The Crypts of Eden

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“Now for you, Padre.” Aussie directed his weapon towards John Savage, to a mark right between his eyes. “You want to tell me why a priest is carrying a Glock that’s mounted with an illegal suppressor?”

“I’m not a priest,” he said.

“So you’ve said. Now answer my question.” He maintained his deadly aim. “But before you do, Padre, lower your weapon to the floor. And don’t be stupid.”

Savage looked at Red. But I just saved his life! And then he looked into the darkness of the corridor, looking for the things that lived within. “I need this weapon.”

Butcher Boy pressed the tip of his weapon behind and below Savage’s ear, the barrel was still warm. “That’s a good question, Mr. Savage. Why would a Vatican emissary be carrying illegal wares for a weapon he shouldn’t be in possession of to begin with?”

Savage’s eyes began to move in their sockets, telling Aussie what he was thinking. So Aussie raised his weapon until it was inches away from Savage’s head. “I told you not get stupid, didn’t I? Drop your weapon right now, mate. So help me, I won’t even hesitate.”

Savage sighed and let the weapon fall. “I can help,” he said.

“Yeah, well, I’m not too comfortable in knowing that someone is carrying a weapon that I don’t know about. Especially from someone who’s obviously skilled in marksmanship as you are.” Aussie moved closer to the point where Savage thought the man was going to kiss him on the cheek, prompting Savage to lean away. But Aussie took a couple of quick sniffs and smiled. “You know something, Padre. You stink to high heaven. There’s just something about you that doesn’t smell right to me.” He fell back a couple of steps with his weapon leveled. “So tell me,” he said, his impish smile never flagging, “are there any more bloody surprises about you that I should know about?”

Savage kept his eyes forward and said nothing while Butcher Boy picked up the sidearm. He held it up in display, revealing a suppressor that was as long as the firearm’s barrel, a top-of-the-line model. He tucked the Glock in the rear of his waistband.

Aussie and Butcher Boy continued with furtive glances down the corridor while keeping an eye on Savage, as well. “Who are you, John Savage?” asked Butcher Boy. “Why do I know that name?”

“I was in the military,” he said.

Butcher Boy cocked his head. “You want to jar my memory?”

“Navy SEAL, Team Nine,” he said.

Butcher Boy’s eyes started. Of course! “You know this bloke?” asked Aussie.

Butcher Boy nodded. “You’re that John Savage?”

“I surrendered my post—”

“I know all about that,” said Butcher Boy. “You were an elite soldier, one of the best, specialized in double-edged weaponry and classified as a Class-A sniper.” Savage remained stoically silent. “And then you screwed up in the Philippines with half your unit getting killed along with the marks that you were sent in to save, all because of a bad judgment call on your part. Am I right?”

“You’re not wrong.”

“So you were asked to resign. Word was that you weren’t right in the head. Is that right?” When Savage didn’t answer, he pressed him. “Why would an agent from the Vatican come here with nothing on his person but a sidearm and suppressor? You stand away from everyone watching and waiting.” Butcher Boy moved closer. “But what is it that you’re waiting for, Savage? Why carry a gun?” And then: “What was your real mission?”

Savage unknowingly shot a glance to Alyssa, a micro-expression that gave him away.

“Her!” said Butcher Boy, pointing a finger and chortling. “She was your mission?”

Alyssa appeared stunned. Me?

And then it was all too clear. Butcher Boy removed the weapon from his waistband and held it up, turning it so the burnished steel of the suppressor reflected in the lamp light. “You’re here as an assassin, aren’t you? They sent you to kill her, didn’t they?”

“Yes.”

Alyssa’s world crumbled at that moment — this man, this representative of the Vatican, an assassin? Her knees suddenly became gelatinous, but she held. Obsidian Hall was intrigued as he came closer. “Why?” he asked. “Why does the Church want you to remove Ms. Moore from the equation?”

“I don’t know,” he answered. “The source was vague.”

“The source? You mean the pontiff.” Savage remained quiet. Hall moved closer, his face bearing the marks and twists of a prosecuting attorney going in for the kill. “What is it that the pope does not want us to know?” he asked. “What’s in here? What does he want to keep away from the world?”

Savage’s continued silence was becoming quite annoying to Hall. “These are not rhetorical questions, Mr. Savage.”

“I can’t give you answers to questions I don’t know.”

Hall looked into the darkness. “Then we move on and find out for ourselves,” he said.

“No.” Alyssa’s voice was strong, which surprised even her. “We’re done. We’re going back. Mr. Savage needs to be turned over to the authorities.”

Hall managed a few steps until he stood before Alyssa, his hands clasped behind the small of his back. “You don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

“You’re not in charge here,” he said, smiling fiendishly. “You haven’t been for a while now.”

“What are you talking about? This is my expedition.”

“Was your expedition,” he told her. “The truth, Ms. Moore, is that I need your skills of interpretation to get me to the lower chamber.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Does it look like I’m kidding?”

“I won’t do it,” she said sternly.

“I think you will.”

“Then you think wrong.”

He stared at her for a long moment. “Is that your final answer?”

“As final as it can get.”

“Very well, then.” He turned to Aussie. “Mr. Aussie.”

“Sir.”

“I’m paying you a lot of money to follow my commands, correct?”

“You are.”

“Then listen to me very clearly. I’m about to give you a command. You will not hesitate; you will act immediately upon my say. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

He turned to Alyssa. This time his face held the same coldness as his blue eyes. “Ms. Moore,” he said with diplomatic evenness, “if you want me to implore you for your much needed services, then I will do so. Is that what you want?” She remained unresponsive. “Let it not be said that Obsidian Hall did not give you a chance. So, Ms. Moore, I implore you. Will you please lead my team to the lower chamber?”

This time she crossed her arms defensively across her chest. Savage admired her grit.

“Very well, then,” Hall said, sounding defeated. “I did afford you an opportunity.”

“You can’t do this without my support. You need me,” she said with confidence.

“That, Ms. Moore, is the truth.” His wily smile was back. “Mr. Aussie!”

“Sir.”

“Step forward, please.”

The large Australian, wearing his 30-pound flak jacket and holding his weapon, stood next to Hall. “Sir.”

“You will not hesitate on my command. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Alyssa’s face dropped. He’s really going to do this. And then: “Shoot Mr. Wainscot,” he said calmly.

True to his word, Aussie raised his weapon and fired off a quick burst, the bullets stitching across Noah’s abdomen from left to right, the old man’s face registering too late as he was punched back against the wall and slid down its length, leaving a trail of blood the color of black tar in his wake. He sat there, a hand raised, his mind confused, his eyes and mouth opening wide with the surprise of his own mortality.

Alyssa screamed and ran to him. Eser and Harika were right beside her but it was Alyssa who grabbed Noah’s head and cradled it against her bosom. “And then there were nine,” Hall said with mock sadness.

Savage leaned forward as if he wanted to provide aid but Butcher Boy held him firm. “Don’t even think about being a hero, soldier boy,” he said, holding his MP-7 steady. “Don’t even.”

Alyssa was sobbing as she drew Noah’s head away, and then placed her forehead against his so that their eyes were inches apart. “I’m so sorry,” she told him.

He raised a bloodied hand to her cheek, caressed it, leaving a blood smear. “It’s all right, my dear.” His voice was weak, fading.

“I’m… so… sorry, Noah.”

He offered her a smile. “Please accept my apology.”

“Your apology? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“For all those times I called you Ms. Alyssa when you didn’t like it.”

She couldn’t believe his attempt at humor at such a time. She let out a sound that was a mixture of a sob and a laugh. “You can call me whatever you want,” she told him.

His eyes went distant as if looking past her and through her, his hand suddenly reaching for something only he could see. And then he exhaled. It was the longest exhalation of breath she had ever heard as his life slipped away. Slowly, she allowed his head to fall forward until his forehead rested upon her chest.

“And he was important to the team,” said Hall, “Since he could interpret as well as you. So don’t you ever underestimate me again.” She looked at him. Her face crimson with fury and her teeth were bared in savage rage. “You really should get a hold of that temper of yours,” Hall said.

She leapt at him with her fingers extended to rake across his face, but Aussie stepped in front of her and hammered her with the stock of his weapon, knocking her out cold. Hall sighed. “Well, she does have chutzpah. I’ll give her that.”

“And what about him?” asked Aussie, referring to Noah with an inclination of his head

Hall shrugged. “Leave him. Perhaps whatever those things are will feed on him and leave us alone.” As Aussie walked away, however, he didn’t believe so.

When she awoke, she did so with Savage sitting next to her. Eser and Harika sat across the way, huddled to the point where they seemed to be a single mass. When she turned and saw Savage looking back at her with eyes she had once found adoring, she rolled her own eyes, the movement promoting the pain of her headache. “It just gets better,” she said. “Putting me right next to the jerk who wanted to kill me. Bravo!”

“You don’t understand,” Savage returned.

“What’s to understand?” she asked heatedly. “You admitted that you were sent to kill me.”

He turned away. He couldn’t dispute that.

“Well, Ms. Moore,” said Hall, standing in the feeble light, looking grimy in his pee-stained pants. “Welcome back to the conscience world. Have a headache, do you?”

“I’d say piss off, but it looks like you already did that.”

His smile quickly vanished. “You will be far more cooperative from here on in, is that clear?”

“Or what? You’ll shoot this idiot sitting beside me to make your point? Go ahead. Be my guest.”

“Or perhaps I’ll shoot them,” he said, directing his stare to the two senior archeologists. “Their blood is now on your hands.”

“You’re a bastard,” she said.

“So the papers say,” he agreed. “But no matter what you think of me, Ms. Moore, I get what I want. And I want you to lead me and my team to the chamber below.” He looked at her with apathy; his voice holding the same measure of detachment as his gaze. “In ten minutes,” he told her categorically, “we move. So get ready.”

“What’s to get ready for?” she said. “You want me to put on a dress?” She could tell that she was getting to him — could see the brewing annoyance on his face.

“Ten… minutes,” he stated. And then he turned and walked away.

“I’ll say this for you,” said Savage. “You got guts.”

“Shut up.”

Ten minutes later they were on the move.

Eser and Harika were forced to take point with a lamp in each hand, acting as the first line of defense. They were terrified and quiet, as they had been throughout the entire journey, their rock in Noah now gone.

Aussie and Butcher Boy stayed on their heels to provide protection, keeping a vigilant eye forward. They were the second line of defense.

Carroll helped Red along, who appeared as gray and shiny as the tallow of wax. Dark rings circled his eyes. His face shone with sweat and when he swallowed, he did so with agony. It was as if shards of broken glass were sliding down his windpipe.

Alyssa and Savage were in front of them, being prodded along with the point of Carroll’s weapon as Carroll half dragged, half carried his brother with his other arm. Hall took the rear, believing that the danger was in front of them and not behind.

Occasionally, Alyssa took glances at Red and noted the symptoms of toxic poisoning. “Your friend needs a doctor,” she told Carroll.

“He’s not my friend. He’s my brother.”

“You’re not friends with your brother?”

“Keep moving.”

The tunnels and corridors appeared endless in the constant dark. They took steps that were slow and cautious with Aussie and Butcher Boy keeping their weapons held at eye level, pointing the mouths of their firearms between Eser and Harika and into the darkness.

“Ms. Moore,” Hall said. “Are we simply walking hallways? There has to be some sort of passageway that leads below.”

“We’re almost at the room of the Crystal Bull,” she said.

“The Crystal Bull. How intriguing that does sound.” Whatever. “And what is the room of the Crystal Bull?” he questioned further.

“My father believed that this pyramid is a temple glorifying nature and the surrounding fauna when the garden was actually a land of fertility and fruitfulness, the true Garden of Eden. The beasts depicted on the pillars in Göbekli Tepe symbolize the area’s one-time abundance of them. The bull, in some cultures, is the symbol of fertility. It’s also the first room. But there are other rooms of worship. How many, I don’t know.”

“See that, Ms. Moore? Already you’re earning your stay… You’re just a plethora of information, aren’t you?”

“You’re just a plethora of information, aren’t you?” she mimicked.

Ten minutes later, Aussie and Butcher Boy stopped the Turkish archeologists from moving forward. With the same stiff rigidity, they held their weapons raised and their trigger fingers flexing, then resting firmly, with more than half the pressure needed to pull the trigger.

Alyssa looked at Savage who stood ramrod straight and appeared just as intense, the man a barometer to danger. “What?” He turned his ear toward the veil of darkness as if to pick something up — a sound perhaps. “What?” she repeated.

“There’s something in there,” he finally whispered. “And it’s coming closer.”

The great beasts moved with prudence, having witnessed the power of their enemy.

They had seen one of their own go down in the throes of a firefight, their instincts tuned to the fact that these creatures were deadly in their intent to commit mortal damage. So they held back and assessed the situation, their instinct of territoriality so tremendous they were practically driven to suicide runs as an ironic act of self-preservation.

They grouped as hunters and began tapping their raptor-like claws in communication, their frills absorbing and deciphering a complex language of sounds.

…tap-tap-tap… tap-tap-tap… tap-tap-tap… tap-tap-tap…

And then there was a cry, a shrill, the mouth of the beast opening wide and crying out. In unison, they pulled back as if they were of a collective mind and found comfort within the shadows.

From behind the dark veil they watched. They waited. And when instinct finally tells them that the feel of the hunt is truly in their favor… Only then will they attack.

Butcher Boy was looking at the colorful cartoonish screen of the thermal imager. “They’re gone,” he said.

“Move forward. Move slowly. And keep your bloody eyes and ears open.” But when the Turks balked, Aussie prompted Eser with the point of his automatic weapon by pressing its end against his back and giving him a goading shove forward. “Let’s go, mate. We ain’t getting’ any younger.”

Butcher Boy kept his eyes on the imager screen. The corridor was clear but his senses remained heightened. Just because he couldn’t see anything didn’t mean that it wasn’t there. He had learned that in the Philippines when his military unit had taken on a guerilla faction with Muslim ties. The rebels used the jungle fauna as camouflage and hid in plain sight, remaining unseen until it was too late for some, the price of blindness costing the lives of good men.

Within thirty meters they had come upon a small opening to the right, a passageway.

“Ms. Moore.” Butcher Boy waved the imager back in forth across the opening. Nothing — everything appeared clear. Alyssa moved to the fore of the line with lack of prudence, her lamp held out in front of her. “Careful,” cautioned Butcher Boy.

“It’s all right.”

“Nevertheless, Ms. Moore,” Hall interjected, “caution should be a practiced virtue.”

The ramp way was set at a forty-five degree incline, leading into a chamber. Suddenly she could feel the insect-like skin crawl of excitement, the tickle along the edge of the scalp line. Casting vigilance to the wind, she pressed forward with her lamp throwing out a strong circle of light.

“Ms. Moore!” Butcher Boy sounded genuinely concerned as he reached for her and missed. “We don’t know what’s in there!”

“I do!”

After taking the short passageway, she entered a circular chamber capped with a vaulted ceiling. Standing sentinel in the center with the hoof of its foreleg held aloft and its head held high in boldness, stood the life-sized monument of a bull cast in clouded crystal quartz.

She moved closer with a hand held out to rest upon the corded flank of the beast, to touch its sculpted perfection. It stood upon a large plinth of black silica. The points of its horns held the sharpness of ice picks, its mouth was ajar, the image of bellowing domination. Its fore hoof was raised and seemed about to paw the earth, to strike it, to create a groove. It was the pose of unbridled strength and power.

“Magnificent,” whispered Hall, entering. He was just as enthralled as Alyssa.

“Let’s not lose our perspective,” said Aussie. “Remember — we’re not alone ‘ere.” Aussie and Butcher Boy quickly scouted the area, their weapons raised to eye level, their heads on a swivel, aiming, searching. And then: “Clear!” Aussie lowered his weapon, but kept his senses keen and alert.

Hall took the time to run a hand over the crystal hide of the bull, could feel its perfection. His mind was working as to where upon the Seafarer he could display such a remarkable piece. “Amazing,” he whispered.

Savage walked the periphery of the chamber looking for imminent danger rather than at the bull, the difference between a soldier and a scientist.

In the room’s center, Carroll leaned his brother against the plinth, the man growing sicker and weaker, the toxin of the creature’s bite coursing through his system. “Butch!”

Butcher Boy joined his side by getting on a bended knee and placing the back of his hand against Red’s forehead.

“Not feeling too good, Cap,” Red whispered. “I’m on fire. I can tell.”

“Yeah, you are,” he said, lowering his hand. And then over his shoulder: “Ms. Moore.”

She saw the soldiers gathering around Red and took sudden note of the waxy glow of his face, and the deadly dark rings that surrounded his eyes. She took up position in front of him as Butcher Boy surrendered space to her. “We got antibiotics in our packs,” said Butcher Boy. But it was apparent to them that the situation was grave. The man’s life was bleeding out.

Alyssa felt his temperature and measured the rate of his pulse, which beat at the pace of a drum roll. “This man needs to be in a hospital,” she told him. “He’s burning up.”

“We know that,” said Butcher Boy. “But that’s obviously not an option at this point.”

“Then what do you expect me to do?”

“How long can antibiotics carry him through?”

She reached over and peeled back the torn fabric of his shirt that was stuck to the wound, causing Red to whistle in pain through gritted teeth. The skin had greened and soured, the smell of the injury was in the beginning stage of decay. “I’m going to say this again. He needs to be in a hospital.”

“And again, that’s not an option.”

“The toxin is fast-acting,” she told him. “Antibiotics won’t even put a dent in this. If you don’t get this man help, then he will die.”

Red squirmed in obvious pain. Looking for a quick solution to Red’s condition, Butcher Boy turned to Aussie and saw the blankness of his expression. Carroll held the same look. No one had an answer. He stood up and ran a hand over his military crop of hair. And then he rested that hand on Carroll’s forearm. It was an act of sorrow. “Give him the antibiotics anyway,” he said sadly. “It’s better than nothing.”

Carroll closed his eyes, choking back his emotions. Butcher Boy stepped away, beckoning Alyssa to join him in counsel. “What?”

“These — things,” he said. “How deadly are they? What are we up against?”

“These types of lizards, like the Komodo dragon and the Gila monster, excrete bacterial saliva with its bite which enters the wound upon the moment of mauling. Now the bite of the Komodo has been known to kill small children. But this creature is much larger. I can only assume, given the condition of your man there—”

“His name is Red,” he cut in curtly.

“Red, then… I can only assume, given the condition of Red, and after seeing the wound, that the toxin is extremely virulent and fast moving. Given the rapid pace of its spread, he’ll most likely be dead within the hour.”

“He just got bit.”

“Hey, you wanted my professional opinion, I gave it to you. But you’re more than welcome to seek a second opinion.” She waved her hand indicating the inhabitants within the room.

He shook his head in revulsion. Not much to choose from, he realized. “So a single bite is fatal?”

“Obviously.”

He turned to Red. The man was fading quickly. It would be better to put him out of his misery, he considered, a quick shot to the head, quick and painless, but not in front of his brother.

“We need to leave here,” Alyssa said. “The cost is already too high.”

“No, Ms. Moore.” Obsidian Hall joined their little conversation. His hands were clasped behind the small of his back. “Professional soldiers do not run from adversity, which is why they were hired. Losing lives in the battlefield is a way of life. These people have been trained to live under such conditions. They bury their emotions and move on. Yes, Mr. Red’s situation is unfortunate. But it’s the nature of the game — something they have come to expect.”

“We don’t stand a chance,” she said heatedly. “Can’t you see that?”

“What I see, Ms. Moore, is a team of professionals learning from Mr. Red’s mishap. It won’t happen again. They’re seasoned and know what to expect.”

She shook her head. “Why are you even here?” she asked. “Do I need to ask?”

He smiled. “For this,” he said, opening his arms wide at the bull in invitation. “Treasures, ancient relics — it’s all here for the taking,” he said. He lowered his arms and pointed his finger at the floor, indicating the levels below. “And the best is yet to come.”

She wanted to say ‘I won’t help you.’ But she looked over at Eser and Harika, two young people who didn’t deserve this. Two people who wanted to be a part of history, not buried by it. She walked away defeated.

He smiled, licked the tip of his forefinger, and scored the air as if writing the number one against an imaginary tablet, chalking a win for him and a loss for her.

Chaching!