The Amulet of Power - Mike Resnick [103]
“There were hints in Gordon’s letters to Burton, and hidden clues in his diary and in the maps he drew. I just pieced them all together.”
“Serves me right for never reading books,” he said. He stared at the altar for a moment, then looked back at Lara. “It occurs to me that if I use both hands to move this cornerstone, I’ll have to set my gun down, and I wouldn’t want to encourage you to do anything rash, so why don’t you come over and move the stone yourself?” He stepped back a few feet. “I’m fully aware of the damage you can do with that beautiful body of yours. Just remember that I’m beyond your reach, and that I’ve got a gun trained on you.”
“Why didn’t you just let your Mahdist henchmen get it for you?”
He laughed. “First of all, you killed the lot of them. And second, they weren’t my henchmen. Every attempt on my life back there in Cairo and the Sudan was real. The Silent Ones were after me for the same reason they were after you. As for the Mahdists—I was assigned by them to get close to you, win your confidence. But not to claim the Amulet for myself.” He paused and the smile left his face. “Eventually they realized that I was going to betray them and become the new Mahdi instead of turning over the Amulet to one of their choosing. Now move the stone, please.”
Lara walked over, placed both hands on the stone, planted her feet, and pulled at it. It gave way, and finally came off the altar, revealing a bronze amulet the size of a drink coaster, perhaps three inches in diameter.
Khaled Ahmed Mohammed el-Shakir stared at it in rapt fascination, and took a step or two toward it—and as he got within reach, Lara hurled the stone at the hand that held the gun.
It clattered to the floor, and as el-Shakir reached for it, Lara kicked it across the floor of the church.
“Don’t make me kill you,” he said ominously. “I have other plans for you.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “You’re not going to kill me.”
He lunged for her, but she was too quick for him. She ducked under his outstretched arms and leaped lightly over a pew. He pivoted and ran for her again, and this time all he got for his trouble was a left to the stomach and a sneaky right that smashed the cartilage in his nose.
He bellowed in rage and landed a glancing blow on her shoulder. It spun her around, and he delivered a powerful left hook to her jaw.
He thought he’d slowed her down enough to retrieve his gun from the far side of the church, and he began running toward it, but Lara saw what he was trying to do. She jumped onto a pew, ran down the length of it, and flung herself into the air. Her outstretched hands reached what was left of the rod that had held the fan she’d shot down, and she swung as far as she could on it, then released her grip.
Her feet landed on el-Shakir’s back, and plunged him face-first into the wall of the church. He staggered, then turned to face her just in time to see her kick his gun away again.
He approached her more cautiously this time, watching not only her hands but her feet, but again she was too quick, and landed a spinning kick to his ribs that knocked him backward to the wall.
Careful, she told herself. You’re showing too much skill. You’d better let him deliver a few blows or he’ll never buy what you’ve got planned.
She planted her feet and waited for him. Just as he got within reach she lowered her guard, not much, only a few inches, but enough to present him with her unprotected chin. He delivered a roundhouse right