Operation: Amazon

- 19 -

“I guess we’re back to the Indiana Jones shite then?” Wiggins said.

Banks leaned forward, switched on his gun light and waved the beam down the newly exposed steps. At the same time, he smelled something all too familiar. It wasn’t strong, but it was distinctive, the odor of vinegar and burnt oil.

“We don’t have time for stumbling around in the dark. We need to get to the fucking gold,” Buller protested again when Banks stepped down onto the first of the stairs, but the man went quiet when Wiggins prodded him in the back with his gun barrel. All five of them descended in step into the darkness below.

Banks took point, keeping his light steady ahead so that he could always see where he was putting his feet. It was even warmer here than it had been out in the heat of the day. It wasn’t humid, rather being a stifling dry heat that felt like he was breathing fire. The tang of oil and vinegar got stronger as they descended. After a few feet, they passed the mechanism that worked the pivot for moving the altar, a complex set of wooden gears, ropes, and pulleys that looked almost too rotten to be functional. Banks studied it only long enough to ensure there wouldn’t be a trap sprung at their back then continued the descent.

Even Buller knew well enough to keep quiet, and they went down in silence, into what was quickly becoming an oppressive heat and stench. Banks was considering retracing their steps in search of better air when he felt a breath of breeze in his face, and a cooler one at that. The sound of his footfalls, which had been dull slaps, now took on an echoing, wider quality, and as he suspected, they arrived at the bottom of the stairwell soon afterward, to be faced with a dark, open area ahead that his rifle light wasn’t quite powerful enough to penetrate.

There was another smell here too, even above the tang of vinegar and oil. It took Banks a few seconds to recognize it, as he hadn’t been expecting it here in the dark, but it too was unmistakable once identified. It was an almost meaty taste of human body sweat.

He pulled down the night vision goggles and switched them on.

He immediately wished he hadn’t.

They stood in the doorway of another square chamber, this one being the biggest so far. Like the others, this one was covered wall and ceiling with more of the carvings, the same size as the tiling they’d seen outside, although here they were done, not in gold, but in stone as ancient as that which made up the pyramid steps outside. And also unlike the buildings outside, this place was most definitely occupied.

The room was some 30 feet square. Bodies sat, backs straight, legs outstretched, all seated close to each other around all of the walls. There was a thin, whistling noise and Banks realized it was breathing, all of them, some 50 individuals at his best count, breathing in and out in unison.

They appeared to be a mixed population, old and young, man and woman, but all of them stark naked sitting there in the dark, breathing together and staring, wide-eyed into emptiness.

“What is it?” Buller whispered from behind him. “What can you see?”

Banks realized the man was the only one of them without the benefit of the night goggles. He stepped closer to the nearest wall and shone his light in the face of the nearest sitting figure. The woman, middle-aged and as pale as alabaster, didn’t so much as blink. Buller yelped in fear, the first sign of any emotion he’d shown, but Banks couldn’t really blame him for it.

“Bloody hell, Cap,” Wiggins whispered in the dark. “What kind of shite have you led us into this time?”

Buller answered.

“We need to kill them,” he said. “We need to kill them all, right now.”

“Bugger that for a lark,” Wiggins said. Banks hushed him to quiet and pulled Buller back into the doorway, getting up close and keeping his voice soft and low.

“I’m not here to murder civilians for you,” he said.

“Civilians? Who said anything about fucking civilians? These aren’t people, you idiot. Don’t you see? They’re fucking snakes, and they’re hiding from the sun in here waiting for night.”

As soon as Buller mentioned it, Banks knew the man had to be right. He left the doorway and went back over toward the woman, getting as close to her as he had to Buller seconds before. Up close it was obvious, especially when he lifted the goggles and studied her under the light from his rifle.

Her pupils had a slit running down the iris, yellow and golden, and the veins at her neck pulsed as blackly as the ones he’d seen on Giraldo before the change came over him. She didn’t blink, even when he shone the light directly in her eyes, although a thin, forked tongue slid from between her lips and she hissed as she breathed.

Banks moved to the man beside her; he had exactly the same symptoms, down to the slithering tongue when light was shone in his eyes. Banks backed away to the squad in the doorway.

“For once, it seems that this wanker’s right,” he said. “They’re all infected.”

“It’s not an infection,” Buller said. “It’s some kind of magic.”

“Fucking snake magic bullshit,” Wiggins said. “Aye, that’ll be right.”

Once again, Banks hushed them into quiet.

“Whatever it is, we’re getting out of here. About turn.”

Buller almost shouted.

“We can’t leave yet. We need to kill them.”

“Not going to happen,” Banks said softly. “This is a job for doctors, not soldiers.”

“I demand you kill these fuckers,” Buller said, and this time he shouted. It rang and echoed in the chamber. The cadence of the heavy breathing around them got faster, and in one of the corners, something heavy moved.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up, right now, I’ll shoot you in the knee and leave you down here with them,” Wiggins whispered, and even through the night goggles, Banks saw the blood leave Buller’s face and the fear grow in his eyes.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he whispered back.

“Just fucking try me,” Wiggins replied.

When Hynd and McCally led them back upstairs, Buller hurried behind them, as if keen to put plenty of space between himself and Wiggins.

Banks had them stop only as they approached the exit hole back up to the altar room.

“Cally, you’re up,” he said, pointing to the rotting timbers of the gear mechanism. “Can you rig this somehow so that it will close at our backs, and stay closed unless we fuck about with it from above?”

McCally cast an eye over the mechanism.

“Give me the sarge and five minutes and we’ll see what we can do?”

“Get to it then,” Banks said. “But keep your eye on the stairwell. Once these fuckers start to move, they move fast.”

He led Buller and Wiggins up into the altar room, then out onto the top of the pyramid where they sucked in some welcome fresher air.

“You’re making a big mistake,” Buller said as Banks handed Wiggins a cigarette and they both lit up.

“Maybe,” Banks said. “But I’m a soldier, not a murderer, and I’m not about to start now, snakes or no snakes. Not when I can trap them down there, and do this.”

He tapped at his ear and called up the chopper pilot.

“Still here,” he said.

“I am pleased to hear it, Captain,” the reply came. “Site secured?”

“We’ve still got more of a sweep to do,” he replied. “But I need a favor. I need you to get a medical team on standby to come in as soon as we give the all clear. We’ve got some kind of contagion among the locals here that’s going to need a lot of help.”

The pilot didn’t ask any questions, accepting Banks’ word.

“I will make the call as soon as you check off, Captain.”

“Thank you,” Banks replied. “I’ll check back in within the hour. Hopefully, it’s all plain sailing from here on in.”

“I still think this is a mistake,” Buller said as they went back into the altar room.

“Aye, we heard you already,” Wiggins replied. “My offer still stands if you want a bullet in the knee or a skelp.”

Buller didn’t get time to reply as McCally and Hynd came up the steps into the room. McCally held a thick, frayed rope that stretched back down the hole.

“Give this a hard tug, then let go,” he said, handing it to Banks. “Then cross your fingers. That shit down there’s as rotted as my old grannie’s front teeth. I cannae guarantee it’s going to take the weight.”

“Stand back then,” Banks said, and pulled hard on the rope. He heard a loud clunk below them, wood against wood, and let go of the rope at the same time as it was pulled hard from his hand. The sound of rock grinding on rock echoed around them, and the altar stone slid slowly back into place. As if from a distance, they heard crunching and splintering as wood split and something below tumbled away down the stairwell.

“The proverbial spanner in the works,” McCally said with a smile. “Nobody’s coming back up unless we shove this block of stone out the way from up here.”

“Good job, Cally,” Banks said. “Take five and have a fag. Then we’ll head down below, and get this wanker his cave of gold.”