The walls bore traces of paintings of the Buddha and scenes from Buddhist teaching, all defaced and damaged. One painting remained, dominating the east wall over a low dais. It was huge, circular, with letters scribed in deep green against a sickly yellow background. It was old.
The sign of the assassins. The air was sullen and oppressive, malevolent. The hall brooded with malice. Selena shivered.
"Guess we're in the right place." Ronnie's voice was quiet. "Gives me the creeps."
A railed stairway rose to the upper stories and a wide balcony. At the far end of the room a dim passage led into the back.
Nick held up his hand. "Something doesn't feel right." Nick scanned the room. "There." He pointed.
A thin, black wire stretched across the middle of the room, six inches high, almost invisible. He followed the line across the floor and up the wall to the ceiling. A six foot wide, razor sharp blade was poised to swing down and across, right where that wire was laid. It would move too fast to avoid. It would cut a man in half.
"Booby trap. No need for a guard. Confident bastards."
"Where are they?" Selena asked in a whisper.
"Probably upstairs asleep. Check the back. Watch it."
She stepped over the wire and moved to the back of the room. She held the butt of the MP-5 high against her right shoulder, muzzle down. It almost felt familiar to her, the crouching walk, the electric feeling of adrenaline, the hard form of her weapon, the taste of copper in her mouth.
She went down the passage, selector on full auto, finger laid against the trigger. Range rules didn't apply out here. The passage led to another large room. Tables, sinks, a propane stove, a fireplace with a few glowing embers, stores on wooden shelves. There was no one there. She placed her gloved hand against the stove. It was cold. A large pot on the top held bits of food congealing on the sides. A smaller room contained a silent generator.
She made her way back to the others.
"Nothing. It's a kitchen and generator room. Stove is cold. What's left of dinner on the top. Still coals in the fireplace."
"They have to be up there." Nick gestured upward.
The railed balcony ran the full width of the room. A dark opening beckoned in the wall behind it.
"If it's one large room, I'll hold up one finger. If it's separate rooms, I'll hold up five. Shoot anyone you see."
Selena looked at him. "What if they're unarmed? Asleep?"
"What if they are?" He gave her a hard look. He was in that landscape where no one else could go. "There are three of us. We don't know how many are in there and these guys are good. Don't hesitate or it will go south fast. I'll toss a flashbang, then we start shooting. We might be able to take prisoners. Maybe not. Understand?"
Shoot sleeping men. She couldn't trust herself to speak. Then she thought of the attack in Mali. There had been something relentless in that man, something without compassion.
"Yes. Don't worry about me."
Nick nodded. They climbed the stairs.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Hassan-i Sabbah had taken the name of the founder of the order, his right by tradition. At the moment the Imam of the assassins was annoyed. His disciples were expendable, of course. They weren't called Fida'i, the self sacrificing, for nothing. None the less, someone had managed to kill three of them and that was annoying. This had not happened in living memory. Others would take their place. But still.
Soon the Mahdi would reveal himself, after centuries in occultation. He would bring peace and justice to the world, the triumph of Islam. Hassan knew it was so. The Mahdi had appeared to him in a vision, flanked by angels with glowing, golden wings, so bright Hassan had to turn his eyes away.
In one hand, the Mahdi had held the Holy Book, in the other a flaming sword. There was a sound of angels singing somewhere in the distance, the voices of Paradise. He'd felt transformed, filled with glory. In the vision, he had fallen to his knees and prostrated himself. Hassan heard no words, but the Mahdi's instructions had been clear. Retrieve the sword. Ignite the fire. A great feeling of joy had flooded him. Gradually, the feeling faded.
It wasn't the first vision he'd had. They'd been coming since his early teens, sometimes accompanied by a fierce headache that lasted for days. His entire life had been preparation for this moment.
Hassan had prostrated himself on the cold stone floor of his room and prayed. When he arose, he'd known what he must do. Follow the vision. And now he had what he needed. The Sword. The fire.
Those who were looking for him looked in the wrong place. If only they knew how close to their quarry they really were.
Al-Bausari had done a great service by unearthing the relic and showing it to the world. It lay before Hassan now, in the wooden box. Allah would forgive the Sunni his heresy, for surely he had been doing God's will. It had been necessary to kill him, but his martyrdom guaranteed his entry into Paradise.
It was time for all Muslims to unite. Bausari had been right in that. Even Hassan could see it. Only God was important, only His will. The rest was human folly.
Bausari's video had produced the desired effect. While many scoffed and denied and argued, the mosques filled worldwide. Some repented and prayed to save their souls. Some prayed for deliverance. Some, once past their fear, prayed from gratitude. Surely, Allah must be pleased.
Hassan only waited for the heavenly sign of the sun in eclipse to unleash the fire. He would die, but that was unimportant. The fire would come. When the cleansing was done, when the infidels were all destroyed, peace would reign forever.
God was Just.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Carter climbed the stairs to the balcony crossing the dark hall, a flashbang in one hand, MP-5 in the other. Selena and Ronnie came behind. Nick signaled them to wait. He stepped quietly along the wall to the passage they'd seen from below. He could hear heavy breathing of sleeping men. The stench of unwashed bodies polluted the air. Nick felt his pulse pounding behind his left eye. His ear burned.
He risked a fast look through the arch and pulled back. A single candle cast soft light at the end of a wide room. The floor was covered with shapeless forms.
He showed one finger and beckoned Selena and Ronnie forward. When they were all three set by the opening he tossed the flashbang into the room. They covered their ears and looked away.
The flashbang was an effective, disorienting weapon. Even asleep, someone inside that room would be blind and confused. The concussion disrupted fluid in the inner ear. Balance would be lost for critical seconds. It would give them a chance.
The grenade detonated. The floor shook. Shouts came from the room. The team came low through the entrance and began firing.
Not everyone was disoriented. Even as they fired, figures came at them. In seconds the fighting was hand to hand.
Ronnie went down, unconscious from a vicious blow to the side of his head. Carter shot his attacker. He drove the barrel of his gun into the gut of another assassin, swung the butt across his jaw. The man fell away.
Selena jammed in another magazine. She brought the gun up and fired as someone lunged at her with a dagger. The bullets ripped across his chest. She was shouting, a guttural, primal scream of fear and anger and war. She watched him fall at her feet, all the time with her finger hard back on the trigger, brass casings showering the air. Littering the ground around her.