by Brett King
A CIA officer handed Shayna a bottle of water, chatting to her. Watching them talk, Brynstone pulled Cori aside. “You okay?”
She nodded. “Any word on Math?”
“Critical condition in a nearby hospital.”
“Will he be okay?”
“Could’ve been worse. He’ll make it.”
“What happened to Rashmi?”
He looked at the building. Last place he had seen her was on the roof. The woman knew how to pull off a vanishing act. This time, Raja got away without him catching her. He enjoyed the challenge of finding her. Another time.
His eyes drifted to his daughter. Cori picked up on it.
“John, I’d like to do what I can to help Shayna. I want to be there for her. After we get back to New York, would you let me spend time with her? Come over once in a while?”
“She deserves so much more than I’ve given her. Don’t know what it’s going to be like for her without her mom.”
She touched his arm. “I want to help.”
He liked the idea. Cori studied child psychology. Maybe she could make a difference.
“Shay would appreciate it.” He paused. “Me too.”
Shayna wandered over to them. He bent down and held her hand. Yawning widely, his daughter looked exhausted and totally drained.
“Can we go now, Daddy?”
“I have to answer a few more questions from the man in the suit. After that, I know a nice hotel where we can take a nap.”
“Can Cori come?”
“Yeah. Cori can come. Can you hold on a bit longer?”
Shayna rubbed her eyes. “Okay.”
Angelilli came over to Cori. He handed her a phone. “Your brother. Remember, you are not allowed to mention anything about what happened here. We’re listening, and we’ll cut you off if we hear something we don’t like.”
She nodded and turned to answer the call from Jared after quickly glancing back, smiling at the reunion of father and daughter.
Outside the catacombs, Brynstone carried Shayna over to a chair, one used by the tourist police. He eased into it, her long skinny legs dangling over the chair arm.
He was thinking everything over. So much had happened.
She looked up. “Did you go into your little world just now?”
He blinked. “What?”
“Yeah, Daddy. Sometimes, you go into a little world where you don’t hear people outside your world.”
He frowned. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Big Ol’ Daddy Bear. Can you tell me a story about Lucy and Lindsey?”
“Now?”
“Please.”
He cleared his throat. “Let’s see.”
“They were on the island, remember? Looking for Lucy’s dad. The mermaids brought them there. And Lindsey wants to get back to her palace in Pinktopia. And they’re hungry.”
“I remember,” Brynstone said, picking up the thread of the story. “Okay, it’s nighttime.”
“How dark?”
“Moon is out, so not real dark. Lucy and Lindsey are walking on the cool pink sand. All of a sudden, Lindsey hears her stomach growl. It reminds her of the gurgling sound of the pink fountain, the one where a face appeared in the water. Now, the girls have to make a choice. Should they go into the jungle where the ninjas might be, or should they walk around the edge and stay on the moonlit beach?”
Brynstone didn’t tell typical little-girl stories. But one thing Shay liked was that he made it interactive for her. She had a say in the characters’ decision making.
“Which one do you think the girls should do?”
“Hmmm?” Shayna asked in a sleepy voice.
“Should they search the jungle for Lucy’s dad or stay on the beach? Tell me and I’ll make sure the girls do what you say.”
She didn’t answer. She looked at him, then her eyes closed.
He smiled and pulled her close to him. She was already sleeping in his embrace, maybe dreaming about lost girls on an island and a jungle teeming with ninjas.
He looked down at her small face.
“My sweet beautiful girl, you’ve been through so much,” he whispered. “I’ve put you through so much. And now you’ve lost your mother.” His voice cracked. “Shay, I’m so sorry about Mommy.”
Despite bitterness from the last few years, he knew some part of him would always love Kaylyn. Seemed like long ago, but they had shared good times.
He curled his daughter up close, a strand of her blonde hair catching on the bristle of his chin stubble. Brynstone looked at the ghostly desert sky, rich with hot silence. Two hours until sunrise. He saw the promise of a new day and found the question that refused to leave his mind.
What do I do about Metzger?
Brynstone had held back when he told Angelilli about the assassin. Raja knew he had sealed Metzger behind the Hero door, but she had vanished. Did Cori know? If so, she was too smart to mention it. Aside from them? No one else here knew the truth. One of the cameras had carried a live feed from inside the chamber. Brynstone had seen a bank of monitors in a room in the building adjacent to the catacombs, but they had been destroyed along with other equipment. Had Wurm’s men done that before climbing inside the helicopter? Maybe. Whatever had happened, it robbed him of any chance to see Metzger inside the chamber.
He thought about the assassin dying alone in the tomb. How long would it take? Even underground, the blistering temperature in Alexandria could shorten his time of survival. Brynstone tried to calculate the time a man could last with a limited oxygen supply and no food or water. Under the best conditions, people could survive eight weeks without food, but only if they had water.
Can he survive six weeks? Seven?
Maybe.
He thought about Metzger down there, day after day, week after week, dealing with the effects of dehydration and advanced starvation. The muscle spasms and irregular heartbeat. Convulsions and confusion. Brynstone knew the hallucinations would be damning as Metzger grew mad with hunger. Would his cold mind finally punish him, showing all the faces of his scores of assassinated victims?
Brynstone had set up halogen lights after they had discovered the false door. Eventually, the batteries in the lamps would fail, leaving the man to face his demons in bitter darkness.
A comforting thought.
The guy was a brutal murderer. Didn’t he deserve the most brutal death imaginable? A fresh idea came now. Would Metzger kill himself before he died of starvation? Imagine that. The world’s most elite assassin committing suicide.
Brynstone could imagine it. Hell, he would pay to see it.
He had a choice here: Leave Metzger sealed behind that door, rotting with the mummies of the Lost Ones? Or get the man out of the catacombs and force him to face justice?
Depends on how you define justice.
Brynstone had always been able to divorce emotion from his decision making. This time, though, with Metzger, he was having a harder time pulling it off. Was there a right decision in this situation? He honestly didn’t know. A debate raged inside his head, the answers changing from moment to moment.
Shayna stirred in his arms. He looked down at her round, soft face and he kissed her cheek. She puckered her mouth and made a soft breathing sound. Her eyelids fluttered open then closed, heavy with fatigue.
Half asleep, she mumbled, “Nothing can destroy our love.”
Powerful words. They seemed to hang in the night air.
Brushing back her hair as she slept, he saw serenity and innocence. The hard emotions began to fade. Like always, his daughter made him a better man.
“Everything okay over here, Dr. Brynstone?” Stephen Angelilli asked as he came walking up.
“There’s something I need to tell you,” Brynstone answered, holding on to a breath. “It’s about Erich Metzger.”
Chapter 58
5:38 a.m.
John Brynstone marched down the divided stairs leading to the second level of the Kom el Shoqafa catacombs. Behind him, Stephen Angelilli followed with six paramilitary operations officers. Dressed in black tactical gear, they belonged to the CIA’s Special Operations Group within the Special Activities Division. In a concession to the Egyptian government, five General Intelligence Service agents joined them under CIA advisement. The Egyptians wore desert cammies and, like the CIA team, were armed with suppressed M-4s and G-36s.
Brynstone made a ragged leader. His shirt was torn and bloodied. Mud coated his hair. He looked as if he had traveled through hell itself. Considering the demon he had chased for the past several years, maybe he had.
Down on the second level, Brynstone strapped on a headset and advised two SOG operators. They needed to climb through the loculus to make their way through the secret corridor. Once there, they could activate the Hero door. Leaving them, he brought Angelilli and the other men around to face the door, which looked now like a flat stone wall.
What was Metzger doing right now on the other side?
“You sure this wall is supposed to move?” Angelilli asked. “Doesn’t look like a door.”
“Trust me,” Brynstone answered. He explained about the pressure plate and warned the men to not trigger it.
“When we gain access,” Angelilli said, “you stay back. My men go in first.”
“Hold up. We made a deal. I go in first to face Metzger. You provide backup.”
“Change of plans, Dr. Brynstone. You already had your shot at the man. Now it’s our turn.”
He gritted his teeth. “That’s not what we agreed on.”
“Please move behind us, sir,” a young SOG officer told Brynstone.
He studied the kid. Bright eyes. Big chin. Reminded him of a guy he had known in the Rangers. Angelilli backed away and moved to the side. Brynstone fought the idea at first, but decided to join him.
“At least give me a weapon,” Brynstone said. He had handed over the Springfield semiauto.
“You don’t need one. Besides, you don’t have authorization here to—”
“You’re kidding me.”
Angelilli called out, “Be prepared to tear it up in there, gentlemen, but you bring this unholy bastard out with a heartbeat. As much as I want to light him up, we need Metzger alive.”
The man’s words had Brynstone’s blood pumping. Angelilli turned and gave the order to open the door.
A rumbling sound came from deep inside the wall. The floor stuttered a little where they were standing. The door opened, sliding on the incline. It was different seeing the stone move from this vantage point. It seemed more mysterious, like a great mouth yawning.
And then silence.
The Hero door had moved to the side, revealing the chamber. Dark in there. Metzger had turned off the halogen lights.
No sign of the assassin.
Moving in a buttonhook system, the lead operator made a turn around the inside of the Hero door, clearing the area as he entered. A tactical light was mounted on his Heckler-Koch assault rifle. The second operator moved in and cleared the hard corner.
Brynstone strained to see inside the darkened stairwell. Where was Metzger?
The SOG team stacked in a single file as they moved past the Hero door. It was killing Brynstone to watch them. It wasn’t his style to hang back and wait like this.
The four-man team ascended the darkened stairwell. Brynstone wondered if they would use a flash grenade, but they didn’t. The team leader updated them as he made it to the top landing and moved through the false door. Over the headset, he reported seeing the sarcophagus along with broken mummies scattered around the floor. Otherwise, the chamber was empty.
Then all hell broke loose.
From what Brynstone could tell, Metzger had dropped down from the decorative niche in the wall above the top landing. He hit them at the fatal funnel, the point where team members were most vulnerable. The assassin came down with the sledgehammer and slammed it into the head of the second operator. The man’s body rolled down the stairs and collided into the third operator.
“He’s trashing your men up there,” Brynstone growled.
“Not for long,” Angelilli answered. “Hang tight.”
Up above, the third operator charged up the stairs. At the same time, the team leader climbed back through the opening in the false door. He came at Metzger on the top landing. It wasn’t even a close fight. Metzger snapped the man’s neck, then slashed the throat of the third guy with the knife he had used to stab Brynstone.
Gunfire.
Chaos.
Metzger had grabbed an assault rifle from a downed operator. He opened fire at the last man on the stairs. Brilliant light from the firefight cut through the darkness. Three Egyptian GIS agents sprinted past the Hero door.
Brynstone wasn’t waiting any longer. He shoved aside Angelilli. Before he could make a move, the last two Egyptians blocked him.
“You will stay here,” Angelilli yelled at him. He called into his headset for backup.
More gunfire.
Like a demon emerging from the darkness, Metzger started running down the stairs. He had taken out four operators and dropped three Egyptian GIS agents as they returned fire. Angelilli stepped out to bark an order, but his words were cut short. A mist of blood sprayed over his shoulder. Angelilli dropped. The remaining two GIS agents moved toward the stairs.
Brynstone heard more men coming up far behind. No way in the world he was waiting for them to arrive.
One GIS agent was already dead on the floor. Metzger emptied his weapon on the last Egyptian. He tossed it aside as he hit the bottom step. Brynstone didn’t have a weapon and there was no time to grab one. Didn’t matter. Nothing was stopping him now.
Metzger saw him coming. His eyes blazed. At the landing, the two men crashed into each other. They twisted hard in the air, coming down on the stone floor. They rolled across the landing. Metzger didn’t have the knife, but he brought out the drill bit from the hammer drill.
“You can’t live with me,” he growled. “And you can’t die without me.”
He jabbed it, but missed Brynstone’s eye as he ducked. Brynstone slammed Metzger’s head into the wall. It was a hard hit and the assassin lost his hold on Brynstone’s arm. Rolling away, he made it to his feet. Holding his head, Metzger staggered up, but a new wave of officers swarmed them, pulling the two men away from each other.
“Let me go,” Brynstone growled. Four operators pulled him back, moving him outside the Hero door and restraining him. He was trying to jerk away from them, looking inside at the stairs.
Officers shoved the assassin to the ground, facedown, and ripped his hands behind his back to cuff him. Holding his legs together, they placed a belt around both ankles before they pulled up a strap, dressing him in leg-to-waist restraints.
A handful of emergency personnel rushed past Brynstone as they hurried up the stairs with equipment to treat the men Metzger had taken out. They were going to see a bloodbath near the false door. Brynstone doubted a survivor could be found.
He huffed, trying to cool down. It wasn’t easy. He closed his eyes and thought of Shayna now. She was at the hotel with Cori. He dropped his head. Bit his lip. Opening his eyes and looking up, he found satisfaction in seeing Metzger in prisoner restraints.
Three more CIA and twenty additional Egyptian General Intelligence Service officers spilled around them. Angelilli staggered over and coughed blood into his hand. Brynstone didn’t speak to him. His focus was trained on the assassin.
They raised Metzger to his full height. He made no attempt to resist as they surrounded him with weapons raised, barking orders at the assassin. He didn’t blink, staring straight ahead. Except for a solitary second. Without turning his head, his eyes darted
to the side. Metzger’s cold gaze found Brynstone among the officers, the men still holding him back. They glared at each other.
Brynstone had waited for this moment.
Part of him had wanted the man to be imprisoned either in a penitentiary or in an ancient chamber deprived of oxygen. More than anything, though, he needed Metzger to know the truth.
Brynstone was alive.
For Metzger, failure was intolerable. The harshest punishment that could be devised for the assassin was to know that he had failed to kill Brynstone. Not once, but twice.
That’s why he had decided to open the Hero door. He wanted Metzger to live with his own failure. Had he remained locked in the tomb, the man might have spent his final days living with a delusional sense of victory, thinking that his stab wound had killed Brynstone.
Not now. Metzger knew the truth.
The officers brought him toward Brynstone.
Metzger remained cool, but Brynstone sensed fury in the man’s expression. Maybe it was just wishful thinking. Whatever it was, Brynstone knew he would replay Metzger’s expression in his mind for years to come.
He held his steely gaze on the man.
“We will battle again,” Metzger said. “You know the old expression, Herr Doktor Brynstone. The third time is a charm.”
Brynstone didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. He didn’t need to say a damned thing.
Angelilli, however, couldn’t resist. As Metzger passed, the bloodied CIA officer called, “You’re not gonna see Brynstone where you’re headed. Hell takes no visitors.”
The line brought muffled laughter from the men, the words relieving tension. A crowd of paramilitary operations officers escorted the assassin down the corridor.
Angelilli turned back and called out something.
Brynstone didn’t really hear the words. If he did, he didn’t pay attention.
Standing beside the Hero door, he watched them lead Metzger up the divided staircase before they marched out of sight.
Brynstone stayed a little longer, thinking.
Thinking about life without Kaylyn, something he had started doing years ago. Thinking about helping Shayna overcome all of this madness. Thinking about what he had done to his daughter when he had given her the Black Chrism.
