Motioning for Dad and Ben to stop, Yasin and I descend a twelve-step staircase and take in the space in front of us. Firstly, it’s huge, easily bigger than the chamber holding the labyrinth. Secondly, it’s filled with perfectly preserved pillars resembling the ones in the ancient city of Thebes—modern-day Luxor. The Luxor Temple is just one of the many places I want to see while in Egypt.
“Beautiful…” Yasin says, looking around, his voice trailing off. “Absolutely beautiful.”
“You’ve never seen anything like this before?” I ask.
“Never,” he replies. “Only Hamza’s family was allowed to acquire a deeper knowledge. I’m not sure if he’s seen this either, or his father, for that matter.”
“Why them? What’s so special about their bloodline?”
Yasin stops. “His family dates back to someone in particular.” He continues looking around the great hall while talking to me. “It’s said that he’s a direct descendant of Nebetka.”
“Am I supposed to know who that is?”
He shakes his head, looking my way. “No, I wouldn’t imagine so. He was Menkaure’s personal servant and the only person allowed near him while he was ill. Only Nebetka knew what the king was truly going through. Not even his Magi knew the entire story.”
“Hamza isn’t a Magi?” Ben asks, he and Dad stepping up next to us.
“No,” Yasin replies, “not in a traditional sense. His bloodline started the order, though.”
“The Zill Allah?” Dad asks.
“Yes…the Shadow of God.”
Yasin steps away, closely examining one of the intricately carved pillars. “It’s said that Menkaure charged Nebetka with hiding his body and protecting the future generations from its wrath.” He glances at me. “A wrath you now carry.”
I cough, feeling sweat pour down my face and neck. “I’m doing okay…” I cough again. “…sorta.”
“You’re strong, I’ll give you that, but I suspect it will eventually catch up with you and then…”
He doesn’t finish—he doesn’t need to. I know what he means.
Death.
I’m going to die.
I look at my hands and expect the revelation to hit me harder than the highway crash or even Beefcake, but it doesn’t. I’m not sure why I’m feeling nothing either. Could it be because of the losses I’ve already suffered in my young life? Between Mom and my career… I look at Dad and Ben.
My career.
“We can worry about me later,” I say, looking for an exit. Facing towards the back of the hall, I point. “That way.”
I pound forward, leaving the others behind, though not for long. They quickly catch up and we move as one. Dad and Ben quietly talk about the pictographs and hieroglyphs, while Yasin and I say nothing at all. We’re more concerned with leaving than examining the find right now.
Just as the exit comes into view, so does the outline of a man. He descends the steps confidently, clutching something dark in his right hand. Hitting the bottom stair, he looks up at us and smiles. Then, as quick as a viper, his hand snaps up.
“Gun!” I yell, shoving Dad into Ben. They both go tumbling to my right behind a pillar, out of Hamza’s direct line of sight.
I go to follow but I’m stopped by the impact of a bullet in the ground next to my feet. So, I dive left, falling short of my objective. Waiting to get shot, I shut my eyes. But it doesn’t come. A set of strong hands yanks me the rest of the way, followed by a cry of pain. I quickly get to one knee and look up at my savior.
“Damn.”
Yasin’s been shot, the blood spreading quick from the wound in his side. Clutching it, he nods, telling me he’s okay. From what I know of the human body, I’m pretty sure the bullet missed anything vital, catching mostly meat. It still looks like it hurts but he’ll live. He won’t be much help in a fight but he’ll survive.
“Yasin!” Hamza shouts. “Good to see you, my old friend.”
Yasin laughs at the ridiculousness of the statement. “I’m sad to say I don’t feel the same!”
“That bullet wasn’t meant for you.”
“Does it matter?”
“You more than anyone knows it does.”
Yasin shuffles to his left and peeks around the pillar. “You know I never agreed to your barbaric ways. Killing won’t solve anything.”
“Keep him talking,” I whisper, shrinking into the shadows. I draw Menkaure’s dagger and quickly step heel-to-toe, moving as quickly as I can without giving myself away. If I can at least disarm Hamza, we might just have a chance—maybe make it to the surface and call for help.
“Where the hell are you Abe?” I mutter to myself. He and his men are exactly what we need right now. “How would he find this place?” Good question… With the entrance destroyed, he’d have no way of knowing where to go. Even if he’s clever enough to figure out where the exit is, would he be able to access it?
I damn sure hope so.
Slowing, I kneel and lean around the pillar positioned in the back-left corner of the rectangular room. Hamza is there, standing even with my current position. He’s about thirty feet from me and would have to turn completely towards me to see me.
I duck back behind my hiding spot and go right, slithering around it. Now, on my hands and feet, I move like an ape, staying as low as I can. Safely making it to my next cover, I stop and breathe a sigh of relief.
Twenty feet…
Back to the pillar, I cautiously lean to my right, confirming that Hamza hasn’t moved. Yasin is doing his part and keeping him talking, monologuing like a comic book villain. The man preaches about the old ways and defending humanity and blah, blah, blah.
Gripping the hilt of the dagger hard, I grin. I know exactly how to disarm the raving psychopath. I’m gonna give him a taste of his own medicine—or rather his master’s medicine. I’m confident I can beat it, but in a moment of conflict, will Hamza react the same way I did, or will he mentally self-destruct.
Let’s find out.
I charge, still moving as quietly as I can.
Fifteen feet…
I raise my hand to strike.
Ten feet…
Hamza’s eyes flick towards me but he doesn’t physically react in time. I bring the infected blade down on his wrist, cutting him deep, spreading the ancient virus further. He wails in pain and drops the gun and my forward momentum sends me barreling into the smaller man. We both slam into the nearest pillar, deflecting off its immovable surface—him to the left and me to the right.
As soon as I land, I scamper to my feet and search for the weapons, seeing both my dagger and his gun back in the center aisle of the hall. Half-crawling, half-stumbling, I dive forward and snag both. An anger-filled shout greets me as Hamza comes stomping around the pillar.
“Don’t,” I say, pointing the gun at him.
He doesn’t stop. Even though he’s tried to kill me a half-dozen times already, I really don’t want to end this man’s life. I don’t want to kill anyone. But if it’s him or me, or any of my friends, I will.
It’s then that I decide to take a different course of action. I lower my aim and lift my left hand, holding up the dagger in my still bleeding left hand.
Hamza slides to a stop, glancing down to his wrist.
“You know what this is?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer.
I squeeze the hilt harder, forcing my open palm to drip more. It hurts like hell but gets the desired effect out of my foe. He steps back and eyes his own wound.
“You and me, we’re a lot alike.” I step forward. “Both of us carry the virus now. We’re both as good as dead.”
I thought he’d turn and flee, tail tucked firmly between his legs.
I guessed wrong.
Enraged, he bull rushes me, knocking away both the dagger and the gun. We tumble together for a moment, stopping with him kneeling over me, fist raised, ready to strike.
I close my eyes as his hand comes down.
13
The cool desert air kept Abe vigilant and so did the nagging aches and pains coursing through his battered body. He was almost upon Menkaure’s “tomb,” just to the south near the Queen’s Pyramids. The three smaller satellite structures were never finished and would serve as Abe’s cover for the time being.
Cursing under his breath, Abe watched and waited, knowing what he’d see. One man to the left of the pyramid, another to the right—and more than likely, another on the opposite side. Hamza never traveled without his closest companions. The elders of Zill Allah were said to be the most ruthless and three-quarters of them stood watch, carefully inspecting the barren landscape for intruders. But what Abe also knew is that the dense darkness around him would serve its purpose.
As would its unwatched southern side.
As the man to the west turned, Abe made his move, eyeing the man to the east, stopping as he reached the base of the smallest of the three Giza pyramids. He was unable to see any of the watchdogs now—which was good. If he couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see him.
Holstering his gun, he held back an audible grunt as he began to scale the ancient structure. He knew climbing the pyramid would take some skill and strength—strength he was lacking at the moment. The gunshot wound bled more with every movement, making the difficult task of climbing that much harder. He could already feel it running down his arm to his fingers.
The climb was long and arduous, especially in his current state. But with his adversaries thinking him dead, Abe had the luxury of taking his time. They only reason he wanted to rush in was to help those that Hamza currently hunted.
If they’re alive, he thought, stopping halfway up. From there, he’d need to head around the right or left side of the pyramid. The destruction caused by Saladin’s offspring was extreme and impossible to access from above—unless you felt like dropping fifty or so feet.
Knowing the fall would likely kill him, Abe readied himself for a potential firefight. Three against one was hardly a fair fight but he trusted his above-average shooting skills, his steady hands, and most of all, the element of surprise. Staying low, he made his move and headed around to the western side of the edifice.
At a hundred feet above ground, Abe knew his footfalls would be unheard, but with how well he saw by the starlit sky, he knew his enemies could do the same. Even worse, they would surely be armed with their own flashlights, blinding him with their beams. He’d have to be quick.
Get two of them at least, he thought, planning out his assault. The man patrolling the western side would be the first to go. Then, the one to the north. Hopefully, the latter would come to check on his fallen comrade and give Abe the opening he needed.
Stopping at the southwest corner, he took in his target and allowed himself a smile. The bored Zill Allah agent had his back turned to the monument, figuring an attack would come from the desert and not the pyramid itself. Drawing his pistol again, Abe made his move.
Aiming, he steadied his hands against a cool limestone block and waited. The man moved left, making his way towards the south. Abe tracked his movements and when the unsuspecting target walked into his sights, he let out a long breath and pulled the trigger.
The shot rang out, alerting everyone in the area. But the bullet found its mark. Flailing from the shot, the first man went down in a heap. Abe was moving before the shot finished echoing, searching for the next target.
Like he thought, the man guarding the northern side came rushing to his comrade’s aid. Without seeing the muzzle flash, the second agent had no idea where Abe was. Stopping, Abe took careful aim and without another thought, put a single round into the man’s back as he knelt down to check on his fallen friend.
Two down…
The third would be the most difficult. Abe doubted he would be so fortunate to have another of Hamza’s men to rush out into the open. If he was to make it inside Menkaure’s pyramid, he’d have to go on the hunt himself. So, as slow as the dead, Abe set off around to the north. If he could sneak inside without conflict, he would. If not, he’d be ready.
His shoulder ached and his left arm was nearly useless. If he was forced to fight with his hands, he wasn’t sure how well he’d fair. He made it to the northwest corner unscathed and stopped. There, he waited five minutes, listening for the sound of anything out of the ordinary.
His eyes squinted slightly, hearing something. It wasn’t in front of him, however, or even behind him…
It was above him.
Turning away from the north, Abe hugged back against the pyramid, facing east and peeked up over his left shoulder. Unless he knew what to look for, it would’ve been impossible to spot the man. Standing at the top of the structure was a figure who blocked out the stars. It’s how Abe noticed him. He just looked for where the stars should’ve been and found a void. Breathing deep, he thanked his sharp eyesight and slowly slid into position.
Now facing the third and final man, Abe was about to stand and empty his magazine into him but he was stopped. It wasn’t gunfire that halted Abe from attacking either, it was light—the exact thing that could paralyze him in place.
Unless…
Having only one other option, he readied himself again and popped up. The light immediately found Abe’s larger form and before he himself was shot, Abe unloaded every bullet he had left into the flashlight’s blinding aura, knowing at least a few would find their mark. The last two, indeed, struck their intended target, felling the light and its owner. Hamza’s man fell backward and the light forward. The latter clattered down the front side of the pyramid, followed closely by Abe as he scaled the northern face as quickly as his bruised and bloodied body would let him.
Minutes later, he reached the front entrance and took a moment to reload and collect himself. He knew the shots would go unnoticed by Hamza if he was as deep underground as Abe figured he was. Still having the element of surprise, Abe clicked on his own flashlight, covering it with his body. While he had the stars to see by outside, he’d have no natural source inside.
He ground his teeth as he was forced to use his left hand to hold the light, putting even more pressure and pain on his wounded shoulder. The metal flashlight was slick in his blood-soaked hand too, making things that much worse.
Taking a moment to collect himself, Abe thought about the emptiness of the land surrounding him, satisfied with the next plan of attack. Abe marched into the pyramid’s opening unsure of what he’d find. Hamza obviously knew of a secret passage that no one else did. Would it still be open and give Abe access too? What of the men in charge of the Giza complex? Surely, they knew of something like this. Were they a part of Zill Allah too?
We shall see.
Regardless, he knew he needed to move quickly. He figured Yasin was a capable fighter but what he didn’t know was whether the younger American could take care of himself or not.
“He’d better be able to,” Abe whispered to himself. Hamza was just as deadly with his hands as a pistol. But if he had his way, he’d like nothing better than to kill Hank slowly and painfully.
* * *
While I normally consider myself a more than capable human being in many assets of life, one of the areas I’m pretty below average in is hand-to-hand combat. I’ve never been a fighter, nor do I wish to ever be one. But like in my tiff with Beefcake back at the hotel, I’m not completely useless either. I can hold my own if the time comes.
The world around me slows down as Hamza’s balled fist dives towards my face. My brain screams at me to block the attack but my hands don’t listen. Instead, I simply tilt my head to the right and listen as Hamza’s knuckles impact the stone ground with a thud, grazing my ear as it goes by.
Wailing in pain, he holds up his ruined hand and is bowled into by a blur of motion. I may not be a fighter at heart but Yasin sure as hell is, and he’s pissed. He lost his cousin because of this place and indirectly Hamza’s fanatic bloodlust. Rolling out of the way, I let the two injured men pound each other for a second while I catch my
breath and search for a weapon.
Sitting up, I see the dagger back by the stairs to the surface.
Nope, I think, looking for the gun. I’m not a marksman or anything but I figure the threat of being gunned down should at least halt Hamza’s chaotic assault long enough for Yasin to get clear. So, frantically, I search for the gun instead but find nothing.
“Dammit, where are you?”
Turning completely around, I find it in the middle of the great hall right next to my flashlight. Both must’ve gone flying in that direction when Hamza took me down. Scampering on my hands and knees, I reach for the weapon, latching onto its hand grip, and turn. Standing, I aim the gun and stop, seeing Hamza standing over a bleeding Yasin. He’s got Menkaure’s dagger placed firmly against Yasin's throat and is staring straight at me.
“Drop the gun!” he shouts, his voice echoing around me.
“Don’t do it, Hank!” Yasin adds. “Shoot him and end this lunacy!”
Squeezing the gun harder, I focus on saving Yasin and not killing Hamza. I’m not sure I could shoot someone unless another person’s life was on the line. And yes, I know what I’m about to, getting ready to contradict myself. I don’t want to kill Hamza but I will if I’m forced to. Thinking of only saving Yasin is keeping me from pissing down my own leg fear.
Yanking Yasin’s bloodied face skyward, Hamza grins a sickly grin and pulls the dagger sideways. As the blade slices into Yasin’s skin, a bullet tears into Hamza, entering through the back of his shoulder and punching out the front. Yasin safely rolls away as Hamza falls to the ground.
Looking past the two bloodied men, I see the shooter step out from the dark stairwell.
“Abe…” I say, lowering my weapon. “Thank God.”
The police chief nods to me and then turns to Hamza, but before he can fire again, the other man disappears deeper into the great hall, taunting us the entire time.
“You don’t belong here,” the maniac says, his voice reverberating around us.
Abe points for me to go right. I comply and enter the series of pillars. Silently, he follows suit, moving along the rear of the room. There are eight rows of pillars between Abe and me spread for another five to the outer wall. I confirm the layout of the chamber after I snag my flashlight, imitating the Special Forces guys I see in the movies. Holding the gun above the flashlight, I begin my search. Together Abe and I should be able to corner Hamza and stop him before anyone else gets hurt.
The Cursed Pharaoh (The Hank Boyd Origins Book 1) Page 10
