Six Sacred Stones

by Matthew Reilly

  Then the muscular black man hammering his hand into the stone called, “He is awake!”

  and four men appeared up on the rim of the pit, gazing down into it.

  Two of the four Jack didn’t recognize: they were a pair of American soldiers, the first was a bulky young trooper with wide unblinking eyes, the second a compact AsianAmerican wearing Marine fatigues.

  Jack did know the third man. He was Chinese, older, and had furious eyes. It was Colonel Mao Gongli of the People’s Liberation Army, whom Jack had last seen in Laozi’s trap system, gagging on the contents of a smoke grenade. Jack vaguely recalled pistol

  whipping Mao as he’d run past him there, breaking his nose.

  The fourth man, however, was a man Jack knew very well, and he figured (correctly) that the two younger troopers were his lackeys. Blondhaired and blueeyed, the fourth man was an American colonel who went by the call signWolf. Jack hadn’t seen him in years and was quite happy with that.

  Wolf gazed down at Jack—helpless on his back, nailed to the pit floor—with a peculiar look on his face.

  Then he smiled.

  “Hello, son,” he called.

  “Hello, Father,” Jack said.

  The man standing above him was Jack West Sr.

  JONATHAN WEST SR.—Wolf—gazed down at his son from the top of the pit.

  Behind him, unseen by Jack, lay the workings of an enormous underground mine. In it, hundreds of emaciated Ethiopians stood on tenstoryhigh scaffold towers, toiling with picks and shovels at great walls of dirt, clearing centuries of hardpacked grit from what appeared to be a collection of ancient stone buildings.

  “Isopeda Isopedella,”Wolf said slowly, his voice echoing in the vast mine.

  Jack didn’t reply.

  “The common huntsman spider,” Wolf said. “A largebodied, longlimbed spider native to Australia. Similar to the tarantula in size and general notoriety, it’s known to grow to sizes in excess of six inches.”

  Still Jack said nothing.

  “But despite its fearsome appearance, the huntsman spider is not a lethal spider. In fact, it is not dangerous at all. A bite will cause no more than transient local pain. It is a fake, a fraud. An animal that attempts to mask its general ineffectiveness with the appearance of size and power, much like you. I never liked your call sign, Jack.”

  A bead of sweat trickled down Jack’s forehead as he lay on his back at the bottom of the pit.

  “Where are my friends?” he asked, his throat coarse and dry. He was thinking of Stretch, Pooh Bear, and Astro—all of whom had failed to escape after the chase from Abu Simbel.

  At that moment, Wolf guided Astro into view beside him. Jack saw the young American Marine through blurry eyes. He seemed okay and, importantly, hewasn’t wearing any handcuffs. He said nothing, just looked down coldly at Jack.

  Had Astro been with Wolf all along?Jack thought. It had always been a possibility. But no, he thought he’d picked Astro as a good man, loyal. He couldn’t have been a plant.

  “What about the other two?”

  “Never mind their fate,” Wolf said. “They will certainly outlive you, but not by much. We were talking about the flaws in your chosen call sign, son.”

  “I didn’t choose it. You don’t choose your own call sign.”

  Wolf looked away.

  “How is your mother?” he asked suddenly. “No matter how hard I try, I just can’t seem to find her. It’s as if she doesn’t want me to locate her.”

  “I can’t imagine why,” Jack said.

  To explain what had gone wrong with his parents’ marriage meant understanding Jack’s father.

  Powerful physically and brilliant mentally, John West Sr. was an intellectually vain man, convinced of his superiority in all matters. As a strategist, he was unrivaled in the US, his methods were bold, vicious and, most of all, successful. These accomplishments only bolstered his sense of omnipotence.

  But when this viciousness seeped into his marriage and took violent form, Jack’s mother had left Jack Sr. and, infuriating him further, divorced him in an Australian court—an Australian court.

  After that, Jack’s mother had disappeared and now resided in the remote town of Broome in a distant corner of Western Australia, not far from Jack’s farm. It was a location that only Jack and a few others knew.

  Wolf shrugged. “She’s of no importance right now. But when this is all over, I’m going to make a point of finding her.”

  “If only she could see us now…” Jack said.

  “You did well to better Marshal Judah in your race to find the Seven Ancient Wonders,”

  Wolf said. “He was smart, Judah. Although did you really have to throw him into the engine of a jet plane?”

  “At least I didn’t crucify him.”

  Wolf’s face went hard. “Judah worked for me. Just as, once upon a time, you could have worked for me. In the end, his failure, while regrettable, was not total. Tartarus was just the beginning. A far larger mission—the repelling of the Dark Star and the acquisition of its rewards—is now at hand. And as we both know, the Power of Tartarus was nullified recently by our mutual enemies, the Japanese Blood Brotherhood.”

  Jack didn’t know this, and the look on his face must have shown it.

  Wolf grinned. “You didn’t know? About the counter ceremony they performed at the autumnal equinox, at the second Great Pyramid beneath Easter Island, the geographical opposite of Giza? Some of us want to rule the world, Jack, others like you wish to save it, others still, like our honorobsessed Japanese friends, wish to end it.

  “It was they who flew that plane into the Burj al Arab in Dubai, trying to destroy the Firestone. It was they who ambushed the British Marines near the dock at Abu Simbel with their suicide bombers. Death does not frighten them. Indeed, like their kamikaze forebears, a glorious selfsacrificing death is the ultimate honor.”

  Jack grimaced in pain, nodded at Mao. “So are America and China in this together? The Chinese attack on my farm. The torture of Wizard in China by that asshole.”

  Mao visibly stiffened. Wolf was the picture of calm.

  “Sadly, I do not formally represent America anymore,” Wolf said. “After Judah’s failure with the Seven Wonders, the Caldwell Group was cut loose by the Administration. But our influence still runs deep in the halls of power and in the military, especially in the Army and the Air Force. We will certainly outlast this Administration.

  “No, our small group of concerned patriots feels that consecutive American governments have not taken America far enough in its role as the only remaining superpower on this planet. America needs to rule this planet with an iron fist, not with diplomacy or conciliation. We do what we want. We do not ask permission.

  “As for China, well, it is no secret that the Chinese wish to rise in the world, to be respected as the behemoth that they are. The Caldwell Group’s relationship with them is mutually beneficial. We have much to offer each other—we have information; they have muscle.”

  Jack called to Mao, “Hey, Mao. He’ll cut your throat as soon as he’s used you.”

  “I will take that chance, Captain West,” Mao replied coolly. “You are lucky he won’t let me cut yours right here and now.”

  “So who’re they?” Jack jerked his chin at the two men beside his father.

  Wolf indicated the AsianAmerican first. “This is Switchblade, United States Marines, but now on loan to the CIEF.”

  The CIEF,Jack thought grimly.Technically, it was the CommanderinChief ’s In Extremis Force, but in reality it was the Caldwell Group’s private army.

  Wolf then threw an arm around the larger man with him. “And this young man, Jack, this is your half brother, my other son, Grant West. Army Special Forces, and also now CIEF.

  Call sign:Rapier.”

  Jack assessed the wideeyed young man standing next to his father. Big, burly, and intense, Rapier just glared back at him, not blinking. Judging by his age, Jack figured Rapier had been born while Wolf had sti
ll been married to Jack’s mother—another reason to dislike his father.

  “He’s not unlike you, Jack,” Wolf said, “talented, driven, resourceful. But in many ways he is also an improvement on you: he’s a better soldier, a more disciplined killer. He is also obedient, although perhaps this can be attributed to his higher level of breeding.”

  “Just what you always wanted,” Jack said, still grimacing with pain. “Your very own attack dog. So what’s with all this?” He indicated his position. “Couldn’t you just shoot me?”

  Wolf shook his head. “Oh, no. No, no, no. You see the man beside you, Jack? The one who just nailed you to that slab? He is an Ethiopian Christian, as indeed, you are now in Ethiopia.”

  Ethiopia?

  “Ethiopia is a curious country,” Wolf mused, “with an equally curious mix of faiths.

  Christianity is unusually strong here, brought here in the Middle Ages by the Templars.

  The wellknown Churches at Lalibela are testimony to their presence. And did you know that according to some legends, Ethiopia is the final resting place of the Ark of the Covenant, spirited here directly from Solomon’s Temple.

  “Islam is practiced in some areas, but most curiously, there exists in this country an underclass of Jewry. Like many Jewish populations elsewhere in the world, they are horribly persecuted by the other faiths.

  “In fact, in this mine, most of our slave miners are Ethiopian Jews. Our guards, however, are EthiopianChristians, and here lies the meaning behind your means of execution.

  “Our guards are most devout in their Christianity, Jack. Indeed, at Easter every year, they choose one of their own to play the Christ and they crucify him in much the same manner as you are now crucified. To die in such a manner is a great honor.”

  Jack felt a chill run through him.

  “My guards fear me,” Wolf said, “as they should. They guard well because they fear the consequences of failure. Likewise, all the guards in this mine are aware that you are my firstborn son. For me to kill my firstborn in such a way strikes fear into their very hearts. I am like God himself—subjecting my own son to this, the most cruel of deaths. Your death will make me a god in their eyes.”

  “Great,” Jack rasped.

  As he spoke, he noticed the Ethiopian hammerholder scuttle up a ladder cut into one wall of the pit, hurriedly escaping from it.

  For Wolf wasn’t finished. “Note the stone slab on which you lie, my son. It is one of dozens that have been dropped into that pit over the last three hundred years. Right now, you lie on layer upon layer of previously crucified Ethiopian Christians. You will not die from the crucifixion—crucifixion is notoriously slow, sometimes taking up to three days.

  No…”

  At that moment, Jack heard an ominous grinding noise and suddenly a large flat stone slab was dragged across the corner of the pit’s upper rim, pushed on rollers by a team of Ethiopian guards. The squareshaped slab perfectly fit the dimensions of the deep square pit.

  “…you will be crushed, and thus become another layer in these people’s remarkable faith.”

  Jack’s eyes went wide.

  The square stone slab was now halfway across the pit’s opening.

  They were going to drop it into the pit.

  They were going to drop it into the pit now.

  Holy shit.

  This was happening too fast.

  Jack began to breathe faster. He looked all around himself, and he beheld his right hand, bloodied and nailed to the slab beneath him.

  The slab beneath him:the thought of it made him sick, picturing all the previously crucified Ethiopian men lying immediately below him, crushed between dozens of piled

  up slabs.

  “Goodbye, Huntsman,” Wolf intoned, as the slab cut him off from Jack’s view. “You really were a good soldier, a true talent. Believe me when I say that it’s a terrible shame.

  We could have fought together and we would have been unbeatable. But now, because of the choices you’ve made, like the spider of your namesake, you must be crushed. Good

  bye, my son.”

  The slab came fully across the pit, and as Jack shouted, “No!” the team of Ethiopian draggers withdrew the wooden rollers holding it poised above the pit and suddenly the great slab fell, fell a full twenty feet—down into the pit, its hard edges skimming against the pit’s walls, down toward Jack West Jr.—before it hit the bottom with a shockingboom that echoed throughout the mine.

  WOLF GAZED down at the stone slab that had just crushed his son to death. The slab had landed askew, as it did when it landed on a human body. Over the coming days it would slowly sink down farther on Jack West Jr.’s body, flattening it.

  Then with a shrug Wolf turned on his heel and walked toward the gantry elevator that led out of the mine. Mao, Rapier, and Switchblade followed.

  Astro, however, did not.

  He wobbled on his feet, drugged and dazed, held up by two Ethiopians who had been out of Jack’s sight.

  “Father,” Rapier said, indicating Astro. “What do we do about him?”

  Wolf stopped, gazed at Astro for a moment. “A futile gesture from our enemies back in the US—a pitiful play from a weakwilled Administration that has thrown its lot in with these pathetic small nations. But there can be no evidence we killed American servicemen. Take him with us. When he recovers his senses, he gets a choice: he either joins us or he dies.”

  “What about the other two?” Switchblade said softly. “The Israeli sniper and Anzar al Abbas’s fat second son.”

  Wolf paused a moment. “The Israeli is still upstairs?”

  “Yes.”

  “There is a considerable bounty on his head. Sixteen million dollars. The Mossad put it up after he refused to obey their orders at the Hanging Gardens. His fate is sealed: we return him to the Old Master and claim the reward. Sixteen million dollars is sixteen million dollars. Then that vengeful old bastard Muniz and the Mossad can torture him for as long as they like.”

  “And Abbas’s second son?”

  Wolf looked back out over the grim mine complex.

  On the other side of the vast space, against the far wall, hung a small medieval cage, suspended above a wide pool of simmering liquid.

  Imprisoned inside this cage, hanging ten feet above the dark pool, was Pooh Bear.

  He was dirty, bloodied, and bruised from his tumble along the highway in Egypt, but alive. His hands were spread wide, held by manacles that were themselves attached to the bars of the cage.

  The liquid in the pool beneath him was a mix of water and arsenic. While this wasn’t technically a gold mine, occasionally the miners found traces of gold in the walls and they used the arsenicinfused liquid to separate it from the earth. They also used it to punish anyone caught hiding gold on his body—thieves would be lowered, inside the cage, into the pool where they would drown in the thick black liquid.

  To the guards’ great surprise, Wolf and his people didn’t seem to care for the gold that was found and they happily allowed the guards to keep any that was unearthed by the slave miners.

  No, Wolf and his minions cared for something else, something that according to an ancient legend lay buried somewhere within the towerlike stone structures that bounded the walls of the mysterious subterranean complex.

  Wolf gazed at the pathetic figure of Pooh Bear, dangling in his cage above the deadly pool.

  “Let the guards sacrifice him to their god. He is of no use to anyone anymore.”

  And with those words, Wolf left.

  He came to the gantry elevator, where he was met by two figures standing in the shadows there.

  One of them stepped forward.

  It was Vulture.

  “American,” he said slyly to Wolf. “My government grows impatient. You arrived at Abu Simbel too late and the Pillar got away. You knew our bargain: we get the First Pillar—

  with its reward—and you get the second one.”

  “I know the bargain, Saudi,” Wolf said. “
You will get the First Pillar, but not before we have our hands on the Second. I know you, Vulture. I also know your methods: you’ve been known to abandon your allies when your ends have been achieved but not theirs.

  And I want to know for sure that I have your allegiance for the entirety of this mission.

  The First Pillar is not in our possession right now—Max Epper has it—but it is easily acquired. It’s the Second that poses a more immediate problem.”

  “Why?” Vulture said.

  “Captain West’s plane was last seen heading south into Africa. They’re going for the Second Pillar, among the Neetha tribe in central Africa. But the Neetha are elusive.”

  Vulture said, “Epper thinks he can locate them.”

  “So if we find him, we find the Neetha and their Pillar. This should suit the House of Saud, Vulture, for when we catch up with Epper, we get your Pillar. This is why you’re going to help me now: call your government and get them to open their treasury and offer every African nation between Sudan and South Africa whatever it costs to hire their army and cover every road, river, and border in central Africa. With Huntsman dead and Wizard on the run, it shouldn’t be hard to find him. It’s time to shut them down.”

  Wolf then stepped into the gantry elevator and accompanied by Mao, Rapier, and Switchblade, whizzed up the side of the mine, leaving Vulture and his companion there.

  He exited the complex at ground level via an earthen doorway two hundred feet above the floor of the great cave.

  As they strode out of the mine, Switchblade whispered to Wolf, “Will the knowledge of Epper be enough to find the Neetha?”

  Wolf kept walking. “Max Epper is the world’s leading authority in this field, and his conclusions thus far have matched our own. Should he stumble or die, it will be of little concern, we have our own studies to fall back on. Plus we have our own expert on these matters to aid us.”