The Isis Covenant

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It was another week before Jamie found the time to visit the Egyptian section of the British Museum. At first it seemed simple, but the more he studied the printout of the file Detective Danny Fisher had sent him the more he realized that something was wrong. The all-seeing eye was a common enough symbol in Egyptology, featuring in amulets, pendants and sculptures, but there was something different about this eye. He spent most of the morning in the museum’s great domed reading room studying dusty tracts and scholarly works. Well after lunchtime, with hunger gnawing at him like a starving rat, he eventually found what he was looking for and an intriguing pencilled cross-reference attached to it. The only problem was, what did it mean?

He searched for the volume the note referred to, but it wasn’t on the shelf where it should be. The tome was so obscure it didn’t seem likely someone else had borrowed it, more likely it had been put back in the wrong place. Still it was worth checking.

‘I’m looking for a book called Myths and Legends of the Ancient World. The computer says it should be on the shelf, but it seems to be missing?’

The girl behind the counter frowned and checked her own computer before turning to an old-fashioned ledger. She shook her head. ‘I thought so. The database hasn’t been updated yet. This title was reported missing three weeks ago. Stolen. You’d be amazed how often it happens.’

He thanked her, hiding his frustration, and turned away.

‘Oh, hang on,’ she called. ‘Yes, I thought I was right. We actually have another copy of Myths and Legends, only it’s in our foreign-language section. Would that be of help?’

When he was certain he had what he was looking for he returned the books and walked across the Great Court and through the pillared entrance onto Great Russell Street. Normally, he would have taken the Tube to Bond Street, but instead he decided to walk back to the office to give himself time to consider what he’d found. His route took him across Tottenham Court Road, and a few minutes later he reached Oxford Street. The quickest way was straight on, but somehow the thought of forcing his way through hordes of damp shoppers didn’t appeal, so he turned down towards Soho Square and then west, letting his feet find the way. It wasn’t until too late that he realized he was being followed. Two of them, in jeans and what the kids called ‘hoodies’ — thick sweatshirts, with all-encompassing cowls that hid their faces. The one on the right was in blue and the other dark brown. Jamie cursed himself for not taking the more obvious route and felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. Idiot. How could he have lowered his guard like this?

He glanced back a second time and confirmed his first suspicion. Young men, lean and hard, their fitness apparent in the way they carried themselves. If they’d been muggers they would have walked with a certain amount of aggressive swagger and tried to distract him with some sort of diversion. These men were like Cruise missiles locked on to their target. They were less than twenty paces away and keeping in step with quick, purposeful strides. Fight or run? He looked around for an escape route, but they’d caught him in the perfect place, a narrow street of bars and nightclubs whose shuttered fronts wouldn’t be opened for hours yet. Run then; he was certain he could stay ahead of them until he reached the relative safety of one of the busier streets. But even as he made the decision he saw it was too late. Two more appeared at the end of the road, hands hanging loose by their sides and making their way directly towards him. He crossed the road, just in case he was wrong, but they mirrored his movement and he knew that behind him the followers would be doing the same. His heart rate increased and he fought to control his breathing. He wasn’t frightened, not yet, only prepared. The world slowed and he knew it would stay that way until it was over. He slipped his hand into his pocket and about-turned so that he was walking directly towards the men who’d been following him. Their faces were just visible in the shadow of the hoods, and he could see the consternation on them. The fact that there were four aggressors was oddly reassuring, because you didn’t need four people to shoot somebody in the back of the head. A few paces separated them now. The thought occurred to him that he might be wrong, and that they were going to let him pass, but the man on the left went for his pocket and then there was no going back.

The sock full of damp building sand had been sitting uncomfortably in Jamie’s pocket all day. He swung it backhanded at full extension so it took brown hoodie on the point of the jaw. For the victim, it was like being on the wrong end of an uppercut from Mike Tyson. His head snapped back with a horrible crunch of breaking teeth, and he went down with his eyes crossed as his legs collapsed under him. Even as his man was falling, Jamie continued his spin, reckoning that the element of surprise would have frozen blue hoodie in place. He didn’t have time to worry about the men behind him, but he heard a shout that told him they weren’t far away. As it turned out, blue hoodie was quicker than he looked. By the time Jamie faced him he was inside the most effective range of the improvised sap with a knife in his right hand and coming in at a crouch. Jamie blocked the knife thrust with his left wrist in a way that would have made his close combat instructor proud and raised his right foot and brought his boot down on the inside of his attacker’s left knee, drawing a satisfying cry of agony as blue hoodie joined his friend on the concrete. But the clock in his head told him his time was almost up. He spun to face the new threat, flailing with the sock even as some kind of spring-loaded blackjack landed on the nerve midway between his shoulder and his neck. Even cushioned by his overcoat’s shoulder pad, the numbing shock ran down his right arm and the sock fell from his nerveless fingers. At the same time an explosion of agony swamped his body and filled his brain with red light. He was already going down as his legs were kicked from beneath him and he twisted his head to avoid smashing his face on the rough concrete.

‘Look what the bastard’s done to Jimmy.’

A boot thumped in his ribs, but the pain barely registered amid the waves of agony still radiating from his injured shoulder.

‘Cunt!’

Someone kicked him in the stomach, knocking all the air from him, and he tried to struggle to his feet to escape the flailing boots. How could he have forgotten the cosh? This time it was his left side, and he might as well have been paraplegic for all he could do to defend himself as he fell back face first with the dirt and dog-pee smell of damp pavement in his nostrils.

He could hardly move a muscle. Even as the thought gelled, one of them — he thought it might be blue hoodie — took a half-hearted kick that grazed his cheek, but nonetheless hurt like hell.

A hand twisted in his hair and raised his head from the pavement.

‘The man says to back off.’ The voice snarled in his right ear, but it seemed to come from very far away. ‘You got that, fucker? The man says to back off.’

He tried to respond, but his brain struggled to make sense of what he’d heard. Back off? Back off what? Which man? Without warning his face exploded as his nose was smashed against the ground. Tears filled his eyes and he tasted iron in his mouth.

‘I said, you got that fucker? Nod if you understand.’

Somehow he must have managed to nod.

‘Cos if you don’t, next time we won’t be so fuckin’ gentle. In the meantime, here’s something on account. For Jimmy.’