The Midas Legacy

by Andy McDermott

  ‘What do you mean?’ she asked, but he had already risen to a crouch. He put both hands against the prayer wheel and pushed.

  Metal creaked, and the cylinder started to roll. ‘Help me!’

  Nina shoved the phone into a coat pocket, then slapped her palms against the metal beside Eddie’s and dug her soles into the carpet. The prayer wheel picked up speed. They pushed harder—

  The advancing mercenary opened fire again. More bullets pounded the cylinder, stitching lines around its circumference as it rolled towards him. ‘Come on, come on!’ Eddie yelled as his pace increased to a hunched jog. ‘Faster!’

  ‘I’m fastering!’ she snapped. The gunfire ceased. Eddie risked raising his head. The mercenary had burned through another magazine, clumsily changing it before looking back at his targets – and realising they were closing on him. He pulled back into a gap between two prayer wheels.

  ‘Stop!’ Eddie told Nina. She immediately halted and ducked. He kept going, sidestepping to one end of the rolling drum and pushing harder on that side. It changed course, angling towards the wall.

  The mercenary poked his head out to see the great cylinder growling towards him. He fired again. Eddie dived flat to the carpet, letting the juggernaut’s momentum carry it onwards—

  It struck the mount of one of the standing prayer wheels, knocking it over to pound down on the mercenary’s head like a sledgehammer. He fell to the floor – and the bullet-riddled cylinder rolled over him. The man’s scream was abruptly cut off by a horrible crack as his ribcage collapsed under the weight.

  The big wheel kept on turning. It deflected off another stand to continue down the hall. The second man hastily retreated through the doorway as it thundered towards him—

  Another crack, much louder – and the floor gave way, carpet tearing and planks splintering apart as the prayer wheel plunged through to the stone corridor below with an almighty clang. More candles went flying, tapestries now alight at both ends of the hallway.

  ‘Bloody hell, it’s Flat Stanley,’ Eddie said, glancing at the corpse as he stood. ‘Nina, come on! Down the hole!’ They ran to the ragged gap in the floor.

  The second mercenary reappeared at the doorway—

  Nina and Eddie leapt into the hole as bullets cracked above them.

  They landed on crushed boxes eight feet below. The now-buckled prayer wheel had flattened more supplies before blocking a door at the passageway’s end.

  Nina helped her husband up. ‘We can get out down there,’ she said, pointing back at the stairs they had descended earlier in the day.

  ‘If we can reach them!’ he replied, hearing footsteps above. He pushed Nina ahead of him into the narrow aisle between the stacked provisions as the merc fired down into the hole. Flour exploded from ruptured sacks behind them.

  A thump told Eddie that the man had jumped down into the stone hallway. He toppled the stacks in his wake to block their attacker’s line of fire. ‘Down!’ he yelled as the Kalashnikov’s flat hammering started again.

  Wood splintered, bullets tearing into boxes of canned food and sacks of dried rice. But none of the rounds made it through the makeshift blockade. The shooting stopped, the mercenary snarling in frustration as he clambered after them.

  Loud cracks echoed from the blazing hall above as more wooden supports surrendered to the flames. Nina weaved down the claustrophobic aisle, finally reaching the stairwell – only to stop in alarm as she looked up it. ‘Oh, great!’ The fire had already spread beyond the prayer wheel hall, the stairs ablaze.

  Eddie tried the door to the room containing the gold furnace. Locked – but there was no keyhole, so it had to be bolted from inside. He pounded on it. ‘Hey! Let us in!’

  No reply, and the door remained firmly closed. Crashes came from the corridor as the mercenary kicked aside obstructions. ‘In here!’ said Nina, opening the neighbouring storeroom door. ‘There might be something we can—’

  She gasped as she was driven back by a wave of heat. A fallen beam from the floor above had punched through the ceiling, setting the room ablaze. The mere act of opening the door had fanned the flames, streams of fire swirling through the air like miniature dragons. ‘Or maybe not!’

  Eddie shielded his face as he looked into the smoky storeroom. Its contents were all related to the furnace: crucibles of various sizes, moulds, bags of sand . . . and numerous cylinders of propane. As he watched, the valve on one of them started to squeal in protest at the rising temperature, jetting out a thin stream of gas.

  But he saw something else: a large waist-high metal chest, faded olive-drab paint covered with stencilled symbols. Chinese, a container for some sort of military supplies that had passed through various hands to end up here. He hurried to it and opened the lid. Cardboard cartons of what he guessed were metalworking consumables were inside, taking up about a quarter of the space . . .

  ‘Nina, get in!’ he shouted. ‘Quick!’

  ‘Are you crazy?’ she cried. ‘We’ll get cooked!’

  ‘It’s the only way!’ He strained to tip the chest on its side, spilling its contents across the floor. He was surprised to see that some rusted old rifle parts had been at the bottom, but had no time to wonder what they were doing in a monastery, instead shoving the case into a corner near the door.

  Nina was about to voice another objection when the crash of falling boxes warned her that the mercenary had forced his way through the obstacle course. She darted into the storeroom. Eddie slammed the door as a bullet splintered the frame behind her. ‘Get in!’

  She clambered into the overturned chest and curled up as tightly as she could. Eddie squeezed in with her and swung down the lid. ‘If the fire doesn’t kill us, he will!’ she gasped, the heat already rising. ‘It’s not as if there are many places we could have hidden!’

  He gripped the lid’s inner lip, holding it shut. ‘He won’t even get in here.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You ever seen Backdraft?’

  ‘What, the movie?’ She suddenly realised his plan. ‘Oh my God! We’ve been together for ten years – how did I not notice that you were completely fricking insane?’

  The mercenary kicked open the door—

  Fresh air rushed in – and the fire became an inferno.

  The man’s skin was seared from his face as a wave of flame gushed over him, but he didn’t even have time to scream before the leaking propane tank exploded, taking its neighbours with it. The blast tore through the doorway and blew a hole in the monastery’s outer wall, hurling the mercenary’s charred remains into the open as debris rained down on the snowy slope outside.

  The chest was slammed against the corner, its lid buckling – but it held, the pressure actually forcing it even more tightly closed. Eddie nevertheless maintained his hold until the noise from outside died down, then cautiously opened it a fraction of an inch. He took their not being instantly incinerated by an inrush of flame as a good sign and pushed it wider.

  The little in the storeroom not already ablaze had joined the rest of its contents. But the smoke was swirling upwards through the now-larger hole in the ceiling as clean air was drawn through the ragged gap in the outer wall. The explosion had also blasted open the furnace room’s entrance, the thick wooden door hanging off its hinges. Eddie stood up, then helped Nina out of the chest. ‘We can get outside. You’ve still got the phone?’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ Nina said, pained. The bulky device had jammed hard into her side inside the crate.

  They hurried into the passageway. Eddie peered through the hole. The first thing he saw was the dead mercenary transfixed upon the horns of an aggrieved yak, which was doing its best to shake off the corpse. ‘Guess he was feeling horny.’

  ‘Oh God,’ Nina groaned. ‘I haven’t missed those for the past three years.’

  ‘What?’

&
nbsp; ‘Quips.’

  ‘Black humour’s a perfectly valid coping mechanism for dealing with death and horror,’ said Eddie, straight-faced. Nina gave him a suspicious look. ‘What? I did some reading. Come on.’

  The ground was about ten feet below. He started to climb out, but stopped when he saw the helicopter down the slope. The large Crucible was being manoeuvred into its cabin by two men. One he guessed was the pilot; the other was one of the mercenaries, a Kalashnikov slung across his back. ‘Arse! Can’t go that way – there’s no cover. And I don’t think we’d outrun them on a yak.’

  Noises from the corridor made Nina look around. ‘Someone’s coming!’

  Eddie forced open the damaged door. ‘In here.’

  ‘But it’s a dead end!’

  His expression told her that he was well aware of the fact. The furnace was still alight, propane burners roaring and the glow of molten metal coming from the Crucible atop it, but there was no sign of the monk who had been in the room earlier. ‘Where is he?’ Eddie said.

  Nina glanced towards the anteroom containing the golden treasures. ‘He must be in there.’

  Her husband went to it. ‘It’s padlocked.’ He frowned. ‘But the main door was bolted from inside . . .’

  Neither had time to consider that any further as said door burst open and one of the mercenaries rushed in, AK at the ready.

  Eddie threw himself behind a bench bearing the recently cast gold bar. Nina was still in the open, the furnace the only nearby cover. She ran for it—

  The man fired as she dived, a bullet striking the ceramic Crucible. Blobs of luminous metal sprayed from its open neck. Nina screamed as one burned through her coat sleeve, managing to shake off the searing droplet before it ate into her flesh.

  The Nepali ran around the furnace to find his target on the floor behind it, clutching her scorched arm. He took aim—

  ‘Oi!’

  He turned at the shout – and was hit in the face by twelve kilograms of gold. Teeth cracked, his upper lip bursting open. He fell, the thrown gold bar thunking down beside him.

  Nina rolled clear as Eddie vaulted the bench and charged at the downed man. If he could get the rifle . . .

  It swung towards him – but he booted it from the mercenary’s hand. He moved to stamp on his opponent’s head, only for the man to kick his knee. Eddie staggered, toppling towards the blazing gas jets—

  He twisted as he fell, barely missing the burners and landing heavily beside the furnace. A still-molten glob of gold sizzled on the stone, close enough for him to feel the intense heat on his cheek. He rolled away, but the Nepali had already jumped to his feet. He slammed a boot into Eddie’s chest, then aimed a second kick at his groin. Eddie thrust himself backwards to take the impact on his thigh instead. He kept retreating, fending off more strikes, but came to an abrupt stop against one of the banks of shelves.

  The Nepali snatched up a set of long iron tongs and swung them at the downed Yorkshireman. Eddie whipped up both arms to protect his head. Metal struck his forearm, painfully paralysing his left hand.

  The man drew back to hit him again – then realised that his gun had landed not far away. He threw the tongs at Eddie and darted for the Kalashnikov.

  Nina scrambled back upright, seeing him snatch up his gun—

  She kicked the furnace, hard. It fell over, the Crucible hitting the floor with a ringing note and splashing its glowing contents across the stone slabs.

  The molten gold gushed around the mercenary’s feet. At over a thousand degrees Centigrade, the liquid metal instantly melted the soles of his boots and set his clothing aflame. He fell backwards with an anguished screech, landing in the searing pool. There was a sizzling crackle of burning cloth and flesh as the man was suddenly wreathed in fire, limbs flailing for a couple of seconds before every nerve in his spinal cord was burned to blackened ash.

  Nina jumped back, rounding the overturned furnace to drag Eddie clear. ‘Jesus! Are you hurt?’

  ‘Won’t be juggling for a while,’ he growled, cradling his aching left arm. ‘Where’s the gun?’

  The Kalashnikov had landed in a tongue of superheated gold. ‘Getting blinged up.’

  ‘Great.’ A shout came from outside. ‘Shit, more of them!’

  ‘What’re we gonna do? There’s no way out of here.’

  Eddie surveyed the walls. ‘The room was locked from inside, so there must be . . .’ His eyes fixed upon a cabinet in one corner. Behind it, about five feet up, a wooden beam was set into the stone wall. A lintel? ‘A secret door!’

  He ran to it, Nina behind him. ‘This isn’t a haunted house,’ she said, unconvinced.

  ‘You’ve never heard of a priest hole?’ He strained to pull the cabinet away from the wall.

  ‘Monks aren’t priests.’

  ‘All right, a bloody monk hole!’

  ‘You’re a monk hole!’ She helped him swing the old cupboard aside, revealing a squat opening behind it. ‘Oh. Okay. You were right.’

  ‘Apology accepted,’ he said with a pained grin. Beyond the little doorway was a narrow passageway. Eddie peered down it, seeing the foot of a ladder at the end. ‘It’s clear!’

  They ducked through the opening. The ladder ascended to a trapdoor. Eddie cautiously raised it, recognising the interior of a building they had passed through to reach the cliff path. The way back towards the main gate was blocked by fire, the conflagration spreading.

  He climbed out, left hand still numb. ‘We’ll have to get out through the tower.’

  ‘There’s no way down to the ground from there!’ Nina protested.

  ‘Maybe not, but you’ll be able to use the satphone once we’re outside.’ They ran from the flames.

  The second of the brothers rushed into the furnace room. ‘Hermanga!’ he called – then saw the burning figure lying in the spilled gold. A moment of shock . . . followed by a scream of anguish as he realised the body was that of his twin. He stood shaking for a moment, before spotting the hidden door. Roaring obscenities, he ran after his brother’s killers.

  Axelos retreated into the courtyard, looking back at the string of buildings as smoke and flames advanced along them like a lit fuse. He had reached as far as the prayer wheel hall before deciding that heading any deeper into the monastery would be suicide. The twins, however, had gone in pursuit of Wilde and her husband, leaving only one man with him. ‘We’re pulling out,’ he said into his walkie-talkie. ‘Everyone back to the helicopter, now.’

  He waited several seconds, but there was no response. A faint shake of his head: amateurs. That was what happened when you rushed into a mission without the right people. ‘Let’s go,’ he told the remaining Nepali.

  The man gestured towards the outbuildings. ‘Monks in there. Kill them?’

  ‘No. Enough people have died already.’ He regarded the bodies sprawled outside the debate house with regret. What should have been a straightforward operation had turned, to use an American expression he particularly liked, into a cluster-fuck. He headed for the gate, bringing up the radio again. ‘Collins! Is the Crucible loaded?’

  ‘Just secured it,’ the helicopter pilot replied. ‘Did you get the other one?’

  ‘No,’ he said – unknowingly passing just a few feet from his prize. He turned at a loud crash to see the roof of the prayer wheel hall collapse, sending a great spray of sparks into the air. ‘One will have to be good enough.’

  ‘I’ll let you be the one to tell him that.’

  ‘Just get ready to take off. I’ll be with you soon.’ He and the Nepali set off at a jog down the hill.

  Eddie threw open the tower’s entrance. ‘At least this isn’t on fire.’

  ‘Yet,’ said Nina. The blaze seemed to be actively pursuing them through the monastery. She looked back as they rushed through, seeing fire
licking along the corridor’s ceiling beams – then flinched. ‘Oh my God! But he’s dead!’ The man she had killed in the furnace room charged around a corner, rifle in hand.

  Eddie stared in disbelief, then slammed the door. ‘And you said this wasn’t a haunted house!’

  They ran past the laughing Buddha and pounded up the wooden staircase. Explosions came from somewhere nearby, more gas cylinders or stocks of fuel going up with enough force to rattle the tower’s ancient timbers. But any hope that their pursuer had been caught by the blasts vanished as the Nepali barged through the door.

  He saw them and yelled in rage, opening fire. Nina and Eddie ducked as bullets ripped through the wood around them. The banister splintered, holes exploding through the steps at their feet.

  Then the shooting stopped – but only while he changed magazines—

  More explosions, these much closer – and larger. The entire tower jolted as if hit by an earthquake, knocking the gunman off his feet. His Kalashnikov skidded across the age-worn stone slabs and vanished into a great crack that tore open in the floor.

  Eddie and Nina fared little better. The Englishman almost fell through the broken banister before his wife grabbed him. The whole tower swayed sickeningly, like a ship pitching in a heavy sea. ‘What the hell was that?’ she cried.

  Another detonation below, a smoky shock wave belching up from the widening chasm. The tower tipped further over, stones grinding and wood creaking to the point of fracture before it slowly reeled back upright. A smaller but more violent movement rose beneath it – a frantic shuddering, unyielding blocks crunching over each other . . .

  Slowly, but inexorably, the entire tower tore away from its base and began to slide down the hillside.

  With Nina and Eddie inside.

  17

  Axelos was two thirds of the way to the helicopter when he heard multiple explosions from the monastery. He looked uphill – and his eyes popped wide in surprise as the tallest tower leaned forward as if bowing, before shakily tipping back upright . . . and then the stone wall at its foot crumbled and collapsed. The gridwork of thick wooden beams making up its foundations burst through the debris, acting like the runners of a sledge as the whole structure began to slither downhill.