Havoc - v4

by Jack Du Brul

  He drew back on the wire, pulling it past what he’d managed before, until the downy feathers at the end of the arrow touched his cheek. Salibi had shifted position, hiding behind a towering thighbone of what the ancients believed was a cyclops. Mercer could just make out a sliver of his face through the forest of interwoven bones.

  Shifting his aim a fraction of an inch, Mercer let fly. The ninety pounds of pull he’d maintained on the ancient weapon sent the arrow singing though the air. It shot through the gap between the hips and tail of the hydra, passed the length of its rib cage and out a hole in its shoulder before streaking to the next skeleton. Here too Mercer’s aim held true. The arrow barely brushed the tooth of the snake-like creature as it arced through its open jaw. And then it passed through the bones of another monster.

  Salibi must have heard the sound of the bow because he turned at the last second. The arrow sliced though his cheek, breaking when it hit the bone but still carrying enough speed for the tip to pierce his skull. He was dead before he hit the ground.

  Mercer readied another arrow and continued the hunt. The firing suddenly stopped and he lowered himself behind a column, waiting to see what would happen next. He detected shadowy movement heading in the direction of Alexander’s tomb, but he wasn’t quick enough with the bow. He continued around the perimeter of the chamber, his eyes straining to see in the uneven light of the braziers while making sure whoever had entered the third room didn’t reemerge.

  A hand reached out and grabbed his ankle. He jerked it free and heaved on the bow, letting off the tension when he saw Ibriham Ahmad lying on the stone floor. His customary black suit was shiny at the shoulder and along his side. The sheen was fresh blood.

  Mercer knelt at his side. “How bad are you hit?”

  “I am dead, Dr. Mercer.” His voice was a hoarse croak. “Yet I go to my grave knowing the alembic will not leave this place.”

  “You dynamited the entrance to seal us in.”

  He nodded stiffly. “When I blew up the tunnel only Devrin and one other were left. I could not risk losing the fight.”

  Had the Turk not already been dying, Mercer would have killed him with his bare hands. “You could have fucking warned me you were going to pull something like this, for God’s sake.”

  “It is for God’s sake I did it. There was no other way. Our sacrifice will save millions.”

  That was the difference between them. Mercer was willing to risk his life on even the slimmest odds, but willingly knowing there was absolutely no chance was something he couldn’t comprehend.

  “I only managed to get one of them,” Ibriham slurred. He was going fast.

  “Poli?”

  “No, an Arab.”

  “I got Salibi.”

  “May Allah’s blessing be upon you, and may he rot for all eternity in the most foul hell.”

  Trapped in this subterranean nightmare he might be, but as long as Mercer was alive there was always hope. He’d take care of Poli first and then try to figure a way to get himself and Ahmad out of here. That must have been the one-eyed assassin he’d seen skulking back into the burial chamber.

  “Where’s your gun?” Mercer asked the Janissary.

  “I am out of ammunition. I think we all are. That is why Poli stopped shooting.”

  “Haven’t any of you heard of fire discipline?” Mercer spat. “Well, if I could take Salibi with a bow I can do the same to Poli. Are you going to be okay for a couple of minutes?”

  “No, Doctor. I will be dead.” He said it with calm resignation.

  Mercer didn’t know what to say. He laid a hand gently on Ahmad’s good shoulder. “Vaya con Dios.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It’s Spanish. It means go with God.”

  “You could give me no better blessing,” Ibriham said with a faint smile and then he simply didn’t take another breath.

  Mercer gently closed his eyes. “Enjoy your virgins, my friend. You’ve earned them.”

  He stood and quickly made his way down the columned promenade, an arrow at the ready. At the entrance to the burial chamber he paused and scanned the space, unable to see anyone hiding amid the clutter of funerary artifacts. He took a cautious step into the room.

  The bronze sword swung in a tight arc and sliced into the tough wooden bow, which saved Mercer’s life. Poli had been hiding just inside the entrance ready to ambush him.

  The blow sent Mercer staggering back, and the sword lodged in the bow was ripped from Poli’s hand. Stunned by the attack, Mercer tried to dislodge the blade but it was stuck fast. Poli reared from around the corner, his single eye glinting in the firelight. Mercer backpedaled to give himself room. When he drew the bow the weakened wood broke where it had been sliced and the weapon just sagged in his hands.

  Poli was only a couple feet away, his massive arms outstretched as he towered over Mercer. Mercer threw the bow at him. Poli caught it, contemptuously tossed it aside, and came on like a machine.

  “You are a dead man.”

  “Funny,” Mercer said. “I was about to tell you the same thing.”

  Poli lunged at him. Mercer dashed to his left to avoid the attack and almost got free, but one of Poli’s big hands clamped down on his wrist. He turned on the inside and punched the Bulgarian under the arm. It was like hitting a truck tire.

  Poli bent his wrist back, forcing Mercer to his knees. The mercenary fired a fist into Mercer’s face using all his weight. Mercer felt his nose break and the blood jet from his nostrils before he lost consciousness for a second. Poli yanked on his arm to rouse him and punched him again, even harder.

  Mercer felt like he was being worked over with a sledgehammer. Poli heaved him to his feet and shoved him back against a wall. He tried to knee Mercer in the groin but Mercer shifted just enough to take the blow on the thigh. The leg went numb to his toes.

  “I have never particularly enjoyed killing people,” Poli said. He wasn’t even breathing hard. “It is something I happened to learn I was good at doing.”

  “So maybe now’s a good time to quit,” Mercer said and spat a glob of blood on the ground.

  “But I am going to enjoy killing you. It will be hours before they dig us out so I am going to take my time.” He casually cuffed Mercer on the side of the head.

  When he let go, Mercer couldn’t stay on his feet and he collapsed. Poli grabbed him by the hair and started dragging him back into the burial chamber. Mercer grabbed Poli’s wrist to lessen the pain as his scalp was nearly ripped off.

  Poli dragged him upright again and, using one hand to hold him and one hand to punch him, fired a rapid series of shots into Mercer’s already bloody face. There was nothing Mercer could do but take the beating. He’d fought, and even defeated, men who were bigger than himself, but nobody with Poli’s size or immeasurable strength. He felt as powerless as a child at the hands of an abuser.

  When Poli stopped, Mercer collapsed again. The big assassin went to a pile of swords leaning against a stack of sandalwood boxes. He came back, testing the edge, and showed Mercer the bloody line it left on his thumb.

  “How do you think you’ll look without skin?”

  Mercer could just lie there and stare up at him. Poli set the weapon down and forced him onto his feet again, saying, “I thought you were tough. The least you could do is make this interesting.” Holding one of Mercer’s arms Poli spun in place like a discus thrower and tossed him across the room. Mercer smashed into one of the chariots, almost flipping over its side. He couldn’t straighten himself by the time Poli grabbed him and threw him again. This time he crashed into the long wooden skiff Alexander was to use on the rivers of the underworld.

  Poli reached for him again and just as his hands clamped on the back of Mercer’s neck, Mercer turned and rammed the butt end of a skinny oar into the giant’s eye.

  Poli Feines roared in pain as blood and clear ocular fluid sprayed from the wound. Mercer took a painful step forward and rammed the oar deeper into the eye
socket. Poli’s screams turned shrill.

  Mercer reached out and yanked the oar from Poli’s eye and the merciless killer fell to the ground, clutching at his ruined face. “You’ve blinded me.”

  Mercer grabbed a nearby lance to help keep him on his feet. “Not exactly an eye for an eye, you sadistic son of a bitch, but I think you get the point.”

  Dawn was just brushing the eastern horizon when Cali Stowe brought the big Riva close to shore, where Booker Sykes and Devrin Egemen were waving her in. Behind them the camp was still, littered with the corpses of fifty terrorists. The Janissaries had won but at what cost? She scanned the beach for Mercer but there was no sign of him.

  “He’s not dead,” she whispered as tears formed in her eyes. “He’s only a little wounded. He’s okay.”

  As soon as she was in earshot she shouted, “Where’s Mercer? He’s not dead. He can’t be.”

  Booker and Devrin looked at her stonily. She dropped the anchor and raced for the stern dive platform. She didn’t even kick off her shoes before jumping into the cool lake and stroking for the shore.

  She scrambled to her feet as soon as it was shallow enough and charged out of the water, practically colliding with Booker. “Where’s Mercer?” she screamed.

  There was blood on Booker’s uniform and his eyes were glassy with exhaustion. He could barely stay on his feet. Devrin was in even worse shape. His pants leg was sodden where he’d taken a bullet.

  “He was underground when Professor Ahmad blew up the entrance to the tomb,” the young Turk said.

  Cali fell to the ground and started to sob. “Was there anybody else down there?” When no one answered her Cali knew the worst. “How many?”

  “Four, including Poli Feines,” Booker said.

  “He might already be dead.” Her sobs turned into choking gasps as the enormity hit her. Mercer was dead. “Oh God, oh God.”

  Booker hunkered down next to her. “We don’t know that for sure. He’s one tough piece of work. We’ll dig him out. We just need to get people here with heavy equipment.”

  “That will take days. What if he’s injured? He could be bleeding to death right now.”

  “Honey, there’s nothing we can do,” Booker soothed. “The quicker we get going the quicker we can come back. We’ll call Admiral Lasko and he’ll get the ball rolling. We have to go. Devrin needs to show that leg to a sawbones.”

  “But…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Cali, I know you think you should stay but sitting here watching a pile of dirt isn’t going to help him. We can be back here first thing tomorrow with a chopper and enough people to get him out.”

  “I just can’t. I mean he’s…”

  “I can’t believe it either but this is the only thing we can do. Come on.”

  Cali let Booker draw her to her feet. They used the terrorists’ speedboat to motor out to the Riva. Booker and Cali had to carry the injured Janissary onto the luxury yacht. The scholar was going into shock from exhaustion and loss of blood. They set him in Cali’s cabin and they tucked blankets around his shivering body after Booker had redressed his wound. Booker asked Cali to stay with Devrin until he fell asleep, and then climbed up to the cockpit. Cali stroked Devrin’s feverish forehead, carefully brushing back his hair, her emotions in such turmoil that she could focus on nothing but the simple gesture.

  The big engines rumbled to life and the Riva started to pull away from shore. Cali left Devrin and made her way to the stern window. The camp was quickly receding behind them as Booker brought the boat onto plane, a fat white wake forming a V that spread across the whole width of this narrow part of the bay.

  She was about to turn away when she spotted something else marring the flat surface of the water. She almost dismissed it as a rogue wave but something piqued her curiosity, a vague sense of something she knew was caused by grief. Still, she ran out into the open dive platform. Unable to make out what had caught her interest she launched herself up the stairs to the top deck for a better vantage.

  “Book,” she screamed, and when he didn’t hear her over the rumbling diesels, she ran up and smacked him on the shoulder. “Go back. Go back. There’s someone in the water.”

  “What?”

  “There’s someone in the water. Turn around.”

  Booker shot her a dubious look but cranked the wheel over anyway. They backtracked fifty yards, keeping the engines at low RPMs, both of them scanning the water but unable to see anything except their own wake.

  “You sure you saw something?”

  Doubt crept into Cali’s eyes. “I thought I did.”

  “Come on, we’ve got to get Devrin to a hospital.” He had cranked the wheel again and eased up the throttles when Cali shouted and pointed. On the crest of their fading wake a man was lying facedown in the water. Booker changed direction and gunned the engines. In seconds they were gliding by the pitiable figure.

  “I don’t believe it.”

  Cali grabbed a life ring and jumped over the side of the boat. The ring was torn from her hands when she hit the water and was driven deep but she found it when she resurfaced. She began to paddle wildly, pushing the ring ahead of her. It hit the man and turned him over. One arm came out of the water and draped over the flotation device. Mercer lifted his head from the water with a rakish grin on his battered but still handsome face. “I never figured Booker would try to steal my girl.”

  Cali kissed him hungrily but Mercer had to push her back. His mouth was a bloody mess. “How?” she asked as they bobbed in the water.

  “The tunnel was only partially collapsed,” Mercer panted. “I used Poli’s scuba gear to swim down until I found a place where the earthquake had opened up the ceiling enough for me to fit through. I let buoyancy do the rest.”

  Arlington, Virginia

  “Hi, Harry. I’m home,” Mercer called as he stepped through the doorway, feeling like a suburban husband from a fifties TV show.

  Harry must have gotten the same feeling because he growled down from the upstairs bar, “I’m not getting your pipe and slippers.”

  “What about mine?” Cali asked with a smile.

  “Pipes are unladylike and I’ve got a foot fetish so I’d rather see you without slippers.” Harry’s tone then darkened. “Can you guys come up here? There’s something you have to listen to.”

  Mercer was on crutches because of his bad knee and it took him a few moments to negotiate the curving staircase. Harry got up from his bar stool when they entered. He looked at the crutches and scoffed. “I lost my leg fifty odd years ago and only just started using a cane, while you get a little boo-boo on your knee and you’re on crutches.”

  “Painkillers too,” Mercer said a little dreamily. “Lots and lots of painkillers, which I plan to mix with a drink and promptly pass out.”

  Harry kissed Cali’s cheek. “With his face all banged up like that no one would blame you for dumping him and going out with me.”

  “I don’t think I could keep up with you,” she teased back.

  “I’d go easy on you.” He smiled lecherously. “Seriously, when Mercer called from Egypt I was very relieved you were okay. And Booker too. I like him.”

  “What about me?” Mercer asked sarcastically.

  “I’ve seen your will. I get the house if you buy the farm so I was rooting for the terrorists.”

  “You’re all heart.” Mercer settled onto one of the couches, laying the crutches on the floor. Drag sprawled on the opposite couch with his legs raised stiffly in the air. If not for his snoring Mercer would have thought he was dead. “You’ve got something we need to hear.”

  Harry went behind the bar. He fixed drinks for everyone, then set the answering machine on the polished mahogany. Cali handed Mercer his gimlet and sat next to him. “Couple of things actually. First off, Ira called with a report out of Russia. Seems they recovered seventy barrels of plutonium from that train. They’re on their way to a permanent storage facility.”

  “We counted sixty-eigh
t,” Cali said.

  Harry held up a finger for her to be patient. “They did a check of them and discovered two had recently been submerged in sea water.”

  “We were right about Popov then,” Mercer said. “He was in Novorossiysk to find those last two drums and cover his ass.”

  “Ira said that his arrest, trial, and execution took place yesterday.”

  “Gotta love Russian justice,” Mercer said. “What’s the second thing?”

  “A guy called yesterday when I was doing the crossword. I let the machine pick it up but when I figured out what I was listening to I grabbed the phone. Listen for yourself.” He pressed the play button.

  “Ah yes, Dr. Mercer, I apologize for not calling sooner; however I was on an archaeological dig near Ephesus.” Mercer didn’t recognize the voice but the accent sounded Turkish. The speaker also sounded elderly. “This is Professor Ibriham Ahmad of the University of Istanbul. I understand you wanted to discuss the legend of the Alembic of Skenderbeg. There’s really nothing to it but I will be happy to talk to you. Feel free to—” The answering machine beeped.

  “That’s when I picked up,” Harry said.

  The warm glow of the Percocets coursing though Mercer’s veins turned into a cold chill. When he found his voice he said stupidly, “And you talked to him.”

  “For about twenty minutes. And I can tell you right now that he’s not the guy who kidnapped Cali or saved our butts in Atlantic City or died in Alexander’s tomb four days ago like you told me.”

  Mercer and Cali just stared at each other.

  “He is the professor you originally called about Skenderbeg,” Harry went on. “He’s an expert on him, knew everything down to his hat size but he said that the legend of him using a weapon belonging to Alexander the Great is just that, a myth. It never happened.”

  “Well he’s wrong. I saw the damned thing.”

  “I’m just repeating what he told me. He also said that he’s never heard of any new Janissary order.”

  It took Mercer a second to grasp what Harry was telling him. “Then the guy in Egypt and Russia?”