‘Walk.’
Ben stepped forwards. The bridge gave a long, juddering creak under the extra weight as Emad followed, then Kamal, then Fekri. Ben held his breath and kept moving. The torch beams bobbed and danced ahead of him, throwing long tubes of light into the dark.
Dangling over a bottomless, spike-filled chasm, outnumbered three to one, unarmed with a gun in his back, no possibility of escape and time fast running out. He was sure he’d been in tougher situations-but he really couldn’t remember when.
Just then it got even worse. There was a grinding crack from somewhere high above them, and a huge dark shape hurtled through the beam of light ahead.
It was a falling stalactite, a solid rock spike, as thick as an oak tree, twice the height of a tall man. It narrowly missed the bridge. Seconds later it impacted on the stalagmites below with a roaring crash that shook the cavern and made the bridge sway alarmingly. Ben gripped the ropes at his sides and struggled to keep his footing. Fekri swore in Arabic. His voice was tense and frightened.
Then it happened again. A boulder as big as a large car plummeted not ten feet from where Ben was standing, and he felt the wind as it passed him. Another massive rumbling crash as it shattered into a million pieces on the spikes below. Smaller rocks rained down. A stone the size of a cannonball came crashing out of the darkness above and punched through the wooden slats of the bridge between Ben and Emad. Emad wobbled off balance, almost dropping his weapon as he grappled to stay upright.
Ben felt the impact’s shudder running under his feet the whole length of the bridge. He looked down, and in the dim light he saw one of the ancient ropes beginning to unravel. The outer strands splitting, slowly rotating and peeling away; then the next layer, and the next.
That was when he knew they weren’t going to make it across.
Crack.
They all looked up.
Fekri screamed.
Another giant stalactite had sheared off and it was plunging straight for them. Ben saw its craggy point looming up fast as it speared downwards. In the instant before it hit, he thrust the Maglite in his belt, looped his arm through the side of the rope bridge and held on tight.
Fekri was staring up, open-mouthed, as the massive spike caught him right in the face. It tore off his jawbone and kept going, lancing through his body, tearing him in two.
Then it crashed straight through the floor of the bridge and parted it like thread.
Ben fell through space. The wind roared in his ears as he sailed downwards. He had the rope in a death-grip. There was no time to pray, or even to think. Then a stunning impact as the severed bridge came swinging down and hit the wall of the abyss. Ben was winded for a few seconds, and it was all he could do to hang on. He blinked to clear his head and the pain that shot through his whole body.
He slipped the torch out of his belt and shone it upwards, hanging by one hand. The broken bridge had become a wildly swinging rope ladder, and he was dangling from it like a fly caught on a web.
He shone the light downwards, and his heart jolted.
Kamal’s snarling face was staring up at him. The terrorist had managed to cling on, and he was scaling the rope ladder towards him. Between them, Emad hung limply from the ropes. The impact had smashed his skull. His weapon had dropped into the depths.
Kamal hung by one hand as he grabbed the dead man’s belt and tore him forcefully from the ropes. The corpse somersaulted away into the darkness. A crunch as his fall was halted by the point of a stalagmite.
Kamal’s teeth were bared in hatred as he kept climbing rapidly upwards, his hands shooting up like pistons, one after the other. He made a grab for Ben’s ankle. Ben kicked out for his face, but Kamal dodged the blow. His hand went down to his belt and came up with a combat knife. He slashed at Ben’s legs with it. Ben drew his knees up just in time to avoid the blade, lashed out again and caught Kamal’s shoulder, driving him down several spars of the bridge. The terrorist screamed in anger and pain. The blade of the knife glinted as he flipped it over endwise in his hand, catching it by the tip between finger and thumb. He drew back his arm and hurled it straight at Ben.
The knife cartwheeled through the air. If it had been travelling horizontally it would have struck with lethal momentum, but the near-vertical trajectory robbed it of most of its kinetic energy and Ben just had time to twist out of its way. The sharp tip clanged and sparked against the rock an inch from his head and then spiralled away into the darkness. Kamal came on, punching and gouging. Ben swung down with the Maglite and caught him on the arm. Kamal cried out. Kept on fighting like a wild animal. The two of them swung crazily over the abyss.
At that moment the ropes gave way with a crack.
They hurtled down, locked together, the wind roaring in their ears.
Two seconds of freefall. Three. Four. Then another crashing impact as Ben felt himself hit a stalactite, narrowly avoiding being impaled by its point. He slid and bounced down its conical length. Rough stone tore at his flesh. Kamal’s hands were still locked on to him, punching and gouging frenziedly even as they plummeted to their deaths.
They hit the bottom.
And went plunging underwater with a stunning splash. Dazed by the impact, Ben felt his body go limp. But with the first gulp of cold water he came to his senses and started swimming for his life. Bubbles erupted from his lungs as for an instant he was panicking in the murk, unable to tell which way was up and which was down. Then he realised he was still clutching the precious torch. The light beam sliced through the water and found the surface. He kicked out hard, and let out a wheezing gasp as his head and shoulders burst free of the water.
Kamal broke the surface a few feet away, saw him and swam towards him. His hands closed around Ben’s throat. Kicking wildly in the water, Ben lashed out with the torch and felt it connect with something solid. Heard a grunt of pain. He clubbed him again, harder.
Now the current was carrying them along fast, breaking their hold on one another as each man struggled to stay afloat. Another falling rock splashed down violently nearby, sending up a choking wave of spray. Ben coughed and blinked and flailed desperately against the powerful tide. Felt the brutal scrape of rocks as the surging water carried him through a narrow opening and down another tunnel. He went under for a few seconds, and came spluttering back to the surface, shining the Maglite around him.
Then Kamal was splashing violently back towards him. Something glinted gold in the terrorist’s hand, came lashing down and caught Ben across the shoulder. An inch to the right, and it would have shattered his collarbone. Kamal raised the weapon up again. It was the gold falcon statuette. Ben blocked the blow, twisted the precious artefact out of his hand and smashed it hard into his ribs. Kamal fell back, gasping.
The current was dangerously fast now, threatening to suck Ben under as swirling eddies grasped and tugged at his legs like the hands of water demons intent on drowning him. He kicked against them with all the strength he had left, but with both hands full it was nearly impossible to swim properly. He didn’t dare lose the torch, and he couldn’t let go of the gold statue. It was the evidence he needed to save Zara-it meant everything.
Just when he thought he was going under, he felt the hard surface of a rock under him. He clung on to it, dragging himself up out of the water, wheezing and coughing up water. Crouching on the rock with the underground rapids foaming all around him, he shone the light. Saw Kamal’s thrashing body carried past the rock. The terrorist’s eyes were round with horror as he tried to latch on to the slimy stone. But the water was too powerful. It carried him onwards.
Ben could see where he was heading. These were no ordinary rapids. The underground river was surging into a giant whirlpool, twenty-feet across-a vertical drop funnelling millions of tons of water crashing through its swirling vortex and straight downwards into the earth.
As he watched, Kamal hit the outer current of the vortex, a tiny bobbing figure against the dark water. Foam boiled around the rocks. Where the ri
ver had been rushing past them for eons, they were smooth and rounded. But the bits of rock that jutted above the waterline were jagged and sharp, like flint. Kamal’s body was slammed into one of them by the furious current. His mouth opened in a scream that was drowned out by the roar of the water. He floated past it. Crashed into another one, and now there was blood on his face and his bared teeth were red. The current carried him on, around and around, faster and faster. Another rock sliced him, then another, and now Kamal wasn’t screaming any more. His arms hung limp as the water tossed him and spun him and dashed him off another sharp rock. The foam boiled pink around him.
The terrorist’s broken body hit the vortex. Ben caught a last glimpse of his face as the swirling water carried him down the sink-hole. Then he was gone.
It was a long, long time later when Ben finally staggered up the last few yards towards the mouth of the cave. Framed in its jagged arch were the moon and stars that he’d seriously never thought he was ever going to see again.
Exhausted, he collapsed on his hands and knees, leaving bloody prints on the rock from the hundred lacerations that criss-crossed his palms after the endless journey back along the river tunnel. He’d lost count of the number of times the surging current had almost pulled him back in. After that had been the crippling, killing climb back up the wall of the chamber of Sobek. Every muscle in his body screamed out for rest, but he had to keep going.
He struggled to his feet and hobbled out into the night. He let his gaze linger for a moment on Lawrence Kirby’s body, then walked on. At the entrance to the cave, hidden in the shadows, he found his phone and pistol still lying where he’d laid them down earlier. He stuck the gun back in his waistband and pocketed the phone, thinking about the precious evidence stored inside it. He glanced down in the moonlight to the glinting statuette that was thrust diagonally in his belt. Ran his fingers along the smooth gold.
Now all he had to do was get out of this desert and back across the Egyptian border alive, then get to a place where he could phone Harry Paxton. He had two days to do it.
He made his weary way down the slope from the cave and walked up the moonlit canyon. He passed the dark shapes of the dead motorcyclists, and the smouldering hulk of the destroyed tank. With every step, he was flinching at the thought that there could be more unexploded mines buried just beneath the sand, waiting for him to tread on them.
A few metres further up the canyon, he paused to gaze regretfully at the flattened remains of the Toyota.
But just around the bend, he came across what he’d been hoping to find. Kamal’s black Nissan Patrol glimmered dully under the stars. Ben trotted up to it, wrenched open the driver’s door and almost laughed when he saw the key in the ignition. In the back of the vehicle were canteens of water, stores of provisions, tools and spare wheels. The steel jerrycans sloshed when he shook them. He reckoned there was just about enough fuel to get him where he needed to go.
He hauled himself up behind the wheel and drank thirstily from one of the canteens. Leaned back in the seat for a moment, shutting his eyes and letting his relief wash over him. Then he slowly turned and saw what was resting in the passenger footwell.
‘My old bag,’ he said aloud.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Ben carved his way north through the night like a man possessed, stopping only to snatch a couple of hours’ sleep when he could barely keep his eyes open any longer. The sun burned down viciously all of the next day as he crossed the Sudanese desert plains, and it was night again by the time he finally crossed over the Egyptian border. For a few tense hours he ducked and dodged the path of army border patrols. But even Special Forces would have been hard pressed to notice as he slipped by.
By next morning, the Nissan was overheating and running low on fuel-but it had done its job. He thrashed it mercilessly along proper metalled roads for as many miles as he could eke out of it. As the first signs of greenery in the distance signalled his approach to the Nile valley, the vehicle finally gave out. He abandoned it and started walking.
None of the lorry drivers or livestock transporters who blasted past on the highway would ever have guessed that the lone, dusty wanderer on the verge carried in his battered army haversack more gold than they would ever see in their lives, and the key to a billion-dollar treasure.
By the time Ben saw the first small town in the distance, he’d already got a signal on his phone and was calling Paxton’s number.
It was the start of the seventh day.
Things happened quickly after that. Ben bought a cotton shirt and fresh jeans from a clothes stall, found a small hotel and checked into a room. He spent a long time under a cool shower, washing away the sand and sweat and blood. He changed and rested awhile, then wandered back outside with his bag on his shoulder, refreshed and hardly feeling the sun’s heat any more. In the winding streets he discovered a little tobacconist and a grocer’s stall selling fresh food out of palm-leaf baskets. He settled on a shady wall under a palm tree on the edge of town, and munched on aish bread filled with hummus and smoked a couple of the cigarettes he’d bought.
Not long afterwards, the black Lexus came for him. He offered up his Jericho to the two taciturn men in suits, and they ushered him into the back. After days of harsh desert driving, the smooth, air-conditioned Lexus felt like something out of a different world. Ben rested against the cool leather as the car whisked him the eighty miles north to the nearest airfield.
From there, a light Cessna Mustang jet flew him up the Nile, over Cairo and northwest towards the Mediterranean coast and the port city of Alexandria.
Ben had to admire Paxton’s organisation. He’d barely stepped off the plane when another car sped him away across the city. They passed the new Bibliotheca Alexandria, rebuilt two thousand years after the greatest library of the ancient world had been burnt to the ground, and then followed the road up the long jetty of the Eastern Harbour. The car dropped Ben off, and he sat and watched the hundreds of boats passing by across the blue water.
Then, cutting through the busy port traffic, a white motor launch burbled to the pier and its pilot stepped out. He spotted Ben standing on the dock, spoke briefly on a phone, then started walking over.
It was Berg.
Ben’s hands were shaking as he walked to meet him.
‘Mr Paxton is anxious to meet you again,’ Berg grinned.
Ben wanted to rip the look off the man’s face. Instead he calmly walked past him up the jetty and stepped down into the launch. He sat in silence as Berg fired up the outboards and piloted the launch skilfully between the fishing boats and out of the harbour. The sea was flat and vivid blue, and the sky was cloudless.
After twenty minutes, a white dot appeared on the horizon and grew steadily larger. The twin-masted cruising yacht was resting serenely at anchor, her graceful ninety-foot hull swaying gently on the rise and fall of the sea. As they came nearer, Ben could make out the name Eclipse on the yacht’s stern. The vessel was tiny compared to the Scimitar, and he couldn’t see any crew on her deck as the launch drew up alongside. It looked as though it was just going to be him, Paxton and Berg, all alone.
He waited until the launch was a foot from the yacht’s side, grabbed a rail and hauled himself on board. Berg tethered up the launch and followed him on deck, eyeing him coldly.
‘So where is he?’ Ben asked. ‘Let’s get this done.’
‘Here I am, Benedict,’ said a familiar voice, and Ben turned to see Paxton sauntering casually up the companionway from below, a long drink in his hand. He looked cool and relaxed. ‘You look as though you’ve been in the wars.’
‘I’m not here for conversation.’ Ben reached into his bag, took out the wrapped statuette and tossed it down on the deck with a heavy thud.
Paxton stepped over to pick it up, and smiled when he felt the weight of it in his hand. He started unravelling the dirty cloth.
‘It’s not lead,’ Ben said.
‘I’m sure it isn’t,’ Paxton replied as
he yanked away the cloth and the gold caught the sun. He looked up at Ben. ‘Magnificent. So it was all true.’
‘Yes, Harry, it was all true.’
‘Then, for once in his miserable life, Helen’s bastard son did something right. And what about the rest?’
‘I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.’ Ben took out the phone and tossed it to him. ‘I took pictures.’
Paxton quickly found the photos and the video clip, and spent a few moments studying them keenly. Ben could see the same look in his eyes that he’d seen in Kirby’s when the gold fever had taken hold of his mind.
Silence across the deck, just the whisper of the sea. Berg walked around Ben and stood at Paxton’s side, gazing impassively at him. Ben ignored him.
Paxton scrolled through the last of the pictures. ‘What’s this?’
‘The map,’ Ben replied quietly. ‘Drawn thousands of years ago by the High Priest who hid the treasure. You don’t want to know the details.’
Paxton frowned. ‘This is gibberish. It’s all hieroglyphics.’
‘Don’t get yourself all worked up, Harry.’ Ben dipped into his pocket and took out the folded note that he’d written on the plane. Across the top of the headed paper was printed the banner ‘Paxton Enterprises’. Underneath, in neat capitals, was Ben’s translation of the clues. He handed it to Paxton. ‘Now you have everything,’ he said.
Paxton’s frown melted away as he scanned the note, then folded it. Lying on one of the deck seats nearby was a little leather pouch. He picked it up, slipped the paper into it together with the phone, and closed the zipper. ‘Thank you, Benedict. And well done. I knew you wouldn’t let me down. I certainly chose the right man for the job.’
‘Great. Now where is she?’
‘You mean my wife?’ Paxton replied with mock innocence.
‘We had a deal,’ Ben said. ‘Remember?’
The Heretic's Treasure Page 33
