The Six Sacred Stones jw-2

by Matthew Reilly

  More quick-setting cement was brought in.

  It was poured into the mouth of the offending terra-cotta warrior, stopping it up. Planning to do the same at every other statue in the hall, Mao’s men had moved on.

  Only for another trooper to be killed almost immediately when the second terra-cotta warrior statue shot a crossbow bolt out of itseye socket into his eye.

  As a third soldier poured cement into the adjoining statue, he managed to dodge that statue’s lethal defense mechanism: a primitive fragmentation charge, set off by a small amount of gunpowder hidden within the statue’s eyes. A volley of tiny lead ball bearings had blasted out from the statue’s eye sockets, narrowly missing the Chinese soldier but causing him to lurch backward—

  —and slip on the wet floor of the sloping passageway and slide out of control down its full length before he just fell off the bottom end of the passageway—dropping into darkness, disappearing from his teammates” view. They soon discovered that he had fallen into a deep and dark underground chasm at the end of the passageway, a chasm of unknown depth.

  And they hadn’t got beyond that chasm.

  Which was why, earlier that morning, word had been sent to Xintan, demanding that Wizard and Tank be brought back to see if they might reveal the secrets of Laozi’s trap system.

  THE SUBMERGED VILLAGE

  THE FOUR Chinese sentries left up on the surface of the trap system all looked skyward at the sound of an approaching helicopter, their alertness slackening when they saw that it was one of their own: a Hind gunship with PLA markings.

  The big chopper landed on a floating helipad nestled among the half-submerged stone huts, blowing debris and spray through the alleyways of the ancient village.

  The sentries ambled over to the chopper, their rifles slung lazily over their shoulders—only to see the side door of the gunship whip open and all of a sudden find themselves staring at the wrong ends of some Type-56 assault rifles and MP7 submachine guns.

  Dressed in the Chinese Army uniforms of the helicopter’s crew, Jack West Jr. and his team had arrived.

  THE ENTRY CHAMBER

  THERE WERE two more low-ranking Chinese sentries in the entry chamber—the same chamber that Wizard had marveled at only four days previously, before he had been captured by Mao, before Mao had murdered his gentle assistant, Chow.

  Suddenly an odd-looking silver grenade came flying down into the entry chamber from the well shaft.

  The grenade bounced on the floor of the chamber, missing the wide hole in its center, but causing the two sentries to turn.

  It went off.

  A sunlike flash filled the ancient room, astonishingly bright, and both sentries fell to their knees, clutching their eyes, screaming, blinded, their retinas nearly burned clean off. The blindness wouldn’t be permanent, but it would last for two whole days.

  Then Jack came swinging out of the entry shaft, swooping down into the chamber, his boots thumping hard against the stone floor, his gun raised.

  He keyed his radio. “Guards are down. Chamber is clear. Come on down.”

  It was only then that he noticed the body bags.

  There were nine of them, containing soldiers the Chinese had lost inside the trap system.

  As Wizard and the others joined him in the chamber—Stretch binding and gagging the two whimpering guards, Wizard gasping at the stench of the body bags—Jack examined the entry chamber’s feature wall.

  He beheld the magnificent jewel-encrusted carving of the Mystery of the Circles, ten feet wide and stunning.

  And directly below it: a narrow recessed doorway with curved walls. Above the doorway was a small inscription of the Philosopher’s Stone just like the one he’d seen earlier, complete with the Sa-Benben hovering over it:

  The curved cylindrical doorway was roughly the size of a coffin, and on one side of it there were three cast-iron levers and the Chinese symbol for “dwelling”:

  The ceiling of this tiny space was crudely stopped up with concrete—presumably plugging a pipe out of which fell some horrific liquid.

  “Not exactly elegant,” Jack said. “But effective.”

  Wizard shook his head. “This system was designed by the great Chinese architect, Sun Mai, a contemporary of Confucius and, like him, once a student of Laozi. Sun Mai was a brilliant craftsman, a man of rare flair. He was also a castle-builder, fortifications and the like, so he was well suited to this task. And how does Mao tackle him? With concrete.Concrete. Oh, how China has changed over the centuries.”

  “The trap system,” Jack said seriously, gazing at the darkness beyond the open doorway-recess. “Any research? Like the trap order?”

  “You cannot study this system’s traps beforehand,” Wizard said. “It possesses multiple thresholds, through which one passes by answering a riddle in situ.”

  “Riddles in situ. My favorite…”

  “But riddles related to the works of Laozi.”

  “Oh, even better.”

  Wizard examined the concreted doorway and the chamber beyond it, then he nodded at the body bags. “It seems our Chinese rivals have met with some considerable difficulty. If they’d asked me the right questions during my interrogation, I might have been more helpful.”

  “So what’s the trick?” West said.

  Wizard smiled. “What is Laozi’s most well-known contribution to philosophy?”

  “The Yin-Yang.”

  “Yes. The concept of duality. The idea that there are two of everything. Elemental pairs. Good and evil, light and dark, and all that. But there’s more to it: every pair is connected. In the good, there is some evil, and in the evil, some good.”

  “Which means…” Jack prompted.

  Wizard didn’t answer. Let him figure it out for himself.

  “…if there’s two of everything, then there are two entrances to this system,” Jack said.

  Wizard nodded. “And?”

  Jack frowned. “The second entrance is connected to this entrance?”

  “Well done, my friend. Full marks.”

  Wizard strode to the wide circular well shaft in the floor, the one that matched the entry shaft in the ceiling, and peered down into it.

  “There is indeed a second entrance to this trap system. Down there.”

  Wizard said, “The tunnel system branching off this chamber is called the Teacher’s Way. A second tunnel system situated below us is called the Student’s Way.”

  “So how are they connected?”

  “Simple. They must be tackled simultaneously. Two people, one in each tunnel, moving alternately through their respective traps, each disabling the other’s traps.”

  “You have got to be kidding me…” Jack had survived many trap systems over the years, but he had never encountered anything like this.

  “It’s the ultimate trust exercise,” Wizard said. “As I set off in the upper tunnel, I trigger a trap. That trap is nullified not by me, but by you in the lower tunnel. My life is in your hands. Then the opposite occurs—you trigger a trap, and I must save you. This is why our Chinese friends are experiencing such difficulty in there. They don’t know of the lower route. So they use concrete and brute force, and in the typical Chinese way”—he nodded at the body bags—’ they just weather the losses and make very inefficient progress. They’ll eventually get through, but it will cost them many lives and much time.”

  Jack bit his lip, thinking. “All right then. Stretch. You take Scimitar, and find the lower entrance. I’ll enter through here with Astro and Wizard. Tank, you stay here with Pooh Bear. Keep in radio contact with Vulture up in the chopper, because I suspect we’ll be needing a rapid evac. All right, everyone. Buckle up. We’re going in.”

  LAOZI’S TRAP SYSTEM ENTRY TUNNELS

  THE CYLINDRICAL DOORWAY (LOWER)

  MINUTES LATER, Stretch’s voice came over West’s earpiece:“We’ve found the second entrance. About sixty feet below you. Narrow doorway, cut into the wall of the shaft. Identical to yours. But intact. No
concrete clogging its upper recess.”

  “Step into it,” West instructed.

  Down in the shaft, Stretch and Scimitar were hanging from individual ropes in front of a narrow recessed doorway hewn into the wall of the vertical shaft.

  The shaft itself dropped away beneath them into infinite black, depth unknown. Guided by his helmet flashlight, Stretch stepped off the rope and into the doorway…

  …only to see the entire doorway suddenly rotate around him on its axis, its curved walls spinning ninety degrees so that the entry gap was sealed, and he found himself trapped in the coffin-sized recess, bounded on every side, with nowhere to go.

  Claustrophobia gripped him. His rapid breathing echoed in his ears. His flashlight’s glow was too close against the tight walls.

  Then something gurgled in the void above him and Stretch’s blood went cold.

  “Er, Jack…”

  Up in the doorway of the Teacher’s Way, Jack assessed the three cast-iron levers in the wall, one on top of the other, next to the Chinese symbol for “dwelling”: none of the levers bore any marks or carvings; they were completely plain.

  “Er, Jack…”came Stretch’s voice.“Whatever you have to do up there, please do it soon…”

  “Pull the bottom lever,” Wizard said. “Now.”

  Jack yanked on the bottom lever—

  —and at the same moment, down in Stretch’s route, a slab of stone slid across the ceiling and the cylinder rotated another ninety degrees, and suddenly, Stretch saw a new chamber on the other side, a cube-shaped stone room.

  He quickly stepped out of the deadly cylinder-doorway and said, “I’m though. Thanks, guys. Scimitar, your turn.”

  In the upper tunnel, Jack turned to Wizard: “How did you know?”

  Wizard said, “Famous quote from Laozi. ‘In thinking, keep to the simple. In conflict, be fair and generous. In dwelling, live close to the ground.’ Since our clue was ‘Dwelling,’ I picked the lever that was closest to the ground.”

  “Nice.”

  After getting Scimitar through the same way, Jack, Wizard, and Astro just stepped through their open entry door, its trap disabled by the concrete of Mao’s troops.

  THE CRAWLING TUNNEL

  Both sets of men were now met by identical cube-shaped rooms.

  Four life-sized terra-cotta warriors—all magnificently detailed—stood in the corners of each room. In West’s room, their mouths had been plugged with cement, while in Stretch’s they yawned wide, revealing only darkness within.

  “Don’t step near the statues,” Wizard warned.

  On the far side of each room was a low tunnel at floor level. Barely two feet square and pipelike, it was the only exit from the stone room.

  Jack peered into his: it stretched for about a hundred yards, maybe more. Along its length were numerous tennis-ball-sized holes cut into the floor, all of which had been filled with concrete.

  “Spike holes,” Wizard said. “Stretch?”

  “We got a tunnel down here, low to the ground, looks long, and it appears we can only get through it by crawling on our stomachs. Lots of holes in its floor.”

  Jack said, “Careful with those holes. Iron spikes.”

  Wizard found an inscription above his tunnel, this time accompanied by a single lever that could be pushed up or down. The inscription read:

  “Genius,” Wizard said. “It’s the Chinese symbol for ‘genius.’”

  At either extremity of the lever were two images: above it was a carving of a beautiful tree, below it was a picture of a very plain seed.

  “Ah…” Wizard said, nodding. “‘To see things in the seed, that is genius.’ Another maxim of Laozi. Pull the lever down, Jack.”

  West did so.

  “OK, Stretch, you should be safe,” Wizard said into his radio mike.

  “Should be safe?” Scimitar scowled, looking at Stretch. “This whole situation troubles me greatly.”

  “It’s a trust exercise. It’s only troubling if you don’t trust your friends.”

  Scimitar eyed Stretch for a long moment. “My sources tell me it was the Old Master himself who put that massive price on your head. “

  Stretch froze at the name. The “Old Master” was the nickname of a Mossad legend, General Mordechai Muniz, a former head of the Mossad who many said, even in retirement, was still the most influential figure in the organization; the puppet-master who pulled the strings of those ostensibly in charge.

  “Sixteen million dollars,” Scimitar mused. “A good price, one of the highest ever. The Old Master wants to make an example of you.”

  “I chose loyalty to your brother over loyalty to the Mossad,” Stretch said.

  “And perhaps this is why you have become such friends. My brother thinks too often with his heart and not his head. Such thinking is foolish and weak. Look where it has got you.”

  Stretch thought about Pooh Bear up in the entry chamber. “I would lay down my life for your brother, because I believe in him. But you do not. Which makes me wonder, first son of the Sheik, what do you believe in?”

  Scimitar did not answer that.

  Shaking his head, Stretch crouched and entered the low tunnel, belly-crawling through it. It was a tight journey, claustrophobic in the extreme. The tight, wet walls brushed against his shoulders.

  Then he slithered over the first hole in the floor, and he held his breath, waiting for—

  —but nothing sprang up from it.

  Scimitar followed close behind him and the two of them wriggled along the tunnel until they emerged into standing room once more, finding themselves at the top of a steep, downward-sloping hallway.

  On the wall behind them, above the exit to the low tunnel, was a lever just like the one West had pulled, with the Chinese symbol for “knowledge” alongside it.

  Above this lever was a picture of an ear; below it, a picture of an eye.

  Stretch relayed this to Wizard and West.

  “The correct answer is the ear,”Wizard replied.“Since you’re in the Student’s Way, your riddles are Confucian, Laozi’s most talented and trusted student. Confucius said, ‘I hear and I know, I see and I remember.’ Knowledge is then hearing. As for us, once again, thanks to Mao’s concreters, we don’t need your help on this one.”

  THE GRAND HALL OF THE WARRIORS

  It took them a while, but soon West’s team was through their low tunnel. Now, like Stretch and Scimitar, they stood at the top of a magnificent downward-sloping hallway.

  It was absolutely beautiful—with soaring corbelled ceilings at least twenty feet high and lined with gigantic warrior statues, each one seven feet tall and bearing a weapon of some kind.

  The hallway seemed to stretch for over a hundred yards, sloping sharply downward but with no stairs to get a foothold, delving deep into the bowels of the Earth. The floor was wet and slippery. Battery-powered lamps left by Mao’s men lined the walls like dim runway lights.

  Distantly, West heard something coming from the end of his superlong tunnel.

  Voices.

  Accompanied by the movement of lights and glowsticks.

  It was Colonel Mao and his men, held up at a trap at the bottom end of the tunnel.

  They’d caught up.

  ASTRO CAMEup beside West and they peered together down into the darkness, in the direction of the voices.

  Without a word, Astro held up a grenade, this one with a yellow stripe on it.

  West turned, saw it. “Do I even want to know what’s in this one?”

  “CS-II. Variety of tear/nerve gas, with covering smoke,” Astro said. “It’s a little stronger than the usual kind of CS gas you use in hostage situations. Designed for situations like this, where you need to get past an enemy force holding an entryway but don’t necessarily want to kill them. Although if you want to do that— ”

  “Tears and unconsciousness will be fine, Lieutenant,” West said. “I don’t like killing someone if I don’t have to. Max, oxygen kit.”

  At
this point, Jack grabbed his trademark fireman’s helmet and attached its full face mask and oxygen kit. The others did the same.

  Moments later, three of Astro’s yellow-striped grenades came bouncing down the hallway and entered the midst of Mao’s Chinese force gathered at its base, at the edge of the abrupt vertical drop there.