Seven Deadly Wonders

by Matthew Reilly

  “I’ve seen this before …” she said.

  She reached into West’s backpack and extracted a printout.

  It was titled: Waterfall Entrance—Refortification by Imhotep III in the time of Ptolemy Soter.

  “Well, would you look at that …” Stretch said.

  The lines on the printed image exactly matched the layout of the pathways on the waterfall.

  “But which path is the safe route?” Pooh Bear asked anxiously.

  “That I don’t know,” Lily said, deflating.

  “Wait a second,” West said. “Maybe you do …”

  Now he rifled through his pack for a few moments, before he said, “Got it!”

  He pulled from the backpack … a little tattered brown leather-bound notebook.

  The diary of the Nazi archaeologist, Hessler.

  “Hessler knew the safe path,” West said, flicking the pages of the diary until he found what he was looking for.

  “Here!” He held the diary open, revealing a page they had seen before:

  Its title was “Safe Routes.”

  West smiled.

  He brought the right-hand image from this page alongside the picture of the waterfall’s paths, and everyone else saw it—the right-hand “Safe Route” matched one of the twisting paths on the waterfall diagram perfectly:

  “You know, Captain West,” Zaeed said, “you’re a lot cleverer than I give you credit for. I shall have to watch you.”

  “Thanks,” West said drily.

  As he spoke, he stole a glance at the plain behind them. In the far distance, a high dustcloud stretched across the sandplain, from horizon to horizon—a sand-storm, or perhaps something else…

  The dustcloud of two massive convoys.

  “Come on,” he said. “We don’t have much time.”

  Up the vertical cliff wall they went, following the safe path, with the roaring curtain of water falling behind their backs. Diffused sunlight lanced in through falling water, lighting the way.

  West climbed in the lead, with Horus in his chest pouch.

  Their path twisted and turned, doubling back and forth as it rose up the cliff face. It was so narrow that the team could only climb it in single file, and it was covered in slippery moss, so their progress was slow. That said, without the map, they could never have figured out the safe route up the falls.

  At both of the middle ledges in the waterfall, the path burrowed into the rock face as a tunnel—a tunnel that emerged above the ledge, giving access to the next level.

  And so after twenty minutes of careful climbing, they reached the top of the third rock face. There, just below the lip of the uppermost ledge of the falls, immediately beneath a stunning translucent veil of fast-flowing water, the path ended…

  … right in front of a third low tunnel—a passageway that bored directly into the cliff face, disappearing into darkness.

  The entrance to this tunnel, however, was different from the lower ones.

  It was more ornate, despite the fact it was covered in overgrown green moss.

  The tunnel’s entry frame—every side covered with hieroglyphs—was beautifully cut into the rock face, in a perfectly square shape. Its smooth walls retained this shape as they receded into blackness.

  And on the lintel above the door, obscured by trickling water and moss, was a familiar carving:

  West smiled at the carved image. “We’re here.”

  As West and the others evaluated the tunnel entrance, Pooh Bear followed a short horizontal section of the path that led to the edge of the waterfall.

  Leaning out, he peered around the edge of the flowing body of water, looking out at the vast sandplain behind them.

  What he saw made his eyes boggle.

  He saw the two American convoys—now merged to become one megaconvoy—thundering across the plain, kicking up an immense dustcloud behind them. Choppers hovered above the great column of vehicles, with one darkly painted Black Hawk out in front.

  Ten thousand men, coming right for them.

  “By Allah,” he breathed. “Er, Huntsman …”

  West joined him, saw the immense American force, and particularly eyed the dark Black Hawk leading the way.

  He frowned.

  That chopper actually didn’t look …

  He pursed his lips in thought.

  The world was closing in on him, and he was fast running out of options.

  “Come on, Pooh,” he said. “We can’t stop now.”

  They rejoined the others at the tunnel entrance, where Stretch said, “If this trap system is anything like the others, there’s no way we can get in and out before the Americans arrive.”

  “If I may be so bold,” Zaeed said slyly from behind them. “There might in fact be a way …”

  “What way?” Stretch said suspiciously.

  “The Priests’ Entrance. The Nazi’s diary mentions it, and I have come across this phrase in my own research. Such an entrance is usually a small one, un-adorned, used by the priests of a temple to tend to its shrines even after that temple has been closed off. As a royal retreat, the Gardens almost certainly contained temples in need of tending.”

  “A back door,” West said.

  “Yes. Which means we can enter through this door and exit out the other end, via the Priests’ Entrance.”

  “If we can find it,” Stretch said.

  “If we don’t get this Piece,” West said, “Doris and Big Ears and Noddy will have died for nothing. I’m not going to let that happen. I’m getting this Piece.”

  And with that he turned, and gripping Lily’s hand, he started for the tunnel behind the waterfall.

  Pooh Bear fell into step close beside him, and stole a whisper: “Huntsman. That lead chopper, the dark Black Hawk out in front of the convoy, did you see it?”

  “Yes,” West’s eyes remained fixed forward.

  “That isn’t an American chopper.”

  “I know.”

  “Did you recognize the markings? It was—”

  “Yes,” West whispered, glancing back at Stretch. “It’s an Israeli chopper. Somehow the Israelis knew our location, and I think I know how. Thing is, it looks like they’re trying to get here ahead of the Americans.” He threw another deadly look at Stretch. “Israel always looks after Israel. Come on.”

  And with those words, they entered the trap system that guarded the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.

  THE ENTRY TUNNEL AND THE SAND CAVERN

  The flashlight on West’s fireman’s helmet carved a saberlike beam through the darkness of the tunnel.

  His team followed him, silhouetted by the daylight that penetrated the waterfall behind them. They also wore helmet lights. Horus flew out in front.

  The tunnel was perfectly square in shape, its walls hard, carved from solid rock. And it sloped steadily downward, away from the daylight. Shadowy square recesses were cut into its ceiling, concealing God-only-knew-what. The waterfall behind them roared loudly, a constant shhh—

  The first trap struck.

  With a heart-stopping boom, an enormous five-ton drop stone fell out of a recess in the ceiling—just inside the entrance—blocking out the sunlight, filling the entire tunnel!

  Then, to their horror, the gradient of the tunnel gave the massive block life.

  It immediately started sliding down the slope—toward them—forcing West’s team forward and downward.

  “Move!” West called.

  They all started running down the tunnel, away from the great sliding stone, sidestepping warily around all the ceiling holes they had to pass under.

  The great stone slid quickly forward, chasing after them, an unstoppable pursuer, driving them toward—

  A cliff edge.

  A hundred feet down the slope, the tunnel simply ended at a gaping black abyss. The tunnel did not seem to continue in any way beyond the dark void. This, it appeared, was the absolute end of the tunnel.

  The stone kept rumbling down the tunnel behind them.


  West fired a flare into the dark void—

  —to reveal that they were standing at one end of a gigantic subterranean cavern shaped like a giant cube, easily fifty meters long and at least ten stories high.

  Their problem: their tunnel opened onto this cavern right up near the ceiling.

  The sliding stone kept coming.

  Then, by the glow of the hovering flare, West saw the floor of the great cavern a hundred feet below him.

  It was flat and bare, made of sand.

  But there was something wrong about it—it was too flat, too bare.

  West kicked a nearby stone off the edge and watched it sail down to the floor of the cavern.

  The stone hit the floor.

  It didn’t bounce.

  It just landed with a splonk, embedding itself in the goopy sandlike surface. And then it went under, seemingly swallowed by the semiliquid surface.

  “Ah-ha, quicksand,” Zaeed said, impressed. “The entire floor is quicksand …”

  “God, you’re just like Max,” West said, snapping round to check on the fast-moving stone behind them—thirty feet away and about to force them into the quicksand-filled chamber.

  “This trap system doesn’t waste any time, does it.”

  But then, turning back to the massive square cavern, he saw the answer—a long line of hand bars had been dug into its ceiling; a line that ended at a matching tunnel at the opposite end of the cavern, 160 feet away.

  Of course, more dark and deadly trap holes were interspersed between and above the hand bars.

  “Lily, here. Jump onto my chest, put your hands around my neck,” West said. “Zaeed. You got any intel on these hand bars?”

  Zaeed peered back at the sliding stone. “I found a reference once to something called the High Ceiling of the Sand Cavern. It said, ‘Walk with your hands but in deference to he who built it, avoid those of its Creator.’ Imhotep III built this system, so I’d avoid every third handgrip.”

  “Good theory,” West said, “but since I don’t trust you, why don’t you go first and test it out. Now move.”

  Zaeed leaped out onto the hand rungs, swinging himself along them, avoiding every third one.

  Once he’d survived the first few yards, West scooped up Lily. “Everybody, follow us.”

  And so with Lily gripping him around the neck, West reached up and grabbed the first hand bar…

  … and swung out over the ten-story drop to the quicksand floor.

  It was an incredible sight: five tiny figures, moving in single file, all hanging from their hands, swinging fist over fist across the ceiling of the immense cube-shaped cavern, their feet dangling ten stories above the floor.

  The last in the line was Pooh Bear, who leaped off the doorway ledge a bare moment before the five-ton sliding stone came bursting out of the tunnel, filling the entire passage before falling clear out of it!

  The huge square stone thundered off the edge … and tipped … and went sailing down the sheer wall of the cavern before it splashed into the quicksand with a great goopy splat.

  Then the stone settled in the quagmire and sank below the surface—grimly, slowly—never to be seen again.

  West gripped each hand bar firmly, swinging himself and Lily down the length of the cavern. Horus flew alongside them, hovering nearby—seemingly amused at their difficult method of travel.

  Following Zaeed, West avoided every third hand bar, which was just as well. Zaeed had been right. West tested the ninth hand bar and it just fell from its recess, dropping all the way to the deadly floor.

  He was halfway across when he heard the voices. Shouts. Coming from the entry tunnel.

  The first chopper—the Israeli Black Hawk—must have dropped its men directly onto the path at the top of the falls.

  West reasoned that they were probably commandos from the Sayeret Matkal, the very best of Israel’s elite “Sayeret” or “reconnaissance” units. The Matkal were crack assassins—ruthlessly efficient killers who, among other things, were widely acknowledged as the best snipers in the world. Stretch’s old unit.

  Now they were coming in.

  Fast.

  “Everybody!” West called. “Get a move on! We’re about to have some really nasty company!”

  He started double-timing it across the hand bars—swinging like a monkey hand over hand—high above the deadly floor.

  Then suddenly from the entry tunnel there came the familiar heavy whump of a sliding stone dropping from the ceiling—followed by shouts and the sound of rapidly running feet.

  The Israelis had set off a second sliding stone.

  West kept moving across the high cavern, swinging by his hands.

  Out in front, Zaeed reached the mouth of the opposite tunnel, swung into it. West followed seconds later, swinging his feet onto solid ground. He turned to help the others—

  —only to see a red laser dot appear on his nose … a dot that belonged to a sniper rifle in the opposite tunnel, a sniper rifle held by one of the Israeli commandos, bent on one knee.

  A voice came over West’s radio frequency: “Stay right where you are, Captain West. Don’t move a muscle.”

  West was hardly going to obey—but then, as if it could read his thought, the dot shifted slightly…

  … so that it now rested on the back of Lily’s head.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Captain. Don’t. Or she dies. Cohen! These hand rungs. The safe sequence.”

  Right then Stretch landed on the ground beside West. Pooh Bear was still huffing and puffing behind him, crossing the hand rungs with difficulty.

  Stretch glanced sideways at West as he spoke into his mike: “Avoid every third rung, Major.”

  The Israelis moved quickly, leaping out from the entry tunnel, grasping the hand bars, moving across the high ceiling of the cavern.

  There were six of them, and they all emerged from the entry tunnel ahead of the sliding stone—it just rumbled out of the tunnel harmlessly behind them, dropping into the quicksand pool.

  But they also moved in a brilliantly coordinated fashion—so that at any moment, one of them hung one-handed and always had his gun aimed at Lily.

  Within a few minutes, they were across the cavern and surrounding West’s little team.

  The Israeli leader eyed West menacingly.

  Stretch made the introductions. “Captain Jack West Jr…. this is Major Itzak Meir of the Sayeret Matkal, call sign: Avenger.”

  Avenger was a tall man, broad-chested, with hard green eyes that were entirely lacking in nuance. For him, black was black, white was white, and Israel always came first.

  “The famous Captain West.” Avenger stepped forward, relieving West of his holstered pistol. “I’ve never heard of a soldier enduring so much failure, and yet still you keep picking yourself up, dusting yourself off, and coming back for more.”

  “It’s never over till it’s over,” West said.

  Avenger turned to Stretch. “Captain Cohen. Congratulations. You have done a fine job on an unusually long mission. Your work has been noted at the highest levels. I apologize for surprising you in this way.”

  Stretch said nothing, just bowed his head.

  Pooh Bear, however, was livid.

  He glared at Stretch. “Accept my congratulations, too, Israeli. You performed your mission to the letter. You led them to us and you sold us out just in time to hand them the last available Piece. I hope you’re satisfied.”

  Stretch still said nothing.

  Lily looked up at him. “Stretch? Why …”

  Stretch said softly, “Lily. You have to understand. I didn’t—”

  Avenger grinned. “What is this? ‘Stretch?’ Have you been renamed, Cohen? How positively sweet.”

  He turned to Pooh Bear. “Alas, everything you say is true, Arab. The last available Piece is to be ours, one Piece of the Capstone that will give Israel all the leverage it needs over the United States of America. Now, Captain West, if you would be so kind. Lead the way. Ta
ke us to this last available Piece. You work for Israel now.”

  But no sooner had these words come out of his mouth than there was a great explosion from somewhere outside.

  Everyone spun.

  West swapped a glance with Pooh Bear.

  They all listened for a moment.

  Nothing.

  Silence.

  And then West realized: silence was the problem. He could no longer hear the constant shhh of the waterfall up at the entrance to the tunnel system.

  The shooshing had stopped.

  And the realization hit.

  Judah had just used explosives to divert the waterfall—the entire waterfall! He was opening up the entrance for entry: mass forced entry.

  In fact, even in his wildest dreams, West still hadn’t fully imagined the scene outside.

  The waterfall had indeed been diverted, by a series of expertly laid demolition charges laid in the river above it. Now its triple-tiered rock face, crisscrossed with paths, lay bare and dry, in full view of the world.

  But it was the immense military force massing around the base of the dry waterfall that defied imagining.

  A multitude of platoons converged on the now-tranquil pool at the base of the triple-tiered cliff face. Tanks and Humvees circled behind them, while Apache and Super Stallion choppers buzzed overhead.

  And commanding it all from a mobile command vehicle was Marshall Judah.

  He sent his first team in from the air—they went in fast, ziplining down drop-ropes suspended from a hovering Super Stallion direct to the top tier of the dry falls, bypassing the paths.

  Guns up and pumped up, they charged inside.

  From their position at the far end of the quicksand cavern, West and his new group saw the Americans’ red laser-sighting beams lancing out from the entry tunnel, accompanied by fast footsteps.

  “American pigs,” Zaeed hissed.

  Then suddenly—whump—the Americans’ footfalls were drowned out by a much louder sound: the deep ominous grinding of a third sliding stone!

  Gunfire. The Americans were firing their guns at the sliding stone!