The Librarians and the Lost Lamp (16 page)

“Gus!” Stone grabbed the back of an empty chair. “Duck!”

Dunphy obligingly dipped his head, and Stone swung the chair into the face of the crook, breaking the wooden legs right off the seat. Stunned, the man fell backward, losing his grip on Gus. Stone hoped the chair hadn't been part of the original furnishings.

“I say we skip dessert,” Stone said. “How 'bout you?”

Gus nodded weakly.

They barged into the kitchen, where the terrified chef and staff were cowering on the floor, wisely trying to avoid catching a bullet. A sirloin steak was burning on the grill, which struck Stone as a damn shame. He snatched a heavy steel meat mallet from a counter.

“The basement?” he asked urgently. “Which way … quickly!”

The trembling chef pointed to a recess at the rear of the kitchen.

“Thanks!” Stone said. “Keep your heads down!”

Gunfire from the dining room peppered the kitchen in a surely unintended bit of poetic payback for what Stone had done to Marjanah. Shots rang off hanging cast-iron skillets. Frying pans and ladles clattered onto the floor, adding to the clamor. Stone ducked low as he made tracks across the kitchen.

“This way,” he told Gus. “Hurry!”

“The basement?” Dunphy balked. “But we'll be trapped!”

“Not if this place is as authentic as you say it is.”

Yanking open the cellar door, they scrambled downstairs to the basement, which was obviously being used as a storeroom. Harsh fluorescent lights lit up the cellar, exposing metal shelves stocked with ingredients and cleaning supplies. A refrigerated meat locker hummed. Kegs of beer were stacked in a corner. Grunting, Stone hastily rolled one of the heavy kegs in front of the door at the bottom of the stairs, creating a barricade.

“That should buy us a few moments,” he said, stepping back from the door.

Dunphy didn't look reassured. “What good will that do? We're stuck!”

He pulled out a snazzy new smartphone to dial 911.

“Maybe not,” Stone said. “Most of these old mob joints had secret tunnels and escape routes, just in case the cops raided the place or, more likely, a rival gangster came gunning for you.” Stone hurriedly searched the cellar as he talked. “The basement is the obvious place to look for an underground tunnel, but where…?”

A closet door, built into an exposed-brick wall, caught his eye. He raced over to take a closer look.

“Yes! This looks like part of the original construction, dating back to the late forties. The mortar appears to be a postwar blend of limestone and Portland cement, and this white milk-glass doorknob with the brass rosette? Clearly the right era as well.”

Dunphy looked at him funny. “What kind of librarian are you again?”

“The kind you need right now.”

Stone tried the knob, only to find it locked. “Figures.”

As much as he hated vandalizing the antique door and knob, he pounded on the lock with the meat mallet until it broke. The door swung open to reveal a ladder descending into an unlit vertical shaft. Stone peered down into the shaft but saw only darkness.

So what else is new?

“This is it,” he said. “Our way out.”

Gus hesitated. “But it's so dark. I can't see a thing.”

Heavy bodies thumped against the basement door, only a few yards away. Bullets blasted through the wooden door and perforated the metal keg, causing beer to gush onto the floor. Marjanah's irate voice could be heard above the gunshots.

“Stop them! I can't lose that Lamp again!”

Her men threw themselves against the door with renewed force, forcing it open a few inches. The bottom of the keg scraped across the floor.

“On second thought,” Dunphy said. “But you go first!”

Whatever,
Stone thought. Having worked laying pipe in the natural-gas business before becoming a Librarian, he was used to climbing down into holes in the ground. Taking the lead, he clambered down the ladder before reaching solid ground about twelve feet below. “So far, so good” he yelled to Dunphy. “Get a move on!”

That keg wasn't going to block the door forever.

Muttering unhappily to himself, Dunphy joined him at the bottom of the ladder, which was lit only by whatever light leaked down from the basement. Stone started to feel his way forward before remembering that his phone could be used as a flashlight. A bright white beam revealed a brick-lined tunnel stretching off to the right.

At least there shouldn't be any Bronze Age deathtraps,
he thought,
or trapped Native American trickster spirits.

“Run for it!” Stone ordered. “This is our way out … in theory.”

He felt bad about running out on the bill and stiffing their waiter, but at least they were luring Marjanah and her henchmen away from the restaurant. He made a mental note to pop some cash in the mail—if he and Gus got away in one piece.

Shouts and commotion, echoing down from above, spurred their heels as the men dashed down the tunnel to who knew where. Stone estimated that the tunnel was at least sixty years old, which made it relatively new compared to some of the ancient tunnels and passages he'd explored as a Librarian, like the hidden catacombs beneath the Tiber, but he was in no position to be picky. Cobwebs hung like curtains, clinging to them as they barreled through them. A rat scurried out of their way.

“I don't like this!” Dunphy whined. “This is not what I wished for!”

Wished?
Stone thought.
Just how literally does he mean that?

The doorway to the basement crashed open loudly, giving him no time to quiz Dunphy on his remark. Their pursuers were bound to find the exposed ladder any moment now.

“Where does this go?” Gus asked anxiously.

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

Fortunately the tunnel was only about ten yards long, so they soon came upon a second ladder leading up to a rusty metal door in the ceiling. Stone scrambled up the ladder, with Gus right on his heels, only to find it bolted shut. He pounded on it with the mallet.

“Open up! It's an emergency!”

At first, he feared there was nobody on the other side to hear him. He shouted louder and kept on pounding for attention.

“Help us, please! It's a matter of life or death!”

For me, that is,
Stone thought. Marjanah would want to take Gus alive in order find that Lamp of hers. “Open up!”

The ladder was up against a dead end, so there wasn't even a door for the Library to try to latch onto. He gripped the mallet, but he knew it wouldn't be enough to balance the scales against a band of determined gunmen. He was good in a fight, but not
that
good.

Just wish I knew what I was dying for.…

Then, just in time, he heard a bolt being drawn on the other side of the door, which swung upward to reveal a puzzled-looking teenager gazing down on them.

“Hello?” the acne-faced youth asked him. “Are you in trouble?”

“Not so much now.” Stone hurried up the ladder into what appeared to be the basement of a cut-rate souvenir shop, stuffed with crates of Vegas-themed baseball caps, snow globes, postcards, calendars, playing cards, poker chips, and other knickknacks. He hauled Dunphy up behind him. “Thanks!”

“How'd you guys get down there?”

“Took a wrong turn.” Stone bolted the trap door behind them. “But I wouldn't let anybody up after us, and you might want to vacate the premises. There's some not very nice people right on our tail. The kind with guns and knives.”

“Whoa,” the teen said. “You think I should call the cops?”

“Not a bad idea, but I'm afraid we can't stick around.”

“We can't?” Gus asked.

Stone shook his head. “Not unless you want to explain to them about the Lamp.”

That
struck a nerve, even if Gus tried (and failed) to let it show. For a chronic gambler, he had one of the worst poker faces Stone had ever seen.

“You know, maybe we don't want to wait for the police.”

Someone banged on the door in the floor. A harsh voice demanded entrance. More voices shouted loudly in frustration.

“Yikes!” The teen bolted from the basement. “This is not worth minimum wage!”

Stone and Dunphy raced up the stairs after him. The ground floor above had oodles more souvenirs on sale, but the men didn't give the merchandise a second glance as they dashed outdoors to find themselves right in the heart of Glitter Gulch, the neon-drenched birthplace of Sin City, where the very first casinos had gone up. Although long since eclipsed by the bigger, fancier resorts and hotels on the Strip, downtown Vegas was still home to several old and restored casinos, along with other tourist attractions. Night had fallen, so the men lost themselves in the crowds flocking to the Fremont Street Experience, a four-block-long pedestrian mall covered by an enormous vaulted canopy displaying a spectacular light show created by millions of brilliant LED lights. Throbbing music created a party atmosphere. Daring tourists soared below the lofty canopy on a zip line. Stone hoped the giddy festivities would hide them from Marjanah and her men, at least for the moment.

The warm Nevada air came as a drastic change from the air-conditioned restaurant. Stone looked up and down the busy thoroughfare, weighing their options. In the Gulch's glory days, a fleeing mob boss would have had a getaway car waiting with its engines running, but any such vehicles would be in a junkyard or antique auto show these days. He and Dunphy were going to have to hoof it to … where?

“I don't understand,” Gus said, gasping for breath. This was probably the most physical exercise he'd gotten in years. “Who were those people?”

“Hell if I know.” Stone noticed that Dunphy hadn't asked what they were after. He was dying to ask Gus about this whole Lamp business, but maybe after they had well and truly given their pursuers the slip. “We've got to find someplace safe to hole up while we figure this out.”

Gus nodded. “My penthouse at Ali Baba's?”

“Nah. That's the first place they'll go looking for you.”

Gus gulped at the thought. “What about the Flamingo? Or Caesar's Palace?”

“Forget the casinos,” Stone said. “We need someplace where nobody would ever think to find you.” He briefly considered whisking Dunphy off to the Annex, but taking a stranger touched by unknown magic into the Library was a huge security risk; there was no way Jenkins would stand for it. Racking his brains, Stone hit on another idea. “So, what do you think of Mondrian?”

“Who?”

“How about Chagall? Kandinsky?”

Dunphy's blank expression said it all.

“Never mind,” Stone said, grinning. “I think I know just the right place.”

 

13

2006

“You sure we can trust this guy?” Flynn asked.

He and Shirin were crammed into a secret compartment beneath the bed of a pickup truck traveling northeast toward the mountainous border between Iraq and Iran. Their faces were only inches apart, making for an uncomfortably cozy trip. A load of heavy, handmade carpets was piled on top of the compartment, further concealing it from view. Tiny air holes, poked into the bottom of the compartment, kept them from suffocating. The only light came from their cell phones, which they used sparingly in order to preserve the batteries. Flynn was glad that he wasn't
too
claustrophobic.

“He's a smuggler.” Shirin shrugged as much as she could, considering their cramped accommodations. “But he comes recommended, if you want to sneak across the border into Iran.”

“Recommended by who again?”

“People who know people,” she said vaguely. “These days most everybody knows someone who wants to get out of the country, and knows people who can make that happen … for the right price.”

Flynn winced, remembering the price tag for this excursion. Charlene was not going be happy when she found out how much he had shelled out already, supposedly to cover all the necessary bribes and other expenses.
I'm guessing smugglers don't issue receipts.

“I guess,” he said uncertainly.

“We've gone over this already,” she reminded him. “You wanted to know the best way to get into northern Iran, and that's through the border crossing at Penjwin, where there's a fair amount of trade and traffic going on most of the time. I suppose we could have gone through the appropriate channels and applied for the proper travel visas, but…”

“That would have taken too much time and possibly attracted too much attention,” Flynn said. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” She was right about one thing; it was too late to second-guess their strategy now. “Don't mind me. I'm just making conversation, since we've got kind of a long trip ahead of us.”

They had already been driving for hours across the flatlands of central Iraq, over frequently bumpy roads and slowed by periodic checkpoints and traffic jams. Although they'd been provided with water, the stuffy compartment still felt like an oven. Flynn couldn't wait until they reached the cooler temperatures of the mountains bordering the northwest corner of Iran.

“Tell me about yourself,” she suggested. “If we're going to be squeezed in here together all the way to Kurdistan, we might as well get to know each other a little better, especially since nobody is trying to kidnap or kill us at the moment.”

“Knock on wood,” he said. “Anyway, there's not much to tell. I grew up in New York—Queens, to be exact—and stayed in college for as long as I could, picking up twenty-plus degrees in everything from Egyptology to Botanical Studies before I was recruited to be the new Librarian.”

“Which means what exactly?”

He answered carefully, not wanting to reveal too many of the Library's age-old secrets. “My job is pretty much the same as yours: unearthing the lost mysteries of the past and keeping them safe and out of the wrong hands. It's just that, in my case, that often involves a fair number of cultists, rival treasure hunters, and time-traveling ninjas.”