Renée shot her again.
Qara jerked back. Fell, and was swallowed up by the water.
The flashlight beam played over the rippling silver surface until the bubbles stopped, then pulled away. Good riddance.
Renée turned back to the tunnel entrance, and with twenty thousand eyes watching her in the darkness, she descended. She re-entered the tunnel, and amidst the silent stares of her men, and the desperate eyes of her prisoners, she marched ahead.
She thought about calling Robert Gregory, informing him that she was close, but was doubtful certain communications would even work this far down. And besides, he had unwavering faith in her. She wouldn’t fail. He was surely headed for the Sphinx even now, trusting she’d be there as soon as her mission had been accomplished.
Soon, the ancient box would open and the books would be theirs. And once the senator had found the other artifact, they, with the Emerald Tablet, would be unstoppable.
They would hold the power to fulfill their long-awaited destiny.
11
Alexander dropped to the platform first, lowered by Montross who jumped next, letting go of the rope. Brushing himself off, Alexander looked out over the Khan’s necropolis. Bathed in sickly light from the half-dozen flares, the minarets appeared to sway and bend in the mix of shadows and crimson haze while the domed temples swelled to enormous size.
Alexander peered over the side, took a flashlight and aimed it down. He could see flashes of wickedly sharp protrusions like narrow teeth, and suddenly, as if drawn to the light, four eel-like creatures, sinewy and sleek with eyes on stalks and razor-sharp teeth, drew close to the surface, snapping at the light.
“What’s down there?” Montross asked.
Nina gripped Alexander’s arm and pulled him back. “Something nasty. Stay away from the edge.” She took Montross’s pack and pulled out a roll of gauze tape, and set about bandaging the wounds on her arm.
Alexander watched in fascination as she then replaced the wet dressings on the arrow hole in her shoulder, all without wincing. “That looks gross.”
She shook her wet hair as she finished, then stood up and went to work on her Beretta. She ejected the magazine, resupplied the bullets and fit it back in place. “So, what happened to the colonel?”
Alexander shrank back, lowering his eyes as Montross said, “Our boy here bagged his first kill.”
“Seriously?” Nina stared at him, nonplussed. “Impressive. Now, can we go?”
“Not just yet,” Montross said. He surveyed the city, sweeping his light over the nearest bridges, the sparkling water, the marble pathways leading through arches and tunnels. After finding the route to the mausoleum, he said, “I think we might have more to fear.”
“These walkways,” Alexander whispered. “They can drop. I’ve seen it.”
“Me too.” Montross approached Nina. “And I’ve seen something else. Something I would not have survived. We would not have survived.”
“When? Where?” Nina glanced around, gun ready.
“Later. This whole area is a trap, but it won’t be sprung until we take the keys.”
“So we’re fine until the mausoleum?”
“Yes, but this is good. Perfect in fact.” He leaned in close to Nina, and Alexander strained to hear what he said.
“I need you to do something for me,” Montross whispered. “Something crucial.”
She turned her eyes to his; their lips were an inch apart. “Anything.”
“When the time comes, I need you to die.”
Alexander wasn’t sure if he heard that right, but in any case they were soon walking ahead of him, making plans, and leaving him to himself. It wasn’t like he could run anywhere, so he followed dutifully, occasionally looking back over his shoulder, half-expecting Colonel Hiltmeyer to come loping along out of the shadows, zombie-like, to grab him and haul him over the side into those submerged spikes and make him food for the eels.
Shuddering, he rubbed his hands together, staring at his right hand. The one that had pulled the trigger. He almost stumbled on the rise of an arched bridge just as something broke the surface underneath, snapping at the air. He passed by other branching pathways and bridges covered in sloping oriental-style rooftops. Here and there statues of warriors atop great steeds stood as the centerpieces of fountains, where the only movement came from swarming things under the water.
He swept the light across each statue’s face that they passed and saw the same visage in each: it was him. Temujin. Genghis Khan. He was watching their approach, watching from every angle, every building and every column. Watching with the haughty scorn of one who knew he’d still have the last laugh.
Alexander passed a magnificent temple, with open doors beckoning beyond a façade of marble columns. Was there something glinting inside, catching the glow from his flashlight? Was that part of the treasure inside there? He shone the light to his left side now, spearing it into the open base of a tower whose tip graced the cavern’s ceiling high above, right beside a sputtering flare. Inside the minaret, another statue, and eyes reflecting back a look of hatred and recrimination.
Murderer, they said, and Alexander shuddered again.
It was his fault. Not just Hiltmeyer, but worse. His mother. She was gone because of him. He never told her, never hinted about what he was doing in their basement. So loyal to his father, he had made promises. And then she had come down, totally unprepared. It should have been Montross and him burnt to a crisp.
But instead, his mother was gone. The guilt was crushing, weighing him down.
When he turned, he discovered he had lost track of Montross and Nina. They were somewhere up ahead, lost in the deepening shadows.
But which path? He saw their lights, bobbing there to the side, approaching the mausoleum, which seemed larger now, more immense than he could have guessed. But he couldn’t find the path they had taken.
He was about to call out when something trembled again from the interior archway of the nearest tower. A glowing shape flickered, and for a moment it took on a familiar form. He turned, stepped onto a cobbled walkway, different from the others, then proceeded over a bridge. His flashlight cut through the shadows ahead, spearing through the arched corridor. His footsteps quickened, along with his pulse.
And then he was through the tunnel, approaching the tower’s base and heading for a white-robed figure standing there. Her dress caught in the flashlight’s beam, scattered it like a swarm of fireflies. Her face was lost in a blur of blinding light, but her arms, formerly at her side, stretched out for him.
He skidded to a stop, only ten feet away. Shielded his eyes and flicked off the flashlight. “Mom?”
He blinked over and over and rubbed his eyes. Took a step forward and in a moment of clarity he saw her face, saw her shining green eyes and playful smile. The smile she always had ready for him after a summer away with his father, a smile that released all the heartache and fear she had endured in his absence, letting it all out before a huge bear-hugging embrace.
You’re not alone, she whispered, and the words echoed in his mind.
But then, as he reached for her—
“Alexander!”
An iron hand clasped upon his shoulder and drew him back. He cried out, reaching, only to have the image of his mother burst into flames, swirl into a maelstrom of light, and then vanish.
“No!”
He was spun around, tucked into a chest and hugged. “Easy, kid. There’s nothing there. You’re safe.”