The God Extinction

by Kevin Tumlinson

  The Ra’id took out another pair of handcuffs, and as he handed the duffel back to Ammon, he cuffed Maalyck.

  Ammon unzipped the bag and took out an objected wrapped in cloth. He carefully unwrapped it, then held it up to catch the light.

  The bronze sword.

  Ammon dropped the bag to the ground, and held the sword out, admiring it in the moonlight.

  “We have done it,” Ammon whispered.

  “Now we go to the cave,” Sarraf said.

  “Yes,” Ammon nodded, still studying the sword with an air of reverence.

  “Help me load them,” Sarraf said, pulling at each of the men on the ground and forcing them ahead, toward the truck.

  Ammon held his weapon on them, ready to shoot if they made any move he didn’t like. To Denzel’s relief, the man seemed calmer than before. He’d gotten his prize, plus he’d put his enemy in his place. He seemed almost smug about it.

  Whatever kept him from shooting was fine by Denzel. For now.

  Maalyck had to have some help getting into the truck. He’d taken a bullet in his upper left leg. It wasn’t bad, from what Denzel could see. It had punched through the meaty part of his leg, on the side, missing the bone entirely. He would be alright, but he’d need medical attention soon.

  Sarraf locked both of them into the truck, seating them facing each other. “Throw the bag in here,” he said to Ammon. “We will leave no trace.”

  Ammon tossed the bag up into the truck, and then Sarraf hopped down and closed the door. Denzel heard it lock.

  Moments later he heard the smaller truck start, followed by the crunch of gravel. The transport's engine roared to life again then, and they rumbled away.

  “Just stay calm,” he said to Maalyck. “We’re going to figure a way out of this.”

  “We may already have a way,” Maalyck said, gritting his teeth. He nodded to the bag. “Your Dr. Ludlum advised me to put a satellite phone in that bag.”

  Denzel’s eyes went wide, and then he grinned. “I’m going to have to give that woman a raise.”

  He stood then, as best he could. Neither he nor Maalyck was close enough to reach the bag with their hands, but Denzel was able to lay on the floor and hook the bag with his feet. He dragged it to him and then rifled through it until he found the phone, wrapped in several undershirts.

  He took one of the shirts out and tossed it to Maalyck. “Tie that around your leg, a couple of inches above the wound. Make it tight.”

  Maalyck did as he was told, with Denzel giving a few more instructions and finally nodding. He then turned his attention to the satellite phone.

  He punched in a number and was about to make the call when the truck slowed, and finally came to a stop.

  He quickly kicked the bag toward Maalyck. “Tell them you took the shirt out of there, to use as a tourniquet.”

  Maalyck nodded, and Denzel shoved the phone into the front pocket of his jeans. Sarraf had searched him when he was arrested, so Denzel hoped he wouldn’t think to do it again. It was a gamble, but they were at a point where the risks of not taking chances outweighed the dangers of discovery.

  They sat in silence in the truck, waiting. After a long moment, however, there was a sound from outside. One Denzel hadn’t expected.

  It was a cry of rage and frustration

  Denzel smiled and laughed lightly, and Maalyck gave him a strange look.

  “It’s Kotler,” Denzel whispered. “He’s escaped.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kotler woke to a splitting headache and a tickle on his arm.

  It was still dark, but the moon was out and giving him at least some light. With some effort he turned his head slightly, feeling the grit of dirt and pebbles under his cheek, and looked at his arm. And froze.

  A scorpion—maybe the same one he’d rousted from its home earlier—had crawled onto his arm and was perched, as if staring at him. Your move, it seemed to say.

  Kotler breathed slowly, unmoving. It was likely the thing was just looking for warmth, and Kotler was a decent source of it. If he hadn’t awoken when he had, it might have eventually found its way into Kotler’s clothing, maybe nestling into his armpit. Or … other areas.

  There were no comfortable directions for this line of thought, and Kotler pulled his mind back, focusing on the problem literally facing him.

  A sting, now, would be disastrous. Kotler had to figure a way to get this creature off of him without startling it.

  Kotler had collapsed face-down on the ground, his hands extended in front of him. The iron cuffs on his wrists, along with the short lengths of chain still attached to them, weighed his arms down. Which may have been the only thing that had saved him from a sting already, now that he thought about it. He hadn’t moved his arms when he awoke.

  It also meant any movement he made now would be slower. A quick flick of the wrist or brush of the fingers might have been enough to send the scorpion on its way, but it was practically impossible to make such a precision move in Kotler’s current state. The weight of his arms was one factor. He was also exhausted; his physical strength had been spent on severing the chain. And now the remaining shackles added to the challenge of dealing with this threat.

  But maybe the also gave him an advantage.

  With concentrated effort, Kotler slowly lifted his left arm, letting the chain dangle and drag in the dirt. It took a lot of energy that Kotler could hardly spare, but he cautiously moved his arm closer to the scorpion.

  It reacted by turning, opening and flexing its pincers, and curling its tail for a strike against this new threat.

  Kotler eyed the stinger, and despite the creepy-crawling feeling of the scorpion’s legs on his arm, he kept his movements slow and deliberate. His arm was shaking from the effort, but that only helped, making the chain undulate slightly and keeping the scorpion’s attention fixed on it.

  Eventually, the chain swayed within an inch of the arachnid. The scorpion reacted then, striking with its tail.

  Kotler used that distraction to his advantage, bringing his left hand down so that the iron shackle brushed the scorpion off of his arm.

  He moved his right arm quickly and rolled onto his left side, away from but facing the creature.

  The scorpion danced, moving backward and to the side, claws and tail raised in warning. It was mad, but it was leaving.

  Kotler watched it go, and then scrambled to his feet, swaying slightly but able to move away from the spot.

  He saw the iron rod on the ground, near where he’d fallen earlier. He carefully bent to retrieve it, conscious of his breathing, and picked the rod up.

  It felt as if it weighed a hundred pounds, but Kotler knew that was the physical exhaustion talking. The rod was just about the only weapon he had, at the moment, and he wasn’t ready to give it up. He wedged it into his belt, like a sword, and then hobbled away from the spot. He left the chains and ankle shackles among the rocks, glad to be rid of them.

  While his movement was less encumbered now, the cost had been more of his personal energy than he could spare. He needed rest. He needed food and water.

  The cold had crept back upon him, once he'd collapsed and no longer had the warmth of exertion from trying to break the chains. He held his arms close to his chest and hunched as he walked, trying to warm his core.

  Everything ached. Everything screamed.

  If he didn’t find help soon, he was going to die out here.

  He stumbled on for an indeterminate amount of time but stopped suddenly as he heard the sound of an engine approaching from the distance.

  Down below, veiled by the darkness, a road slowly appeared, illuminated by the headlights of an approaching vehicle.

  Kotler recognized it immediately. It was the same vehicle that had delivered him to the cave.

  Ammon.

  Kotler took cover, though he knew rationally that no one could possibly spot him here, hiding in the hills. He watched as the truck entered into a larger gap in the mountains, pul
ling in beside a much bigger vehicle. In the headlights, Kotler spotted two men standing, watching the approach. He recognized them instantly.

  It was the Ra’id, Medo Sarraf, the head of military security at the Credne site. He was holding a rifle in one hand and had the other clasped on the arm of another man.

  Roland Denzel.

  Kotler felt a sick dread creep over him. Denzel was clearly a prisoner. His hands appeared to be cuffed in front of him, and even from this distance, Kotler could see the agent's body language. He was playing cautious, and apparently had no plan for an escape. Denzel was biding his time, looking for an opening. But he could use backup.

  Kotler knew he was in no shape to take anyone on, much less an armed and trained military man like Sarraf. Despite this, he edged closer, making his way down among the larger rocks, keeping cover as he went.

  He could hear their voices, echoing among the hills.

  “What is he doing here?” Ammon asked as he approached Sarraf and Denzel.

  “He was causing trouble,” Sarraf replied. “The Alihat Iadida requested that I bring him. We can take care of all of them together. Where is the doctor?”

  Kotler knew they meant him, but he was suddenly caught up by something else they’d said.

  Sarraf had used the phrase Alihat Iadida.

  Kotler recognized it, if only for the language. It was Arabic, for new gods.

  The New Gods requested that I bring him.

  The cult, Kotler realized. The group Ammon had fallen in with, and the reason he’d made a replica of the sword. The Alihat Iadida were looking for a path to the Otherworld and were manipulating people and events to find it.

  And the Ra’id, Sarraf, was a member of their organization.

  It explained a lot, including how Ammon had been booted from the project for stealing but had not been arrested by the Egyptian government. He’d had an inside man. And likely more than one.

  Who were the Alihat Iadida? Their name hinted at something that tickled Kotler’s exhausted mind, but he couldn’t quite click to it. He needed to focus, for his sake and for Denzel’s.

  There was suddenly a shout from below, followed by weapons fire. Kotler ducked, worried that perhaps he’d been spotted. But as he peered over the stone in front of him, he saw Denzel practically garrote Sarraf with his handcuffs, choking the man from behind.

  There was a brief flash of hope from Kotler, until he saw Ammon pick up Sarraf’s rifle and fire shots into the air.

  Denzel released Sarraf, who immediately drew a pistol and slammed it into Denzel’s head, sending the agent to his knees. Kotler held his breath as Sarraf pressed the barrel of the gun against Denzel's head, and let it out in relief as Sarraf barked an order to Ammon and went running into a gap in the hills.

  A short time later, Sarraf emerged with another man in tow.

  Martook Maalyck.

  Maalyck was limping and seemed to have injured his leg. He was thrust forward and commanded to get to his knees.

  Sarraf handed a duffel bag to Ammon then, and Ammon opened it to take out a cloth-wrapped bundle. He unwound the cloth, and in the glint of moonlight Kotler watched as Ammon tossed the bag aside and held up the bronze sword as if he'd just freed it from a stone.

  Kotler could also see that the sword was missing its jeweled pommel.

  A small victory, but he would take anything he could get right now.

  As Kotler lay against the large rocks, he felt helpless to do anything. He watched as Denzel and Maalyck were loaded into the truck, and then both vehicles moved away, their headlights dancing on the cliff faces as they passed deeper into the mountains.

  They were going back to the cave, Kotler knew. Back to where Ammon expected to find Kotler, chained and waiting.

  There was no way to know what they would do to Denzel and Maalyck, once they discovered that Kotler was gone.

  Kotler tried not to think about it. Instead, he turned his attention to the path Maalyck had used to get to the drop point.

  Maalyck had arrived on foot. Maybe he had a vehicle parked back that way, somewhere in the mountains. If Kotler could find it, he could use it to drive out and get help.

  Kotler carefully picked his way down the mountainside. He found the opening that Maalyck had used and walked into it, stopping frequently and leaning against the rock face for support. The stone of the mountain rose to either side of him, and this tiny gorge formed a sort of walled path that twisted along, relatively easy to navigate, though it occasionally blocked the moonlight, throwing Kotler into complete darkness.

  Kotler pushed through his exhaustion, the ache of his body, the dehydration and hunger. He kept moving, one heavy step after another, stopping for a quick rest if he needed it, but always pressing forward.

  Until suddenly the narrow path opened up, and he could see a sort of valley of tents and lights and small trailers below.

  The Credne dig site.

  Kotler nearly wept with relief, but conserved his energy, using it to drive one foot in front of the other more quickly now. He fell, picked himself up, and kept moving until, finally, he stumbled into the camp.

  He was noticed almost immediately, and a gaggle of archaeologists and researchers rushed forward, called for help, and guided Kotler to one of the tents.

  As he lay there, under the ministrations of a medic, he was given water and soup, medications and medical treatments.

  They asked him questions, which he was incapable of answering at the moment. He tried to tell them about Denzel, about Maalyck, about Sarraf and Ammon. His words were an indecipherable mumble.

  Eventually, he dropped out of consciousness altogether, his body demanding rest. Even as he slipped into a deep sleep, however, one thought stayed firm in his mind.

  Denzel was still out there. And he needed Kotler’s help.

  Chapter Eighteen

  FBI Headquarters, Manhattan

  "We have a problem," Agent Brown said as she barged through Ludlum's door.

  Ludlum had been reading up on the department's operating charter, looking for any hints or details about the establishment of Historic Crimes. In particular, she'd been looking for any indication of who had created the charter in the first place. So far, she'd had very little luck.

  Her first thought, when Brown entered so abruptly, was that it had something to do with this research. Ludlum found herself clicking away from the charter document as if she’d been caught looking at pornography.

  "Denzel is not under arrest by the Egyptian government," Brown stated.

  Ludlum blinked. "What? What do you mean?"

  Brown shook her head. "No record of his arrest. No order for it. There's a record that he entered the country. He actually cleared his trip with Egyptian officials, just in case they had an objection to an FBI agent visiting in an unofficial capacity." She shook her head. "I don't even think I'd have done that."

  Ludlum stared for a moment, slack-jawed. “I don’t … Dr. Maalyck told me that Denzel had been arrested.”

  “We’re having trouble reaching Maalyck, to get more details,” Brown replied. “I’m taking a little heat from the State Department. Are you sure Maalyck didn’t get this wrong?”

  Ludlum hesitated, then shook her head. “I have no idea. I passed along everything he gave me.”

  "Well, there's nothing on the official record. I'm still trying to get in touch with the head of security there. Medo Sarraf. He’s Egyptian military. If Denzel was taken into custody, Sarraf would have given the order.”

  “Are his people saying anything?” Ludlum asked.

  Brown shook her head. “Silent as a tomb right now. They’re under orders not to speak to me directly, which puts me in oven mitts at this piano. So going through official channels is going to be a little slow. I’m hoping to reach someone in the camp who can talk to me and give me the scoop. Do you have any other contacts there?”

  Ludlum thought for a moment. “No, I was only in contact with Denzel and Maalyck. But I can help. I’ll r
each out and see who I can connect with.”

  “That would help,” Brown nodded.

  “What about the trace?” Ludlum asked.

  "It was approved, but I haven’t gotten to looking at the report yet.”

  Ludlum hesitated. “We need to look at that. It could tell us where Maalyck is.”

  Brown considered this. “What haven’t you told me?” she asked.

  Ludlum sighed and started explaining Denzel’s plan, for Maalyck to deliver the sword so that Denzel could track whoever was behind all of this. “After Agent Denzel was arrested, I told Maalyck to plant the phone in the bag, so we could trace it.”

  Brown shook her head. “That was good thinking, but … I can think of at least a dozen reasons why this was a bad call all around.” She studied Ludlum. “Denzel put this together?”

  “I don’t know his reasoning, but yes.”

  “And you went along with it,” Brown said.

  “Yes,” Ludlum replied.

  Brown paused, then blew out a breath. “I wish you’d told me, Liz.”

  "Where does this put us?" Ludlum asked. She wasn't sure if she meant only as far as the case went, or something more consequential.

  Brown sighed and shrugged. “It puts us with a lead we can explore, which is more than we had five minutes ago. I’ll check in on this, see what we can learn.”

  Ludlum nodded.

  “There could be some trouble from this,” Brown said, eyeing her.

  “I know,” Ludlum said. “I’ll deal with whatever consequences come my way.”

  Brown shook her head. “No, I mean there could be trouble for Denzel. Maybe a little for you, but … this was his plan. I’m surprised. He knows protocol. He usually sticks to the rules.” She thought for a moment. “Except … when Kotler’s involved.”

  Ludlum felt herself getting angry but took a calming breath. “He’s doing what he believes he has to do,” she said tightly. “To make sure Dan is recovered safely.”

  Brown nodded. “I know that. But this is bigger than Denzel and Kotler. It’s bigger than this department. What he’s done …” she huffed, shaking her head. “If it gets out that he asked Maalyck to steal that sword and hand it over as ransom, it could create an international incident. Not good.”