Tomb Raider: The Ten Thousand Immortals

by Dan Abnett

  Lara sat at a table in the back of the café so she couldn’t be seen from the street. She sat with her back to the wall, and quickly glanced around the room. There was no one suspicious. She opened her rucksack to check that everything was still there. She felt in the bottom of the bag to make sure the Book hadn’t been found. The rucksack still had its hard base. It hadn’t been disturbed. The Book was under it, sewn into the lining.

  As she pulled her hand out of the bag, the back of it brushed against something. Lara reached back in and felt around. There was definitely something there. She pushed her belongings to one side and turned the bag partly inside out so that she could examine what she had found. She wasn’t entirely sure, but she thought it was some kind of tracking device or bug. It was certainly good tech, put there by Ares or most likely one of his people.

  “Great,” she said. “Well, two can play at that game.”

  Lara rose from the table as the waiter approached her. She waved and shrugged at him as she went back out onto the street. She looked around, very cautious, sure that Ares’s people couldn’t be far away.

  Lara got lucky and quickly hailed a cab. She got in and said, “Gare du Nord, s’il vous plaît.”

  If they think I’m going home, she thought. Maybe they’ll leave me alone.

  In the back seat of the cab, Lara dumped the stuff out of her rucksack, ripped the stitching in the lining, and took out the Book. She tore a piece of paper from one of the blank pages at the back of the Book and put everything back in the bag. Then, she unclipped the device from where it had been attached to the inside of the rucksack and folded it carefully in the paper, securing it with a hairband. She scribbled the word “Ares” on the small package. Remembering the photographs from Earpiece’s jacket, she pushed them into the flyleaf of the Book’s jacket. She could look at them later. She needed to be alert right now.

  She kept a close eye on the traffic around her. There was no sign of the BMW.

  “Monsieur,” she said to the driver, “do you speak English?”

  “Of course,” said the cabbie.

  “Someone is following me. If I see his car, can you change routes?”

  “Ah,” said the driver, “a bad boyfriend, n’est-ce pas?”

  “Something like that,” said Lara.

  “You will run away, and I will help you,” said the driver.

  “Thank you,” said Lara. “The Gare du Nord? How far?”

  “Fifteen minutes,” said the driver, “twenty. The vehicles, so many of them.”

  “Thank you,” said Lara.

  “The subject is moving southeast on Friedland,” said Hydarnes. “Fast.”

  “She’s on a moped,” said Lydia, breathing hard as she landed on the pavement on Friedland close to the café where Lara had picked up the taxi.

  “You’re coming in, Lydia,” said Hydarnes. “Darius is taking over.”

  “Shit!” said Lydia.

  “Ares will see you on your return.”

  Lydia’s face grew firm, her jaw clenched. She breathed in hard and out slowly.

  “Copy that,” she said. She turned to walk back to the Champs-Élysées.

  “What’s your position, Darius?” asked Hydarnes.

  “Square Louis XVI,” said Darius.

  “Take a left,” said Hydarnes. “You got ahead of her. She’s heading northeast on La Pépinière.”

  “I didn’t pass her,” said Darius.

  Hydarnes shot a glance at the tech as they studied the screen together.

  “May I?” asked the tech, leaning in to tap an instruction on the keyboard.

  “There,” she said. “I should have seen it. She stopped for, maybe ninety seconds.”

  “There was movement,” said Hydarnes.

  “The tracker’s sensitive,” said the tech. “She might have been pacing. The rucksack might have been swinging. There’s no forward trajectory. She definitely stopped.”

  “Is she still on the moped?” asked Hydarnes.

  The tech shrugged.

  “She stole it or jumped a ride. I’m guessing not,” she said.

  Hydarnes thought for a moment.

  “She’s in a taxi,” he said. “Darius, Croft is in a taxi.”

  Lara looked around at every stoplight, at every junction. She never stopped scanning the road, and every time she saw a seven series, black BMW, she went to alert. She was surprised at just how many there were.

  “He must have been a very bad boyfriend,” said the driver at one point.

  “Very,” said Lara, turning to check the view from the rear window.

  As they pulled away from the intersection with the Rue de Rome, Lara looked right to see the traffic waiting to pull out behind them. They were traveling at no more than walking speed, and the first car was already turning out of the junction. She was looking right at Windcheater.

  She hadn’t been expecting to see him there. She didn’t know why, but she expected the BMW to come up behind her. Of course she’d checked all the turnings, but that was because of the anxiety, that was belt and braces. She gasped.

  “Madamoiselle?” asked the driver.

  “It’s him,” said Lara.

  “Nous allons le faire,” said the driver.

  Before Lara knew what was happening, the cabbie had swung into the right-hand lane and turned right down Rue de

  Rome before switching back left, crossing Rue Saint-Lazare and cutting down Cour de Rome.

  “I’ve got her,” said Darius.

  “Stay with her,” said Hydarnes. “Don’t lose her again. Ares wants to know exactly where she is at all times.”

  The tech grinned and put her hand up for a high five. Hydarnes looked at her coldly and turned back to the screen. The tech blushed.

  The cabbie had put several cars between them and the BMW. He’d also caused some confusion, and a flurry of car horns sounded all around them. He beamed in his rearview mirror at Lara.

  “Gare du Nord,” he said. “The scenic route. It will be...”

  “I have money,” said Lara.

  “I would say fun,” said the cabbie.

  Sorry, thought Lara. You can do your best, but I know something that you don’t. You can try as hard as you want, but you can’t lose that BMW. She gripped the paper parcel in her hand a little tighter.

  Then she checked the view through the rear window. She was rocked onto her side when the cabbie took a sudden right turn without indicating. He was throwing the car all over the place, and when Lara was able to sit up again, she could see why.

  Rue de Caumartin was narrow, and the shops and business spilled out onto the street. Racks of clothes stood outside the small boutiques, and the cafés had outside tables filled with customers. It was like an obstacle course. The cabbie dodged a sandwich vendor selling his product under an awning, but clipped one of the tall pedestal tables that some of his customers were standing at to eat. Fortunately, it wasn’t occupied. He hit his horn by way of a warning and an apology, and shrugged at Lara when he heard shouting.

  Lara turned to look back through the rear window once more. She was surprised and relieved to see a large white van in the road thirty yards behind them. It had stopped. The driver was getting out. He had a clipboard in his hand and was clearly making a delivery.

  This is it, thought Lara. This is my chance.

  “Where can I pick up another taxi?” asked Lara.

  “You don’t like my driving?” asked the cabbie, crestfallen.

  “I love your driving,” said Lara. “I want to pay you to keep driving. I want you to take something to the Gare du Nord for me. I want you to let the man in the BMW follow you, but don’t make it easy. When you get to the Gare du Nord, I want you to give him this.” She held up the paper parcel with the bug in it.

  “And you will escape?” aske
d the driver.

  “You will be helping me to escape,” said Lara, holding out three ten-euro notes. “Is this enough?”

  The cabbie pulled over on the corner of Caumartin and Rue de Provence, outside Printemps department store. He took the money.

  “It will be my pleasure,” he said. “Look! There’s a taxi.”

  Lara switched cabs.

  “Hotel Odéon,” she said, “St. Germain.”

  “Oui, mademoiselle,” said the new driver.

  “She’s playing games,” said Darius, backing out of Caumartin. He’d taken the turning too fast, trying to keep up with the taxi, and swiped through a rack of dresses. The boutique owner was beating his fists on the hood of the BMW, trying to get a reaction, but Darius had a job to do. The white van twenty yards ahead of him was blocking the road, and the pile of boxes being unloaded would take time to shift. He’d have to abort and take a different route.

  “You’re better than any taxi driver,” said Hydarnes. “I’ll feed you coordinates as I get them.”

  The cabbie drove back and forth and around the city for twenty minutes more, playing a game of cat and mouse with the big, black BMW. The taxi fare was more than Lara’s thirty euros, but he was having fun.

  “I know where she’s going,” said the tech.

  Hydarnes turned to the young woman.

  “It’s a simple algorithm,” she said.

  “Don’t explain it,” he said. “Just tell me.”

  “The Gare du Nord,” she said. “If you ignore the detours and look at the key route, the subject is making her way back to the Gare du Nord.”

  “Gare du Nord. Darius, you’ll find the subject at the station.”

  The taxi driver became a little concerned when he could not see the BMW behind him for two or three minutes. He turned back onto the Rue Lafayette, but still did not see the car that had been tailing him. He had promised the girl. He picked up the little packet from the dashboard, and read it. The man’s name must be Ares. He was almost there. He’d take the package to the Gare du Nord.

  The black BMW was parked in the taxi bay outside the station. A man was leaning against it. He looked as if he was waiting.

  Moments later, the back door of the taxi was being pulled open before the driver knew what was happening.

  “Where is she?” asked the man. “Ou est-elle?”

  “Mademoiselle asked me to give you this,” said the driver, handing Darius the paper packet with Ares written on it.

  Darius took it. He slammed the rear door of the cab so hard the car rocked. As he strode back to the BMW, the cabbie wound down his window.

  “You are a very bad boyfriend,” he shouted, waving his fist.

  Chapter 14

  Lara felt a little more secure at her hotel. She locked herself in her room and decided to remain there until she visited Menelaou the following morning. She also checked several routes from the hotel to his office, which was mercifully close by.

  The hotel was discreet. There was no reason to think that Ares would find her there. She needed to rest and eat after the day’s adventures, but she was more determined than ever to find out more about the Golden Fleece. If a man like Ares was interested in it, if he was interested in killing her...

  Lara spoke to the duty manager at the hotel. He was remarkably accommodating and, within half an hour, she was not only supplied with a meal, but also with a laptop. The Wi-Fi connection was fast and free.

  The Book was a great resource. It was Lara’s go-to for all things relating to history and archaeology, but it didn’t give her the answers she needed about Ares and the Ten Thousand Immortals. All it did was raise questions. Now that she had met Ares, questions weren’t enough.

  Lara spent the next four hours trawling the web for answers. She began by searching keyword “Ares”, and got more information about the Greek god of war. Then, she went back to the two pages she’d bookmarked on her own laptop at the flat. She skim read the wiki entry. The other site appeared to be a home page for some sort of company or organisation calling itself The Ten Thousand Immortals, but it contained only a banner. There were no links or other pages, and there was no address or contact information. It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t what she was looking for.

  Then Lara began to look at the problem from a different angle. She began with the address on the Champs-Élysées. She began with the place where she had been held captive, where she had met the man who had called himself Ares. No attempt had been made to keep the address from her. It was not difficult to find the name of the business registered to that address.

  Things began to unravel from there.

  Protecteurs de Compagnie was the name of the company registered to the address on the Champs-Élysées. The director of the company was listed as Dalir Arshad. The company profile was brief, and Lara could find no photographs of Arshad or any reference to other company employees.

  “Companion protectors,” said Lara. “What is a companion protector?” She typed the English words into the search field and immediately came up with another registered company. This one had addresses in New York and London. She looked for translations of the words and found companies in Spain, Italy, Germany… The list went on. Every company director had an eastern sounding name. Lara collated the names and looked them up. They took her to a site that listed Persian forenames and surnames. Every name related to war or the virtues of strength or courage. It wasn’t a coincidence. The names had to be made up.

  Then, Lara gathered the addresses of all the companies with the name “Companion Protectors” in all the countries, and started to track down a parent company. They had to be connected.

  The search took some time and all of Lara’s mental resources. She had to be clever, but she started to make significant inroads after the first couple of hours.

  “Companion protectors,” said Lara, again. “They’re bodyguards… mercenaries. Ares is the Greek god of war. Ares is at the head of all of this. If I can just find out who he is!”

  Lara had reached a dead end. She sat at the laptop, eating the last of her meal. The cassoulet, brought in from a local restaurant, had gone cold, but she dipped the bread into it anyway, scooping up the rich sauce. It was delicious, hot or cold. She chewed and pondered, and then, left-handed, she typed “wiki Ten Thousand Immortals” into the search field. She’d been to the site before, but she began reading again.

  She had nothing to lose.

  When she got to the bottom of the page, Lara scrolled back up. Then she typed “Anusiya” into the search field. She was running out of keywords, and this was one of the very few she hadn’t yet used, the Ten Thousand Immortals other name. She didn’t hold out much hope of it leading anywhere. Lara dunked another hunk of good bread into the cassoulet while she scrolled down the results. When she got to the bottom of the page, she hit “Next.” Nothing. She did this two or three more times. There was nothing. Then, on page five of the results, something caught her eye.

  Lara hit the link. It took her to a company website about arms and armaments. There was no address. There were no contact details, no external links, no apparent way to progress any further to find out who ran the company, where it was, or what its connection might be to her search. But Lara was sure there was a connection.

  There was a banner at the top of the page with the word “Anusiya.” There was text about the company, which turned out to be one of the biggest and oldest arms dealers in the world, and there were photographs… photographs dating back to the beginning of photography, photographs of paintings of weapons pre-dating firearms.

  Lara looked around.

  Then, she looked back at the screen.

  “There’s no one here, Lara. Why are you looking over your shoulder?” she said. She shivered. The room was quiet. She listened for a moment. She could hear faint sounds from the street outside. It was almost too qu
iet. Lara thought about finding a podcast, playing some music. She stopped herself. She needed to be alert. She needed to hear if someone was coming. She needed to feel safe. Ares was beginning to seem very frightening.

  Lara clicked on one of the photographs. The screen blacked out for a microsecond, making Lara jump. Then, it filled with a black-and-white image. It consisted of a background of carts and wagons, the sort you might see in a movie about the Wild West, with hoops and waxed canvas covers. The wagons and much of the ground were covered in crates, some of them opened to display rifles. A line of men, wearing American military uniforms, stood in a row in the foreground of the picture.

  “The American Civil War,” said Lara. “They supplied arms during the American Civil War.” She was about to close the photograph and look at another when she stopped. She put her cursor over the two men at the centre of the picture, and clicked. Again, the screen blacked out for a moment. When the image came back into focus, it had zoomed in on the central figures. One wore the uniform of a Confederate general, and the other wore a civilian suit and a hat in the European style. He looked out of place among the soldiers. He was also the only man in the lineup who was not smiling.

  Lara gasped. The civilian, the man that Lara assumed from the photograph must be the arms dealer, bore an uncanny resemblance to the man she knew as Ares. Lara studied the picture for a few seconds and then zoomed out. The photograph was captioned “Virginia 1863.” No one in the photograph was named.

  Lara clicked on another photograph. This one was captioned “South Africa 1880.” The format was remarkably similar, except that the men were sitting on the veranda of a sort of pavilion with the crates of weapons stacked around them. Lara zoomed in. The man in the linen suit looked exactly like Ares. In the twenty years since the Virginia photograph, he had not seemed to age at all. His body seemed bulkier, but his face looked virtually the same.