The Amun Chamber

by Daniel Leston

  Oristano silently watched over Heikal’s broad shoulder, impressed by the amount of physical abuse the stoic old fellow had so far endured. His left hand was already bereft of fingers, rendered little more than a bloody stump. This alone was an impressive testament to his inner strength and resolve. Yet it was inevitable he must eventually crack, for the effect of continuous torture was always cumulative and not to be denied.

  Heikal’s present focus of concentration was the patient dismantling of Gobeir’s face, his razor-sharp blade surgically probing the rich field of nerves buried deep within the quivering cheeks. There were some people, Oristano knew, who believed anyone who derived pleasure from the pain of others made for poor interrogators. It simply wasn’t true. Heikal’s expertise in extracting information was never hindered by his obvious enthusiasm for the process. If anything, it only enhanced his skill.

  And there was growing evidence to support this, for Gobeir was now beginning to babble between shrieks of pain. Oristano took this as an encouraging sign. Clearly the old man’s grasp on reality was faltering, his admirable control ebbing with each passing minute. Heikal was finally getting close.

  Just a little more time?

  Believing this to be cause for optimism, Oristano walked over to the pool to refresh himself. While doing so, he glanced again at the girl tied-off at the back of Manning’s truck, thinking some sport of a more pleasurable nature might be in order.

  And why not?

  He slipped the rifle from his shoulder and leaned it against the vertical stone, then knelt at the water’s edge, scooping cool handfuls over his face. He accepted that she must soon be eliminated, but there was certainly no rush. He had time to fill. Availing himself of the girl would provide a well-deserved break. She was conscious, he saw, and probably had been for some time. And, likely as not, panic-stricken, as well, for the old man’s plaintive cries couldn’t have escaped her attention. He smiled as he thought on this, knowing a healthy fear of suffering a similar fate might be strong inducement for her to accommodate his needs.

  This mental image of her expected vulnerability only deepened his smile, for he felt no moral constraints whatsoever about deceiving and using the girl. It was always his firm belief that hesitation and misplaced scruples were the shackles of lesser men.

  * * *

  Minutes earlier, David had watched when Oristano walked back towards the bluff, preparing himself to initiate the second phase of his plan. The natural alcove of the pool was almost directly opposite the GAZ-69, which put the crest of his hill pretty much out of view. He readied himself, gauging the precise moment to best make his move.

  When it came, he scrambled over the top, using a pre-selected slope of drifted sand to mask his sliding descent. And it seemed to work; the sound was negligible, almost nonexistent. Hitting the bottom, he got to his feet and dashed the remaining yards to the truck in a semi-crouch. He knew the canvas covering behind the cab wasn’t lashed to the frame for he’d untied the cords himself when Rashidi first parked the vehicle. Back then the reason was simply to give Elizabeth easier access to the camping supplies. Now it was critical to saving her life.

  Head down, shoulders hunched, he stepped up onto the cab’s running board. The metal creaked under his weight, the truck tilting slightly towards him. He froze, cursing himself for not anticipating something so obvious. Did it catch anyone’s attention? He waited. Nothing! Grateful, he slipped under the canvas and hoisted himself inside.

  Elizabeth was partially obscured by the two hanging end-flaps. Gagged with one of her own kerchiefs, her wrists were bound tightly behind her back, the same rope secured to the metal tubing supporting the truck’s patchwork covering. Half sitting, half standing, her position looked anything but comfortable. He gave a cursory look around for their eating utensils, but found nothing; doubtless they, along with the knives, were still over at the campsite. Damn!

  Aware of a presence behind her, Elizabeth tried turning her head to see.

  “Don’t move,” he whispered, his face close to the thin material separating them. “It’s me, darling. David—”

  A whimpering groan of recognition.

  “Shhhh,” he cautioned. “Keep looking straight ahead.” Her hands were visible beneath the flap, her palms and fingers tinged blue by restricted circulation. “I’m going to untie the rope—but not entirely. Not quite yet. You’ll be free of the truck, but I’m going to hold you in place for a little while longer. If you understand, tilt your head forward—but do it very, very slowly, okay?”

  She did so.

  “Good. Now listen to me carefully . . .”

  David explained in hushed tones exactly what he expected of her as he untied her wrists. Knowing her weakened condition, he used the fewest words possible to ensure her complete comprehension. Since there was no margin for error, he repeated himself; then asked, “Have you got it all straight?”

  Another nod, equally slow and measured.

  “Then wait on my word. I’ll say when to begin. Just remember what I said. Nothing overly dramatic. We want him mildly curious, nothing more.”

  Satisfied that she understood her role, he put his eye to a minor tear in the side canvas. Through it he could just make out Oristano kneeling at the pool’s edge. Phase three would start when he stood up. One way or another, he must be enticed over to the rear of the truck. Even without a weapon, David didn’t doubt his ability to kill Oristano. If he could just get him close, his bare hands would suffice. All he wanted was one clean shot at his throat!

  But could he do it quickly enough?

  The problem was going to be Oristano’s huge henchman. As he’d discussed with Rashidi, this was the true proverbial fly in the ointment. His night encounter in Matruh demonstrated just how fast the big man could move. Too, there was his incredible strength. Cold logic said nothing short of a bullet would take him down—and there lay the single, glaring flaw in the plan. Though the man was now preoccupied with Gobeir, he was also within easy lunging distance of the gathered firearms. Even if he took out Oristano quickly and got his pistol, what were the actual odds of turning it on this bastard before the lunge was made? Fifty-fifty was probably being overly optimistic. One chance in three was probably more likely.

  Too late for further speculation! Oristano was now back up on his feet. “Do it,” he whispered. “He’s looking this way.”

  Elizabeth responded on cue, projecting a weak and prolonged moan that couldn’t go unheard. Complimenting her performance, she arched her back, moving her head from side to side. The overall impression was of someone beginning to writhe in distress—and damn if Oristano wasn’t taking the bait! The smirking sonofabitch was now heading towards her. Even better, his arms were loose at his sides, his pistol still holstered. Just another thirty feet more and—

  Christ Almighty!

  David could scarcely fathom what he was seeing. Movement had pulled his eyes upward. Now he stared at the top of the bluff in stunned disbelief, watching as a figure crawled forward to the edge. What the hell did Rashidi think he was doing? The damn fool was going to ruin everything!

  Oristano continued walking towards Elizabeth, as yet unaware of what was transpiring behind him. But for how long? If Sal heard so much as the least sound—or even happened to glance back—it would all be over. Rashidi must be insane!

  Or was he?

  David suddenly understood. In a way, it actually made sense. Not good sense, to be sure, but sense nevertheless. Rashidi also understood the inherent problem in their plan, and was now attempting to resolve it by using the only weapon at his disposal—his own body! It was intending to throw himself down onto the big man at the precise moment David made his move on Oristano, hoping to buy those additional seconds so desperately needed.

  But his timing would have to be spot on!

  David found himself holding his breath as Oristano came closer. A last look up showed Rashidi now struggling to his feet, weaving awkwardly as he positioned himself to jump. God, don�
��t let him stumble!

  Of necessity, he concentrated his full attention back on Oristano. He was now less than twelve feet away, clearly visible through the narrow join of the end-flaps. Just ten feet. Now eight. David tensed, preparing to launch himself outward. Only a few more steps were needed.

  But it wasn’t to be.

  A clatter of falling pebbles proclaimed Rashidi’s failure—and in this split second David saw his chance to go for Sal’s throat irretrievably lost. Alerted to danger, Oristano had already wheeled around, drawing the pistol from his holster in one smooth motion and taking aim.

  “Above you, Sabir!”

  The shouted warning was cut short as David dove into him from behind, Oristano’s aim spoiled as much by the jarring impact as the outstretched hands that simultaneously clamped over his wrist. Locked together, they rolled across the ground, the weapon discharging three times in rapid succession as both men fought for control. One of the errant bullets came within inches of Elizabeth as she frantically tore off the gag with her freed hands. Still following David’s instructions, she crawled to the far side of the truck for protection.

  Though David’s primary concern was the gun, he wasn’t unaware of the short-bladed knife under his opponent’s belt. Luckily, it never came into play. While they were tumbling, Oristano tried to extract it, only to have it jostled out of his grasp. The final roll left David on top. Using this advantage, he drove his knee into the side of Oristano’s chest, his reward a satisfying gasp of real pain.

  But the gun wasn’t released. Either Oristano was much stronger than he appeared, David thought, or he was himself more debilitated than previously realized. The truth of it didn’t matter, for a quick glance to his left told him if he didn’t gain possession of it immediately, Rashidi was a dead man!

  His peripheral vision had already given him the bare bones of what took place. Though Rashidi lost the element of surprise, his dramatic leap yet managed to distract the formidable figure away from the stacked weapons. But at a disastrous price! Warned by Oristano, the big man had stood up to meet the attack, deflecting the brunt of the impact with a powerful swipe of his arm. As a result, Rashidi now lay sprawled face down on the sand, whether dead or unconscious, David couldn’t tell—and nor could the one called Sabir. Arm raised, he was about to plunge his dagger into the limp figure at his feet.

  David slammed his elbow hard into Oristano’s face, jamming his own finger into the suddenly vacated trigger. Despite the fact that a shaken Oristano still clung tenaciously to the handle, he forcibly aimed the pistol and squeezed off a shot.

  Yes!

  Rashidi’s would-be executioner lurched sideways with surprised pain, and a point just inches below his hip rapidly bloomed into a sizable dark smear. The bullet had struck lower than David intended, yet served its purpose, for the enraged man immediately spun around to face this new threat. By his expression, he looked half crazed, momentarily undecided as to just what his next move should be.

  David made the decision for him—firing off two more quick rounds.

  Unfortunately, neither struck home. Oristano’s strength was returning, his hand fouling all attempts at accuracy. Though the shots did force a reluctant retreat from the nearby weapons, they effectively created another danger. Damn if the bastard wasn’t now limping towards the only cover now available to him—the far side of the truck!

  Elizabeth was back there!

  David saw the hobbling man closing fast on the vehicle. Seconds more and he’d be out of sight. Knowing it was now or never, he planted his boot on Oristano’s chest and pulled for all he was worth, wrenching the gun free. He then pivoted around and took aim. This time he wouldn’t miss!

  The first shot struck squarely in the big man’s side, entering his barrel chest just to the front of his thick arm. Staggered by the hit, he yet lumbered forward, lunging towards the cab’s fender in a determined effort to remain upright. And well he might have but for the gory impact of David’s next shot. Directed even higher, the bullet ripped through his clenched jaw, snapping his head around with such force that an arcing spray of blood spewed from his mouth. Like a felled bull, he then crashed to the ground and lay still.

  David’s elation was fleeting. Detecting movement to his right, he swung the pistol around, freezing Oristano in his tracks even as the man crouched to spring. In his hand was the knife he’d retrieved from the sand.

  “Drop it, Sal!”

  Oristano glared at him, then gave a slow shake of his head.

  “No, I think not, Manning.”

  “Do it, dammit, or I’ll—”

  “Or what? You’ll kill me?” He smiled, edging backwards, his thoughts obviously on the firearms lying thirty feet behind him. “Maybe I’ll just take my chances. You been counting your shots? That clip holds eight. At best, I figure there’s only one left.”

  “Then let’s end the suspense,” said David, aiming straight into his chest. “It only takes one, doesn’t it?”

  Oristano swallowed, then glanced briefly at the truck. Curiously enough, his smile now grew. “Really? Maybe you should take another look.”

  David shifted his eyes.

  It can’t be!

  Oristano’s henchman was struggling back to his feet. Worse, Elizabeth was now standing less than a dozen paces further out, frozen, appearing transfixed by the spectacle of a hulking, blood-soaked corpse who refused to stay dead.

  “Not so simple anymore, is it, Manning?” Oristano was grinning as he edged backwards again, watching David’s eyes and playing for time. “Is it to be me, or him? He’s a killing machine, Manning—and he will kill her, I assure you!”

  The Beretta didn’t waiver in David’s hand. Despite this attempt to manipulate his emotions, he knew precisely where the greater danger lay. Without hesitation, he drew a bead on the front of Oristano’s sweat streaked shirt, and pulled the trigger.

  The only sound was a hollow click.

  David blinked, recognizing the sound of defeat. Oristano had guessed even better than he knew. The chamber was empty, the clip depleted. Now reprieved, Oristano spun and made a headlong dash for the stacked weapons.

  David charged in pursuit. Over his shoulder, he shouted, “Run, Elizabeth! For God’s sake, run!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  It took David’s screamed admonition to finally jar Elizabeth out of her trance-like state. She understood her peril, but the combined effects of confusion, hysteria—and sheer horror—had so traumatized her that she felt unable to move or act of her own free will.

  Now the spell was broken.

  She began by backing warily away from the resurrected giant, still utterly amazed anyone so bloodily disfigured was even on his feet. Was this long nightmare to never end? Unbelievably, it seemed not! Each breath the man took made a wet, rattling noise deep in his lungs as he plodded towards her. From what hellish reservoir, she wondered, did this creature draw such incredible strength? His lower face was a hideous mask of pulpy crimson, the staring, slate-colored eyes that of a demented monster—and strangely the latter was somehow even more terrifying to her than the stained dagger now raised in his hand.

  When he finally made his lunge, it was too late. Elizabeth was already several steps ahead and running hard.

  * * *

  For the second time in mere minutes, David crashed into Oristano from behind. Now, however, the effect of the collision was the culmination of a pounding run to overtake him before the weapons were reached. To this end, he succeeded. But just barely. Oristano’s out-thrust hand was only inches from his goal when the impact drove him full off his feet. Carried forward by the momentum of David’s flying tackle, both men jackknifed into the alcove of the recessed pool, their landing cushioned in an eruption of water.

  Though badly shaken, Oristano didn’t relinquish his tight hold on the short-bladed knife. Nor did he lose his instinct for survival. Breaking surface, he wrenched free of David’s hold, stabbing wildly about him as he gasped to regain his breat
h.

  David didn’t give him the chance.

  The physical limitations of his own weakened state dictated he take swift advantage of any equalizing opportunity—and he knew but one way. Submerging himself away from the slashing knife, he seized onto the other man’s belt and pulled down. The tactic worked. Caught unprepared, Oristano had no opportunity to fill his lungs as he was dragged under.

  Visibility was poor beneath the murky water, yet adequate for David’s purpose. Locating Oristano’s right arm, he seized hold of the wrist and twisted with all the force of his body. They were both sinking ever lower, he knew, yet the risk proved worthwhile. The blade finally came free, pirouetting down into the black depths below.

  But his gain was short-lived.

  As Oristano then broke loose and swam frantically upwards, the point of his boot kicked flush into David’s windpipe. His throat immediately convulsed and he expelled precious air in a burst of rising bubbles. Worse still, the boot remained atop his shoulder, holding him down. His faculties were slipping, the need for oxygen now an expanding pain at his temples.

  It can’t end this way!

  Lungs aching, he made a desperate grab, catching hold of Oristano’s ankle before he could reach the surface. Again he pulled down, drawing him back with the last of his strength. If he was going to drown, then it damn well wasn’t going to be alone!

  Denied air, Oristano reacted in a frenzy of flailing arms and legs—yet David clung to him tenaciously. Thus locked in deadly embrace, they spun and tumbled for what seemed an eternity, the faint light now so diminished as to confuse up from down. In reality, it was but seconds, for neither man retained the energy to long sustain the struggle. The mutual thrashing slowly eased, the vehemence of their hatred now blurred by encroaching oblivion.

  It was David who finally let go.

  For some inexplicable reason, he found himself pressed up against a ceiling of unyielding stone. The how and why of this, he couldn’t comprehend. He only knew the enveloping darkness appeared somewhat less threatening ahead, and he moved in this direction until the smooth stone began curving away from his numbed fingers. Now he felt the distinct sensation of rising. There was a definite soft glimmering above—and it could only be one thing! As a dazed man struggles up from the depths of a horrific dream, he swam up towards the light.