Silver

by Brian January

  Parking the Land Rover in the shadowed side of the hill, he got out and retrieved the case containing the Barrett. The Sig Sauer and two of the timer mines he stuck in his pack. Nathaniel followed him around to the low end of the ramp and they climbed to the summit. Here the site looked abandoned and uncared for, with piles of loose rock heaped on mounds of dirt and clumps of wild myrtle and juniper scattered like someone had just tossed them there.

  At the far edge of the hill, the broken foundation of what once had been a large structure could be seen, its outlines now obscured by dirt and grass. On one end a huge marble pediment lay on the ground beside a wall of massive dress stones fitted into place for a wall. Fluted Ionic marble columns rose up to spear the sky, all sheared off at their tops at various heights, looking like broken teeth.

  Nathaniel gaped in wonder. “This was a temple to Aphrodite,” he said. “She was probably called by the epithet ‘Ourania’ here—‘heavenly’. She was probably imported from the Near East, where she was known as Astarte. As Dr. Vasiliou mentioned, she was linked to Ariadne.”

  Pulling out the Stealth, Skarda scrolled to the satellite GPR data. The TerraSAR-Z showed the configuration of the hill in gray. Just under the temple’s foundation was a roughly circular construction in red, indicating that it lay under the surface of the ground. The circle spiraled in upon itself—a labyrinth.

  “DA-PU-RI-TO-JO PO-TI-NI-JA,” Nathaniel said softly. “Ariadne. The Lady of the Labyrinth.”

  Skarda cast his gaze around the summit. “We’re assuming there’s some sort of temple down there. So where would the entrance be?”

  The scholar wrinkled his forehead and glanced around methodically. As he started to open his mouth to reply—

  From out of their line of sight an engine roared. Running in a low crouch to the edge of the hill, Skarda caught sight of a vehicle shooting over the hump of a low mound below, its eight deep-tread wheels spinning up clouds of dust as they gripped the plain, its armored flanks making it look like a charging steel-plated rhino.

  A flash of panic gripped him. It was an LAV-M—a Light Armored Vehicle equipped with an M252 mortar and an M240E1 machine gun.

  “We have to get out of here!” he yelled.

  But Nathaniel was standing rooted to the spot. He’d come up behind him and now he was staring at the oncoming mini-tank with his mouth hanging open.

  Grabbing him by the arm, Skarda sprinted for the side of the hill just as the foundation on his left exploded in a whirlwind of flying dirt and stone. He was blown backward, losing his grip, his eyes streaming with tears. The concussion thundered in his ears.

  Frantically glancing around, he saw Nathaniel sprawled out over the edge of the hill, the top half of his body out of Skarda’s line of sight. Skarda scrambled toward him. Covered with dirt, the scholar was retching violently.

  Then a second mortar shell struck with an ear-deafening boom.

  Throwing himself over the edge of the hill, Skarda dug his heels into the dirt and slip-slided down the face, dragging Nathaniel after him until their feet finally lost their grip and they rolled down the rest of the way. In the first explosion, the gun case had been torn from his grasp, but he still had the Sig Sauer and the mines.

  Maybe it would be enough.

  Another mortar shell crumped. It was odd—the top of the hill seemed to be their target, not himself and Nathaniel. He pulled the scholar close to him. His face was streaked with dirt and several rivulets of blood trickled down his left cheek. But his eyes were clear.

  “I want you to run to the other side of the hill,” Skarda ordered. “Find whatever hiding place you can, okay?”

  Without waiting for a reply, he pulled out the pistol and headed west, scrambling in a crouch along the base of the hill. At the far edge he stopped, going flat on his belly and crawling forward to peer at the armored vehicle. A man in a black shirt was standing up in the open roof hatch, adjusting the mortar. Another man with an HK416 had just hopped down from an open turret and was heading in this direction.

  Shrinking back, Skarda took a moment to think. The LAV had half-inch steel plate armor and the mortar and machine guns were formidable weapons. But the vehicle had an Achilles heel. With no windshield and controlled from the interior cabin, the crew depended on external periscopes and a day-night imaging camera called a Remote Weapons System to drive and to sight targets.

  If those could be neutralized...

  He rose to half his full height, his shoulder pressed against the wall of dirt. Beyond his line of sight he could hear the gunman’s boots crunching on the rocky soil as he came closer—

  In a burst of speed Skarda leapt out into the open, his right arm thrust out straight, his finger tugging on the trigger of the Sig Sauer. The bullets struck the gunman’s face with hard smacks, spewing out a shower of blood and bone. A low grunt escaped the man’s mouth and he crumpled to the ground.

  Jamming the pistol in his waistband, Skarda sprinted for the dead man. By now the mortar operator had spotted him and was rotating the cannon in his direction.

  Stooping, Skarda pried the rifle from the man’s hand. A grenade hung from his belt. He grabbed it and pulled the pin, lobbing it at the LAV, the spoon flying away and winking in the lowering light.

  Instantly the mortar operator’s head ducked out of sight and the steel hatched clanged shut. With a booming flash the grenade exploded uselessly against the LAV’s armor.

  Thoughts unreeled in Skarda’s brain. The safest place to be around an enemy tank was right next to it. No one can see you.

  Slinging the HK over his shoulder, he bolted forward across the open space, sweat breaking out between his shoulder blades.

  With a roar of its big Caterpillar engine, the LAV lurched into life and sped forward, trying to gain distance to swing around to sight him with the RWS. That wasn’t going to happen. Bending low, Skarda jumped, his fingers reaching out and curling around the end of a cable bolt. Muscles straining, he swung his legs up on the vehicle’s sloping flank, then grabbed for a rung below the turret and hauled himself up on the flat superstructure.

  This close, he could hear the vehicle creaking as the hydraulic lines hissed and repressurized. Scuttling forward, he reached the pintle-mounted machine gun. Beneath it he saw what looked like an oversized camera lens hood. The RWS. Reaching around, he aimed the muzzle of his pistol at the lens and pulled the trigger. Glass shattered. He did the same for the driver’s periscope.

  The LAV was driving blind now. They had no choice but to send a man up through the manhole in the turret. Backpedaling to a spot behind the machine gun, he waited patiently. Half a minute later the hatch popped open and a blond-haired man rose up, triggering a burst from his rifle at the position Skarda had just quitted.

  Skarda shot him in the head. Then, pressing the timer on one of the mines, he dropped it into the open turret. A harsh cry went up from the interior.

  Ten seconds later he heard a sharp bang and black smoke belched from the turret.

  The LAV lurched to a halt.

  Running back, Skarda found Nathaniel crouching behind the Land Rover. “Get in!” he yelled. “We have to get out of here!”

  From the north came the clatter of an approaching helicopter. Swinging around, Skarda looked skyward and frowned. The excavators in Izmir were supposed to wait until he called them.

  “Stay here,” he ordered. He took off at a fast trot toward the low end of the hill, stopping in the shelter of a stunted olive tree. Inching his head out into the open, he could see a black Eurocopter Tiger attack chopper zooming straight towards him.

  The LAV must have called for reinforcements.

  Shrinking back into the purpling shadows of the tree, he watched the chopper bank around in a sharp turn.

  A missile streaked out from the port rocket pod. Then another. The top of the hill exploded, sending showers of dirt and rocks down on him. More missiles leapt out, their vapor trails angling at the hill. The boom of the combined explosions was deafen
ing.

  And then came a new sound—the sound of the massive marble columns crashing to earth, one after another, as their bases crumbled and shattered.

  Then abrupt quiet.

  Dropping low, Skarda risked a look upward. The Eurocopter was hanging in the air above the hill, shrouded by the billows of smoke that were corkscrewing skyward.

  And then his blood turned to ice.

  Even at this distance he couldn’t mistake the skull-like profile of the man sitting behind the thick plexiglass of the gunner’s canopy.

  A man who looked like a bird of prey.

  Krell.

  He was alive!

  Thoughts ripped through Skarda’s brain. No one could possibly have lived through the wreckage of the exploding helicopter.

  But Krell did.

  The man was indestructible.

  For almost a minute the Eurocopter hovered in place, wreathed in black smoke. Then it slued around and headed back north.

  Very slowly Skarda trudged back to the Land Rover, the realization of what had just happened making his heart sink. He wished April were here. But he couldn’t afford to think about her now. He had to trust in her ability to stay alive. Whether she were here or not, it was vital to find the silver before time ran out. That’s what she would want him to do.

  He found Nathaniel cringing in the shadowed side of the Land Rover. Together they hiked up the ramp of the hill. A wave of depression threatened to engulf Skarda; his vital energy had drained away like someone had pulled the plug that stoppered up his soul. For some reason it made him think of Flinders: the intelligence in her dark blue eyes, her bravery under fire, her almost single-minded determination. The memory warmed him, buoyed his spirits. Not for the first time it occurred to him that maybe his feelings for her ran deeper than he realized.

  And maybe April was right, maybe it was time for him to put Sarah’s ghost to rest and move on.

  They reached the summit. Over what was still visible of the ruins of the temple’s foundation, the columns lay in shattered sections along with the broken multi-ton blocks of the stone wall. Mounds of dirt lay heaped everywhere.

  Nathaniel turned his face up to Skarda, bewildered. “Why did they do this?”

  Skarda’s eyes were bleak. “If the silver is here, there’s no way we can dig underneath now without moving tons of marble and dirt first. That could take weeks. They don’t want us to find it.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know.” The question bothered him, too.

  Shoving the HK416 aside, he pulled out the Stealth. Less than eight hours left.

  There was no way they were going to make it in time.

  The pall of depression returned, draping its black shadow over his thoughts.

  People were going to die and there was nothing he could do about it.

  TWENTY-SIX

  London

  SOLOMON couldn’t help but gloat as he stared at Krell’s battered face on the Vertu screen. Long welts and ugly red burn marks scarred the man’s bone-tight skin. A purple-and-yellow bruise bled from his temple into his hairline. It looked like he’d just come from the office of a plastic surgeon who’d botched the job.

  So the man who inspired such terror in him wasn’t invulnerable after all.

  It made Solomon feel ten feet tall.

  Krell finished his report about the destruction at Miletus and Solomon powered down the screen. If the silver were truly there, it was safely buried for the time being. But that was no problem. Later he could hire a crew to retrieve it at his leisure.

  Especially if Lake were taken out of the picture, as he hoped she would be.

  The psychological victory over Krell and the thought of the silver shot lightning bolts of greed through Solomon’s nervous system. Suddenly his loins itched. It was more than he could bear.

  His hand trembled as he sloshed Glenfidditch into his tumbler. It was still trembling when he opened the intercom to Martha’s room. “I’m hungry,” he said.

  It was their code.

  Time for the dark-haired girl.

  ___

  April knew the squat woman had killed the blonde girl. What she didn’t know was why.

  But she was going to find out.

  A flicker of movement caught her eye. The door opened and the woman entered, coming to stand squarely in front of her cell.

  Rolling off the bed, April got to her feet and walked to the glass front, staring the woman stoically. Martha’s eyes traveled over April’s naked body. Her tongue squirmed out and licked her lips, her gaze brimming with dark lust.

  April felt a shudder run through her. There was something evil about this woman, something repellant that revolted her to the core of her soul. Instinctively she understood that this was about sex—not sex with this toad of a woman, but with someone else. Someone who used her to facilitate his sexual perversions. Someone who had the victims of his lust murdered when he was finished with them.

  Again the woman ran her gaze over April’s body and a shiver shook her frame. Finally she turned away with reluctance, disappearing through the open doorway. A minute later April heard the faint hiss of gas in the blocked vent.

  She stretched herself face down on the bed.

  Two minutes passed. Then the hiss reversed itself: a sucking noise as the gas was cleared from the room and pipeline.

  April waited, immobile.

  A click sounded as the door lock disengaged. She could sense the woman stepping into the cell...coming closer—

  April’s legs shot straight out, whipping around like a sledgehammer, slamming into the squat woman’s midsection. Martha shrieked as the breath exploded from her lungs, and she staggered backwards to crash against the wall.

  Leaping to her feet, April ran at her just as Martha shoved herself away from the wall, charging for a head butt, her face a mask of hate and fury.

  With a quick sidestep April let her lunge past, then vised her forearm around the woman’s throat, yanking her back. The woman was stronger than she looked. She tried to wrestle free, flailing with knotted fists, but April hung on, squeezing.

  Squeezing—

  But this would be too merciful a death for a monster like this—

  When the woman’s arms finally went limp, April dragged her into the next cell and threw her on the bed. The woman rolled back and forth, gasping for air, her right hand clawing at her throat.

  Stepping out into the corridor, April closed the door. The lock engaged. Inside the cell, the squat woman’s head snapped around at the sound. She rolled over, staring. Terror filled her eyes.

  She leapt off the bed, throwing her palms against the glass.

  April moved to the exit door. Past it she saw the adjoining computer room. The computer was already booted up, the monitor glowing in the low light. Studying the layout of the screen, she tapped a couple of keys, then returned to the woman’s cell.

  Above her head, yellow gas was billowing out from the ceiling vent.

  The squat woman was still pressed against the glass wall, her eyes rolling in their sockets, frantic with terror. Her big fists balled up, beating soundlessly against the glass. Her mouth opened and closed in silent pleas.

  For a long moment April stared at her, her black eyes utterly without pity.

  Then she turned away and strode out of the room.

  ___

  Three minutes later she had explored the basement level. In Solomon’s bedroom she found a robe and knotted it around her. Quickly she searched through the room. It was set up more like a torture chamber than a bedroom. Her guess had been right. The owner of the house was another monster. Cold fury rose up inside her but she damped it down. Emotions would only get in the way of what she had to do.

  The vault was what interested her. Whoever owned this house had hired Krell and that meant he was connected to the silver hoard. Maybe the vault contained clues that would help in the search.

  The elevator was the only way up. With the heel of her hand she smash
ed the touch pad, then fused together the wires until the doors valved open.

  She stepped inside.

  ___

  Alone in his study, Solomon stood at the window, staring out over the jumble of roofs and trees. The sky had lightened, but clumps of cloud still scudded across his vision, driven by a strong wind.

  He drank heavily from his tumbler of Scotch. He’d been drinking more lately. Too much. But he didn’t care. His nerves demanded it.

  His thoughts drifted to the dark-haired girl downstairs. He’d only taken a quick glimpse at her, but it was enough to see that Krell had done his job well. She was just what he needed. Needed badly. Something dark crawled and twisted inside him. It was the feeling he always got when he needed to feel in control, to control something completely, with absolute power. Despite his recent victory over Krell, he was still unsettled inside, still unmanned.