Seven Ancient Wonders jw-1

by Matthew Reilly

  'How can they be onto us again?' Pooh Bear asked.

  West just stared at the convoy, trying not to betray his thoughts: Who gave us away?

  'Oh, shit!' Sky Monster exclaimed, hearing something through his headphones. 'The Yanks just scrambled fighters from Nasiryah. F-15s. We better find this place fast, Huntsman.'

  A few minutes later, they arrived above the dusty town of Haritha, situated on the eastern bank of the Shatt al-Arab River about fifty kilometres north of Basra.

  'Okay, Sky Monster, swing us due east,' West said.

  Sky Monster banked the Halicarnassus above the town, but as he did so, he and West glimpsed the highway coming from the north, from Qurna—

  —and on that highway, they saw another column of American

  vehicles.

  It was almost identical to the first—lots of troop trucks, Humvees and tanks; and another 5,000 men, at the very least.

  West's mind raced.

  'Judah must have had people at Qurna, searching for the waterfalls,' he said. 'But Qurna is the wrong junction of the rivers. He was searching too far to the north.'

  'And now—suddenly—he knows to come south,' Sky Monster said pointedly. 'How about that . . .'

  West just tapped him reassuringly on the shoulder. 'East and low, my friend.'

  But their position was clear—with a rat in their ranks, they were now caught between two converging convoys of overwhelming American firepower.

  If they found the Hanging Gardens—which wasn't guaranteed— they'd have to be in and out fast.

  Within minutes, the jagged peaks of the Zagros Mountains rose up before them, the boundary line between Iraq and Iran.

  Numerous small rivers snaked their way through the range's maze-like system of peaks and valleys—descending to the Shatt al-Arab. Waterfalls could be seen everywhere: tall thin string-like falls, short squat ones, even horseshoe-shaped ones.

  There were many double-tiered waterfalls, and several quadruple-tiered falls, but as far as West could tell, there was only one set of triple-tiered falls in the area due east of Haritha: an absolutely stunning cascade easily 300 feet from top to bottom, that bounced over two wide rocky ledges, before flowing into a stream that wound down to the mighty al-Arab. These falls lay right at the edge

  of the mountain range, looking out over the flat marshy plain of southern Iraq.

  'That's it,' West said. 'That's them. Sky Monster, bring us down anywhere you can. We drive from here. You take the Halt to these co-ordinates and wait for me to call.' He handed Sky Monster a slip of paper.

  'Roger that, Huntsman.'

  The Halicarnassus landed on the flat cracked surface of a lakebed that hadn't seen water in 1,000 years.

  No sooner had its wheels touched down than its rear loading ramp dropped open, banging onto the ground, and—shoom!—a second four-wheel drive Land Rover came rushing out of the big plane's belly, bouncing down onto the mudplain and speeding off to the east, kicking up a cloud of sand behind it.

  For its part, the Halicarnassus just powered up again and took off, heading for the secret hangar where Jack West had originally found her fifteen years before.

  The Land Rover skidded to a halt before the towering triple-tiered falls. The roar of falling water filled the air.

  'Allah have mercy,' Pooh Bear said, gazing up at the falls. At 300 feet, they were the size of a thirty-storey building.

  'There!' West called.

  A narrow stone path in the rockface led behind the lowest tier of the waterfall.

  West hurried along it. The others followed. But when they arrived behind the curtain of falling water, they were confronted by something they hadn't expected.

  On every tier of the falls, the water was thrown quite a way out from the cliff-wall, propelled by its rapid speed. This meant that the actual face of each tier was largely water-free—except for a layer of moss and a constant trickle of dribbling water. It also

  meant that each cliff-face was concealed by the falls themselves. And behind the curtains of water was a most curious feature. Cut into the face of each rockwall was a dizzying network of ultra-narrow paths that criss-crossed up them. There were maybe six paths in total, but they wound and intersected in so many ways that the number of permutations they created was huge.

  Gazing at the twisting array of pathways on the first cliff-face, West saw with dismay the alarming number of wall-holes and blade-holes that opened onto the paths. Booby traps.

  Zaeed was awed. 'Imhotep III. A genius, he was, but a sinister genius. This is a very rare type of trap system but typical of his flair. There are many paths with deadly snares, but only one of the pathways is safe.'

  'How do we know which route is the safe one?' Stretch asked. 'They all seem to intertwine.'

  Beside West, Lily was gazing intently at the path system behind the waterfall.

  As she looked at it, something clicked in her mind. 'I've seen this before . . .' she said.

  She reached into West's backpack and extracted a printout. It was titled: 'Waterfall Entrance—Refortification by Imhotep III in the time of Ptolemy Sotef.

  'Well, would you look at that. . .' Stretch said.

  The lines on the printed image exactly matched the layout of the pathways on the waterfall.

  'But which path is the safe route?' Pooh Bear asked anxiously.

  'That I don't know,' Lily said, deflating.

  'Wait a second,' West said. 'Maybe you do . . .'

  Now he rifled through his pack for a few moments, before he said, 'Got it!'

  He pulled from the backpack a tattered brown leatherbound notebook.

  The diary of the Nazi archaeologist, Hessler.

  'Hessler knew the safe path,' West said, flicking the pages of the diary until he found what he was looking for.

  'Here!' He held the diary open, revealing a page they had seen before:

  Its title was 'Safe Routes'. West smiled.

  He brought the right-hand image from this page alongside the picture of the waterfall's paths, and everyone else saw it—the

  right-hand 'Safe Route' matched one of the twisting paths on the waterfall diagram perfectly:

  'You know, Captain West,' Zaeed said, 'you're a lot cleverer than I give you credit for. I shall have to watch you.'

  'Thanks,' West said dryly.

  As he spoke, he stole a glance at the plain behind them. In the far distance, a high dustcloud stretched across the sandplain, from horizon to horizon—a sandstorm, or perhaps something else . . .

  The dustcloud of two massive convoys.

  'Come on,' he said. 'We don't have much time.'

  Up the vertical cliff-wall they went, following the safe path, with the roaring curtain of water falling behind their backs. Diffused sunlight lanced in through falling water, lighting the way.

  West climbed in the lead, with Horus in his chest pouch.

  Their path twisted and turned, doubling back and forth as it rose

  up the cliff-face. It was so narrow that the team could only climb it in single-file, and it was covered in slippery moss, so their progress was slow. That said, without the map, they could never have figured out the safe route up the falls.

  At both of the middle ledges in the waterfall, the path burrowed into the rockface as a tunnel—a tunnel that emerged above the ledge, giving access to the next level.

  And so after twenty minutes of careful climbing, they reached the top of the third rockface. There, just below the lip of the uppermost ledge of the falls, immediately beneath a stunning translucent veil of fast-flowing water, the path ended . . .

  . . . right in front of a third low tunnel—a passageway that bored directly into the cliff-face, disappearing into darkness.

  The entrance to this tunnel, however, was different from the lower ones.

  It was more ornate, despite the fact it was covered in overgrown green moss.

  The tunnel's entry frame—every side covered with hieroglyphs—was beautifully cut into the rock
face, in a perfectly square shape. Its smooth walls retained this shape as they receded into blackness.

  And on the lintel above the door, partly obscured by trickling water and moss, was a familiar carving:

  West smiled at the carved image. 'We're here.'

  As West and the others evaluated the tunnel entrance, Pooh Bear followed a short horizontal section of the path that led to the edge of the waterfall.

  Leaning out, he peered around the edge of the flowing body of water, looking out at the vast sandplain behind them.

  What he saw made his eyes boggle.

  He saw the two American convoys—now merged to become one mega-convoy—thundering across the plain, kicking up an immense dustcloud behind them. Choppers hovered above the great column of vehicles, with one dark-painted Black Hawk out in front.

  Ten thousand men, coming right for them.

  'By Allah,' he breathed. 'Er, Huntsman . . .'

  West joined him, saw the immense American force, and particularly eyed the dark Black Hawk leading the way.

  He frowned.

  That chopper actually didn't look . . .

  He pursed his lips in thought.

  The world was closing in on him, and he was fast running out of options.

  'Come on, Pooh,' he said. 'We can't stop now.'

  They rejoined the others at the tunnel entrance, where Stretch said, 'If this trap system is anything like the others, there's no way we can get in and out before the Americans arrive.'

  'If I may be so bold,' Zaeed said slyly from behind them. 'There might in fact be a way . . .'

  'What way?' Stretch said suspiciously.

  'The Priests' Entrance. The Nazi's diary mentions it, and I have come across this phrase in my own research. Such an entrance is usually a small one, unadorned, used by the priests of a temple to tend to its shrines even after that temple has been closed off. As a royal retreat, the Gardens almost certainly contained temples in need of tending.'

  'A back door,' West said.

  'Yes. Which means we can enter through this door and exit out the other end, via the Priests' Entrance.'

  'If we can find it,' Stretch said.

  'If we don't get this Piece,' West said, 'Doris and Big Ears and Noddy will have died for nothing. I'm not going to let that happen. I'm getting this Piece or I'm going to die trying.'

  And with that he turned, and gripping Lily's hand, he started for the tunnel behind the waterfall.

  Pooh Bear fell into step close beside him, and stole a whisper: 'Huntsman. That lead chopper, the dark Black Hawk out in front of the convoy, did you see it?'

  'Yes,' West's eyes remained fixed forward.

  'That wasn't an American chopper.'

  'I know.'

  'Did you recognise the markings? It was—'

  'Yes,' West whispered, glancing back at Stretch. 'It was an Israeli chopper. Somehow the Israelis knew our location, and I think I know how. Thing is, it looks like they're trying to get here ahead of the Americans.' He threw another deadly look at Stretch. 'Israel always looks after Israel. Come on.'

  And with those words, they entered the trap system that guarded the Hanging Gardens of Babylon.

  (335)

  The flashlight on West's fireman's helmet carved a sabre-like beam through the darkness of the tunnel.

  His team followed him, silhouetted by the daylight that penetrated the waterfall behind them. They also wore helmet-lights. Horus flew out in front.

  The tunnel was perfectly square in shape, its walls hard, carved from solid rock. And it sloped steadily downward, away from the daylight. Shadowy square recesses were cut into its ceiling, concealing God-only-knew-what. The waterfall behind them roared loudly, a constant shhh—

  The first trap struck.

  With a heart-stopping boom, an enormous five-ton dropstone fell out of a recess in the ceiling—just inside the entrance—blocking out the sunlight, filling the entire tunnel!

  Then, to their horror, the gradient of the tunnel gave the massive block life.

  It immediately started sliding down the slope—toward them— forcing West's team forwards and downward. 'Move!' West called.

  They all started running down the tunnel, away from the great sliding stone, side-stepping warily around all the ceiling holes they had to pass under.

  The great stone slid quickly forwards, chasing after them, an unstoppable pursuer, driving them toward—

  A cliff edge.

  Thirty metres down the slope, the tunnel simply ended at a gaping black abyss. The tunnel did not seem to continue in any way beyond this dark void. This, it appeared, was the absolute end of the tunnel.

  The stone kept rumbling down the tunnel behind them.

  West fired a flare into the dark void—

  —to reveal that they were standing at one end of a gigantic subterranean cavern shaped like a giant cube, easily fifty metres long and at least ten storeys high.

  Their problem: their tunnel opened onto this cavern right up near the ceiling.

  The sliding stone kept coming.

  Then, by the glow of the hovering flare, West saw the floor of the great cavern thirty metres below him.

  It was flat and bare, made of sand.

  But there was something wrong about it—it was too flat, too bare.

  West kicked a nearby stone off the edge and watched it sail down to the floor of the cavern.

  The stone hit the floor.

  It didn't bounce.

  It just landed with a splonk, embedding itself in the goopy sandlike surface. And then it went under, seemingly swallowed by the semi-liquid surface.

  'Ah-ha, quicksand,' Zaeed said, impressed. 'The entire floor is quicksand . . .'

  'God, you're just like Max,' West said, snapping round to check

  on the fast-moving stone behind them—ten metres away and about to force them into the quicksand-filled chamber.

  'This trap system doesn't waste any time, does it?'

  But then, turning back to the massive square cavern, he saw the answer—a long line of handbars had been dug into its ceiling; a line that ended at a matching tunnel at the opposite end of the cavern, fifty metres away.

  Of course, more dark and deadly trap-holes were interspersed between and above the handbars.

  'Lily, here. Jump onto my chest, put your hands around my neck,' West said. 'Zaeed. You got any intel on these handbars?'

  Zaeed peered back at the sliding stone: 'I found a reference once to something called the High Ceiling of the Sand Cavern. It said, "Walk with your hands but in deference to he who built it, avoid those of its Creator." Imhotep III built this system, so I'd avoid every third handgrip.'

  'Good theory,' West said, 'but since I don't trust you, why don't you go first and test it out. Now move.'

  Zaeed leapt out onto the handrungs, swinging himself along them, avoiding every third one.

  Once he'd survived the first few metres, West scooped up Lily. 'Everybody, follow us.'

  And so with Lily gripping him around the neck, West reached up and grabbed the first handbar . . .

  . . . and swung out over the ten-storey drop to the quicksand floor.

  It was an incredible sight: five tiny figures, moving in single-file, all hanging from their hands, swinging fist-over-fist across the ceiling of the immense cube-shaped cavern, their feet dangling ten storeys above the floor.

  The last in the line was Pooh Bear, who leapt off the doorway-ledge a bare moment before the five-ton sliding stone came bursting out of the tunnel, filling the entire passage before falling clear out of it!

  The huge square stone thundered off the edge . . . and tipped . . . and went sailing down the sheer wall of the cavern before it splashed into the quicksand with a great goopy splat.

  Then the stone settled in the quagmire and sank below the surface—grimly, slowly—never to be seen again.

  West gripped each handbar firmly, swinging himself and Lily down the length of the cavern. Horus flew alongside them, hovering
nearby—seemingly amused at their difficult method of travel.

  Following Zaeed, West avoided every third handbar, which was just as well. Zaeed had been right. West tested the ninth handbar and it just fell from its recess, dropping all the way to the deadly floor.

  He was halfway across when he heard the voices. Shouts. Coming from the entry tunnel.

  The first chopper—the Israeli Black Hawk—must have dropped its men directly onto the path at the top of the falls.

  West reasoned that they were probably commandos from the Sayaret Matkal, the very best of Israel's elite 'Sayaret' or 'reconnaissance' units. The Matkal were crack assassins—ruthlessly efficient killers who, among other things, were widely acknowledged as the best snipers in the world. Stretch's old unit.

  Now they were coming in.

  Fast.

  'Everybody!' West called. 'Get a move on! We're about to have some really nasty company!'

  He started double-timing it across the handbars—swinging like a monkey hand-over-hand—high above the deadly floor.

  Then suddenly from the entry tunnel there came the familiar heavy whump of a sliding stone dropping from the ceiling— followed by shouts and the sound of rapidly running feet.

  The Israelis had set off a second sliding stone.

  West kept moving across the high cavern, swinging with his hands.

  Out in front, Zaeed reached the mouth of the opposite tunnel, swung into it. West followed seconds later, swinging his feet onto solid ground. He turned to help the others—

  —only to see a red laser dot appear on his nose ... a dot that belonged to a sniper rifle in the opposite tunnel, a sniper rifle held by one of the Israeli commandos, bent on one knee.

  A voice came over West's radio frequency: 'Stay right where you are, Captain West. Don't move a muscle.'

  West was hardly going to obey—but then, as if it could read his thoughts, the dot shifted slightly . . .

  ... so that it now rested on the back of Lily's head.

  '1 know what you're thinking, Captain. Don't. Or she dies. Cohen! These handrungs. The safe sequence.''

  Right then Stretch landed on the ground beside West. Pooh Bear was still huffing and puffing behind him, crossing the handrungs with difficulty.

  Stretch glanced sideways at West as he spoke into his mike: 'Avoid every third rung, Major.'