The Cult of Osiris nwaec-5

by Andy McDermott

  ‘Shit!’ she gasped. ‘We’ve got to get him out of there!’

  ‘I can’t,’ said Assad, dismayed. ‘The ASPS don’t have authorisation to act until we know the zodiac’s there.’

  ‘Grant said it is,’ protested Macy. ‘Isn’t that enough?’

  ‘No, we need visual proof - which is what your husband was supposed to find!’ he snapped at Nina.

  ‘Dammit!’ She ran to the truck’s open rear door and looked helplessly along the lakeside at the castle - then remembered something and switched her headset’s channel to the phone. ‘Grant! Can you hear me? Grant!’

  A rustle of fabric, then: ‘Yeah, I’m here.’

  ‘Grant, they’ve caught Eddie! You’ve got to get out of there . . .’ An idea. ‘Your phone! If you take a picture of the zodiac, the Egyptians can move in.’

  ‘Wait - they’ve caught Eddie? Shit!’ The actor’s usual laid-back drawl frayed into near panic.

  ‘Grant, Grant, just listen!’ Nina shouted. ‘Go into the relic room and take a photo of the zodiac, and we can rescue you and Eddie!’ She glanced at Assad for confirmation that a cell phone picture would be enough; he nodded.

  ‘Okay. Rescue. Good idea.’ She heard his footsteps as he crossed the lounge - then a sudden whumph of material over the mouthpiece as he shoved the phone back into his pocket. ‘Shit, someone’s coming!’

  The sound of a door opening, then a voice: ‘Mr Thorn?’

  ‘Y-yeah?’

  ‘The ceremony is about to begin. Come with us.’

  ‘Come with you three guys?’ said Grant. ‘Sure. My own personal escort, huh? Cool.’

  Nina realised what he was telling her - surrounded by three men, he wouldn’t be able to take a picture of the zodiac.

  And without one . . . he and Eddie were on their own.

  One of the guards hurried out of the lab. ‘We found this,’ he said, holding up a C-4 pack.

  Shaban turned over the radio detonator his men had just taken from Eddie in his hand. ‘Explosives? Not subtle. But not surprising, from you.’

  ‘I like to be consistent,’ said Eddie, forcing himself not to look back towards the oven. The second pack would be harder to find, and since there was only one detonator, Shaban might also think there was only one charge.

  But even if the other bomb wasn’t found, it wouldn’t make much difference: C-4 was a very stable compound, needing extreme heat and a physical shock - the kind provided by the blasting cap inside the pack - before it would explode. He needed the radio detonator to destroy the lab. And Shaban seemed unlikely to give it back.

  ‘How did you know I was here?’ he asked, trying to divert the Egyptian’s mind from the detonator. As long as he didn’t think to destroy it, there might still be a chance . . .

  Shaban indicated his ill-fitting green jacket. ‘Bad tailoring. I always insisted that the Temple’s security forces had their uniforms fitted. Khalid liked it because it made everyone look smart, but it has another advantage - it’s easy to tell when somebody doesn’t belong.’

  ‘Good thinking, Two-Face.’

  Shaban’s jaw clenched, but he restrained himself from responding personally, instead nodding at Broma - who clubbed Eddie with his gun, dropping him to his knees. ‘Ow! Twat!’

  ‘I would have told him to shoot you, but I have something better in mind.’

  Eddie didn’t like the sound of that, but kept quiet as he was hauled upright. The other man emerged from the lab. ‘I couldn’t find anything else,’ he reported.

  Shaban regarded the block of C-4. ‘That would have been enough.’ He looked back at the detonator, then tipped out the battery before crushing the device under his heel.

  ‘Shit,’ Eddie muttered. The only way now to set off the hidden explosive was manually - which would take him with it. The pack had no timer.

  The Egyptian read his expression. ‘No backup plan? Too bad.’ He smiled coldly. ‘You’ve come a long way to be here for my ceremony. So now . . . you can be part of it.’

  Hands secured behind his back, Eddie was taken at gunpoint into the temple.

  It was vastly more impressive than the auditorium in Paris. The doors through which the arriving cultists had entered led to a glass and steel staircase descending into a huge pit-like arena below floor level, the deep space filled with hundreds of people.

  A central aisle had been left clear, green-clad men lining it like an honour guard. At its far end was another, narrower flight of stairs rising to a wide catwalk like extension from the front of a black marble stage. Four large, gleaming chrome statues of Egyptian gods stood at the protruding section’s corners. The walls were frosted glass panels laser-etched with hieroglyphs. The whole place seemed like some demented cross between a rock stadium and an Apple Store.

  Shaban, Lorenz and Broma had taken a different route through the pyramid, leaving the guards to hustle Eddie down into the pit, along the aisle and up the unrailed stairs to the stage. Seeing that he was a prisoner, the cultists booed and bellowed for his blood. The sight of what, despite its chrome and glass trappings, looked uncomfortably like a sacrificial altar gave Eddie the nasty feeling that they expected to get it.

  His captors took him to one side and waited, giving him a chance to look for possible escape routes. The only choices were back down into the pit, exits on each side of the stage - and a set of double doors at the centre of the back wall. This entrance was flanked by a pair of even larger statues. The bodies were of Osiris, similar to the statues outside the god-king’s tomb, but the heads were different, the figures having been recently decapitated and replaced by the visage of some strange beast, a fearsome, elongated cross between jackal and horse.

  The face of Set.

  Shaban had wasted no time in putting his mark on the temple. Eddie now also realised why the cultists had been made to go to the more distant entrance. The double doors led north, to ancient Egyptians the direction reserved for royalty. Osir had designed that feature of the temple for effect . . . but his brother believed it.

  Minutes passed, the crowd’s anticipation rising. Then the lights dimmed.

  ‘Set! Set! Set!’ the cultists chanted, raising their clenched fists high to punch the air. ‘Set! Set! Set!’

  The doors opened.

  Spotlights tracking him, Shaban stepped on to the stage. When he left Eddie he had been wearing an expensive but understated suit - now, his clothes were anything but subtle. He had donned a set of green and black robes, a modern interpretation of traditional Egyptian royal clothing, and an elaborate headdress, again a stylised version of those traditionally worn by the pharaohs. Broma and Lorenz stood in the half-shadows behind him.

  The cultists went berserk, screaming ‘Set!’ over and over again, stamping their feet so hard that the stage floor trembled. Shaban took in the adulation like his brother had before him, then raised his hands. The tumult quickly died down.

  ‘Servants of Set!’ he said, voice booming from loudspeakers; the headdress also contained a microphone. ‘Welcome! The day has finally come. The worthless platitudes of Osiris have been swept aside. He is no more. I am at last the true leader! I am Set reborn! And I will show the world the true power of a god!’

  The response from the crowd was more frenzied than before. Even the guards surrounding Eddie were caught up in the moment - though not, he quickly found when he tested his bonds, enough to forget why they were on the stage. One jabbed a gun into his back as Shaban again signalled for silence.

  The scientist who had crossed the courtyard with the cult leader earlier approached, bearing the containment flask. He bowed and presented it to Shaban, then retreated.

  ‘This,’ said Shaban in a low voice, ‘is the seed of our power. This is how the Temple of Set will spread my will over the world. In this container,’ his voice rose as he held the flask over his head, ‘is death. Death, to those who oppose us. Death, to the unbelievers. Death, to all those who refuse to bow to the might of Set!’

  The crowd ch
anted and stamped again - though, Eddie realised, fractionally less powerfully than before. Maybe not all of them were one hundred per cent behind the idea of global genocide . . .

  Shaban lowered the flask. ‘This container is just the first. When you leave, you will take with you many more. Slowly, invisibly, you will spread their contents across the world. By the time our enemies realise what we have done, it will be too late - they will already have consumed this death. There is only one way they can survive - by pledging their total obedience and worship to the Temple of Set! You, my followers, will be safe - the bread of Set will protect you.’ His voice rose again, almost a scream. ‘But only those I deem worthy will receive it - all others will die! The reign of Set has begun!’

  Another explosion of approval came from the pit - but this time there were noticeable pockets showing rather less enthusiasm. The cult leader returned the flask to the scientist, then faced the crowd once more . . . though Eddie saw a now-familiar tension in Shaban’s face, anger just barely contained beneath the surface.

  ‘I know some of you may be having second thoughts,’ he said, his voice almost silky, reassuring. Shaban might not have had his brother’s oratorical skills, but he had certainly taken notes. ‘If you have doubts, now is the time to make them known.’ He gestured to the stairs leading up to the stage. ‘Come. Step forward. I will end your fears.’

  He smiled, but his eyes were crocodile-cold. ‘Don’t do it!’ Eddie shouted, seeing a few of the cultists moving to the aisle, but the guards pistol-whipped him to his knees. His voice was lost in the murmurs of the crowd, those taking Shaban up on his offer being regarded with suspicion, even hostility, by the others.

  About twelve men hesitantly grouped in the aisle. ‘There are no more?’ Shaban asked, mild tone and empty smile again concealing his emotions. He surveyed the crowd for any more signs of disaffection. Seeing none, his lips curled to reveal his true feelings. ‘Then bring them to me!’ he barked.

  The guards lining the aisle had been prepared for this moment. In a sudden burst of action, they closed in from both sides, crashing together like two green waves. Fists and feet flailing, they beat the dissenters to the floor. When the chaos ebbed, the bloodied dozen were dragged up the stairs by three men each. The rest of the crowd began a horrible baying that grew louder and more animalistic as the moaning victims were brought to the altar.

  Shaban glared at the doubters with contempt, then turned back to his followers. ‘You have accepted me as your leader - as your god! There is no room for doubt, no room for fear - I give you eternal life, and in return I demand eternal obedience! I am your god! I am Set!’

  ‘Set! Set! Set!’ screamed the crowd.

  He moved behind the altar, picking up a long, wicked blade. A nod to the nearest group of guards, and their prisoner was hauled on to the glass-topped block. His cries for help went unheard beneath the mob’s yelling.

  Holding the knife up to the spotlights, Shaban began a sinister prayer, his amplified words rolling round the chamber. ‘I pay homage to you, O Ra, lord of heaven. I am your champion, the doer of your will within this world. Your light falls upon the great mother Nut, whose hands encompass the sky above us, and the great father Geb, whose body spans the earth beneath us. I am your son, your servant . . . your warrior.’

  He raised the blade higher. ‘In blood, I show my worth,’ he proclaimed. ‘In blood, I slay your enemies. In blood, I take my rightful place as the ruler of this world, and the next, for all eternity! Those who do not believe, shall suffer! Those who oppose, shall fall! I am Set, lord of the desert, master of darkness, the god of death! I am Set!’

  The masses below began their awful chant once more, fists punching skyward in unison. Eddie spotted Grant, who was watching in horror as he realised the ritual’s inevitable end, but was too afraid to fight or flee.

  ‘I am Set!’ Shaban repeated. ‘I have slain the coward Osiris, and now in blood I take dominion over all things! I am Set! Set! Set!’

  He plunged the knife downwards.

  Blood gouted from the helpless man’s chest as Shaban stabbed again and again, the guards holding him down as he writhed and convulsed . . . then fell still. Eddie watched, appalled.

  But Shaban wasn’t finished. Clothes spattered with trickling red spots, he rushed to the next prisoner, face alight with an insane glee. ‘I am the bringer of death!’ he cried, slashing the knife across the man’s throat and sending a crimson spew down his chest. The other men struggled and screamed, but were held too tightly to escape as the knife plunged into their flesh. ‘This is the fate of those who question! Those who follow me shall live for ever - and all others will die!’

  ‘Jesus Christ!’ Nina gasped, turning pale as she listened to Shaban’s rant via Grant’s phone. Macy covered her mouth with both hands, eyes wide. ‘He’s killing them!’ She faced Assad. ‘Send in your men!’

  Sweat beaded on the Egyptian’s face. ‘I . . . I don’t have the authority,’ he said desperately. ‘I need to - I need to call the minister.’

  ‘There’s no time! We’ve got to - oh, shit . . .’ She tailed off as Shaban spoke again.

  ‘Grant Thorn,’ said the cult leader, the name echoing round the temple. ‘Will Grant Thorn step forward? Mr Thorn!’

  ‘I’m . . . I’m here,’ Grant croaked, mouth as dry as dust.

  ‘Good.’ Shaban smirked nastily. ‘I’m sure you all know Mr Thorn. But,’ the smirk darkened, ‘he was a follower of my brother. It is time to see if he will pledge himself to his new god.’

  ‘Uh . . . sure!’ Grant cleared his throat. ‘Sure thing! I - I pledge to worship you, O Set! Totally!’

  ‘I will need more proof than mere words,’ said Shaban. ‘Come up here.’

  Grant hesitated, but was pushed forward by a pair of goons. Shaking, he ascended the stairs. At the top, he looked round at Eddie, the statues, the ceiling - anything to avoid Shaban’s cold stare, or the bloodied bodies round the altar.

  ‘I’m giving you a great honour, Mr Thorn,’ said Shaban, stepping up to him. He was still holding the dripping knife; Grant cringed back from its point. ‘You have all seen the fate of those who do not obey my will. Now . . .’ He looked round at Eddie, the sadistic smirk returning. ‘Now you will see the fate that awaits the enemies of Set.’

  ‘A blowjob from a supermodel?’ Eddie shouted, a display of defiance that earned him a hard blow to the head.

  Shaban sneered. ‘This man,’ he said, pointing, ‘has opposed us. Has tried to destroy us. Has tried to deny you everlasting life!’ The crowd jeered. ‘There can be only one punishment - death!’ He whirled to face Grant, holding up the knife in front of the actor’s face. ‘And you, Mr Thorn, will prove your loyalty to the Temple of Set - by killing him.’

  Grant’s mouth moved silently before his voice fearfully emerged. ‘Oh, no, I, ah . . . that’s really your kind of honour.’

  ‘I insist,’ said Shaban icily. He nudged a corpse with his foot. ‘And you know what happens to those who do not obey the will of Set.’

  Pushing the knife into the reluctant actor’s hands, he quickly stepped back out of arm’s reach, then gestured to the guards holding Eddie. ‘Bring him to the altar!’

  ‘They’re going to kill Eddie!’ Nina shouted at Assad. ‘Do something!’ The Egyptian was trapped between his urge to act and the restrictions of his orders, fumbling with his phone. ‘Fuck!’ Frustrated, angry and afraid, she ran to the van’s doors and looked at the castle.

  The drawbridge was still lowered.

  Macy called after her as she jumped down, but she ignored her and hurried to the nearer of the team’s Mitsubishi Shoguns. The big 4×4 was fully kitted out for off-road work with heavy-duty tyres, raised suspension, a winch and a bullbar jutting from the front. Both doors on the driver’s side were open, and one of the ASPS was perched on the side of the driving seat with his feet on the ground as he smoked a cigarette, waiting for the call to action.

  Nina delivered it in a way he hadn’
t been expecting. ‘Hey!’

  He looked up - and she punched him, knocking his head back against the door frame. He was more shocked than hurt, but his confusion was enough to enable Nina to pull him from the vehicle. The other ASPS nearby reacted in surprise.

  She jumped into the cab and started the engine, slamming the Mitsubishi into gear.

  Macy dived through the open rear door. ‘Wait!’

  ‘Get out, Macy!’ Nina yelled as she swerved the 4×4 round the van. Assad shouted for her to stop as they passed.

  ‘I’m going with you!’

  ‘No, you’re not - you could get killed!’

  ‘I’m getting used to it! Besides . . .’ Nina flinched as the barrel of a large gun was poked between the front seats. ‘This might be handy.’

  ‘That’s not even a proper gun!’ The odd-looking weapon was an Arwen 37, a fat-barrelled riot gun loaded with five tear gas cartridges in its bulky rotary magazine.

  Macy withdrew the Arwen. ‘Well, if you want a different one, you’ll have to turn round!’

  That wasn’t going to happen. The Shogun tore down the lakeside road. Nina could hear what was happening inside the temple through her headset. Eddie was still alive, she could tell from the swearing.

  But another voice chilled her to the bone. Shaban.

  ‘I pay homage to you, O Ra . . .’

  She pushed the accelerator down harder.

  Grant’s gaze flicked desperately between Eddie and Shaban as the cult leader continued his murderous prayer. His followers chanted the dark god’s name as he spoke, eagerly awaiting the deadly climax.

  Most of the guards had returned to the pit, but four still held Eddie on the sacrificial block. ‘Oi! Scarface!’ he shouted. ‘Does all this really make up for having your knob burned off?’

  Shaban’s only response was a furious twitch, but one guard smashed his elbow down on Eddie’s stomach. The Englishman let out a choked gasp of pain.

  ‘In blood, I show my worth . . .’