‘Looks like those trucks got hit by fucking napalm. Sure there wasn’t an air strike?’
‘The gun battle must have punctured fuel tanks and ignited gasoline. Tight-packed vehicles engulfed by a violent firestorm. Don’t worry. The gold will be safe inside the cash truck. Protected from the flames by thick armour plate.’
Lucy slung her rifle over her shoulder.
‘All right, then. Let’s go get rich.’
Doc ID: 575JD5
Page 01/1
08/23/05
MEMORANDUM TO: Project Lead, D.Ops
SUBJECT: Spektr
Colonel,
We have received word that the incursion team have reached the SPEKTR site. The advance party entered Valley 403 at 15:00.
11th Recon Squad will provide Predator over-watch of the valley. We have eyes-on-target until nightfall. We should shortly have our first site assessment from our man on the ground.
I appreciate your concerns with regard to the possible spread of infection. Steps have been taken to ensure the virus does not escape the contamination zone. We are currently liaising with Technical Services and our flight crew at the clandestine logistics base in Sharjah. I am confident we have sufficient assets on standby to initiate the CLEANSWEEP protocol should radical containment measures be required.
I shall keep you fully informed, as per your orders.
The Temple
The valley floor. Fierce sunlight. A wide basin like a lunar crater. Heat rippled from the rocks. The citadel rose out of shimmering mirage distortion, like an island city at the centre of a lake.
Lucy, Huang and Toon walked towards the citadel. Each footfall kicked up a plume of dust.
‘Might as well wave a fucking flag,’ said Toon.
‘Doing okay?’ asked Lucy.
Toon dripped sweat. He looked exhausted.
‘Fucking peachy.’
‘Smile,’ said Huang. ‘We could be kiss-my-ass rich by sundown.’
‘Let’s spend our last working day like professionals,’ said Lucy. ‘Thorough sweep of the ruins before we start messing with the convoy.’
They walked in the shadow of the high, buttressed perimeter wall. Lucy stroked the massive blocks with a gloved hand. She hit the pressel switch of her radio.
‘Jabril. You there?’
‘I can hear you.’
‘Where did they get the stone to build this place?’
‘The only archaeological survey of this site was done in eighteen ninety-one by a German Assyriologist called HV Hilprecht. There’s a chapter in his Exploration of Bible Lands. The temple is granite. If it had been constructed from local limestone, it would have crumbled to powder centuries ago. Hilprecht says the stones were quarried five hundred miles south near Jalibah. It’s hard to comprehend the time and manpower involved.’
They stood at the threshold of the dead city, dwarfed by twin guard towers. They surveyed the column of vehicles parked in front of the towers, buckled and black like junkyard scrap.
‘Better ignore the trucks for now,’ said Lucy. ‘We’re probably alone out here, but let’s not get sloppy. Full sweep of the citadel. Then we look for the gold.’
Lucy turned to Toon.
‘Get up high. Give us some coverage, all right?’
‘Sure, boss.’
Toon approached one of the gate towers. An arched doorway. Stone steps. He adjusted his grip on the SAW. He crept inside, and was swallowed by shadow.
Lucy and Huang contemplated the compound ahead of them. An extinct city. Flagstone courtyards. Tumbled pillars. Roofless buildings. A labyrinth of jumbled masonry, dusted in sand.
A long, ramped processional causeway led to the facade of the main temple structure. A wide gateway flanked by monstrous bull colossi.
‘This is some spooky shit,’ muttered Huang.
Amanda and Jabril climbed the steep valley wall. Amanda jumped from boulder to boulder. Jabril scrambled across scree, wheezing for breath.
They found a ledge.
Jabril released the Velcro straps of his body armour and pulled it over his head. He wiped sweat from his brow.
Amanda swigged from her canteen. She adjusted her TASC earpiece. She sat cross-legged. She pulled a long plastic Hardigg case from her backpack. Lid sticker: ‘Silent souls inflict 308 holes.’ She flipped latches. A disassembled Remington M40, lying in a foam bed. A sleek, simple, bolt-action rifle with a scope.
She snapped and screwed each component together in a series of quick, precise movements. Receiver. Barrel. Scope. Bipod.
‘Do you enjoy killing?’ asked Jabril.
‘I’m a professional.’
Amanda slotted match-grade Winchester bullets into a five-round magazine, and slapped it home. She unfolded a vinyl mat. She lay prone, tipped back her hat, and positioned the rifle.
She put the butt to her shoulder and pressed her cheek to the fibreglass stock. She uncapped the dayscope. She focused eight hundred yards distant on the far valley wall. Crosshairs centred on a small stone resting on top of a boulder.
‘Be advised, firing for centre.’
‘Ten-four.’
She fired. Puff of rock dust. Missed by a foot.
She re-calibrated the Leupold scope. She fired. Off by two inches.
Minor realignment. She fired. The little stone exploded in a shower of rock shards.
‘Can I ask you something?’ said Jabril.
‘Sure.’
‘You and Lucy. The rings on your fingers.’
‘You Arabs think the West is one big orgy. Everyone getting laid but you.’
‘I don’t mean to judge.’
She shifted position and adjusted focus. She surveyed the citadel. She watched through the sniper scope as Lucy and Huang entered the precincts. She kept her crosshairs centred on the dirt between them. Lucy looked resolute. Huang looked jumpy.
Lucy’s voice:
‘How’s it going, Mandy?’
‘Don’t worry. I got you.’
Toon took a Maglite from his pocket. The beam lit ancient steps worn treacherously smooth. The tight spiral passage amplified his laboured breathing. He had to squeeze and crouch. He battled claustrophobia.
He emerged into sunlight. The guard tower was capped by a stone platform surrounded by a high rampart.
He unclipped his backpack and laid out three boxes of link ammunition.
He snapped open the SAW bipod. He checked a two-hundred-round chain was clipped firmly into the receiver.
He pulled the towel from his neck and dabbed sweat from his face. He sipped from his canteen. He examined the stone slab beneath his weapon. A crude daemonic face etched in stone. He looked around. The rampart walls were inscribed with strange glyphs. Each stone block etched with runes and symbols. The floor of the platform was a giant cosmological chart. Deep grooves plotted astral orbits. The sun. The moon. Five planets. Earth at the centre.
He suppressed a shiver as he contemplated the awful antiquity of the building. Robed priests and acolytes must have stood on this platform and chanted in veneration of their tyrannical god.
‘Was this some kind of fucking death cult?’
Jabril’s voice:
‘Hilprecht attributes the temple to the worship of Marduk. But Marduk was a benevolent creator god. Whatever devotional rites took place here seem dedicated to an older, darker deity. Hieroglyphs throughout the complex show scenes from an imminent apocalypse, and demonstrate a preoccupation with the movement of the planets, specifically Jupiter.’