by Alan Baxter
Trying to appear nonchalant, he tapped a saved number and waited for an answer.
The reply was curt when it came. “Yep.”
“It’s probably nothing,” Cruise said, “but we’ve got a couple of people showing a lot more interest in the airport than usual.”
“Too much interest?” the voice asked.
“Yeah, maybe. They’re asking a lot of questions.”
“What do they look like?”
Cruise gave a cursory description, mentioned the voices he had overheard.
“A young Asian woman with a British accent, you say?” asked the voice at the other end.
“That’s right.”
“Interesting. Any idea what they’re up to?”
“Not really, but they’re definitely not asking the usual tourist questions. They spent a long time talking to a janitor, asked a ton of questions. Could be more conspiracy theorist idiots, of course, but it might be something worse. I could follow them.”
“I’ve got them on camera now. See what this busybody janitor has to say and then check back in. I’ll let you know if they leave.”
Cruise scanned the large main concourse. His gaze finally fell on the maintenance worker, pushing his trolley toward a side exit. “Will do,” he said, and hung up.
He walked fast, his stride long and confident, and quickly caught up the worker, whose name badge read ‘Mike’.
Mike looked up and his eyes widened. He went to push his trolley back out into the crowded concourse, but Cruise guided his arm, pushed him into the quiet corridor. “We need to talk.”
Mike forced a smile, shook his head. “Sorry, señor. I very busy!” His accent was comical, overplayed given the conversation on which Cruise had just eavesdropped.
Cruise slipped a pistol from inside his jacket, keeping it close to his body but making sure Mike saw it. “You can make time, amigo.”
“Before we go to where Mike said the statue was, I want to check on something,” Crowley said.
Rose frowned. “Check on what? This place gives me the creeps, I want to get moving.”
“Yeah, but there’s more here, right? Mike said about the underground places he won’t go?”
“And you want to go there?”
Crowley inclined his head towards an open door to the side, beyond it a shallow ramp led downwards, then switched back on itself and went down further. The door was slowly closing on a hydraulic arm as someone walked quickly down the ramp. “Come on!”
Rose started to protest, but Crowley dragged her along and they slipped through the gap just in time. “Jake, this will get us arrested.”
Crowley grinned. “Just a quick look. Act like you’re supposed to be here. Confidence is key.”
They waited to give whoever had passed through the door time to move away, then walked down the ramp, followed it as it turned, then came to another double door. Crowley pushed through, a corridor ahead of them with several doors along either side. At the end of the corridor, stairs led down. They took the stairs, moving from clean white corridors to industrial gray cement and exposed metal conduits. The space opened out into a vast thoroughfare, wider than a highway. A baggage train, one cart pulling half a dozen flatbed trailers loaded with cases, cruised by them, the driver frowning. Crowley nodded to one side and they hurried around an outcropping of pipework covered in a variety of warning labels.
“Here,” Crowley said, looking through the reinforced glass window of another door. “More stairs going down.”
“How far down does it go?” Rose wondered.
Crowley gestured back over his shoulder. “If this level is where they move the luggage around, then anything below this has to be for other purposes.”
“Like what?”
“That’s exactly what I’d like to know.” He tried the door and it opened. He grinned back at her and headed down.
The stairs seemed to go more than a single level, four flights switching back and forth. They emerged into a cement corridor lit by bright neon tubes. At the end of the corridor was a heavy door, like something from a bank’s vault, steel with a large wheel in the center. Set into the metal were two electronic keypads of some sort. More importantly, at the side of the corridor in front of the door was a desk. A man stood quickly from behind the desk, his face angry.
“The hell are you doing here?”
He wore an airport uniform, but had an automatic rifle slung across his chest. Crowley swallowed hard at the sight of a small badge stitched onto the shoulder of the man’s shirt. It showed a pyramid, an eye suspended above, and several lines radiating out from the eye.
Crowley forced a laugh. “You won’t believe how lost we are!” He pointed at Rose. “I told her the restaurant wasn’t this way!”
“Don’t blame me!” Rose spluttered and Crowley wasn’t sure if she was playing along or genuinely outraged.
“Just stand right where you are!” The armed guard pulled a radio from his hip and keyed it. “Command, this is Gaston at sub-three-zero-one.”
As Crowley drew a breath to turn and run, hoping Rose would not hesitate to run with him, footsteps rattled down the stairs behind him.
“I got it, Gaston,” another man said. He was dressed the same, equally armed. “I saw them on the CCTV. I’ll take ‘em out.”
Crowley flinched internally at ‘take ‘em out’, wondering if the man meant to escort them from the premises or disappear them permanently. He decided to act up the dumb tourist. He turned the English accent up to eleven. “I’m bally well sorry, chaps, I’m sure we’re causing you no end of bother. We’re really quite exhausted and jetlagged, and we’re just trying to find a bite to eat.”
“He won’t listen to me,” Rose said, turning her own English accent on. “He always thinks he knows where he’s going. You know, he once tried to drive us from London to Leeds without a map. Without a map! Honestly, you men need to learn to ask for directions once in a while and then actually listen when someone tries to help.”
Crowley turned to her, suppressing a smile. “My dear, you do me a disservice telling the story like that. The journey to Leeds is really quite simple. It was the address at the far end that caused the consternation.”
Rose drew breath to speak again when the first guard, Gaston, cut across them. “Enough, already, for God’s sake. Bill, just get these two back up to the concourse.”
Bill blew out air. “Gladly. This way, please.”
Crowley and Rose walked ahead of him as Bill directed them back up to the concourse and then pointed out a sign.
“There’s your directions to the restaurant, okay?”
Crowley smiled. “Got it. Thank you so much, and terribly sorry to have been any trouble.”
Bill shook his head and disappeared back through the doors that closed heavily behind him.
“Too damned close, Jake!” Rose said with a scowl.
“Yeah. But there’s definitely something going on down there right? That door, the guns? What the hell is happening in this place?”
“I just want to keep moving,” Rose said.
Crowley gave her shoulder a quick squeeze of reassurance. “You’re right. Let’s go and see the place Mike said that Anubis statue used to be.”
Chapter 28
Denver International Airport
From outside, Denver International Airport looked like it had grown there rather than been built. The roofing was reminiscent of a collection of circus big tops, crammed together like mushrooms. Beneath the bizarre, spiky top, the airport buildings were layers of sandy stone and reflective glass.
A cool breeze ruffled Crowley’s jacket, but he was glad of the freshness following the air-conditioned interior under fluorescent lights. A bit of nature was exactly what he felt he needed. To the west, the snow-capped Rocky Mountains looked inviting.
“Be nice to head up there and forget everything, wouldn’t it?” Rose said.
Crowley laughed softly. “Just what I was thinking. All this stuff about gassi
ng cities, genocide, new world orders, it’s… I don’t know, it’s mind-bending.”
“I’d rather live in a cabin in those mountains and never have to think about any of this again. Except that my sister’s missing.”
Crowley took a deep breath. “Yep, that’s the key factor.”
“Look at that damn thing,” Rose said, staring off past Crowley’s shoulder.
He turned to see the giant blue mustang sculpture, its red eyes surveying the land beneath its flailing front hooves. It reared up menacingly, black mane flying in the wind.
“It’s truly weird,” Crowley agreed.
Rose shook her head. “What’s it even doing here? What is any of this stuff doing here? It’s all so… so…”
“Blatant?” Crowley offered.
She turned to him. “Yes! So bloody in your face, like these Illuminati or whoever they are just enjoy rubbing everyone’s nose in it. All those billions of dollars poured into this strange, ostentatious display. What else can it be but some kind of temple and bolt hole for the super rich?”
Crowley smiled. “Starting to buy into the conspiracy theories, are you?”
Rose allowed herself a laugh, shook her head again. “How can you not when it’s all just in your face like this?”
“And this is where the big statue of Anubis stood,” Crowley said. He pointed to the ground where the statue had been according to Mike. “You think maybe having that was a step too far?”
Rose pointed to the giant blue mustang. “Compared to that?”
“Good point.”
Crowley kicked at the ground, walked around the area. It was mostly gravel, but a circular slab of relatively new–looking cement occupied the center, presumably where the statue had been mounted.
He crouched, looked more closely. The new disc was encircled by older cement which had designs carved into it. “Look”, he said, pointing.
Rose joined him. “The same wavy lines as the marks in the bone room back in the Black Pyramid!”
“Yep. And this cement is new. Didn’t Lily say something about moving it from there to America?”
Rose looked from the designs on the ground to Crowley and back again. “You think whatever they’re looking for was stored there, then moved here?”
Crowley nodded. “And hidden under the statue of Anubis.”
“But then the statue had to be moved and they moved whatever was under it too?”
“I think so,” Crowley said. “But moved it where?”
“You think this was where they hid the Anubis Key? Whatever the damn thing actually is?”
“Possibly. Or maybe they hid directions here, some information about how to find the Anubis Key.” Crowley exhaled in frustration. “Who knows? But we’ve missed something here, and presumably Lily did too.” He felt around the cement, ran his fingers through the gravel at its edge, then sat back, annoyed.
“Did you expect a secret trapdoor or something?” Rose asked, one side of her mouth hooked up in a smirk.
He grinned at her. “Did you?”
“I am a little disappointed there isn’t anything.”
Crowley stretched and shook himself. “There’s nothing here. Come on, let’s go pick up the rental car.”
“And then what?”
“I guess we head to the Denver Museum like Mike suggested. See if anyone there remembers talking to Lily.” Rose’s eyes were narrowed, looking past Crowley. He turned to see what had caught her attention.
A tall, familiar looking young man was staring at them.
“Isn’t that the guy who was traveling with Lily?” Rose asked, her voice almost a whisper.
“Most definitely. He’s seen us.”
The man had indeed seen them. In fact, Crowley thought, he had been heading towards them all along. Crowley braced himself, drew a deep breath, ready for a fight. The young man saw Crowley’s posture, and the look in his eyes, and raised both hands, palms out.
He stopped a dozen paces away, hands still raised. “Please, we need to talk. I need your help.”
“Don’t trust him,” Crowley said quietly to Rose. Then he raised his voice. “Where’s Lily?”
“That’s what I want to know too. I thought she might have come back here, to this spot.” He shook his head. “I don’t know how much you know, but you’re looking on the ground here because there used to be an Anubis statue, right?”
“Maybe,” Crowley said guardedly.
“Lily was into Anubis,” the man said. He looked at Rose, took another couple of steps forward, but stayed out of fighting range. “There’s a strong family resemblance. You’re her sister.” It wasn’t a question.
“Did she talk about me?”
The man nodded. “A little bit. Not much.”
Rose stared for a moment, expression unreadable. Then she said, “How were you and Lily separated?”
“We argued on the plane. Then again at the airport and we split up, supposedly only to cool off. Then I couldn’t find her again. I think maybe she deliberately dumped me.”
“Really?” Rose asked. “Lily spent a long time at the airport. How could you not find her? And where have you been since? She was here a week ago, right?”
The man’s face twisted in frustration. And, Crowley thought, maybe a little guilt. Or regret. “I had a... meeting,” he said. “I had to see some people. It distracted me for a while and now I’m trying to pick up where we left off.”
Crowley surged forward and grabbed him by the collar. He twisted the shirt material, made the guy yelp in surprise and probably a little pain. “You’d better start making sense, buddy. Stop prevaricating. This is about the Anubis Key, isn’t it?”
The man nodded, his unshaven chin rough against Crowley’s knuckles. “Lily’s not the only one after it, but it’s not what...”
The man let out a grunt, his eyes widened. As his knees buckled, blood blossomed from a perfect hole in his chest, right above his heart. He’d been shot, but Crowley hadn’t heard a thing. A silencer!
“Run!” Crowley yelled.
He and Rose bolted, zigzagging left and right, hunched half-over to reduce their target size. Crowley spat a string of inventive curses, trying to stay between the unseen shooter and Rose as they ran. Bullets pinged and whined off the ground and nearby vehicles, then they dove between two large SUVs.
“Which way?” Rose asked, eyes wide. Her skin had paled to gray.
Crowley wanted desperately to know who was shooting at them, but he didn’t dare a look back. He pointed. “That way, at the end of the row, is a car hire place. I pre-booked us a car. You go and get it and bring it back this way.”
“And what are you going to do?”
Crowley grinned. “Lead them on a chase. Pick me up at Blucifer.”
“Jake, I…”
He didn’t want to give Rose time to prevaricate. “Green Star Rentals! Go!” He pushed her in the right direction and then jumped up and ran the other way, just high enough to attract the shooter.
The enemy was good. The window of a nearby car exploded in a shower of glass. He ducked and ran on, dove around the car and sprinted away from the shot. He desperately hoped Rose had accepted his plan and was currently running for the rental car. He also hoped there wasn’t a line or some officious employee who would drag out the process.
The shooting had stopped for a moment and Crowley assumed the attacker was trying to find a better position, a new angle to see him again. He took a deep breath and ducked across one row. Three rapid shots popped, echoing through the open space. Then he was between cars once more. The windscreen right above Crowley’s head exploded in a shower of tiny glass cubes and he yelped. He would give anything for a weapon, to be able to return fire.
He hissed between his teeth, took a sighting on Blucifer, rearing up into the sky, and bolted across another gap, stepping left and right. The bullets came quicker this time and Crowley felt one rip through the sleeve of his jacket, the heat of its passing searing his skin, but he was fair
ly sure it hadn’t hit him.
A family of five, three children wide-eyed and their parents pale, were hunkered down by a trolley-parking bay. They tried to hide behind their luggage.
“What’s happening?” the father asked Crowley as he skidded up next to them.
Crowley cursed. He couldn’t risk drawing this family into the firefight. “Active shooter!” he said. “Stay where you are, he’s going the other way.”
As Crowley moved to look, the mother yelled, “Shouldn’t you stay down, too?”
“Can’t, sorry!”
Without explaining, Crowley jumped up and ran again. The air was eerily quiet, no shots ringing out. His back crawled as he imagined bullets tearing into it at any second. Could he dare hope the shooter had lost sight of him?
He moved more slowly, glancing back the way Rose had gone, but he was too far away to see her. So he scanned the rows and rows of parked cars looking for the shooter. If not for the angle of the sun, he would have died that moment, but he glimpsed the reflection of the scope a split second before the shot and dove to the side. The bullet tore through the hood of the car he fell behind, gasping, adrenaline surging through him. How much longer could this go on before airport authorities got involved?
He assumed the shooter had logged his position and direction, so he stayed low and kept moving. After twenty meters or so, he turned ninety degrees, heading towards the shooter’s last position. The best defense was a good offense and he was tired of being the duck in this game of target practice. He hurried along, triangulating roughly the shooter’s best position. He regularly dropped to the asphalt and looked under the cars, trying to spot the attacker’s feet. And then there they were. Black combat boots and black cargo pants. Given the black canvas jacket he had spotted briefly a moment before, he was sure this was his guy. The man was moving obliquely away from him, clearly trying to get ahead and be in line when Crowley next appeared. He hadn’t expected Crowley to come to him.