Seven Ancient Wonders

by Matthew Reilly

  ‘Max. It is not who holds the Pieces now that matters, but who holds them when Tartarus arrives,’ del Piero said. ‘And we will have all the Pieces soon enough. Thanks to your courageous Captain West, we now know that the Tomb of Alexander lies in Luxor—its location to be revealed by the focused rays of the rising Sun shining through the obelisks at the Luxor Temple. The Americans know this, too.

  ‘But when they arrive at Luxor, we shall be waiting for them. As I say, it is not who holds the Pieces now that matters, but who holds them when Tartarus arrives. We shall hold them when Tartarus arrives.’

  ‘We?’ Wizard said.

  ‘Oh yes, I don’t believe you’ve met my young friend and greatest ally. . . ’

  Del Piero stepped aside to reveal a small boy, with dark hair,darker eyes and really dark frowning eyebrows. Just in the way he stood and glared at Wizard, the boy had a disconcerting air of superiority about him.

  ‘Max Epper, meet Alexander, son of the Oracle of Siwa, expert in the Language of Thoth and the vessel of Tartarus.’

  ‘Hello there,’ Wizard said.

  The boy said nothing.

  Del Piero said, ‘He has been groomed since the day he was born—’

  ‘The day you stole him from his mother’s arms. . . ’

  ‘He has been groomed since the day he was born for tomorrow’s event. His command of Thoth is unrivalled. His understanding of the ceremony unmatched. This boy was born to rule, and I have personally inculcated in him the mindset of the perfect ruler. He is strong, he is firm, he is wise . . . and he is uncompromising, intolerant of the weak and the foolish.’

  ‘I thought all the greatest rulers governed for the weak,’ Wizard said, ‘not over them.’

  ‘Oh, Max, I love your idealism! So noble yet so fundamentally flawed. How about this theory: the strong rule, the weak get ruled over. Some are born to rule; most are ruled over. After tomorrow, you will be in the latter group.’

  Zoe looked at the boy, Alexander. He returned her gaze coldly, without emotion.

  ‘Hey kid,’ she said. ‘You ever played Splinter Cell in dual-player mode?’

  Del Piero frowned, not understanding. But the boy knew what Splinter Cell was.

  ‘It is a game. Games are tools by which we the rulers keep the masses entertained and amused,’ the boy replied. ‘Games are for fools. I do not play games.’

  ‘Is that right? Some games teach us lessons that we can use in our everyday lives,’ Zoe said. ‘Have you ever thought about that?’

  ‘I do not have an everyday life.’

  ‘You want to know what I learned from playing Splinter Cell in dual-player mode?’

  ‘Enthral me.’

  ‘It’s always nice to know someone’s watching your back,’ Zoe said. ‘My question for you, Alexander, is this: when the going gets tough, who’s gonna be watching your back?’ A dismissive nod at del Piero: ‘Him?’ A disdainful glance at the guards arrayed around the room: ‘Them?’

  ‘And who, may I ask, watches your backs?’ del Piero shot back.

  ‘Jack West Jr,’ Wizard said firmly.

  ‘Hmm, the famous Captain West,’ del Piero nodded. ‘Although following his exploits in Paris yesterday, I fear you might be a little behind on current events. Your friend, Mr West, turned up in southern Iraq today, where he uncovered no less than the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.’

  ‘Go Jack. . . ’ Zoe said.

  But Wizard frowned. He didn’t know about West’s last-gasp mission to Iraq—nor was he aware of its origins in the American ambush in Kenya and the loss of the Zeus Piece, Big Ears and Doris.

  ‘I hate to dampen your celebrations, Ms Kissane,’ del Piero said, ‘but I fear Captain West encountered an American force of nearly 10,000 men in Iraq. What actually happened, I do not know. All I know from our intercepts is that they clashed.’

  ‘And. . . ’ Wizard couldn’t hide his concern.

  Del Piero threw Wizard a transcript of a communications intercept—an intercept that was only fifteen minutes old. It read:

  TRANS INTERCEPT

  SAT BT-1009/03.19.06-1445

  A44-TEXT TRANSMISSION

  FROM:

  UNKNOWN SOURCE/AIRBORNE ORIGIN (IRAQ)

  TO:

  UNKNOWN DESTINATION, MARYLAND (USA)

  * * *

  VOICE 1 (JUDAH): Haritha mission is a success. We have the H-G piece in our possession, and the girl. En route to Egypt now. Will arrive Luxor 0200 hours local time, 20 March. Imperative that we be there at dawn to take measurements through the remaining obelisk at Luxor Temple.

  VOICE 2 (USA): What of this coalition of small nations? What news of them?

  VOICE 1 (JUDAH): Encountered them at the H-G. Met with minimal resistance. West dead. Data from biometric tracer chip in his cerebellum confirms this. Is the next stage ready?

  VOICE 2 (USA): It is. The Egyptian Government has been informed of your impending arrival in Luxor. They are being most co-operative, albeit for a price. The platform at Giza has been erected to your specifications and the entire plateau has been closed to the public under the guise of repair work.

  VOICE 1 (JUDAH): Thank you. Recommend operation continue from here in utmost secrecy. Have only a small force meet me in Luxor to carry out the mission there: 100 men, no more. We do not want to attract too much attention.

  VOICE 2 (USA): It will be done.

  Wizard’s face fell as he gazed at the terrible words: ‘West dead’.

  ‘The Americans have too much confidence,’ del Piero said, stepping forward.’When they arrive in Luxor, their 100-man force will encounter a European force three times that size. You can mourn the loss of Captain West another time, Max, for your part in this drama is not yet done—I still have another use for you.

  ‘It is time for you to join me on the final leg of this journey, a journey that will end with Alexander fulfilling his destiny. It is time for us to meet this American force in Egypt and steal its Pieces. It is time to go to Luxor.’

  THE PRIESTS’ ENTRANCE,

  HANGING GARDENS OF BABYLON

  EAST OF HARITHA, IRAQ

  19 MARCH, 2006, 1800 HOURS LOCAL TIME

  (1400 HOURS IN FRANKFURT)

  1 DAY BEFORE THE ARRIVAL OF TARTARUS

  An hour earlier.

  As the stalactite containing the Hanging Gardens of Babylon crashed down onto the ziggurat underneath it, down in the tunnels of the Priests’ Entrance, Jack West and Pooh Bear were running headlong down a long stone passageway whose roof was caving-in close behind them! The collapsing roof seemed to be chasing after them like the chomping jaws of an ever-gaining monster.

  As soon as he’d heard the impacts of Judah’s missiles hitting the Gardens, West had realised Judah’s intention.

  ‘He’s trying to crash the Gardens onto us!’ he said to Pooh Bear. ‘Run! Run!’

  And so they’d bolted. Fast, with Horus fluttering above them.

  Down the vertical shaft of the Priests’ Entrance—avoiding some traps along the way—until it had opened onto this horizontal passageway.

  Then the stalactite had landed on the ziggurat and the structure had started collapsing behind them—which was how West, Pooh Bear and Horus came to be here now, hurdling traps, running in total desperation from the collapsing ceiling and crushing death.

  It was also why they almost ran right into the next trap.

  It came upon them with startling suddenness—a narrow but exceedingly deep pit with hard blackstone walls and a quicksand floor. In fact, though much smaller, it was very similar to the first quicksand pit they had traversed earlier: their entrance was right up near the ceiling, opposite a matching exit on the far side; a set of about thirty handrungs joined the two openings.

  One big difference, however, was the intricate engravings on the walls of this pit. They were covered with images of snakes—and in the very centre of the main wall, one supersized image of a serpent wrapped around a tree.

  ‘Ningizzida, the serpent-god. . . ’
West said, seeing the serpent image. ‘The Pit of Ningizzida. . . ’

  But then movement caught West’s eye and he saw a figure standing in the far exit doorway having just traversed the pit.

  The figure turned, saw West, and grinned meanly.

  It was Mustapha Zaeed.

  West glanced from the collapsing tunnel behind him to Zaeed.

  ‘Zaeed! What’s the sequence of the handrungs!’

  Zaeed eyed West slyly. ‘I fear I have run out of advice for you, Captain! But I thank you for breaking me out of Guantanamo Bay. You have enabled me to continue on my quest for the Capstone. Although I will give you one piece of knowledge that I imagine the good Professor Epper neglected to tell you: for Tartarus to be tamed, your girl must be sacrificed. Thank you and goodbye. You are on your own now!’

  And with that, the terrorist vanished, disappearing down his passageway, leaving West and Pooh Bear stuck on their ledge, with their collapsing tunnel rushing forward fast!

  ‘Huntsman!’ Pooh Bear urged. ‘What do we do?’

  West spun, saw the collapsing tunnel behind them.

  It was certain death to stay here.

  He turned to see the wide deep pit before him, the Pit of Ningizzida, and a flashing memory raced across his mind, a page from the Nazi diary:

  BUT BEWARE THE PIT OF NINGIZZIDA

  TO THOSE WHO ENTER THE SERPENT-LORD’S PIT,

  I OFFER NO ADVICE BUT THIS:

  ABANDON ALL HOPE,

  FOR THERE IS NO ESCAPE FROM IT.

  So it was also certain death to enter the Pit.

  Certain death v certain death.

  Some choice.

  ‘Screw it,’ West said. ‘Grab the rungs . . . Go!’

  And out they swung, over the deep quicksand pit, just as a billowing blast of dust exploded out from the collapsing tunnel behind them.

  The eighth handrung broke in West’s grasp . . . and he fell.

  Pooh Bear avoided it—but the tenth one got him, and he also dropped, down into the quicksand, joining West in the Pit from which there was no escape.

  West and Pooh Bear landed in the quicksand with twin goopy splashes.

  West made to lie on his back, to spread his body-weight and thus avoid sinking . . . when abruptly, four feet below the surface of the quicksand, his feet struck the bottom.

  They could stand in here. . .

  So he and Pooh Bear stood, chest-deep in the deep pit.

  The walls around them were slick and sheer, made of diorite.

  ‘This isn’t so bad. . . ’ Pooh Bear said. ‘I don’t see why Imhotep said this was escape-proof—’

  It was precisely then that the ceiling of the pit—the flat section of stone containing the handrungs—began to lower. Its great square bulk fitted the pit’s four walls perfectly.

  The intention was clear: the lowering ceiling—itself a two-ton slab of stone—pushed you down into the quicksand, drowning you.

  It was only a lightning-quick swoop from Horus that saved her from the descending ceiling. As the trap sprang into action, she darted like a rocket for the exit tunnel and zoomed into it just as the lowering ceiling rumbled past the tunnel, closing it off.

  From her position here, she could see the ceiling’s operating mechanism on the top side of the descending slab—the ceiling was suspended from a pair of thick chains which themselves hung out from a wide shaft in the roof. They clanked loudly as they lowered the deadly ceiling.

  Just then in the Pit, Pooh Bear spotted movement.

  Saw the spotted body of an outrageously enormous python come slithering out of a wall-hole and dive into the quicksand pool!

  ‘Huntsman!’

  ‘I know, there are three more on this side!’ He called up at the ceiling: ‘Horus! Reset the bucket! Reset the bucket!’

  There were three more wall-holes arrayed around the Pit . . . and they too were spewing forth the long speckled bodies of pythons.

  ‘Ningizzida. . . ’ West said, staring at the snakes. ‘The Assyrian serpent-god, also known as the God of the Tree of Life: Christianity basically stole him and placed him in the Garden of Eden as the snake who tempts Eve to eat the apple from the tree.’

  The ceiling was halfway down and closing fast.

  The snakes slithered across the surface of the quicksand pool, moving with intent.

  One wrapped itself around West’s right leg and reared up around him, jaws bared wide. West, since he had no gun to shoot it with, just jammed an X-bar into its wide-open mouth. The snake froze in confusion, its mouth now held bizarrely open, hyper-extended, with no way of dislodging the X-bar in it. It slithered off West’s body, shaking its head violently, disappearing into the sand.

  ‘Horus!’ West yelled. ‘What are you doing up there?’

  Horus zoomed up the chain-shaft, following the ceiling’s mighty chains as they stretched upward, bent over a large bronze pulley, and then descended back down another wider shaft.

  Folding over the pulley, the chains shot down this new shaft, where at their other end they upheld . . . a gigantic clay bucket. It was easily ten feet wide: the world’s biggest bucket. And next to it flowed a healthy little waterfall, pouring out of a man-made drain.

  Right now, the bucket hung askew, at right-angles, tipped over on some hinges, its open top facing sideways. If it had been sitting in the upright position, it would have received the flowing water from the waterfall . . . and filled up . . . and hence via the chains, hauled up the movable ceiling in Ningizzida’s Pit.

  Known as a ‘water-based mechanism’, this was the standard operating system behind all Egyptian moving-wall traps.

  It was an ingenious system devised by the first Imhotep, and was remarkable for its simplicity. All it needed to work were three things: gravity, water . . . and a pulley.

  When West had grabbed the wrong handrung, he had triggered a catch which had tipped the (full) bucket.

  Now, when filled with water, the great bucket perfectly counterbalanced the ceiling slab. But when upturned, the bucket emptied, and thus the ceiling—now outweighing it—lowered.

  There was a second trigger stone on the floor of the Pit—the ‘reset’ switch—which, when eventually hit by the lowering ceiling stone, would right the giant bucket, and allow it to fill again, thus raising the ceiling back to its resting position, ready to strike once again.

  As such, there truly was no escape from Ningizzida’s Pit. It offered no tricks, no riddles, no secret exits. Once you were in it, you did not leave.

  Unless you had a companion like Horus.

  Flying fast, Horus swooped up the chain-shaft, past the pulley, and down toward the big clay bucket.

  There she landed and hopping around, searched for the reset catch that righted the giant tub.

  In the Pit, the ceiling was still lowering fast. It was only seven feet above the surface now and closing quickly.

  The pythons circled, moving in on West and Pooh Bear.

  Without warning, one dived under the surface—and reappeared slithering up Pooh’s body with frightening speed! It constricted violently, trying to crack his spine—just as Pooh Bear swiped hard with his K-Bar knife and the python froze in mid-action. Then its head fell from its body.

  The ceiling kept descending.

  Five feet.

  West was very worried now.

  Four feet.

  The pythons cut and run—fleeing for their wall-holes, knowing what was about to happen.

  Three feet. . .

  ‘Horus . . . !’ West yelled.

  In the bucket-shaft, Horus searched patiently, just as she had been taught.

  And she found the reset catch: a little hinged hook that, when released, righted the empty bucket.

  Horus bit into the hook with her tiny beak. . .

  Two feet. . .

  West called: ‘Horus! Come on! You can do this! Just like we practised at home!’

  One foot. . .

  He and Pooh Bear now had only their upturned faces above
the surface of the quicksand.

  Six inches. . .

  ‘Take a deep breath, Pooh,’ West said.

  They both sucked in as much oxygen as they could hold.

  In the bucket-shaft, Horus continued to bite at the reset hook. It wouldn’t budge.

  In the Pit, the lowering ceiling met the surface of the quicksand . . . and touched it, pushing West and Pooh Bear under—

  —just as Horus got a good grip on the hook with her beak . . . and lifted it!

  The response was instantaneous.

  With a silent lurch, the great empty bucket rolled upwards on its hinges, offering its open mouth to the cascade of water pouring down above it.

  The bucket immediately began to fill with water.

  And with the added weight, the great clay bucket now began to lower on its chains. . .

  . . . which by virtue of the pulley now pulled the ceiling of the Pit upward. . .

  . . . raising it off the quicksand pool!

  West and Pooh Bear burst up from underneath the quicksand, gasping for air.

  As the ceiling above them rose, they grabbed the two handrungs nearest the exit-end, and allowed the ceiling to hoist them all the way up the Pit.

  Hauled up by its water mechanism, the ceiling slab returned to its original position, and West and Pooh suddenly found themselves hanging in front of the exit tunnel—where Horus now sat proudly, staring triumphantly up at West.

  He swung into the tunnel, crouched before her, gave her a much-loved rat treat.

  Horus gobbled it up whole.

  ‘Thank you, my friend, nice work,’ he said. ‘You saved our bacon. Imhotep didn’t count on grave-robbers having friends like you. Now let’s get the hell out of here.’

  Through the Priests’ Entrance they bolted—West, Pooh Bear and Horus.

  Ten minutes later, they emerged from an inconspicuous cleft in a rocky hillside, a barren desolate hillside that faced onto a barren desolate valley that appeared to have no natural exits. The valley was on the Iranian side of the Hanging Gardens, far from the waterfall entrance on the Iraqi side.