Serpent of Moses

2



Two Weeks Later

After the wall in front of him exploded, Jack had a single moment to consider the one thing more frightening than the fact that people were shooting at him. It was that, if by some chance he happened to get out of the tunnel alive, Esperanza was going to kill him. Then the thought was gone, fractured by the pulverized rock that cut into the skin of his face and neck.

His eyes snapped shut against the rain of debris, causing him to slow involuntarily despite the urgency of his flight. Momentum, though, served to carry him around the curve of the tunnel and out of the immediate line of fire, where he used the flashlight in his shaking hand to find the uneven rock wall that traveled farther into the darkness than the meager light could penetrate.

An hour ago, on the way in, as he picked his way over the sloping terrain, he’d had time to choose his course with care, to ascertain the irregularities of the path and decide where to place each step in order to disperse the pain in his ankle. Now, as he scrambled to keep in front of his pursuers, he felt each step in sharp stabs that ran between ankle and knee. He’d injured the ankle during his journey in, which meant he stood no chance of avoiding further damage with caution thrown to the wind.

Jack stopped for a moment to catch his breath. He could hear voices behind him—closer than he liked—and knew his chances of staying in front of those voices for the mile that separated him from the cave exit were slim. As he started off again, the beam from the flashlight played over the ground, illuminating the multiple pairs of boot prints he’d followed deeper into the tunnel. He’d found himself irritated at the boot prints an hour ago, and not just because their existence signified the presence of other people interested in what he himself had come here for. Rather, his annoyance had come from the fact that they upset the illusion—that they robbed him of the opportunity to convince himself that his were the first feet to pass over this ancient ground in a thousand years. Cultivating that belief, false though it might be, went a long way toward stroking the ego of any respectable archaeologist. In Jack’s current predicament, though, he found himself wishing he’d allowed the existence of those prints to dissuade him from entering the cave at all.

He raised the light and shook his head as the far edge of the beam tapered away without finding a wall. That indicated a long stretch of straight tunnel that would expose his back once his pursuers rounded the corner behind him. Forcing more speed into his legs, he sent his mind scrambling for anything that would increase his chances of reaching the open air of Jebel Akhdar, and the only thing that presented itself was the fork in the tunnel that served as the sole split from the main passage he’d followed in. Jack hadn’t explored that rabbit hole, as the map now crumpled into a ball in his jacket pocket had kept him on the wider path. Consequently he had no idea where it went or if it provided a way out of the labyrinth that cut through the mountain. But beyond the split Jack’s memory provided an image of a quarter mile of ramrod-straight rock that he knew he’d never be able to traverse before they caught him. So the fork was his only chance.

Even as he settled on that goal, he noticed the light behind him was growing stronger, which meant he was about to lose the angle that had provided him some measure of protection from the rounds that had followed him from the treasure room’s antechamber. He couldn’t run any faster; his breath came in ragged gasps that over time had settled into a rhythm matching the sound of his side bag slapping against his thigh. All he could think to do was to swing his pack around so that it covered the small of his back, then crouch as much as he was able without sacrificing speed. A moment later he heard the advance squad of a renewed volley.

As he cringed against an anticipated hit, and as the bullets struck the rock on either side of him, the small part of his brain that wasn’t dedicated to survival picked out a single voice amid the other sounds and, if he wasn’t imagining things, it sounded as if the voice’s owner was imploring his companions to stop shooting. Unfortunately the command had no effect on whoever held the guns.

In front of Jack, the beam of light bounced along, giving him just enough information to keep him from running into a wall. And on one of its upward swings he saw, about forty yards ahead, the spot where the tunnel widened to accommodate the second branch. Before he could find any hope in that realization, one of the many bullets that had tracked him for the last half mile nearly found its mark, bisecting the sliver of space between his ribs and right bicep and leaving on the latter a tangible and painful reminder of its passing.

The distraction pulled his attention away from the uneven tunnel floor, and his foot slipped into one of the many depressions that marked its surface, robbing him of balance and sending him hard into the tunnel wall. He recovered quickly, losing only a few seconds, but the incident cautioned him against presuming safety just because he could see his objective. The growing pain in his upper arm suggested that an intact arrival at the second tunnel entrance was far from guaranteed.

With that thought Jack took one last look down the tunnel, fixing the details of it in his mind. He then switched off the flashlight and flooded his way out with darkness. That done, the fleeing archaeologist straightened and poured all of his remaining energy into running faster, bringing his knees up to minimize contact with anything that could trip him up. He stretched out his left hand, finding the tunnel wall and using its light brush against his fingers to keep him centered. But despite that passing solidness there was something almost terrifying in hurtling without reservation into darkness.

Still, he pushed those thoughts aside and ran on, counting his strides. When he reached thirty he suspected he was close. Sure enough, the cold rock disappeared from under his hand. He brought himself to a halt, feeling a moment’s panic at the loss of the one thing that gave him some assurance that he would not run headlong into solid rock. He turned and backtracked the few steps to where the tunnel wall ended, then saw the diffused light from other flashlights coming up the tunnel. He knew it wouldn’t take long for that light to find him, although he was thankful that his engineered blackout seemed to have temporarily halted the gunfire.

His own light still doused, Jack stepped to his right, losing sight of the approaching illumination and feeling along the rock until he found the place where it curved into the secondary tunnel. Earlier, on his way to the treasure room, as he’d passed by and briefly shined the light down the smaller passageway, he’d heard a trickle that suggested running water but hadn’t seen anything. He heard it again as he started in. If his memory was accurate the tunnel took a sharp right curve several yards in, but he couldn’t swear to that. So when he began his advance down the unexplored passage, it was with considerably greater care than he’d shown in exiting the last one.

Hugging the wall, he worked to put distance between himself and his pursuers. He doubted the ruse would provide complete freedom from pursuit, but even if it forced the other party to split up, sending one group toward the exit and another down the branch Jack had chosen, he would consider it a victory.

In the smaller tunnel the silence that normally pervaded the whole of the place beneath the mountain seemed to take on added weight, as if it were a physical thing—silent except for the sound of the water, growing louder now. In less than a minute he’d reached the spot where the corridor began its turn, and in the next few steps the sound of the water increased even more. He fielded an urge to use the flashlight to get a feel for what waited for him, yet he doubted he’d put sufficient distance between himself and the small chamber where the tunnels met for the light to go unnoticed.

Releasing a sigh, Jack started off again and it wasn’t long before he noticed a change in the feel of the wall beneath his hand. It took a few seconds for him to realize that the soft, damp skin covering the rock was moss. It was while he was processing that fact that his foot came down in several inches of water that traveled over his shoe, drenching his sock.

He thought a curse, but stifled it before it could pass his lips. Pulling his foot from the water he took a step back and, after weighing the danger of doing so, he chanced the use of the flashlight. With his hand over the lens Jack allowed only a sliver of the beam to escape, just enough to show him what lay ahead.

Taken aback by what he saw, his hand fell away from the front of the flashlight, allowing its full strength to fill the chamber. He stood there motionless, studied the wall that marked the end of the tunnel. To his practiced eye the barrier gave every impression of having been an abandoned project, as if ancient excavators had given up once water started to trickle from the rock lest they loose the trapped reservoir behind it. Over time, though, the water had worked its way through the stone, creating several larger cracks that sent the water down the wall, where it created the stream that pooled at Jack’s feet before following a gentle slope that kept the water emptying through a fissure in the ground.

It was an escape route Jack could not take. To make matters worse, the only other way out would now be blocked. It was also possible that they had sent some of their number after him.

Jack stared at the wall for a few more moments, until he heard noises behind him that had nothing to do with running water. Turning away from the wall, he dropped to a knee and swung his pack from his shoulder. Experience had taught him that when fate removed one option, a man had to move quickly to the next one. He unzipped the pack and pulled out the one item in it that lacked any connection to the practice of archaeology.

He held the gun up, bringing it into the light. For most of his professional life he’d never traveled with a gun, and even now he didn’t like keeping one near. Esperanza hated it, even if she understood why he sometimes chose to take it along when he traveled. However, he hadn’t fired one since Australia.

The sounds of his pursuers grew more pronounced; he knew they would have seen the glow of his light.

Jack moved to his left, putting his shoulder against the rock, and then turned off the flashlight. It took several blinks and a handful of seconds before he could see the approaching illumination displacing the darkness that surrounded him. He raised the gun and waited.

It didn’t take long.

When the first of them appeared, stepping clear of the curving wall, Jack sighted on the flashlight in the man’s hand. Just as the light began to turn in his direction he started to squeeze off a shot. At the last moment, though, he shifted and put the bullet into the wall a few feet to the side of the shadowy form.

With the time that had passed since the last time he’d fired a gun, Jack almost lost his grip on the weapon. The man he’d shot toward dropped the flashlight in his scramble to get out of the line of fire. Jack smiled in grim satisfaction and settled back to wait for whatever would play out next. He kept the gun raised, but no one else stepped out and he suspected the men who had chased him to this point were debating the merits of making themselves targets for a desperate archaeologist entrenched in a defensible position.

Several minutes passed in that fashion, and every so often Jack thought he heard voices over the sound of the water. However, when the minutes began to stretch out without any activity, he began to grow irritated at the delay. He was about to call out when a voice came from down the tunnel.

“So what happens now?”

The man had an accent—English, Jack thought.

“What happens is that I shoot anyone who steps around that corner,” Jack called back, channeling as much confidence as he could.

The immediate response was a chuckle that Jack barely caught.

“Your last shot missed by a considerable margin,” the other man said, humor in his voice. “You’re either a horrible shot, in which case we might just try our luck and come in after you, or you don’t have it in you to kill someone.”

“That first one was a warning,” Jack answered. “I won’t miss a second time.”

“Assuming I believe that,” the Englishman said, “how do you think you’re going to get out of here?”

Jack did not have a ready answer to that question. After a pause he shrugged and said, “I haven’t quite figured that part out yet.”

“And while you figure it out, all we have to do is wait. We have the benefit of being able to restock once our supplies run out, so we can simply set up camp here until you starve.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Jack said. “Unless you have a pass from the Libyan government, which I’m guessing isn’t the case, then you’re in the middle of an illegal antiquities operation. Are you really going to wait around and hope the local authorities don’t stumble in here while you’re waiting for me to die?”

There was no response to his question.

“You know, I didn’t even get what I was after,” Jack went on. “So, to be honest, I’m not sure why you’re concerned with me anyway. The staff is still back there.”

Even as he said it, he knew they wouldn’t take his word for it. They’d been looking in the wrong place, and the bullets had started flying before they could have gotten a good look at what he was doing. They wouldn’t let him go until they assured themselves that he didn’t have the artifact.

“I’m sure it is,” the Englishman said. “The problem is that I have a few friends with me who are not so trusting.”

“Are these the same friends who shoot before making proper introductions?”

“Sadly lacking in social skills,” the Englishman conceded. “And that might be why they’re discussing where to place the C-4 that will bring the entire cavern down on you.”

Jack didn’t reply to that. Instead he squatted in the dark, his gun at the ready, wondering if they could possibly have an explosive. He thought the odds were against it. As a general rule, things like C-4 seldom lent themselves to the discipline of archaeology. Too, if they were not content to let him go for fear that he had the artifact, he considered it unlikely they would bury him beneath several tons of rock.

As he considered that, he saw a flash of movement—something flying out from behind the wall and landing on the ground.

“That’s so you don’t think I’m making up the bit about the C-4,” the Englishman shouted. A few seconds later a beam of light emerged from the enemy cover to illuminate it. The object was gray and about the size and shape one would expect C-4 to look like. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”

Jack had to concede that if it was a bluff, it was a good one—one that left him with few options. Even so, it took almost a full minute before he pushed himself away from the wall, struggled to his feet, and after thumbing the safety in place, tossed the gun a few yards in front of him. The second the weapon left his hand, doubt washed over him and he wondered if he’d just made a terrible mistake. Yet he fought the urge to go after the gun.

“That was the sound of me tossing my gun away,” he said.

There was no immediate response, and Jack was about to make the announcement again when a lone figure stepped into view. Even with multiple lights in his face muddling his perspective he could see that the man was enormous. That impression was solidified when three other men joined the larger one, all of them dwarfed by the first. As the parties regarded each other, the previous feeling Jack had entertained—the one that told him he’d made a mistake—returned with a vengeance. While he was already late getting back to Caracas, he suspected his current circumstances would make him a good deal later—if he got there at all.

“I have a friend who’s going to be really upset about this,” Jack said, adopting a rueful smile.

At that, a man standing to the right of the giant took a step forward. Almost blind, Jack could make out nothing of the man’s features, though he suspected it was the Englishman.

“We all have friends who are angered by the choices we make, Dr. Hawthorne,” he said.

“You don’t understand,” Jack said with a headshake. “You’ve never seen Espy angry.”

The Englishman did not respond right away, but Jack could intuit the smile he wore.

“And you haven’t met Imolene,” the Englishman said.

Then the giant began to move toward Jack, who only in that moment thought to wonder how the Englishman knew his name.