The Spear (Major Quatermain Book 1)

by J. R. Rain

  “There appears to be a road along the ridge,” she pointed out.

  “Then let’s get going,” I said, sighing, taking the binoculars from her and putting them back into my pack. She swung her leg over the seat behind me, and seemed as reluctant as I was. But her father just might be down there, and we needed to see for ourselves. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself.

  She buried her face once again between my shoulders.

  I started the bike and, as the truck disappeared from view, I eased away from the boulder and continued on.

  ***

  The “road” she’d seen was little more than a wide goat path complete with alternating potholes and boulders to navigate around, but we’d made our way to a point where we could get a good look down into the valley below. And what we saw was obvious: it was a real archaeological dig taking place. And it was big.

  “That’s more like it,” I said as I glassed the site with the binoculars. It all fell into place, and I announced the name of the place aloud: “Aurelia.”

  “But there was no such place in any of my father’s notes,” she responded, perhaps louder than I was comfortable with.

  “Of course there wasn’t. He purposely erred, should anyone find his journal.”

  “But surely he kept some notes—”

  “He did,” I said. “In a second journal.”

  “But I never saw him with a second journal.”

  “He kept it from everyone. He’s probably kept the correct one hidden on his person. Or never very far from his sight.”

  “But, if he was kidnapped, why would he risk taking the real journal with him instead of the fake one?”

  “Maybe he had no choice.”

  “So, why have a fake at all?”

  I was caught in a dilemma. On the one hand, I was trying to believe that Dr. Byrd had been kidnapped and forced into the situation that he was in, but it was becoming increasingly more evident that he might have gone voluntarily—and that he’d made his departure in such a way as to make it look as though he’d been kidnapped. Did his ruse include the thug that I’d encountered in his quarters and also on the train? There was a lot more going on than just a kidnapping and Hannah was starting to put it together, too. Daddy might not be as innocent as she wanted to believe and it was becoming more difficult for me to protect that image.

  “There he is,” she blurted out. She handed me the binoculars and, noting my finger to my lips, spoke in a softer tone: “I’ve found him. He’s standing next to that man with the machine gun to the left of the largest tent. He’s wearing khakis.”

  Following her description, I was able to train the binoculars on the very man that she’d referenced, her father. He didn’t act much like a captive. Indeed, Dr. Gibson or Dr. Byrd, whichever name he used at the moment, seemed to be in charge. He was barking out orders and workers appeared to be scrambling to carry them out, many climbing into and out of a shallow trench.

  “He wasn’t kidnapped was he, Allan?” Hannah said in a low tone, next to me, her lips veritably brushing my ear. She smelled of rose fragrance. I smelled of sweat and dirt.

  The moment had arrived. I had decided to tell her the truth, but just as I opened my mouth to do so, the man with the machine gun who was standing next to her father suddenly raised the weapon and fired a short burst into a worker within the trench.

  I watched as Dr. Byrd drew back in horror and then began berating the soldier for his actions. After some moments, Dr. Byrd relented and then strode rapidly away from the soldier toward a smaller tent several paces beyond the larger one.

  “What in the bloody hell just happened?” Hannah asked.

  What had taken place was abundantly clear, even without the aid of the binoculars.

  “This isn’t your typical dig site,” I grumbled.

  “Did my father order that man to be shot?”

  “I don’t think so,” I responded. There was something extremely complicated taking place at that dig site. The presence of a number of large, blonde-haired men with automatic weapons and their ready willingness to use them spoke volumes as to who was in charge. Whether Dr. Julius Byrd was in charge or not, I didn’t know. But we needed to get him out, whether he wanted to flee or not.

  “Allan, what is going on here?”

  “Something bad,” I replied, not entirely sure that I had a solid enough grasp on the dynamic to give her a viable answer. “And only your father can explain just how bad. Let’s go back.”

  “Back? What about my father?”

  “I don’t think the two of us waltzing down into that camp and asking to take him out to dinner is going to work,” I responded. I rose, tucked the binoculars in my pack and, ducking, I led the way back up and over the ridge to where we’d left the motorcycle.

  Chapter Eleven

  It hadn’t been easy.

  In fact, it had been our first major row since the two of us had met, but I’d been able to convince Hannah that going with me to snatch her father out of his tent at the archeological dig was not a good idea. To secure some semblance of peace between us, I’d promised to let her ride in the car that Isaac Goldstein had brought to help us extract Dr. Byrd. Convincing the three Nazi hunters to help us had been easy. With them at my side, I felt I might actually get out of this alive. Or, at least, not die so quickly.

  “We’re just getting Dr. Byrd and getting out, got it?” I instructed Joshua and Michael—who had crept with me down into the valley where the dig was located—in a low tone as we stopped to get our bearings outside the camp. “It would be better if no one knew we were here until they awaken tomorrow morning and find the professor missing, understood?”

  The two hunters nodded their consent and racked back the slide on their automatic weapons. The two actions combined reassured me of the decision I’d made to bring them along. Should things go sideways during my rescue attempt, those weapons were the difference between my survival and my body being added into whatever trench the group dumped their expendable workers.

  Leaving Joshua and Michael to watch and cover two critical points along the path of my retreat, I stayed within the dark shadows and worked my way deeper into enemy territory, ever careful of the armed guards that strolled among the tents of the now-sleeping camp.

  When I’d gotten to the very same tent where I’d spied Dr. Byrd entering earlier that day, I paused a moment to make certain that the closest guard was facing away, then slipped inside. I didn’t dare make use of a light, but used the deep, steady breathing of my quarry to guide me to where he was. When I was positioned beside his head, I reached out and clamped my hand tightly over his mouth. I felt his body stiffen as he snorted awake.

  I spoke in a low tone into his ear. “Hannah sends her regards,” I whispered. “She, and several other acquaintances of yours, have been very worried since your kidnapping. For the record, I used mental air quotes around the word kidnapping. I am Major Evelyn Allan Quatermain. I am going to take you to your daughter and then we are going to Istanbul where we will arrange transport to take you safely back to London.”

  I felt the shaking of Dr. Byrd’s head as he objected to the arrangement I was going to make for him. I could give a shit if he objected to the arrangement.

  “Dr. Byrd,” I began again. “That is not the proper response for a kidnap victim to give. Frankly speaking, neither I nor your daughter believes that you were actually kidnapped. Therefore, both of us would like an explanation.”

  I paused a moment to let my words sink in before continuing.

  “Now, if I can trust you to come with me quietly, I’ll remove my hand and escort you out of this camp. If I cannot trust you, then I’ll carry you out in an unconscious state. Do I make myself clear?”

  Dr. Byrd nodded.

  “Can I trust you to remain silent?”

  Dr. Byrd repeated the nod.

  I slowly removed my hand from his mouth.

  “Major Quatermain,” he whispered. “You have put yourself, my daughter,
and me in grave danger. You must leave at once without me.”

  “Funny, that wasn’t one of the options that I gave,” I replied. “You seem to be fond of kidnappings.”

  “Please, Major Quatermain, you must do as I…”

  His sentence was cut off by heavy thud of the handle of my pistol to his head, which knocked him unconscious. It was neither the time nor the place for the discussion he’d begun. I took the gag that I’d prepared for that exact possibility and secured it over his mouth and then went to the flap of the tent to have a quick look to locate the strolling guards.

  Finding the guard some distance away and facing in the opposite direction, I eased Dr. Byrd from the cot, thankful that he was a slight man, especially since lifting and carrying him was doing a murderous job on my sore ribs and stitches, then slipped through the flap of the tent. Staying close to the shadows, I was able to work my way out to the point where I’d left Michael waiting.

  Michael slipped Dr. Byrd over his shoulder and the two of us crept forward until we met up with Joshua. The three of us made our way out of the camp and down the valley to the waiting car.

  Seeing Dr. Byrd unconscious didn’t exactly help me make peace with Hannah. In fact, I was afraid that she’d start the row anew and we’d wake up everyone within five miles of where the car was parked. Hannah retained her discretion and we were well on our way back toward Istanbul before she made her first acidic comment.

  “I suppose if I act up you’ll lay me out in the same manner?”

  “Your father is safe and he is with us.”

  “Can you remove the gag, at least?”

  I reached up and untied the gag from the back of Dr. Byrd’s head. The action stirred the professor enough to start his awakening. After blinking and obviously trying to recollect his bearings, he started protesting our snatching of him.

  “No. No. No,” he began. “Major Quatermain, you must return me to the dig site at once. You have no idea what you have done.”

  “I suspect that returning you would be a great deal more dangerous for everyone involved, I’m afraid,” was my gruff response. “Even for you.”

  “Then you’ve signed a death warrant for the lot of us.”

  “I’m not quite dead yet, Dr. Byrd or Dr. Gibson. Or whatever name you are going under these days.”

  The comment did not fall favorably upon his ears, nor with Hannah’s either, but they did not respond. At least, not verbally. What Hannah communicated to me with her eyes was equal to murder. I changed the subject, hoping that I’d draw Hannah’s murderous intent away from me and toward where it rightly belonged—with her father.

  “Why Aurelia, Doctor?” I asked. “Why the ruse in Nicomedia? Why the protests when we have come to rescue you? By all appearances, you seem to be participating in this adventure willingly, so why would our lives be in danger? Can’t you just explain things away and we have a good chuckle while sipping a glass of Osborne?”

  “It’s more complicated than that, Major,” he groused.

  “Indeed?” I responded with an overdramatic wide-eyed expression.

  “You said your name was Quatermain?” he asked, pulling a conversational switch of his own. “Are you any relation to the great adventurer?”

  “My great-grandfather,” I replied. “You’re dodging my questions.”

  “You seem to have his tact as well, by all accounts,” Dr. Byrd responded.

  “I do what needs to be done. At this moment, your daughter and I need an explanation of your actions.”

  Instead of responding verbally, Dr. Byrd nodded toward the four Nazi hunters packed in the front seat. I nodded in response, accepting that he didn’t wish to have the men, with whom he had no acquaintance, including myself, share in his clandestine workings. I changed the subject again and gave him another question that was much easier to handle.

  “What significance does Aurelia have? Historically speaking, I mean,” I began. “I’m aware that it was named after Emperor Aurelius, who governed the empire in the third century, but I know little more than that.”

  “A quite simple explanation, Major,” he responded in the condescending tone of a history professor; it was something I was used to from my days at Magdalena College. “The hamlet and church known as Aurelia were later known as a hermitage under Justinian and, allegedly, his favorite place to get away from it all.”

  And a perfect place to hide a lance with great power, I didn’t say aloud.

  Professor Byrd continued chattering about the subject of Aurelia and the entire history of the place while we drove back toward Istanbul. It was just as well. We could wait until we were back at the hotel to get our explanation. Besides, I feared that I’d overdone it a bit and needed to lay my head back and rest for a few hours. Or, better yet, a few days.

  Chapter Twelve

  Back in our hotel, we listened to an explanation from Dr. Byrd that matched what Hannah and I had already surmised from the clues we’d gathered.

  Hannah’s father had staged his kidnapping; indeed, he had been enticed willingly into the expedition by a couple of men from Argentina. They’d shown him pieces to a puzzle, which he’d been trying to put together during his entire adult career. Those pieces had corresponded to clues that suggested Aurelia, rather than Nicomedia, was the site of the missing lance. Dr. Byrd had continued recording notes that led in the direction of Nicomedia, but also kept a private set that had the exact same information, except for locating the hermitage and connected catacombs at Aurelia. He’d convinced his new partners that he needed to continue with the ruse in order to mislead anyone who attempted to follow them.

  “What about the man whose nose I broke in your quarters and who attacked us on the train?” I asked.

  “I was unaware of those events,” he replied. “When? How?”

  I related the events to him and awaited an explanation.

  “There has been some tension recently because I didn’t seem to be finding the lance as quickly as my partners felt was necessary. They’d picked up the pressure and were becoming increasingly aggressive. Perhaps they thought I was holding something back and sent someone out to gather more information.”

  “That is likely,” I admitted. “You are aware that these men from Argentina are Nazis and were connected to Hitler himself at the highest levels?”

  “I am now, but I didn’t learn of their true identity until much later,” Dr. Byrd explained. “Had I known, I would never have gone in league with them. I suppose, in a way, I was kidnapped, but only by the blindness of obsession. I have searched for the lance longer than you have been alive, Major. Searched with all my heart and soul.”

  “But Father,” Hannah protested, “you’ve betrayed your country, even the world, perhaps.”

  The hurt in her eyes went beyond the betrayal of which she’d accused him. The knife had been plunged much deeper into her own back—but she was avoiding that particular accusation, for now.

  “It is a grave error that I’ve made,” he admitted. “But believe me, if I quit the job now—and it appears I have, unwillingly—they will still find the lance and they will use it for sinister purposes. My hope was to get the lance in my own hands and escape with it before it was turned over to this Aloïs Pölzl, their leader.”

  My eyes narrowed and a chill went up my spine as I heard him pronounce the name. “Have you seen this Aloïs Pölzl?”

  “I have not, but the others seem to fear him greatly. They’ve passed along that fear to me.”

  Was Aloïs Pölzl really Hitler under a new name? I still wasn’t sure. If Dr. Byrd had seen the man, then any doubt I had would have been confirmed or denied. Up to that point, there was still a mystery behind the name.

  “You’ve acted in an equally foolish manner, however, Major,” Dr. Byrd accused. “By removing me from the dig, you’ve made it impossible to know where, when, and how the lance will be found and who will be wielding it when it is. Do I need to remind you of the power of the lance?”

 
“No need,” I replied, and I secretly questioned his motivation. To me, he still sounded like a man obsessed. “We’ll make sure the lance doesn’t fall into the wrong hands, but there’s no need to return you to searching in Aurelia either.”

  Dr. Byrd wrinkled his brow and glared at me. “I’m not sure what you mean, Major.”

  As I had explained to Hannah the day before, I explained that they were digging in the wrong spot.

  As he listened to my explanation, his eyes widened with shock and comprehension. He said, “My God, I think you are right. No wonder we weren’t finding what we were looking for! Idiot! Of course, the catacombs would be under Istanbul! If only I had my journal and the sketch of the mosaic to go off of! Then I might be able to redirect from that!” He looked at me, real anger in his eyes. “But unfortunately, you have managed to snatch me away without my journal!”

  “Would this work?” Hannah asked, placing the false journal with the page opened to the mosaic into his hands. “Or is this entire thing a fake?”

  He grabbed his heart, then grabbed the journal. “Some things are fake in here, my dear, but others are not. Indeed, this copy of the mosaic is the real deal!”

  ***

  Though Dr. Byrd seemed to be on the level with us, he’d already proven himself to be a bit slippery where forthrightness was concerned, so I took the lead when we left the hotel the following evening and wandered back to the Fatih Mosque just before dusk.

  To convince the professor that we might be onto something at the mosque, I’d shown him the long, iron bar that we’d extracted from the burial chamber. Dr. Byrd was impressed and galvanized by our discovery, agreeing that it was likely an ancient piece, and served to encourage him to have a look inside the tomb (though, according to Hannah, there was nothing else there to see).

  In a flash of inspiration, I replaced the dagger to the bayonet I had acquired from camp with the ancient bar, if for no other reason than to see if it would fit. It did, almost too perfectly. I hated the thought of the bar disappearing when and if someone came to ransack our suite later on. The bar, I suspected might be a clue. Then again, what did I know?