by Alan Baxter
Crowley brought the Premier around into a shallower decline and lined up on the highway. He swallowed, wondering how much damage he might have done to their undercarriage with that hit on Lily’s Cessna. It would truly suck to have survived the dogfight only to die in a landing crash because their wheels were gone.
“We’re really doing this?” Rose said.
“No choice.” He raised his voice so the two businessmen in the back could hear him too. “Brace yourselves, this is going to be a rough landing.” Just not too rough, I hope, he added silently to himself.
He brought them in as shallow as he could, thankfully towards a long strip of highway devoid of cars. He passed over the scar in the tarmac where Lily’s plane had carved through it and touched down right on the other side. The Premier bounced and skidded a little, slewed left and right as he fought the stick to keep them true. He was thankful beyond words that the undercarriage was still there. His biggest fear had been that they would belly flop on the fuselage and skid. But while he had wheels, one of them was clearly bent or buckled. The Premier shuddered and skipped, then he gained a bit of control back as the ailerons and brakes howled. They skipped again, slewed slightly, and finally began to slow. At the last instant they lost the edge of the tarmac and rattled over rough desert. One of the businessmen screamed as something banged loudly under the fuselage, the broken wheel finally giving up, and the plane tipped and gouged its wing into the dirt. The wing broke, the plane twisted sharply to the left, and then nothing but silence and stillness.
“We’re down,” Crowley said, collapsing back into his seat in relief.
Rose leaned over and planted a kiss hard on his lips. “Thank you!”
They all got their belts off and got out of the plane as quickly as possible. The flat, brown landscape stretched away in all directions, the highway running a straight east-west through it like a scar. To the west, the mountains that marked Flagstaff rose from the haze. To the east, shimmering heat waves as the interstate turned into a silver mirror and disappeared over the horizon. Curious passersby slowed their cars to stare, but none of them stopped, or got out to offer help.
“Where are we exactly?” Rose asked.
Crowley pointed to a street sign. “Interstate 40. Beyond that, I’m not sure.”
The two businessmen were white-faced and trembling beside them. “What the hell is going on?” one demanded.
“Engine trouble,” Crowley said with a smile. “Sorry about that.”
The man stared at him dumbfounded. The other one said, “But we need to get to Albuquerque.”
Crowley grabbed him by the shoulders, turned him to face east, and pointed down the highway. “Albuquerque is that way. You might want to hitch a ride, though. It’d be a long walk.”
He gave the man a shove, then turned and took Rose by the hand. “Come on. Let’s check.”
They crossed the highway and headed for the narrow canyon where the Cessna had crashed. They passed a sign that read Canyon Diablo.
“That’s kinda fitting,” Crowley said
They walked across rock-strewn desert, towards the spiral of smoke curling up into the clear sky. When they reached the canyon’s edge, Crowley squeezed Rose’s hand as they looked at the smoking wreckage far below. The plane had broken apart, the tail section just below the canyon rim, wing sections here and there. The fuselage was out of sight amidst the smoke and tumbled rock.
“I’m sorry, Rose,” he said, genuinely contrite. Guilt tore at him, but he knew they had done the right thing. And Lily had tried to kill them not long before.
“I know,” Rose said quietly. “Me too.” Then she stiffened, leaned forward.
“What is it?”
She shook her head. “Look, there on the edge of that narrow crevasse. Am I seeing things?”
Crowley moved around to get a better view and laughed. “No. No you’re not.”
The familiar backpack, containing the source of all their trouble, hung crookedly, hooked onto a small outcropping of rock. Around it were tatters of wreckage, some sections of seat and chunks of foam. But it was definitely their backpack.
“I’ll be damned,” Crowley said. “Wait here, that’s not too far away.”
He climbed down carefully, the canyon not dropping steeply until some meters past where the pack had come to rest. After a few minutes he had retrieved it and clambered back up. They both crouched to check and sure enough, the capstone was still wrapped securely inside.
“The Anubis Key,” Crowley said, shaking his head.
“She’s dead, isn’t she?” Rose said, her voice empty of emotion.
Crowley shrugged. “I couldn’t see past the edge or through the smoke.” Privately he thought there was no way anyone could have survived, but he knew he didn’t need to verbalize that thought for Rose. She knew it already.
She stared down into the smoke and wreckage for a moment then tipped her head back and screamed at the heavens. Her wail contained all her grief and anger, pouring out for anyone and everyone to share a moment of her pain. Crowley couldn’t imagine the combined rage and frustration and sorrow that must have been coursing through her. Eventually she lowered her head, tears on her lashes that refused to fall.
“I’m sorry,” he said again, putting one hand on her shoulder. It sounded like the most pointless thing in the world to say, but what else was there? She turned to him and they hugged hard for several seconds.
Then Rose sniffed and pulled away. “Come on then.”
They made their way back to the highway to discover people had finally started to stop and offer assistance. The two businessmen were just climbing into a wildly painted VW microbus as they reached the tarmac again.
“You hear that?” Rose asked, tipping her head.
Crowley listened hard. “Sirens. Coming this way.”
A young woman leaned out the driver’s window of her Toyota and pointed at Crowley. “He’s the one who landed that plane on the highway!”
Crowley turned to Rose and winked. “Let’s get out of here.”
Chapter 57
Blue Moon Motel, Winslow AZ
In a cheap motel in nearby Winslow, Crowley checked in under the name James Crow again. He was definitely going to have to follow up that loose end one day before long; the name, the identity, had been playing on his mind during this recent adventure and he knew it was because it was unfinished business. Maybe once this escapade was over. He frowned as he scribbled the fake signature. Was it over now? They still had to decide how best to get rid of the Key. Who could they trust?
The motel was rudimentary but clean. They found their room on the end of one row and Crowley suggested that Rose shower and rest while he went out for breakfast.
She nodded, grief and fury still haunting her eyes. “I am starving, actually.”
“I can’t remember the last time we ate properly.”
“Or had a decent sleep.”
“Maybe now we can.”
Rose stared at him for a long moment, then walked over and kissed his cheek. Without another word, she went into the bathroom and closed the door. Crowley walked down the street, which was busy with early morning traffic. He found a diner, ordered breakfast rolls and coffees and carried them back. Every step of the way he found himself looking left and right, suspicious of every passing car. Any other pedestrian on the sidewalk with him looked like a potential attacker. He was glad to get back inside the motel room and lock the door behind him.
Rose emerged from the shower, wrapped in a towel. She gave Crowley a shy smile and came to sit on the bed beside him. She leaned up against him, silent in grief but clearly taking comfort from his presence. He was glad he could at least offer that.
She sniffed, catching the aroma of bacon, and he handed her food and a coffee.
“Thanks. I was afraid a girl in a flatbed Ford might have stolen you away.”
He frowned, realizing she was referencing something, but lost again.
“Winslow, Arizona?�
�� she prompted. “You did see the ‘Standing on the Corner’ monument? We passed right by it.”
Crowley shrugged. “Right. I saw it but didn’t get the reference.”
She let out a soft laugh. “You’re hopeless. So what’s the plan?” She took a big bite of roll and made a noise of appreciation around the mouthful.
Crowley realized he was attacking his own breakfast like a starving man and slowed down, took a deep breath. “We need to figure out what to do with the capstone. The Anubis Key! I still can’t believe we found it.”
“And what is it?”
He shook his head. “Regardless, we can’t exactly add it to our checked luggage. And that’s assuming we can even fly back to England on our false IDs. I wonder what might be compromised where right now.”
Rose swallowed, drank coffee. “Maybe Cameron can help?” she suggested.
“Yeah, maybe. We can get him to snoop around anyway. But that still doesn’t answer the question of what we’re going to do with that.”
They looked at the backpack, sitting on the dresser like any other bag. Not like something that could feasibly end the world.
Rose sighed, finished her breakfast and drained the coffee. “Do we have to figure it out right this second?”
“I guess not. Why?”
She leaned over, her presence hot, the scent of cheap motel soap still on her. Crowley’s pulse increased rapidly and he put his cardboard cup down on the bedside table, turned to face her. As he moved in a sharp knock at the door made them both jump.
“Dammit!” Crowley said, looking from Rose to the door and back again. “Wrong room! Go away.”
A loud, firm voice from outside said, “Homeland Security!”
Crowley’s heart continued to race. Rose looked at him, teeth worrying at her bottom lip. She raised her eyebrows in question. Crowley looked around the small room, no other exits barring the small bathroom window and he imagined they’d have got that covered before they knocked so boldly.
He got up, cursing quietly, and peered out the peephole. A man stood there holding up legitimate-looking credentials, but they were easy enough to fake and Crowley honestly had no idea what Homeland Security ID was supposed to look like. The man was middle-aged, average height, slightly balding. He had a friendly face with piercing blue eyes and wore a nicely tailored navy blue suit. Three other men, larger, in darker suits and sunglasses, stood behind him. They looked menacing.
“I’ve got people around back too, Mr. Crowley,” the friendly-looking man said with a smile. “Don’t bother trying to squeeze out the bathroom window.”
Crowley sighed, not surprised, and looked at Rose. “They know your name,” she said, as she stood and quickly pulled on jeans and a t-shirt with her back to him. “You think they’re legit?”
She turned back to him, dressed. He was annoyed. Legit or not, what bloody awful timing. He shrugged. “There’s not really anything we can do anyway, is there. Just stay calm and keep your wits. Let’s see what happens.” He opened the door.
The man outside didn’t appear to be wearing a sidearm, and Crowley couldn’t spot the telltale bulge of a shoulder holster. But the three men standing behind him were clearly, unapologetically armed. The man in the navy suit smiled. “I’m Agent Paul, Department of Homeland Security. May I come in?”
Crowley stood back, gestured generously for the man to enter. To his surprise, Paul left his people outside. He took a seat at a small table beside the window, perfectly at ease.
“Please, sit.”
Crowley and Rose resumed their spot beside each other on the bed. Rose’s hand found his and their fingers intertwined.
“You’ve stirred up quite a hornet’s nest in a short period of time,” Paul said. “Both of you.”
Crowley shrugged, conceding the point. “We did what we had to do.” He looked at Rose, then back to Paul. “Well, I did. She had nothing to do with anything.”
Paul held up a hand, cutting him off. “Mr. Crowley… Can I call you Jake?”
Crowley scowled and Paul smiled even more broadly. “Fair enough. Mister Crowley, I have a fairly good idea of what’s been going on. With both of you.” He let out a small laugh, shook his head. “Honestly? I’ve lost track of all the calls I’ve gotten about you two. MI6, British Special Forces, two members of Parliament, and…” He looked meaningfully at Rose. “One very persistent director of the Natural History Museum in London.”
Rose grinned, then made a contrite face, but chose to say nothing.
“No offense,” Paul went on, “but I no longer find a British accent charming.” He let out a long, tired sigh. “On the positive side, every person vouched for you. And, to a man or woman, they told me to say that you now owe them a favor.”
Crowley grimaced. “I can imagine.”
Paul’s expression became serious for the first time. “But how about you tell me everything. Imagine I have no idea what’s happened and you start at the beginning.”
Crowley frowned. Could they trust this man?
Rose leaned close to his ear and whispered, “What if he’s Illuminati?”
Crowley nodded, glad she was echoing his thinking. He doubted they would break free easily if the man was the enemy, given the number of heavily armed goons outside. Then his phone beeped. It was a message from Cameron.
Agent Paul visit yet? The text had an accompanying photo of the man sitting opposite them. He smiled.
“That Cam?” Agent Paul asked.
Crowley blew out a breath. “This stuff makes a soul paranoid as hell,” he said. “Wait a minute.” He dialed Cameron.
“Hey, Jakey-boy. He there?”
Crowley was pleased the message was genuinely from his old buddy. “Yeah, he just arrived. So he’s legit?”
Cameron laughed. “Yeah. I thought you’d be worried. He’s a good guy.”
“Thanks, mate.” Crowley gave Rose a reassuring nod and she relaxed.
“You got it. Come and visit me soon.”
Crowley smiled, remembering his thoughts about taking a good bottle of scotch up to his old friend. “I most certainly will. Talk soon.”
“Laters.” Cameron hung up.
“So,” Agent Paul said. “Now we’re all happy that everyone is who they say they are, tell me everything.” Crowley raised his eyebrows and Paul lifted his palms. “I have all day,” the Special Agent said. “You have anywhere particular to be right now?”
Crowley shook his head, then stopped to think for a minute. “Okay, let’s start with Rose’s sister. She went missing.”
It took a long time, but he managed to relay the entire story, culminating with landing the stolen plane on the highway. There really wasn’t any point in leaving anything out.
Once he’d finished, Paul leaned back in his chair, palms together, and tapped his lips with his index fingers. “Okay then,” he said eventually. “And where is this capstone now? This Anubis Key?”
Crowley pointed at the backpack sitting innocuously on the pale wooden dresser.
Paul looked at it, eyes narrowed like it might attack. “Is it safe to open?”
“I suppose so. But I would strongly advise against touching it, and whatever you do, don’t get it wet. Not even a single bead of sweat.”
“Or feed it after midnight,” Rose said.
Crowley and Paul both looked at her, equally nonplussed.
She shook her head. “Honestly, doesn’t anyone watch movies anymore?”
Paul picked up the backpack, then clearly decided against opening it. He hefted it, looked questioningly at Crowley.
“It is surprisingly light,” Crowley confirmed.
Paul nodded. “Well, I think I’ll leave it to the scientists. So, back to all the mayhem you’ve stirred up. The Denver Airport is completely shut down.”
“What about the underground rooms and passages?” Crowley asked.
Paul shook his head. “That’s the worst part. Homeland Security has inspected the property countless times and neve
r found anything amiss. But now, of course, it’s clear that some of our own are part of the cover-up. Now we’re finding all kinds of things that apparently didn’t exist.”
“What’s down there?” Rose asked.
“Bunkers, living quarters, food, weapons, you name it. It looks like their goal was to cause an apocalypse, let the chosen few ride it out in their underground city, and then start over in a new world of their own making.”
“Pretty much what we figured,” Crowley said.
“The problem we now face,” Paul said, “is uncovering the extent of the Illuminati’s reach. You two have neutralized this particular threat early, which is great. But the downside to that is the vast majority of the Illuminati never mobilized. It’ll be a challenge for the FBI to root them out. And then there’s the Anubis Cult, which will be the CIA’s problem.”
“We ran into a small band of them in Egypt,” Crowley said, remembering Professor Hamza in his Anubis outfit. “Honestly, they seemed rather foolish and inept. But then the people Lily was with are entirely more menacing.”
“It’s not unusual for groups like this to have small cells that are more public, but entirely uninformed. They think they’re something special but actually know nothing of the actual workings of the real group members. And those real members use these fools as a smokescreen, to hide their true intent.”
“Makes sense,” Crowley said. “Clever.”
“I guess the CIA has to figure out how much are they a part of the Illuminati? Are they a splinter group? Are there more cults like theirs, connected or otherwise?” Paul sighed and fell silent.
“What happens to us?” Rose asked.
Paul seemed to snap out of a private reverie and smiled. “You foiled a terrorist plot. You are free to leave the country, on the condition that you never talk to anyone about the Anubis Cult or the Illuminati. You’d probably be taken for fools if you did, but let’s not risk it, eh? No need to cause a panic.”
Crowley nodded, sure of the truth of that assessment.
“Thank you,” Rose said.
“We should be thanking you. If what you’ve told me is true, and I don’t doubt it is, then it would have been a disaster.”
