The God Extinction

by Kevin Tumlinson

  Denzel shook his head. “I just think it’s interesting. And I wanted to see it for myself, after everything Dr. Maalyck showed us. I had some PTO stacked up, and the Director has been giving me a hard time about it. So, this seemed like as good a chance to get away as any.”

  Kotler studied his friend for a moment. There was something in his body language that didn’t quite line up. “Roland … are you here to make sure I come back?”

  Denzel didn't answer immediately but instead picked up a drink menu. "I'm on vacation," he said, his head tilted down, his features obscured.

  Kotler smiled and laughed lightly. He leaned back and sighed. "Well, if you're going to be on this site, you'll have to pull your weight. Remember, I'm the one in charge on this one."

  Denzel nodded. “Of course,” he said. “Whatever you need.”

  “Crawling into caves under the desert … that’s mostly what I’ll need.”

  Denzel's face went a bit pale. Kotler was pushing his buttons. He knew that his friend suffered from claustrophobia, with origins in a collapsed spider cave in Afghanistan. It was a nagging problem for the agent, though he'd shown remarkable progress in overcoming it. Still, Kotler knew the thought of tight spaces, particularly underground, would be difficult for Denzel. In a sense, this was a gentle warning.

  After watching Denzel’s mild discomfort for a moment, Kotler gave his friend a break, smiling. “Maybe I can find something for you to do at camp,” he said.

  Denzel seemed relieved, nodding slightly though he made no sound.

  Kotler turned back to the email he’d been writing, finishing it up. Soon it was time for their flight, and he and Denzel grabbed their bags and made their way to the terminal.

  They talked casually. Denzel seemed lighter somehow, but also seemed guarded. Wary.

  He's worried I'll leave permanently, Kotler thought as they got to the business of boarding their flight. They split at the gate, with Kotler taking a first-class seat and Denzel, ever the pragmatist, working his way to coach.

  As Kotler settled in, a drink at hand and a book on his iPad, he was taken with one thought.

  He may have good reason.

  Credne Dig Site, Egypt

  The dig site was more than eight hours from the Cairo International Airport, through mountainous and rough terrain along the Gulf of Suez—a long and grueling ride that did not always stick to established roads.

  They first disembarked at the same village where Kotler had spent many off-hours, twenty years earlier. It wasn’t exactly a hot spot of tourism, but it had an active marketplace and a few amenities. The cafe in which they sat was dingy and open-aired, but there were several other patrons. The meals here were simple fare, and the strongest beverages were teas and coffees. But it was a pleasant spot, with lively conversation all around, lulling Kotler and Denzel into drowsiness after their travels.

  They would be picked up by a local driver soon and taken to the camp. For now, it was simply nice to not be jostled in an overcrowded bus.

  The village—which to this day appeared to have no name—hadn’t changed much in twenty years. Signs of extreme poverty were still everywhere, though the marketplace teemed with activity. Vendors sold mostly fruits and vegetables from small, covered carts, but among them were displays of other goods. Locally sourced pottery, baskets, and jewelry could be bought here, though Kotler knew that the locals themselves had little use for or interest in most of these items. They were meant almost exclusively for the foreigners who came here on various business. There were the researchers, who had thinned out somewhat since the “Days of Rage“—the Egyptian revolution in 2011. More prominent was the oil interest crowd, who were the most appreciated among the villagers, as they freely spread money around.

  Of course, there were also those with more illicit interests. The market for stolen antiquities, particularly treasure, was still alive and well. Human trafficking had also become a problem in the region, as had narcotics, which were primarily supplied to the visiting foreigners. Of all these, however, the local authorities were more concerned with alcohol, which was restricted here. Foreign visitors often paid top dollar for a bottle of cheap bourbon, and so there was quite a black market.

  Perhaps as a redeeming feature, this region seemed particularly rich in archaeological finds. Since the late nineties, thirteen separate sites had been opened and explored, with discoveries ranging from shards of pottery to lost tombs. Most interesting to Kotler, as he had brought himself up to speed on the state of the region, was that the brass hall was not the only cultural anomaly uncovered here. This area seemed to be a melting pot of sorts, if the hints revealed by researchers were an indication. It was unfortunate that exploration here had all but stopped, thanks to the same government corruption and public strife that had led to the uprising.

  Research and exploration had resumed at numerous prominent sites across the region, but some, in more remote areas, had been stymied for years. Perhaps the reopening of this site, and the invitation for Kotler to lead the team, were good signs.

  Kotler and Denzel sat at one of the cafe tables and sipped coffee strong enough to peel paint from a battleship, but enjoyable for its steamy richness. They nibbled on a plate of olives and dates, and scooped hummus with bits of pita bread. They were both dazed and exhausted from two days of hard travel, and each wanted nothing more than to finally reach their destination and collapse onto a cot for a few hours of sleep.

  “Dr. Kotler?”

  Kotler looked up to see a man dressed in linen, with a scarf wound loosely around his neck and pulled like a hood over his head. He smiled and extended his hand. "I am Dr. Nesahor. I have been sent from the camp, to retrieve you. It is a great honor to meet the man who discovered Credne's tomb!"

  Kotler took Nesahor's hand and returned the smile. "I'm pleased to meet you, Dr. Nesahor. But I can't take much credit for the discovery. Dr. Maalyck deserves it more than I do. He led me to the chamber when he was still a young boy."

  Nesahor nodded. “We have all heard the stories of your adventure. You had the presence of thought to retrieve the bronze sword before the collapse of the mountain. That artifact has been instrumental to the continued preservation of this camp.”

  Kotler nodded, pleased that he was remembered but unsure if he deserved so much credit. Clearly, Maalyck was telling these stories, coloring them with admiration.

  He turned and motioned to Denzel.

  “This is Agent Roland Denzel, of the FBI.”

  “The FBI?” Nesahor said, astonished. He offered his hand.

  “I’m here unofficially,” Denzel replied, shaking Nesahor’s hand. “I had some time off, and I’m interested in what you’re doing here.”

  Nesahor nodded. “We are honored to have you with us.” He looked to Kotler. “I have a jeep parked nearby, and we can be at the camp in less than an hour. If you will come this way?”

  Kotler and Denzel rose, following Nesahor through the streets of the village. At one point they were suddenly swarmed by a flock of children, shabbily dressed and gesturing to them wildly, begging.

  Kotler smiled and doled out coins and candy, a stash he'd made sure to have on hand.

  "Mind your wallet," Denzel grumbled to him. Despite his apparent wariness, however, Kotler noted when Denzel slipped his own little treasures to the children while struggling to keep a smile from his lips.

  “I forget, you’ve had at least as much experience in this region as I have,” Kotler said as they finally arrived at the Jeep.

  “Probably not quite as much, but plenty,” Denzel said.

  Kotler nodded. Denzel’s time in Special Forces had included tours of this region, as well as Afghanistan, two-thousand miles to the East. Kotler had never pressed Denzel for details about his exploits while in the service, but he knew Denzel had gotten around. Maybe one day they’d have a chance to sit and chat, to trade war stories, as it were.

  They reached the Jeep and climbed in as Nesahor started it up and pulled slowly
away, allowing the flock of children to part around them like a ship passing through ocean waves. As the path opened up, they picked up speed.

  The village was only a short distance from the campsite, as the crow flies, and perhaps would have been quicker to reach on foot. The rough terrain could be challenging, however, and as tired as they were it was a blessing to have ground transport, despite adding most of an hour to the journey. They were in no hurry. Denzel dozed while Kotler, trying to be polite despite his weariness, chatted amicably with Nesahor.

  It was useful conversation, and Nesahor filled him in on the current state of the camp, on the presence of Egyptian military, and on the political climate of the area. If Kotler took on the role of leading this expedition, he’d have to manage all of these elements, on top of keeping the research and exploration going.

  Still, he could have used the nap.

  The road wound through the mountains, snaking its way through a pass cut into the hills. In essence they were looping around one of the larger mountains in the area, until they were once again just south of the village where they’d started, only three or four miles away from the dig site. Eventually, they arrived, and Kotler and Denzel said goodbye to Dr. Nesahor for the moment.

  They were led first to a large tent. “This will be Dr. Kotler’s quarters,” their guide replied. He looked to Denzel. “Yours are further on within the camp. I will guide you.”

  Denzel nodded, and looked to Kotler. "Shuteye?"

  “The most shut of eyes,” Kotler agreed, nodding and yawning. “I’ve set up a camp-wide meeting for the morning. You’ll be there?”

  “You’re the boss,” Denzel shrugged. “You tell me where to be, I’ll be there.”

  “Be there, then,” Kotler smiled, and they parted.

  Kotler entered the tent, which was quite a bit larger than what he was used to, and with far more amenities. Leadership had its privileges.

  It was, in some sense, a house made of cloth, complete with room dividers to create useable spaces. Immediately upon entry, he encountered a table and chairs that he could use for dining or as a desk space. Beyond that, partially obstructed by an ornate room divider, he saw the hint of a washroom. It would be simple, he knew. A basin and mirror were visible, but there might be some sort of hassock or compost toilet on the other side of that divider—a luxury Kotler was happy to have.

  Water would be supplied in buckets, he was sure. He was tempted to clean up a bit, to wash his face and body before turning in, but he felt the need for sleep like an ache in his bones.

  The space he was most concerned about was the “bedroom.”

  Another divider created an area to the right side of the tent, and Kotler made his way there, where he was sure to find a cot waiting for him.

  He stopped short as he rounded the corner.

  A man stood in the darkness of the space. In his hand was a weapon, trained on Kotler’s chest.

  “Dr. Kotler,” the man said. “I am so pleased you have arrived.”

  Chapter Six

  Denzel had slept like the dead.

  Not an expression he really cared for, but he couldn't deny the accuracy, after a night of deep and dreamless sleep. He had stumbled into the tent and dropped onto his cot, fully dressed and with his hand still on his bag, and had been asleep almost instantly. It wasn’t until the morning that he learned he was sharing the tent with three other guys, all of whom had stirred only enough to witness his zombie-like collapse into oblivion.

  It had made for a decent ice breaker, and they’d spent the early morning hours making introductions.

  Now, as daybreak came a little too early, Denzel joined the others in milling around a table under the commissary tent, sipping coffee and eating a light breakfast of fruit and cereal.

  There was a lot of chatter and excitement. Kotler was a hero here, and once people discovered that he and Denzel worked together, the questions wouldn't stop. It was annoying, but Denzel could understand it.

  These were Kotler's people.

  Of course everyone here respected him. He deserved it. He had earned it. And in those moments when Denzel was being entirely honest with himself, he could admit that this bothered him.

  For two years now he and Kotler had been partners, of a sort. Denzel was in charge of the FBI’s new Historic Crimes Division, and had agents working under him to solve cases of an historical nature. His department was well funded, for what it was. He had a team of forensic specialists all his own, which was a rarity in the Bureau for sure. And his department occupied most of a whole floor of Manhattan’s FBI offices, with case archives occupying the rest. This worked out well for the department, as their cases tended to rely on quick access to archived files and evidence. Half the archive space was filled with artifacts and objects that were integral to Historic Crimes cases.

  Denzel managed people and resources, and helped to solve cases that had both historical ties and world-altering implications. But there was a part of him that wondered if it would all fall apart if Kotler left.

  It was a petty thought, Denzel knew. Kotler was his friend, as well as his colleague. It would be selfish to want to keep him from doing work he was passionate about, just so he’d still be around. A true friend would want Kotler to move on, if he found something better, and Denzel absolutely wanted that for Kotler.

  But he couldn’t help feeling that if Kotler did leave Historic Crimes, he’d be running away, not moving forward.

  Kotler had run before. Or withdrawn, at least. The past two years had been rough for him, Denzel knew, with friends dying and with the woman he loved betraying him. Things got bad at times. And more than once Kotler had taken a break from it all. He’d gone on speaking tours, and taken time to write and publish. He’d been part of several television productions, from around the world. And he’d often participated in work like this, excavating a tomb or dusting sand from some broken statue.

  And every time, Denzel had appeared, a case in hand, asking Kotler to come back. And Kotler always had.

  This time felt different.

  Maybe it was how this dig site tied to Kotler's past, or the fact that he'd had such a significant and positive influence on Dr. Martook Maalyck, who clearly idolized (and flattered) him. Maybe it was the honor of having the Egyptian government and the Cairo museum officially ask him to lead this expedition. Or it could just be that the mystery of all this, the presence of Celtic mythology in Egypt, was too intriguing to resist. A mystery like that was a big draw for Kotler.

  In a lot of ways, Denzel knew, this site was parallel to the one that started it all for the two of them—the dig site in Pueblo, Colorado, where a Viking presence had been discovered. Maybe Kotler saw this as a chance to pick the other road, to turn left instead of right and to get his old life back on track, now with new prestige and respect.

  Whatever the reason, Denzel knew almost from the instant Maalyck had shown up that this was a strong temptation for Kotler. He played it as if he were coming here to make a final decision, but Denzel worried he would just take on the role and uproot his life and…

  What, exactly? Regret it later?

  Maybe. Or maybe that was just Denzel’s own issue.

  He had come along on this for his own reasons. If Kotler were going to leave Historic Crimes, Denzel wanted to know that he’d considered it from every angle. Maybe Denzel was just trying to see it all for himself, to know that Kotler was making the best decision. He certainly had no authority to force Kotler to come back to Historic Crimes, but at the very least he could be there for his friend, encourage him and offer advice, if he needed it. And, sure, maybe talk him into staying, if he could.

  Selfish motives, maybe. Denzel didn’t exactly have a playbook here.

  They had been lingering under the commissary tent for a while, giving Kotler some leeway, thinking he must have overslept. But as the clock ticked on, Denzel knew something was wrong.

  He left the commons, and with a couple of people from the camp to guide hi
m, he found his way to Kotler's tent.

  "He gets this whole tent to himself?" Denzel asked, looking at the two researchers who had accompanied him. They stared back at him, blankly, and he shook his head. “Kotler, you in there?”

  They waited, and when no answer came, Denzel exchanged looks with the researchers, then pushed into the tent.

  There was no sign of him, inside.

  Denzel moved around in the space, looking for signs and clues. When he rounded into the small, makeshift bedroom, he stopped.

  On the floor, beside the still-made cot, was Kotler’s bag. It was unopened, as if it had been tossed to that spot and Kotler had simply walked away.

  There were no signs of a struggle.

  Denzel turned to the researchers. “Go find Dr. Maalyck,” he told one. And to the other, “Who’s in charge of security here?”

  The second researcher blinked. "There's a contingent of the Egyptian military," he said. "I don't know who's in charge of it."

  “Find me someone,” Denzel said.

  They both hesitated, and Denzel shook his head, patting his shirt and pants pockets. His badge was in his bag, back in his tent. “I’m an FBI agent,” he said. They again paused, mystified. “Go!”

  They went, moving quickly out of the tent and leaving Denzel standing there, alone.

  He turned, slowly. The space was enviably large, but there was no sign that Kotler had spent any time in it at all. Denzel would have to ask around, but he was pretty sure he knew the answers he’d get—that no one had seen Kotler since he was dropped off last night.

  Sometime between Denzel saying goodnight to him and this morning, Kotler had just disappeared.

  Denzel left the tent, grabbed someone passing by, and ordered them not to let anyone else in or out until he’d returned. He then rushed back to his own tent to retrieve his badge, which might help grease the wheels with the Egyptian military.