He wished to God he’d brought his gun.
Chapter Seven
Kotler did not know his abductor, but he knew right away the man was an archeologist. Or, at any rate, he was someone who had studied in the field, and who held all the accoutrements of the role.
The room in which Kotler was being held was familiar for its details, if not for the space itself. Books on a range of topics lined almost every wall, and lay open on nearly every flat surface. Instruments of investigation—magnifying glass, small metal picks and probes, tiny brushes—were scattered on a work surface lined with a leather mat.
There were no computers or other electronics, which was not altogether surprising. This place felt like a throwback to an earlier time in archaeology. Or to the set of an Indiana Jones film. But the lack of a computer meant there was no opportunity for Kotler to make contact with the outside world. Mobile phone reception was spotty at best in this region, and regardless he didn’t have his phone. And there would be no land line. The best he had hoped for was a satellite internet connection, as he would have had at the camp.
They had not traveled far from the research site, and might even be near the village. He couldn’t be entirely sure.
Kotler had been forced into a truck, his hands and feet bound together by a length of chain, and they had bounced along through the pitch darkness for maybe an hour, though the timeline was difficult to gauge. The moon and stars had not been visible, and the truck had no clock. In fact, its dash was darkened to the point of being invisible. The only light came from the headlamps, illuminating the road and the canyon walls.
They had arrived at a house made of stone and adobe, with beams protruding from high on its exterior walls. A second story, and Kotler was led into the building and up the stairs, locked in this room with a trove of archaeological resources. The man, who had left him momentarily, had said nothing the entire time, other than brief commands.
Kotler had kept quiet, too. He could see from the man’s body language that he was desperate, even fanatical. There was no indication of what he wanted, and no way to know what might trigger him.
Kotler had learned long ago that it was best to stay silent in the presence of fanatics, to let them tell you what they’re after. There’s no reasoning with crazy, his father once said, and it was a truism that stuck with Kotler all his life.
With his hands and feet still bound, and now locked to the chair he was sitting in, Kotler couldn’t explore the room for resources. Instead, he scanned the room and took everything in, trying to learn as much about his captor as he could.
The man had left Kotler here alone, which meant he was confident Kotler couldn't escape. It also meant that if he shouted for help, he'd get no answer.
Kotler craned his neck to read the titles of the books that were open on the work surface. Open books meant they were current references. If Kotler could determine what the man was interested in, before being asked any questions, it might give him an advantage.
Some of the titles were written in Masry, the most common Egyptian language and one in which Kotler was fluent. These tended to be texts about the region and local history, with a bit of mythology and mysticism thrown in. Other books, on similar topics, were in Arabic. The majority of the books, however, were written in English. Almost all of them were references to ancient pantheons—accounts of the gods of other regions and cultures. Prominent among these titles was a book about the Irish deities, opened to a section about the Tuatha dé Danann and the Otherworld.
There was the sound of footsteps from the wooden stairs, and Kotler straightened, slumping as if he were exhausted and distraught by this ordeal. It wasn't much of an act, as Kotler still felt the fatigue from two days of hard travel. His adrenaline was compensating for some of that, but he could use a solid night of sleep.
The man entered the room, looking warily at Kotler, as if worried that he may have slipped his bonds. Apparently satisfied that all was safe, the man stood in front of Kotler, looking down on him.
“You are the great Dr. Kotler. Discoverer of the brass hall of Credne.”
Kotler wasn’t sure what response the man wanted, but as he wasn’t currently holding a gun on him, he decided to go with his instinct.
“I’m afraid you have me mixed up with someone else,” Kotler said in a dry tone.
The man blinked. “You are not Dr. Kotler?”
“My name is Agent Roland Denzel,” Kotler said. “I’m with the FBI.”
The man shook his head, turning away from Kotler and pacing near his workstation. “That is impossible,” he muttered. He stood in front of the open book about the Tuatha dé, and Kotler had to turn his head uncomfortably to see him.
“You know the penalty for abducting a US Federal agent, don’t you?” Kotler said. “Life imprisonment, at best. In the deepest hole we can find. You’ll never see your home country again.”
He was playing a heavy hand and decided he should pull back a little. He wasn't entirely sure about this man's mental stability, or his level of knowledge about US law enforcement. It was clear he was Egyptian, and well educated. Kotler needed to make sure he didn't overstep.
The man turned to him, and Kotler saw signs of zeal in his body language. The set of his jaw, the glint in his eyes, the squaring of his shoulders. This had just gone wrong.
“I do not believe you,” he said. “You are Dr. Kotler. You discovered the brass hall of Credne. And you will help me open the door to the Otherworld. Or you will die.”
Chapter Eight
“We understand your concerns,” said the Ra’id—the Egyptian equivalent to the rank of Captain, in the US military. Ra’id Medo Sarraf did not, in Denzel’s estimate, seem the least bit interested in his concerns. He seemed more perturbed at having his morning interrupted, and with having a US agent present. “We will do all we can to find your missing man. But you must understand that you have no official presence here, Agent Denzel.”
Denzel nodded. “That’s true. But I would greatly appreciate it if you’d allow me to help in the search, or at least keep me apprised of what you’re finding. Dr. Kotler is a good friend of mine.”
Sarraf studied Denzel for a moment and then nodded. "Certainly. As long as you do not interfere.”
Denzel knew that was code for “we’re in charge.” Which was fine, as long as they were actually doing something.
Sarraf turned and gave orders to two of his men, speaking in Masry. Denzel didn't understand the words, but he understood the tone. He'd gotten the score from Sarraf when he and his men had first arrived.
People went missing in this region all the time. There could be any number of reasons why a man would wander from his tent in the middle of the night. There were prostitutes in the village, for example. Or he may have been taken for ransom. If he were found alive at all, it was likely one of these things.
What troubled Denzel was that he could practically smell the corruption among Sarraf and his men. There was no guarantee that they hadn’t been paid to look the other way, as Kotler was taken. They might even have assisted in his abduction, for the right price.
Denzel would have to keep an eye on these men. And that was attention he couldn’t spare.
After leaving Sarraf and the others, Denzel found Maalyck.
The young researcher seemed distraught but was holding things together. He was doing an excellent job of keeping the work going, keeping the researchers on task, and ensuring the site remained operational. It was clear he was a skilled manager of resources.
“Any word?” Maalyck asked.
Denzel shook his head. "And to be honest, I'm not hopeful. I think we'll have to work this out ourselves." He looked around the camp. It was now late in the day, and people were busy with their various tasks. In the hills surrounding them, there had been carved a number of paths, and people moved to and from various sites in the mountainside. Some carried artifacts with them, bringing them to the camp for closer study or to run tests.
Den
zel turned to Maalyck. “Kotler has enemies, but this doesn’t feel like it’s about him, exactly. That’s just gut instinct on my part, especially since we really don’t know anything. But let’s start with right here and now. Do you know any reason why someone local would want to abduct Dr. Kotler?”
Maalyck considered the question, then shook his head. “Whoever did this came into the camp, into Dr. Kotler’s own tent. It is possible he was taken to be ransomed, but this sort of boldness is not typical here. People are abducted from the streets, in seclusion, usually as they walk alone. To come into the camp here means the abductor was bold and resourceful.”
“And familiar with this site,” Denzel said, thinking.
Maalyck nodded. “You are implying that it was someone from the research site.”
“It has the earmarks of an inside job,” Denzel said. “Whoever took him knew he’d be here, and when. They moved in and out of the camp without anyone taking notice.”
“It is not so difficult,” Maalyck replied, “to do such a thing. Security here can be bought, at the right price. But I tend to agree with your assessment, Agent Denzel. As much as it pains me, it does seem as though someone from this site is responsible.”
“Would you be able to compile a list of possible suspects?” Denzel asked. “People who might have a grudge against Kotler? Or who might have some other motive for taking him?”
“I will do my best,” Maalyck replied.
Denzel nodded, thinking. “Are there any cameras in the site?”
Maalyck shook his head. “Regrettably, no. Though there is now a strong case for them to be installed. However, there are cameras on the gateways to the sites, along the mountain’s edge. These are maintained by the Egyptian military.”
Denzel considered this. “Can you get that footage? Maybe from the last twenty-four hours? It’s at least a lead to pursue.”
“I will make the request,” Maalyck nodded.
They chatted a few minutes more, and Denzel left, returning to Kotler’s tent. It was one of the few private spaces in the camp, and Denzel had commandeered it to be his HQ while they searched for clues about Kotler’s abduction. It helped, he would admit, that he could crash on Kotler’s bunk when he needed to, away from the snoring and chatting of his tent-mates. But of greater value was having space to set up for a proper investigation. Denzel used the table as a desk for his laptop, and he could work in private here.
There was also the advantage of a satellite connection that allowed Denzel to get online, and to tap into some of his resources back in Manhattan. There wasn’t much to go on, yet, but as more information came in it would be helpful to have at least partial access to his team.
He took a moment to update Liz Ludlum on the situation, in an email that he hoped sounded reassuring. It was early morning in New York, and there was a chance that Ludlum would get his email any minute. He’d do a video call with her later, and answer any questions she had. He might need her help, as well. She was smart, and had a pretty good head for piecing together details. Denzel had been impressed with her, during the ordeal with Dr. Robert Wiley and the assassin, Red Ryba. She’d shown herself to be incredibly competent and capable, well above and beyond her duties as the Lead Forensic Specialist.
Of course, she also had a romantic relationship with Kotler. Which did complicate things. Technically, there was no rule against it, since Kotler was a consultant and not a Bureau employee. But that wouldn’t prevent some challenges and difficulties, if something went south in their relationship. It was something Denzel tried to keep an eye on without interfering.
Still, he had to let her know what was going on with Kotler.
About two hours after his conversation with Maalyck, someone called to him through the tent's front flap, and Denzel bade them come inside. One of the researchers brought him a thumb drive containing video surveillance for each of the gated paths, from the past twenty-four hours.
Denzel thanked them and got to work, scrubbing through videos one by one as fast as he could manage. He noted anything that seemed anomalous, but so far was having very little luck. There was just too much footage to go through.
This was going to take too long. Or, worse, he might miss something by hurrying. He would need to think of a new approach.
He copied the files to a cloud server and sent them to his team back in the states, with a note that he needed them analyzed as quickly as possible. He would continue to scan through them himself, but he felt much better knowing he had backup.
The day was starting to fade toward night, and Denzel wasn’t sure they’d made much progress. Wherever Kotler was, Denzel prayed he was ok. He knew Kotler was resourceful, and if he could he would find a way to get a message out. Or to escape.
Denzel counted on this, letting it convince him enough that he could put his mind on the tasks at hand.
Kotler could take care of himself.
Chapter Nine
The man dropped a book into Kotler’s lap. It landed front-cover down, and on the back was a photo of Kotler, along with his name and bio.
The jig was up.
“You are Dr. Kotler, the anthropologist. You and Martook Maalyck discovered the brass hall, twenty years ago.”
Kotler said nothing.
The man lunged at him, gripping his shirt and pushing his face close. Flecks of spittle hit Kotler’s face as the man shouted. “You are Dr. Kotler!”
Kotler had turned his face slightly, and winced from the sudden attack, but nodded. "It's me," he said. "I'm Dr. Kotler."
The man stayed close to Kotler’s face for a long while, studying him, his eyes wide. And then, as if the answer he’d gotten had been some sort of antipsychotic drug, the man calmed, stood straight, even smoothed Kotler’s shirt.
“I am sorry,” he said, for all the world as if he’d merely bumped into Kotler by accident. “It is very important to me that you are honest.”
“I can see that,” Kotler said.
The man took a handkerchief out of his pocket and used it to wipe at Kotler’s face, for which Kotler was half grateful.
“I am Dr. Ammon Cairo ELsayed,” he said. “Known as Ammon.”
The name wasn’t familiar to Kotler, but he did note that Ammon was Egyptian for “the hidden.” No real significance to the fact, but it seemed ominous nonetheless.
“For some years, I was a researcher at the Credne site, working directly with Dr. Joseph Warner.”
“You’ve … come a long way,” Kotler said cautiously, but unable to help himself.
Ammon didn’t appear to notice. “For many years I was Dr. Warner’s protege. We worked very closely together. He did not care for you.”
Kotler shook his head. “No, we never got along.”
“You were not a true academic,” Ammon said, and there was that hint of zeal in his voice again, as if he had just proclaimed Kotler a heretic to the faith of academia.
“I have no university affiliation,” Kotler replied, opting to be cautious but honest. “I’m an independent.”
Ammon sneered. “Independent.” He moved around in the space, adjusting items on some of the work surfaces, nudging the spines of books with his index finger. Kotler watched him, wondering if he might become violent over this. Anything could be a provocation to an unsettled mind.
Ammon stopped in front of a table and shook his head. He picked up a blade, about eighteen inches long. It had no handle, but that wouldn't prevent it from piercing Kotler's flesh if Ammon gave it the right amount of thrust.
Ammon brought the bade closer, standing over Kotler. “A few years ago, your friend Martook Maalyck returned from University. He had his choice of any research site in the world, but he chose to come here. He and Dr. Warner worked very closely together.”
Was that what this was about? Professional rivalry between Maalyck and Ammon? Kotler had seen that sort of thing get out of hand, but there was more to this than Ammon was telling.
“Because of Maalyck’s involvement at the
Credne site, I was transferred from my duties. This was … unfortunate.” At this Ammon lifted the blade, studying it. Kotler could envision Ammon thrusting the blade into his throat, but tried to keep that sort of thought at bay. He needed to stay calm, to think. Ammon was giving him useful information, and there might be something that Kotler could use.
Ammon locked eyes with Kotler. “I was so very close, Dr. Kotler. But Dr. Warner … it was not fast enough. I was not fast enough.”
“Warner could be impatient,” Kotler offered, hoping to find some common ground with this man.
It backfired.
"Dr. Warner was a genius!" Ammon shouted, and in a flash, the blade was pointed at Kotler's throat.
There was a pause, and Ammon slowly backed away, lowering the blade to his side. “A genius,” he repeated. “And we were close to a discovery. I believe we could have solved it, if Maalyck had simply stayed away. But he was here. He came here and the direction of inquiry changed. He was the golden child of the University. Top of his class. Sought after, even before doing his first official project. He already had a reputation, you know. Before entering the University.”
“I’ve learned that,” Kotler said.
Ammon held the blade up again. “It was because of Maalyck that I was forced to make this.”
Kotler studied the blade for the first time, not just as his potential cause of death but as an artifact. What he saw surprised him.
Etched into the blade were Celtic symbols, and Kotler recognized them immediately. “Is that … did you make a replica of the bronze sword?”
Ammon smiled. “The sword of Credne. Retrieved by you and Maalyck, as the mountain collapsed around the brass hall. It was a story I heard often. Maalyck was insufferable in his admiration for you.”
Kotler said nothing to this, for fear of provoking Ammon regardless of his answer.
Ammon laughed, and then tossed the blade onto a nearby work surface. “It is useless, however. A perfect replica, and yet it did not work. I need the real sword.”
The God Extinction Page 7
