Ibenus (Valducan series) (23 page)

The playful gleam in Sam's eyes disappeared. "Don't worry about us. We know what to do."

"You be safe," Victoria said, the concern palpable in her tone.

"We will be."

Her lips tightened, seeming to hold back the obvious statement, the words she'd whispered when they'd last shared a private moment.
I'm not worried about them. You be safe Allan. You.
Instead, she slid two fingers in her shirt pocket and extended her hand low. The squared edge of a folded slip of paper peeked from beneath her downturned fingers. "Happy hunting." Her voice came through the radio.

Allan glanced at Sam who was now very pointedly not paying attention. The sudden disinterest as obvious as a bad lie.
I figured she knew by now.
He accepted Victoria's hand, squeezing it, his thumb playing over her fingers as he accepted the paper. "Thanks."

Palming it, he hurried back to the tunnel where the others were already looting through the open boxes. He found his and pulled the lid open. Ibenus rested inside, atop pads, lights, ballistic vest, fresh clothes, and other gear. Bent over, Allan glanced back that no one was watching and opened Victoria's note. In crisp black handwriting it read:

I never knew love until I found you. Be safe.

-V

Allan kissed the note and slipped it into his trouser pocket before unbuttoning his telecom worker's shirt to reveal the black, elastic undershirt. Tucking it away, he pulled out the vest and strapped it on. The weight of the three-liter water bladder felt strange against his back. He'd never worn one outside of cycling. Hunts had never lasted so long that dehydration was even considered. Allan secured the rubber drinking straw at his shoulder and pulled on knee and elbow pads. That done, he fastened his sword belt and gave Ibenus a pat.
Ready, Love?

Malcolm scanned a pocket-sized tablet. "Entrance should be a hundred and forty feet ahead."

Allan checked his pistol. Aluminum with rock salt tips. Hopefully one of those would work. He holstered it in the shoulder rig, then glanced to Chaya to make sure she wasn't watching before removing the little Walther from his gear. The tiny gun was pointless, he knew. He'd never hit anything with it, but it was also his good luck charm. He clipped the holster inside his waistband.
Just like James Bond
. That done, Allan clicked the LED lamp atop his helmet, releasing a dull red beam.

"Ready," Chaya said like she’d just completed a race.

The others quickly followed as Allan secured the last of his gear and heaved on the pack holding the radio. "Ready."

"All right, then." Malcolm nodded to Allan and both readied their watches, thumb and forefinger on either side of the digital readouts. "Mark."

Allan pressed the buttons.

"We'll check in every fifteen. No exceptions." Malcolm looked across the knights, critically scanning their gear, then nodded. "Let's go to work. Gerhard, keep Umatri out."

"Yes." Gerhard drew the keris and held it before him.

Motioning to Orlovski, Allan picked up one side of a locker while the Russian took the other. Malcolm and Chaya carried a second box as Schmidt, noticeably less encumbered with gear, followed.

The sounds of birds and traffic faded away as they moved deeper into the tunnel. Their crimson lights played off the painted walls but the details were hidden in shadows. Allan wondered if the lights would be enough, even after they eyes had finished adjusting.

"Here we are," Malcolm said as they reached a knee-high gap in the wall. The floor leading into the hole was worn smooth. Above it, dominating the chaotic tangle of spray-painted names and dates, read, '
Monde Souterrain
'—Underworld—in huge white-trimmed black letters.

"Are you sure this is it?" Chaya asked, eliciting a grin from Allan.

Malcolm shrugged. "Just for that you get to be the first to find out."

"Ladies first, eh?"

"Something like that."

They lowered their locker and Chaya knelt before the gap, seeming to consider it before crawling through.

A few seconds later her she radioed, "Careful with that first step."

Malcolm slid the box next to the entrance before he scooted inside and pulled it in after.

Allan waited as the others followed in turn. His job was to take up the rear, keeping the less experienced warriors safely in the middle. Once Orlovski was down, Allan gave one final glance back to the distant daylight and the parked vehicles before he crawled into the catacombs.

Remaining somewhat parallel, the crevice's floor and ceiling both dropped three feet to a landing, then dropped again like demented funhouse stairs. The dizzying kaleidoscope of multicolored paint only added to the effect. He banged his head on the second landing and was immediately grateful for the helmet. The air seemed to cool with each level, the summer heat now forgotten. Grunts came through the ear bud and echoed ahead as he lowered his way toward moving red lights.

Allan flinched in surprise as his wrist buzzed with vibration.

"First check in," Malcolm said through the radio.

"Everything fine here," Victoria answered.

After the third landing, the crevice continued into a low passage, eight feet wide, over twenty feet long, and just above three feet high. The other knights crawled through the low tunnel, pushing and pulling their lockers, while Max merely strolled upright along the right wall, his sword before him.

Now that his eyes were adjusting, Allan had to squint as his light reflected off the stone walls only inches from his face. Had they been brighter, the glare would have been blinding.

"It's probably good that Luc couldn't come," Orlovski grunted as they pushed the box out of the low hall and into a large chamber. "He'd have hated this."

"Just wait until it gets really cramped," Malcolm replied.

Allan stood, his helmet nearly brushing the ceiling. The room was wide at the south end, stretching over thirty feet to where it ended at a hall leading east and west side. A crude bench was cut along one side. Painted silhouettes gave the appearance of figures seated along its length. Spent tea light cups filled niches randomly scattered along the walls.

Chaya inspected an arched tunnel on the wider side of the room. "Is this it?"

Malcolm nodded. "Yeah."

"Look." She crouched, her headlamp aimed at the floor. "Tracks."

Allan scanned the dust and eons of cigarette ash, seeing the layers of tiny V-shaped tracks running back forth across the room. "This looks promising."

"Where do these go?" Max asked looking down either side of the north-side entrance.

"They wander off to the rest of the catacombs," Malcolm said. "We'll set up our equipment here and leave a repeater cam to watch our backs."

"And if someone wanders in?"

"Not likely, but if someone does, Sam and Victoria will spot `em."

"Damn right we will," Sam said through the radio.

Max gave an approving nod. "Very well."

As the others pulled out their gear and stacked the lockers, Allan cleared out one of the larger niches and positioned one of the cameras to get a good view of the other exits. That done, Malcolm led them through the arched southern passage.

The graffiti tapered off fairly quickly as they headed down a gentle slope. The air was still as a tomb. It didn't smell like anything, just the dust and occasional whiffs of Orlovski's aftershave.

Sporadic cracks traced along the pale limestone ceiling, some even fringed with tiny stalactites. They passed several more chambers; some like square rooms with doorways and windows into the hall, others no more than rough alcoves. They inspected each one, following the branching dead-end passages as far as they led before continuing down the main corridor. As Malcolm had warned, the map wasn't entirely accurate. Mortared walls sealed several passages, while others intersected at different points than expected.

Allan repeatedly glanced at Gerhard's blade, hoping for, yet dreading movement, but Umatri remained still. The tiny tracks along the floor still assured them that their quarry had frequented the area.

Every fifteen minutes, either Malcolm or Allan sent their scheduled check in. Once they realized that they didn't have a signal, they headed back until they reestablished contact and set up one of the repeaters.

Orlovski stopped and inspected a relief of a man carved into the wall. A candle stub, affixed with melted wax, rose from his cupped hands. The artist appeared to have lost interest about half way through, leaving only the upper portion in high detail. Someone had painted it like a mime, red lips, black triangular eye makeup drawn in marker on the white face.

Chaya's lip curled as she passed it. "That's creepy."

"You don't like clowns?" Orlovski asked.

"No. It's creepy that someone would spend all that time down here carving it.

Eventually they reached a small round antechamber. The passage continued south, but a smaller passage, one yard square and set a good five feet off the ground, led east.

"Here we are," Malcolm said, unzipping his pack. "These will loop around on each other, running a kilometer before rejoining." He unzipped the back and removed a repeater camera.

Max drew Lukrasus and walked up the wall. Kneeling above the small opening, he peered down. "Looks to go in eight, maybe nine meters. Tracks along the floor."

Allan watched the old man, wondering what it felt like to choose your own direction of gravity.

Still peering down the passage, Max clicked his headlamp, unleashing a brilliant beam. "The passage turns once it opens back up." Rising to his feet, he stepped off the edge and plunged through the sideways hole. Fifteen seconds later his voice came through the radio. "Looks clear. Coming back." Max shot through the opening, then slowed before dropping feet-first onto the wall beside Allan's head with a grunt.

"Are you all right?" Malcolm said.

Max coughed and nodded. "Fine. Fine." He stepped back onto the floor with a slight limp. "Not as spry as I used to be."

"Be careful," Allan said.

Max waved him off and stepped back onto the floor.

"Seriously," Malcolm said. "If you hurt yourself we'll have to carry you out."

"I didn't live this long by being reckless. Stop worrying. I get enough of that from Alex. He's like my mother."

"All right," Malcolm conceded. "Allan, which one do you want?"

"The little one." The question was for Max's benefit. The night before, they'd privately discussed Allan taking the longer route here, allowing the old man to take the shorter, easier one. Max's pride wouldn't stand for it if he knew. So they didn't let him.

Malcolm set his bag on the floor. "We'll take a quick breather, little food, then split up. Herd any demons around and meet in the middle."

#

Crawling through the tunnel wasn't as bad as Gerhard had expected. Once removing his backpack, still holding the radio booster, he simply tied it onto Orlovski's rope, crawled down the narrow passage, dropped the two meters to the floor on the other end, and pulled it through. However, the crevice he was currently navigating was infinitely worse.

The horizontal gap was wide enough to fully extend his arms, but so narrow that his helmet had only a few centimeters clearance before contacting either the floor or ceiling. He laid face down, unable to lift his head enough to see ahead as he wormed, his way with infinitesimal, jerky movements.

Bend the knees and elbows, push. Bend the knees and elbows, push.

"Almost done," Allan said ahead.

Dust rained down as Gerhard's helmet thumped the ceiling. He imagined the incredible weight pressing down on this unsupported and ancient roof. If it collapsed, would it kill him instantly or would he simply bleed out as Allan and Orlovski futilely dug for him from either end? At least he'd be buried with Umatri, but the idea did nothing to comfort him.

Bend the knees and elbows, push.

Sweat and the condensed humidity of his breath in the unmoving air ran down his face, gathering at the tip of his nose. He imagined hearing that horrible baby's cry as he was trapped here, unable to move or turn his head as chitinous feet scuttled toward him. The thought pushed him faster.

"Almost," Allan said, closer now.

Gerhard pushed and hands grabbed his shoulders and pulled. Allan got hold of the drag handle at the back of his vest and together they slid Gerhard out and into a narrow room.

"Thank you," Gerhard panted, crawling to his feet.

"Just take a breather." Allan peered back down the gap. "All right, Taras, you're up."

Gerhard walked to the back of the chamber, savoring the freedom of movement. He'd never been claustrophobic, but he could now sympathize with those afflicted. He wiped the sweat off his face, smearing the grit and dust into mud. When he'd confessed that he was afraid, that was true, but not full truth. Gerhard's worry wasn't of the monsters. It was of something far less tangible.

He knew his place now, for the first time in his life. He was a knight. Husband of an angel. When they met these demons he wouldn't cower, he wouldn't freeze or let the others do the fighting. He needed to give Umatri that fiery blood. It was the only way to feel worthy of what he now was and his fear was that of disappointment.

A muted buzz came from Allan's direction. The Englishman pressed his watch, silencing it. "This is Allan, checking in."

The scrapes and huffs of Orlovski slithering the gap sounded eerily loud in the catacomb's otherwise perfect silence.

"Can anyone hear me?"

Gerhard, tapped his ear bud. "My radio didn't hear you."

Allan checked his radio. "This is Allan. Checking in."

Gerhard shook his head.

"Mal, Victoria, Sam, does anyone copy?"

Again, no response.

"You try," Allan said.

"This is Gerhard. Does anyone copy?"

Silence.

"I don't hear anyone," Orlovski called from the gap.

"I haven't heard anyone on the radio in a while," Gerhard said, thinking back. There'd always been little comments or grunts picked up by the other knights' throat mics. An annoying amount. "Nothing since we started this." He gestured to the gap. "Maybe the signal can't get through."