‘Weapons, huh? So you’re not planning to make a new start preaching peace and love.’
‘You can’t remove violence from man. If you have something others want, they will take it by force – unless you can defend yourself.’
‘And conveniently, if someone else has something you want and you’ve got lots of guns . . .’
Eleanor gave Nina a cutting look. ‘And then there’s the archive. A print and digital library of the sciences, medicine, engineering, our history, our religion – everything worth preserving.’
‘Our history? Whose exactly?’
There was a patronising tone to her reply. ‘The ascent of civilisation in Greece and Rome, the rise of Christianity, the Old World discovering the New, and then through to the present day. Enough for people to see where mistakes were made, and correct them next time.’
‘Damn, I’m glad you weren’t my history teacher,’ said Nina in disdain. ‘What about, well, the rest of the entire world? The Egyptians? The Chinese? The Aztecs and Mayans and the other pre-Columbian civilisations? What about the rise of Islam? That’s had kind of an influence on events for the past fourteen hundred years.’
Eleanor scowled. ‘None of that is important.’
‘Who are you to decide what’s important?’
‘The person who built the library! I’m the one preserving knowledge for the future.’
‘No, you’re censoring it. The things you decide are worthless could be of huge value to someone else. If you were really concerned about preserving knowledge, you’d put everything you could in there. Not just dry technical stuff; where’s the art, or literature? Music, movies, everyday culture?’
The old woman stopped the wheelchair. ‘Are you suggesting I should preserve every trashy paperback novel? Every obscenity-filled rap song? Every self-aggrandising selfie and internet comment?’
‘If you can, why not?’
The proposal genuinely angered Eleanor. ‘That would be a signal-to-noise ratio so poor, the garbage would drown out everything of value!’
‘That “garbage” might tell someone in the future more about our society than any list of kings and queens.’
‘Liberal nonsense,’ she spat, setting off again. ‘Exactly the kind of weak, woolly thinking that’s accelerating the collapse, giving equal weight to all sides. It’s probably for the best that the end comes quickly, so people have to focus on what’s important!’ She reached a set of doors, impatiently waving for Broates to open them. ‘Now, in here.’
Nina followed her in. The room appeared to be a workshop or laboratory. Doors led off to each side, but Eleanor headed to one opposite: a gleaming metal vault. ‘This, Professor Wilde,’ she said, anger replaced by triumph, ‘is where I will sit out the fall of civilisation.’
There was another palm-print reader on a console before the oversized entrance. She placed her hand upon it. The door slowly slid open with a low growl of motors. Beyond, another large room was revealed, the concrete walls reinforced by steel beams. ‘Here he is,’ she proclaimed, going to the object at the vault’s centre: the stolen sarcophagus. ‘The last of the Nephilim.’
Nina stopped in shock. ‘The . . . the Nephilim?’
‘You know what they are?’
‘Of course I do! “There were giants in the world in those days” – from the Book of Genesis.’
‘Chapter six, verse four,’ Eleanor said with a nod. ‘“When the sons of God came in unto the daughters of men, and they bore children to them.”’
‘The offspring of angels and human women. They were supposedly cast out by God and imprisoned beneath the earth for all eternity. But why do you think this,’ Nina pointed at the towering figure inside the coffin, ‘is one of them?’
‘Because that’s what they called themselves, according to the Chinese.’
‘But the entire myth of the Nephilim originated from the Middle East, not China.’
‘You found them in an iceberg that came from Antarctica,’ the older woman pointed out. ‘It seems they got around. According to my contact, the Chinese took the name directly from the records they translated. And I don’t mean a transliteration from an ancient text. They had some kind of audio recording.’
‘I’ve seen them before,’ Nina said, remembering a Veteres artefact. ‘Clay cylinders inscribed by a needle as they rotate, like a kind of primitive gramophone.’ She approached the sarcophagus. It stood at a steep angle so its occupant was resting almost vertically. ‘They actually used the name Nephilim?’
‘Everything else my man has given me panned out. I have no reason to believe he’s lying about this.’
She stared up at the indistinct form behind the crystalline cover. ‘And you think – they think – this guy is still alive?’
‘They do, yes. They’ve spent decades, and a lot of money, trying to rebuild what they found. Not just these coffins either; they found other artefacts as well. But none of them work; they were all broken. Even if they’d been intact, though, the Chinese wouldn’t have gotten anywhere. They need a key – which they don’t have – and a priestess. Which ditto.’
Nina raised an eyebrow. ‘They need a priestess to make their technology work? Just so you know, I haven’t been ordained.’
Eleanor smiled thinly. ‘I doubt it’s the title that matters. It’s the DNA. It seems Nephilim men could use some of the items the Chinese found, but all the important matters were jobs for the ladies.’
‘Plus ça change . . .’ Nina walked around the sarcophagus. The section of broken pipe under its base had been connected to a hose running to a long rack of large metal cylinders. The skull-and-crossbones symbol signifying poison gas was prominently displayed upon them. ‘When you had the gas manufactured, you brought it here?’
‘Ready for use. I was hoping to recover at least a dozen stasis chambers; that’s why the room’s so big. But if one is all I could get, then one will have to do.’
Nina gave Miller a look of sardonic pity. ‘I guess you get to experience the apocalypse first-hand while Momma sleeps through it.’ His flash of tight-lipped bitterness told her it was not the first time he had thought about it.
A soft buzz sounded. ‘Excuse me, please,’ said Broates, answering a cell phone. ‘Yes? I see, excellent. I’ll tell her at once.’
‘What is it?’ Eleanor demanded.
‘Mr Chase is on the way,’ the butler replied. ‘His plane will arrive at Queenstown in just over an hour.’
‘What about the key?’ asked Miller anxiously. ‘Has he got it?’
‘I’ve been informed he does, yes.’
The younger man was relieved.
Eleanor nodded in approval. ‘Good. Donny, you go meet him.’
‘You want me to go?’ Miller said, suddenly concerned again. He fingered the cuts on his neck.
‘Take Harhund and his man as well, and some of the security staff. And don’t let him escape this time.’
‘He jumped off the Sky Tower!’ was her son’s exasperated cry. ‘What was I supposed to do, jump after him?’
‘If you screw up again, Donny, you might wish you had. Now get moving.’
Miller bit back a rejoinder and instead turned to Harhund. ‘Well, come on, then! Let’s go.’ He strode out, fists clenched. The two mercenaries exchanged dismissive glances, then followed.
Eleanor turned back to Nina. ‘I wouldn’t consider doing anything foolish now we’re alone, by the way. Broates is armed, and very capable.’
The Englishman moved to stand impassive guard beside her.
‘Just what you want from a butler,’ Nina said acidly. ‘A propensity for violence.’
‘You never know when it might come in useful. And knowing what I do about your husband, I want as many armed men on my side as possible.’
‘It won’t be enough.’
‘We’ll see.’ She lo
oked back at the frozen figure. ‘And when he arrives with the key, we’ll find out all the secrets of the Nephilim.’
‘If I agree to help you,’ said Nina.
The old woman smiled, painted lips drawing tight like a razor slash across her wizened face. ‘Oh you will, missy. You will.’
19
Under other circumstances, Eddie would have enjoyed being the only passenger on a private jet. The NjetZ crew had no inkling of the reason he was flying to Queenstown and did their professional best to keep him happy on the two-hour journey, to the point where just before touchdown he apologised for his curt and unfriendly attitude. They were only doing their jobs.
On landing, he saw others who were also doing their jobs – but these would receive no apologies for the damage he hoped to inflict on them. He had a reception committee: Donny Miller, Harhund, Wintz, and three other men in dark suits with the chunky build and scowling demeanour of private security guards.
The latter, he guessed, worked at the Miller estate. Cheng had used his laptop to show him aerial photos on the cab ride to Auckland airport; Eddie was sure that was his destination, and wanted to carry out a virtual recce. The house was isolated, the landscape bleak and exposed with no trees for cover and the only road through the mountains long and circuitous, but at least he now knew what to expect.
He approached the waiting men. ‘Ay up. Been waiting long? Hope you haven’t caught pneumonia.’
‘Shut up,’ snapped Miller. The businessman wore an expensive padded coat, but still looked cold and miserable. ‘Where’s the key?’
Eddie reached into his leather jacket. Harhund immediately brought up his right hand inside his own coat pocket. The Yorkshireman saw the shape of his gun clearly, even through the fabric, but also something else; every other man bar Miller reacted similarly. They were all armed. ‘Here,’ he said, slowly taking out the waterproof pouch.
‘Open it.’
He did so. Orichalcum gleamed within. ‘Happy?’
‘Give it to me,’ Miller snapped, clicking his fingers.
Eddie slapped it down hard on his open palm, making him flinch. ‘Where’s Nina?’
‘We’re taking you to her. Don’t worry, she’s safe. We need her. You? Not so much, but while I’d like to kick you out of the chopper mid-flight, you’ve still got some uses. Like making sure your wife does what she’s told.’
‘Good luck with that. I’ve been trying for seventeen years!’
One of the guards chuckled.
Harhund was not amused. ‘Move.’
A helicopter waited nearby. The men put Eddie in the centre-rear seat before surrounding him. Harhund sat to his right, pressing his gun against the Englishman’s side. ‘Try anything and I will shoot you,’ he said.
‘I preferred the service on the plane,’ Eddie sighed.
The helicopter took the group past Queenstown and along the lake. Their destination was indeed the Miller estate. On landing, they were greeted by another thick-necked security guard and escorted into the mansion. Miller led the way to a lift, pushing the call button. The doors opened. ‘After you,’ he said with mocking politeness.
Harhund ushered Eddie inside, a jab from his gun telling the Yorkshireman to stop in the centre. ‘Face the door,’ he said as first the guards, then Miller filed in. Eddie reluctantly turned. Both mercenaries took up position behind him, guns fixed upon his back. Two of the guards stood side-on to keep their own watch on the prisoner, the remaining pair flanking their boss.
Miller opened a panel and put his hand on a scanner, then pushed a button. The lift began its descent – a long one, Eddie soon realised. They were going deep underground. How far? He listened to the keening song of the elevator cables, and watched Miller. He would know how long it took to reach the bottom . . .
Which would be Eddie’s only chance to act.
The lift continued downwards, the steel lines whining faintly outside – then their pitch shifted as the machinery began to slow. At the same moment, Miller straightened, readying himself to exit. The four guards took their cue from him, relaxing slightly in anticipation of the end of their claustrophobic journey.
Eddie turned his head slightly, glancing back and down at Harhund’s gun arm. The pistol had drifted fractionally from its original position; it was still pointed at his back, but now more to the side than directly at his spine—
He threw himself backwards, twisting and sweeping his right arm to drive the gun away from him as he collided with the Norwegian. Harhund pulled the trigger as he hit the cabin wall. The gun fired – the sound deafening in the confined space, as powerful and disorienting as a stun grenade.
Eddie staggered, but was first to recover. For once, his partial hearing loss – the result of far too many close encounters with gunfire and explosions – worked in his favour. The other men took a second longer to regain their senses—
That was enough.
He whirled and smashed his left elbow into Wintz’s cheekbone, knocking the mercenary down into the corner, then spun back to drive his other elbow into Harhund’s stomach. The Scandinavian let out a breathless gasp as he doubled over. Eddie tore the gun from his hand. He belatedly realised that one of the guards had fallen, hit by the bullet. Another round took a second man down in a grisly explosion of blood across the metal wall. Miller screamed at the noise of the shot mere inches from his head.
The doors opened. His own ears still ringing, Eddie snatched the pouch from the reeling businessman’s hands, then threw him against the remaining guards and stabbed at the control panel as he barged out. The doors rumbled shut behind him. A mechanical whine came from beyond them as the elevator started to ascend, taking his captors with it.
Panting from the sudden burst of violence, he turned – to see Nina.
Any relief vanished when he realised she was not alone. An old woman in a wheelchair was beside her – and behind his wife stood a tall, supercilious-looking man. ‘Mr Chase,’ said the woman. ‘Good afternoon. Now, drop your gun. My butler has one of his own pressed into your wife’s back.’
Eddie didn’t move, assessing his chances of taking down Nina’s captor. Slim; the butler was using her as a shield. ‘Who are you?’ he said instead, stalling for time.
‘Eleanor Miller,’ came the reply, faintly affronted that he didn’t know.
‘Oh, Donny Dipshit’s mum.’
A purse-lipped smile. ‘He’s been called many things, sometimes by me, but that’s a new one.’ Her eyes went to the pouch. ‘Mr Chase, there’s no need for violence – well, further violence. I only want the key. Perhaps Professor Wilde could explain?’ She turned to Nina.
‘Perhaps I could say hi to my husband first?’ Nina fired back. ‘Eddie, are you okay?’
‘Yeah,’ he replied, not taking his eyes off the butler, who watched the Yorkshireman with equal intensity, waiting for the first micro-flash of movement that would signal an impending attack. ‘The lift was a bit crowded, though. What about you?’
‘Oh, super-fine. Eleanor here’s been telling me about her plans to set herself up as the next Queen of Thunderdome after civilisation ends by putting herself into suspended animation.’
‘She looks more like Davros to me,’ he said, indicating the wheelchair, before fully registering what she had said. ‘Wait, suspended animation?’
‘The creature inside the sarcophagus from the iceberg isn’t dead,’ said Eleanor impatiently. ‘It’s in a state of stasis. The key can be used to open the sarcophagus and resurrect it – or close it and restart the suspension process.’
‘That’s what she thinks, anyway,’ said Nina. ‘What she’s pinning her chances of survival upon.’
‘There’s one way to find out, isn’t there?’ Eleanor told her. ‘You have to use the key.’
‘Nina’s the only person who can use it, right?’ said Eddie, glancing at the old woman.
‘Then . . . you can’t risk anything happening to her, can you?’ He looked back at the butler, readying himself—
‘Before you do anything foolish,’ Eleanor said, her voice taking on a commanding tone, ‘bear in mind that I’m still alive despite being confined to a wheelchair for almost twenty years. Broates’s gun is pressed against the base of your wife’s spine. She probably won’t die if he shoots her there – but do you want her to live the rest of her life like me? Knowing it was your choice that crippled her?’
Eddie hesitated – and Eleanor smiled. ‘You have two choices: cooperate, and you’ll both get to see your little girl again. Or . . . well. I always get what I want. One way or another.’
The Englishman looked at Nina. They both knew there was no way out of the stand-off without one or both of them being shot. ‘Buggeration and fuckery,’ he muttered.
Eleanor glowered. ‘Gutter language. Now, are you going to put your gun down?’
Eddie tossed it aside angrily. ‘I suppose you want this thing too.’ He threw the pouch to the floor in front of Eleanor’s wheelchair. ‘There. Get it yourself.’
‘I don’t like your sense of humour, Mr Chase. Professor Wilde, pick up the key.’
Nina did not respond immediately, prompting Broates to jab her with his gun. ‘Do as Mrs Miller says.’
She reluctantly picked up the pouch and opened it. The key rested inside, precious metal reflecting the harsh overhead lights.
Eleanor eagerly craned her neck to see. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘Good!’ She turned, gesturing down the passageway. ‘Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s wake our guest.’
The Resurrection Key Page 21
