by Dan McGirt
“I’ll be seeing you, Oswald,” said Jack.
“No, you won’t. Oh...I just recalled.” Oswald’s tone turned malicious. “We did retrieve a survivor from Sandpiper. The marine biologist, Dr. Settles. Her account of the ship’s sinking was intriguing. A pity you’ll not hear it.”
“Cassi is alive?” Jack’s heart leapt to his throat. “Is she aboard Deepfire? Answer me!”
Oswald merely laughed. “Goodbye, Dr. Scarlet.”
The red LED on the microphone winked off.
18: The Scorpion’s Sting
Cassi alive! Jack had barely dared hope it. He’d been resigned to being able to do no more than confirm – and avenge – her death. But there was no time to consider that now. Judging from the thump of combat boots on worn smooth stone, at least thirty men were coming down the passage, maybe more. Jack and Gal withdrew the way they had entered.
“There will be a second detachment to cut off this path too,” said Galahad.
“I know a shortcut,” said Jack as they jogged up the sloping passage.
“If you know a shortcut, why didn’t we take it coming down?”
“You won’t like it.”
“Oh. One of those shortcuts.”
“Yes. One of those.”
“Already I don’t like it.”
They reached the Hall of Bones. Jack and Gal paused as if by prearranged signal and played their lights up and down the corridor twice to confirm that no scorpions lurked in wait.
None appeared – even the mangled remains of the scorpion Galahad had killed only a short time ago were gone. Gal did not find that reassuring.
He shot Jack a look that promised retribution at some future date, but he was first to awkwardly shuffle through the narrow gullet of bone, with Jack behind him.
“Wasn’t so bad the second time, was it?” teased Jack.
“Sleep with one eye open, kemo sabe.”
“Come on.” Jack squeezed past Gal to retake point and led the way unerringly back through the maze of twisting, narrow passages by which they had entered.
“I expect the B-team has set an ambush at the Great Wheel,” said Jack.
Gal grunted his agreement, then added. “Is the wheel room the only way out?”
“The only way to walk out,” said Jack. “Sometimes you must stoop to conquer.”
He stopped at one of the branching side passages they had ignored before, considering it for several seconds while he recalled the layout. “This way,” he said.
A few paces in, the hallway’s floor gave way to a pit that extended from wall to wall. When Jack pointed his flashlight down, the beam reflected off a pool of still black water twenty feet below where they stood.
“Wrong turn?” asked Galahad.
Jack shone his light the length of the corridor. Five feet out from the pit rim a beam of red-brown zapote wood was set flush with floor level and embedded firmly in the walls to either side, bridging the pit crosswise. Five feet farther on was a second beam, then another and another at the same interval, eight in all, evidently the joists for an ancient floor long since vanished. The beams were no more than four inches wide, planed smooth and flat on top.
“No,” said Galahad.
Jack extinguished his light and slung the carbine over his shoulder. “Light the way for me, Gal. I’ll go first.”
“Loco.” Galahad crouched and the held his carbine steady. The LED carved a tunnel of light through the darkness, a bright white cone seeming to rest atop the crossbeams.
Jack crouched and swung his arms back to make a standing jump. Because of the low ceiling he could not get a high arc, but for a short leap that was less important than sticking the landing. He came down squarely on the first beam with both feet, crouched slightly and sprang to the second, repeating the process six more times before bounding to the far edge of the pit. He unslung his carbine and ignited the light, shining it back at Galahad’s feet.
“Your turn, buddy.”
Something splashed below, like a jumping fish. Galahad flashed his light down. “What’s in the water?”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re not going in the water. By the way, third beam felt a little wobbly.”
“Chod.”
“It should hold. Just don’t linger.”
“You sure this is our only way out?” Galahad stowed his rifle.
“I thought a Monoga could climb anything.”
“Climb, yes. We are born climbers. Not hopping toads.”
“Come on, Gal. It’s just like the obstacle course at Benning.”
“It really isn’t.”
Gal backed up, ran, launched, and landed on the first beam, right foot then left. He almost overbalanced and fell forward. Waving his arms he righted himself and balanced on the beam.
“That was an eight point nine at best,” said Jack. “Hurry up. Degree of difficulty increases if our friends catch up and start shooting.”
“I don’t need the commentary,” growled Gal. He made a standing jump to the second beam, got his balance, and bunched his leg muscles for the next leap.
The third beam creaked when he landed, shifting under his feet. Galahad tottered and waved his arms, fighting for balance. He caught himself and got set to jump again.
The fourth and fifth jumps were smooth.
The sixth beam broke in two with a loud pop the instant Galahad’s full weight hit it.
As the wood fell away beneath him, Gal launched himself forward in a desperate lunge, arms outstretched. His hands clawed for purchase on the smooth surface of the next beam as his body swung beneath it.
Galahad got a secure grip and hung beneath the seventh beam.
“Looks likes that one was rotted through,” said Jack.
“You think?”
The water beneath Galahad rippled and splashed. A broad, blunt reptilian snout breached the surface, accompanied by a pair of yellow-green eyes connected by a bony ridge.
“Gal, don’t look down.”
Galahad looked down. “Chod!”
“Looks like a local subspecies of the spectacled caiman,” said Jack. “I wonder if the population is isolated to this valley?”
“I don’t,” said Galahad. He did a hasty leg lift, arched his back, made a backswing, and launched forward, extending his right arm to grab the beam five feet away. Keeping momentum, he swung onward to the eighth beam, grasping it with his left hand, then swung for the stone rim of the pit. He misjudged his last grab, jamming a finger painfully against the rock. Gal scrabbled for a handhold as gravity yanked him down toward the dark water while the caiman glided his way.
Jack’s hands locked around Gal’s wrists.
“Gotcha!” Jack hauled Galahad up to level ground. “Pit jump may not be your best event.”
Galahad flipped him off. “Tell me that was the worst of it.”
“That was the worst of it.”
“Is that true?”
“No.”
Galahad spat and stood, brushed himself off. “Let’s get it done, man.”
Jack led on until the passage ended in a squared off chamber wide enough for the duo to stand side by side.
Gal looked askance at Jack. “I see no exit. Is this a Maya elevator or something?”
“Or something,” said Jack. He closely examined the wall before them, running his fingers across the cold, damp stone until he found a section that was smoother than the rest. He stepped back from the wall and directed his light at the floor, locating a slightly raised cobble. Jack pushed down on the protruding block with his full weight until it sank into the floor. An unseen mechanism rumbled. The smooth section of the wall split into two facing panels that pivoted inward on stone rollers.
“Impressive engineering,” said Jack. “I do love a good ancient hidden door.”
“I love a good exit,” Gal replied.
“Then you’re in luck.” Jack directed the beam of his light upward. “No elevator, but we do get the shaft.”
The small room was at
the base of a squared-off chimney or chute about three feet wide that went straight up for more than one hundred feet. Two rows of climbing stones projected from the wall at even intervals.
“This will take us to an upper tier of the pyramid,” said Jack. “Straight shot.”
“Traps?”
“Deactivated in the twenties. The hard way. But as before, don’t trust the handholds marked with a scorpion.”
Galahad made a sour face. “No worries.”
Jack detached the flashlight from his carbine’s rail and propped it on the floor so that the beam illuminated their path up the shaft.
“While I’m sure a Monoga could climb this blindfolded, I’d rather not,” he said.
“Whatever you need to do, paleskin.” Galahad reached up to the first stone projection and began his climb.
Jack pushed the stone doors of the concealed chamber closed. They yielded readily, despite their weight. Like that of the Great Wheel, the door’s ancient mechanism was perfectly balanced though a thousand years had passed since its construction.
Galahad was halfway up the shaft when Jack started his climb.
“You’re blocking my light, man,” Gal complained.
“I thought you could free climb Devil’s Tower in the dark.”
“Can and have. But I can’t see the treacherous sign of the ozhigwana in the dark.”
“Not that you would ever fall from losing a handhold.”
“Me fall? Feh!”
Jack soon caught up with Galahad, who swore violently when he saw Jack at his heels. Gal was fiercely proud of his climbing prowess – it was a cultural thing – and Jack usually wouldn’t make it so obvious that he could climb a wall or a cliff as surely and as swiftly as his friend. But they had dawdled in the tunnels. Time was getting short.
Very short. The hidden door rumbled open again. A San Marcan soldier squeezed through, his body casting a huge distorted shadow up the shaft. He spotted the climbers and shouted, “Halt!”
“How did they catch up so fast?” said Galahad.
“They have Helstrom’s notes too,” said Jack.
At the top of the shaft was a cantilevered ceiling – a dead end. A few feet below the ceiling was a narrow ledge, barely wide enough to balance on precariously. Galahad levered himself into a crouch and sidestepped left to let Jack follow him up.
Galahad drew his sidearm and snapped off three quick shots down the shaft, driving the soldier back. Judging from the angry voices below, he had at least two comrades with him.
“Now what, kemo sabe?”
“There should be a door.”
“Should be?”
Jack grinned, looking demonical in the filtered, faltering beam from the LED flashlight far below. “Poor design if there isn’t.”
All three San Marcan soldiers, exposing no more than their forearms, thrust their carbines through the door and fired blindly upward. Bullets took chunks out of the walls and ceiling. The noise was thunderous.
“Just get us out of here!” said Galahad, as he returned fire.
Jack pulled himself onto the ledge and felt along the wall to the right of the climbing stones until he found a rounded projection. He pressed. With a scrape of stone on stone, a section of wall between the two men slowly sank into the floor, opening a waist-high gap.
“Presto,” said Jack.
Galahad ducked through, followed by Jack, into a wide chamber with a low ceiling. A narrow doorway led to a larger adjoining room dimly lit by the fading afternoon sun.
The fire from below ceased. Criss-crossed LED beams danced up the shaft as the San Marcan squad assessed the results of their barrage.
“Think they’ll climb up?” asked Galahad.
“I think they’re thinking about it.”
“Maybe I should toss a frag down to dissuade them.”
“Let’s keep the body count low if we can,” said Jack. “Our ride should be here soon.”
“What if I don’t pull the pin?”
Jack laughed. “Have at it.”
“Fire in the hole!” Galahad shouted into the low doorway. He tossed the grenade in, angling it so it would rebound several times off the stone walls on the way down. Gal was gratified by the frightened shouts and the sounds of men scrambling to retreat.
“Good times,” said Jack. He felt along the wall beside the door, found a knob, and pressed it. Propelled by a concealed counterweight, the stone door rose from the floor until the opening was again sealed.
Jack and Galahad readied their carbines and made their entry to the outer chamber. Empty.
“Good so far,” said Jack. He checked his stolen watch. “Five minutes is all we need.”
“That’s an eternity, man.”
Jack peeked out the exterior door, which opened on the east face of the ninth and highest tier of the Scorpion Pyramid. They were directly beneath the raised roof comb with its huge carved scorpion. Jack had a magnificent view of the Pyramid of the Bat opposite, the stele-studded plaza separating the two pyramids, the temple complex to his left, and the whole green valley floor beyond.
Of most immediate interest were the fifty San Marcan soldiers charging up the pyramid’s ceremonial stairway.
“Incoming,” said Jack.
The lead soldiers were halfway up the pyramid. The steep, narrow steps slowed their progress, but they would reach the top in under two minutes at their current pace.
Jack knelt at the left side of the doorway, selected autofire on his carbine, and sent a burst of bullets low over the soldiers’ heads. The San Marcans dived for cover. Those in the front rank threw themselves prone on the steps. Those behind broke left and right, off the stairway to flatten themselves against the sides of the middle tiers of the pyramid. Two men tripped over each other and went tumbling head-over-butt backward down the steps.
“We still playing patty-cake rules?” said Gal, taking position on the right edge of the doorway.
“Yes, Gal,” snapped Jack. “No fatalities unless we must. These men are just doing their jobs.”
“Their job is to kill us.”
“I don’t think so,” said Jack.
Two dozen carbines spoke from the tiers below, with sizzling rounds coming at them from every angle, thwacking into the ancient stone around the doorway. Several shots zinged into the interior of the temple space, whizzing past Jack and Galahad like irate hornets on meth.
“You were saying?”
“That’s suppressing fire,” said Jack. “We’ll know they’re serious when they throw up some HE.”
“You know I hate this one hand tied behind the back hoyat, man!”
“You could have stayed in Idaho,” Jack deadpanned.
Galahad’s pained grimace was epic. “I should shoot you myself and be done with it.”
Jack laughed. “You’d miss me too much.”
“Keep telling yourself that, white eyes.”
The duo swung their carbines around and swept the tiers below in three-round bursts, careful not to hit any live targets that presented themselves.
“They’re encircling us,” said Galahad.
“Yes,” said Jack.
Keeping low to deny Jack and Gal clean shots, the soldiers worked their way around to the north and south faces of the pyramid. Once they reached the west side of the structure, they could climb to the top unhindered. Jack and Galahad had no line of fire in that direction without emerging from cover. Meanwhile, four newly arrived troop transports pulled up at the base of the mound and disgorged scores of newly arrived soldiers. They raced up the wooden stairs to the plaza level.
“We’re sitting ducks.”
“We’re flying ducks soon,” said Jack. “We needn’t have to hold them long.”
“Good. Because we won’t.”
Another salvo from below sent Jack and Galahad back into the shadows. Incoming rounds gouged chips of stone from the lintel and jambs of the doorway.
The intensity of incoming fire increased as new shooters joined th
e assault from positions in the temple complex below and from atop the Pyramid of the Bat across the plaza. Under cover of this barrage, the reinforcements from the trucks raced across the plaza to the Scorpion Pyramid, and started climbing.
“Not good,” said Galahad.
“Looks like the tangos are at company strength. Maybe two.”
“You know it’s bad when I’m start to sympathize with Custer, man.”
Jack checked the time. “Our ride should be here soon.”
A flash of orange caught the sun. A flying object crested the ridge on the north side of the valley and dipped to tree level, skimming toward Sina’an Muul complex at high speed.
“Right on time!” said Jack
Stone scraping stone echoed from the inner chamber.
“Sounds like rats in the wall,” said Galahad. “Excuse me.” He headed for the back room.
“Gal...”
“Don’t worry, kemo sabe.”
The door into the climbing shaft slid partially open. Light from weapon-mounted LEDs filtered into the gloomy chamber. Galahad drew his sidearm and crossed to the gap. He stuck his arm in and fired two rounds – one down to the left and one down to the right. His first shot shattered the kneecap of a soldier balanced on the ledge and knocked him off the wall. The second bullet thumped into the helmet of a man clinging to the top set of climbing stones and dislodged him too. Both soldiers died on impact with the stone floor more than two hundred feet below. Gal pressed the knob Jack had located earlier and watched the concealed door close again before returning to the front chamber, where a steady salvo of bullets created a perpetual cloud of stone chips and dust around the doorway.
“That didn’t sound non-lethal,” said Jack.
Gal shrugged. “It was mostly non-lethal.”
“There are more than one hundred men climbing the pyramid.”
Gal jerked a thumb toward the bullet-pocked entry. “How do we get out of here?”
“When the shooting stops they’ll come in from both sides and over the top. Wave assault.”
“And?”
“We run out before they come in, catch our ride, and fly into the sunset.”
“That’s your plan?”
“I’m working with what I have.”
