by Layton Green
This time the applause was thunderous, followed by a scream. At first Ettore thought the shriek was one of wild abandon, approval for the new direction of the organization, but then another followed, and he saw Stefan go rigid. When Ettore spun to look, he noticed, all throughout the courtyard, men and women throwing off their masks and clashing with their neighbors, stabbing with knives or staving off attacks with bare hands. There was movement to his left, and he spun again to see a burly red-haired man, no longer masked, step out of the front row and lunge at Stefan with a long knife. The German officer twisted to the side to avoid the attack, at the same time snatching his attacker’s wrist. As the red-haired man fought to free himself, Stefan stuck his left hand into his double-breasted overcoat, whipped out a pistol, and shot the man point-blank in the side of the head.
At the sound, the chaos enveloping the grounds of the mansion seemed to stall, as if the gunshot had stunned the crowd into submission. As quick as a heartbeat, the fight resumed, and this time pistols appeared alongside knives and fists. Most of the masks were gone, revealing men and women of all races clashing with no apparent order. All around Ettore, blood smeared the freshly fallen snow, and he stumbled away, horrified by the violence.
A bullet whizzed right by Ettore’s head, and Stefan grabbed him by the arm, his eyes gleaming brighter than Ettore had ever seen them. Where Ettore would have expected to see fear or even shock reflected on the German’s face, he saw instead a feverish, wild, almost feral excitement.
“Come!” Stefan said, pulling Ettore along as he raced toward one of the domed stone huts, turning to shoot over his shoulder. Stefan ran behind the hut to pull open a door as two bullets thunked into the wood. Multiple voices called out Stefan’s name as he ushered Ettore inside, closed the door, and threw an iron bar over the latch.
Inside the domed structure, a stairwell descended into darkness. Still holding the gun, Stefan pulled a flashlight out of his coat and bounded down the stairs. Ettore followed on his heels. Behind them, someone pounded against the door, and Ettore heard a rending sound, as if someone was using an ax to get through.
“Where are we going?” Ettore managed to say. He felt as if he might be sick. “What happened?”
“We’ve been betrayed! I confess I didn’t think they had it in them. Can you believe they attacked with knives before they drew their pistols? They still think we’re playing by the same rules.” Stefan threw back his head and laughed as they descended to a concrete underground tunnel.
Ettore could not imagine how anyone could laugh in such a situation. “What rules?”
“All bets are off, though I’ll wager they’ll honor sacred ground. In fact, I’m staking our lives on it.”
A resounding thud came from above, as if the door had fallen. Voices poured into the stairwell behind them.
“They’re coming!” Ettore said.
“Of course they are,” Stefan said as they raced down the escape route. Though Ettore had no idea what the German was talking about, and could not see his face in the darkness, he had the strange feeling that Stefan was grinning.
The nightmare refused to end. Ettore lost track of time, but not long after they descended into the tunnel, some of the longest minutes of his life, their route dead-ended at a concrete wall. Thinking they were trapped, pure terror welled up inside him until Stefan reached up to pull on an iron ring embedded in the ceiling. As multiple boots pounded the floor behind them, Stefan lowered a trapdoor, jumped to grab the lip of the circular opening, and pulled himself through. He helped Ettore up before replacing the cover, which merged seamlessly with the rougher concrete floor of their new environs.
“Unfortunately,” Stefan said, “there’s no lock.”
They had emerged into an underground chamber with no visible end. Wide concentric archways supported by brick pillars extended into the darkness, as if they had climbed into the middle of a vast underground cathedral.
Puddles of water slicked the floor. The air was cold and damp and fetid. Ettore saw a rat scuttle away from the light and said, “Where are we?”
“The cisterns. Hurry, now. Would you like my coat?”
“I’m fine,” Ettore said, though he felt ridiculous racing around in a robe, and his blistered feet were aching. But those people were still behind them. He was too scared to take the time to change clothes.
Without pausing to get his bearings, Stefan raced through the archways to a set of steps that paralleled a sloping embankment. As they bounded up the stairs, a shout echoed through the cistern, and Ettore looked back to see two men and two women brandishing pistols near the trapdoor. They were waving flashlights in the gloom, searching for their prey. One of them noticed Ettore halfway up the steps.
“Stefan!” Ettore croaked. “Behind us.”
Stefan turned to fire at their pursuers as he fumbled to extract a key from his coat. A blond woman in a green coat returned fire with a gun that shot bullets at a rapid-fire pace, terrifying Ettore.
“Automatic pistol,” Stefan said grimly, pulling him up the steps.
They had ascended high enough that a wall now protected them from gunfire. They continued racing up the steps until they reached a door. Stefan rushed to fit the key into the lock, trying to escape before they were caught with no protection.
The footsteps behind them drew closer, echoing in the cistern.
“Hurry!” Ettore cried, backing into the wall.
At last the lock clicked open. Stefan threw the door open and burst outside, Ettore right behind him.
“Where to?” Ettore asked, gasping for air. “How far must we go?”
“Not far.”
“Has someone called the police?”
“We never involve the authorities. Now save your breath.”
Ettore knew he was slowing the German down. Ettore almost never exercised, and his legs felt as if they had weights attached. Fear coursed through him like an electric shock, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could last. Oh God, how I wish for this night to end.
They had surfaced in a courtyard with a view of spires and stately brick walls. When Ettore glanced over his shoulder, he saw that the door through which they had exited was one of many along the side of a hulking granite building. Perhaps they had surfaced inside the grounds of one of the palaces in the city center.
They cleared the courtyard and entered a wooded green space dusted in snow. Stefan shoved Ettore against a tree, put a finger to his lips, and took aim. As the first pursuer burst through the same door on the side of the building, Stefan fired and hit a woman in the chest.
Stefan tugged at Ettore’s shirt. “That won’t slow them for long.”
After winding through a maze of buildings and cobblestone courtyards riddled with hedges and fountains, they exited on a street that ran alongside a canal. Above them, Ettore saw a spiral ivory tower supported by a pair of dragons, jutting above the city like a curling unicorn’s horn. They fled across an icy footbridge, into a plaza surrounded by lanterns glowing atop stone pillars. A bullet thunked into a wall beside them, causing Stefan to hunch as he ran.
The German shoved Ettore down a colonnaded brick walkway. Ettore thought they might have ducked into the palace again. He had no idea. It was all he could do to stay on his feet. “Why don’t they use the automatic gun?” he managed to gasp.
“They might,” Stefan said, “if they have a clear shot. But the survival of us all depends on staying in the shadows. No one must know we exist.”
“But the gunfire at the house—won’t it attract attention?”
“Many rules were just broken. The safe house will be moved, our influence in high places strained to corral the damage. But make no mistake, Ettore—after tonight, everything has changed.”
They followed the walkway through an arched opening in a wall and into another green space fronting a squat red-brick building with cathedral windows.
“We’ve arrived,” Stefan said. “Hurry now.”
“Is this a chur
ch?”
“It’s a library.”
They dashed toward the ivy-covered entrance of the building. Instead of using the main door, Stefan veered around the corner to an inconspicuous side door.
“I don’t hear anyone,” Ettore said, glancing back as Stefan extracted another key.
“By now, they know where we’re headed,” Stefan said. “The question is whether they’ll break our oldest law and follow us inside. If they don’t, we’ll wait until morning to exit, or until reinforcements arrive.”
“And if they do?”
Stefan opened the door, exposing a lightless interior that secreted the musty smell of old books. “Then we see who has the better aim.”
Alexandria
19
Late that night, after the conversation with her father, Andie grabbed a lamb shawarma and a piece of pistachio baklava from a walk-up window, then holed up at a pension ten blocks behind the Eastern Harbour. She grimaced when she opened the door to her room and saw a giant orange cockroach scuttling beneath a floorboard. But the sheets were crisp and white, the bathroom spotless, and the ambient light from the harbor gave her a sense of connection to the world as she peered out of the sixth-floor window.
The flimsy lock on the door made her nervous, so she shoved an armchair in front of it. After a hot shower to wash away the grime, she flinched as she wrapped herself in a towel and stared into the bathroom mirror, dreading another vision. Even without her strange affliction, she always found looking at her own reflection a disorienting thing, almost an out-of-body experience. As if the doppelganger of her reflection was another creature entirely, an entangled soul summoned to the glass by her gaze.
Nothing happened, and she took a moment to examine her drawn features. There was no doubt she had her father’s green eyes, strong chin, smattering of freckles, and unruly cowlicks. While she did not have her mother’s ethereal beauty, it was impossible not to see the resemblance in the long face and aquiline nose. She was their child, all right.
So why did you leave us, Mom? Where did you go? What happened to you all those years ago? Why did Dr. Corwin have a photo of us in some strange city?
The divots beneath Andie’s collarbone were even more hollow than usual. She did a half-turn and regarded the sixteen stars of the Andromeda constellation that hovered between her shoulder blades. At times she regretted tattooing a symbol of her own name on her back, but mostly it made her feel more connected to the universe. And, if she were honest with herself, it ensured she never forgot both the memory and betrayal of her mother, a legacy she wished were different but knew she could never change.
Andromeda. In Greek mythology, the name belonged to the daughter of Cassiopeia and Cepheus, king and queen of Aethiopia. Cassiopeia had drawn the wrath of Poseidon by boasting that her daughter’s beauty surpassed even the Nereids’, his beloved sea nymphs. In response, the angry god had unleashed a monster that threatened to destroy the kingdom. Andromeda’s parents chained her to a rock by the sea in an attempt to appease Poseidon, offering her up as a sacrifice to the beast.
The Greeks used the name Aethiopia to refer to the known parts of Africa at the time, including the Upper Nile region. With a little shiver, Andie thought about how, right that very moment, in a run-down hotel in modern Alexandria, she was standing in the homeland of her mythological namesake.
A daughter served up as a sacrifice. Some legacy.
After considering the liter of bottled water she had picked up at a corner shop, Andie cracked a can of Sakara Gold lager she found in the minifridge. God, I need a drink.
She sat on the bed with her back against the headboard and debated going to Cairo. It was less than three hours by car. Yet what would she do once she got there? Walk into the desert and try to sneak inside the caverns beneath the Sphinx? She supposed she could do some research and come up with a better plan, but that could take days. Before she went that route, she wanted to try something else.
Andie did not think much of the Hall of Records theory. It bore little historical weight, and smacked of amateur science. Yet if it related to the Star Phone puzzle in some way, she had to play the game.
But she didn’t have to play it by herself—and she knew someone who specialized in conspiracy theories. That irrational guide I was looking for.
She exhaled and set her burner phone in her lap. So far, Cal Miller had proven trustworthy and helped her stay alive. Trusting anyone was hard for Andie, especially on the run, and with someone she had never met in person.
What if someone online was impersonating Cal? What if it was a setup or an elaborate con?
Yet if that were the case, wouldn’t someone have caught up with her by now?
Weighing all the angles, she decided it was better to make contact. She wished she knew how hard it was to track a burner. She imagined it was pretty damn difficult, especially if the trackers didn’t know in which country she had bought it. Even if they did know, they would have to threaten someone inside the carrier.
Unfortunately, she had great faith in her enemy’s ability to accomplish that task.
So be it. She decided to take the risk. After logging into Twitch, she sent Cal a message and received a response from Rhodies4ever351! within minutes.
Good morning, or afternoon, or evening. Did you get where you wanted to go?
I did. Thank you for your help. It was invaluable.
You’re welcome, A.R.
Andie jumped off the bed, clutching the phone as she stared down at her own initials. He knows who I am. Chills flowed through her, and a million thoughts dashed through her mind. Before she could decide how to respond, another message appeared.
It wasn’t very hard to figure out. Puck described you, and I made a few calls. Seems a certain Prof’s mentee hasn’t been seen since his murder. Your secret’s safe with me, I promise. I assume they already know who you are too.
She supposed he had a point. It was more the shock of having her identity outed before she was ready, after days in hiding. She chewed on her thumbnail and decided to play it cool.
I could use your help with something.
Of course. Though I’m worried about continuing this line of communication.
Me too.
Where does that leave us?
I don’t know.
You should know I’ve decided to leave LA.
To go where?
Dunno. But I’ve been thinking. The only real place I want to go is where I can further my investigation. And if my guess is correct, then that might be wherever it is you are.
Andie kept pacing, gnawing harder on her nail. It was not that she hadn’t considered this option. It was just that, again, it hadn’t been staring her in the face.
He typed some more.
Since these people are trying to silence us both, I thought it might behoove us to join forces.
She ran a hand though her hair, still wet from the shower, then clutched the back of her neck. Despite her guarded nature, and despite the grave price of guessing wrong, her instincts told her she could trust this guy.
They also told her that if she kept plowing ahead on her own, she might be dead before the end of the week.
Cal was a former investigative journalist. He could be a helpful ally, something she desperately needed. She began typing.
I’ve found another piece to the puzzle. But still missing some.
What puzzle? Can I help?
Have you ever heard of the H*ll of R*c*rds?
It took him a moment to respond. As in, lost knowledge of the ancients? Africa? Up denial?
That’s the one.
Why Mercuri, I didn’t realize you were a fan of my show.
So is it real?
You don’t mince words, do you? The legend is real, that’s for sure. Pliny mentioned a hidden cavity beneath the Sphinx over 2,000 years ago.
Andie frowned. I read about the excavations. Not that impressed.
Those tunnels and shafts are authentic, and the governme
nt has been weirdly cagey about it. Why close it off? Also, too many reputable experts have questioned the weathering and watermarks around the Sphinx to discount out of hand theories of a far older origin than is commonly believed. We’re talking 10 to 15,000 years. I do believe there’s more than meets the eye, but that Edgar Cayce nonsense is for amateurs.
Then what isn’t?
Oh God, there are a zillion theories out there, from all the usual suspects. Prediluvian civs to the aliens. Some think the hall is one of dozens found in ancient sites around the world, from Tibet to Machu Picchu, a vast repository of lost knowledge. It sounds sexy but I have my doubts. Contrary to what you might think, I don’t believe everything I put on my show. I just don’t discount things out of hand. Anyway, right now I’m more concerned with conspiracies that affect my health.
If the hall was real, where would you look?
I honestly have no idea. I’ll tell you where I wouldn’t look: Giza. Far too obvious.
What if I told you I have reason to believe the hall is connected to the Sphinx?
Then I’d tell you that, contrary to popular belief, sphinxes were ubiquitous in ancient Egypt. Are you sure it’s the Sphinx, and not a sphinx?
Andie paced the room. It was a good point, one which she knew from her research was correct.
True. I’ll think about it.
Anything else I can help with? Running for my life means I’m kinda short on freelance gigs.
Andie continued to walk back and forth in the tiny space, now rubbing her temples as she thought. She trusted him more and more, and didn’t have to feel guilty about endangering him, because he was already a target.
A security breach seemed inevitable if they kept communicating like this, and what did she have to lose?
With a deep breath, hoping she was doing the right thing, she wrote:
Were you serious about your offer?
Me? You? A gin joint in a town somewhere in the world?
Yeah.
Then you bet.