Temple (28 page)

Due to the fact that it fired a caseless bullet, the G-11 was not
only able to fire at the unimaginable rate of 2300 rounds per
minute, it was also able to store in its body some 150 rounds—five
times the number of bullets held in the clip of a.regular assault
rifle like the M-16. And even then it was only half the size of an
M-16.
Truth be told, the only thing that had stopped the G-11 was money.
In late 1989, political considerations forced the German government
to rescind its deal with Heckler & Koch to use the G-11 in the
Bundeswehr.
As a result, only four hundred G-11s were ever made.
Strangely, however, in an audit of the company during its takeover
by Britain's Royal Ordnance only ten of that original batch were
accounted for.
The other three hundred and ninety guns had disappeared.
I think we just found them, Race thought as he watched the rapas
take flight in the face of the barrage of supermachine- gun fire
coming at the guns.
'It's the Stormtroopers,' Schroeder said from beside him.
The hailstorm of gunfire outside continued.
Two more cats fell, squealing and shrieking, as a couple of the
Stormtroopers pummelled the village with their dev astating rain of
supermachine-gun fire.
The remainder of the cats took refuge in the rainforest surrounding
the town, and soon the main street was filled only with the
heavily-armed Stormtroopers.
'How the hell did they get here without us seeing them on the
SAT-SN?' Nash demanded.
“And why aren't the cats attacking them?' Race said.
Up until now, the cats had been merciless in their assaults, but
for some reason they had neither sensed nor attacked these new
soldiers.
It was then that the distinct smell of ammonia wafted in through
the windows of the ATV. The smell of urine. Mon key urine. The
Nazis had read the manuscript, too.
Suddenly Van Lewen's voice came in over their speakers.
'We're coming to the rope bridge now.'
Race and Nash spun together to face the monitor that dis played the
views of the three soldiers up in the crater.
On the monitor they saw Van Lewen's point of view as he bounced
across the rope bridge that led to the temple.
'Cochrane! Van Lewen! Hurry[” Nash said into his radio.
'We've got hostil—'
Just then a shrill, ear-piercing shriek warbled out from the ATV's
speakers and Nash's radio went dead.
'They've engaged electronic countermeasures,' Schroeder said.
“What?' Race said.
'They're jamming us,' Nash said.
'What do we do?' Ren6e asked.
Nash said, 'We've got to tell Van Lewen, Reichart and Cochrane that
they can't come back down here. They've got to get that idol and
get it as far away from here as possible.
Then, somehow, they have to get in touch with the air
support team and get the choppers to pick them up from somewhere in
the mountains.'
'But how are you going to do that if they're jamming our radios?'
Race said.
'One of us is going to have to go up to that temple and tell them,'
Nash said.
A short silence followed.
Then Schroeder said, “I'll go.”
Good idea, Race thought. After the Green Berets, Schroeder was
easily the most 'soldierly' of the group.
'No,' Nash said decisively. 'You can handle a gun. We need you down
here. You also know these Nazi guys better than any of us.'
That left Nash, Ren6e… or Race.
Oh, man, Race thought.
And so he said, 'I'll do it.'
'But… ?“ Schroeder began.
'I was the fastest guy in the football team back in college,'
Race said. 'I can make it.'
'But what about the rapas?' Ren6e said.
“I can make it.”
'All right, then, Race is elected,' Nash said, heading for the
pop-up hatch in the rear of the ATV.
'Here, take this,' he said, handing Race an M-16 complete w.ith all
the extras. 'Might stop you becoming cat food. Now go. Go!'
Race took a step toward the hatch, inhaled a slow, deep breath. He
took a final look at Nash, Schroeder and Ren6e.
Then he let out the breath he was holding and pushed up through the
hatch—
—and entered another world.
Supermachine-gun fire echoed out all around him, smacked into the
leaves nearby, splintered their trunks. It seemed so much louder
out here, so much more real. So much more lethal.
Race's heart thumped loudly inside his head.
What the hell am I doing out here with this gun in my hand?
You're trying to be a hero, that's what you're doing, you stupid
schmuck!
He took another breath.
All right…
Race leapt off the back of the ATV, landed on the western
log-bridge and took off down the riverside path beyond it.
He was surrounded by impenetrable grey fog. It lined the path
around him. Gnarled tree branches jutted out through it like
daggers.
The M-16 felt heavy in his hands and he held it awkwardly across
his chest as he ran, kicking up water with every step.
Then, without warning, a rapa slid out from the mist to
his right and rose to its full height in front of him and—
Blam!
The rapa's head exploded and the giant cat dropped like a stone,
began flopping wildly in the mud.
Race didn't miss a beat, he just hurdled the fallen cat.
Once he was over it, he turned to see Schroeder—with an M-16
pressed against his shoulder—sticking out from the hatch at the
back of the ATV.
Race ran.
A minute later, the fissure in the mountainside emerged from the
fog. Just as he caught sight of it, he heard voices
behind him, shouting in German.
“Achtung[”
“Schnell[ Schnell[”
Then suddenly he heard Nash's voice shouting from somewhere in the
mist behind him: “Race, hurry[ They're behind you[ They're heading
for the temple[”
Race bolted into the fissure.
Its damp stone walls flashed past him on either side as he raced
down its length.
Then all of a sudden he burst out into the massive canyon that
housed the skyscraper-like rock tower. The fog was thick here too.
The base of the rock tower was cloaked in a spooky grey mist.
Race didn't care. He saw the spiralling path to his left, jumped up
onto it, took off up its steep curving length.
Back in the village, Ren6e Becker stared fearfully out through the
narrow windows of the ATV.
. About thirty Nazi troops were massing in the village now. They
were dressed in state-of-the-art combat attire ceramic body armour,
lightweight kevlar tactical helmets and, of course, black ski
masks—and they moved with pur pose, like a well-trained,
well-prepared raiding party.
Ren6e saw one of the Nazis step out into the middle of the main
street and remove his helmet. The man then peeled off his black ski
mask and surveyed the area around him.
Ren6e's eyes went wide.
Although she had seen his picture a thousand times before on all
manner of 'MOST WANTED' posters, seeing him here, now, in the
flesh, made her skin crawl.
She immediately recognised the forward-brushed hair
and the narrow slit-like eyes. And the left hand that was possessed
of only four fingers.
She was looking at Heinrich Anistaze.
Without saying a word, Anistaze made a 'V' with his fingers and
pointed in the direction of the ATV.
Already a dozen of his G-11-armed men had dashed past the
all-terrain vehicle, heading up the riverside path toward the
fissure and the temple.
Now six more hustled over to the ATV, while the remaining twelve
took up defensive positions around the perimeter of the
village.
Two men, however, stood off to one side, guarding the Nazis'
radio-jamming device.
It was a small backpack-sized unit-called a pulse generator that
corrupted enemy radio signals by emitting a controlled
electromagnetic pulse, or EMP.
It was a rather unique device. Ordinarily, an electromagnetic pulse
will affect anything with a CPU in it—computers, televisions,
communications systems. Such a pulse is called an 'uncontrolled'
EMP. By controlling the frequency of their pulse, however, and by
ensuring that their own radios were set on frequencies above it,
the Nazis were able to jam their enemies' radio systems while still
maintaining their own communications.
As they were doing right now.
The six Nazis arrived at the ATV's side to find every window
shutter closed and every hatch bolted.
Inside the big vehicle, Nash, Schroeder and Ren6e sat huddled in
its various corners, holding their collective breaths.
The Stormtroopers didn't waste any time.
They immediately crouched underneath the big armoured vehicle and
began planting the explosives.
Race ran.
Up and up, round and round, following the long, curv ing bend of
the spiralling path.
Legs pumping. Heart pounding.
He came to the rope bridge. Bounced across it. Hurried up the stone
steps that led to the temple.
Race burst through the encroaching fern leaves and abruptly found
himself standing in the clearing in front of the portal.
The clearing was completely deserted.
No animal—neither man nor cat—was in sight.
The temple's portal yawned open before him, looming out of the fog.
The downward-leading steps inside it were cloaked in shadow.
Do not enter at any cost.
Death looms within.
Race held his M-16 out in front of him, flicked on its barrel-
mounted flashlight, cautiously stepped toward the portal. He stood
inside the great stone doorway—surrounded by the horrific carvings
of the rapas and the screaming humans— and peered down into the
blackness.
'Van Lewen!' he hissed. 'Van Lewen! Are you in there?'
No reply.
He took a step down into the temple, holding his gun awkwardly out
in front of him.
It was then that he heard the reply.
A long, slow growl from somewhere deep inside the temple.
Uh-oh.
Race gripped his gun a little more tightly, held his breath, took
another step down into the temple.
Ten more steps and he was standing in a dark stone pas sageway that
spiralled down and around to his right in a wide gentle
curve.
He saw a small alcove sunk into its wall, turned the beam of his
flashlight into it.
A horribly mangled skeleton stared back at him.
Its skull had been smashed inwards at the back and one
of its arms and its mouth was in a
was
missing,
open
horrified frozen scream. It was also wearing an ancient leather
vest.
Race took a horrified step back from the filthy skeletal
figure.
And then he noticed the object looped around its neck.
He only just saw it, hidden as it was in the folds of the dirty old
skeleton's vertebrae. He leaned forward to get a better look at
whatever it was.
It was a leather necklace of some sort.
Race touched the thin leather strap, worked it round the filthy
skeleton's neck. A few seconds later, a dazzling green emerald
appeared from behind the skeleton's bony neck, attached to the
leather necklace.
Race's heart skipped a beat. He knew of this emerald
pendant. Indeed, he had read about it only recently.
It was Renco's necklace.
The necklace that the high priestess in the Coricancha had given to
him the night he had spirited the idol out of Cuzco.
Race looked at the skeleton again in horror.
Renco.
Race lifted the necklace off the skeleton's head and held it in his
hands.
He thought of Renco for a moment—and then suddenly he recalled
something that he himself had said to Frank Nash not long
ago.
Somehow Renco and Santiago managed to lure the cats back inside the
temple, and at the same time put the idol inside it.
Race swallowed hard. Had Renco—-while carrying the
wet idol with him—led the cats back inside the temple?
He stared down at the mangled skeleton in horror.
So this was what had become of Renco.
This was what happened to heroes.
He placed the emerald necklace solemnly around his own neck. “Take
care, Renco,' he said aloud.
Just then harsh white light illuminated Race's face and he turned
eyes wide, like an animal caught in the headlights of a car—and
found himself staring at the faces of Cochrane, Van Lewen and
Reichart as they emerged from the darkness of the temple's inner
depths.
Reichart was holding something wrapped inside a tat tered purple
cloth.
Cochrane brushed roughly past Race, pushing his M-16 aside as he
did so. 'Why don't you put that fucking thing down before you kill
somebody.'
Tex Reichart stopped in front of Race and smiled as he held up the
object in his hands, the object wrapped inside the purple
cloth.
'We got it,' he said.
Reichart quickly unwrapped the cloth parcel and for the
first time, Race saw it.
The Incan idol.
The Spirit of the People.
Like the stone totem he had seen in the rainforest earlier, the
Spirit of the People looked infinitely more sinister in real life
than it had in his imagination.
It was about a foot tall, and roughly the size and shape of a
shoebox. The front section of the rectangular stone, how ever, had
been carved into the shape of a rapa's head—the angriest, fiercest
rapa Race had ever seen.
It was snarling ferociously, its jaws bared wide, its sharp pointed
teeth ready to slash and maim and kill.
What struck Race most about the carving, though, was how alive it
looked. Through a combination of skilled crafts manship and the
unusual nature of the stone itself, it seemed as if the rapa had
somehow been imprisoned inside the lustrous black-and-purple stone
and was now trying— maniacally, ferociously, rabidly—to force its
way out of it.
The stone, Race thought as he gazed at the thin veins of purple
that snaked their way down the snarling rapa's face,
giving it an extra level of anger and malevolence.
Thyrium.
If only the Incas had known what they were starting when they
carved this idol, he thought.
Reichart quickly replaced the cloth over the idol and the four of
them hurried back up to the temple's entrance.
'What the fuck are you doing up here?' Cochrane growled as they
came to the open portal.
'Nash sent me to tell you guys that the Nazis are down in the
village. They jammed our radios so we lost contact with you.
They're sending men up here now. Nash said to tell you not to come
back down to the village, but rather to get out of here some other
way and get in contact with the air support team and get them to
pick you up from somewhere in the mountains—'
At that moment, a burst of supermachine-gun fire raked the stone
walls of the portal all around them. The four of them ducked
quickly as a devastating line of bullets strafed the portal's
frame, shredding its solid stone walls as if they were made of
plaster.