Hunt at World's End (9 page)

He looked at her and shook his head. “I couldn’t let him do it.”

“Go on,” Grissom said, raising his voice impatiently.

“The first gemstone, the one you have…it’s the one for earth,” Noboru said. “The second is water.”

“Noboru, don’t,” Joyce warned again.

Grissom shot a silencing a glance her way.

“Yes, but the third one, that’s the mystery,” Grissom
said. “Any fool with half a brain knows the original translation is wrong. ‘Loose soil’ makes no sense. But you’ve figured out what it means, haven’t you? Tell me.”

Noboru swallowed hard and looked away from Grissom’s eyes. “No. We haven’t. None of us has.”

Grissom grabbed a fistful of Noboru’s hair and held the three-bladed dagger to his throat. “I don’t have time for games. What is the third element?”

“We don’t know,” Noboru insisted. “I swear.”

“You’re trying my patience,” Grissom hissed. “Hunt, speak to me or he dies.” He pulled back the dagger, ready to strike.

“Sorry, Joyce,” Gabriel said. “You and I are one thing, but Noboru didn’t make you any promises. I’ll tell you what you want to know, Grissom. Just let them—”

A shout of alarm came from outside the tent. The report of a gunshot rang out. Grissom straightened, letting go of Noboru’s hair. Another shot exploded, followed by more shouting, a confused clamor, the sound of boots running through mud. Grissom touched the eye of the dragon on the dagger’s hilt again and the two outer blades slid back into the handle. He tossed the dagger back in the wooden box. “Watch them,” he barked at the guard stationed at the tent flap. Then he exited.

“How could you?” Joyce said. “Both of you! If he finds the other gemstones and activates the Spearhead, he’ll use it to slaughter thousands—maybe millions.”

“I’m sorry,” Noboru said. “But I couldn’t let him kill you.”

More angry shouts erupted outside, more gunfire, and another sound, like the twanging of a guitar string.

“What the hell is going on out there?” Joyce asked.

Gabriel shook his head. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

The guard stiffened suddenly and a strange gurgling came from his throat. He fell backward, clutching at his neck. The shaft of an arrow protruded from his Adam’s apple.

The dying man’s fingers grabbed at the tent flap, pulling the canvas to one side.

Just long enough for Gabriel to see someone run past holding a wooden longbow, a quiver of arrows strapped to the back of his white robe.

A skull mask covered his face.

The cult, here? Now? Gabriel had never thought he’d be grateful to see them. But it was only a temporary reprieve. Both groups wanted them dead and whichever came out on top would see to it that they wound up that way.

“This can’t end well,” Gabriel said. “We have to get out of here.”

Noboru pulled hard against the ropes tying him to his chair, to no avail. “Any suggestions?”

Gabriel eyed the table with the box on it. “One. But it depends on my getting over there.” He began rocking back and forth in his chair, tipping it farther and farther until it finally fell forward. He shifted as he fell so that he landed on his side. The jolt of the impact made the fresh cuts on his torso flare with pain again.

He wriggled on the ground, making slow progress toward the table, dragging the chair with him. The strain it put on his shoulders made it feel like they would snap out of their sockets at any moment. He backed up against the table and knocked the chair into it as hard as he could. The wooden box on top shifted but didn’t fall. He hit the table again, gritting his teeth against the pain. The box jolted, crept closer to the edge. Looking up, he saw that it was within centimeters. He struck the table one more time. The box jumped, teetered on the edge.
Come on, damn it
…It
teetered on the table’s edge, then fell. He swung his head to the side and it smashed beside him, kicking off splinters. One nicked his ear as it shot past. Grissom’s ivory-handled dagger spilled out on the floor and rolled a yard or so. He rotated till it was in reach of one of his feet, then kicked it toward Noboru. The other man caught it between his boots.

More shouting came from outside the tent. Gabriel could hear people running past, the crack of gunfire and the
shuk
of arrows landing in the mud. They had to hurry. All it would take was one cult member to stumble upon them, or one of Grissom’s men to catch them in the middle of an escape attempt, and they might as well have spent the time digging their own graves.

“Turn it around,” he told Noboru. “The other way. Upright.” With the sides of his boot soles, Noboru turned the knife till it was pointing straight up. He steadied the pommel against the ground. Gabriel squirmed painfully back to him, angling himself so his back was to the blade. “Just hold it steady,” he said. “Despite the position we find ourselves in, I don’t really want to slit my wrists.” He started working the rope holding his arms together against the blade. The angle was difficult, and it hurt like hell to raise and lower his arms, but after half a minute he could feel the tension in the rope weakening.

“Go faster,” Joyce called. “You’ve got to go faster.”

Gabriel grimaced. It felt like his arms were about to break. He thrust the ropes against the blade savagely—again—once more—and suddenly his hands were free. He threw the rope off to either side and scrambled to his feet. He grabbed the knife and pressed the hidden button. The extra blades snapped into view. He used their razor edges to make short work of the ropes holding Noboru and Joyce to their chairs.

“We’ve got to get the Star back,” she said, rubbing circulation back into her wrists.

“The only problem,” Gabriel said, “is that there’s a battlefield between us and wherever Grissom’s got it. Assuming he’s not lying facedown in the mud.”
We should be so lucky.
Gabriel crossed to the tent flap, stepping over the dead guard, and pulled it back an inch to peer out. It was chaos outside, with Grissom’s men running back and forth, shouting and firing their weapons. Everywhere, the feathered ends of arrows stuck up out of the ground like tire spikes. One of Grissom’s men ran past, pistol in hand, shooting at a target Gabriel couldn’t see, and then an arrow hit him in the back. The man fell forward, his body skidding to a halt in the mud. The arrow had come from the direction of the jungle. Aside from the one cult member he’d seen running past the tent, it looked like the others were hanging back and trying to pick off Grissom’s men from the trees. There was no sign of Grissom himself, or of Julian.

“I can’t see much from here,” he said. “We have to move, find a better vantage point. Someplace a little safer, too.”

Gabriel handed Grissom’s dagger to Noboru. “Here, take this.”

Noboru weighed it in his hand and nodded. “What about you?”

“I’ll find something.” Gabriel looked outside again. The chaos hadn’t abated. He saw a jeep full of Grissom’s men barreling toward them.

“When I say run, run,” Gabriel said. Joyce and Noboru nodded. He waited until the jeep was just before the tent, the gunmen in back firing into the trees, and then shouted, “Run!”

He threw open the tent flap and sprinted out into
the open, using the passing jeep for cover. Joyce followed right behind him, then Noboru. Gabriel kept running, head down, pumping his legs as hard as he could to carry him toward a tent directly across the open center of the camp. Arrows hissed through the air toward them, one going by directly over his head and three more embedding themselves in the ground near his feet.

When he reached the other tent, he ducked around the corner. Joyce and Noboru dove for cover behind him, breathing hard.

“Where to now?” Joyce asked.

Gabriel peeked out. He had a better view of the scene from here. Dead bodies littered the ground, mostly Grissom’s men but also a few members of the Cult of Ulikummis, their white robes stained with mud and gore. Grissom’s remaining soldiers were running for the jeeps, squeezing off shots into the forest as they went. Arrows continued to fly from the trees, though not as many as before. Gabriel couldn’t make out the cultists’ positions in the trees. For men whose choice of camouflage was more suited to the Arctic, they did a hell of a job of blending in.

The jeeps pulled out and roared toward the tree line, the men standing in back exchanging their pistols for shotguns. He didn’t see Grissom or Julian in any of them. Had they already evacuated the camp?

No, Gabriel thought. Grissom wouldn’t. He was too stubborn and arrogant to alter his plans just because he suddenly found himself under siege. He’d still be in the camp somewhere, letting his henchmen fight for him while he…

While he
what
?

The Star. Grissom had gotten a portion of what he needed from Noboru and would be trying to use the
Star and the map even now, in the middle of a pitched battle, to get as much information as possible before moving on. Gabriel looked around. At the far end of the camp, he spotted a tent with two gunmen posted outside. Everyone in Grissom’s army was fighting the cultists except those two. They were protecting something. Or someone.

“There,” he said, pointing.

“How will we get past the guards?” Joyce asked.

“I don’t know,” Gabriel said. “We’ll think of something.” He led them behind the row of tents, hoping the jungle beside them wasn’t filled with cultists waiting to unleash their arrows. He kept his head down and hurried, counting on the continuing gunfire to cloak the sound of their running footsteps. He stopped one tent short of their destination, motioned to the others to stay low, then peeked around the corner.

The guards. How to get past—

At that instant, an arrow flew out of the jungle and landed squarely in the chest of the guard on the left. He crumpled to the ground. The other guard turned and started shooting into the trees.

“Now,” Gabriel said.

While the guard’s back was turned, they ran toward the tent. Halfway there, Gabriel glanced back and spotted an arrow cutting through the air in a perfect arc right toward Joyce. He spun and tackled her around the knees, pulling her down into the mud. The arrow whizzed through the air where she’d been.

Unfortunately, their motion caught the surviving guard’s attention. His mouth fell open in surprise and he swung his pistol toward them. Noboru, still running, hurled the dagger. It spun end over end, its triple blade glinting in the sun before sinking with a meaty
thock
into the guard’s chest. The guard dropped his
gun, tilted his head down to look at the ivory handle sticking out of his chest, and dropped to his knees. He tipped forward, landing in the dirt.

Gabriel helped Joyce stand up. Her hand felt small in his and he could feel it trembling. Together they ran toward the tent, staying low. He didn’t let go of her hand till they’d made it to the tent’s entrance. He was acutely aware of her gaze on him, those piercing blue eyes staring out at him from her mud-caked face.

“You saved my life back there,” she said. “Again.”

He bent to pick up one of the guards’ guns. Next to him, Noboru pulled the dagger out of the guard’s chest and wiped the blood on the corpse’s shirt. “Easy,” Gabriel whispered. “Not a peanut in sight.”

Gabriel put a finger to his lips, then slid the muzzle of the guard’s pistol through the tent flap and nudged it aside an inch.

Inside, a half dozen chairs and a pair of folding tables had been pushed to the side. Grissom stood in the empty center of the tent, looking down at something on the floor. It had to be the map. When Grissom shifted position, Gabriel saw he was holding the Star of Arnuwanda over the map with one hand and shining a flashlight through it with the other. So he’d figured out that much. Gabriel moved slightly for a better view of the tent’s interior. He saw Julian standing with his back to them. The grip of his Magnum was visible at the waistband of his pants. He had his hands up at chest height and it looked like he was writing something down. Coordinates of the second Eye? Just how far had they gotten?

There was no time to waste. Gabriel stepped through the flap and had his arm around Julian’s neck before he could turn around. The pen and paper he’d been holding fell to the floor. Gabriel pulled Julian’s Magnum from his belt, dropped it and kicked it behind him so it
slid under the tables. “Remember when I said you better hope I never see you again?” he whispered in Julian’s ear. “I wasn’t kidding.” He dug the barrel of the guard’s gun into Julian’s ribs. Julian’s eyes widened.

Grissom spun around, dropping the flashlight but keeping a tight grip on the Star. His eyes darted toward a table by the wall, where their confiscated weapons lay: the two Colts, Noboru’s knife, even the flare gun from the jeep. Grissom made a break for the weapons, but Noboru, darting in, managed to get between him and the table. He raised the dagger. Grissom turned to run the other way and found Joyce blocking his path. She lifted the second guard’s gun.

Joyce held out her other hand palm up. “The Star,” she said.

Grissom looked over at Julian gasping for breath in Gabriel’s choke hold, then at Noboru, who had snatched up one of the Colt revolvers from the table and was pointing it at him. He swallowed hard and held out the Star. “This isn’t over,” he said.

Joyce reached out to take the Star. Grissom started coughing so hard he doubled over, his forearms on his knees. As Joyce bent to pull the Star out of his hand, Grissom swung it at her. The heavy metal disk connected with her stomach, and she went down, the gun skittering out of her grasp. But she managed to hold onto the Star. For an instant, Grissom looked like he was going to try to get it back from her, but she rolled over, clutching it to her chest and cradling it beneath her. Noboru drew back the safety on his Colt and advanced on him. Grissom settled for snatching up the pistol at his feet and, shooting it blindly in Noboru’s direction, bolted through the tent flap. Ducking, Noboru fired off two shots that punched holes in the canvas but it was too late—Grissom was gone.

Joyce stood again, brushing dirt off the artifact in her hands. “It’s all right. Let him go. The Star’s the only thing that matters.”

“Not exactly,” Gabriel said. “Getting out of here alive matters, too.” Julian was still struggling in Gabriel’s choke hold. “Looks like your father left you all alone,” Gabriel said into Julian’s ear. “What do you suppose we should do with you? What would you do to us if our positions were reversed?”

Julian squirmed against his arm, but the hold was too tight. Gabriel started to squeeze, cutting off his air supply, and Julian clawed at him. Then Julian snapped his elbow back into Gabriel’s gut. Normally it would have been the sort of blow he could take easily—but the cuts on his abdomen turned it into a symphony of pain. Gabriel doubled over. But he held on tight, clamping down on Julian’s throat. The younger man struggled wildly, but Gabriel didn’t give an inch. After a minute, the struggles slowed and finally stopped.

“Is he…?” Joyce said

“Not to say I’m not tempted, but no,” Gabriel said. “Just unconscious.” He lowered Julian to the ground and tore the unconscious man’s collar open. He pulled the Death’s Head Key from around his neck. He hung it around his own. Then he took his Colt .45 and holster from the table and buckled it on while Noboru did the same with his knife and ankle sheath. Noboru also stuffed the flare gun into his belt. While they were doing this, Joyce was rifling through everything else on the tables, overturning boxes, opening document folders, and throwing them to the ground in frustration.

“What is it?” Noboru asked.

She bent over Julian’s unconscious body and patted the pockets of his cargo vest, then his pants.

“The jewel,” she said. “The Eye. It’s gone.”

“Grissom must have it on him,” Gabriel said. He looked outside. The battle was still raging, but there was no sign of Grissom. “We can’t go after him now. We need to get out of here.”

They exited the tent cautiously, headed toward Noboru’s jeep. Gabriel stayed low, his revolver in his fist, Noboru by his side, Joyce directly behind him. They reached the jeep without incident. Just as Noboru jumped into the driver’s seat, though, a muffled scream from behind Gabriel made him turn.

Another jeep had rolled up out of nowhere; there were three men inside. One of the three was leaning out and had snatched Joyce off her feet with an arm around her waist and the other clamped over her mouth. She was lifted, struggling and screaming, into the vehicle.

“Joyce!” Gabriel shouted. She still had the Star in her hands, and she tried to throw it to him, but the man holding her slapped her hands down. The driver stomped on the gas then and the jeep rocketed forward, vanishing into the distance even as Gabriel fruitlessly chased after it on foot. Borneo covered two hundred eighty-eight thousand square miles, with plenty of places to hide a struggling captive—or to bury one. If they didn’t catch the other jeep quickly, they would lose the Star
and
Joyce for good.