“Now we wait. I will return with the sword.”
“And then you’ll set me free?” Kotler asked.
Ammon said nothing, but left the cave. Moments later Kotler heard the sound of the truck starting, and then the crunch of gravel as Ammon drove away.
Then, silence.
Kotler looked around the space, hoping to spot something, anything, that he might use as a tool to free himself. The cave was a natural gap in the stone, however. There was nothing here but rocks and what looked like the remains of a campfire. A squatter’s camp, used as a temporary respite from walking through the mountains. It was difficult to tell how long it had been since anyone else had been here, and there were no signs of tools or weapons or anything else of use.
Kotler turned his attention to the ring in the wall.
His hands were in large shackles that covered his wrists almost two inches from his palms. There had been similar shackles on his ankles, but these now drooped from the ring in the wall, held in place by a thick, steel lock, dangling from a loop of chain that ran through the ring. There was a length of chain, about three feet, that allowed Kotler some range of motion, but not much. If he pulled it tight and stretched his arms, he could stand just short of the fire pit. There was nothing else in this space that provided any hope.
What were his options?
Studying the chain, he thought there could be the possibility of severing one of the links, maybe by smashing it with a stone.
It was worth a shot. The nearest stone with half a chance of being useful was in the ring of the fire pit, and so Kotler stretched to get as close as possible. He began fishing with his toe, trying to kick and pull one of the stones loose, to inch it a bit closer.
It was maddening how slow the process was, but in time he made some progress. He managed to hook the toe of his boot into a gap between two stones, and leverage this to nudge a stone in his direction.
Several more tries, and several more minutes, and he was able to scoot the stone close enough that he could kneel and pick it up. It had been a chore, but he suddenly felt a rush of adrenaline, over his success.
He used that as fuel.
The weak point would be the ring in the wall. He had no idea how deep the rod welded to that ring might penetrate into the stone, but judging by its firmness, he guessed it was in there pretty solid. Still, it presented him with a good target, much easier to strike than any link on the chain.
For the next hour, he slammed the stone into the ring, hit after hit, using all the strength he could manage. It was punishing work, taking a toll on him. He was tired and hadn't eaten in more than a day. His head hurt from the exertion. Still, he hammered down, hoping each time that he might snap the ring free, or otherwise open a gap he could exploit.
The steel stubbornly resisted his blows, and though it showed signs of damage, there was nothing to suggest it was any weaker now than when Kotler began.
He stopped, huffing, taking a breather.
His hands were raw from gripping the stone, and his arms and shoulders and neck ached from the repeated strikes. There was a chance that even if he managed to break the ring, he might not be in any shape to make his escape. Still, there were no other options. This was his card, and he had to play it.
He let the stone drop and slumped to the floor, leaning against the wall, huffing.
There was still light coming in from outside, for which Kotler was grateful. He knew it was late in the day, that night was approaching. He wasn’t sure what he would do, once night fell and his visibility dropped to zero.
It would get painfully cold here, once it was dark. Kotler’s clothes would be enough to keep him from dying of hypothermia—he hoped—but it was going to be a long and uncomfortable night. He would have to fight numbness in his extremities, which would hamper his work.
Maybe he could start a fire.
He was too far away from the fire pit to really use it properly, but he might be able to drag some useful materials out of it. He could see scraps of wood, a few short limbs that were only half burned. He could scrape these with the rock to make some tinder, which would be easier to light, and kindle a fire with the remains.
All he needed was a way to ignite it.
First things first. He stretched himself across the space again and reached out with a foot to start kicking through the ash and small limbs in the fire pit. He began to nudge these out and toward himself. It was slow progress, and he worried for the time and the light he was wasting, but a pile of useable fuel was beginning to grow.
And then his foot struck something hard in the ash.
It wasn't a stone. It was long and thin. Kotler felt at its edges with his toe and then began working at it, dragging it closer. After a lot of effort, he heard the sound of metal scraping stone.
His heart pounded.
A short, metal rod. Likely something that was used as a fire poker, left behind by a former tenant of this cave. Kotler doubled his efforts, and after a bit of struggle, he managed to slide the rod up and over one of the remaining stones in the fire pit. It clanged to the stone floor of the cave, and from there Kotler managed to draw it closer, until he could stoop and pick it up.
It was an iron rod, possibly a piece of rebar, rusted and blackened with ash, but still sturdy.
He turned back to the ring in the wall.
His work with the stone had done some damage to the steel ring, but it would still take hours to smash his way through, if that were even possible. Now, though, he had a new resource.
He wedged the rod into the ring and angled it so that he could put pressure on the damaged metal. He then put all his weight into prying at the ring.
To his surprise, rather than break or even bend the ring, there was a snap, and he managed to make it turn in the wall.
Bits of stone from the surface of the wall chipped away as he did this, and Kotler could see in the dwindling light that his day’s work had made some progress after all. The repeated slamming of the rock on the ring had managed to create cracks in the stone of the cave wall, loosening its grip on the shaft of the ring. Using the metal rod, he was able to turn the ring, which now moved freely in the wall.
Kotler changed his tactics.
He used the rod as a lever to pull at the ring, rather than turn it. In strong and sudden jerks, with a foot braced against the cave wall for leverage, Kotler worked the ring out bit by bit. After several strong tugs, the shaft of the ring gave way, pulling out of the wall and sending Kotler sprawling backward onto the ground.
He blinked, unsure of what had just happened despite hoping for it for the past several minutes.
He was free.
Or, he was untethered, at least.
He quickly got to his feet and gathered the chain, draping it over his shoulder. He held the metal rod in his right hand, ready to use it as a weapon.
It wasn’t ideal. The chain was heavy, and it would encumber him, especially as he made his way through the mountains in the pitch black of the night. But his odds were better out there than in here, by his estimate. He might find a way to remove the chain, maybe stumble across someone who could help him or at least let him use tools.
He was willing to take the risk. Staying here would be suicide.
He made his way quickly out of the cave, into the Egyptian night. To his relief, the skies above were so clear, and there was so little ambient light here, that he could see the stars perfectly. Not only did this give him something of a psychological boost, but it served a practical purpose. He could determine his direction and set a course. He had no way of knowing where the research camp was, in relation to his current position. And he didn’t know if there were any other towns or villages nearby. But he did know the general direction in which Ammon had taken him. He would use that, as a start.
He began his march, chains rattling and metal rod in hand. He wasn’t sure who, but he felt like he must resemble some literary character. Jacob Marley, perhaps, bearing the chains he forged in lif
e.
It wasn’t a comforting thought, and Kotler wished he hadn’t made the connection. But it did help drive him forward.
The last thing he intended to do was to die out here.
Chapter Twelve
Denzel had eliminated most of Maalyck’s list now, but was no closer to finding Kotler. The clock was counting down, and they were short on leads.
Maalyck had prioritized the list, as best he could, placing anyone who might have a grudge against him at the top. Denzel had interviewed these people first—a process that had been a frustrating strain on time. Many of these researchers were either onsite or otherwise indisposed, and had to be hunted down. In many cases, Maalyck had to intervene and insist that they cooperate.
This made things tricky. Everyone in camp knew that Kotler had been abducted, and so it was expected there would be some inquiry. Denzel was playing it careful, being cautious with the potential grudge matches. He didn’t want to spook the abductor, which might cause them to run. But it was taking too much time.
If he could operate under his full authority, as a Federal Agent, things might be different. But that authority was a thin veil here, practically non-existent. Denzel had little choice but to continue to work through the channels and resources at his disposal, banking on voluntary cooperation even under the pressure of the clock.
The latest interview hadn’t gotten him anywhere, and he was making notes as they left.
“Mr. Denzel,” a woman said from the flap of the tent. He’d kept it open, throwing some natural daylight into the space but also inviting anyone with information to feel free to come in and share. An “open door policy” for the desert, he figured.
“Dr. Maalyck says that Dr. Tennant will call you within the next few minutes. He’s spoken to her.”
“Thank you,” Denzel said.
The woman nodded and left, and Denzel opened his laptop. A moment later the app alerted him to a call, and he turned on video.
The woman onscreen was maybe a little younger than Denzel, and was thin and fit looking. Attractive, Denzel thought, but what seemed most striking about her was the look in her eyes. Even translated over the video call, she looked as if she were perpetually curious. He could see the intelligence in her expression, and it reminded him of someone. He couldn’t quite place who.
“Dr. Tennant?”
She smiled. “Yes. And you’re Agent Denzel?” Her accent was British, though Denzel wasn’t sure what region of the UK she might be from.
Denzel nodded. “Thank you for taking the time to speak with me.”
“No, it’s fine,” she said. “Dr. Maalyck told me about Dr. Kotler’s abduction. I’m very sorry to hear it. How can I help?”
“Mostly I’m trying to clear everyone who knew about both the sword and the Credne chamber. You’ve been in France this whole time, is that correct?”
She nodded, her lips pursed in a smile. “Oh yes. There are hundreds of people who can verify that. I am the lead at this site. I’ve been in perpetual meetings for months,” she laughed lightly at this, finally sighing. “I’m afraid I won’t be much help. I haven’t returned to the Credne site since Dr. Warren passed.”
“You knew Dr. Warren well?” Denzel asked.
“Very,” she replied. “I worked with him directly.”
"And when Dr. Maalyck arrived, did you feel any animosity toward him?"
She laughed. "No, none whatsoever. I rather like Dr. Maalyck. He's remarkable. Quite talented. And endearing. He … well, not to put too fine a point on it, he came into the field somewhat disadvantaged by a lack of basic education. But perhaps what makes him so charming is that he worked so hard to overcome this liability. He studied independently, read voraciously, and pursued this career with a brilliant single-mindedness. I quite admire him."
Denzel noted Tennant’s statements. It certainly seemed as though she were being honest, and legitimately respected Maalyck. He decided to take another tack.
“Was there anyone in the camp who didn’t like Maalyck?”
She made a noise, something between a scoff and a laugh. “Oh yes. Many,” she said. “Prejudice often runs rampant at sites such as these.”
“Was there anyone in particular?” Denzel asked. “Anyone who held a notable grudge?”
She nodded. “I would say that Ammon fits that description quite well. He despised Dr. Maalyck.”
"Ammon?" Denzel asked. He checked the list and saw no one by that name.
"My apologies. Dr. Ammon Cairo ELsayed," Tennant said. Her expression shifted as she said his name, and it was plain she wasn't a fan. "He worked directly with Dr. Warren as well, and was not at all pleased when Dr. Maalyck chose to return to the Credne site. His connection to the original discovery made him somewhat famous among the researchers. Dr. Warren had led the research at the site all those years ago and remembered Martook—Dr. Maalyck—as a sort of pest, but he was pleased to see him become such a dedicated anthropologist."
“So this person, Ammon, was jealous of Maalyck? Did he lose his position?”
She nodded. "To a point, yes. Ammon had unofficially become Dr. Warren's right-hand man. He was born in the region, though to a wealthier family. He received his primary education in Cairo and continued on to University there. Dr. Warren appreciated his perspective on the site, in light of local culture. Martook had a much deeper insight, however, as someone who was born and raised in the village nearby. He knew the terrain intimately, and it was he who led Dr. Kotler to discover the brass hall of Credne."
She paused for a moment, holding up a finger as she lifted a cup of tea to her lips. “My apologies.”
“No, it’s fine,” Denzel replied. “What happened to Ammon? Is he still part of the team here?”
She shook her head. “No, he was dismissed after …” she hesitated, then sighed. “He became a bit obsessed.”
“Obsessed with what?”
She let out a breath. "He became a member of a cult. A small group, but they have a growing presence in the region. They believe that the tomb of Credne is a … well, a gateway, of sorts. A path to the Otherworld. They believe that if they can gain access to this gateway, they can travel to the world of the gods."
“Heaven?” Denzel asked, his tone skeptical.
She gave a tight smile and a shake of her head. "Not entirely. Not precisely an afterlife. Think of it more like another plane of existence. Another reality, perhaps. Or a parallel world."
Denzel shook his head, his expression strained.
"I know how it sounds," she replied. "Which is exactly why Dr. Warren eventually dismissed Ammon. We felt badly for him if I'm honest. We believed he might be mentally ill. But he truly believes. He talked of it constantly."
"What did he say?" Denzel asked. He was making notes and had written Ammons name, circling it and adding a large question mark. His name was nowhere on the list that Maalyck had given him.
"He had a theory," Tennant said. "He believed that the comparative mythologies of cultures worldwide had their roots in a single, powerful culture. A pre-culture, if you will, dating from a time before any recorded history. Well before even the Phoenicians and Mesopotamians. A culture so old that it is lost to history. It isn't a new theory. There are many in the academic and scientific community who speculate on this. But Ammon believed it deeply. And passionately. He would debate upon it for hours, which became wearying."
“Did Ammon ever do anything beyond talking about this? Any sort of violence? Criminal activity?”
She thought for a moment. “He came into conflict with Dr. Warren and some of the others after taking one of the artifacts. For months, things had gone missing around the site. Equipment, books, some of the molds and models of artifacts kept offsite.”
“Molds and models … “ Denzel said. “Did those include any models of the sword? The one Kotler and Maalyck recovered from the brass hall?”
She nodded. “Among other items, yes.”
Denzel made a note of this. “Was this wh
y Ammond was fired?”
"Ultimately, I believe so. It was not long after this that Dr. Warren left the site himself. The region came into conflict. The Uprising," she said. "The entire site was shuttered. Dr. Warren continued to lobby for reopening the site, to bring back his team. Dr. Maalyck became more prominent in Egypt's ministry of antiquities, during that time. He was favored because of his heritage and his hard work. I believe he and Dr. Warren eventually came into conflict. Dr. Maalyck wanted Dr. Kotler to be recognized for his role in discovering Credne's hall, and he was pushing for Dr. Kotler to be the lead on site. Dr. Warren was … less than appreciative."
Denzel made another note. “I think that catches us up to now,” he said. “I really appreciate your help, Dr. Tennant.”
She smiled and nodded. “Please, do let me know when Dr. Kotler has been found.”
They said their goodbyes, and Denzel closed the laptop. He spent another moment jotting things into his notepad, then stood and made his way out into the camp, asking around until he located Maalyck.
“Dr. Ammon Cairo ELsayed,” Denzel read from his notes. He looked up. “He’s not on your list.”
Maalyck shook his head. “No, and perhaps that is an oversight. It’s just that I have not seen or thought of him for some time. He left the camp in disgrace, many years ago. I have not spoken to him in several years.”
“He knew about the sword? And the chamber?”
Maalyck nodded. “Yes, he was assisting Dr. Warren with the exploration of the chamber, when I joined the team.”
“Did you know about his obsession with the Otherworld?”
Maalyck considered for a moment, then shook his head. “Not precisely. I knew that he had become involved in something unseemly. He had joined a local cult, I believe. It has become popular in this region, from what I understand. I also learned that he’d stolen many resources from the camp. I assumed he was dismissed for this.”
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