by Brett King
Chapter 45
2:29 a.m.
Brynstone headed to the construction area on the second level, where he remembered seeing an assortment of tools scattered on a workbench and around the workplace. Angle grinders. Drills. Stone- and handsaws. It was a decent collection.
Cori arrived in time to see him slide on leather work gloves. He picked up a drill, then studied a case of masonry drill and core bits. The flutes looked like new.
“What’s that thing?” she asked.
“Hammer drill.”
“Seriously?” She studied him. “You’re going to drill into the false door?”
“Sometimes you have to ruin a treasure to find a greater one. I’ve learned that the hard way.”
“Not sure this is a good idea, John.”
“Will be if we find something behind that door. We have to open the closed to discover the unknown. That’s what it means, Cori. I’m betting on it.”
“Mm-hmm. Remember the rest of the message? ‘Pray for the cursed’? You think that’s us?”
Brynstone didn’t answer. All he could think about was Shayna right now. And the false door.
He grabbed a sledgehammer. Carrying it and the hammer drill, he passed the Hero door and climbed the staircase as Cori followed. He placed the tools near the false door.
Legs braced, he stood in front of it and fired up the hammer drill. With a two-handed grip on the drill, he pressed the masonry bit’s tip against the surface. He bored a hole into the stone, then another and another, forming a triangle dead center on the face of the false door.
He laid down the drill and picked up the sledgehammer.
“I gotta bring it up, John. Say you destroy the door and nothing’s behind it. You stop to think about that?”
He looked at her. “Stand back, Cori.”
She did, without further protest.
Brynstone went to work, smashing the sledgehammer against the spot where he had drilled the triangle formation. He came at it again, debris flying everywhere. A cracking sound cut into the suffocating chamber, louder than the first. He wielded the hammer again, this time crashing into the false door with greater force. The blow created a deep fissure.
Nothing was going to stop him from opening up this baby.
Raja always had mixed feelings about Math McHardy. But right now, prowling around this creepy old catacomb, unable to figure out why they had come down here? Annoyance and suspicion were getting the better of her. The ranting old Scotsman was driving her crazy.
“This is a bloody waste of time,” he grumbled.
She frowned. “What if the whole thing’s one big practical joke? Know what I mean? Maybe some guy two thousand years ago got bored and put all these symbols on a helmet and cut it apart just to troll people in the twenty-first century.”
“You honestly believe that?”
“That’s how you make it sound. We’re losing focus with all your complaining.”
“You’re growing upset with me, woman. I can see it.”
“Gee, you think?”
“Haw’d yer weeshed. Keep eh heid.”
Okay, she had seen him do this before. Whenever McHardy became flustered or emotional, he slipped deeper into an indecipherable Scottish accent.
“What did you even say, Math? Most of the time I can understand that Scottish crap, but sometimes—”
“I told you to be quiet. Keep your head.”
“Keep your head? I don’t get it.”
“Don’t panic. If we—”
A distant drilling sound came from deep within the catacomb. They stopped and listened.
“That racket,” McHardy said, his mouth gaping in disbelief. “What is it?”
“Must be John and Cori.”
“What in God’s name are they doing?”
Now she heard a pounding sound.
“Tearing the shit out of something,” she suggested.
As McHardy headed down the hallway to investigate, Raja turned her head. She caught movement from the corner of her eye. It happened fast. Was it wee beasties like McHardy had talked about?
No.
Squinting, she tried to figure out what she had seen. She had spied something bigger. Maybe a figure sneaking along the wall? Was her mind playing tricks on her or was someone down here with them?
Maybe she had seen a security guard. But Brynstone had injected them with a hard-core drug. They should still be unconscious.
She had a better guess. Nessa Griffin. The woman had followed them down here, maybe tipped off by McHardy. Raja was ready for a rematch.
“You coming?” McHardy called.
“No.”
“Don’t be a feartie-cat.”
“I’m not a…whatever you said.”
She didn’t tell McHardy about their guest. She had an idea that he had brought Nessa down here. Raja had started to trust the guy. Big mistake.
Not wanting to arouse suspicion or tip off Nessa, Raja said, “I could use a bit of fresh air. It’s suffocating down here.”
McHardy shot her a look of annoyance. He waved her off, then headed in the direction of the noise, what sounded like someone pounding stone against stone, another loud crack echoing through the catacombs.
She was glad to see him go. If anything got ugly with Griffin, McHardy would only get in the way.
Trying to appear casual, Raja headed for the spiral staircase winding around the shaft. Where’d you go, Nessa? Come out, come out, wherever you are. She passed the wall where she had seen movement seconds before. Darted her eyes, but she saw nothing. This place really was creepy.
Still convinced she had seen someone, Raja quickly pivoted on her right foot. She looked at the opposite wall.
Shadows.
That was it. Nothing but shadows.
Where are you? Where’d you go, Nessa?
Moving past the entrance to the triclinium, she took a few more steps, still wanting to look like she was headed upstairs for fresh night air. Come to think of it, a visit outside sounded like a good idea—maybe her mind was playing tricks on her. The desert air would be hotter than down here, but it had to be more refreshing.
She stopped.
Something didn’t look right.
The small room facing the spiral staircase, the one decorated with shell-shaped benches, was completely dark. Overhead lights ran throughout the catacombs except for the hidden chamber they had discovered tonight. She thought back to when they had first arrived. The lights had been turned on here and in the rotunda. So why was everything black in the small area leading to the staircase?
Maybe it was an electrical problem, she told herself. Or maybe Nessa Griffin had turned out the lights. Didn’t make a difference. She could kick the woman’s butt in the dark.
Raja circled the flashlight in a path across the walls, stopping to highlight one bench. She couldn’t shake the weird feeling that Nessa might be sitting there.
Nope. Empty.
She crossed to her left, checking the second stone bench. No one there either. She splashed light across the first step of the spiral staircase. She stopped again, listening.
She heard the sound of breathing behind her.
Freaked her out.
She stopped all at once, wheeling around with a fist raised. She scanned the chamber with the flashlight, her heart skipping in her chest.
No one. No one there. No one.
So who was doing the breathing?
Her anxiety was jumping on overdrive. She hadn’t been this scared in a long time.
She heard breathing again. Only now it was her own.
Keep it cool, girl, she coached herself. Even though hundreds of dead people have rotted in this place for centuries, you don’t believe in ghosts. Right? You don’t believe in ghosts.
She had to chant the words three
more times before they sounded halfway convincing.
Her mind was playing tricks on her. Had to be. She was sleep deprived. Was it possible she was hallucinating? That whole idea about fresh air sounded better and better all the time. All she had to do now was to climb ninety-nine curving steps around a deep dark shaft.
Wonderful.
Maybe she should forget it and go back to join Brynstone and the others. She couldn’t decide. You need to calm down. She couldn’t let Brynstone see her like this. Not Cori either. Raja knew she intimidated her. She’d lose her edge if Cori saw her in this condition, all Jell-O for nerves like some frightened schoolgirl on Halloween.
Drawing in a ragged breath, she looked ahead. Stairs wrapped around the shaft. After a second or two, she worked up the nerve to climb them. That was the moment when she heard a voice speak close to her ear.
A man’s voice.
“I’m down here,” he said. “You just can’t see me.”
Oh shit oh shit oh shit.
She spun around, her heart leaping in her chest. Time to bring out the Beretta, because that thing she heard? That was definitely not a hallucination. Someone was down here.
And he was close.
She glanced around the darkened ambulatory, sidestepping in a circle as she made a low crouch, her eyes darting everywhere all at once.
“Who are you?” she asked.
No answer.
“Who are you?” she called, annoyance sizzling in her voice.
“Shouldn’t you ask where I am?”
The voice came from a different direction. The man had moved. He was playing her. She turned again, sweeping the gun in front of her.
He was standing a few feet away. A man maybe five nine in height. Short brown hair was cropped close to his head; he had flat eyes and a smug expression. Powerfully built, he was more lean muscle than bulk.
“Congratulations. You found me. Finally.”
She detected an accent. German.
“Now that you found me,” he said. “What do you plan to do with me?”
“For starters? How ’bout I shoot you?”
That brought a thin smile. “We’ve only met and you already want to shoot me? Must be a challenge for you to make new friends.”
She smirked. “Funny line.”
“I try.”
“Try a little harder. Who are you?”
“Some call me a poet. Some call me a butcher.”
“I can add more names to your list, starting with—”
He cut her off. “I like you. That can be dangerous.”
“Yeah? Well, guess what. I can be dangerous.”
“Ja,” he answered. “Your ex-fiancé would agree. That was a nice touch, nuzzling Mani’s crotch with your handgun.”
“What?” Her eyes widened. She was thinking about this guy, wondering who he was and how he knew about her confrontation with Mani. “How do you know about that?”
“I saw it, dear girl.”
Blowing a strand of black hair from her face, she asked, “You were in Cairo?”
“I’m everywhere, Rashmi.”
All of a sudden it made sense.
“I get it,” she said. “Mani sent you. Didn’t he?”
The man gave a hard chuckle. “I’m afraid the poor boy couldn’t afford me.”
“Afford you?” she asked. “Who are you?”
“The best assassin in the world.”
He wasn’t bluffing. For the first time, she noticed a tremble in her hand. She had to keep it tough. She made sure her words didn’t betray her.
“That right?” she asked in her best badass voice. “Big-time assassin, huh? You here to kill me?”
Another cold grin cut across his face. “I’m here to play with you, Rashmi.”
Chapter 46
2:38 a.m.
Cori backed away, giving Brynstone room. He paused, wiping his face and taking a breath for a minute as he leaned with his hand cupped on the standing sledgehammer.
She was glad he had finished with the hammer drill. The sound of it had been earsplitting, although the sledgehammer wasn’t exactly quiet.
The false door was now marked with a hole in the center like a cannonball had blasted through it. He had explained earlier about compression and tensile strength and something about the mass pressure of the stone, but she had no clue what he was talking about. She had been a psychology major. Physics wasn’t her thing.
Neither was breaking down walls.
Watching him, she asked, “Is it killing you inside to destroy this door?”
“If this were a mummy, yes. But I’m a paleopathologist. Not an archaeologist.”
Cori wasn’t buying it. Under normal circumstances, Brynstone wouldn’t destroy something of ancient significance. This time, however, circumstances were not normal. With his daughter’s life on the line, he could deal with the historical collateral.
From behind, she heard footsteps on the staircase.
McHardy arrived at the top step, his eyebrows curled in a deep furrow. “What in heaven’s name are you doing?”
Brynstone didn’t look back. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“Americans are not content unless they are destroying things,” McHardy grumbled. “It’s coded into your DNA. Few things seem to give your people greater pleasure.”
“We want to see what’s behind the false door,” Cori explained, aware that she was stating the obvious.
“Don’t you understand that is why they call it a false door? There’s nothing behind it.”
“This time, you’re wrong,” Brynstone said.
He swung the sledgehammer and blasted away at the fractured door. Dust spilled from the opening. The cavity was almost big enough to climb through.
Covering her mouth to keep out dust, Cori waited until he had lowered the sledgehammer. She came over as Brynstone shone a light into the crevice.
“It’s hollow,” he panted, looking in. “A chamber back there.”
He reached into the dark hole, extending his arm until it disappeared up to his shoulder. The moment made her uncomfortable. She’d seen too many scary movies, her dark imagination unable to resist the idea of something terrible on the other side, jerking Brynstone’s arm deeper into the hole.
A pounding sound came from the other side of the wall.
Cori jumped in surprise. Catching herself, she squeaked with nervous laughter.
Brynstone pounded on the door from the inside. It looked like he was running his hand along the backside, maybe wrenching chunks of stone fractured from his assault. His neck muscles strained as he pulled out a big portion, staggering backward as he tore it free.
Pebbles sprayed at her. Cori shielded her face, swatting them away.
“No going back now,” McHardy said in a resigned voice.
Brushing debris from her hair, Cori saw Brynstone peek into the opening. The moment was rich and powerful. It reminded her of reading about how archaeologist Howard Carter had first peered into a wall breach to see King Tut’s gilded treasures in Egypt’s Valley of the Kings.
“What do you see?”
“Blackness. Stand back.”
Brynstone came at it again, directing the sledgehammer into the crumbling remains of the false door. When the dust cleared, she saw a hole large enough to step through.
Raja narrowed her eyes. “You may be a hot-shit assassin,” she told the German stranger, “but I’m the one holding the gun.”
“I think I see the problem,” he answered with an icy stare. “You have a limited understanding of what an assassin can do. Do you think I need a gun to kill you?”
“When I’m the one holding the gun? Yeah, I do,” she said, trying to sound more annoyed than frightened.
“You do know he was spying on you. Don’t you, Rashmi?”
>
“What are you talking about?”
“John Brynstone. He was in Cairo. While you were busy breaking the heart of your poor fiancé, he watched the whole thing. He followed you.”
“Wasn’t the first time. Anyway, he told me, so I already know that. Here’s the question. How do you know?”
“I know,” the German answered, “because I talked to Brynstone.”
“You did?”
“In Cairo, I disguised myself as an Egyptian private detective. Couldn’t help myself. Brynstone and I go back a few years. It has been some time since our last conversation.”
“He knows you?”
“Better than he realizes.” The man frowned. “Here’s what you need to know about Herr Doktor Brynstone. He doesn’t trust you.”
“How do you know?”
“Did I fail to mention it? I know the man.”
“You know, for an assassin, you do a lot of talking. That your epic game plan? You go and talk your victims to death?”
She was trashing it up with her words again. Was it working? She couldn’t gauge a reaction. She knew how to overpower men with her will. But Brynstone had seen through her tough act. Apparently, so did this guy.
Unfortunately.
“I’m not here to kill you, Rashmi. Although, if you like, I will happily accommodate your death wish. It might come as a blessing to your parents and your legion of ex-fiancés.”
A noise scuffled from her right. She swept the gun around. Some small creature—a rat or something—scurried into the shadows.
Big mistake, getting distracted like that.
She brought her aim back to the man, moving her eyes in his direction. Too late. He lunged with an almost inhuman speed, the guy taking advantage of a distraction that lasted barely a second. Her finger was poised on the trigger, but he was already pouncing, his hand tight around her wrist, raising the gun in the air. Doesn’t matter, she told herself. This guy can’t stop me, even though he sounds tough and acts tough.
His fist crashed into the right side of her face, shaking her hard as she chomped down on her tongue. She thought she had pressed the trigger, but she didn’t hear gunfire. The man somehow ripped the gun from her hand. She knew she had to fight now, bring out some moves on this guy, but his elbow jammed into her throat, trapping oxygen as perspiration jumped from her forehead. He swung her out hard, one hand on the back of her neck, shoving her down. His other hand jerked her arm behind her back. His knee was rising now and he directed her face into it, the force feeling like she was slamming her head against a rock. Vivid red spots scattered across her vision. Gotta bring a move on him. She couldn’t pull one off as blood splashed from her mouth. She was an expert fighter, but this guy was coming at her too fast. Too relentless. Her fingers tingled. Her legs buckled. She struggled to stay on her feet, but he slammed her against the catacomb wall.