Tomb Raider: The Ten Thousand Immortals

by Dan Abnett

  Frink continued to float on the pool, unconscious.

  Then, a bright shaft of light drove in low to her left. It was sudden and very yellow. It could only be the sun. It didn’t have the soft white glow of the moon or the bluish-green tint of the organic luminescence.

  Lara crawled along the ledge towards the light. She moved between the columns, always keeping the yellow glow in sight, turning this way and that, finding a path between the rocks, sometimes walking or crawling along ledges, sometimes having to swim.

  Five minutes later, Lara was outside on the beach. The sun was a bright semicircle on the horizon.

  It was a long walk back to Anafi, and Lara reached the town as the sun was rising steadily in the sky. It was still early. The hotel was dark and quiet, and Lara hated to draw attention to herself, so she kept walking down to the quay where the fishermen were working. Her light clothes were dry by the time she got there.

  A young woman was sitting, sewing nets at the quayside. She looked up and waved at Lara.

  “Hello,” she said.

  “Hello,” said Lara. “Beautiful morning.”

  “Too early for a tourist,” said the girl. “My name is Rebekah.”

  “I’m Lara. I’m working out on the archaeological dig in the harbour,” she said, pointing at Alecto.

  “I’m sewing fishing nets. I’m also practising my English so that I can leave the island and do a real job,” said Rebekah. “I speak to everyone. All the tourists. You’re English. We get a lot of English on the beaches.”

  “Good luck,” said Lara. “You should visit England. It’s very different from Anafi, but it’s beautiful.”

  “One day, I will,” said Rebekah. She looked along the quay. “Your dinghy isn’t here. Your dinghy to get to the boat.”

  “No,” said Lara. “Like you said, it’s too early.”

  “Georgos will take you,” said Rebekah. “Georgos… Georgos!”

  Ten or fifteen yards further down the quay, a man in his twenties with long curly hair lifted his head. When he saw Lara standing with Rebekah, he jogged towards them.

  “This is my brother, Georgos,” said Rebekah.

  “Hi,” said Georgos. The siblings exchanged a few words, and Georgos smiled.

  “Of course,” he said. “I would be pleased.”

  In two minutes, Lara had said good-bye to Rebekah and was stepping into the dinghy. A few minutes later she was back on Alecto, calling Kennard’s name. He appeared from one of the cabins, his hair tousled, wearing a pair of florescent orange shorts. He stopped mid-yawn when he saw Lara.

  “What on Earth are you doing here?” he asked.

  “It’s been a long night,” said Lara. “Make me some coffee, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Chapter 19

  “What the hell have you got yourself caught up in?” asked Kennard.

  Lara shrugged.

  He had made her the coffee, and he’d cooked up a pretty spectacular breakfast of eggs and good bread. They’d eaten together on deck. It was a couple of hours before the rest of the crew began to rise and get ready for a day of diving. It gave Lara and Kennard plenty of time to talk.

  Lara had to tell Kennard something about why she had hitched a ride out to Alecto so early in the morning. She was still wearing yesterday’s clothes, her boots were drying on the deck, and she hadn’t slept. It was a lot to simply shrug off, so she told him the truth. She didn’t tell him about Menelaou or Ares or anything that had happened in Paris. She didn’t even tell him that she’d been to Paris. Christian Fife was enough for him to deal with. He was just an archaeology student, like her.

  No one’s an archaeology student like me, she thought.

  “I don’t really have a clue what’s happening,” said Lara. “I don’t know why Fife picked on me. His thugs were taking pictures at the dig. My father was a well-known archaeologist, so maybe that has something to do with it. I don’t know. Fife’s a rich man though. He’s rich and famous, and people like that know how to get what they want. He had some sort of face recognition software or something. People like Fife are impressed by other people they think are somehow famous. Not that I’m famous, but my father… You know. He was clutching at straws, looking for anything that could help. His people were researching the Golden Fleece and so was I, and that was enough for him.”

  “Well, let’s make sure your paths don’t cross again,” said Kennard Montez. “I hate to see you in any kind of danger.”

  “I don’t think I was in real danger,” said Lara. “Christian Fife is just a sad, desperate man. He’s very sick. He’s bitter and angry, and he’s throwing money at his problems. Honestly, I don’t blame him.”

  “I suppose not,” said Kennard.

  Lara was playing the whole thing down for Kennard’s benefit. There was a risk he might try to talk her out of what she was trying to do. There was even a risk he might try to take over if he thought she was in danger. Lara knew that he liked her. She didn’t need a saviour. She didn’t need a man swooping in and taking charge. She had her own plans and her own way of doing things.

  “I walked out of there, didn’t I?” she said.

  “I suppose so,” said Kennard.

  “All movie stars have bodyguards,” she said.

  “I suppose so,” said Kennard, again. “It still bothers me though.”

  “Well, I’m here now,” said Lara, “and you make great eggs.”

  Kennard smiled.

  “While you’re here, let’s make sure you’re safe,” he said.

  “I’m perfectly safe,” said Lara. “I’m staying in a very public hotel. There are people around all the time. And I know who they are now.”

  “We can do better than that,” said Kennard.

  Lara was distracted. She heard revving and splashing, and looked out over the water. She pointed.

  “Are they your guys?” she asked as a pair of jet skis made straight for the dig boat.

  “No,” said Kennard, getting up, “they’re not my guys.”

  The jet skis were approaching the boat at full speed. The figures on them, both apparently men, were wearing black wet suits and diving masks. Lara couldn’t see their faces, but she had a terrible feeling they were Ares’s men.

  “They’re heading straight for us,” said Lara.

  Kennard started pulling the catches on a lockbox attached to the side of the wheelhouse.

  “Get below decks!” he shouted at Lara.

  “Not a chance,” said Lara.

  The jet skis were only a few yards away when Kennard pulled the flare gun out of the lockbox, loaded it, primed it, and aimed it in a double-handed grip at the jet ski coming alongside the boat.

  Suddenly Lara realised that one of the archaeological divers was beside Kennard, aiming some kind of harpoon at the second jet ski.

  There was a bang and a flash, and Lara saw the air in front of her fill with smoke. The man who had been riding the first jet ski was in the water, clutching at his face. The jet ski was bobbing idly on the water. The second man had slowed his jet ski and was pointing a weapon at Kennard. But the diver had the harpoon on him, and it was a standoff. He turned the jet ski and headed out into the harbour.

  Kennard reloaded the gun with a second flare and aimed it at the stationary jet ski. He had fired before Lara could stop him. The man in the water ducked below the surface, avoiding the flash and the blast.

  “You want me to...?”

  “No!” said Lara, cutting off the diver before he could finish his question.

  The second flare had hit the jet ski, and there was more smoke and what appeared to be a small fire, which went out after several seconds.

  “What the hell are you doing shooting at people, Kennard?” Lara asked, horrified.

  “Trying to protect you,” said Kennard.

&n
bsp; “I don’t need protecting,” said Lara.

  “Did those guys look friendly to you?” asked Kennard. “Are they Fife’s bodyguards?”

  “No,” said Lara. “As a matter of fact, they aren’t.”

  “Who are they then?” asked Kennard.

  “How should I know?” asked Lara. “They weren’t pulling weapons on me. They were aiming them at you! Do you pull a flare gun on everyone that comes out to the boat? And what’s that thing?” she asked, gesturing at the diver’s harpoon.

  They heard the thrum of a jet ski engine and looked out at the water to see the first man turning his jet ski into open water. He had taken his diver’s mask off, and though the skin was beginning to blister with burns, Lara could see part of his face. She thought she recognised him.

  “He’s getting away,” said Kennard.

  “Let him go,” said Lara.

  “I don’t usually fire a flare gun at jet skis,” said Kennard. “But you had me worried with all your talk about bodyguards and escaping from remote villas. Maybe I overreacted. I’m sorry.”

  “You had me bloody worried, shooting at people,” said Lara. She sighed. “It’s OK. It’s over now.”

  “I’ll just put this away and start setting up for the day,” said the diver, lowering his harpoon.

  “Thanks,” said Kennard. He sat down and began to check the flare gun before putting it back in the lockbox.

  Lara sat in silence. The truth was, she was relieved. The man on the jet ski looked just like the guy she’d left on the street in Paris, the guy she’d escaped from on the moped… One of the Ten Thousand Immortals.

  Why didn’t they aim at me? she wondered. They were coming for the boat. I shouldn’t have been here. Were they after Kennard? Did they want to hijack the dig? What is Ares doing?

  “Whatever happens,” said Kennard, breaking into Lara’s thoughts, “you’re staying with me now. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  Lara laughed.

  “I’m a big girl,” she said. “I think I can make my own decisions. Besides, most of my stuff is back at the hotel, and I’m not leaving it there.”

  “I’ll take you back to collect it, and then you’re coming back to the boat,” said Kennard. “You’ll be safe here.”

  “With jet skis attacking and you shooting at stuff?” asked Lara.

  “Well, we’re both still in one piece,” said Kennard.

  “Point taken,” said Lara.

  “Let’s go,” said Kennard. “The jet ski’s made for open water. We should be safe getting back to the quay.”

  Chapter 20

  The ride back to the shore in the dinghy was uneventful.

  “Look,” said Lara as they approached, “there are people everywhere. I’ll just run back to the hotel. I’ll be perfectly safe.” She smiled to reassure him.

  Kennard tied the dingy up and glanced along the quay, teeming with people.

  “Wait for me, if you like,” said Lara. “I promise, I’ll be back before you’ve even had a chance to miss me.”

  “OK,” said Kennard, “but straight to the hotel and straight back here. Don’t stop for anything or anyone.”

  “No, sir,” said Lara, smiling again. She let Kennard hand her out of the dinghy and walked quickly along the quay, waving at Rebekah as she passed her.

  Lara headed straight for Chora, along the main road, always sure to stay among the thronging tourists. She kept her eyes peeled too. If she was right and Ares had tracked her down, she really needed to be on her guard.

  It’s a good job I got a room in a busy hotel in Anafi and not some quiet corner of the island, she thought.

  As the road rose ahead of her, Lara saw the back of a white linen jacket worn by a tall, lean man. She kept an eye on it for the next three or four minutes, almost convinced that it was Frink. Whoever it was entered a bar on the right-hand side of the street. Lara tried to get a line of sight into the place, but there was a low awning and shutters, and she couldn’t see anyone inside.

  She kept walking, and within a few minutes she was back at her hotel. She hadn’t been there since the morning of the day before.

  As she walked up the corridor to her room, she noticed that something was off. She stepped to the opposite side of the corridor from her room and looked carefully at the door as she walked past her room. The door was definitely not properly locked.

  Lara walked past the room again, listening. She heard nothing. She reached out for the door handle. The door hadn’t been pulled closed. It hadn’t locked. Lara pushed the door slowly open, as quietly as she could, and stood clear. If someone was inside, they might try to escape or to attack her. Lara was on her guard.

  When nothing happened, and she could hear no sounds from within, Lara stepped into the room and glanced around. Everything appeared to be just as she had left it. Lara stepped back out of the room. Then, she turned and began to walk the length of the corridor back towards the lifts. She saw the service trolley towards the end of the corridor and waited for the cleaner to emerge from the room she’d been servicing.

  “Excuse me,” Lara said, smiling.

  “Yes, miss?” said the cleaner.

  “Have you cleaned room 227?” asked Lara.

  “No, miss,” said the cleaner.

  Lara was relieved. She hated the idea that someone had intruded on her private space, and she didn’t want to be in the room alone. She smiled winningly at the cleaner.

  “Would you mind very much cleaning my room next?” asked Lara.

  “What?” asked the cleaner.

  “Here,” said Lara, and she began to walk back to her room, gesturing for the cleaner to follow. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d be very grateful.” She put her hand in the pocket of her shorts and pulled out a five-euro note.

  “Of course, miss,” said the cleaner, and she stepped back into the corridor to retrieve her vacuum cleaner.

  As the cleaner set to work in the bedroom, Lara locked herself in the tiny shower room. When she could hear the vacuum cleaner, Lara lifted the lid off the toilet cistern and turned it over. Taped to the underside, wrapped in Ziploc bags, were the Book and the Queen Mary tin. Lara pulled off the duct tape in one quick movement, dropped the package in her rucksack, and replaced the cistern lid. Then, just for good measure, she flushed the loo. She screwed up the duct tape and put it in the waste bin in the bathroom before tying off the liner, ready for the cleaner to dispose of it.

  When she went back into the bedroom, the cleaner went into the bathroom, and by the time the cleaner emerged, Lara had filled her rucksack with the few clothes she’d left in the hotel room, and was back on the streets of Chora.

  She didn’t plan to go back to the hotel, but she didn’t check out. Her credit card was on file, so she could make a call. Right now, she wanted anyone who was following her to think that she was staying at the hotel.

  As Lara walked down the steep, winding road between the beautiful whitewashed buildings towards the quay, she became aware of the sensation, once again, that she was being followed. She glanced to her left and thought she saw Frink again, two or three yards behind her among the tourists. Then, Peasley was beside her, a can of cherry cola in his hand, his forehead glistening above the rim of his sunglasses.

  A group of thirty or forty tourists was filling the road in front of them, moving at a slower pace. They were a touring party of more mature holidaymakers from somewhere in northern Europe. The accent was Germanic, and one very large man in oversized shorts and robust sandals seemed particularly gregarious.

  “Well, you certainly seem to know where you’re going,” said Lara, skipping up to the man and squeezing in between him and other members of his party. She took him firmly by the crook of his arm. “And me, all on my own,” she said. “You do speak English, don’t you? Everybody does.”

  “English
?” asked the man, beaming down at Lara. “Of course I speak the English. I speak the English and the French, and a very little Spanish. The Spanish beaches, they are beautiful, but the tourists, they are most troublesome.”

  “Too many English people,” said Lara. “The Greek Islands are so much more… Well, you can show me.”

  Lara kept an eye on Peasley, who lurked at the edge of the group, but could not hope to penetrate it. She was safe.

  One of the women in the group was scowling and said something rather loudly to her female companion. It was a couple of sentences that included the name “Norbert.”

  “She says that Norbert is looking for a new girlfriend, and that he shouldn’t be looking at such a young woman,” the large man said to Lara, patting the hand that was tucked into his arm. “Sabine is jealous, of course. She should know that Norbert is a wonderful uncle to every pretty girl. She should know that Norbert only has eyes for her. She does not see it. Silly woman.”

  He also spoke loudly enough for everyone around them to hear. Everyone in the group became very animated. It took a moment or two for someone to translate, because clearly the jealous woman’s grasp of the English language wasn’t as thorough as Norbert’s.

  Lara took the opportunity to glance around for Peasely, who had followed the group. He was standing at a distance, and, as Lara watched, he turned away, pushing one hand deep into his pocket. Lara wasn’t fooled into thinking that it was the end of his pursuit of her.

  “Well, Uncle Norbert, you have your happy ending, and I was so enjoying your company,” said Lara as the whole group came to a standstill and the scowling woman, who was now flushed and beaming, was propelled to the centre where Norbert was still holding Lara’s hand.

  “You have brought us together,” said Norbert. “Walk with us, enjoy the company of a happy couple.” He said something to Sabine, who promptly took Lara’s other arm, and the whole party wandered down to the quay where their pleasure boat waited to take them on a jaunt around the island.