dug into her carotid arteries. With the knife-like edges of both her hands she hammered at his face, his neck, his shoulders, but it was like striking a concrete wall.

  The pulsing of her blood roared inside her skull with the cacophany of a raging river. Whorls of blackness swirled at the edges of her consciousness.

  Through her fading vision she saw Krell’s lead-colored eyes staring down at her, completely devoid of emotion.

  ___

  Scuttling away from the explosion, Skarda threw himself flat as rock shards peppered him and clattered against bigger stones. Gunfire crackled from below. The men were aiming at the stalactites again, the limestone spears dropping like a wall of spikes, barely missing him and shattering as they struck. But already many of the deadly missiles had found their marks in his flesh. A harsh cry escaped his lips as a point tore into his calf muscle. Rolling, he ripped it out and threw it away. He was bleeding from innumerable cuts and wounds now, his face and clothes bloody and caked with dirt and dust. He clawed a hand over his eyes, trying to clear his watery vision.

  Casting a quick glance around for a way out, he saw only a barricade of stalactites between the top of the hill and the ceiling. And down below, only a firing squad of bullets waited for
him.

  He had to end this fast or he would be dead within thirty seconds.

  He snatched another look behind him. Toward the rear of the cavern, where the hill tumbled out from the main wall, he spied a stand of huge gray rocks that looked like a series of cut obelisks joined together. It was his only chance. He needed to draw the fire of the men below, to get them out into the open. Taking a deep breath, he got to his feet and darted out of cover, ignoring the pain radiating from the wounds on his legs.

  Immediately bullets sizzled around him, kicking up fountains of stone chips at his feet as he ran. He could feel the heat of their passing as they whined over his head and ricocheted away into the darkness.

  He was almost there. Then a slug slashed into his right thigh, kicking his legs out from under him. With a cry of agony, he hit the hard rocks face-first.

  Pain lashed through him like a lightning strike. Gritting his teeth, he rolled right, throwing a snapshot glance over the edge of the hill to see that the remaining men were out in the open now, their rifles raised, waiting for him to stand.

  Digging into his pack, he groped for the last two timer mines. Setting the delay for ten seconds, he tossed both over the side.

  Loud whumps reached his ears, echoing throughout the chamber, followed by a ragged scream that was abruptly cut off as something heavy crashed and shattered. Dragging himself forward, he inched closer to the top of the hill and glanced down. All the men he had just seen lay sprawled on the cavern floor, their limbs and torsos torn to pieces, some mashed by chunks of rock.

  Slumping back, he let the breath whoosh out of his lungs. Then he levered himself up to a sitting position and inspected his thigh. A jagged hole had been torn in his jeans, but the wound was clean. The heavy slug had gouged away skin and muscle, just bruising the bone, before passing through.

  But the agony was just starting.

  Quickly he cleaned the wound with antibacterial solution and wrapped it with Vet-Wrap. It would have to hold him until this was over.

  Clenching his teeth against the pain, he pushed himself to his feet.

  He had to find April.

  ___

  Opaque darkness filled April’s consciousness, exploding with bright points of light that looked like a universe of supernovas. Blood roared in her ears, the sound almost too deafening to bear.

  She was dying.

  Then suddenly the pressure on her neck eased. Oxygen flooded her brain. She gasped, coughing, as she sucked in deep breaths.

  Above her, Krell was tilting forward, his eyes glassy and unfocused.

  For some reason his hands had loosened their grip.

  There was a loud thudding whack! and he fell forward on top of her.

  Shoving his weight away, April looked up to see Nathaniel wavering on unsteady legs, holding one of the big ceremonial double-axes like a club. He’d come out of hiding and bashed the back of Krell’s skull with it.

  Feeling the strength surge back into her, she climbed to her feet. But when she saw the expression on his face, she almost laughed out loud. He looked like a puppy dog waiting for his owner’s praise.

  “Thanks,” she said. Her smile was soft and full of warmth. “Turns out it was you who kept me safe.”

  Nathaniel bobbed his head enthusiastically, then glanced down at the weapon in his hand, as if it had suddenly sprouted there. He shoved it into her hands. “This is your department, not mine.”

  Then suddenly she was moving, both arms swinging back, then whipping forward again in one fluid movement. The axe flew from her grasp.

  Nathaniel turned, gaping—

  Behind him a gunman had just shown himself from a the shadows of a boulder on the slope above them, his finger on the trigger of his MAC-10.

  With a meaty thud, the axe struck him in the chest, its ancient blade biting deep into bone and muscle. The impact caused him to stagger back, his legs going out from under him—

  His dying finger jerked back the trigger, sending a burst of bullets at the already-weakened mass of fallen rock above.

  There was a ripping crack, and then broken rocks avalanched down at frightening speed, thundering over the gunman and then Nathaniel in a roaring explosion of dust and debris.

  Sick horror lanced through her.

  Then from behind her, another sound—

  She spun around to see Krell rising to his feet, his scarred face gleaming with fresh blood, the napalm flames reflecting from his soulless eyes.

  She darted for the fallen Barrett—

  But Krell hadn’t quite regained his balance. His feet stumbled on loose stones and he staggered, his arms going up—

  Without a sound he toppled over the edge of the pit and disappeared.

  “April!” Skarda limped into sight. Pain etched the gray skin of his face.

  She stared at the jumbled pile of rock that was Nathaniel’s grave. “Nathaniel,” she said softly.

  Skarda’s blood turned to ice. Letting his rifle drop, he lurched toward rockpile, bending to toss some of the smaller stones aside.

  “Park.” Her voice was sepulchral. “No one could have lived through that.”

  With slow realization, he straightened and stared at her. Her face was impassive, but in her eyes shone a depth of emotion he’d seen only on rare occasions. He knew she was deliberately shutting down her feelings, concentrating on the job at hand.

  Emotions would come later when all this was over.

  “Now we need a way to stop Morgana,” she said.

  “I don’t think that’s going to happen.” Turner stood at the entrance to the gallery, holding a QBZ-95 assault rifle rock steady in his hands. He stood aside, ushering Morgana past him with a flourish of his hand. Behind her, Makris followed, covering the rear. Each carried a Scorpion.

  He gestured at Skarda’s Barrett. “Kick that over here.”

  Skarda complied. Pieces clicked into place inside his head. “Senator Lake?” He already knew the answer.

  Turner’s smile was self-indulgent. “She decided to leave us.”

  “So you’re going to keep the neosamarium off the market, then sell it to the Chinese at a highly inflated price.”

  “That’s the plan. I figure I’ll make about half a billion dollars. Not bad for a few days’ work.” The smile turned into a smirk. “I told you before I don’t like spooks involved in my operations. Well...I take that back. A couple of clowns like you fit right into my plans.”

  April pinned him with a stare that could have melted steel. “Because of you, Nathaniel’s dead. You’re going to pay for that, Turner.”

  The colonel threw his head back and laughed out loud. “Let’s see...who has the guns here...?”

  But Morgana let her Scorpion droop, gazing at the captives. “I’m sorry about your friend. I truly am.”

  “All right,” Turner said with a dismissive scowl. “Let’s get busy.” He gestured with his rifle at Skarda and April. “You’re going to help Morgana’s crew move the silver out of here.”

  ___

  Reddish tints of dawn were staining the eastern horizon by the time they loaded the last of the silver onto the Sikorsky CH-53 heavy-lift helicopter. The throbbing pain in Skarda’s thigh was unmerciful, but he ignored it. He knew the situation was desperate. When the loading was finished, he and April would be expendable.

  All they could do was wait for a break.

  But with four assault rifles constantly trained on them it didn’t seem likely.

  When April had stowed away the last ingot on board the chopper, she hopped down to find Morgana leveling the Scorpion at her.

  “Over there,” the pirate ordered, gesturing at Skarda, who was standing with his back to a field of boulders near the entrance to the cave system.

  April moved toward him.

  A gunman stood next to Turner. Without warning the colonel spun, clubbing the man with his rifle butt, and grabbing his gun as he dropped to the ground.

  Holding a rifle in each hand, he confronted Morgana an
d Makris. “Weapons on the ground,” he ordered. “Take out the magazines first and toss them. Then get over there with Skarda and Force.”

  Morgana’s silver eyes were like chips of frozen steel. “Money knows no country.”

  “You got it, honey.”

  The remaining crew member was slow on the uptake. Then realization flashed across his face and he jerked his rifle up. Turner triggered off a short burst that stitched bullets across the man’s chest. He flew back against the rocks.

  Keeping her eyes fixed on Turner, Morgana ejected her magazine and set the Scorpion on the ground. With deliberate casualness she moved to stand next to Skarda. Makris echoed her movements and followed her, glowering.