Ghosts of Karnak

by George Mann

  “I can do this, Gabriel. I can take him on. I want revenge on that son of a bitch for what he did to me, and I’m damn well going to get it.”

  Gabriel sighed. “This complex. We’re going to have to do to it what we’ve just done to that tomb. Only, the complex is underground, and probably full of cultists, not to mention an army of living statues and an angry god. Believe me, I know we’ve got to find a way to end this, but there’s four of us, plus Mullins.” He looked at Arthur. “Forgive me, Arthur, but I’m not putting a gun in your hand and sending you to your death.”

  “Fine by me,” said Arthur. “I’ve always seen myself in more of a supporting role.”

  He dropped onto one of the pews, looking to Donovan. “I hate to admit it, but I think you’re right. I’m out of ideas. I’ve got nothing.”

  Donovan was frowning. “It’s all right. I know what needs to be done.” He pulled a notebook from his jacket pocket and scrawled down an address. “Give me until nine, then meet me here. And call Mullins. Tell him to be there too.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To get help,” said Donovan. He lit a cigarette, and then turned and left.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  “This is a pleasant surprise, Felix. I hadn’t expected to see you back so soon.”

  He was standing in the hallway of Paul Abbadelli’s mansion. He’d come alone—not because he didn’t feel the need for backup, but because he didn’t want Mullins to see how far he was about to fall.

  “I presume there’s been a development in the case?”

  The case. Donovan found it difficult to believe how Abbadelli could speak so nonchalantly of his murdered lover. “You could say that. Things have progressed somewhat since we last spoke. Consequently, I have a… well, a proposition for you.” The words almost stuck in his throat.

  Abbadelli grinned, enjoying Donovan’s discomfort. “Oh, now that does sound interesting.” He stepped to one side, ushering Donovan into his study. “You’d better come on through and tell me all about it.”

  Donovan swallowed. He wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to look himself in the mirror again after this, no matter how many times he told himself it was the only option.

  He took a seat before Abbadelli’s desk, while the man himself whispered something to Carlos, before joining him and closing the door. He circled his desk, took a cigar from a wooden box, and offered it to Donovan.

  Donovan shook his head. “My taste only runs as far as cheap cigarettes,” he said, reaching for his packet.

  “Then we shall have to cultivate you,” said Abbadelli. He clipped the end with a gilded cutter, and struck a match. “There’s a great deal of pleasure to be had from the more luxurious things in life, Felix,” he said, between puffs. “You may yet come to realize this.”

  “I doubt it,” said Donovan, pulling the ignition tab on his cigarette. He tried not to let Abbadelli see that his hand was trembling as he took a draw.

  “So, my information proved useful, then?”

  Donovan could hear Gabriel’s warning going around and around inside his head. Don’t allow him to think you’re in his debt. What else could he do, though? Here he was, sitting before the man, about to beg him for help. “In a manner of speaking. As I said, things have progressed.”

  “You’ve found out where they’re hiding, haven’t you?” said Abbadelli. He perched on the edge of his desk. “The Circle of Thoth.”

  Donovan nodded. “In a warren beneath the wasteland you tried to buy. They’ve constructed some kind of complex down there, recreating the footprint of an Ancient Egyptian temple.”

  Abbadelli smiled. “So that’s why they wouldn’t sell.” He chewed thoughtfully on the end of his cigar. “I must say, Felix, I’m most impressed. And delighted you’ve come to me with this.”

  Donovan plumed smoke from the corner of his mouth. “They’re planning something big,” he said. “Tonight. They’re going to make a play for control of the streets, and I have reason to believe their forces are numerous.”

  “And so we find ourselves at an impasse, do we not?” said Abbadelli, getting up and pacing the room. “Everyone wants control of the streets. The mob, the cult… I don’t envy you, Felix, caught in the middle. There must be an easier way.”

  “I want to stop them,” said Donovan, flatly. “That’s why I’m here.” He was growing impatient with Abbadelli’s games.

  “You intend to ferret them out of their warren?”

  “I intend to destroy it. Collapse the tunnels. Put an end to whatever they’re doing down there. Only… I don’t have the resources.”

  “And I do,” said Abbadelli. He laughed. “You must at least allow me to enjoy the irony. So you’re proposing a partnership?”

  “I’m suggesting that our goals might be… temporarily aligned. With your manpower, and your Enforcers, we could take them down for good.” He hated himself even as the words passed his lips.

  “And if I agree?” said Abbadelli. “What’s in it for me?”

  Donovan frowned. “Revenge against the men who killed your lover. An end to the war you started. One less thorn in your side.”

  Abbadelli shrugged. “In time, I shall claim all of those victories regardless. What else?”

  Donovan sighed. This was the moment he’d been expecting. There was no turning back from it now. “I’ll be sure to keep my dinner date,” he said.

  Abbadelli grinned. “Then we have a deal.” He thrust out his hand. Reluctantly, Donovan took it. This time, he was certain he was making a deal with the Devil.

  Abbadelli dropped into the chair behind his desk. “All right, Inspector. Tell me what you need.”

  TWENTY-NINE

  “Where is he?” said the Ghost, glancing at his watch.

  They’d been lurking on the edges of the waste ground for almost half an hour. So far, there was no sign of Donovan. The night was still and quiet, punctuated only by the rumble of distant traffic and the sighing of a cool breeze blowing in off the water.

  The Ghost and Mullins had already scouted the area and ascertained that the entrance to the complex was most likely in the basement of the adjoining building—an abandoned wheelwright’s shop that had been boarded up and marked for demolition. They’d yet to explore more closely in fear of alerting the cultists to their presence, so instead had retreated to a safe distance to wait it out. The more time that passed, however, the more anxious the Ghost had become.

  They’d spent the afternoon making preparations. Astrid had once again replaced his bandages and inked his body with the intricate swirls and runes of her protective wards, and this time, she’d shown him how to mark his flechettes with icons that she hoped might allow them to breach some of Thoth’s defenses.

  Ginny had found two of Astrid’s old pistols, testing them in the church hall for balance and weight. She’d always been something of a sharpshooter, and didn’t appear to have lost any of her skill. She’d placed two bullets through the same hole in an overturned pew, and declared that she was ready to go.

  It wasn’t much against a legion of cultists and an ancient god, but it was what they had. They all knew what they were heading into, but none of them were prepared to walk away. They’d be dead, anyway, if Thoth were allowed to rise; they might as well die trying to put him down.

  The Ghost had begun pacing. The waste ground really was nothing but a small scrap of scrub—hardly big enough to warrant the animosity and series of scaling reprisals it had engendered between the Reaper and the cult. Of course, whatever was below it was a different matter entirely, and the cult would fight to protect that, no matter the cost.

  The Ghost understood that there was more to be read into the Reaper’s intent, too. It had never really been about the scrap of land, for him—it was about dominance and power, just as Astrid had said; about demonstrating he was the biggest player in town, and not allowing any other organizations to grow to a size where they could challenge that mantle. To him, the cult was a threat, rivals for c
ontrol of the streets. It was little wonder he’d felt moved to take them down.

  He felt a tap on his arm. It was Ginny. “He’s coming,” she said, jabbing her finger up the avenue behind him.

  Donovan was marching at the head of a veritable army, and the Ghost realized that the sound he’d taken for the rumble of distant traffic was, in fact, the noise of Enforcers’ feet, pummeling the sidewalk. He counted nine of them, lumbering along behind Donovan and flanked by scores of men in suits, all of them carrying automatic rifles.

  The Ghost’s heart sank. He saw immediately what Donovan had done, what the troubled look had been about, back at the church. He’d sold himself to the Reaper to give them a fighting chance. He’d given himself up to save the city, and his friends.

  “Sorry we’re late,” said Donovan, huffing as they came to an abrupt stop in the street. “Took a while to get these guys motivated.”

  “Felix… what have you done?” said the Ghost.

  “What was necessary,” said Donovan. “This way, we stand a chance against that thing. You said we had to bring the tunnels down.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “This is the demolition crew.”

  There was no point arguing about it now. Donovan was right—with the Enforcers they could strike fast and hard, get in and trash the tunnel system early, minimizing Amaury’s power before they took him on. It was the chance they’d been looking for.

  They would have to worry about the Reaper another day. For now, they’d make use of the resources at their disposal.

  “All right,” said the Ghost. “Then I suggest you and Mullins lead the Enforcers while the others scatter, taking out as many of the cultists as they can. Bring down some of those tunnels as soon as you get in there, but remember to leave us an escape route.”

  “Good,” said Donovan. He looked as if he’d been expecting more resistance from the Ghost. “You have your orders, then,” he said, turning to face the mob behind him. “Remember, the Reaper wants this place cleaned out. Not a single one of them left. When we’re done, get out of there, and head for cover.”

  There was a murmur of acknowledgement from the men.

  Donovan turned back to the Ghost. “It was the only option,” he said apologetically. “I couldn’t let you go in there alone. Not against that.”

  “I know.” The Ghost patted his friend on the shoulder. “You watch out for yourself in there, okay?”

  “You’re going after Amaury?”

  “Me, Ginny, Astrid. Yes.”

  “All right. When I’ve finished trashing the place, I’ll come get you.” He looked around, frowning. “Now where do we get in?”

  “We figure the basement of that wheelwright’s shop is the best option. There doesn’t seem to be any other route in.”

  Donovan slid his gun from its holster. “Come on, then. Let’s do it, before I change my mind.”

  * * *

  They sent the Enforcers in first, thundering through the outer wall of the wheelwright’s shop like bulldozers, splintering wood and glass to clear passage for the rest of them.

  Shots rang out almost immediately, and the Ghost slid in amongst the chaos, strafing his weapon back and forth and picking off two armed guards who’d come running onto the upper gantry above the shop floor.

  Automatic fire belched behind him, dropping more of the cultists as they emerged above, and the Ghost beckoned to Astrid and Ginny, leading them deeper into the dusty old workshop, searching for a way down.

  They found it moments later when three men came hurtling up a wooden staircase in the far corner of the main workspace. Ginny put two bullets in one of them, while the Ghost’s explosive rounds saw to the others, opening their chests like glistening, blooming flowers.

  “Come on!” he bellowed, stepping over the bodies, leading them down into the darkness. Behind him he could hear Donovan, barking orders at the Enforcers, their ponderous footsteps crunching on the mildewed floorboards that were barely managing to support their weight.

  The basement was damp and musty, thick with cobwebs and rotting packing crates. A cool breeze was blowing, however, through a gaping portal in the outer wall that had been opened up to create a doorway to the bizarre complex beyond.

  The door had been fashioned to resemble the entrance to an Ancient Egyptian tomb, and reminded the Ghost of the one from the museum—a heavy stone lintel, resting on twin pillars on either side of a yawning hole. The walls had been painted with intricate friezes, depicting scenes of Thoth, standing tall amongst the pantheon of his sibling gods, and two braziers stood just inside the mouth of the entrance, hot coals crackling with heat and soot. Beyond the doorway was a narrow tunnel, its walls lined with further facsimiles of ancient art.

  “In there,” said the Ghost, “and be on your guard.”

  Mobsters were hurtling down the stairs behind them now, and the Enforcers were only moments behind. They ran into the tunnel mouth, hugging the walls, weapons ready.

  The cacophony above had stirred the men below, like a stick being poked into a hornet’s nest. He could hear them buzzing around them, a hubbub of raised voices in the passages ahead. The tunnel veered left, then forked, and he took the left, sensing the slight decline in the floor. They hurried along, brushing against walls colored to resemble the ancient murals that Amaury had found beneath the shifting sands.

  Two men lurched into the passage up ahead, and fell almost as soon as they hove into view, the explosions in their chests under-lighting their faces in the gloomy tunnel.

  He heard the report of a gun from behind, and swiveled to see Astrid taking pot shots at three black-robed cultists coming up behind them. More were pouring into the mouth of the tunnel ahead, too.

  “Behind us!” bellowed Astrid, as the Ghost loosed a volley in the other direction, chewing chunks of plaster out of the wall and felling more of the oncoming cultists.

  “Ginny, help her out,” called the Ghost over his shoulder. The three of them were standing back to back, weapons raised and blazing.

  “What do you think I’m doing?” called Ginny. “Having a picnic?”

  He grinned, continuing to spray the tunnel ahead as more and more cultists rose from the depths. He could hear the plodding of the Enforcers in the neighboring tunnels now; the crash of their fists as they set to work, pulling the ceilings down behind them. The walls trembled as, somewhere up above, chunks of masonry slumped across the tunnel ceiling. He looked up to see a crack forming above them.

  “Quickly,” he said, “the roof’s coming down on top of us.”

  “Oh, perfect,” said Ginny. She pivoted, arms outstretched, one gun pointing in each direction. A few more shots and she’d have fully rotated, standing by his side, still firing into the morass of limbs ahead of them.

  The ceiling groaned with the rending of stone.

  “All right,” called Astrid. “Move!”

  They surged forward, clambering over the still-warm bodies of the fallen cultists as the ceiling finally gave and the tunnel collapsed, hunks of stone hammering down behind them, blocking their retreat.

  Astrid coughed, wiping brick dust from her face as she hurriedly reloaded her gun.

  He heard the thud of footsteps in the tunnel ahead and thought one of the Enforcers must have strayed into their path, but when the dust finally settled, he saw it was not an Enforcer at all, but four ebon-black statues, each of them armed with staffs, each bearing the aspect of a different animal—a hawk, a lion, a jackal, a baboon. They marched emotionlessly across the corpses of the dead cultists in their path, crushing them underfoot.

  There was nowhere to run. They’d have to stand their ground. The Ghost doused them in explosive rounds, shattering the arm of one, chipping lumps out of the others, but still they came on, arms menacingly outstretched, silent and tenacious.

  There was another rumble from the tunnel on their left. Donovan and the Enforcers were moving through, collapsing it behind them.

  The statues were almost upon them. Ginny loose
d a couple of shots, catching two of the statues square between the eyes, but the bullets barely scratched the ancient stone, and the statues, undeterred, lumbered on.

  “Get back!”

  “There’s nowhere to get back to!” called Astrid.

  “Just give me some room!” said the Ghost. He leaned forward, powering his boosters, and shot at the hawk-headed statue, presenting his shoulder as he tried to bowl it into the others. He hit it like a wall, his shoulder rebounding painfully, and the statue, unmoved, swung at him, its staff striking him painfully across the side of the head. He dropped to the floor, his boosters still firing, and slid into the tunnel wall on the opposite side.

  A massive crump from the other tunnel caused the wall to tremble, and further cracks crept like jagged spider legs across the walls and ceiling. The hawk-headed statue raised its staff again, and brought it down, just as an Enforcer’s gauntleted fist burst through the wall, snapping the thing in half. It crumpled to the floor, sending its baboon-headed kin tumbling over beside it.

  The Ghost saw their chance. “Through there!” he bellowed, pointing to the gaping wound in the wall. On the other side he could see the Enforcer stomping away, moving further into the complex.

  Ginny lurched for the hole, jumping up and through, Astrid behind her. The Ghost scrambled to his feet, leaping up just as the jackal-headed statue grabbed his ankle, dragging him back.

  He twisted in its grip, crying out as its ebon fingers tore his flesh, and fired a volley up at its face, showering its neck and torso.

  The arm blew free, fragments of jagged stone showering him, burying themselves in his clothes and flesh. The statue toppled backwards, striking the opposing wall and splintering into fragments.

  He shook his ankle free, scrambling up and through the hole as the fourth statue swung its staff, narrowly missing the back of his head.