PLAZA

by Shane M Brown

  'Looks clear,' decided Randerson. 'You ready?'

  By answer, Fontana sprung from cover and dashed towards the bottom tier stairs. He disappeared into the deep shadow beside the stairs. When Randerson reached him, Fontana was squatting low against the tier wall, arguing on his radio with Merc. Randerson heard the exchange on his wireless headset.

  'Where were you guys?' Merc demanded. 'I've radioed you a dozen times!'

  'In the Gallery,' replied Fontana. 'We had to find Spader. Now we're on the bottom tier beside the east steps.'

  Dale's voice came over the line. 'Has Gordon found it yet?'

  'Not yet,' radioed Randerson, pleased to hear his friend's voice. 'Looks like we've got competition. Rourke's been searching the Gallery. He's got an entire system of codes in there, like ours, where he's been mapping the corridors.'

  'Cheeky monkey,' remarked Merc. 'That explains the heavy artillery. Rent-a-cops are crawling around everywhere out here. We had to stash Spader's booty bags. We’ve bunkered down to keep an eye on the plane. So what now?'

  Randerson heard the soft clatter of falling stones. The noise came from the Gallery. He scooted along the side of the stairs until he could see the Gallery’s entrance again. There was nothing to see, but he was sure the noise came from that direction.

  Randerson heard the sound again - this time from right above him!

  Someone was coming down the stairs!

  He didn't have time to warn Fontana. Surely the guards coming down the stairs could hear Fontana talking. Randerson needed to act first. He couldn't see anything from his crouched position, so he bobbed up just enough to bring his weapon on target and...

  ...the stairs were empty.

  Where were they? Already at the Gallery?

  He glanced towards the Gallery entrance and froze. What the heck was he seeing? He blinked twice, but it wasn't anything wrong with his eyes.

  The Gallery entrance had come to life. The stones twisted and warped. The joints between the stones rippled as though viewed through disturbed water.

  No, wait...something is moving in front of the entrance.

  Patches of blurred texture moved in and out of focus. Something invisible was crawling all over the entrance. No, they were crawling into the entrance. There were definitely distinct shapes, huge shapes, climbing into the Gallery entrance.

  Randerson hissed over his shoulder. 'Fontana! Fontana - quick, check this out!'

  Fontana waved him down, still talking on his radio to Merc.

  'Stick to the plan,' radioed Fontana. 'Spader wants us to secure his path to the plane and keep the tin-badges in line while they work.'

  'How long for?' Randerson heard Dale ask.

  'He didn't say exactly. Maybe half an hour. Where are you two?'

  Merc replied using their site code. 'Twenty meters north of the dominoes.'

  'Shit, you're all the way over there?'

  'Don't whine,' countered Merc. 'You start heading this way and we'll stagger a safe retreat path to the plane for Spader.'

  Randerson hardly registered the conversation coming over his headset. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. I must be seeing things. The last of whatever was entering the Gallery slid smoothly through the entrance.

  'Fontana, hurry!'

  'What! What?' hissed Fontana, finally approaching.

  Randerson shot his hand out. 'There! Can you see that?'

  Fontana squinted beyond Randerson's urgently pointing finger. 'Yep. That's pretty weird.'

  As the men watched, the last of the spectacle disappeared into the Gallery.

  Randerson felt relieved that Fontana had seen it. 'What was that?'

  'I've seen that before,' started Fontana. 'In Iraq. It's heat haze off the stones as they warm up in the sun. Like you get in the desert.'

  'No it wasn't,' countered Randerson. 'That was not frigging heat haze! That was not a bloody mirage! Something just went into the Gallery. It was alive! We have to tell Spader.'

  Fontana made a halfwit face. 'Tell him what? We just saw some fuzzy air blow into the Gallery?'

  Angry, Randerson pointed at the Gallery. 'They were climbing, not blowing. And we should tell him what we saw.'

  Fontana screwed up his face, disgusted. 'You're losing it, Randy. The hot stones makes the air shimmer. Like a mirage in the desert. Get a grip of yourself. The Gallery is one big radio shadow anyway; you can't tell Gordon and Spader anything.'

  Randerson grabbed Fontana's wrist and slapped his palm down on a sunlight step.

  Fontana stared at his hand, then easily shook Randerson's grip off his much larger wrist. 'So what. It's still cold, so what?

  'If it isn't hot, it can't be heat haze off the stones.'

  Fontana was getting angry now. 'So what was it then, Randy? Maybe some hot air came out of the Gallery. Who knows what Rourke was doing in there? Maybe Spader and Gordon caused it. Look, we don't have time for this crap anyway. Merc and Dale are waiting. You remember them?'

  Dismissing the event, Fontana leapt onto the stairs.

  Frustrated, Randerson had no choice but to follow him up.

  He knows it wasn't heat haze, thought Randerson. He's just trying to fool himself. I definitely heard moving stones. Those things came right above us down these steps.

  And Randerson knew something else. Had it not been for his quick navigation through the Gallery, he and Fontana would have run smack-bang into them.

  #

  Confused, Rourke retreated into cover.

  He'd almost reached the Gallery when his scanner began vibrating.

  He'd set the unit to silent mode. The vibrations meant someone just entered the Gallery. He'd been watching the Gallery entrance as he approached, so he was sure no one had entered. That could only mean someone was about to come out.

  There. There they are.

  Two unfamiliar figures darted from the entrance and into the shadow beside the bottom tier steps. Their uniforms - blue long-sleeve shirts and green cargo trousers - matched Kline's description of the intruders. They hadn't seen him, but if Rourke's security device hadn't activated, he'd have encountered them head-on.

  Rourke's sensors had recorded five unique sets of electronic signatures enter the Gallery in the last twenty minutes. Two had come out, so three were still inside.

  More troubling was the goggles Rourke had noticed. Both men had familiar sets of goggles pulled down around their necks.

  Damn, they can see my coding system! That will lead them right to it!

  Perhaps he could wait and take them down when they emerged from the shadows. He didn't really have time to wait when three people were still inside the Gallery following his codes.

  He pulled further back into cover and raised his hand radio.

  Take a second to calm down.

  After a few deep breaths, he keyed his radio. 'Kline, can you hear me?'

  Kline's voice burst over the handset. 'Rourke, where are you? I've been trying to reach you.'

  Rourke quickly lowered the radio’s volume before he spoke again. He didn't want Kline's voice giving away his location. ‘Ethan got away from me. He pushed me down the east bunker stairs. What's your status now?'

  'I've destroyed the comm-tower. The intruders have gone to ground. I'm trying to flush them out.'

  Rourke heard rocks clattering from the direction of the two intruders. 'I've found two of them. They just left the Gallery. I expect they'll head back to their plane. You should be able to intercept them. At least three more are still in the Gallery.'

  Kline's reply shot straight back. 'Repeat that. Did you say inside the Gallery? Do you think they know?'

  'If they don't already, they will soon. They're wearing dye-goggles.'

  'Shit,' swore Kline. 'They must know something. Why else would they have those goggles? Can they even move it, just the three of them? I thought you said it was impossible without half a dozen men.'

  'I'm not taking any chances. Send six men to meet me at the Gallery entrance. We'll retrieve i
t now. You take care of things out here, and leave the Gallery to me.'

  'OK, the men are on their way.' After a short pause, Kline added, 'Maybe I should come too.'

  'If things work out, we should be back out here in about fifteen minutes. I'll need you out here. You just make sure things are secure for the extraction.'

  Rourke twisted to check the stairs again. He saw the two intruders dashing up the stairs to the middle tier.

  I was right. They're heading back to their plane. Kline should be able to surprise them.

  Rourke ducked out of cover and dashed towards the Gallery entrance. For a moment he glimpsed a strange visual distortion around the entrance.

  Reaching the Gallery, he peered cautiously inside.

  Empty. Weird.

  Something wasn't right.

  The darkness didn't frighten him. If anything, the darkness and the artwork made him feel connected with the place. He doubted anyone else had achieved the same feeling.

  Taking his first steps inside, he sensed something had changed. Something barely perceptible, like a faint smell triggering a subliminal warning.

  What on earth was that? Are they using gas in there?

  It hadn’t looked like gas. It looked like something moving into the Gallery. It only lasted a moment, but he’d definitely glimpsed the tail end of something.

  #

  Ben McClintock shoved away his keyboard.

  He'd checked his emails a dozen times.

  Nothing. No telephone calls from anybody at the site. He'd flatly failed to reach Ethan or anybody else at the Plaza. What on earth was happening? Ben understood Ethan missing his online lecture, but totally dropping off the radar was unacceptable.

  And what was Abby's strange telephone call all about? Was that what was really worrying him? Yes, he had to admit that it was. Abby struck Ben as sensible, but could something at the Plaza really be attacking and eating people? A panther? Seemed unlikely. Abby would have quickly identified such an obvious predator. Plus, the site had ample security. Ben couldn't imagine any predator outwitting Ambrose Rourke.

  An unkind thought occurred. Perhaps it was the kind of discovery Abby wanted to find. Joanne had been getting most of Ethan’s attention lately. Still, a promise was a promise. He needed to contact Ethan.

  One avenue remained open. He could phone Ethan's wife, Maria.

  As though she needs more things to worry about right now.

  Ben found her number on his computer. He dialed her home number.

  Maria snatched up the phone instantly, 'Ethan? Hello, Ethan?'

  Ben raised his free hand to calm her down, as though she could see him. 'Maria. Wait, no, it's Ben. It's Ben McClintock.'

  'Oh, Ben. Sorry...I'm waiting on a call from Ethan. I was going to call you. Have you heard from him?'

  Ben sighed. 'No. That's why I was calling you. I haven't heard anything at all. Do you have a way to reach him in an emergency?'

  'What emergency?’ blurted Maria.

  'Well, it's not really an emergency. Abigail Astrenzi called me. She insisted I get a message to Ethan. I've not been able to reach the Plaza since this morning. I thought maybe you knew something.'

  Ben could hear Maria tapping her finger on the phone as she thought. She said, 'I had a call from the satellite phone thirty minutes ago. It was a bad line, but I heard Ethan's voice. He was shouting.'

  'Shouting what?'

  'I don't know. He was cut off. There was lots of static.'

  Ben didn't like the sound of that. 'Well, someone just died there. People must be upset right now.'

  'It didn't sound like that,' said Maria. 'It was more like a warning or a call for help.'

  Ben wasn't sure what to make of that, but he knew he didn't like it. Deep in thought, the seconds got away from him.

  Maria prompted him. 'Say something, Ben. Have you heard anything from the police? Anything from the University?'

  'Kind of,' started Ben. 'Look, I'm embarrassed to bring this up, but I promised Abby I would. She made it sound really important on the phone.'

  'What is it?'

  Ben hesitated, not sure how to say it.

  'Just tell me, Ben.'

  Ben just came out and said it. 'Abby thinks something's been eating people on the site.'

  Maria was quiet for a moment, and Ben regretted saying anything. It sounded even more absurd coming from his own mouth. He felt like an idiot for giving her more reason to worry.

  After a moment, Maria asked, 'An animal, you mean?'

  'I know,' offered Ben. 'It sounds ridiculous. Especially with all the security on site, but Abby sounded convinced on the phone. She made me promise to tell Ethan. I thought you might know a way.'

  'What kind of an animal?' asked Maria. 'You mean something that lives in the jungle?'

  Ben shook his head, glad that Maria couldn't see him. 'Yeah, I guess so. She doesn't know what it is. Just that it's big. Maybe a new species. She found human remains in some of her samples.'

  Maria was quiet while she digested this news. 'Abigail’s a smart woman. There must be something in it. I'm glad you told me. Now we just have to find some way to tell Ethan. I have to go, Ben.'

  Ben put down the phone. Let's just hope that Ethan doesn't already know.

  #

  Inside the Gallery, Ethan studied his captors carefully.

  The poor fluorescent lighting didn’t help, but now he was sure. One was definitely Gordon Merrit.

  Gordon Merrit is on my site, working with a group of gunmen!

  Ethan first wrote to Gordon two years ago. When his repeated emails elicited no replies, Ethan posted him a handwritten letter. The emails and letters contained pretty much the same request. An open invitation for Gordon to visit the Plaza in his role as a cultural conservator of ancient structures. A request for collaboration. In the letter, Ethan had offered to pay Gordon's travel expenses.

  Gordon had made no reply, and Ethan was starting to see why.

  But was Gordon being blackmailed? Was he a captive? Gordon had a gun. A machine gun, no less. Ethan saw it leaning near the technical equipment Gordon was packing up earlier. He wasn't a captive. In fact, if anything, he seemed equally as dangerous as the men around him.

  Even the big man, Fontana, had treated Gordon with a rude kind of respect.

  Ethan had to face the baffling conclusion that Gordon was here voluntarily. He couldn’t expect any help from Gordon.

  Should I make a run for it now?

  With Spader and Gordon arguing, it seemed the perfect time. His hands were free. Ethan could dash for the nearest intersection. He could be lost in the dark in seconds.

  Walking between his captors earlier, he'd noted their route. But could he backtrack to the exit in pitch darkness? Unlikely. He’d need a flashlight, or one of their lanterns. Two lanterns stood unattended. He could grab one of those and run. Assuming they would even bother chasing him. Ethan just had no idea what their motivations were.

  Finding Gordon Merrit on site had given his already nightmarish day an entirely surreal cast.

  First Ambrose Rourke and now Gordon Merrit.

  Was Ethan just not paying enough attention? Perhaps he should spend less time studying the past and more time studying the present. Perhaps then he could have saved Nina. Part of the responsibility for her death lay with him. Sure, he hadn’t killed her, but a blind man could see that Ambrose Rourke was overly interested in the Gallery. As usual, Ethan's ego was to blame. It had seemed perfectly natural that his Plaza should fascinate everyone. His mistake was in believing that everyone shared his motivations. His mistake cost Nina her life, and maybe Claire’s too.

  And Ethan still had no idea what everyone was after. Is that why I haven’t tried to escape yet? He wanted to know. He wanted to know what everyone was doing here, including Gordon Merrit.

  Ethan listened to the debate unfolding between his captors. Right now, Gordon was explaining how Ethan knew him.

  'He wrote me a couple of letters,' Gord
on continued. 'That's how he knows my address.'

  Spader raised a dark eyebrow. 'Letters? Let me guess. He wanted the esteemed Gordon Merrit to visit the Plaza and help him unravel its mysteries?'

  'That's right,' admitted Gordon.

  Spader jerked up one hand, pointing angrily at Ethan. 'And you didn't think this was worth mentioning?'

  'I didn't answer his letters,' countered Gordon. 'I've never met him. He wasn't even supposed to be here. I can't help it if your plans go south, Spader.'

  'You still should have told me about the letters,' Spader insisted. 'This is going to be trouble.'

  'If I had told you about the letters,' Gordon started, 'you would have cancelled the operation. Or cut me out of it. He must have seen a photo of me or something.'

  Tired of mute observation, Ethan spoke up. 'It wasn't a photo. It was at a conference.'

  Both men stopped arguing and looked at Ethan.

  'I sat three seats down from you at a seminar on Mesopotamian stone engravings,’ continued Ethan. ‘At the 2010 Cairo Conference. I tried to find you when the session broke up, but you slipped away. It turned out you weren't even on the conference register.'

  ‘I'm sorry you found me now,’ said Gordon quietly. ‘You should have just gone home to your family. You would never have known we were even here. You’ve made things complicated.’

  Ethan felt bitter resentment at being labeled a 'complication'.

  'Complicated?' he yelled. 'You think this is complicated? I'll tell you about complicated! I've lost two people I loved today. People who were like family to me. I've had people I thought were friends turn on me. I've had my site overrun by gunmen. And maybe now I've killed a man. So how the fuck has your day been up to now? Less complicated than mine?'

  Spader and Gordon looked at each other, but didn't try to answer.

  Ethan walked over to Gordon's equipment and started flipping open lids to examine the contents. Let them try to stop me.

  'Don't touch that stuff, warned Spader.

  'It's this you’ll want to see,' offered Gordon, moving over to a laptop.