Gabriel Hunt - Hunt Through Napoleon's Web

The underside of the tunnel’s roof was a solid mass of crawling spiders, a herd of thousands—maybe tens of thousands—crawling quickly along the ceiling over their heads. They were much larger than the babies. Many were the size of quarters, some as big as half-dollars. They were moving in a way that reminded Gabriel of fire ants, crawling over one another in a desperate chaotic frenzy. And where the light struck them—

They began to drop.

Sammi screamed.

Even Gabriel emitted a startled cry and began slapping at his chest to brush them off.

But they kept coming. They were swarming the tunnel walls, ceiling, and floor.

Gabriel pushed Sammi ahead of him. “Run,” he said through clenched teeth; and they did, batting at their clothes and hair as they went, frantically brushing the spiders away.

The tunnel forked and the branch they took began sloping upward as they ran. The angle increased until they were almost climbing. It took a tremendous amount of strength in their legs to keep ascending at this pace—but if they’d needed an extra incentive, they had one, as some of the spiders had by now worked themselves inside their clothes and begun biting.

Sammi yelped with pain. Gabriel cursed and slapped at his skin.

They continued to climb, as fast as they were able. Gabriel lost track of how far they’d gone; it took him by surprise when they suddenly fetched up against the end of the tunnel. A dead end, sloping directly upward. Packed earth above their heads.

Gabriel struck at the barrier with the pickax. Dirt and rocks crumbled down, covering them. But the material was soft and easy to break through. Sammi continued to brush the spiders off her body and his while Gabriel dug vertically, climbing on the accumulated dirt as it piled up.

A large clod of earth came down, revealing an open hole—and sunlight.

He enlarged the hole with two more swings of the ax, then lifted Sammi bodily out of the hole. He followed and ripped off his shirt, panting from exertion and pain. She’d done the same, and he saw that her chest and back were covered with painful-looking welts and bites. The bugs they’d brought up with them dropped to the ground and fled back to the darkness of the hole.

“Madam! Are you all right?”

Gabriel turned to see the source of the voice—a middle-aged British matron in sandals and sunglasses, with a compact digital camera dangling from a strap around her wrist. A man stood beside her, goggling at Sammi, who grabbed up her shirt and held it in front of her.

“Yes . . . yes, I’m all right,” Sammi said, wincing. “Thank you.”

“Henry! Don’t stare!” The man stopped goggling, though he continued to sneak glances out of the corner of his eye.

Gabriel looked around. They were in the middle of the circle of menhirs—the Western Monument—at Filitosa.

“You were so right, sweetie,” he said, sweeping one arm around Sammi’s shoulders, “we were supposed to turn left. You two be careful—you do not want to get separated from your tour group.”

“Oh, dear,” the woman said as Gabriel led Sammi out of the circle. “Did you hear that, Henry?”

The staff at the Repository Museum dug out a first aid kit and used up two tubes of hydrocortisone cream on their bites. The spiders here were not poisonous, the agent assigned to them assured Gabriel. The bites would itch and be bothersome for a few days, but . . .

Where, the agent wanted to know, had they come across such a large nest of spiders?

Gabriel waved his hands and made up an answer that would send them off in the wrong direction entirely. Let them fumigate some other part of the grounds. Couldn’t hurt.

“Listen,” Gabriel said, “can I use your phone?”

“Of course,” the agent said. “Local call or long distance?”

“Long distance. New York.”

The agent handed over a cordless handset and pushed two buttons on it. The dial tone started buzzing.

Gabriel dialed the Foundation.

“Gabriel!” Michael said. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to—”

“Not now, Michael. I can’t talk. I’ll tell you more when I can.” He glanced over at the museum agent. She was looking the other way, but it was clear she was still listening. “The object we discussed . . . it’s not there anymore. It’s on its way back to Amun and his crew.”

“In Marrakesh?” Michael said.

“Presumably.”

“I’ll try to reach Arif again—”

“You might not want to do that,” Gabriel said. “He’s the one who took it.”

Michael was silent. “Arif?”

“Yes,” Gabriel said. “Arif. And if you want some even better news, he says Lucy’s about to become a pharaoh’s bride.”

“Gabriel . . . you’ve got to do something.”

“I will. I just need you to do something for me first.”

“Anything.”

“Have Charlie ready to fly at Ajaccio in thirty minutes. Can you do that?”

“Of course.”

“And Michael?”

“Yes?”

“Tell him this one time it’s okay to take any risks he wants.”

Chapter 25

It was after midnight. The streets of Marrakesh were dark and empty, although there were candles flickering in some windows, the illumination of a few modern street lamps, and the light of stars in the moonless sky to make their surroundings visible. As in all cities, a few homeless people were curled up in doorways and alcoves, trying to steal an hour or two of sleep. No one else was on the street at this hour.

From the outside, the building that housed the Alliance of the Pharaohs was darker than most—the windows had been boarded up again, and to a casual observer it would have looked completely deserted. But with his ear pressed to the planks nailed over the doorway, Gabriel could hear sounds of movement inside.

Well, it had been too much to hope that they’d all have been asleep. But at least they probably wouldn’t be going in and out of the building too much at one AM.

He led Sammi into the dormant square, where shuttered stands stood darkly against the blue-black sky, looming like the menhirs in Corsica. They found their way silently to the back entrance of Nizan’s shop. One light was burning inside, and through a half-closed set of blinds they could see Nizan himself, seated at a desk, poring over a ledger.

Gabriel rechecked his Colt unnecessarily; it was fully loaded with six rounds and he had plenty of extras in a pouch on his belt. Sammi was armed as well, having obtained a Browning 9mm semi-automatic from Charlie. It was Foundation property, but the message from Michael seemed to have gotten across. Charlie had given her the gun and two spare magazines and showed her how to load them.

“Stick to the plan,” Gabriel said. “You stay on the ground floor and watch the tunnel entrance. I’ll head upstairs. Lucy’s the first priority. When I’ve got her, I’ll bring her down and you can get her the hell out of there.”

“I wish you’d come with us.”

“If I don’t take care of the Alliance now, we’ll all be watching over our shoulders for them for the rest of our lives. Which may not be very long.”

“I know,” Sammi said. “But I hate leaving you alone in there.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that,” Gabriel said. “The last thing I’ll be is alone.”

The couple crept toward Nizan’s. Keeping their backs to the wall and pistols in hand, they slipped in through the shop’s rear door.

Nizan’s eyes widened when he looked up and saw them. Gabriel’s Colt jabbed into his neck before he could set off any alarm.

“Not a sound,” Gabriel ordered.

Sammi picked up a spool of cord used to tie carpet rolls and swiftly bound Nizan’s wrists and ankles, her knots expert and tight. There’d be no working his way loose from these knots; even a seasoned escape artist would have had difficulty slipping them. Gabriel fashioned a gag out of a small strip of carpet and deposited Nizan on the washroom floor, then pushed two heavy rolls of carpet in front of the door so it couldn’t be opened.