by Brett King
The screen went black.
Metzger, this man known for his legendary cool under the most trying circumstances, understood the gravity of his fate. He realized, perhaps, that like Fortunato in Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Cask of Amontillado,” he was a man sealed forever inside a vault.
It was a brutal fate for a brutal man.
Wurm came over. No phone, but the gun was back and it was trained on Nebola.
“Brynstone’s desperate move bought you a second chance, Viktor.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about redemption. Understand? If you want to redeem yourself with the Chapter, you will go down into the catacombs and you will get Shayna Brynstone for me.”
Wurm pointed at monitor four. On-screen, Cori Cassidy huddled with the child near the triclinium. Cori jolted her head to the right, like she had heard a sound. She picked up Shayna and they hurried out of the camera’s view, no doubt to join Brynstone and Raja.
“You asking me to go down there?”
“Not asking, Viktor. Ordering.” He flashed the Kimber. “Don’t think about leaving the catacombs. I have men posted on the roof outside. A man in the hallway will hand you a firearm.”
“Have him get Shayna.”
“She won’t go to him. She knows you. Get the girl or die. Your call. What will it be?”
“The girl.”
“Go. I have a chopper waiting.”
Nebola hurried toward the door, then moved to the hallway outside the office.
Cori was carrying Shayna when she found John Brynstone sprawled on the floor outside the closed Hero door. Wet blood glistened on his torn shirt.
Raja was leaning over Brynstone, covering his chest wound with her hand.
“Cori, get over here!” she shouted.
Shayna jumped down to the floor. Cori hurried with the girl to Brynstone. His eyes were open, but they didn’t look focused. Still, he reached over and slid his bloodied hand around his daughter’s small round shoulder.
He didn’t speak.
“Rashmi, call an ambulance,” Cori choked. “Get someone here fast.”
“Okay,” she said, waving Cori to her side. “Keep pressure here. Take over for me.”
Cori crouched beside the child and her father. She slipped her hand beneath Raja’s hand, pressing down on the chest wound.
“Stay with him,” the woman said as she jumped up and sprinted around the corner.
Brynstone’s breathing became shallow. His head rested on the ground. He stared at the ceiling.
“John, can you hear me?”
“Be okay, Daddy,” Shayna pleaded. “Be okay. Please?”
He blinked. A line of blood trickled from his mouth down to his ear. His eyes shifted to the side, finding his daughter. He swallowed hard. “Love you, Shay.”
Her knee curled near his shoulder. She ran her small fingers across her father’s forehead. Never a believer, Cori found herself on the edge of some desperate prayer.
“Cold,” he mumbled.
He had lost so much blood. He was going into shock. His eyes drifted back inside his head.
“Rashmi went to get help,” Cori said, tears streaming down her cheek. “Stay with us, John.”
“Stay with us, Daddy.”
His eyes closed.
“John? Can you hear me? Say something.”
“Is he,” Shay said, unable to ask the most terrible question she could ask.
“Sweetie,” Cori choked. “Sweetie, I think you need, um—”
“Is he, Cori? Is he?”
Cori had been pressing down on the wound, but it was like something had changed somehow in his body. His chest seemed to loosen, somehow, and sag beneath her fingers.
She looked at Shayna. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
The little girl placed her left hand on top of Cori’s hand. She seemed so alone. Her mother had died. And now…
How could he die?
Shayna looked up at her with a pleading innocence as she tilted her head, strands of hair touching her shoulder. There was a distance in her fresh eyes.
“Cori,” she said in a hushed voice. “Why didn’t you get the ambulance?”
“What do you mean, honey?” she sobbed.
“You sent that woman to get it. I wish you had been the one to go get the ambulance.”
Her right hand slipped beneath Cori’s palm, the girl covering the chest wound now. The fingers of her left hand wrapped tightly around Cori’s hand.
The child stared up. Something had changed in Shayna’s eyes, an innocence clouded. A pained expression passed over the girl’s soft features, one mixed with burden and maybe regret.
“What are you—”
“Sorry, Cori,” Shayna said, her face moving into a frown. “I hate it, but it has to be.”
No.
Shocked, Cori pulled her bloodied hand from Shayna’s grip and turned from her crouching position. She tucked her hands away, hiding them inside crossed arms. Feeling more protected now, she faced the child.
“I need to ask you something, Cori. A favor.”
“No, Shayna.”
“Can I hold your hand?”
The serenity in Shayna’s voice scared Cori. A bitter sensation churned inside her stomach. A sickening sweat chilled her brow. One reckless thought after another darted across Cori’s mind, but she suspected why the little girl wanted her.
“Come here, Cori. I need you.”
Oh, God, is this really happening?
“I miss my daddy. He’s the most important thing in the world to me. I need to hurry. Please, Cori?”
“No,” she muttered. “No.”
“Ms. Cassidy,” a voice barked from behind. “Bring the girl to me.”
Shocked, Cori turned.
A heavyset man aimed his gun at her. She recognized his face from the monitor strapped on Raja’s chest.
“Changed my mind,” Nebola growled. “Move to the wall, Ms. Cassidy.”
She hesitated.
“You think I’m playing here? Get away from the girl,” Nebola ordered. “She’s coming with me.”
“Shayna’s been through enough. Leave her alone. Leave us alone.”
“Not how it works. Edgar Wurm wants this little girl. Get back against the wall.”
Cori stood her ground, her hand clenched into a bloodied fist.
Nebola aimed the weapon at the child. He looked serious.
“I have orders to take the kid. Right now, I don’t care if Wurm gets what he wants. Either I take her or I kill her. Now move to the wall.”
Cori staggered backward, reaching behind until her fingers brushed the rough stone wall. She had to do something, but what? What could she possibly do?
Moving his aim back on Cori now, Nebola looked at Shayna.
“You know me, kid,” he said, coming over. “We had lots of good talks, right? You know I’m not a bad guy. Metzger was the bad guy and your daddy locked him behind that door. Now it’s time to leave. Let’s go find that cute little stuffed kitty.”
The child stared at him, not budging from the side of her fallen father.
He grunted. “Look, kid, I’m in a bad mood. You don’t wanna see me in a worse mood. Get your scrawny butt up here and let’s go. Uncle Edgar has a helicopter waiting.”
Shayna didn’t say a word. She was frozen in place like a statue.
“Ever been in a helicopter? Lots of fun. We need to go now.”
Shayna glanced at her father.
Nebola’s impatience came to an end. “I tried to ask nice, but you’re pissing me off. We need to get outta here.”
Going to the child, Nebola reached down to grab her shoulder. He didn’t get a good hold, and she jerked away. Still training his gun on Cori with his righ
t hand, Nebola reached again with his left.
Kneeling beside her father, Shay saw the man’s hand coming toward her. She raised her small fingers and snatched the wrist of Viktor Nebola. At the same moment, she pressed harder on the wound in her father’s chest.
The Hollow.
The Black Chrism.
Shayna Brynstone.
Cori saw it happen. The little girl’s power, drawing the life force from one man before transferring it into another. She was an innocent child making a dark choice. A lost angel with a terrible gift.
Nebola went into a fury of convulsions. The gun dropped from his hand, hitting the floor. He came down hard on his knees. In the middle of the two men, Shayna’s body began to shudder like she was standing at the epicenter of an earthquake. Her eyes darkened with fierce concentration. The muscles around her small mouth contorted, but no sound passed between her lips. Her head rolled in a lazy circle and then her eyes closed, her face flush with some terrible shock like she was grabbing a lightning bolt. The brutality of the moment—the raw exchange of death with life and life with death—seemed to charge the room with electricity.
All at once, John Brynstone’s eyes snapped open. Drained of life, Nebola collapsed onto the floor beside him.
Brynstone stared ahead with a blank expression. It was as if he had awakened from a terrible nightmare and was trapped in that hazy moment between dreaming and waking.
Almost nothing surprised Cori. Not anymore.
But this…
Shayna slumped against her father, her eyes glassy and distant, as Cori rushed to them. Fate had left the child with no choice about her power. She was a hollow vessel—a conduit for taking life and giving it. The violence of her act had consumed Shayna, sapping her energy. What was going through her mind now? A sickening sense of emptiness? A cacophony of banshees howling at her? Or the quiet redemption of knowing that she had saved her father’s life?
Chapter 56
3:47 a.m.
Brynstone looked down, studying the blood on his shirt. He felt nauseous and bewildered and spent. His hands and face tingled.
He rubbed his eyes. What happened? He couldn’t explain it. Didn’t want to try.
He embraced his daughter, her love making him whole. Cori wrapped her arms around them from behind. He didn’t know the extent of what Cori and Shay had been through together, but it was clear they shared a powerful bond. He kissed his daughter again, then looked at Cori, finding a swell of emotion that surprised him.
“You feel so good to hug,” Shayna said.
Brynstone answered her, the words sounding thick as they played in his ear. “You feel so good to hug, too, Shay.”
“I could hug you all day and all night, except I would be tired.”
He made a weak smile.
Climbing to his feet, he looked down at Viktor Nebola’s body. He remembered trapping Metzger behind the Hero door, but it seemed like it had happened months ago, not mere minutes. He glanced at the stone slab, needing the verification that it had all happened. It remained closed, sealing the demon in the tomb.
Brynstone was stronger now. Looking at Cori, he asked, “Where’s Wurm?”
“Nebola said something about a helicopter.”
“I was next door, Daddy. There’s a building right across from here. I was there with Viktor. I saw the old man with long gray hair.”
Brynstone reached down and grabbed Nebola’s service pistol, a Springfield XD. Shayna scrambled into his arms. It was clear she didn’t like him holding the weapon, but she didn’t protest. With her skinny legs wrapped around his waist, he hurried up the divided staircase.
Cori followed as they made their way to the first level of the Kom el Shoqafa catacombs. He moved to the vestibule and darted toward the spiral staircase that wrapped around the massive shaft.
He hurried outside, hoping to see Wurm. Instead, he found Math McHardy.
The man was sprawled on the ground, clutching his side, with fresh blood glistening on his fingers. Without letting Shayna go, Brynstone hurried over and kneeled down to rip open McHardy’s shirt. The old man’s eyes were wide and flat. His chest was rising and falling. It was a gunshot wound. A serious one, but it looked like the bullet hadn’t penetrated deep enough into the abdomen to reach major blood vessels.
McHardy forced his mouth to work. “Tried to get down,” he wheezed, pointing a bloodied finger at a building near the catacombs. “Bastard shot me.”
Shayna held still and tight in his arms. Brynstone looked up.
Edgar Wurm stood at the edge of the roof, staring down at them. He was aiming a pistol.
In one fluid motion, Brynstone scrambled to his feet with his daughter still in his arms.
Cori lingered at the catacomb entrance. She saw them coming at her and scooted backward on her feet. Moving inside with her, he swung his daughter around, handing her to Cori. He brought out Nebola’s service pistol, going into an isosceles stance.
Wurm had disappeared from the roof’s edge.
Brynstone ordered Cori and Shay to take cover farther inside the catacomb entrance. He turned and sprinted toward the office building.
Running around the corner, he headed for the entrance. The thundering rhythm of a helicopter came from the roof. He burst through the door and darted up the stairs, a collision of thoughts and emotions raging inside his head. Wurm had played him on this entire mission. He had to take down the man.
Coming around the corner, he saw a shadow and trained the Springfield on it. Coming into view, Rashmi Raja aimed her Beretta at him. Her eyes brightened when she recognized him.
“You’re okay?” she said, blinking in surprise. “I thought you—”
“Wurm’s getting away. Where are the stairs to the roof?”
“Just saw them. Follow me.”
“McHardy’s shot,” he called. “Needs an ambulance.”
“On the way.”
Following Raja, Brynstone sprinted up a dim stairwell. He came to an abrupt halt at the top landing. After making sure the area was secure, he spied a white metal ladder on his side of the wall. It led outside to the roof.
Climbing, he took it two rungs at a time, finding the small hatch above him cracked open. He could hear the copter’s turbine grinding up. The bird was taking off. The sound was thunderous as he pushed open the hatch door. He had to catch Wurm.
Rashmi Raja was right behind Brynstone on the ladder. He burst out the access hatch. As they scrambled onto the roof, she saw a helicopter rising into the early-morning sky.
Brynstone sprinted toward the edge of the roof, his pistol out. Inside the bird, Edgar Wurm fixed his unblinking gaze down on Brynstone. Long gray hair swirled around his face.
Brynstone fired at the chopper.
It was too far away.
The helicopter buzzed across the city of Alexandria, cutting a path toward the Nile. It sickened Raja to see Wurm escape.
She didn’t have long to think about it.
Glancing from the roof, she saw a dozen black vehicles burst onto the Kom el Shoqafa grounds. They blazed along the front of the building.
“Crap,” Raja said. “You know these guys?”
“I’m thinking CIA. They don’t look like Egyptian authorities.”
The whole thing made her feel sick. She didn’t like CIA here. After all the chaos back in the catacomb, she had thought about slipping away after calling an ambulance for Brynstone. It would have been so easy. No one would have noticed and she’d be free. Something had drawn her back. Something had made her follow Brynstone up here.
Maybe it wasn’t too late to disappear.
Brynstone stood at the edge of the roof, turning his attention to Wurm’s helicopter as it flew over the city.
Under her breath, she said, “Bye, John. Fun while it lasted.”
He didn’t hear
or see Rashmi Raja slipping through the roof access hatch and climbing down the ladder.
Chapter 57
4:14 a.m.
Commandos seemed to appear from everywhere. Cori was holding Shayna inside the catacombs when they ran up and surrounded her. Behind them, a stern-looking man came up and identified himself as a CIA officer. It was bewildering. Then she saw a familiar face. Stephen Angelilli.
Was she happy to see him? She couldn’t decide.
Angelilli explained how Dr. Spanos had called from Crete. Though Angelilli hadn’t talked to him before he had been murdered, the CIA had been able to trace his call. As Angelilli flew to Europe, CIA officers had searched the rubble of the Shadow Chapter compound. Cori overheard Angelilli say something to another agent about a National Intelligence Support Team uncovering intelligence that led them here.
Cori filled in Angelilli on several details, though she decided against any mention of Rashmi Raja, and she left out the part about Shayna using the Black Chrism’s power on her father.
Brynstone emerged from the office building with several CIA officers. As they came over, Shayna ran and embraced her father. Cori gave them a moment until the girl beckoned with an outstretched arm and she joined them.
As they hugged, a young officer from Angelilli’s team came over and reported to him. “Sir, Nebola has been confirmed dead. Appears he suffered a heart attack.”
Cori looked at Shayna.
They left it at that.
Angelilli asked, “What about Erich Metzger?”
“Sir, we cannot verify any sign of him at this facility.”
Angelilli gave Brynstone a hard look. “You sure Metzger was here? We’re not even certain what the assassin looks like, so it would be understandable if you mistook him.”
“Metzger was here,” Brynstone said, handing over Nebola’s service pistol. “I promise you.”
“What happened? They say the guy is like a phantom, but he couldn’t have disappeared.”
“We’ve been through hell,” Brynstone said. “Give us a couple minutes?”
The man thought it over. “Five minutes.”
