robert Charrette - Arthur 02 - A King Beneath the Mountain

by Robert N. Charrette

  "You're sure?" responded a voice from the speaker.

  "I told you we didn't find anybody."

  "Stay there," ordered the voice. "Don't touch anything until Gower and his crew get there."

  "Wilco." Floyd switched off the hand unit. "God, I hate this spook stuff."

  "Relax," said Charley. "There's nothing to this spook stuff. It'll take at least an hour for them to get here. At least we don't got to do patrol now." Charley flopped himself onto the couch and ordered the vid wall awake. He jumped channels until he found a rehash of the last Middle Eastern war. Floyd joined him on the couch and helped him watch the show.

  Faye's presence nudged at John.

  "John, they're going to stay and I can't keep this up forever. We ought to leave."

  "Let's go then."

  The door swung into his path.

  "We can't just walk past them," Faye said.

  "Why not. They can't see you, and you're not letting them see me."

  "If you start moving around, the spell won't work."

  "Oh."

  "I can distract them, though. Then you can run for the door. I'll meet you outside."

  "What have you got in mind?"

  She didn't answer; she was gone.

  Something clattered in the kitchen.

  The two guards looked at each other. "Cleaning 'bots?"

  "I shut 'em down," Charley said.

  "I was afraid you had."

  "We'd better check it out."

  "Damn, I hate this apartment."

  They drew their weapons and advanced on the kitchen.

  "Shit!" Floyd exclaimed. "Look at that."

  John didn't; he ran for the door. The guards were too focused on the kitchen to notice him. There was another loud clatter as he opened the door. Charley shouted, "Look out!" John stepped into the corridor. The door slammed shut behind him, cutting off Floyd's cursing.

  "Where are we going, John?" Faye asked. She was beside him again.

  "Out of here," he said. He didn't know where, but anywhere was better than here. There was nothing for him here now, nothing but trouble, and he was not very fond of trouble. But somehow he was getting the feeling that trouble had become fond of him.

  He and Faye took the elevator down. No point in worrying now; Mitsutomo knew he'd been here. They didn't see any more security guards nor any sign of Gower's crew on their way out of Rezcom 3.

  The elf walked between the worlds. It was easier now than it had been a few months ago. It would get easier still. For the moment, however, only certain folk could find the way. He reminded his companion to stay close to him, where the magic of passage would enfold him.

  They emerged in a small park overlooking the old heart of the city. Providence, they had named it. What a mockery that was! Like so many of their cities, once it had been an island of blight on the land. Now, the blight had spread until it merged into a pustulant stretch of the lifeless and the life-taking. The green and the life-giving were now the islands. They called it urban sprawl. His word for it had no translation into any of their languages; they did not have sufficiently obscene words.

  "Uh-gly," his companion said, looking out over the skyscrapers and roads and lights.

  "But your kind can find roosts among their towers. That is why you are useful to me."

  "Air naaht riight."

  "Yes. You must be careful. The magic is not yet strong enough to support your flight everywhere."

  His companion unfolded his wings and gave them a tentative flap as if to test the statement. He grunted agreement.

  "Take this." The elf held out a scrap of garment. The rest had gone to other hunters. "Find him if you can."

  "Wiill. Wiill naaht fail you, loord."

  "See that you do, Gorshin." The elf had heard that promise before. He hoped that it would be so. "Go."

  Gorshin left him in a fluttering, awkward glide, heading for the city. The elf turned and walked back the way he'd come. There were matters that needed his attention.

  CHAPTER

  2

  "Your personal interest in this operation is commendable, Ms. Martinez."

  If Nakaguchi hadn't shouted, Pamela wouldn't have heard him over the roar of the engines. There was nothing to be gained by shouting back. She gave Nakaguchi a polite smile he didn't deserve. He seemed satisfied and continued on his way to the cockpit. Pamela went back to staring out the window at the mountains through which they traveled.

  Just how much did kansayaku Nakaguchi know? Certainly he knew enough to name some names that Pamela had thought sufficiently concealed from her superiors. How much more? If he knew all, as he claimed, why had he not exposed her operation? Instead Nakaguchi had involved himself in the Charybdis Project without cutting her out of the operations. An unusual course. What did he have in mind?

  She intended to find out, and this trip had offered her the first chance to uncover his agenda. Investigations in this part of the world hadn't been part of her program, yet Nakaguchi had arranged the trip here using Charybdis resources. She had been surprised when he had agreed to let her come along.

  Foolish of him. She planned on taking advantage of the opportunity.

  The noise level in the Aureohuida Caballo™ helicopter was abominable. Company equipment would have been quieter, but while Mitsutomo Keiretsu was one of the dominant megacorporations of the world economic community, the Keiretsu didn't have a very strong presence in South America and some of the usual travel amenities were lacking. She half suspected that Nakaguchi had deliberately chosen such substandard transport.

  The Caballo began to buck in the treacherous mountain winds as the rotary-winged craft dipped in closer to the granite claws reaching up from below. Pamela gripped her armrests tightly. She already had her harness in place and watched as the unwise among her fellow passengers hastily sought to fasten theirs and maintain some decorum. Nakaguchi seemed to be enjoying the lurching flight, but most of the others looked sick. Pamela didn't find the gut-wrenching ride to her liking either. She heard the nauseating sound of someone vomiting behind her and hoped the unfortunate had managed to reach his airsickness bag in time.

  The jolt of the first wheel striking ground was little different from the more energetic bounces the helicopter had taken during its descent. Pamela didn't even think about releasing her harness until she was satisfied that all four wheels had touched down and the craft was firmly on the ground.

  Duncan Middleton, her personal assistant, joined her as she unlatched the last buckle. He was the only member of her staff that Nakaguchi had cleared for the trip.

  "Mr. Hagen's not much of a flier," Duncan said, smiling smugly.

  Pamela glanced back as she stood and stepped into the aisle. Hendrik Hagen looked sick, pale and strained. Pale flecks in his dark beard marked him as the passenger with the weak stomach. If he'd been one of hers, she would have felt some sympathy, or at least said something sympathetic. As it was, she felt vaguely pleased with the man's discomfort.

  Hagen had shown up with the second wave of Nakaguchi's invasion. The roster listed him as a public relations specialist, obviously a cover for his actual function in Nakaguchi's organization. Her people still hadn't sorted out exactly what he did for Nakaguchi.

  When he was more composed, Hagen looked a lot like Sorii. In fact, the first time she'd seen him, Pamela had thought he might be Sorii. Only he hadn't shown any sign of recognizing her, and the Sorii she'd known wouldn't have let the meeting go past unremarked. Nevertheless, the resemblance was so strong that she'd done some checking, just to be sure, and found that Hagen had been with Nakaguchi's staff almost as long as Sorii had been on her payroll. As far as her sources had been able to tell, the two men were related by no more than the fact that both were afflicted with dwarfism.

  A smiling Nakaguchi emerged from the cockpit. "The pilot wishes you all to know that our landing was not something of which he is proud. He did the best he could under the circumstances. Something about excess baggage."
>
  That Nakaguchi ended his survey of the assembled passengers by looking at Pamela was surely no coincidence. What was he playing at? He could have denied her permission to come along.

  "If this find is as important as you seem to think, it is only appropriate that I be there."

  "Did I say otherwise?"

  His look of innocence was probably very effective with office ladies, but Pamela wasn't buying. "Not directly."

  He gave up on the pretense and shifted to a more confidential tone. "Ms. Martinez, you are still in charge of the North American Group. Nominally. I am sure you know your geography well enough to realize where we are."

  She did. What she didn't know was why he was being so lenient. Did she hold some advantage of which she was unaware? Only time would tell. Meanwhile, she would hold on to—and use—every advantage that she did have. "The location is unimportant. This is a Charybdis Project operation."

  "Of course it is. And the Project is still listed under your table of organization. However, I don't think I need to remind you of who is actually in charge."

  "My name is on the appropriations. I have a right to be here."

  "And so you are here. I have to ask myself why. You were content before to let others do the work and take the risks. What prompts such intense, and personal, interest now?"

  "Times change."

  "Indeed they do. Now more than ever before. But your Charybdis Project has taught you something of that, hasn't it?" he asked, smiling knowingly.

  He didn't seem to really expect an answer, so Pamela didn't give him one. She just smiled back at him. Let him wonder what was behind that!

  With a bang and a clatter, the hull door opened and the access stairway rattled out. Someone clumped up and called for "Senor Nakaguchi."

  "Here," he said.

  Nakaguchi proved himself as boorish as the local by casting corporate etiquette to the wind. The two of them spoke briefly, softly enough that the noise of the dying engine masked their words. Nakaguchi left the helicopter without speaking to anyone else on board. Annoyed, Pamela sat down and watched Nakaguchi's aides depart. Hagen was the last to leave. He stopped by her seat.

  "He'll be in a hurry," he said.

  "So?"

  "You might want to change into something more suitable for climbing."

  "Climbing?" she asked, pretending she didn't know what he was talking about. Duncan had intercepted Nakaguchi's predeparture memo instructing his aides to bring mountaineering equipment, and they had come prepared.

  "We will be going up the mountain."

  "I see. Why are you telling me this now?"

  "Trying to save trouble. I can arrange some gear if you'd like."

  "No, thank you. That will be unnecessary."

  Hagen shrugged. "Suit yourself."

  "I will," she said to his back as he left the helicopter.

  When Nakaguchi returned, Pamela and Duncan were already attired in their tight-fitting Mountaineer HiClimber™ suits, their packs and harnesses loaded and ready to don. His aides were still fumbling with their less hi-tech gear. Nakaguchi seemed surprised—from the way he looked her over twice—as much by the form her HiClimber revealed as from the fact that she was wearing it and ready to go. Characteristically, he hid his surprise with an attack.

  "Do you even have the slightest comprehension of what we are headed for?" he asked.

  She matched his condescending tone with her own. "A little hypocritical to berate me for not knowing what's going on when you won't release reports to me."

  "You haven't received reports? I'm shocked. Isn't Charybdis Project under your direct supervision? Of course it is, isn't it? You told me so yourself only today. Clearly there has been a slipup somewhere along the line. Perhaps you should reevaluate your staff. I'd assumed you were aware of why we are here."

  "I am in no mood for your games."

  "Games. You think I'm playing games?"

  "You seem to have a great fondness for them."

  "I do. It's true. And you know, I always play to win. It's an attitude with which I'm sure you empathize. But games are not the issue here today. History is the issue. Or, more properly, time is the issue: the past meeting the future."

  "Save the advertising slogans for the proles."

  "They are not the only ones needing inspiration, Ms. Martinez. Mitsutomo is embarked on a great enterprise here. We stand on the verge of a new day, a new way of life." Nakaguchi began to take on an uncomfortable resemblance to one of the Bible-thumping preachers from the religion channels. "The world was not always as it is today. There were giants in the earth once. All in a time when being a giant meant something other than being a megacorporation. Men were heroes then, able to stride across the world and make it their own in ways that modern people scoff at and call magical.

  The uninitiated consign such stuff to legends, to fantasy. But you have already had a taste of the reality that underlies the stories. You know that some legends are more than fairy stories. That knowledge puts you among the pioneers charting the course into the future. You have had a taste of the power that awaits those who are bold enough to reach out and seize it."

  What she'd had was a taste of disaster. "Legends are unsubstantiated fantasy. Very dangerous in the modern world."

  "Unsubstantiated? Not at all." Nakaguchi continued his patronizing speech. "Have you never wondered why there are certain myths that have analogues all over the world? The very persistence and pervasiveness of such myths give weight to their truth. At the heart of such persevering stories there must be a foundation of reality, something true and concrete upon which the stones are built. Consider the legends from all over the world about heroes who lie asleep, awaiting the time that they will walk the earth again."

  "The age of heroes is over," Pamela told him. If there had ever been one.

  "Is it over? The myths say that the time for heroes will come again. Look at the state of the world today. Could we not use a hero or two? Say, an Arthur with his dream of Camelot, or a Charlemagne to stand against the hordes seeking to tear down civilization. Or a Siegfried, slayer of giants and dragons. Consider what such a man could do today."

  "There is not much call for dragon-slayers today. A knight in shining armor can't do much against an automatic weapon."

  "Your view is excessively narrow. Such a man was not a hero because of mere physical capabilities. A man nearly deified in the memory of his fellows had to be more than a simple warrior. He would have had attributes and skills necessary to make him a great man, a leader. At their core such skills are as applicable today as they were then; people are still people. Such a man would be capable of changing any world he was a part of." Nakaguchi's tone became conspiratorial. "But such a man will need guidance to understand the changes since he last walked the earth, guidance that we must stand ready to provide."

  Stand ready to provide? Despite the sun's heat, Pamela felt a chill. "You have found a sleeper."

  "Very good, Ms. Martinez. Yes, we have found a sleeper, a man who has been in suspended animation through the power of magic. I believe that he is a man who can change the balance of power in the strange new world we face."

  "For the good of Mitsutomo?"

  With only the slightest hesitation, he responded, "Of course."

  "And who is this sleeper?"

  Instead of answering, Nakaguchi directed his gaze over her shoulder. She turned to see a heavyset man approaching. The man wore soiled fatigues and a battered hat and looked more than a little disreputable. He spoke, loudly, before he reached a normal conversation distance.

  "It's good you're here." The man spoke Mexican, but his accent wasn't that of the city. His dark skin and hooked nose said he had some of the old blood, so she guessed he was from the southeast part of the country. He gave her a quick, leering glance and spoke to Nakaguchi. "Traveling with amenities, Patron Nakaguchi?"

  Did he know she understood him? Did he care?

  "Ms. Martinez is an officer of Mitsutomo," Na
kaguchi said.

  "Sorry, senora. We see few company officers out here." He didn't sound sorry at all.

  "Ms. Martinez, this is Joaquin Azana. Joaquin is the head of the discovery team. He is very well known in certain antiquities circles."

  A polite way of saying he was a tomb robber. He certainly had the manners of one. He gave Pamela only the slightest of nods and focused his attention entirely on Nakaguchi.

  "You want to see the site today, we must climb now, patron. There is little time to reach it before dark."

  "Surely you have lights up there."

  "Ai, yeah. Battery lamps only. Not enough for all night."

  "Then we will bring more with us."

  Azana shifted his footing. "There's not a lot of room up there. Best we come back down to the camp before dark."

  "Afraid of the dark, Mr. Azana?" Pamela asked.

  "No," Azana said rather quickly. "It is just the desk people. They will not fare well on the mountain in the dark."

  Pamela tucked her hair up under her climbing helmet and tightened the strap. "Then we'd best be going, hadn't we?"

  Azana looked from her to Nakaguchi.

  "Ms. Martinez is right."

  "Yes, patron."

  They left the camp, walking in a disorganized clump until the path forced a more linear arrangement. Azana took the lead, with Nakaguchi second. There was a moment of tension when Hagen moved to follow on the heels of his boss, and Duncan stepped in his way. The little man glared, but subsided after a glance at Pamela. She took the third position and Duncan stepped in immediately behind her, leaving Hagen standing there. When Pamela looked back the little man was still standing there, glowering; the rest of Nakaguchi's people had filed past him.

  Azana swarmed up the mountain like a llama and his previous concern for the "desk people" didn't seem to extend to making allowances for their slower speed. Nakaguchi followed close behind the Mexican and, not to be outdone, Pamela pushed herself to keep up. The Breathe-EZ™ acclimatization tablet she'd taken was improving her oxygen uptake, making the climb less dangerous than it would have been, but the headache starting to pound behind her eyes almost made her long for the altitude sickness she could have otherwise expected. At least then she could have passed out and taken a rest without losing face. As it was, she pushed herself, feeding the headache with her exertion. She wasn't overheating, though; the HiClimber suit was doing its job and keeping her body temperature comfortable.