The Codex

71

Hauser spoke softly, soothingly, his weapon leveled and ready to go at the slightest movement. The three brothers and the Indian, sitting on the far side of the open tomb door, turned their heads toward him, blank terror in their eyes.

“Do not discommode yourselves by rising. Do not move at all, except to blink your eyes.” He paused. “Philip, so good to see you recovered. You’ve come a long way from the effete little snit that walked into my office two months ago, with that ridiculous briar pipe.”

Hauser took a light step forward, braced, ready to mow them down at the slightest movement. “How kind of you to guide me to the tomb. And you’ve even opened the door for me! Very considerate. Now listen carefully. If you follow my directions no one will be hurt.”

Hauser paused to examine the four faces in front of him. No one was panicking, and no one was gearing up to play the hero. These were sensible people. He said, as softly and pleasantly as possible, “Someone tell the Indian he needs to put his bow and arrows down. Slowly and smoothly — no sudden movements, please.”

Borabay took off his quiver and bow and let them fall in front of him.

“So the Indian understands English. Good. And now I will ask each of you fellows to unsheath and drop your machetes one at a time. You first, Philip. Remain seated.”

Philip unsheathed his knife and dropped it.

“Vernon?”

Vernon did the same and then Tom.

“Now, Philip, I want you to go over to where you have piled your packs, get them, and bring them to me. Easy does it.” He made a little gesture with the muzzle of his gun.

Philip collected the packs and placed them at Hauser’s feet.

“Excellent! Now let’s empty our pockets. Turn the pockets inside out and leave them that way. Drop everything on the ground in front of you.”

They complied. Hauser was surprised to see that they had not, as he supposed, been loading up on treasure from the tomb.

“And now you’ll stand up. All at once, in unison, in slow motion. Good! Now, just moving your legs from the knees down, taking small steps, keeping your arms very still, you will move back. Keep in a group there, that’s right. One step at a time.”

As they shuffled back in this ridiculous fashion, Hauser stepped forward. They had bunched up, instinctively, as people did when in danger — especially family members herded under gunpoint. He had seen it before, and it made everything so much easier.

“Everything’s just fine,” he said softly. “I don’t want to hurt anybody — all I want is Max’s grave goods. I’m a professional, and like most professionals I dislike killing.” Right. His finger caressed the smooth plastic curve of the trigger, found its place, began to tighten it back to full auto position. They were in place. There was nothing they could do now. They were as good as dead.

“Nobody’s going to get hurt.” And then he couldn’t help adding: “Nobody’s going to feel a thing.” He squeezed for real now, felt that imperceptible give in the trigger that he knew so well, that millisecond release after the feeling of resistance, and simultaneously Hauser saw a swift movement in his peripheral field of vision, and there was an explosion of sparks and flame and he fell, firing wildly as he went, the bullets ricocheting off the stone walls, and he had a terrifying glimpse of what had struck him before he hit the stone ground.

The thing had come straight out of the tomb, half naked, face white as a vampire, sunken-eyed, stinking of decomposition, its bony limbs as gray and hollow as death, holding aloft a burning brand that it had just struck him with, and it was still coming at him with a shrieking mouth full of brown teeth.

Damned if it wasn’t the ghost of Maxwell Broadbent himself!