Seven Ancient Wonders

by Matthew Reilly

  The lower reaches of the pit, however, had no side walls: it just had two wide yawning 8-foot-high passageways that hit the pit at right angles to the slipway. And who knew what came out of them . . .

  ‘Diorite pit,’ West said. ‘Nothing cuts diorite except an even harder stone called diolite. Can’t use a pick-axe to get yourself out.’

  ‘Be careful,’ Wizard said. ‘The Callimachus Text says this Gate is connected to the next one. By crossing this one, we trigger the Third Gate’s trap-mechanism. We’re going to have to move fast.’

  ‘That’s okay,’ West said. ‘We’re really quite good at that.’

  They ended up crossing the pit by drilling steel rock-screws into the stone ceiling with pneumatic pressure-guns. Each rock-screw had a handgrip on it.

  But as West landed on the ledge on the other side of the pit, he discovered that the first step on that side was one large trigger stone. As soon as he touched it, the wide step immediately sunk a few inches into the floor—

  —and boom! Suddenly the ground shook and everyone spun. Something large had dropped into the darkened tunnel up ahead of them. Then an ominous rumbling sound came from somewhere up there.

  ‘Shit! The next Gate!’ West called.

  ‘Swear jar . . .’ Lily said.

  ‘Later,’ West said. ‘Now we run! Big Ears, grab her and follow me!’

  The Third Gate

  Up the steep slipway they ran, keeping to the stairs inside the rails.

  The ominous rumbling continued to echo out from the darkness above them.

  They kept running, straining up the slope, pausing only once to cross a five-foot-long spiked pit that blocked their way. But strangely, the stone railway tracks of the slipway still flanked this pit, so they all crossed it rather easily by taking a light dancing step on one of the side rails.

  As he ran, West fired a flare into the darkness ahead of them—

  —and thus revealed their menace.

  ‘It’s a sliding stone!’ Wizard called. ‘Guarding the Third Gate!’

  A giant square-shaped block of granite—its shape filling the slipway perfectly and its leading face covered in vicious spikes—was sliding down the slipway, coming directly towards them!

  Its method of death was clear: if it didn’t push you into the spiked pit, it would slide over that pit on the stone runners and push you into the lower diorite pit . . .where it would fall in after you, crushing you, before whatever came out of the side passages made its big entrance.

  Jesus.

  Halfway between the sliding stone and the Eight, sunken into the angled floor of the slipway, was a doorway that opened onto a horizontal passage.

  The Third and last Gate.

  The Eight bolted up the slope.

  The block gained speed—heading down the slope, propelled only by gravity and its immense bulk.

  It was a race to the Gate.

  West and Big Ears and the girl came to the doorway cut into the sloping floor, ducked inside it.

  Wizard came next, followed by Fuzzy and Princess Zoe.

  The sliding granite block slid across the top of the doorway just as the last two members of the team were approaching it.

  ‘Stretch! Pooh! Hurry!’ West called.

  The first man—a tall thin fellow known as Stretch—dived, slithering in under the sliding stone a nanosecond before it completely covered the doorway.

  The last man was too late.

  He was easily the pudgiest and heaviest in the group. He had the olive skin and deep lush beard of a well-fed Arab sheik. His call-sign in his own country was the rather mighty Saladin, but here it was—

  ‘Pooh Bear! No! Nooo!’ the little girl screamed.

  The stone slid over the doorway, and despite a final desperate lunge, Pooh Bear was cut off, left in the slipway, at the mercy of the great block.

  ‘No . . .!’ West called, hitting the underside of the sliding stone as it went by, sweeping the helpless Pooh away with it.

  ‘Oh dear, poor Zahir . . .’ Wizard said.

  For a moment, no-one spoke.

  The seven remaining members of the group stood in stunned silence. Lily started to sob quietly.

  Then West blinked—something inside him clicking into action.

  ‘Come on, everyone. We’ve got a job to do and to do it we have to keep moving. We knew this wasn’t going to be a cakewalk. Hell, this is only the beginning—’

  He turned then, gazing at the horizontal corridor awaiting them. At its far end was a ladder cut into the end-wall, a ladder that led up to a circular manhole cut into the ceiling.

  White light washed down through the manhole.

  Electric light.

  Man-made light.

  ‘—and it’s about to get a lot worse.’Cause we just caught up with the Europeans.’

  The Grand Cavern

  West poked his head up through the manhole to behold an absolutely awesome sight.

  He was at the base of a gargantuan cavern situated right in the belly of the mountain, a cavern easily 400 feet high.

  A former rock quarry, it was roughly triangular in shape, wide at the base, tapering to a point at the top.

  West was at the extreme south end of the cavern, while opposite him at the northern end, one hundred yards away, were the Europeans: with their floodlights, their troops . . . and a half-built crane.

  Without doubt, however, the most striking feature of the cavern was its charcoal-coloured diorite rockface.

  The rockface rose for the full height of the cavern, soaring into darkness beyond the reach of the Europeans’ floodlights: a giant black wall.

  As a quarry, the ancient Egyptians had mined this diorite seam systematically—cutting four narrow ledges out of the great wall, so that now the rockface looked like a 30-storey office building that had been divided into four step-like tiers. Each ledge ran for the entire width of the rockface, but they were perilously narrow: barely wide enough for two men to stand on side-by-side.

  If that wasn’t dangerous enough, Imhotep V had adapted this already-unusual structure into a masterpiece of protective engineering.

  In short, he’d laid hundreds of traps all over it.

  The four narrow ledges swung back and forth, each rising steadily before ending at a cut-into-the-rock ladder that led to the next level.

  The only exception was the wall-ladder between the first and second levels: its ladder was situated in the exact centre of the cavern, equidistant from the northern and southern entrances, as if Imhotep V was encouraging a race between rival parties who arrived at the same time.

  Since each narrow ledge was cut from pure diorite, a grappling hook would be useless—it could never get a purchase on the hard black stone. To get to the top, one had to traverse every level and defeat the traps on them.

  And how many traps there were!

  Small arched forts dotted the great wall at irregular intervals, spanning each of the ledges, concealing traps.

  Hundreds of basketball-sized wall-holes littered the rockface, containing God-only-knew what kinds of lethal liquids. And where holes were not possible, long stone chutes slid snake-like down the rockface—looking a bit like upside-down chimneys that ended with open spouts ready to spew foul liquids over the unwary intruder.

  Seeing the holes, West detected the distinctive odour of oil in the air—giving him a clue as to what might come out of some of them.

  And there was the final feature.

  The Scar.

  This was a great uneven crevice that ran all the way down the rockwall, cutting across the ledges and the rockface with indifference. It looked like a dry riverbed, only it ran vertically not horizontally.

  At the top of the cavern, it was a single thick crevice, but it widened toward the base, where it forked into two smaller scars.

  A trickling waterfall dribbled down its length, from some unknown source high up inside the mountain.

  To cross the Scar on any of the four ledges meant either tiptoei
ng across a foot-wide mini-ledge or leaping a small void . . . in both cases in front of wall-holes or other shadowy recesses.

  The trickling waterfall that rolled down the Scar fed a wide lake at the base of the rockface—a lake that now separated West and his team from the European force, a lake that was home to about sixty Nile crocodiles, all variously sleeping, sloshing or crawling over each other.

  And at the very top of the colossal structure: a small stone doorway that led to this mine’s fabled treasure:

  The head of an ancient wonder.

  Peering over the rim of the manhole, West gazed at the Europeans and their half-finished crane.

  As he watched, dozens of men hauled more pieces of the giant crane into the cavern, handing them to engineers who then supervised the attachment of the pieces to the growing machine.

  In the midst of this activity, West spied the leader of the European expedition, the Jesuit, del Piero, standing perfectly erect, his hands clasped behind his back. At 68, del Piero had thinning slicked-down black hair, ghost-like grey eyes, deep creases on his face, and the severe expression of a man who had spent his life frowning at people.

  But it was the tiny figure standing next to del Piero who seized West’s attention.

  A small boy.

  With black hair and even blacker eyes.

  West’s eyes widened. He had seen this boy before. Ten years ago . . .

  The boy stood at del Piero’s side with his hands clasped behind his back, mimicking the imperious stance of the old Jesuit.

  He seemed to be about Lily’s age.

  No, West corrected himself, he was exactly Lily’s age.

  West’s gaze shifted back to the crane.

  It was a clever plan.

  Once finished, the crane would lift the Europeans up over the first ledge and land them on the second.

  Not only did this allow them to avoid about ten traps, it also enabled them to avoid the most dangerous trap of all in this cavern:

  The Master Snare.

  West knew about it from the Callimachus Text—which he suspected del Piero and the Europeans could have had a Vatican copy of. That said, they could have become aware of it from other ancient texts written about Imhotep V.

  While the other Imhoteps had their own signature traps, Imhotep V had invented the Master Snare, a trap that was triggered in advance of the system’s innermost vault—thus making the final leg of the journey a matrix of trap-beating versus time. Or as Wizard liked to say, ‘Beating booby traps is one thing; beating them against the clock is another.’

  That said, the Master Snare was not so crude as to destroy the entire trap system. Like most of Imhotep’s traps, it would reset itself to be used again.

  No, in most cases the Master Snare left you in a do-or-die predicament: if you were good enough, you could take the treasure. If you weren’t, you would die.

  The Callimachus Text stated that the trigger stone for the Master Snare of this system lay in the very centre of the first level, at the base of the ladder there.

  Wizard appeared at West’s side, peered out from the manhole. ‘Mmm, a crane. With that, del Piero and his men will avoid triggering the Master Snare. It’ll give them more time up in the Holy of Holies. Very clever.’

  ‘No, it’s not clever,’ West said flatly. ‘It’s against the rules.’

  ‘The rules?’

  ‘Yes, the rules. This is all part of a contest that has been held for the last 4,000 years, between Egyptian architects and graverobbers. And this contest has an honour code—we attack, Imhotep V defends. But by skipping a major trigger stone, del Piero is cheating. He’s also showing his weakness.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘He doesn’t believe he can beat the Master Snare.’ West smiled. ‘But we can.’

  West dropped back down to the base of the ladder, turned to his team of six.

  ‘Okay, kids. This is what we’ve trained for. Leapfrog formation, remember your places. Lily, you’re with me in the middle. Fuzzy, you’re the point for the first disable. Then Big Ears, Zoe and Stretch. Wizard, you’ll have to cover for Pooh Bear, who was going to cover the fifth. I’ll trigger the Master Snare.’

  Everyone nodded, game faces on.

  West turned to Wizard. ‘Okay, Professor. You got those Warblers ready? Because as soon as we break cover, those Europeans are going to open fire.’

  ‘Ready to go, Huntsman,’ Wizard said, holding up a large gun-like object that looked like an M-203 grenade launcher. ‘I’ll need maybe four seconds before you can make a break for it.’

  ‘I’ll give you three.’

  Then they all put their hands into the middle, team-style, and called ‘Kamaté!’, after which they broke, with Wizard leading the way up the ladder, venturing into the fray . . .

  Wizard popped up out of the manhole, his grenade launcher raised. He fired it three times, each shot emitting a loud puncture-like phump.

  Phump!-Phump!-Phump!

  The rounds that burst out of the grenade launcher looked like grenades, but they weren’t grenades—fat and round and silver, they fanned out to three corners of the giant cavern, little red pilot lights on them blinking.

  The Europeans heard the first shot and by the third had located Wizard.

  A French sniper on the cabin of the crane swung his rifle round, drew a bead on Wizard’s forehead, and fired.

  His bullet went haywire.

  It peeled downwards almost as soon as it left the barrel of the Frenchman’s rifle—where it struck an unfortunate croc square in the head, killing it.

  The ‘Warblers’ at work.

  The three odd-looking silver rounds that Wizard had fired were more formally known as Closed Atmospheric Field Destabilisers (Electromagnetic), but everyone just called them ‘Warblers’.

  One of Wizard’s rare military inventions, the Warblers created a magnetic field that disrupted the flight of high-subsonic metal objects—specifically bullets—creating a gunfire-free zone.

  Wizard, one of the leading experts in electromagnetic applications, had sold the revolutionary technology to Raytheon in 1988 for $25 million, most of which went to the New York venture capital company that had bankrolled his research. Walking away with only $2 million, Wizard had sworn to never work again with venture capitalists.

  Ironically, the US Army—as always, thinking it knew better— ordered Raytheon to rework the Warbler system, creating huge problems that had stalled the program for over fifteen years. It had yet to enter active service.

  Naturally, Wizard—a Canadian, not an American—had kept a few working prototypes for himself, three of which he was now using.

  The Seven burst out from their manhole, one after the other, moving fast, heading for the nearest embedded ladder that led up to the first level.

  As he ran in the middle of the group, West set Horus free and the little peregrine falcon soared above the forward-moving group.

  The Jamaican, Fuzzy, led the way—dancing along a narrow stone walkway that lay flush against the right-hand wall of the cavern. Pushed up against the walkway’s low edge was a crush of crocodiles.

  Fuzzy held in his hands a lightweight titanium bar welded in the shape of an X.

  Halfway along its length, the walkway ended briefly at a small void. In the centre of this void was a raised square stepping-stone that also stood flush against the wall and an inch above the crocfilled water.

  Cut into the stone wall immediately above this stepping-stone was a dark hole about a metre in diameter.

  Fuzzy didn’t miss a beat.

  He leapt from the walkway onto the stepping-stone—

  —and immediately heard a rush of water from up inside the wall-hole, accompanied by a low crocodilian growl—

  —at which point he jammed his titanium X-bar into the wall-hole and hit a switch on the bar.

  Thwack!

  The X-shaped bar expanded with a powerful springloaded motion, so that suddenly it was wedged tightly in the mouth of the circul
ar wall-hole.

  Not a second too soon.

  An instant later, a burst of water gushed out of the wall-hole, immediately followed by the jaws of a massive crocodile that slammed at tremendous speed into the X-bar!

  The croc roared angrily but its jaws were caught against the X-bar, unable to get past. The rush of water sprayed all around Fuzzy, but didn’t knock him over.

  ‘Trap One! Clear!’ he called.

  The others were already there with him, moving fast, and as Fuzzy kept watch over the writhing croc trapped in the wall-hole, they danced safely by.

  Now Big Ears went ahead, racing forward to disable the next trap, while the rest of them followed, step-jumping past Fuzzy, heading for the ladder at the base of the giant rockface.

  The Europeans could only watch in helpless amazement as the Seven raced along the opposite wall to the base of the rockface.

  Alone among them, Francisco del Piero eyed West—eyed him with an ice-cold gaze—watched him running with Lily at his side, gripping her hand.

  ‘Well, well, well,’ del Piero said. ‘Who have you got there, Captain West . . .?’

  The Seven hit the base of the rockface.

  The building-sized wall towered above them, black as the night.

  Big Ears had already done his work, disabling two hand-chopping traps halfway up the rock-cut ladder.

  Now Princess Zoe leapfrogged ahead. She moved with great athleticism, easily the match of the men. About 30, she had shoulder-length blonde hair, freckles, and the luminous blue eyes that only Irish girls possess.

  Onto the First Level she flew, raising two aerosol cans as she did so, filling two wall-holes with a dense expanding foam. Whatever evils had been in those wall-holes were caught by the foam and neutralised.

  No sooner had she done this than she was leapfrogged by the seventh member of the group, the tall, thin trooper named Stretch. Once known as Archer, he had a long, sanguine, bony face. He hailed from the deadly Israeli sniper unit, the Sayaret Matkal.

  Stretch arrived at the right-side arm of the Scar, where he triggered a huge trap from a safe distance: a bronze cage that fell out of a dark recess in the Scar and clattered down to the lake.