Will Adams - The Alexander Cipher

They came to a stop. Gaille felt dizzy and sick. The passenger door opened and a man stood above her aiming an AK-47 at her face. She looked numbly up at him. He motioned for her to get out. She tried to obey, but her limbs wouldn't function, so he grabbed her by a hank of hair and hauled her viciously out, ignoring her shriek of pain. Knox crawled out after her, bracing himself to spring at the man, but another of the Greeks was waiting in ambush and clubbed Knox on the back of the head with the butt of his gun, so that he collapsed face-first on the sand.

Rick came out next, hands over his head, looking cowed. But it was only an act. His first punch knocked the first Greek onto his backside. He wrenched the AK-47 from him and twisted it around at the second man, his finger already pulling the trigger. But he didn't quite make it. A yellow burst of flame spat from the second man's muzzle, accompanied by the percussive noise of automatic gunfire, and Rick's chest exploded red. He was thrown backward onto the sand, the AK-47 falling from his grasp.

"Rick!" cried Knox, crawling over to his friend. "Oh, Christ! Rick!"

"Jesus, mate," slurred Rick, trying to raise his head. "What the fuck…?"

"Don't talk," pleaded Knox. "Just hold on." But it was already too late. The tension went from his neck, and his head slumped lifelessly. Knox turned around, hatred in his heart, purpose in his eye, but the Greek gunman was watching him with perfect self-assurance. He spat nonchalantly onto the sand, as if to indicate that was all Rick's death meant to him, then pointed his weapon at Knox's chest. "Hands behind your head," he said. "Or it's the same for you and the girl."

Knox glared at him, but there was nothing he could do. Vowing silently that he wouldn't leave Rick unavenged, he clasped his hands behind his head, while another of the Greeks bound him hand and foot.

Ibrahim couldn't sleep. He had lain awake brooding for hours. Every time he managed to soothe himself to relative peace, he would suffer another spasm of shame. He had dedicated his whole life to the study of ancient Egypt. To be complicit in the rape of a tomb-and such a tomb!-would blacken the Beyumi name forever. He couldn't allow this further stain on his honor. He couldn't. Yet each time he sat up, resolved to do something, his nerve wilted. He wasn't that kind of man. He was no kind of man at all. And what could he achieve anyway? They had taken his cell phone, his bedside phone, and his modem jack. They had locked his doors and windows and taken the keys. He rose once more, went to his bedroom door, and stood there with his hand on the handle. He returned for his dressing gown, then took three deep breaths for courage before opening his door. Manolis was asleep on a mattress in the corridor outside. Ibrahim stood still, waited for his heart to calm. He reached his left leg over Manolis. A floorboard creaked beneath the carpet. Ibrahim froze.

Manolis's eyes opened; Ibrahim could see the luminous white rings of his corneas. "What are you doing?" he grunted.

"My stomach," said Ibrahim. "I need tablets."

"Wait. I come with you."

"It's okay. I-"

"I come with you."

The two four-by-fours pulled up in front of Nicolas with a screech of brakes and a spray of sand. Bastiaan threw open the back door of the first and hauled two figures out. First was some lifeless stranger half wrapped in a rug, his chest a mess of blood and pulp. Then the girl, Gaille, dizzy and pale, her wrists and ankles tied with rope. She looked around, evidently terrified, and her eyes locked on someone standing behind him. "Elena!" she cried plaintively. "How could you?"

"Because she's a patriot," retorted Nicolas coldly when Elena didn't speak.

Costis was hauling another man from the back of the second four-by-four. He glared up from the sand. Knox! Nicolas felt a little nauseated suddenly, as though he had eaten something that disagreed with him. There was something about the man that made him feel just that little bit helpless. Knox's gaze slid past Nicolas to where his father was standing. "So!" he said contemptuously. "A common tomb robber."

"Scarcely a common tomb robber," replied Dragoumis, unruffled, "as I suspect you know full well."

"Have you found him, then?" Knox asked despite himself.

"Not yet," admitted Dragoumis.

"Not yet?" frowned Nicolas. "What do you mean, not yet? There's nothing there."

Dragoumis looked sourly at his son. "Have you learned nothing about this man Kelonymus?" he asked impatiently. "Do you really believe he's the kind to surrender his greatest secret at the first breach?" He pointed at Gaille, then said to his men, "She understands his mind better than anyone. Bring her inside."

"Don't do it, Gaille," said Knox tersely. "Don't give them anything."

Dragoumis turned to him. "You know I am a man of my word. So let me make you an offer. If you two help me find what we're looking for, I vow I'll let you both go free."

"Sure!" scoffed Knox. "After everything we've seen!"

"Believe me, Daniel, if we find what we're looking for, the more you two talk, the better it will be for us."

"And if we refuse?"

Dragoumis gave a small, sorrowful shrug. "Do you really want to put that to the test?"

Nicolas kept his eyes on Knox while he debated his response. It was clear that he was still burning with rage for what they had just done to his friend, that he was only waiting for an opportunity to exact revenge. He turned to warn his father, but his father silenced him with a look, as though he was already five moves ahead, so he shrugged and turned back to Knox. The man was still struggling with himself, with his conscience, but then he glanced at Gaille, her face ashen with fear and streaked by tears, silently pleading with him not to do anything crazy.

He blinked and sighed. "Okay," he said. "We'll do what we can."

"Good," said Dragoumis. He turned to Costis. "Untie their ankles, but not their wrists. And keep a close eye on this one," he added, gesturing at Knox. "He's more dangerous than he looks."

Costis nodded seriously. "I know," he said.

Ibrahimand Manolis walked downstairs together. The carpet was lush, but the soles of Ibrahim's feet felt icy. He glanced down, almost expecting them to be glistening blue-white, like diamonds. Sofronio was snoring on the couch. When Manolis turned on the lights, he sat up, disoriented with sleep, then cursed Manolis in Greek and covered an expansive yawn.

Ibrahim made a show of looking through his kitchen cabinets, slamming drawers, muttering. He heard the two Greeks conferring. Their Greek was so guttural, he couldn't understand a word, but the way they looked suspiciously at him… "They're not here," he said brightly. "They must be in my desk." He walked briskly toward his office. Sofronio and Manolis were still muttering. It was now or never. Ibrahim leaned his weight forward and broke into a run.

"Move, damn you," said Costis, jabbing Knox in the small of the back with the muzzle of his Kalashnikov.

Knox glowered over his shoulder. "You're going to pay for what you did to Rick," he promised.

But Costis only snorted and jabbed him harder. And in truth, Knox was in no position to make threats. Walking along this dark passage into the belly of the hill, the bloom and flare of flashlights all around, having to duck every so often to avoid scraping his scalp on the low ceiling, he felt sure that it wasn't just Alexander's tomb he was walking into, but his own and Gaille's, too, unless he could somehow turn this situation around.

The passage opened out abruptly. Evidently, the Greeks had been here before, for they expressed no surprise at the marvelous sculptures around the walls. But to Knox they were so remarkable that for a moment he almost forgot about his predicament. His wrists were still bound, but his hands were in front of him. He took a flashlight from one of the Greeks, then went over to a sculpture of Alexander leading a charge. Gaille came with him, and then Elena and Dragoumis, too, creating the surreal impression of four academics at a conference discussing some obscure artifact.