Worth a try. Maybe we can push it over.
He called his men down. As one they crowded together, each with a shoulder pressed to the stone.
'Ready? One, two, three - PUSH!'
Boots slipped on stonework. Bodies repositioned for better leverage. Bestial grunts bounced off the slab. Four men gave it everything they had.
Shaking heads retreated from the slab and looked at Kline for instructions.
'You two,' panted Kline, picking two men at random, Pieters and Moorish. Keep searching for those last two intruders. They're still here somewhere.'
As the men dashed up the stairs towards the top tier, Kline examined the stone slab again.
I've really screwed the pooch this time. I've locked down the frigging Gallery with Rourke still inside!
Kline had gambled everything on Rourke’s plan. He'd never be able to work in security again. Hell, he was basically a criminal now. His entire future depended on this operation succeeding.
And this slab was in his way.
Kline wished he could just blow the stupid thing to smithereens.
So why don't you?
That was it! He'd dip into Rourke's secret stash and use explosives to breach the Gallery. If primitive savages with bones through their noses could build it, then Kline could unbuild it. He had the tools. He just needed to -
Gunfire interrupted Kline's plans.
He looked up the stairs. Was that Pieters and Moorish shooting? The two guards carried MP5 submachine guns. The gunshots sounded right. The intruders had carried noisier carbines. Inaudible shouts replaced the firing, and then the sound of boots sprinting back towards the Gallery. Kline curiously watched the top of the stairs. Were Pieters and Moorish luring the intruders towards Kline's team?
Must be. Clever boys.
Kline aimed up the stairs, waiting for whatever was unfolding to present itself.
Pieters appeared first. He took the stairs at full sprint. Or rather, he failed to take the stairs at full sprint. His momentum carried him halfway down the stairs before his boots even touched a step. When his boots did hit the steps, they couldn’t keep up with his body’s momentum. They jerked right out from under him. He pitched forwards at the worst possible angle. His head and upper body ploughed into the bottom stone steps with life-extinguishing force. If Kline had ever wondered what breaking every bone in your body looked like, he had his answer.
He's not getting up from that, thought Kline, wincing. Ever.
Moorish reached the stairs. Evidently, fear did marvelous things to human coordination. Moorish ran down the stairs at a ludicrous speed, demonstrating incredible agility by just touching the steps half-a-dozen times before he crumbled into a painful-looking roll at the bottom. He was hurt, but he found his feet and began limping towards Kline.
Kline's flanking guards moved to help, but Kline waved them back.
'Hold your position.'
Kline couldn't imagine what motivated the suicidal display of fear-fuelled mayhem. He'd never seen men behave like that. It was, he realized, the first time he'd ever witnessed true terror.
Then Kline saw it. Saw them. Saw something.
The top of the stairs blurred out of focus. The lines of reality grew lumpy. Two shapes manifested themselves from thin air. No, three shapes!
Kline asked over his shoulder. 'Can anyone tell me what I'm looking at?'
No one answered.
Kline checked to make sure the guards hadn’t fled. Shit. I thought they'd run away for a second. His two flanking guards stood in mute shock, staring at the shapes on the stairs.
The shape on the left spat something at Moorish. The pink lightning bolt struck the stumbling guard squarely in the back. Before he could even cry out, Moorish was yanked straight back up the stairs, straight into the creature's mouth.
As its jaws clamped down, the animal's camouflage dropped away.
It stood revealed.
Even stunned by the spectacle, Kline recognized the animal. The scale was all wrong, but he knew the beast. He knew how it had attacked. Its tongue. It caught Moorish with its tongue.
'Hand me another RPG,' Kline demanded.
The guard on his left stuttered, 'That was the last one. We've used them all. Is that a...are they...?'
'Yep,' nodded Kline. 'Now OPEN FIRE!'
His teams' collective brain clicked back into rational thought. Fingers clenched triggers. Gunfire roared up the stairs towards animals that were already racing down to feed.
#
Claire and Libby watched the chaos from within the south workshop.
They had hidden here for two reasons. First, the workshop contained nothing worth stealing. It was unlikely to tempt the guards. Second, it offered a clear view of the Gallery. The window shutters unlocked from the inside.
Claire had inched open one shutter just enough to see.
It was pure anarchy out there. A warzone. People were firing missiles at each other. Two explosions occurred just minutes apart. She hadn't seen who was causing them until Kline ran into view.
Kline was trying to kill two men on a motorcycle.
Claire watched with grim fascination as Kline fired another rocket. She felt Libby's presence behind her, looking over her shoulder at the two men on the bike racing for the Gallery.
The rocket curved in towards the riders. It would intercept them right at the Gallery entrance.
'Get down,' hissed Claire, turning and pulling Libby down as the rocket exploded. The explosion was a good distance away, but Claire didn't want to risk collecting any shrapnel. Her safety training was an involuntary habit, although weapon fire wasn't something she normally contended with.
Claire counted to ten before peering out the window again. The Gallery entrance was clearing of smoke.
'What are they doing?' asked Libby, swapping positions to get a better view of Kline's team.
'They're pushing,' replied Claire. 'I think the explosion blocked the entrance.'
That didn't make any sense. She watched the unfolding scene carefully. Kline called his entire team down to help push. He kicked away the cluster of electrical cables serving the Gallery. The cables appeared severed. Was it a rock fall? A structural collapse?
'What are they trying to push?' wondered Libby out loud, echoing Claire's thoughts. 'If the entrance collapsed, they should be digging, not pushing.'
Kline's words were lost over the distance, but he looked agitated. He waved an arm and two guards dashed up the stairs towards the upper tiers.
Claire and Libby dropped down from view.
'Who were those two on the motorbike?' asked Libby. 'Police, do you think? I can't see them now.'
More gunfire sounded outside. Libby peeked out the window again.
'What now?’ asked Claire. They must be finishing off the men on the bike. The explosion might only have wounded them.
'They didn't stay in the forest,' Libby answered gravely.
'What?' It took Claire a moment to grasp Libby's meaning.
'Whatever attacked us,' said Libby. 'They didn't stay in the forest. They're in the Plaza. I can see them. I know what they are.'
Claire jumped up to share the window.
Libby pointed awkwardly, keeping her arm from view. 'Look. At the top of the stairs.'
Two of Kline's team had fallen down the stairs. One had collapsed. The other limped towards where Kline waited, but in a second that changed. With a blurred flash, the stumbling man was jerked backwards off his feet. Arms windmilling frantically, screaming, his body was pulled straight up the stairs without touching a single one.
His torso rotated so that he was flying side-on when his hips entered the animal's mouth.
The camouflage washed away.
'They're chameleons,' Libby whispered. 'Giant chameleons.'
Claire drew back from the window, speechless, pointing silently at the massive reptiles. Libby was right. The animals exactly resembled chameleons. The upper and lower eyelids were fussed. The eyes bulge
d out on pyramid stalks. Heavy brow ridges converged on a blunt snout. The eye-ridges made the animals look prehistoric, like dinosaurs. Two more scaly ridges extended both under the jaw and along the animals’ backs to their curled tails. Pipe-work limbs bent at perfect right-angles from barrel-like bodies. Their toes were fussed, their feet splayed into four giant sets of organic pliers.
The color of dirty concrete, they resembled chameleons in every way except their size.
These animals had to be over twenty feet long.
The specimen eating the guard smashed the man’s head onto the steps. The guard wasn't pacified. He thumped on the animal’s neck, screeching for Kline’s help.
Claire glanced at Libby to make sure she wasn't hallucinating. Libby was closer to the window now, too close, almost leaning out to get a better look. She didn't seem as surprised by the appearance of the giant lizards. Perhaps some part of her mind had already guessed the animals' true nature.
Gunfire sounded from the steps, and Claire glimpsed the creatures surging down towards Kline's team.
Libby turned from the window. 'You wanted to reach the security tent, right?'
Claire just nodded, listening to the frantic gunfire and shouting outside.
'Well, now's our chance. Rourke and Kline have bigger problems than us right now.'
Claire realized she was right. She tried to shake off the shock that was clouding her thinking. Come on. Pull yourself together.
Libby grabbed her arm and pushed open the door.
Before Claire knew it, they were sprinting across the tier to the sound of gunfire and the desperate screaming of Kline’s men.
Chapter 12
Gordon's revelation staggered Ethan.
Because it was so stupid.
A combination safe? Is he serious? A 'safe' was the kind of silly idea thrown up by armchair archaeologists.
Incredulous, Ethan said, 'You think we're standing in a primitive safe?'
Gordon slapped the Gallery wall. 'There's nothing primitive about this place, Ethan. We couldn't reproduce the Gallery with modern technology.'
Ethan waved at Gordon's equipment. 'So what are you guys then, ancient safe crackers?'
'Well, not this second,' said Spader, 'because we're still standing here talking.'
'And let me guess,' Ethan continued, pointing deeper into the Gallery. 'You want to get in there.'
'The middle is that way,' corrected Spader, pointing in the opposite direction to Ethan. 'The core chamber. We need to breach it.'
Ethan felt like he was talking to a couple of first year students. 'I'm sorry to be the person to break this to you, but you're wasting your time. We haven't found any treasure. There's nothing here to steal. You could have saved yourself a lot of time and watched a few of my online lectures. It would have saved you a trip.'
'I've watched all your online lectures,' countered Spader. 'Never miss them.'
'Then why are you here?' Ethan insisted.
Spader replied calmly. 'I'm here because you invited me.'
Ethan studied Spader closely. Do I know him?
Ethan shook his head, sure of at least one thing. 'I have never met you. I don't know you. I'd remember your face. I invited Gordon Merrit, but I'm sure I never invited you here.'
'I made an anonymous donation to your project in the sum of fifty thousand dollars last year. Do you remember that? That makes me a Gold Level patron. Which means I get a site visit. Now I'm here to collect.'
Ethan shook his head, almost laughing at Spader. 'I'm supposed to believe that was you? OK, how much was it exactly? Only three people know the exact sum donated. We didn't publicize the exact figure. Two different people contacted us after the donation claiming it was their money. They wanted it back. They couldn't tell us the exact figure, so we didn't return the money.'
'I'd never thought of that,' said Spader. 'That's a clever trick.'
'Look,' said Ethan. 'Nothing changes the fact that there isn't anything here for you to steal.'
'Rourke disagrees,' countered Spader. 'Is he wrong too?'
Ethan knew Rourke wasn't the type to pursue a wild goose chase. Rourke believed the Gallery contained something worth killing for.
'How does my model correlate with the codex?' asked Gordon.
Ethan raised an eyebrow. 'You mean the bunker pictograms? It doesn't correlate at all. The symbols deal with dietary restrictions and dress codes and sleep cycles. It refers to a big event. Something the entire Plaza was built to accommodate.'
'What event?' probed Spader.
Ethan remembered Joanne bleeding out on the cold stone floor. 'A cultural ceremony. Hundreds of participants. We've only half deciphered the pictograms. It won't help you reach the core chamber.'
'It won't have to,' declared Spader. 'Rourke will. His navigation codes will lead us right to it.'
Spader and Gordon collected their bags.
Neither seemed worried about Ethan. What am I going to do? Am I still a prisoner? Can I walk away? Should I follow them?
'What about me?' Ethan tested.
Spader looked over his shoulder, already leaving Ethan behind. 'I don't think it's safe for you outside. You're welcome to come with us.'
'Come with us,' urged Gordon, trailing after Spader.
'I can't,' said Ethan. 'Rourke has Claire. I need to help her.'
Gordon stopped and studied Ethan. 'She's dead, Ethan. They killed her. Just like they killed Nina. They'll kill you if you go out there.'
Without stopping, Spader said over his shoulder, ‘Rourke couldn't afford to leave witnesses. They took Claire into the jungle and shot her. If you want to survive, then stay with us. Come on, Gordon. It's his choice.'
Gordon followed Spader, and Ethan, after a few second's hesitation followed Gordon.
Spader walked quickly, navigating by Rourke's codes. They passed no navigation ropes. No mushroom lights. Ethan quickened his pace. If he dropped behind, he'd be lost in the dark. He also matched the men's pace out of curiosity. They obviously knew something about the Plaza. They were here to take something. But what? Whatever it was, Ethan needed to know.
And there was a third reason he followed. Just maybe, if there was something to be found, he could stop them taking it. He'd stopped Rourke after all.
Gordon handed Ethan a flashlight when Spader next paused to study Rourke’s codes. This intersection looked the same as the others. Only the pattern of barriers made it different from any other. Gordon slumped against the wall and lowered the bag.
'Why are we stopping?' he puffed.
Ethan saw why. This intersection wasn't like the others after all. Ethan squatted beside Spader to examine Rourke's handiwork.
Rourke had tunneled right through one barrier.
No, wait. He hadn't damaged anything. He'd shifted the barrier. Rourke had rotated the barrier sideways and pinned the stone in place with rock bolts.
Ethan touched the barrier. It wasn't a solid slab of immobile stone after all. It was some kind of a rotating slab that slid sideways into the wall. Rourke had rotated the barrier about twenty degrees, forming a triangle of space at the bottom. A triangle? That meant the barrier didn't move in a perfectly horizontal plane.
They must swing up into the ceiling.
Spader tapped the rock bolts. 'Rourke must have used a hand-jack. He drilled in a bolt, jacked the barrier across a few inches, then braced it with steel rope before he did it all again.’
Gordon peered at the set-up. 'It must have taken him days just to move this one barrier. He was certainly dedicated to the job.'
'A normal hand-jack wouldn't work either,' added Spader. 'Must be a custom-made tool. He's been trying to crack the Gallery for months.'
Ethan felt even more of a fool. How long had Rourke been working right under his nose?
Ethan asked, 'But how could he know the barriers even moved?'
'Trial and error,' suggested Gordon. 'He's had long enough to - '
Gordon stopped mid-sentence. An explosi
on sounded to the east of their position. Vibrations shuddered through the entire Gallery.
'Holy crap!' yelled Gordon.
Ethan spun and saw Gordon diving away from the archway. The barrier behind Gordon was moving!
Ethan quickly shone his light right around the chamber.
Christ, all the barriers are moving! They’re changing!
As abruptly as it started, all the barriers suddenly stopped.
But something was different. Ethan shone his flashlight back the way they’d come. 'Look! It’s all changed.’
A new impassable barrier blocked their route back.
Ethan approached the new barrier and found Spader's bag strewn over the floor.
He shone his flashlight over the mess. Half a laptop...part of a water bottle...scattered items from a first-aid kit....
Spader's bag had been under the archway. Now only half the bag remained. Everything inside the bag, everything in the path of the moving barrier was cleanly sliced in half.
#
Randerson opened his eyes to total darkness.
Where am I? It's frigging dark, wherever it is.
He remembered Fontana's manic ride down the Plaza’s stairs. Kline had fired the rocket propelled grenade. Randerson watched the missile curve towards them. The last he recalled was death propelling towards him on a wave of spitting sparks.
And now he was lying here in the dark. Randerson checked himself for injuries. He'd lost skin in a dozen places, and questing fingertips found a big lump on the back of his head.
Why aren't I dead?
Fontana. Fontana saved them somehow. On the bike.
He heard someone swearing in the dark. The bike jolted under Randerson's arm. Someone swore again, closer this time. Randerson realized he was lying with his left arm draped over the bike's handlebars. His left leg was propped over the bike's front wheel.
So that means the bike's instrument panel should be about...here.
He clicked on the bike's headlight.
Fontana copped the full blast of light in the face. He reacted like a vampire in sunlight. 'Christ, Randy. Lose the high beam, huh?'
PLAZA Page 17
