by Ian Woodhead
Marlon was so annoyed to find his hope of a mutilation didn’t arise. “You’re too lucky for your own good, you are,” he muttered. “That’s close to the south exit, isn’t it?”
“Yes, sir,” replied Adam. “They won’t be able to go much further. That path stops at a stone wall. They’ll have to turn back.”
He found himself nodding at the eager puppy’s statement. His interest with the sidekicks had already waned. He told the puppy to switch screen locations. He saw the archaeologists running their fingers across black stone. Unlike the dim-witted clowns, at least they looked as though they were slowly beginning to make sense of the patterns upon the walls.
Marlon pushed his keyboard to the left and ran his own fingers along the stone surface. There were no symbols below his equipment but, he knew from painful experience, that the absence of ancient writing did not mean that there was any hidden opening. This room was secure though. That much, he was sure about.
He nudged the keyboard back into place while watching the two archaeologists converse. Once again, he wished he could hear their words.
The cameras, like the rest of the equipment, initially belonged to his father. Marlon cast his gaze around the small room. In fact, everything in here belonged to the old man, including those four technicians, all doing their best not to return his stare.
James McBride was one of the wealthiest men on the planet. Not that the public knew of this. The man guarded his anonymity. Needless to say, though, the ordinary Joe on the street would have no doubt used something in his day-to-day existence which belonged to Marlon’s father. He owned everything from electronics companies to national airlines.
His father would have no doubt disapproved of Marlon’s little side-line if he knew of it. “That’s one talent we do share, Daddy,” he whispered. It appeared that although he had gained his slender physical traits from his mother, as well as her brown hair, brown eyes, and quick temper, Marlon had, at least, acquired his duplicitous nature from the old man. He pondered on this for a moment. Perhaps, if he felt really generous, Marlon could say that his almost fanatical pursuit of his life goals had come from him as well.
Marlon had no desire to become this world’s invisible uncrowned king, to be the man who owned everything and everyone. He just desired to watch the world around him burn without getting scorched. It was perhaps a rather grandiose vision, a notion which should belong to madmen and egomaniacs.
He cast his thoughts back to that dark time in his life, when deep inside, Marlon felt he was lying on a broken raft, cast in the endless ocean of life. His inner-self couldn’t decide whether he was about to sink and drown or to keep hanging onto what remained of his raft while the ocean currents took him around in a huge circle.
Looking back, perhaps it was the endless supply of half-naked beautiful women, drugs, booze, and tropical sun which provided the catalyst for his future ambitions. His father didn’t want anything to do with Marlon. In fact, Marlon seriously believed that the old man privately hoped that he’d end up overdosing or drown in one of the family’s many swimming pools. Marlon was one of his father’s few mistakes, a genetic throwback, a fault to be swept under the carpet.
It occurred to Marlon that he could hear the sound of his breathing. The room had gone deadly quiet. Even the guys typing away were doing their hardest not to make a sound. He knew why, obviously. The four of them were on tenterhooks, waiting for him to detonate. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. Despite the few snags, Marlon believed that everything was going to plan. His volatile temper would stay locked up in that box.
Strange that the older he became, the easier he found it to control the anger. That thought made him smile, considering he now realised that the old man must have hoped that Marlon’s inability to control his volatile emotions would have caused Marlon to self-destruction all those years ago, back when he was a teen.
Would his dad have opted for Marlon to going down the road that should have ended in his demise if Marlon was an only child? Like he really needed an answer to that question. Of course he would. The old man had done everything in his power to stop Marlon from inheriting the family fortune.
Marlon didn’t blame him. That, he guessed, would have shocked his dad rigid, but it was true. Marlon was a mess. Even if he had been groomed for the life role of CEO, Marlon still would have ended up destroying his dad’s hard work in a matter of months. Not because he was incompetent, but because he wanted to.
His elder brother, Brian, fitted all the requisites needed to take over the family empire. Private schooling, followed by the best university in the country, as well as first class training from his father. Again, Marlon held no malice against his brother. As far as he was concerned, Brian was welcome to the business as long as he left Marlon free to pursue his own agenda.
He watched Adam’s face turn as white as a sheet. Marlon then realised that he had been smiling at the young lad. “Do you not have something to do, Adam?”
The boy swallowed hard before returning to his duties. Perhaps he should remember to control his facial expressions in the future. Marlon had the idiotic grin plastered over his face because, thanks to him thinking about his dozy brother, an unwanted memory segment had just popped into his head.
Back before Marlon’s hormones had turned him into every nanny’s ultimate nightmare, Marlon had the run of the house. He could go wherever he desired, as long as he kept himself invisible and didn’t enter the restricted areas in the house.
As Marlon wasn’t allowed to leave the house, he spent most of his time in the library, losing himself within the pages of the many classics stored upon the shelves. The library was also where his dad used to tutor Brian. As long as he stayed silent, his dad didn’t mind Marlon staying.
He didn’t really pay much attention to the man’s droning sentences. The characters within the stories generally demanded his full attention. There was one occasion, though, when his father’s lessons did worm their way into his head.
His father was saying that their life was segmented and each section was defined by one major occurrence. The trick was to foresee the occurrence and choose the correct path, as travelling down the wrong path would inevitably lead to destruction.
The words might have been meant for Brian, but it didn’t stop that from resurfacing seven years later in Marlon’s drug-addled head.
He had woken up in the library of one of his father’s associates. Lifting his head, Marlon saw the floor covered in bodies, arms, and legs sprawled over each other. As per the course, Marlon had no details of the events from the previous night. Although judging from the fact that most of the other people were naked, a large amount of sex might have been involved.
That didn’t come as a surprise to Marlon. It seemed that every night terminated in the same fashion. He sat up and looked across the flesh carpet. He had no idea who any of them were. Again, this wasn’t unusual. Procedure dictated that he should find a table occupied by scotch and the white stuff, and use enough until either he could no longer see or he came around enough to put some proper food in his guts. Today, his apathy towards his Groundhog Day situation was around to help him find that table.
As he untangled his limbs, got to his feet, and wandered around the library, Marlon decided that his apathy was probably still sleeping, no doubt under one of these perfectly proportioned female bodies. As he made his way towards one of the wall bookcases, attempting to avoid fingers, ankles, and hair, Marlon’s head kept repeating the words his father once said to his brother regarding how life is segmented.
By the time Marlon reached the bookcase, those words had become a mantra. While those words were spinning around his mind, Marlon’s thin forefinger slid along the book spines. Unlike the library where those words were one uttered, he saw no works of fiction anywhere. The shelves were packed with volumes of everything from ancient history to philosophy.
Marlon picked a book at random and tiptoed through the bodies while holding his prize tightly aga
inst his chest. He pushed the bottles and a saucer full of cigarette stubs, beer, and coke onto the floor, opened the book, and settled down to read.
After several hours of filling his head with several volumes of archaeology, ancient history, and prehistory, Marlon finally looked up from the pages. He was alone, cold, and very thirsty. Despite the discomfort, he couldn’t stop smiling. His mind, starved of knowledge for several years, had soaked up the information like a dry sponge. He also discovered that his father’s mantra had vanished.
Two days later, Marlon stood in front of his father’s desk, dressed in the best threads money can buy, listening to the old man conduct half a dozen conversations on phones and with his minions who kept running in and out of his office.
When the old man finally found time to listen to his youngest son, Marlon repeated the words he once said to Brian. The flicker of surprise cast on his father’s face, before the usual expression of disgust and annoyance only reserved for Marlon, settled in. The old man’s return to form didn’t bother Marlon one bit. Why should it? After all, for the first time in his life, he had a purpose, a quest.
Whilst reading and absorbing all that accumulated knowledge, Marlon became aware that hidden inside certain texts lay a code. A hidden pattern of clues and hints which, once solved, could unlock the way towards the greatest discoveries ever found.
Marlon told his father that he had found his purpose in life and needed equipment, staff, and funds. As predicted, the bastard burst out laughing. That hurtful sound soon stopped when Marlon explained that it was only a matter of diverting the money his father had put aside in order for Marlon to drink himself to death with. Of course, his father demanded to know exactly what exciting new venture he wished to waste his life on. Marlon simply replied with one word.
With a secret smile, Marlon said, Antiquities.
Marlon pulled his mind back to the present day. He had achieved so much since walking out of his father’s office. He had secured funding to last him a lifetime, enough equipment to fill several office blocks, and a steady supply of his own closed-mouthed minions.
To use one of his father’s favourite quotes, he needed to stay focused on the task at hand. Marlon might have come a long way in twenty years, but if he didn’t concentrate on the moment, he could end up losing everything.
“Sir, I think we have a problem.”
Marlon spun around. “What problem?”
“The two archaeologists,” replied Adam, nervously licking his lips. “They have just vanished.”
“How can that be? That’s just a corridor, leading to one of the outer chambers.” Marlon’s fingers danced across the console as he rewound the surveillance tape. They had indeed found another doorway, one which his team had missed. This was excellent news. He paused. Also bad, as he could no longer keep a track on them.
Marlon re-watched the video feed as the pair of them studied the geometric symbols engraved in the stone wall. They were identical to the symbols on the floor in the previous room. Marlon then growled to himself and thought back to when the girl ran out of that chamber. “I can’t believe I missed that!”
Marlon snapped his fingers. “Somebody bring the strong-willed native back to me. I want to have a word with her.”
He watched the two men walk through the doorway and out of his field of vision. He couldn’t believe it. The men had actually found another exit. One that his team had missed. Marlon slowly turned around when he heard footsteps echoing along the stone floor.
The native girl stopped a few feet from him and gazed defiantly at his face. She was a proud one, make no mistake; as slippery as an eel and about as trustworthy as a rat. She was also very beautiful. The girl knew it too, and she tried to use her looks on his staff at every opportunity. He knew for a fact that a couple of the weak-minded fools had given her a few treats in exchange for some special favours. Marlon had cameras installed in areas of this ancient city where even his staff didn’t know.
Would she place those slender hands on her hips and pout, waiting for him to tell her what he wanted now? Marlon smiled to himself. Oh yes, there it was. She might possess the qualities which enabled her to survive in his presence without turning into an arse-licking worm-like the rest of them, but Itzel was also predictable.
“Itzel. I have always been honest with you, and I expected you to return the favour. So, why did you not tell me that you understood the ancients’ language?” Her posture took a turn for the worse. She no longer looked like the universe owed her a living. “Are you going to deny it?”
The girl simply stood still, refusing to speak.
“Fine, that’s perfectly fine. You keep quiet. I’m happy with that.” Marlon stood and turned to Adam. “It’s time, young man. A little sooner than I expected but,” he glared at Itzel, “but, no matter. We shall overcome every obstacle.”
Marlon clicked his fingers. When his slave came lumbering out from her room, he gestured her over. “Time to get your boots on, we’re going for a little walk.”
Chapter Seven
There was something to be said for possessing a thick, sharpened stick. For a start, the makeshift weapon had finally wiped that scowl from Bradley’s face. Its usefulness against one of those giant birds remained to be seen. Nelson shivered to himself; he’d rather not be placed in that situation. Bradley’s teddy bear replacement might fare better than a fist against a frenzied attack. Still, it wasn’t quite an automatic weapon. There was no loss if the stick made the thug happy.
Happiness. Now that was a currently alien notion. It took some back-pedalling to recall the last moment when that emotion graced itself with its presence. In fact, the last occurrence would have been the moment when The Trust gave him this assignment. He knew there and then that he just had to involve his old friend, Dane, in this adventure.
He leaned against the cold stone wall, watching his companion whittle a cluster of six-inch grooves into the thick wooden shaft. Nelson’s plan hadn’t exactly gone as he’d expected, which was a bit of a surprise considering the amount of work Nelson had put into the initial preparation. Unlike Dane, and the bodyguard, he knew exactly what obstacles and dangers his team would have to overcome.
Nelson didn’t foresee that crazy Marlon would try to blast the plane out of the sky, nor did he expect that freak to bring in another archaeologist. He used that title in the broadest possible terms. Grouping that charlatan into that revered category was like saying Bradley could read without opening his mouth. Still, it could have worked out a lot worse than it did. That megalomaniac’s missile could have hit the fuselage.
He patted his pockets yet again and ground his teeth in frustration. How was he expected to survive this journey without his tobacco and pipe? The only items left in Nelson’s pockets were a plastic bag containing some waterlogged fluff, five unidentified silver coins, and a note with a set of coordinates written on one side. None of the items belonged to him. Right now, he couldn’t give a monkey’s ass what game Marlon was playing. All he wanted was a bloody smoke.
“Are you okay?”
“Sure, just a little tired. Nothing to worry about.” Nelson lifted his head and attempted to give his colleague a reassuring smile. After all, practicality demanded that he kept the thug appeased and calm. Considering the dangers that would be facing down here, Bradley needed to stay focused on the job of keeping Nelson alive.
The bodyguard shrugged. “Fair enough.” He then went back to finishing off carving his stick. “Are you going to find us a way out of here?”
So much for the thug showing empathy. Nelson thrust his hands into his overcoat pocket and strode past Bradley, heading for the largest monolith in the chamber. He stopped in front of the giant black stone and gazed up, trying to see any imperfections on the smooth surface. It was a miracle of engineering, that’s for sure. Then again, he already expected to find that even before they set off. The device that he showed to Dane already proved that the original inhabitants were centuries more advanced than
their human relatives.
If he had that device, they’d be able to cut a way out of here. Nelson ran the coins through his fingers while considering their options. There was no obvious way out of this chamber, but that didn’t automatically mean one didn’t exist. He cast his gaze onto the dust-covered floor. Their footprints revealed stone paving. He saw nothing which indicated that others had been trapped in this chamber, yet he did notice evidence that they weren’t the first humans to step foot in here. Bradley’s stick was a prime example. Like that pole, grasped by that now dismembered chap from the other chamber, the one in the thug’s hand possessed a sharp point.
Nelson saw no bones either. He walked over to the only object that looked like it didn’t belong. “That’s strange.”
“What’s strange?”
Nelson bent down and scooped up the object. He had just found a silver watch. Judging from the weight and the intricate workmanship, this piece was worth a pretty penny. It wasn’t that old either. Nelson held it by the metal strap and showed it to Bradley.
“The second arm is going around!” Bradley snatched the watch from Nelson and held it close to his ear. “It’s ticking, too. Do you know what that means?” Bradley dropped the watch into Nelson’s open palm. “It means that somebody has been here recently.”
There were no flies on this one. Nelson bit back a retort and simply nodded. He looked back at the floor. Now that he knew what he was looking for, Nelson could make out another set of footprints disturbing the thick dust. They didn’t continue towards the wall, they turned around and headed back to the entrance where they’d fallen through. There was no point in rechecking that exit. Nelson had already figured out that when they had hit the floor, a deadbolt must have triggered.