Relics

by K. T. Tomb

  “It’s just that Olmec was special,” she continued. “I have gone out on quests before, but that one was different. Where now?” They were coming to the end of two miles.

  “Left at the next light.”

  Phoe reached the next light just as it changed and screeched the tires around the corner, going much too fast for the turn, but maintaining perfect control. Both Peter and Jonathan gripped their seats nervously.

  “What about Simon Kessler? Didn’t he fund the expedition? Wasn’t he disappointed that you didn’t bring the head back to him?” asked Peter, not near as agitated as before.

  “Yes, but there was a stipulation to our agreement. Simon wanted to take it on tour for a year. He said he would have me travel with it, accompanied by a documentary of me explaining what I had to go through to bring it back to the States. He told me that after a year of promoting the hell out of Olmec, he would give it to me.” Her voice trembled.

  Peter eyed her disbelievingly. “The Head of Olmec? You really believe he would just hand it over like a bag of potato chips?” He mouthed a sorry to Kessler’s kid in the back seat.

  “Pretty much,” said Phoe. “I mean, the notoriety and everything would be cool, but I desired owning a genuine important artifact above all else. I’m not greedy like some people... I just wanted one. The Head of Olmec is an amazing piece with an incredible history. I didn’t even care about the recognition, really. It would have brought a lot of people to Simple Treasures, though. Would’ve—”

  Jonathan leaned forward and peered at them both. His tone was meant to comfort her. “I don’t think you have to worry about that much longer, Phoe.”

  “What do you mean?” she snapped, still lost in her own frustration.

  “Right here!” Peter broke in.

  “Right where? There’s nowhere to turn.”

  “We’re here. This is it.” Peter announced.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  When the Camry pulled up in front of Die Bruderschaft, it was 9:45 p.m.

  The parking lot was sparsely populated, and the building itself seemed older than most of the buildings in the area. A weathered, blue neon sign of two hands in a brotherly handshake hung over the doorway. One exterior wall of the bar was covered with graffiti.

  “What a charming neighborhood,” commented Phoe, after parking a block away and making certain that the car alarm chirped into service as they walked back toward the place.

  The three strolled casually toward the bar. Phoe felt like a thousand eyes were staring at her from the darkened homes and businesses along both sides of the street. She could tell that Peter felt the same thing, while Jonathan seemed oblivious.

  “This bar will probably be host to all kinds of seedy characters,” Peter warned.

  “Then you should feel right at home,” she said. “If not, I’ll protect you.”

  They all chuckled. It felt good to her to cut the growing uneasiness.

  “Don’t be so sure of yourself on this one, Phoe,” Peter chided playfully. “You might find yourself needing me to protect you! If they will even let you in.”

  “Why wouldn’t they let me in?” she asked.

  “They might take the word brotherhood seriously. You hardly have the look or the shape of a brother.”

  Phoe considered a response, but decided against it as they paused in front of the front steps and glanced up and down the street.

  They walked up the front steps and entered the bar. The beat of heavy metal music filled the air, and with it they were assaulted by the odor of people who rarely bathed. Of the three, only Peter looked like he might not hurl. But politeness seemed like the smartest approach among the room full of frowning, suspicious faces, which all turned toward them.

  They approached the bar, where a few older men leaned without barstools. The bartender was a fifty-ish, overweight man wearing a filthy T-shirt that might have been white at one time. His scruffy red beard looked as if he’d been trying for years to grow it, but only succeeded in making his face look rusty.

  The bartender immediately took issue with their presence.

  “Bitte nehmen Sie sich die Argumentation nicht!” he snarled.

  Before Jonathan could begin to make headway in German, the bartender pulled out a long stick still bearing the bark from when it was found, or torn from a tree. He held it menacingly, forcing the trio to leave.

  “Shit! What are we going to do now?” Phoe lamented. Two other rough looking men moved in behind them, guarding the doorway once the trio reached the parking lot. “Well, Peter. It seems like we hit a nerve, just by our presence alone.”

  Suddenly, her hotline to Simon rang. Bad timing, Simon! But with Peter and Jonathan’s urging, she took the call.

  “What, Simon? What?”

  “That’s the thanks I get for giving you vital information?” said Simon.

  “I was in the middle of trying to get information from the locals!”

  “Ha! I bet that’s going over like a big, mean stick, isn’t it?” he responded with a laugh.

  How the hell does he know our every move? She glanced around at Jonathan, glaring at him. She could see nothing about him that screamed of tracking device or video surveillance.

  “Phoe, I have information that will rival any dribble you can get from them. You’re going to have to learn to trust me. Trust me now!”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Phoe continued her conversation with Simon, trying to take in all the details. Most she managed to retain, but the approach of a familiar face from behind the bar building distracted her. Especially, when the figure carried a sheathed sword.

  “We’ll have to continue this call later, Simon,” she said into the phone, while pointing to the figure now trotting toward them. “Bye!”

  “You three have a lot of nerve!” The figure removed the sword, the blade gleaming in the lone streetlight’s glow.

  Jeremy Riddick’s angry face soon came into view. Dressed in a black trench coat, it appeared that he hadn’t shaved, bathed, or slept since their earlier encounter. But his blue eyes were on fire, adding to the frightful state of his greased-back hair and ashen complexion.

  “Francis told me you were on your way here. How sad that you were foolish to pursue me!” he taunted. “Well, here I am. What the hell do you want from me?”

  So, that little shit, Francis had sent them right into a trap. Phoe shot a wary glance at Peter, and his unsure response told her that they shared the same fear he would rather fight than answer their questions.

  “All right, Jeremy,” said Phoe, after taking a deep breath. “How did you get here before us? And, what happened with the laptops back in Norway? I was recently informed there was a strong electrical surge through the computer room, as if it was hit by a bolt of lightning.”

  This announcement caught Peter and Jonathan by surprise.

  “Lightning? Where did you get that information?” Peter whispered.

  “Let me tell you later, please. Just trust me,” she whispered in return. “So, Jeremy? We’ll start with those two questions and go from there.”

  Jeremy snickered. “I have access to things you wouldn’t understand.”

  “That’s your answer? It’s not an answer!”

  “Then maybe you would like me to answer you the way you seem to know best.”

  Jeremy dropped the sheath and held the sword before him in preparation to attack. Meanwhile, the bartender, guards, and a handful of other scowling men crowded the entrance.

  “Is this really necessary?” Peter asked, his tone even, calm, and cop-like effective... at least for the moment.

  But the others stepped down into the parking lot, armed with clubs and knives. Death was in the air as Jeremy and his surly German buddies moved in to attack from all sides.

  Suddenly, a gunshot rang out, and the ancient sign above the bar entrance exploded. Everyone whirled around to face Jonathan. The barrel of a smoking thirty-eight special was smoking. A thirty-eight special held in Jo
nathan’s right hand.

  “Back the hell up! Everyone!” he demanded, motioning for Phoe and Peter to stay close to him.

  Everyone backed up except the bartender. As if hoping to call a bluff, the bartender kept walking toward the three Americans.

  “I don’t think so, fatso!” Jonathan said, cocking the pistol. “Get your lard ass back there with the rest of the rats, or they can clean your bloody brains off their clothes!”

  When he kept coming and Jeremy resumed his approach from the side, Phoe seized the moment.

  “Where’d you get such a nice big stick?” she asked seductively. But a moment later, she slid up to him, grabbed him by the shoulder and shoved her knee into his groin. The big bad bartender crumpled to the ground. Then, she had the presence of mind to take the stick, and before Jeremy could lunge at Peter with the sword, she cracked him on the head. He, too, fell stunned to his knees on the asphalt.

  “Tell the rest of them to go away,” she told Jonathan. “We just need Jeremy, who is going to lead us down into the basement.”

  “What?” Jeremy had dropped his sword, which Peter kicked away once the rest of the patrons returned inside the bar. “What basement?”

  “I have information from a reliable source that there is a basement entrance behind the building. Get up. You’re going to lead us there, or die trying!”

  “Phoe? Are you all right?” Peter asked worriedly.

  “I’m fine... just following Simon’s latest directive,” she explained. “Grab the sword, unless you’ve got a firearm you’ve been hiding like Jonathan.”

  “I kept it inside my backpack, since customs never checked the plane after we boarded it in Taos,” said Jonathan. “I’ve got an extra box of ammo inside my computer’s battery compartment.”

  “Good boy.”

  Phoe smiled confidently as she led the way behind the bar.

  ***

  Peter and Jonathan seemed surprised by the sudden surge in her to take charge, though they had both seen it in the hostile jungle territory. Maybe she viewed this place like an urban jungle, reasoned Peter. He gripped the ear of Jeremy, who grimaced in pain. But the shithead soon learned that Peter wouldn’t make the pain excruciating as long as Jeremy didn’t put up a fight.

  “Be ready for anything,” Phoe told them, as they came upon a waist-high doorway.

  “Is this going to take us into a dungeon or that labyrinth that I read about?” asked Jonathan.

  “I hope this just leads to pay dirt,” she said. “Anything else will be icing on the cake. Are we ready for this, guys?”

  “Yep,” said Peter, and echoed by Jonathan. A sharp squeeze to the ear got an enthusiastic cry from Jeremy.

  As had been the case for most of this trip, the door was locked. Jeremy shook his head when asked about a key. Peter nearly turned him upside down, thinking the miscreant was lying. But this time, it was the truth.

  “Very well,” she said, launching a deadly kick into the door near its latch. It flung open on impact.

  Peter added his flashlight to Phoe’s, revealing a spiral stone staircase descending into the earth.

  “Well, well.” Phoe looked at Jonathan. “It looks like you might get that adventure with us you’ve been looking for. But this is for keeps this time, Jonathan. There’s no way to know what to expect, so stay ready for anything.”

  The look on Jonathan’s face told Phoe everything she needed to know. Even Peter was certain of it—especially when he saw the look of dread on Jeremy’s face.

  We have definitely come to the right place!

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The stairs descended more than twenty feet into the earth. At the base of the stairs stood a sign carved in iron with the words written in German.

  “I don’t think we’ll need your entire translation skills for this one, Jonathan,” Phoe remarked.

  Jonathan looked closely at the German engraving that read, Die Bruderschaft der Hammer. “The Brotherhood of the Hammer? Hmm.”

  He pulled on the sign and it gave way, surprising her and, from the looks of it, Peter as well. The rock wall in front of them turned ninety degrees to reveal a well-lit corridor. Caution and excitement ran through her core.

  Roughly ten feet wide by ten feet tall, its jagged walls were an indication of a hurried construction. Several large swastikas had been carved into the walls and appeared to run the passageway’s length, by her guess roughly a meter apart from one another.

  “Frankly, I don’t know whether to be impressed by the architect of this place or be appalled by the purpose of its existence,” said Phoe, running her fingers across the symbols most recently associated with unspeakable evil.

  “A little of each, I’d say,” said Jonathan. “Look, Phoe and Peter. It looks like we’re headed toward an old wooden door at the end of the corridor.”

  “I’ll take point,” she advised. She slowed her pace as they approached the door, and tested the ground by stepping a foot or two ahead to check for booby traps.

  They soon reached the wooden door. Phoe tapped on the metal handle to test for any other trap. Nothing happened.

  “We’re dealing with a Nazi group that has an unusual obsession with Thor, so we’re going to continue to take things slow and easy,” she said. “I have a feeling that before we’re through, we’ll be dealing with unexpected electricity in one form or another.”

  “There you go talking about that shit again,” said Peter, from behind, followed by a snicker from Jeremy. “And this asshole is up to his neck in it all!”

  Phoe pulled on the handle. Expecting it to be locked or heavy, she was surprised when the door opened smoothly. She stepped beyond the threshold, and her flashlight’s beam landed on a large statue of Thor carved from gray marble.

  “Bingo,” she said.

  Jonathan gasped.

  The statue of Thor held its hands in the air as if supporting something above it. Dressed in furs with long hair, Mjölnir was shoved into the deity’s Belt of Strength.

  “The detail is amazing!” Phoe whispered, reverently.

  Standing at least fifteen feet tall, the statue was the centerpiece in a small round room, just big enough for five or six people. Phoe hoped to keep the door open, but as soon as Peter dragged Jeremy into the room, the door slammed shut.

  “Duck!” Expecting a booby trap, Phoe lowered her head, and Jonathan followed suit, as if a spinning round blade would come out of the walls to decapitate them. Nothing like that happened. But Jeremy snickered.

  “Boo!” he said.

  “Better to be safe, asshole!” she retorted.

  But he continued to laugh, until Peter wrenched his ear tighter. The howl turned painful.

  Phoe joined Jonathan in examining the statue and, they soon determined that the hammer was sculpted from a different material than the rest of the marble statue. He soon discovered the damned thing was actually loose.

  “Look, you guys!” He wiggled it free while Phoe and Peter watched, breathless. It moved within Thor’s belt along the length of the handle. But it couldn’t be lifted out, despite moving at least a foot in either direction. Notches lined the length of the handle. “I guess we have to find the right notch.”

  “Peter, what do you think? What do the notches represent and how are we supposed to figure them out?”

  “Maybe we get unlimited chances to figure it out!” he joked. “Seriously, this is something Jeremy should explain.”

  But despite the inflicted upgrade of pain to both ears, Jeremy shrieked but would not reveal anything.

  Meanwhile, Jonathan returned to studying the statue’s hammer and belt. Phoe could tell he was on edge listening to Jeremy’s discomfort.

  “Maybe the clue is in what he’s doing,” Jonathan observed.

  Phoe rejoined him in examining the statue for a few minutes. When Phoe walked around the statue in search of some other clue, suddenly a loud rumble shook the ground below them. Sand began pouring down upon them from several sizable holes in
the ceiling.

  “Uh-oh,” said Jonathan.

  “You all have trespassed and ruined everything!” shouted Jeremy. “For that, you deserve to die!”

  “Hey, speak for yourself, asshole!” shouted Peter.

  “Get him to tell us how to make it stop!” pleaded Phoe.

  “I will die first!” Jeremy said defiantly, ignoring fresh, furious twists to his ears. A kick to the gut and a fist to the face did no better.

  “Jonathan—help me find a way to slow the sand and I’ll try to figure out the puzzle here!” cried Phoe. She made a closer inspection of the hammer and statue. There’s something odd about Thor’s positioning.

  The sand had crept up beyond their shins. Because he had begun to panic, Jonathan’s asthma had taken him out of the game. Think, Phoe, think! Think fast!

  By the time the solution hit her, the sand had climbed to their knees. “I’ve got it!”

  “Hurry, please, Ms. Phoenix! I don’t want to die!” cried Jonathan, matching the look on Peter’s face, while he fought to subdue the maniacal Jeremy.

  A sense of calm flowed through Phoe, and she drew upon her own courage in the face of adversity, realizing from here on out she was the leader. There was little comfort in the thought, given that their collective fate rested on her shoulders.

  “Finish what you said earlier, Jonathan,” she told him. “He’s holding something which reminds you of what?”

  “It reminds me of drowning in sand, Ms. Phoenix!” He was now beyond panicked.

  “Concentrate, Jonathan! If we’re going to get out, we have to work together!”

  The sand was up to their waists. Peter released Jeremy so their captive could breathe.

  “He’s holding something up! What does that tell you, Jonathan?” she repeated.

  Jonathan looked confused, but then his face brightened with recognition. “The tasks! Thor performed tasks that he couldn’t do before!”