Judgment Night [BUREAU 13 Book One] (14 page)

"Want me to help?” Jessica offered.

In spite of our situation, I hesitated before saying yes. It was no easy thing to allow another person access to your mind, even a close friend like Jess. But this was an emergency, so I said yes and shouldered my weapon. Stepping close, Jessica cupped my face in her warm hands and our gaze locked. Involuntarily, I stiffened as her thoughts gently slid into my mind, then completely relaxed under a soothing caress softer than a lover's kiss.

Instantly, the years flowed backwards like the fluttering pages of a book in the wind. I was a PI in Chicago, a cop on the South Side, a security officer for my father's trucking firm, in high school, a sophomore, November, 14, Tuesday, 11:45 am, in Chemistry, my teacher droned on about something incredibly dull...

"Got it!” I cried as we broke apart. “Its the periodic table."

"Nonsense,” George snorted, working the bolt on his weapon to clear a jam. “Doesn't resemble it a bit."

"Not the new, modern version, but the old original. Dimitri Mendeleef's simple one, circa 1869."

He got the idea. A couple of thousand years ago, the molecular structure of water would be big juju. Forbidden knowledge. Far beyond the understanding of most common folk, who thought everything was made of the four elements. And sometimes they got those confused.

Reaching above the door, I pressed the first square—hydrogen. It sank, but rose again as soon as I let go. I pressed it once more and now it locked into place with a click. Holding my breath, I counted to the eighth square that should be oxygen and depressed it. The square sank, locked into position and noiselessly the massive stone door swung inward.

"Retreat!” Mindy shouted, charging through the open doorway.

Maintaining defensive fire to protect our rear, the team moved into an antechamber, a seamless cavern of natural stone only a few yards wide. There was no other exit in sight.

"Close the door, please,” Jessica said, taking cover behind the wall and shoving fresh shells into her weapon. Countless waves of the water demons were washing onto the shore, marching at us in nightmarish precision.

"Now would be good!” George shouted, firing a stream of caseless HE from his bulky assault cannon.

Confidently, I searched on the other side of the door, but saw only smooth blank stone. No symbol, no keyboard. No nothing.

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"Find another keyboard!” I ordered, searching the walls.

Rosary dangling from his gunbelt, Father Donaher took a position in the doorway alongside George and hosed the front ranks of the creatures with his flamethrower. In a loud hiss, they disintegrated, only to be replaced by dozens more.

"This is getting serious,” he shouted above the roar of the burning spray. “Close the freaking door!"

Jessica dramatically touched it with a single finger and Mindy gave it a roundhouse kick. “We're trying!"

"No time for halfway measure!” Richard shouted, rolling up his sleeves. “Stand back!"

We cleared away fast. Gesturing wildly, the wizard shouted in a foreign language and the chamber was instantly immersed in total blackness.

"Did the spell work?” somebody asked from the dark.

"Yep,” a smug voice replied.

Flashlights clicked and in the bright white beams we saw that the doorway was closed solid with a stout wall of red fireplace bricks.

"Good work, man!” I said, slapping him on the shoulder.

He smiled. “Thanks."

"Why bricks?” Jessica asked curiously.

"First thing that came to mind."

Father Donaher adjusted the pre-burner on the sizzling nozzle of his weapon. “Come on, George. Let's form a firing line just in case they can get through."

Grimly, George nodded. “Check."

But as the soldier stepped away from the brick wall and the toe of his boot cleared the swing line of the door, the stone mass promptly closed and locked. Stunned silence followed.

"A regulated door,” Mindy gasped in sudden understanding. “The damn thing won't close as long as somebody is in the way."

Growling a curse, Richard grabbed our chubby gunman by the collar. “You almost got me killed, Renault!” he snarled.

"Won't be the first time, Anderson!” George snarled back.

They bumped chests for awhile, making dangerous-sounding threats, then broke apart laughing.

Strange as it sounds, I have heard of some military leaders who don't allow this kind of horseplay by soldiers. In my opinion, they're the kind of idiots who are either easily defeated by the enemy, or else get killed from friendly fire. Humor relieves tension and improves morale. Besides, it was the first time anybody had actually joked since the disappearance of Raul. We were starting to pull together again.

"Hey, look!” Richard cried, pointing his wand.

We turned and on the cavern wall behind us was a tunnel not there before. Ten feet wide and high, the passage led deeper into the cliff, the end beyond the range of our flashlights.

Mindy angled her beam around for a better look, but nothing new was shown. “Must have formed when the outer door closed."

"Makes sense,” Donaher agreed, stroking his moustache. “Typical security arrangement."

"Security infers they have enemies."

"They do now,” George said gruffly, taping his flashlight to the end of the barrel on his assault cannon.

I was going to immediately proceed into the tunnel, when I noticed the slightly hangdog appearance of the group and remembered that we had been on the go since 4am this morning. Fifteen straight hours. This was no place to pitch camp, but a short rest couldn't hurt.

"We'll hold here for ten minutes,” I said, checking the load on my grenade launcher. “If the water guys haven't gotten through the door by then, we break for lunch."

"Here?” Jessica asked, arching an eyebrow. “I thought we would at least go down the tunnel a ways."

"Why?” Mindy replied. “This way, we know one direction we won't be attacked from."

Jess gave a slow nod. “True enough."

Everybody assumed an attack position, weapons ready and the ten minutes passed with agonizing slowness. As the second hand on my watch swept to twelve, I breathed a sigh of relief. My innards were gnawing on each other and my head still hurt from the plane crash. Luckily, this double barrier did the trick.

"Okay, short break,” I said. “Water and MRE packs only. No cooking, no fire. Standard guard rotation."

Gratefully, the group allowed their packs to slide to the ground and set about opening food packages. I took the first shift, dry swallowing aspirins from my pocket med kit and keeping my butt to the wall where I could watch the door and tunnel.

For a few minutes there was no sound except ripping mylar, crinkling plastic wrap, munching and slurping. Wolfing down his food, George relieved me and I happily joined them. Aspirins make very poor luncheon fare.

Chewing a military meatloaf sandwich, Donaher was busy with the flamethrower, checking gauges and thumping tanks. “I'm afraid this is pretty much drained,” he announced sadly. “No more than a ten second charge left in it. Hardly worth carrying anymore."

"Then here,” Jessica said, offering the pump-action shotgun. “Take this."

He hesitated. “But, Jess..."

"It is your preferred weapon, correct?"

"Well, yes."

"Then take the shotgun. There are plenty of stun bags, and I'll use one of the M16 rifles. Doesn't make much difference to me. I hate all weapons."

That was certainly true. On just regular day-to-day living, I toted my S&W .357 Magnum into the shower. But even on a field assignment, Jessica only carried a taser. She once explained that it had something to do with the negative psychic vibrations of an offensive weapon disrupting her mental harmony. I chuckled to myself. Telepaths. Can't live with them, can't live without them.

"I heard that,” sang out Jessica, removing the plastic wrapper from an apple.

Oops.

Lowering his canteen, Richard wiped his mouth and recapped the container. “Any ideas about that tunnel?” he asked the group at large.

"Probably a security corridor, similar to the one at our HQ,” I said. “Once past the outer door, people who know what they're doing can stroll along without being molested. But a stranger will blunder about tripping alarms and other nasty stuff."

"There are an awful lot of assumptions in that,” Mindy observed around a mouthful of candy bar. “We don't even know who we're dealing with yet. Animal, vegetable or mineral. Mortal, spirit or construct."

"Good, bad or neutral,” Jessica added, finishing the litany.

"When do we ever know anything for certain?” Father Donaher said. “Faith, lass, there's a bit of good in the most evil of men, and a touch of bad in each of us."

"But death is for keeps,” Mindy snarled, teeth savaging her candy bar.

If they were getting this philosophical, I decided the group had rested enough. Standing, I brushed the crumbs from my khaki jumpsuit. Where was Armani when you needed him?

"Okay, break over,” I announced. “Let's check the supplies and get going."

By reflex, we cleaned the site and packed the refuse. Feeling immensely refreshed, I stood guard again while the rest of the team routed through the mounds of supplies in a fast inventory. Work would keep their minds off our recent loses. As the Eskimos say, food is sleep. Smart folks.

"So what are we missing?” I asked, when they were done.

Checking a list in her hand, Jessica reported. “The barrel of water, the big tent, all of the mountain climbing gear, the inflatable raft, the flare gun and the scuba outfits."

"No loss on the last,” Donaher said, loudly blowing his nose on a bandana.

"Thank you, Elephant Man. How about weapons?"

"The Surface-to-Air Missiles are gone,” George said glumly. “And so are two of our satchel charges. We have all of the Uzi machine guns and plenty of ammo, but no clips for them."

Swell. “Dump the guns next to the flamethrower, but keep the ammunition. It'll fit our pistols. Anything else? How ‘bout my briefcase?"

"Not here,” Richard frowned, poking at the stony ground with his staff.

I spat an oath.

"Was it something good” Mindy asked. “Or merely useful?"

"Very useful,” I replied sadly. “Extremely so. It was a miniature atomic bomb."

Silence.

"A Snoopy?” George asked in awe.

I nodded. He whistled.

"We had a nuke?” Jessica asked, her voice rising in pitch.

"Yep. A miniature atomic bomb, about half a kiloton yield. Not enough to destroy the whole island, but more than sufficient to convince anybody that we mean business."

"Damn,” Mindy said, grinding a fist into her palm. “That is a major loss. Should we try and go get it?"

After a moment's thought, I shook my head. “Too darn dangerous. We'll just have to solve the situation, or leave before zero hour in...” I checked my watch. “Twenty two hours."

There were murmurs of approval. Horace Gordon had said, that none of his people are expendable. Well, usually not.

While George booby-trapped the collection of useless weapons we piled by the door, the rest of us distributed the remaining ammunition and explosives on the cart for easy access. Then Richard tightly tied down the canvas sheet with easy-open slip knots, as Mindy oiled the wheels.

Finally, we gathered in front of the mouth of the tunnel. Checking the entrance for traps, it proved to be clean and I proceeded carefully inside. The smooth walls of the tunnel curved to become ceiling, the rock strangely warm to the touch.

However, the floor was properly cold, smooth and very clean. There was no way of telling if anybody had ever gone this way, or we were the first. Comforting thought.

"Two meter spread,” I whispered, gently working the bolt on my machine gun and easing off the safety. “Silent penetration. Single file. Mindy take the point position, George cover the rear."

"Check."

"Gotcha."

The air in the tunnel was deathly still and the noise of our boots echoed slightly. Nothing we could do about that. Our sneakers were in the frozen sea plane. The team only penetrated a short distance when we confronted a T intersection. Peeking to the left, Mindy reported a Y branching and Richard said he saw another T to the right.

"It's a Phoenician maze,” Donaher said scowling, resting the shotgun on a shoulder.

At once, I was suspicious. This was almost too easy. “The Egyptian solution?” I asked the priest and he agreed.

About three thousand years ago, the Egyptians started building pyramids protected by mazes filled with deathtraps. Now, it was too much to ask of anybody to expect them to remember a hundred specific twist and turns through the maze, so the builders settled upon the simple solution of the left wall. Never let your hand off the left wall and, eventually, you will reach the end of the maze alive and safe. Of course, this is a well-known trick nowadays, but if this place really was thousands of years old, the people who constructed the maze might think the solution still secret. The ploy had worked once before for us in Peru, when we went after the Aztec Book of the Damned and it just might work today.

With a sigh of steel on steel, Mindy drew her sword, the rainbow effect of the blade casting crazed shadows on the walls. “Let's go,” she said and we followed close behind, our fingertips brushing stone.

Three hours later, tired and dusty, we reached the end of the maze. Nothing to it. The last turn put us on a barren ledge facing a large empty room. The walls and ceiling were rough hewn, barely squared off, but the floor was a network of perfectly formed, one meter rectangles, seven in a row, ten long. At the far end of the room was a simple wooden door. Personally, I was wondering why the owners just didn't erect a sign here saying; “Beware, Death Trap. Please Advance and Die. Thank you."

"Want me to fly over and check the door?” Jessica asked, brandishing a bracelet.

"Don't waste it on this,” I said. “Might need it later."

"Want me to?” Richard offered, sniffing his flower.

"No. You're going to lead us across."