Seven Ancient Wonders - Matthew Reilly [23]
And as the Halicarnassus soared into the sky away from the danger, West gazed at the large American force now gathered at the western edge of the swamp.
A disquieting thought lingered in his mind.
How had the Americans even known about this place?
The Europeans very probably had a copy of the Callimachus Text and, of course, they had the boy. But the Americans, so far as West knew, had neither.
Which meant there was no way they could have known that this was the resting place of the Colossus of Rhodes.
West frowned.
Was his team’s cover blown? Had the Americans discovered their base and followed them here? Or worse: was there a traitor in his team who had given their position away with a tracing beacon?
In any case, Judah now knew that West was involved in this treasure hunt. He might not know exactly who West was working for, but he knew West was involved.
Which meant that things were about to get very intense.
Safe at last, but without their prize, West’s plane sped away to the south, disappearing over the mountains.
Exhausted and dirty, West trudged back down into the main cabin. Head down in thought, he almost walked straight past Lily, curled up in the darkness under the stairs, sobbing quietly.
West crouched down beside her and with a gentleness that defied his battered state, brushed away her tears. ‘Hey, kiddo.’
‘They . . . they just killed him,’ she swallowed. ‘Killed Noddy.’
‘I know.’
‘Why’d they have to do that? He never hurt any of them.’
‘No, he didn’t,’ West said. ‘But what we’re doing here has made some big countries very angry—because they’re afraid of losing their power. That’s why they killed Noddy.’ He tousled her hair as he stood to go. ‘Hey. I’ll miss him, too.’
Tired, sore and himself saddened by the loss of Noddy, West retired to his small bunkroom in the aft section of the plane.
He collapsed into his bunk and no sooner had his head hit the pillow than he was asleep.
He slept deeply, his dreams filled with vivid visions—of booby-trapped chambers, stone altars, chants and screams, waterfalls of lava, and of himself running frantically through it all.
The interesting thing was, these dreams weren’t the product of West’s imagination.
They had actually happened, ten years previously . . .
NORTH-EASTERN UGANDA
20 MARCH, 1996
10 YEARS EARLIER
INSIDE THE KANYAMANAGA VOLCANO
UGANDA, AFRICA
20 MARCH, 1996, 11:47 A.M.
The images of West’s dreams:
West running desperately down an ancient stone passageway with Wizard at his side, toward the sounds of booming drums, chanting and a woman’s terrified screams.
It’s hot.
Hot as Hell.
And since it’s inside a volcano, it even looks like Hell.
It is just the two of them—plus Horus, of course. The team does not even exist at this time.
Their clothes are covered in mud and tar—they’ve survived a long and arduous path to get here. West wears his fireman’s helmet and thick-soled army boots. Ten years younger, at age 27 he is more idealistic but no less intense. His eyes are narrow, focused. And his left arm is his own.
Boom-boom-boom! go the drums.
The chanting increases.
The woman’s screams cut the air.
‘We must hurry!’ Wizard urges. ‘They’ve started the ritual!’
They pass through several booby-trapped passageways—each of which West neutralises.
Ten disease-carrying molossid bats burst forth from a dark ceiling recess, fangs bared—only to have Horus launch herself off West’s shoulder and plunge into their midst, talons raised. A thudding mid-air collision. Squeals and shrieks. Two bats smack down against the floor, brought down by the little falcon.
That splits the bats and the two men dash through them, Horus catching up moments later.
West is confronted by a long downward-sloping shaft. It’s like a 100-metre-long stone pipe, steeply slanted, big enough for him to fit if he sits down.
Boom go the drums.
The evil chanting is close now.
The woman’s frenzied screams are like nothing he has ever heard: pained, desperate, primal.
West shoots a