King Solomon's Curse

24

Brice heard Eddie’s shout from inside the Chamber of the Shamir. ‘Yes, you run, Chase,’ he said with a smirk. ‘We’ll see how far you get.’

He had removed the lead box’s lid to examine the Shamir. If it was reacting to the infusion of daylight into the chasm, he couldn’t tell — the growing vibration of the much larger mineral deposit in the mine was overpowering anything he could feel from its child — but his primary concern was that it was intact and undamaged.

It was. And it was his.

Other shouts outside. ‘In here!’ he called in French.

Three members of the Insekt Posse ran in. ‘Le Fauchet!’ shouted one. ‘Where are—’

The trio froze as they saw their leader slumped dead. Horror turned to fury, guns coming up to exact vengeance — but Brice was prepared. ‘They killed him,’ he gasped, feigning shock. ‘They murdered Philippe! The bald one executed him, right in front of me — and he would have killed me too if you hadn’t blown the roof!’

The militia men stared at him, unsure what to do. All three were obviously on drugs, eyes red — and minds dulled. Mukobo himself never used, Brice knew, but ensuring a ready supply for his men kept them both loyal and unthinking. ‘They’re getting away!’ he went on, taking advantage of their confusion. ‘You’ve got to make them pay for killing Le Fauchet! Cut them up, butcher them like pigs!’

One seemed less addled than the others, hostility in his eyes as he glared at the MI6 agent. Brice felt a moment of worry that the African either didn’t believe or didn’t care that he wasn’t responsible for Mukobo’s death… but then the other two ran from the chamber, shouting to their comrades. The last man gave him a nasty look, then followed.

Brice turned back to the Shamir. Once Chase and the others were dead, the only people other than himself who knew the ancient relic’s power would be a gang of drug-crazed savages — a small smile both at the use of the politically incorrect term and his certainty that it was entirely justified — whose wild stories about a magic stone that could destroy buildings would never be believed.

That suited him perfectly. A plan had developed in his mind after he witnessed what the Shamir could do, and ironically, by killing Mukobo Eddie Chase had made it possible.

He replaced the lid and took hold of the box. The combination of dense stone and lead plates made it a strain to lift, but it was still portable. And he only had to carry it as far as the boats. After that, he could use the satellite phone to call his contacts and get both the Shamir and himself out of the country…

He hauled the casket towards the exit as gunfire resumed outside.

‘Go, let’s go!’ Eddie yelled as he hurriedly backed through an alleyway. Nina and Howie were ahead of him, Fortune and his group on a parallel path.

But the Insekt Posse were closing in.

One militia man had started whooping, a demented, almost animalistic sound, and his howl had been taken up by the rest. The terrifying cacophony echoed through the cavern as they bayed for blood.

Eddie had no intention of letting them take any. A screaming man sprinted down the alley after him, AK in one hand and a machete waving in the other — only to tumble gracelessly to the ground as a bullet from the Yorkshireman’s own rifle blew a fist-sized chunk from his throat. ‘You can fuck off!’ he shouted.

But more were coming, and he didn’t have enough ammo to take them all down. He turned and raced after Nina and Howie. The two Americans had opened up a lead on him — but to his dismay his wife was now squandering it as she stopped in another little square, Howie continuing past her. ‘No, keep going!’ he yelled.

‘I’m not leaving you!’ she insisted.

‘Do we have to have this conversation every fucking time we get chased?’ he demanded. Like the first square, this had a large bowl to provide illumination at its centre, pots of oil around it.

‘Do you have to run so goddamn slow?’ she shot back, setting off again.

Eddie followed her to the crooked alley’s first turn — then crouched in an empty doorway, readying his weapon. The Insekt Posse charged into the square. He waited until the first man reached the bowl — then fired.

One of the pots shattered, oil spraying out… but it didn’t ignite.

‘Oh, arse,’ Eddie muttered. The other howling men raced through the square, guns coming up—

A second bullet smashed another pot — and this time the searing metal ignited its contents.

Fire gushed from the broken vessel, splashing over the spilled oil — which erupted into a wall of flame that swallowed the leading militia. They burst through its other side as human torches, the bloodlust of their screams turning to agony. The Insekt Posse behind them hurriedly halted.

Eddie rose, about to run after Nina. The fire had spread across the whole square. Nobody would be following him—

His satisfaction lasted barely a moment. Rather than turn back, the trapped militia climbed on to the roofs of the surrounding buildings. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake!’ he growled, unleashing a couple of shots that sent two men crashing back on to their enraged companions, before racing away.

More gunshots from another alley: Fortune shooting at his own pursuers, and angry bursts of fire as they retaliated. But there was another sound over the thudding Kalashnikovs. The Mother of the Shamir’s subsonic hum was becoming a distinct, audible rumble.

And it was getting louder.

‘Eddie!’ Nina cried. ‘I can see the tunnel!’

‘Keep going, don’t stop for anything!’ A look back spurred him to run faster as he saw the mob leaping from roof to roof in pursuit.

He cleared the village. Ahead was the promised tunnel entrance, a black rectangle cut into the rock wall. Nina reached it, Howie ducking past as she stopped inside the low opening. The rest of the expedition members were heading for her, Fortune and Paris covering their rear.

Ziff had fallen behind the documentary crew, the elderly Israeli struggling to keep pace. He looked back. ‘Eddie! Behind you!’

Eddie glanced over his shoulder — and saw one of the Insekt Posse right on him. The tall youth let out a gleeful cry, swinging his machete at his prey—

A bullet whipped over the Englishman’s head to strike the sprinter in the face. The African fell.

Eddie looked ahead again to see Ziff standing on a rock, lowering his gun. ‘Thanks, Doc!’ he shouted. ‘But get down! Get to the—’

Bloody holes burst open across Ziff’s torso.

The Israeli tumbled to the ground. ‘David!’ screamed Nina.

Eddie spotted his shooter: Luaba. He stood on the last building at the village’s edge, swinging his smoking Kalashnikov towards the Yorkshireman—

Fortune and Paris both fired at him. The hulking Congolese dived flat. ‘Paris, go!’ Fortune shouted, heading for the fallen Ziff.

‘No, I’ll get him!’ Eddie yelled. ‘Cover me!’ He reached the rock, finding the Israeli sprawled behind it. Ziff was still alive, clutching at his stomach. ‘Doc! Stay with me, I’ll get you up.’

He hauled the other man over one shoulder, then clutched both their rifles by their straps and lumbered towards the tunnel mouth. Fortune kept firing, downing two more militia. ‘Eddie, I’m almost out!’ he warned.

Paris added his own firepower to his partner’s. More screams came from behind Eddie as he struggled onwards. But they were still massively outnumbered even with the Insekt Posse taking casualties — and rapidly running out of bullets.

Rivero reached the tunnel and bent down to enter it, closely followed by Lydia and Fisher. Inside, he switched on his camera’s spotlight to reveal that the drainage channel sloped downwards for some distance into the rock.

Eddie reached the opening. ‘Nina, help me!’ His wife took Ziff’s weight as he slid him from his shoulder.

Paris and Fortune, still firing, followed him into the tunnel mouth. ‘I’m out,’ the tall Congolese barked, discarding his empty AK.

‘Take one of these,’ Eddie said, dropping the rifles. Fortune collected one, checking the magazine and giving him an unhappy look when he saw how few bullets it contained. ‘Don’t think the other one’s any better.’

To everyone’s surprise, Fisher picked up the second Kalashnikov. ‘What’re you doing?’ Nina asked.

‘I want to fight,’ the director announced. ‘If these bastards are going to kill us, I want to take some of them down first!’

‘You know how to use a gun?’ Eddie asked dubiously as the group headed into the darkness.

‘Point, pull trigger, don’t hit your friends in the back,’ he replied, following Paris’s example by supporting his rifle’s foregrip in the crook of his right arm. ‘I did a documentary about doomsday preppers; they let me fire off a few rounds from an AR-15. Okay, a few dozen.’

‘More like a few hundred,’ said Lydia as she switched on a torch. ‘Rambo!’ Fisher managed a faint smile.

Fortune took up the rearguard position again with Paris. ‘They will reach the tunnel any second!’ he warned.

‘There’d better be a corner down there,’ Eddie shouted to those ahead. ‘Or we’ll be fish in a very narrow barrel!’

Rivero’s reply was both relieved and worried. ‘Yeah, there is — but it goes left and right! Which way do we take?’

‘Don’t ask me,’ Nina protested as she realised the others were waiting for an answer from her. ‘It’s a drain, so whichever way goes down!’

‘They both look flat!’

‘Are you kidding me? Solomon, you asshole! Not you, David,’ she hastily added.

The wounded Israeli gave her a feeble laugh. ‘No offence taken. And after all we’ve been through, I’m reconsidering my opinion of the “great king”…’

Nina looked ahead. Howie had let Rivero and Lydia past to light the way. They were indeed approaching a fork in the tunnel. ‘Howie,’ she said, ‘you take David. I need to see where we’re going.’ Howie tucked the laptop under one arm and waited for her and Eddie to catch up—

A single gunshot from behind made everyone jump, the sound physically painful in the confined space. ‘They are at the top!’ said Fortune, grimacing at the noise of his AK.

Eddie took Howie’s rifle as the young man and Nina switched places, then the redhead scurried down the shaft. ‘Why didn’t they just shoot us already?’ asked Lydia as she caught up.

‘You’re complaining?’ said Rivero sarcastically.

‘For one thing, they’re all doped-up, so they’re not thinking straight,’ said Nina. ‘For another, I think they’d rather hack us to pieces for killing Mukobo.’

Lydia was startled. ‘Wait, Mukobo’s dead?’

‘Ah… yeah,’ Nina said as she took the New Zealander’s flashlight. ‘Should probably have mentioned that sooner, huh?’

‘No shit!’ spluttered Rivero. ‘No wonder they’re pissed!’

‘What happened to him?’ Lydia asked.

‘What difference does—’

Paris’s shout cut her off. ‘Grenade!’

One of the Insekt Posse leaned around the tunnel mouth, about to hurl a bomb—

Fortune fired again. The man’s wrist blew apart in a burst of blood and bone fragments — and he dropped the grenade. The militia around him yelled in alarm—

A pounding blast came from the top of the shaft, shrapnel pinging off the stone walls. Paris yelped as a metal fragment slashed his cheek. The explosion’s echoes faded, replaced by the screams of the wounded.

‘Keep going!’ said Fortune. ‘That won’t stop them for long.’

Nina reached the tunnel’s foot. Both new branches ran level for about fifty feet before turning again. ‘Oh God, which way?’ she said. One seemed no better than the other, but if she picked the wrong path, they would be trapped…

Something touched her forehead. She flinched, then looked up to see flecks of grit falling from a crack in the ceiling. In the panic of the escape, she had forgotten the Mother of the Shamir’s rising rumble — but now its effects were becoming all too apparent.

Rivero and Lydia arrived, the cameraman aiming his light at the crack. ‘It’s going to cave in!’ exclaimed the frightened sound woman. ‘Get out of the way, we’ve got to move!’

‘No, wait!’ insisted Nina, watching the falling dust intently. ‘Jay, hold still, just for a second.’

He kept the camera upon her. ‘What’re you—’

‘Shush! Don’t move! I need to see this…’

She stared at the motes dropping through the spotlight beam — then pointed right. ‘That way!’

‘How do you know?’ Rivero asked.

‘Remember how I found the map room in the First Temple?’ she said as she started down the passage. ‘Same thing — the dust’s being blown the other way, so the fresh air must be coming from down here.’

‘Hope you’re right,’ said Lydia as she followed. Rivero stayed just beyond the intersection to provide light for those behind.

‘Yeah, me too. Eddie, right tunnel, right tunnel!’

More ear-splitting gunfire from the two Congolese as they forced back the regrouping militia — then Paris tossed away his AK. ‘I’m out!’ he yelled. ‘Mr Fisher! Give me your gun!’

Fisher waited for them, but rather than hand over his weapon, gestured for Paris to overtake him. ‘You go on!’

‘Mr Fisher, that is a very bad idea,’ Fortune told him firmly. ‘Our job is to protect you, not—’

Fisher held up the stump of his right arm. ‘Sorry, but the job? Kinda failed! And I’m in charge of this expedition, I’m responsible for everyone else.’ More quietly: ‘Make sure Lydia gets out of here. Please.’

Paris exchanged looks with Fortune, neither man happy, but then the shorter Congolese nodded. ‘Okay. I’ll look after her.’ He hurried downhill.

Nina led the way through the new tunnel. She reached its corner, finding to her relief that it sloped downwards beyond the turn. The feeling was quickly tempered by concern as she saw more dust-spitting cracks in the ceiling and walls. ‘We’ve got to move faster! The whole place is going to come down!’

‘Like we don’t have enough going on,’ said Eddie as he reached the first junction. Rivero moved ahead, lighting the way with the Sony. ‘Doc, how are you doing?’

‘Not… very good,’ Ziff replied weakly. ‘Oh, it hurts…’

Paris caught up. ‘Mr Pinkett, I can take him. You catch up with the others.’

‘Where the fuck’s Fisher?’ Eddie demanded. ‘You’re supposed to be protecting him!’

The Congolese took Howie’s place, the young American hurrying on past Rivero. ‘He wouldn’t let me.’

‘That’s no fucking excuse!’

‘It’s my decision!’ Fisher shouted as he and Fortune approached. ‘I’m in charge here, not you!’

‘There’s a time for heroics and a time for saving your own arse,’ Eddie objected, ‘and this is an arse-saver!’

The two trailing men reached the junction. ‘I agree,’ said the director, ‘so you make sure everyone—’

‘Grenade!’ Fortune cried, grabbing him and diving into the left tunnel. Eddie rushed back and dropped to the stone floor, Ziff gasping in agony as the Englishman covered him. Paris threw himself after them as a hard metal object clacked down the sloping passage—

The detonation obliterated all senses.

Eddie had managed to cover his ears, but still only heard a piercing, ringing sound for several seconds before other noises gradually returned. None were reassuring. Echoes of falling rock faded, smaller bangs and clunks of stone telling him that rubble was still dropping. The blast had brought down part of the ceiling!

He opened his eyes. The first thing he saw in the light from Rivero’s dropped camera was Ziff, face screwed up in pain. The cameraman himself groaned as he clutched at his head. Eddie forced himself up to check on the others.

Paris was behind Ziff. ‘Oh, ma putain de tête…’ he gasped, before jerking upright in alarm. ‘Fortune!’

‘I am okay, I’m okay,’ coughed Fortune from several yards away.

‘What about Fisher?’ Eddie asked. He looked for him, but saw only darkness. ‘Steven! Can you hear me?’

‘Here, I’m…’ The director’s reply was slurred, as if half-asleep — then he screamed. ‘Oh God, oh my God! My leg!’

‘Jay!’ Eddie barked. ‘I need your light over here!’

Rivero crawled to his camera. He brought it about — and its light revealed a large chunk of fallen stone on the junction’s far side, partly blocking the other passage.

Fortune appeared in the gap. ‘Eddie! His leg is trapped!’ He tried to move the rock. Fisher cried out as it shifted, but it was too heavy to lift.

The Yorkshireman moved towards him. ‘I’ll help you—’

He jumped back as bullets cracked off the wall at the slope’s foot. Above, stuttering muzzle flash lit the way for the Insekt Posse. The crazed whoops and howls of earlier had been replaced by something more chilling: an angry chant of ‘Le Fauchet! Le Fauchet! Le Fauchet!’

They were out for revenge.

The obstruction shifted again as Fortune made another attempt to lift it, but with no better result. ‘Too — heavy!’

‘Run,’ gasped Fisher. ‘Fortune, go! I’ll — I’ll hold them off.’

‘They’ll kill you!’ Eddie protested.

‘They’ll kill us all in a minute! I’m… not going anywhere.’ That last was said almost with resignation.

‘Jesus Christ, Steven!’ said Rivero. ‘We can’t leave you!’

‘I call the shots, Jay.’ Somehow, the words held a hint of humour. ‘Fortune, sit me up so I can see over the rock.’

The Congolese reluctantly did so, Fisher letting out another keening cry as the movement shifted his crushed leg. ‘Have this,’ Fortune said, placing his AK beside the American. ‘Two guns — two sets of bullets. Make them count, my friend.’

The director propped his own Kalashnikov on top of the stone, aiming it up the tunnel. ‘I should say something cool,’ he said, seeing Rivero’s camera pointed at him, ‘but — oh God, I’m scared.’

‘So am I,’ said Eddie. ‘You’re a brave man, Steven.’

‘Th-thanks,’ Fisher replied, drawing in a deep, tremulous breath. ‘Okay. Go on, then, go! They’re almost here!’

Fortune’s expression was one of shame at having to leave him behind. ‘I am sorry, Mr Fisher. I am so very sorry.’ He bowed his head to him, then looked back at Eddie and Paris. With bullets still screaming down the tunnel, he couldn’t cross the junction to reach them. ‘I will see you outside. I hope.’

‘So do I,’ Eddie replied. ‘Fight to the end, Fortune.’

‘Bonne chance, mon ami,’ came the reply, then with a last sad glance at Fisher, he disappeared into the darkened passage.

‘Take the Doc and get moving,’ Eddie ordered Rivero and Paris. They picked up Ziff and set off as the Englishman returned to the junction. ‘All right, you fuckwits,’ he growled, switching his rifle to full auto, ‘have some of this!’

He thrust the AK around the corner and pulled the trigger, sweeping it across the tunnel in a final blaze of fire. Screams echoed from above as bullets ripped into the Insekt Posse’s leading ranks. A clack as the bolt closed on an empty chamber, but Eddie had counted his remaining shots and already dropped the rifle to scurry after his companions—

The walls behind him shattered under a furious onslaught of fire. Even retreating, he was still in danger as ricocheting bullet fragments shrilled after him. He ducked as low as he could and scrambled around the corner.

The shooting stopped as the militia realised he had discarded his weapon. The horrible chant resumed as they ran to catch their now-defenceless prey—

‘Fuck you!’ Fisher yelled, opening up with his own rifle. ‘Yeah, fuck you, you motherfuckers!’ More screams as he cut down the leading attackers. The gun ran dry; he threw it away and fumbled for Fortune’s weapon. ‘Cut off my hand? I’ll cut off your fucking balls, you bunch of—’

He brought up the AK, getting off a shot that blew away half the face of a man rushing at him — only for another behind him to open fire. Two rounds hit the American’s shoulder, slamming him to the floor. Blood spouting from the wounds, he lay helpless as the Insekt Posse swarmed around the corner and threw themselves over the rock. Machetes hacked viciously at him, his final scream almost drowned out by demented howls of triumph.