The Tombs of Eden

by Rick Jones

  “This thing didn’t move like it was blind or deaf,” said Red, grunting in pain. “This thing was fast and saw me just fine.”

  “I didn’t say they were completely deaf or blind, just that those senses are dulled and are compensated through other means.”

  “Yeah, well, the bloody thing is dead, right? No more worries.”

  When Obsidian Hall finally released his breath and sighed with relief, it was then that he noticed his accident. He held his hands out by his side in a ‘what-the-hell-is-this’ manner.

  “Actually,” she said, “where there’s one, then there’s another, and another, and another.”

  “You think the tunnels are full of them?” asked Butcher Boy.

  “I can’t answer that.”

  For a long moment they listened. And for lack of a better term, the silence was tomblike. And then they heard it—a clicking sound, a tapping in the distance, muted and far off.

  Butcher Boy shook his head. “Well, I guess that answers that,” he said, looking down at the lizard. “Apparently this is not the only one.”

  And then the tapping stopped, leaving the group within a pall of unnerving silence.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “Now for you, Padre.” Aussie directed his weapon towards John Savage, to a mark right between his eyes. “You want to tell me why a priest is carrying a Glock that’s mounted with an illegal suppressor?”

  “I’m not a priest,” he said.

  “So you’ve said. Now answer my question.” He maintained his deadly aim. “But before you do, Padre, lower your weapon to the floor. And don’t be stupid.”

  Savage looked at Red. But I just saved his life! And then he looked into the darkness of the corridor, looking for the things that lived within. “I need this weapon.”

  Butcher Boy pressed the tip of his weapon behind and below Savage’s ear, the barrel was still warm. “That’s a good question, Mr. Savage. Why would a Vatican emissary be carrying illegal wares for a weapon he shouldn’t be in possession of to begin with?”

  Savage’s eyes began to move in their sockets, telling Aussie what he was thinking. So Aussie raised his weapon until it was inches away from Savage’s head. “I told you to not get stupid, didn’t I? Drop your weapon right now, mate. So help me, I won’t even hesitate.”

  Savage sighed and let the weapon fall. “I can help,” he said.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not too comfortable in knowing that someone is carrying a weapon that I don’t know about. Especially from someone who’s obviously skilled in marksmanship as you are.” Aussie moved closer to the point where Savage thought the man was going to kiss him on the cheek, prompting Savage to lean away. But Aussie took a couple of quick sniffs and smiled. “You know something, Padre. You stink to high heaven. There’s just something about you that doesn’t smell right to me.” He fell back a couple of steps with his weapon leveled. “So tell me,” he said, his impish smile never flagging, “are there any more bloody surprises about you that I should know about?”

  Savage kept his eyes forward and said nothing while Butcher Boy picked up the sidearm. He held it up in display, revealing a suppressor that was as long as the firearm’s barrel, a top-of-the-line model. He tucked the Glock in the rear of his waistband.

  Aussie and Butcher Boy continued with furtive glances down the corridor while keeping an eye on Savage, as well. “Who are you, John Savage?” asked Butcher Boy. “Why do I know that name?”

  “I was in the military,” he said.

  Butcher Boy cocked his head. “You want to jar my memory?”

  “Navy SEAL Team Nine,” he said.

  Butcher Boy’s eyes started. Of course! “You know this bloke?” asked Aussie.

  Butcher Boy nodded. “You’re that John Savage?”

  “I surrendered my post—”

  “I know all about that,” said Butcher Boy. “You were an elite soldier, one of the best, specialized in double-edged weaponry and classified as a Class-A sniper.” Savage remained stoically silent. “And then you screwed up in the Philippines with half your unit getting killed along with the marks that you were sent in to save, because of a bad judgment call on your part. Am I right?”

  “You’re not wrong.”

  “So you were asked to resign. Word was that you weren’t right in the head. Is that right?” When Savage didn’t answer, he pressed him. “Why would an agent from the Vatican come here with nothing on his person but a sidearm and suppressor? You stand away from everyone watching and waiting.” Butcher Boy moved closer. “But what is it that you’re waiting for, Savage? Why carry a gun?” And then: “What was your real mission?”

  Savage unknowingly shot a glance to Alyssa, a micro-expression that gave him away.

  “Her!” said Butcher Boy, pointing a finger and chortling. “She was your mission?”

  Alyssa appeared stunned. Me?

  And then it was all too clear. Butcher Boy removed the weapon from his waistband and held it up, turning it so the burnished steel of the suppressor reflected in the lamp light. “You’re here as an assassin, aren’t you? They sent you to kill her, didn’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  Alyssa’s world crumbled at that moment—this man, this representative of the Vatican, an assassin? Her knees suddenly became gelatinous, but she held. Obsidian Hall was intrigued as he came closer. “Why?” he asked. “Why does the Church want you to remove Ms. Moore from the equation?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered. “The source was vague.”

  “The source? You mean the pontiff.” Savage remained quiet. Hall moved closer, his face bearing the marks and twists of a prosecuting attorney going in for the kill. “What is it that the pope does not want us to know?” he asked. “What’s in here? What does he want to keep away from the world?”

  Savage’s continued silence was becoming quite annoying to Hall. “These are not rhetorical questions, Mr. Savage.”

  “I can’t give you answers to questions I don’t know.”

  Hall looked into the darkness. “Then we move on and find out for ourselves,” he said.

  “No.” Alyssa’s voice was strong, which surprised even her. “We’re done. We’re going back. Mr. Savage needs to be turned over to the authorities.”

  Hall managed a few steps until he stood before Alyssa, his hands clasped behind the small of his back. “You don’t get it, do you?”

  “Get what?”

  “You’re not in charge here,” he said, smiling fiendishly. “You haven’t been for a while now.”

  “What are you talking about? This is my expedition.”

  “Was your expedition,” he told her. “The truth, Ms. Moore, is that I need your skills of interpretation to get me to the lower chamber.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “Does it look like I’m kidding?”

  “I won’t do it,” she said sternly.

  “I think you will.”

  “Then you think wrong.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. “Is that your final answer?”

  “As final as it can get.”

  “Very well, then.” He turned to Aussie. “Mr. Aussie.”

  “Sir.”

  “I’m paying you a lot of money to follow my commands, correct?”

  “You are.”

  “Then listen to me very clearly. I’m about to give you a command. You will not hesitate; you will act immediately upon my say. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  He turned to Alyssa. This time his face held the same coldness as his blue eyes. “Ms. Moore,” he said with diplomatic evenness, “if you want me to implore you for your much needed services, then I will do so. Is that what you want?” She remained unresponsive. “Let it not be said that Obsidian Hall did not give you a chance. So, Ms. Moore, I implore you. Will you please lead my team to the lower chamber?”

  This time she crossed her arms defensively across her chest. Savage admired her grit.

  “Very well, th
en,” Hall said, sounding defeated. “I did afford you an opportunity.”

  “You can’t do this without my support. You need me,” she said with confidence.

  “That, Ms. Moore, is the truth.” His wily smile was back. “Mr. Aussie!”

  “Sir.”

  “Step forward, please.”

  The large Australian, wearing his 30-pound flak jacket and holding his weapon, stood next to Hall. “Sir.”

  “You will not hesitate on my command. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Alyssa’s face dropped. He’s really going to do this. And then: “Shoot Mr. Wainscot,” he said calmly.

  True to his word, Aussie raised his weapon and fired off a quick burst, the bullets stitching across Noah’s abdomen from left to right, the old man’s face registering too late as he was punched back against the wall and slid down its length, leaving a trail of blood the color of black tar in his wake. He sat there, a hand raised, his mind confused, his eyes and mouth opening wide with the surprise of his own mortality.

  Alyssa screamed and ran to him. Eser and Harika were right beside her but it was Alyssa who grabbed Noah’s head and cradled it against her bosom. “And then there were nine,” Hall said with mock sadness.

  Savage leaned forward as if he wanted to provide aid but Butcher Boy held him firm. “Don’t even think about being a hero, soldier boy,” he said, holding his MP-7 steady. “Don’t even.”

  Alyssa was sobbing as she drew Noah’s head away, and then placed her forehead against his so that their eyes were inches apart. “I’m so sorry,” she told him.

  He raised a bloodied hand to her cheek, caressed it, leaving a blood smear. “It’s all right, my dear.” His voice was weak, fading.

  “I’m . . . so . . . sorry, Noah.”

  He offered her a smile. “Please accept my apology.”

  “Your apology? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “For all those times I called you Ms. Alyssa when you didn’t like it.”

  She couldn’t believe his attempt at humor at such a time. She let out a sound that was a mixture of a sob and a laugh. “You can call me whatever you want,” she told him.

  His eyes went distant as if looking past her and through her, his hand suddenly reaching for something only he could see. And then he exhaled. It was the longest exhalation of breath she had ever heard as his life slipped away. Slowly, she allowed his head to fall forward until his forehead rested upon her chest.

  “And he was important to the team,” said Hall, “since he could interpret as well as you. So don’t ever underestimate me again.” She looked at him. Her face crimson with fury and her teeth were bared in savage rage. “You really should get a hold of that temper of yours,” Hall said.

  She leapt at him with her fingers extended to rake across his face, but Aussie stepped in front of her and hammered her with the stock of his weapon, knocking her out cold. Hall sighed. “Well, she does have chutzpah. I’ll give her that.”

  “And what about him?” asked Aussie, referring to Noah with an inclination of his head

  Hall shrugged. “Leave him. Perhaps whatever those things are will feed on him and leave us alone.” As Aussie walked away, however, he didn’t believe so.

  #

  When she awoke, she did so with Savage sitting next to her. Eser and Harika sat across the way, huddled to the point where they seemed to be a single mass. When she turned and saw Savage looking back at her with eyes she had once found adoring, she rolled her own eyes, the movement promoting the pain of her headache. “It just gets better,” she said. “Putting me right next to the jerk who wanted to kill me. Bravo!”

  “You don’t understand,” Savage returned.

  “What’s to understand?” she asked heatedly. “You admitted that you were sent to kill me.”

  He turned away. He couldn’t dispute that.

  “Well, Ms. Moore,” said Hall, standing in the feeble light, looking grimy in his pee-stained pants. “Welcome back to the conscience world. Have a headache, do you?”

  “I’d say piss off, but it looks like you already did that.”

  His smile quickly vanished. “You will be far more cooperative from here on in, is that clear?”

  “Or what? You’ll shoot this idiot sitting beside me to make your point? Go ahead. Be my guest.”

  “Or perhaps I’ll shoot them,” he said, directing his stare to the two senior archeologists. “Their blood is now on your hands.”

  “You’re a bastard,” she said.

  “So the papers say,” he agreed. “But no matter what you think of me, Ms. Moore, I get what I want. And I want you to lead me and my team to the chamber below.” He looked at her with apathy; his voice holding the same measure of detachment as his gaze. “In ten minutes,” he told her categorically, “we move. So get ready.”

  “What’s to get ready for?” she said. “You want me to put on a dress?” She could tell that she was getting to him—could see the brewing annoyance on his face.

  “Ten . . . minutes,” he stated. And then he turned and walked away.

  “I’ll say this for you,” said Savage. “You got guts.”

  “Shut up.”

  #

  Ten minutes later they were on the move.

  Eser and Harika were forced to take point with a lamp in each hand, acting as the first line of defense. They were terrified and quiet, as they had been throughout the entire journey, their rock in Noah now gone.

  Aussie and Butcher Boy stayed on their heels to provide protection, keeping a vigilant eye forward. They were the second line of defense.

  Carroll helped Red along, who appeared as gray and shiny as the tallow of wax. Dark rings circled his eyes. His face shone with sweat and when he swallowed, he did so with agony. It was as if shards of broken glass were sliding down his windpipe.

  Alyssa and Savage were in front of them, being prodded along with the point of Carroll’s weapon as Carroll half dragged, half carried his brother with his other arm. Hall took the rear, believing that the danger was in front of them and not behind.

  Occasionally, Alyssa took glances at Red and noted the symptoms of toxic poisoning. “Your friend needs a doctor,” she told Carroll.

  “He’s not my friend. He’s my brother.”

  “You’re not friends with your brother?”

  “Keep moving.”

  The tunnels and corridors appeared endless in the constant dark. They took steps that were slow and cautious with Aussie and Butcher Boy keeping their weapons held at eye level, pointing the mouths of their firearms between Eser and Harika and into the darkness.

  “Ms. Moore,” Hall said. “Are we simply walking hallways? There has to be some sort of passageway that leads below.”

  “We’re almost at the room of the Crystal Bull,” she said.

  “The Crystal Bull. How intriguing that does sound.” Whatever. “And what is the room of the Crystal Bull?” he questioned further.

  “My father believed that this pyramid is a temple glorifying nature and the surrounding fauna when the garden was actually a land of fertility and fruitfulness, the true Garden of Eden. The beasts depicted on the pillars in Göbekli Tepe symbolize the area’s one-time abundance of them. The bull, in some cultures, is the symbol of fertility. It’s also the first room. But there are other rooms of worship. How many, I don’t know.”

  “See that, Ms. Moore? Already you’re earning your stay . . . You’re just a plethora of information, aren’t you?”

  “You’re just a plethora of information, aren’t you?” she mimicked.

  Ten minutes later, Aussie and Butcher Boy stopped the Turkish archeologists from moving forward. With the same stiff rigidity, they held their weapons raised and their trigger fingers flexing, then resting firmly, with more than half the pressure needed to pull the trigger.

  Alyssa looked at Savage who stood ramrod straight and appeared just as intense, the man a barometer to danger. “What?” He turned his ear toward th
e veil of darkness as if to pick something up—a sound perhaps. “What?” she repeated.

  “There’s something in there,” he finally whispered. “And it’s coming closer.”

  #

  The great beasts moved with prudence, having witnessed the power of their enemy.

  They had seen one of their own go down in the throes of a firefight, their instincts tuned to the fact that these creatures were deadly in their intent to commit mortal damage. So they held back and assessed the situation, their instinct of territoriality so tremendous they were practically driven to suicide runs as an ironic act of self-preservation.

  They grouped as hunters and began tapping their raptor-like claws in communication, their frills absorbing and deciphering a complex language of sounds.

  . . . tap-tap-tap . . . tap-tap-tap . . . tap-tap-tap . . . tap-tap-tap . . .

  And then there was a cry, a shrill, the mouth of the beast opening wide and crying out. In unison, they pulled back as if they were of a collective mind and found comfort within the shadows.

  From behind the dark veil they watched. They waited. And when instinct finally tells them that the feel of the hunt is truly in their favor . . . Only then will they attack.

  #

  Butcher Boy was looking at the colorful cartoonish screen of the thermal imager. “They’re gone,” he said.

  “Move forward. Move slowly. And keep your bloody eyes and ears open.” But when the Turks balked, Aussie prompted Eser with the point of his automatic weapon by pressing its end against his back and giving him a goading shove forward. “Let’s go, mate. We ain’t getting’ any younger.”