The Amulet of Power (16 page)

21

Lara leaped to her left and reached for her pistols, but they were tangled in her robe. She saw Mason push Omar and Hassam out of the way, then almost elude the truck himself, but the passenger’s mirror, sticking out from the door, caught his shoulder and sent him hurtling into the middle of the street.

“Kevin!” she yelled. “Are you all right?”

“Don’t worry about me!” he grated. “Just watch yourself!”

Two women screamed as the truck remained on the sidewalk, plowing through carts and kiosks. Then it turned and headed back toward her.

Lara positioned herself in front of the concrete block wall of the building on the corner. There was an awning overhead, and as the truck raced toward her, she reached up to the awning’s crossbar and in an almost perfect gymnastic maneuver swung herself up to the top of it, avoiding the truck by less than a second.

This time the truck crunched into concrete and cement. The hood sprang open, and steam burst from the engine. The driver was momentarily blinded as the awning fell across his windshield.

Lara didn’t know if the truck could still move, and she wasn’t about to wait and find out. She rushed to the door, flung it open, and pulled the driver out of the truck, throwing him to the ground. As the motor stalled and steam continued to fill the air, two more men emerged from the back of the truck, both of them brandishing guns.

The driver, still on the ground, lunged at her. Lara could have dispatched him with a quick kick to the thorax, but she knew she’d be a sitting duck for the two gunmen, so instead she allowed him to trip her up. As she fell and rolled she finally managed to get her hands on her pistols, and she came to a kneeling position, both Black Demons spitting .32-caliber death. One man dropped instantly. The other ducked under the truck, firing awkwardly without a clear view of his target.

Lara had no intention of laying on her belly to get a good shot at him and give him an equally good shot at her. Instead she jumped into the cab of the truck. The engine was still sputtering, and she put it into reverse. There was a scream, and then, after backing up no more than a dozen feet, the motor died.

Lara leaped out of the cab, pistols at the ready, looking for any sign of life. The driver, who had leaped out of the way, was getting groggily to his feet. She swung her hand with a Black Demon still in it and caught him in the temple. He dropped to the ground, senseless. She stepped back and saw that the truck had indeed backed over the final gunman, pinning him to the ground. His face wore a hideous death mask.

Mason had staggered to his feet and was walking over to her.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” he said ruefully. “Serves me right for trying to be a hero.”

They walked over to Omar and Hassam, who were just getting to their feet.

“I appreciate your saving our lives,” said Omar. “But next time,” he added with a grin, “don’t push so hard. For a moment there I wasn’t sure who was the enemy.”

Lara led them to the three bodies, two dead, one unconscious. “Are they Mahdists or Silent Ones?” she asked.

Mason squatted and propped open the unconscious man’s mouth. “He’s got a tongue, so I guess that means Mahdists.”

“Unfortunately not,” said Omar. “That a man has a tongue in his mouth proves nothing. By that definition, we would all be Mahdists. We’ll have Gaafar question this man when he wakes up, and then we will know for sure.”

Lara looked around. “Where
is
Gaafar?”

“I think I know,” said Mason grimly. He pointed to the huge Sudanese, who was lying about ten yards behind the truck. “He caught a stray bullet from the man you pinned under the wheel.”

Omar and Hassam raced over and knelt down. Hassam began cursing in Arabic. Omar remained motionless for a full minute, then stood up and turned to Lara and Mason.

“He is dead,” he said softly.

“You’re sure?” asked Mason.

“I am sure.”

“I’m sorry,” said Lara. “If I hadn’t backed over that last man, maybe he wouldn’t have gotten off a wild shot.”

“You saved two of us,” said Omar. “His death is hardly your fault.”

“He was a good man,” said Lara, replacing her pistols in her holsters beneath her robes.

“The best,” replied Omar. “I will tell his brothers and his cousins. They will claim the body after the police examine it. And now we must go. If they were willing to make one attempt on your life in the daylight, in front of witnesses, they will surely make more.”

“I’m not going to let them succeed,” said Mason firmly.

“Then we’d better get you healthy first,” said Lara.

“What are you talking about?” he demanded.

She pointed to his neck and shoulder. “You’re bleeding.”

“I am?” he said, surprised. “I must have cut myself when I was rolling across the street.”

“Or when the truck hit you,” she said.

“It wasn’t the truck,” he said, obviously annoyed with himself for being hurt at all. “It was that goddamned side mirror.”

“Whatever it was, we should get you to a doctor.”

“It’s just a scratch,” he protested.

“I’m not walking into a museum or a library with a man whose shirt is drenched in blood,” said Lara.

“All right, all right,” he said. “But I’ll be damned if I’m going to a doctor or a hospital with a little scratch like this. I’ll go to the hotel and clean up.”

“And buy a shirt along the way,” said Lara. “You don’t have any luggage, remember?”

“What about you?”

“I’ll go to the museum and meet you at the library.”

“All right. It beats arguing with you.” He paused. “We’re at the Bortai, right?”

“Not anymore,” said Omar. “Now we are at the Arak. Do you know where it is?”

“I’ll find it.”

“I’ll see you in a couple of hours,” said Lara as he started off. “And be sure to use a disinfectant on that cut. There’s a pharmacy just down the block from the hotel.”

Mason resisted the urge to salute her, and simply turned and began walking toward the city center.

“Should we tell him it’s closer to the Nile?” asked Hassam.

“No,” said Lara. “The more haberdashers he passes, the more likely he is to actually buy some clothes.” She turned back to Omar, who was once again kneeling next to Gaafar’s body. “Come on,” she said gently. “The police will be here any minute. I can hear the sirens already, and I don’t think it would be a good idea for them to ask me any questions.”

Omar stood up, a dagger in his hand. “We will go now.” He reached out and presented Gaafar’s knife to her, handle first. “He would have wanted you to have this.”

“The Scalpel of Isis,” she said. “You’re sure?”

“I am sure.”

She tucked the blade inside her robe. “Then I’m honored.”

“We must go,” said Hassam as the sirens became louder.

It took them ten minutes to reach the Ethnographical Museum, keeping off the main thoroughfares, and as Lara had predicted, there was nothing of use there.

Hassam walked her to the library while Omar went off to pass the word of Gaafar’s death, not only to inform his family of it, but also to try to find out who was responsible for the truck attack. Lara had a feeling that Omar’s people were involved. It made perfect sense to her that the Mahdists would let her live as long as they thought she might find the Amulet; it was men like Abdul who wanted it to remain lost or hidden forever.

Mason, dressed in all-new khaki shirt and slacks, with white bandages climbing up his neck from his shoulder, and a felt hat shading his eyes from the sun, was waiting for them on the steps of the library.

“Well, you’re looking fit,” she said. “If they ever remake
King Solomon’s Mines
, you should be a natural for the part of Allan Quatermain. Are you feeling better?”

“I was never feeling badly,” he said. “Where’s Omar?”

“Spreading word of what happened, and trying to find out who ordered it,” she said.

“I’m not without my own sources in the city, and I’ll bet they’re different from his,” said Mason. “I’ll tell you what. You do what you have to do in the library, and while you’re at it I’ll see if I can get some answers.”

“Omar will find out,” said Hassam.

“I’m sure he will,” said Mason. “But it won’t hurt to have it confirmed from independent sources.”

“You do what you want,” said Lara. “As for me, I’m going to hunt up Siwar.”

“Siwar? One of Omar’s lieutenants?”

“One of Khartoum’s historians,” she replied.

“Oh, of course,” said Mason. “I’m still not thinking clearly. I’d better get going before I say anything else stupid. Besides, the sooner we find out who sent the truck after you—”

“It doesn’t really matter,” she interrupted. “As far as I’m concerned, I don’t care which side tried to kill me. The sooner we find the Amulet, the sooner they’ll leave me alone.” She gestured toward the library. “I’m going in there.”

Mason went off on his own, and Lara and Hassam entered the library. After a moment she noticed that tears were streaming down his face.

“I know he was a good friend and ally,” she whispered, “but try not to think of him, at least until we’re out of here. People are starting to stare at you and wonder what’s wrong.”

“You are right,” he said, making an almost physical effort to cast the image of his dead comrade from his mind. “I will not embarrass you again.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” replied Lara. “I just don’t want to attract any extra attention.”

He nodded his acquiescence, and the two of them walked to the back of the building, where she found a few dozen volumes on Gordon and the siege of Khartoum.

“I’m going to be here for a few minutes,” she whispered to him. “Why don’t you rinse your face off? The tears have left streaks across the dust. You almost look like you’re wearing a mask.”

“You’ll remain here?” said Hassam.

“I won’t leave this section until you come back,” she promised.

He turned and headed off to the rest room, and Lara pulled down a volume that was written in Arabic, thumbed through it looking for a map, couldn’t find one, and pulled another book out. This one did have a map, and she studied it for a few minutes. A frown spread over her face, and she began thumbing through the pages—and suddenly she felt the sharp point of a knife against her rib cage.

“Not a sound,” whispered a voice in Arabic. “I want you to walk slowly to the exit on your left.”

“If you’re going to kill me, why should I make it easy for you?” she whispered back. “Do it right here, surrounded by witnesses, and be assured that I don’t plan to die silently.”

“How you die is of no concern to me,” said the man. “I am offering you a chance to live. I know you found the Amulet of Mareish in the Temple of Horus. Just tell me where it is.”

Okay,
she thought,
so you’re a Mahdist
.
I guess not all of you are willing to sit on the sidelines while I hunt for it.

“I don’t even know yet what it looks like,” she replied.

“You lie.”

“If I had it, why would I be here, trying to learn about it from books?”

“To learn how to use its power, of course,” said the man. “Now, do you walk or do you die right here?”

I don’t know how many more Mahdists are in the library. Let’s get outside where it’s just you and me, and then we’ll see how tough you are.

She walked meekly to a side door, and a moment later the pair of them were alone in a deserted alley.

“Now tell me where it is, or by Allah I will cut the answer out of you.”

He pushed the point of his weapon against her. She gasped and bent over, ostensibly in pain—but as she bent over, her right hand snaked inside her robes and made contact with the hilt of the Scalpel of Isis. She grabbed it and maneuvered it loose from her belt, where she had tucked it.

“Now you see what happens when you do not cooperate,” hissed the man.

“What happens,” she said, “is that I lose my temper!”

With that she spun around, dagger in hand, and slashed upward. The man screamed as her blade cut deep into his free arm, then took a step back, and she got her first good look at her attacker. He was a huge man, six and a half feet tall, close to three hundred pounds, without any fat on him.

“You could have told me what I wanted to know and saved yourself!” he rasped. “Now you will die whether you tell me or not!”

She knew better than to close with him when he outweighed her by more than two-to-one. As he approached her, she looked around the alley for anything she could use to her advantage.

There was an insulated power line stretched across it, but it was about twelve feet up, and she knew she couldn’t jump high enough to reach it. Then she saw the garbage piled up beside the building—wooden packing crates, heavy boxes, all discarded by the library. As he took another step toward her she raced up the pile of boxes and leaped toward the power line. Her fingers closed on the rubber insulation, and she swung herself up.

“You think you can hide on a wire?” said the man with a contemptuous laugh.

She got her feet under her and stood up, walking along the wire, scanning the rooftops until she found what she was looking for.