Tomb Raider: The Ten Thousand Immortals

by Dan Abnett

  She glanced back at Ares, lying on his face with a hole in his back, and she was glad.

  Chapter 37

  Kennard Montez looked through the pierced stone wall that surrounded the tower roof and onto the viewing platform.

  Lara Croft wasn’t there.

  Kennard hauled himself over the ornate balustrade and stepped onto the verdigris copper surface with its raised joints. He turned through 360 degrees to look out over the city of Oxford. It all looked remarkably peaceful. He wondered how much anyone would ever know about what had happened at Merton College that morning. It was his job to make sure that as few people as possible knew as little as possible. None of this must ever become common knowledge. The public must always be kept in the dark.

  Kennard strode to the southeast corner of the tower and looked down on Fellows’ Quad, and then turned his head to look over at Front Quad. The emergency services were doing their jobs. Paramedics were attending to the needs of the students who had been hurt. There were quite a lot of them, but most of them had taken minor injuries, had been crushed or trampled, or had been elbowed in the stampede to leave the college. One or two had been caught in cross fire. Several had suffered trauma, shock or panic attacks. The police had not had to deal with bodies. There had been several, almost all of them Immortals, along with two or three Trinity agents. Trinity had people on hand to deal with them. They had been bagged and removed. The last had been taken away right under the noses of the emergency services. It was part of the job.

  The rest was about misdirection. Something would be reported in the press about the incident at Merton College, a lone gunman, a mad man. Trinity agents had died that morning. One of them would sacrifice his reputation. It was one of the many things they all signed up for.

  Kennard turned and looked down on Mob Quad. It was empty. There was no one in the quad or on the rooftops. He took a long look down at the chapel roof walkway. The bodies of Ares and Karan lay where they had fallen, but there was no sign of the girl.

  Where was Lara Croft?

  Kennard Montez walked the perimeter of the tower two or three times. He decided that he must have been wrong. He must have missed Lara. She must have taken a chance and gone down into the college via the chapel.

  Kennard left the roof. He went down the tower and back out to the policeman that had let him into the chapel.

  “You can’t leave, sir,” said the policeman.

  “I need to get to a tutorial,” said Kennard.

  “But this is your college, sir,” said the policeman. “There won’t be any tutorials today.”

  “I wasn’t here during the incident, officer, so I can’t tell you anything,” said Kennard. “Besides, you let that other girl leave.”

  “No, sir, I can assure you that no one has left this building, and you are the only person I’ve allowed inside. I’m rather beginning to wish that I hadn’t, sir.”

  “Nobody’s left?” asked Kennard.

  “Nobody,” said the policeman. “Not so much as a sausage has passed this threshold, sir. Not since you, that is.”

  “Thank you, officer,” said Kennard, and turned back into the chapel. Lara wasn’t there either.

  He heard the policeman tut, and he was aware that he was being watched again, so Kennard bided his time. His charm could only get him so far, especially in an emergency situation.

  Three minutes later, he was climbing the tower steps back up to the roof.

  Lara climbed up to the tower roof and knelt on the platform, looking out through the pierced balustrade over the college. There was order below. The police and paramedics had taken charge. She assumed that they were searching the buildings for the final shooter, the man who had killed Ares and Karan. She hoped they found him soon. She could wait.

  I suppose they’ll find me, too, eventually, she thought.

  Kennard stepped into the doorway onto the chapel roof walkway and looked along it. He knew that it was empty, apart from the two bodies, but he had been taught to be thorough. Kennard blinked and looked at the bodies again. He closed his eyes briefly and ran through the shooting in his mind. The two men, Ares and Karan, had been standing several metres apart when he had shot them. They had been lying several metres apart when he had looked down on them from the tower.

  Now, the corpses of Ares and Karan were lying very close together.

  Kennard opened his eyes and looked again. He estimated that Ares’s body was where it had fallen. Karan’s body had been moved. Lara Croft was the only person who could have moved the body. Kennard wondered where she had disappeared to when he had looked for her the first time. He looked along the walkway to the turret. He had assumed it was solid, ornamental. Clearly there was space inside. He should have known it. He was supposed to know everything.

  Kennard made a mental note never to make a similar mistake. Then, he wondered why Lara had moved Karan’s body, and he wondered how. She must have had a reason.

  Kennard was suddenly very sure that he had been right all along, that Lara was on the tower roof. He ducked back through the doorway and climbed the last of the stairs up to the viewing platform.

  As Kennard Montez emerged onto the tower roof, Lara Croft made to pull her gun. He was faster. It was a standoff.

  “Shall we put these away?” asked Kennard.

  “If I do that, I know you can pull a gun faster than I can,” said Lara.

  “I can get a kill shot off faster than you can, too,” said Kennard. “Who do you think killed Ares and Karan?”

  “It was you on the chapel roof?” asked Lara.

  “Yes,” said Kennard.

  “Who are you?” asked Lara. “No… don’t tell me, because if you tell me, then you’ll have to kill me.”

  “Something like that,” said Kennard.

  They were still pointing their guns at one another.

  “Can we just put the guns down and talk for a minute?” asked Kennard.

  “Talk about what, exactly?” asked Lara.

  “We could start by talking about what’s tucked into that gun holster,” said Kennard, pointing his gun at Lara’s belt, “because it clearly isn’t your firearm.”

  “Or we could start by talking about you,” said Lara. “We could start by talking about why you lied about the dig in Anafi harbour. I know the Alecto only arrived there two days before I did. Or we could talk about why Greg followed me across London on a Tube train. We could talk about why a post-grad student at Merton College Oxford carries a gun, and why he’s such a damned good shot.”

  “I like you,” said Kennard.

  “What’s that got to do with anything?” asked Lara. “You’re an idiot, and you’re not to be trusted.”

  “And you’re a clever, brave, extraordinary woman. I wish they’d let me recruit you for Trinity instead of using you,” said Kennard.

  “What’s Trinity?” asked Lara.

  Kennard hesitated.

  “You might as well tell me,” said Lara. “You’re going to kill me anyway. You know you are.”

  “Trust me when I tell you that the last thing I want to do is kill you,” said Kennard.

  “Didn’t I just say you’re not to be trusted?” said Lara.

  “And you’re right,” said Kennard. “Put down the gun, and we’ll have that conversation. Otherwise, I’ll shoot.”

  Lara and Kennard lowered their guns at the same time. Kennard holstered his. Lara put hers back in her waistband.

  “You didn’t ask me to lay my gun on the floor or hand it over,” said Lara.

  Kennard pulled his gun. It was aimed at Lara’s head before hers was raised.

  “OK,” said Lara. “You’ve made your point.” She put her gun back in her waistband, and Kennard holstered his.

  “Talk,” said Lara.

  “You’re going to have to give me the statue,” s
aid Kennard.

  “You son of a bitch,” said Lara. “That’s what Americans call people like you, isn’t it? No good sons of bitches?”

  “That’s what they call us,” said Kennard.

  “My father would have called you a bugger,” said Lara. “You’re an utter bastard. Ares was arrogant, and Christian Fife was desperate and angry and he made the mistake of hiring lunatics, but you...”

  “Are you going to hand it over?” asked Kennard, holding out his hand.

  Lara snapped the fastener on the holster and tugged on the ram statuette. It was jammed solidly into the pouch that was the wrong size and shape for it, and it took her a few moments to pull it free. She held it tightly in her hands for a second.

  “You were deceitful,” said Lara. “You were ruthless and underhanded. Trinity, whatever it is, whoever it is… Trinity did a fine job of turning you into a thoroughly nasty piece of work. You’re a devious, unscrupulous, murdering bastard! And you’re not just killing me. Sam never did anyone any harm. She’s the funniest, brightest girl in the world, and you’re killing her too.”

  Kennard said nothing.

  “Take it,” said Lara, thrusting the ram statuette at him. “I hope you know what this is, and I hope you know what you’re doing. Bastard!”

  Lara was still gripping the Golden Fleece statue so tightly that her knuckles were white and her hand was shaking ever so slightly.

  Kennard took a couple of steps towards her and tried to gently take the little gold statuette out of her hands. She couldn’t bear for him to touch her, so she let it drop. He caught it and stepped away from her.

  “It’s not what you think,” he said. “None of it is what you think. I understand why you hate me, but I’m here to do a job. I do know what this is, and I do know what I’m doing. Trinity trained me for this, and, believe me, I’ve been well-trained.”

  “Trained to be a monster,” said Lara.

  “After Yamatai, when I was assigned to this job, I studied you,” said Kennard. “I suggested you for recruitment, but you were turned down. I wish you could work with us.”

  “Not in a million years,” said Lara. “I’d rather die.”

  “I know,” said Kennard. “You were assessed as too maverick for the organisation, too independent, too free-spirited.”

  “Too bloody honest,” said Lara.

  “Perhaps,” said Kennard. “I want you to believe me when I tell you that Trinity is a good thing.”

  “I don’t believe you,” said Lara. “Why was Greg following me in London?”

  Kennard shrugged.

  “We keep tabs on key people. Since I wanted to recruit you, and since Yamatai… When key people have meetings at high levels, we like to know about it,” said Kennard.

  “My phone,” said Lara.

  Kennard said nothing.

  “Why did you send me to Menelaou? You got an innocent old man killed,” said Lara.

  “He was a cold lead. We couldn’t get anything out of him, but I knew that if there was anything to know, you’d find it out,” said Kennard. “Like I said, you would have been a perfect recruit for Trinity.”

  Kennard sighed.

  “I’m going to reach into my jacket pocket,” he said. “I’m not pulling my gun.”

  He reached inside his jacket and pulled out the Queen Mary tin, and held it up to show Lara. It was battered and had what looked like a bullet hole in it.

  “So, I did get shot, after all,” said Lara. “The tin took the blast.”

  “It’s my job, our job, to clean up here,” he said. “I take the assignments I’m given, and I carry out my orders,” said Kennard. “Without you, we would never have recovered Menelaou’s artifact. It was part of the job.”

  “And the next part of the job is to eliminate me?” asked Lara.

  “I can’t leave any loose ends, Lara,” said Kennard.

  “You gave up the right to call me Lara when you pulled a gun on me.”

  “I’m not allowed to leave any loose ends,” Kennard said again.

  “Then, you’d better kill me,” said Lara.

  Kennard pulled his gun.

  Lara pulled hers.

  Kennard shot twice in quick succession.

  Lara was down.

  Kennard shot twice more.

  Chapter 38

  Kennard took Lara’s gun and pulled the holster on its Velcro strip from her belt. He couldn’t leave any evidence. If she were found with a gun, or even a holster, the police would ask questions. She was a victim. That was all.

  His work done, Kennard climbed over the ornate, pierced balustrade in the cloud of masonry dust that his bullets had kicked up, and made his way down the tower wall. He couldn’t take the stairs. He’d fired shots, and someone, possibly the policeman at the entrance to the chapel, would soon find his way up the tower.

  Kennard dropped onto the roof behind the tower, and climbed down the first drainpipe he could find on the wall on the west side of Mob Quad. He was lucky to be shielded from Grove Walk by a wide stretch of grass and several mature trees in full leaf.

  He jogged along Grove Walk, past several police cars towards Merton Street, which was cordoned off. No one would miss him. If he was ever asked, he could say that he slipped out after the gunshots were heard in the tower. He’d tried to leave once, after all. No doubt the policeman had that on record. Incidents like this were always chaotic. There were always anomalies, those loose ends he was so good at tying off.

  Kennard Montez’s record was impeccable. His phone would show the text he’d cited if he was ever asked, but the chances were that he never would be.

  Right now, he was just a student out for a run. He was an American and an athlete. There was nothing unusual about it.

  A couple of minutes later, Kennard walked into The Bear Inn in Albert Street. Six students were sitting at two tables in a corner of the room. He lifted a hand to acknowledge them, and bought a soft drink at the bar. Then, he went to join them.

  “Did you hear about what happened at your college this morning?” asked one of the girls, loudly enough for everyone in the bar to hear.

  “I was there for a little while,” said Kennard, “but only after the police arrived. I don’t think anyone knows what went down though.”

  They were talking for the benefit of the staff and the two or three other early customers.

  “It’s over,” said Kennard quietly, as he held his drink in front of his mouth. “You can all stand down.”

  “The object was retrieved?” asked one of the men from the other table, leaning in. “I hear there was a shooting,” he said more loudly.

  “I heard that too,” said someone else. “There are police all over Merton Street.”

  “The object was retrieved,” said Kennard, raising his glass again to shield his mouth. “The subjects were eliminated.”

  “I never heard of anything like this happening in Oxford,” one of the Trinity men said, again for the benefit of the other people in the room.

  “It happens all the time in the States,” said Kennard.

  “It’s still shocking though,” said one of the girls, another American.

  “It’s always shocking,” said the first man.

  “It’s over?” asked the American girl in a whisper.

  “It’s over,” said Kennard.

  The seven students sat and talked and wondered about the incident for another twenty minutes or so, and then began to make their excuses to leave. All but one would leave Oxford before the end of the week. The last remaining man was still an undergraduate not yet fully recruited by Trinity, but he had a long career ahead of him with the organisation.

  Lara Croft came around. Her head throbbed, and she felt sick and dizzy. She opened her eyes, but everything looked fuzzy and swirly, so she closed them again quickly, a
fraid that she might vomit.

  She couldn’t think. She tried to breathe.

  Why am I breathing, she thought. I shouldn’t be breathing, I should be dead.

  Lara’s mind suddenly swarmed with thoughts and feelings. She had been shot. Kennard Montez had shot her. He had taken the Golden Fleece. He had taken the beautiful little golden statuette of the ram out of her hands; he had told her terrible things, and then he had shot her.

  She had tried to pull her gun on him, but she’d been too slow, and he had shot her.

  An image flashed suddenly in Lara’s mind. She saw the blood blooming on Ares’s shirt. Kennard Montez was a good shot. Too good. How could he have missed her? He had only been standing a couple of metres away. Maybe he hadn’t missed.

  Lara’s head swam, and blackness descended again.

  Lara came around for a second time. She couldn’t bear to open her eyes again. Her head still ached horribly, and the sick feeling wouldn’t go away. After a moment, she remembered her thought process: Kennard, the gunshots. She lifted her hands tentatively. That was OK, so, carefully, she began to pat down her body, starting with her arms and legs. She couldn’t feel any blood. There were sore places, bruises perhaps, but she couldn’t locate any bullet wounds.

  Lara realised how uncomfortable she was. She was slumped against something hard and lumpy. Nobbly edges of what felt like stone were digging into her neck and shoulders, and her head was at an uncomfortable angle. She had to move. She opened her eyes and blinked to try to settle her vision. Then, she realised that when she’d patted herself down she hadn’t felt her head.

  Lara reached up and gently touched her head. The left side was wet. She knew that she’d been wearing a cap, but she couldn’t remember when or where she’d lost it. She didn’t want to look at her hand, but she knew that she should. As she thought, it was bloody. She groaned. No wonder her head hurt. She felt a small surge of adrenaline. Maybe she’d been shot after all.