Not wanting to become trapped in the dead end burial chamber, Mercer made his way to the exit. In the diorama room he could see tongues of flame shooting out from the darkness as Poli and his men fired at the unseen Janissaries.
He padded silently around the perimeter of the chamber, keeping to the shadows away from the burning braziers as he sought a target. A long burst of autofire to his left caught his attention. He could just make out a man on the other side of three of the skeleton tableaus, firing at someone farther down the arcade of columns. Mercer drew the bow and paused, not sure of who he was aiming at. It could be Booker or one of Ahmad’s men.
The gunman moved just enough for light to flit across his face for a second. Mercer recognized Mohammad bin Al-Salibi and his hatred flared.
Between Mercer and Al-Salibi the three rearing monsters out of mythology made the shot next to impossible. Mercer would have to thread the arrow though the gaps in their skeletons if he wanted to hit the terrorist leader, and he hadn’t fired a bow since summer camp when he was thirteen.
He drew back on the wire, pulling it past what he’d managed before, until the downy feathers at the end of the arrow touched his cheek. Salibi had shifted position, hiding behind a towering thighbone of what the ancients believed was a cyclops. Mercer could just make out a sliver of his face through the forest of interwoven bones.
Shifting his aim a fraction of an inch, Mercer let fly. The ninety pounds of pull he’d maintained on the ancient weapon sent the arrow singing though the air. It shot through the gap between the hips and tail of the hydra, passed the length of its rib cage and out a hole in its shoulder before streaking to the next skeleton. Here too Mercer’s aim held true. The arrow barely brushed the tooth of the snake-like creature as it arced through its open jaw. And then it passed through the bones of another monster.
Salibi must have heard the sound of the bow because he turned at the last second. The arrow sliced though his cheek, breaking when it hit the bone but still carrying enough speed for the tip to pierce his skull. He was dead before he hit the ground.
Mercer readied another arrow and continued the hunt. The firing suddenly stopped and he lowered himself behind a column, waiting to see what would happen next. He detected shadowy movement heading in the direction of Alexander’s tomb, but he wasn’t quick enough with the bow. He continued around the perimeter of the chamber, his eyes straining to see in the uneven light of the braziers while making sure whoever had entered the third room didn’t reemerge.
A hand reached out and grabbed his ankle. He jerked it free and heaved on the bow, letting off the tension when he saw Ibriham Ahmad lying on the stone floor. His customary black suit was shiny at the shoulder and along his side. The sheen was fresh blood.
Mercer knelt at his side. “How bad are you hit?”
“I am dead, Dr. Mercer.” His voice was a hoarse croak. “Yet I go to my grave knowing the alembic will not leave this place.”
“You dynamited the entrance to seal us in.”
He nodded stiffly. “When I blew up the tunnel only Devrin and one other were left. I could not risk losing the fight.”
Had the Turk not already been dying, Mercer would have killed him with his bare hands. “You could have fucking warned me you were going to pull something like this, for God’s sake.”
“It is for God’s sake I did it. There was no other way. Our sacrifice will save millions.”
That was the difference between them. Mercer was willing to risk his life on even the slimmest odds, but willingly knowing there was absolutely no chance was something he couldn’t comprehend.
“I only managed to get one of them,” Ibriham slurred. He was going fast.
“Poli?”
“No, an Arab.”
“I got Salibi.”
“May Allah’s blessing be upon you, and may he rot for all eternity in the most foul hell.”
Trapped in this subterranean nightmare he might be, but as long as Mercer was alive there was always hope. He’d take care of Poli first and then try to figure a way to get himself and Ahmad out of here. That must have been the one-eyed assassin he’d seen skulking back into the burial chamber.
“Where’s your gun?” Mercer asked the Janissary.
“I am out of ammunition. I think we all are. That is why Poli stopped shooting.”
“Haven’t any of you heard of fire discipline?” Mercer spat. “Well, if I could take Salibi with a bow I can do the same to Poli. Are you going to be okay for a couple of minutes?”
“No, Doctor. I will be dead.” He said it with calm resignation.
Mercer didn’t know what to say. He laid a hand gently on Ahmad’s good shoulder. “Vaya con Dios.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s Spanish. It means go with God.”
“You could give me no better blessing,” Ibriham said with a faint smile and then he simply didn’t take another breath.
Mercer gently closed his eyes. “Enjoy your virgins, my friend. You’ve earned them.”
He stood and quickly made his way down the columned promenade, an arrow at the ready. At the entrance to the burial chamber he paused and scanned the space, unable to see anyone hiding amid the clutter of funerary artifacts. He took a cautious step into the room.
The bronze sword swung in a tight arc and sliced into the tough wooden bow, which saved Mercer’s life. Poli had been hiding just inside the entrance ready to ambush him.
The blow sent Mercer staggering back, and the sword lodged in the bow was ripped from Poli’s hand. Stunned by the attack, Mercer tried to dislodge the blade but it was stuck fast. Poli reared from around the corner, his single eye glinting in the firelight. Mercer backpedaled to give himself room. When he drew the bow the weakened wood broke where it had been sliced and the weapon just sagged in his hands.
Poli was only a couple feet away, his massive arms outstretched as he towered over Mercer. Mercer threw the bow at him. Poli caught it, contemptuously tossed it aside, and came on like a machine.
“You are a dead man.”
“Funny,” Mercer said. “I was about to tell you the same thing.”
Poli lunged at him. Mercer dashed to his left to avoid the attack and almost got free, but one of Poli’s big hands clamped down on his wrist. He turned on the inside and punched the Bulgarian under the arm. It was like hitting a truck tire.
Poli bent his wrist back, forcing Mercer to his knees. The mercenary fired a fist into Mercer’s face using all his weight. Mercer felt his nose break and the blood jet from his nostrils before he lost consciousness for a second. Poli yanked on his arm to rouse him and punched him again, even harder.
Mercer felt like he was being worked over with a sledgehammer. Poli heaved him to his feet and shoved him back against a wall. He tried to knee Mercer in the groin but Mercer shifted just enough to take the blow on the thigh. The leg went numb to his toes.
“I have never particularly enjoyed killing people,” Poli said. He wasn’t even breathing hard. “It is something I happened to learn I was good at doing.”
“So maybe now’s a good time to quit,” Mercer said and spat a glob of blood on the ground.
“But I am going to enjoy killing you. It will be hours before they dig us out so I am going to take my time.” He casually cuffed Mercer on the side of the head.
When he let go, Mercer couldn’t stay on his feet and he collapsed. Poli grabbed him by the hair and started dragging him back into the burial chamber. Mercer grabbed Poli’s wrist to lessen the pain as his scalp was nearly ripped off.
Poli dragged him upright again and, using one hand to hold him and one hand to punch him, fired a rapid series of shots into Mercer’s already bloody face. There was nothing Mercer could do but take the beating. He’d fought, and even defeated, men who were bigger than himself, but nobody with Poli’s size or immeasurable strength. He felt as powerless as a child at the hands of an abuser.