David Leadbeater: Weapons of the Gods

“How far?” Hayden asked.

“Gotta be ten feet,” Luther said.

“Fifteen,” Molokai decided.

“Well,” Drake was scanning the fissure both ways, “the enemy must jump it. There’s no bridge. Not even a plank of wood.”

Mai and Smyth shone their flashlights around the chamber to make sure. They came up empty-handed, shrugging. Drake looked at the group.

“Anyone nervous?”

Without waiting he turned, sprinted and jumped. His arms wind-milled in mid-flight, the HK smacked him in the cheekbone, and then he landed safely on solid rock, rolling just once for good measure.

Dahl threw him the device, then jumped. The rest of the team came one by one. If there were any nerves none were shown. “Hard as nails,” Drake said, grinning as the last man, Smyth, leapt across.

Once more, they descended.

More time passed them by. It was Dahl that said: “Any deeper and we’ll be in Hell,” but the words sent a shiver trickling up Drake’s spine. The Swede was right. The descent felt endless, the vast complex around them crushingly prodigious. With every moment that passed they fell deeper and deeper toward their goal, so far below the earth they’d all lost the will to speak.

Finally, Dahl stopped. “The signal is as centered as it will ever get,” he said. “The forge should be just around the next corner.”

Drake shook himself, keeping focus, remembering most treasures were usually guarded. “Just don’t forget,” he said in a light voice. “We’re never gonna get it back up there without a plank.”

“Ah, the woes of all treasure hunters,” Alicia said, upbeat.

“Two would be better,” Dahl said.

“Why, one for each foot?”

“We could lash them together.”

“Fine. Two planks. Now, are we ready?”

Luther was already there.

Light filled this chamber, spilling from dozens of flickering flashlights set into the walls. Black smoke spiraled into the loftier shadows and was drawn away. The floor was flat, the walls ragged as if hewn by a drunken giant.

Drake saw six men.

One sat atop a pile of dusty old books, disrespectful and uncaring, since he surely knew he was guarding stolen valuables and possibly significant relics. He sat chewing, staring into space, and spat onto the dusty floor as Drake watched. Two more were seated to the far right, passing the time with an old board game. The final three walked among the treasures, picking some up, turning and squinting at them as if evaluating their worth.

“Did we expect this kinda bootie?” Alicia asked.

“Not really,” Hayden answered. “But we sure can’t take it all with us. Take photos and let others decide. That’s the best we can do.”

“They’re not particularly photogenic,” Mai said, gesturing toward the guards. “Shall we move them out of the way first?”

“Get in line.” Kenzie rushed past Luther and Molokai, entering the chamber. Padding on silent feet, she lined up the seated man and fired, the gun spitting softly. The noise inside this chamber was enough to make the others glance over. Kenzie ran at the seated two, leaping at the last minute as they fumbled for their guns. She caught one full in the face with a flying boot, bringing her gun around like a club to batter the other on the temple. Both grunted and collapsed. The first’s head whipped back against the rock wall. Kenzie concentrated on the second, regaining control of her gun and firing twice at point blank range.

Luther and Molokai kept pace with the Israeli, seeing the other three guards staring over in shock. Two blasts sent two bodies hurtling back, but the third missed as Luther stumbled on a small rock.

The final IS guard dropped behind a heavy chest. Drake could hear him groping around for his gun. The team ducked and Luther bemoaned a twisted ankle. Kenzie crept around from the far side. Molokai chose the other. Drake sighted on the very top of the chest where the head would pop up.

Seconds passed, and then the guard acted. Three shots were fired, all hitting their mark. The results were not healthy for the guard.

Hayden and Kinimaka pushed into the chamber. Everyone fanned out and searched the place, leaving Mai and Smyth to watch out for any unpleasant surprises. Drake opened a safe and a chest, then rooted through a chest of drawers. Alicia upended a shoebox. Hayden found gold bars rolled in sweatshirts and Kinimaka a round carousel stuffed with fake swords.

Kenzie gave them the once over. “Utter trash. You’d die before you drew blood with one of these.”

“But maybe precious to somebody,” Kinimaka said. “Sentimental.”

“I guess.”

By now, of course, they knew the color and general design of the object they were searching for. Alicia spotted it first and called the others over. “I found it first. What’s my prize?”

“An evening with Torsten Dahl,” Drake said, coming across. “Where no doubt you would cook meatballs and listen to the greatest hits of Roxette whilst building flat-pack furniture.”

“Sounds… different.”

Dahl didn’t hold back. “Yes, in contrast to the usual fare of battered seafood, Chumbawumba and The Full Monty ?”

“Doesn’t sound half bad,” Drake said.

Dahl grunted. Alicia dragged the artifact away from the pile it inhabited. A miniature forge, fashioned in midnight black, with two sides, an open chimney and a rodded grate, it stood quite imposing despite its shrunken size. Vulcan was the god of fire, volcanoes and forges in Roman mythology and was often depicted hammering away on a forge whilst forming the blade of a new sword or the shaft of a hammer. Hayden started rooting around for a canvas bag large enough to cover it, but Luther pulled one from his backpack.

“Always come prepared,” he said.

It was barely large enough. Drake could see why this artifact contained more material than the others. It was not only larger, it was denser, the walls and internal design thicker. If Tempest came for this, they would come hard.

“Long journey back,” he said. “We’d best get started.”

The return was a long, hard slog, testing the limits of even their endurance, but finally the cave’s exit loomed ahead. Molokai took the opportunity to rest, never complaining, but sinking down to the floor of the cave with the pack still strapped to his back.

Alicia tried to help. “Let me take that,”

“It’s better I do this alone,” Molokai said not ungratefully. “My thanks, but I am used to struggling alone by now. It builds character.”

Daylight shone outside in all its glory. At first they could only see the skies, which were blue and dappled by white clouds. Drake and Luther edged cautiously toward the edge of the cave so that the landscape opened up gradually below with every step they took. First field and then foothills, then mountainside.

Luther grunted. “Shit.”

It was a vision that would haunt Drake for the rest of his days.

“We’re gonna need more ammo,” Drake said.

“You said that before,” Mai came alongside them. “But here we are.”

Drake allowed her to see what lay before them. “And now?”

“You may be correct.”

“Of course. It’s a Yorkshireman’s birthright.”

The plains below were full of IS militant fighters; clumps of them scattered all around the field like fungus on food. The lower foothills were crawling with them, all armed: seated on rocks, standing apart, crouching alongside each other. The mountainside was thick with bodies, making a covert escape impossible.

The worst of it was — over half the fighters had already seen them and the other half were gradually becoming aware.