Temple (53 page)

Romano said, 'You son of a—'
It was at that moment that Romano's head exploded—
bursting like a tomato—sending a fountain of blood spraying out in
every direction. A split second later, his body dropped to the
ground—limp, lifeless, dead.
Race whirled around at the sound of the gunshot, just in
time to see Nash standing there with his SIG-Sauer pistol extended
in the firing position. Nash took a step along the line of Navy and
DARPA people and levelled his pistol at
the next man's head.
Blare!
The gun went off and the man fell.
'What are you doing[' Race yelled.
'Colonel!' Van Lewen shouted, incredulous, making to
raise his G-11.
But no sooner had he moved than another silver SIGoSauer
appeared next to his head. At the other end of the pistol
stood
Troy Copeland.
'Drop the gun, Sergeant,' Copeland said.
Van Lewen clenched his teeth, dropped the G-11 and
glared at Copeland.
Lauren had Ren6e similarly covered.
Completely confused, Race spun to look at Marty, but his
brother just stood at the end of the line of Navy and DARPA people,
staring stoically forward, his only movement a blink with every
gunshot.
'Colonel, this is outright murder,' Van Lewen said.
Nash stepped up in front of another Navy man, levelled
his pistol.
Blam!
'No,' he said. 'It is merely a process of natural selection.
Survival of the fittest.'
Nash came to Ed Devereux.
The small Harvard professor stood before him, trembling.
His eyes were wide behind his wire-framed glasses, his whole body
shaking with fear. Nash levelled his SIG at the little man's
head.
Devereux screamed, “No—!”
Blare!
The scream cut off abruptly and Devereux crumpled to
the ground.
“Race couldn't believe this was happening. American
killing American. It was a nightmare. He winced as he saw Devereux
fall to the ground, dead.
It was then that he saw the leather-bound book that Devereux had
been holding when he had been shot. It lay in the mud, face-up,
open, revealing a set of crusty old pages filled
with ornate medieval artwork and calligraphy.
It was the Santiago Manuscript.
Or rather, Race corrected himself, the partially-completed
copy of the manuscript that had been made by another monk
in 1599, thirty years after Alberto Santiago's death.
'Colonel, what the hell are you doing?' Race said.
'I am merely eliminating the competition, Professor Race.'
Nash slowly made his way down the line of men and
women, calmly shooting each of them at point-blank range, one after
the other. His eyes were hard, cold, devoid of any emotion as he
clinically executed his enemies—his fellow Americans—one by
one.
Some of the Navy-DARPA people started to pray as
Nash levelled his pistol at their faces. Some of the civilians
started to sob. Race, helpless to stop the slaughter, saw tears
well in Ren6e's eyes as she watched the shocking series of
executions.
Soon there was only one man left, the last man in the line.
Marty.
Race just watched as Nash stood in front of his brother.
He felt completely helpless, powerless to assist Marty.
And then, strangely, Nash lowered his pistol. He turned to
face Race, didn't take his eyes off him as he spoke: 'Lauren,
would you get me my laptop from the ATV, please?'
Race frowned, confused.
What the hell—?
Lauren hurried off to the ATV, still parked in front of the
citadel. She returned a minute later with Nash's laptop computer,
the one he had been using during the early stages of the mission.
She handed it to Nash who—strangely— passed it on to Race.
'Turn it on,' Nash said.
Race did so.
'Click on “u.s. ARMY INTERNAL NET”,' Nash said.
Race did so.
A title screen appeared.
U.S. ARMY INTERNAL MESSAGE NETWORK
The screen then changed to reveal a list of secure-line email
messages.
'Now there should be a message there with your name on it. Do a
search for the name “Race”,' Nash instructed.
Race punched in his own name and hit the 'SEaCH' button.
He wondered where Nash was going with this.
Suddenly, the computer beeped: '2 MESSAGES FOUND'.
The long list of e-mails shortened to two.
DATE TIME SUBJECT
3.1.99 1801 SUPERNOVA MISSION
4,1.99 1635 WILLIAM RACE ISSUE
'See the one with your name on it?' Nash said.
Race eyed the second message, double-clicked on it. A message
screen appeared:
4 JAN 1999 16:35 US ARMY INTERNAL NET 617 5544 89516-07
N0.187
From: Special Projects Division Leader
To: Nash, Frank
Subject: WILLIAM RACE ISSUE
Do not leave Race in Cuzco. Repeat. Do not leave Race in Cuzco.
Take him
with you to the jungle. Once the idol has been obtained, liquidate
him and
dispose of the body accordingly.
GENERAL ARTHUR H. LANCASTER
U.S. Army Special Projects Division Leader
'I just wanted you to know that you should have been
dead a long time ago, Professor Race,' Nash said.
Race felt his blood run cold as he stared at the email.
This was a death warrantmhis death warrant. A missive from the
general in charge of the Army Special Projects
Division ordering that he be killed.
Jesus Christ.
He tried to remain calm.
He looked at the time of the message.
16:35, January 4.
Late in the afternoon on the day he'd left New York.
Hence this message must have arrived while he had been
flying to Peru on board the cargo plane.
The flight to Peru.
Jesus, it seemed like years ago now.
And then suddenly Race recalled when, at one point during the
flight, the little sing-song bell on Nash's laptop computer had
tinkled. He remembered it clearly—it had been just after he'd
finished translating Nash's partial copy of the manuscript.
And then it dawned on him.
This was why Nash had brought him to Vilcafor—
despite the fact that at the very start of the mission Nash had
said that if he finished translating the manuscript before they
landed Race wouldn't even have to get off the
plane. But Nash had brought him along anyway. And why?
Because Nash couldn't have any witnesses.
Since his was a secret mission—an Army mission trying
to undercut a Navy mission—Nash couldn't risk leaving
any witnesses alive.
'I was going to kill you two days ago,' Nash said, 'after
we opened the temple. But then that German BKA team arrived and
interrupted my plans. They opened the temple and, well, who could
have guessed what they'd find inside it. But then, then we got
those extra sections of the manuscript, and I was glad I hadn't
killed you.'
'I'm so pleased you were happy,' Race said flatly.
Just then, out of curiosity more than anything else, while
he had the computer in front of him, Race double-clicked on the
other message that mentioned his name, the one titled 'SUPERNOVA
MISSION'.
The full message appeared on the screen.
Oddly, however, it was a message that Race had seen
before, right at the start of the mission, back when he had
been travelling through New York in the motorcade.
3 JAN 1999 22:01 US ARMY INTERNAL NET 617 5544 88211-05
NO.139
From: Nash, Frank
To: All Cuzco Team Members
Subject: SUPERNOVA MISSION
Contact to be made with Race ASAP.
Participation crucial to success of mission.
Expect package to arrive tomorrow 4 January at Newark at
0945.
All members to have equipment stowed on the transport by
0900.
Race frowned at the words.
Contact Race ASAP.
Participation crucial to success of mission.
When he had first seen the message, Race hadn't really
paid much attention to it. He had just assumed it was a
reference
to
himselfhWilliam
Race—and that it was he who
should be contacted immediately.
But what if it actually meant someone else the Army had to
get in touch with. Some other Race.
In which case it meant that contact should be made
with., o
Marty.
Race looked up from the computer in horror, just as his
brother stepped out of the line of dead Navy and DARPA
people and shook hands with Frank Nash.
'How are you, Marty?' Nash said familiarly.
'I'm well, Frank. It's good to finally catch up with you.'
Race's mind was in a spin.
His eyes flashed from Nash and Marty to the dead bodies on the
muddy street, and from them to—
-the copy of the manuscript lying in the mud next to Ed D.evereux's
body.
And then suddenly it all made sense.
Race saw the ornate calligraphy on the text, the stunning medieval
artwork. It was identical to the Xeroxed copy of the Santiago
Manuscript that he had translated for Nash on
the way to Peru.
Oh, no…
'Marty, you didn't…'
'I'm sorry you had to get caught up in all this, Will,'
Marty said.
'We had to get a copy of the manuscript somehow,' Nash
said. 'God, when those Nazis raided that monastery in France and
stole the real manuscript, they set off a chase like you wouldn't
believe. Suddenly, everybody in the world who had
a Supernova had the chance to get a live sample of thyriurn.
It was the opportunity of a lifetime. Then, when we inter cepted a
DARPA transmission saying that there was a second copy of the
manuscript in existence, we simply arranged for someone at DARPA to
get a Xerox of it for us—Marty.'
But how? Race thought. Marty was with DARPA, he wasn't with the
Army. Where was the link? How was Marty associated with Nash and
Army Special Projects?
At that moment, he saw Lauren go over to Marty and
kiss him lightly on the cheek.
What the… ?
It was then that Race saw the ring on Marty's left hand.
A wedding ring.
He looked at Lauren and Marty again.
No…
Then he heard Lauren's voice in his head: 'My first mar riage
didn't exactly work out. But I've recently remarried.'
'I see you've met my wife, Will,' Marty said, stepping for ward
holding Lauren by the hand. 'I never told you I got
married, did I?'
'Marty—'
'Do you remember when we were teenagers, Will? You were always the
popular one and I was always the loner.
The geek with the thick eyebrows and the hunched shoul ders who
stayed at home on Saturday nights while you went out with all the
girls. But there was one girl you didn't
get, wasn't there, Will?'
Race was silent.
'And it looks like I got her,' Marty said.
Race was stunned. Was it possible that Marty had been so bitter
about his childhood that he had pursued Lauren just
to get even with Race?
No. Not possible.
Such a theory failed to give Lauren any credit. She wouldn't have
married anybody she didn't want to marry—which really meant she
wouldn't have married anyone who didn't advance her own
career.
It was then that another image leapt into Race's mind.
The image of Lauren and Troy Copeland standing in the Huey two
nights ago, kissing like a pair of teenagers before Race had
stumbled onto them.
Lauren had been having an affair with Copeland.
'Marty,' he said quickly. 'Listen, she's going to betray
you—'
'Shut up, Will.'
'But Marty—'
'I said, shut up!“
Race fell silent. After a moment, he said in a low voice, 'What did
the Army give you to sell out DARPA, Marty?'
'They didn't have to give me much,' Marty said. 'My wife simply
asked me to do her a favour. And her boss, Colonel Nash here,
offered me an executive posting in the Army's Supernova project.
Will, I'm a design engineer. I design the computer systems that
control these devices. But at DARPA that makes me nothing. All my
life, Will—a//my life—all I've ever wanted was recognition. At
home, at school, at work. Recognition of my ability. Now, finally,
I'm going to get some.'
'Marty, please, listen to me. Two nights ago, I saw Lauren
with—'
'Drop it, Will. Show's over. I'm really sorry it had to happen like
this, but it has and I can't help that. Goodbye.'
And with that Frank Nash stepped in front of Race—-cutti.ng off his
view of Marty—replacing it with a view down the barrel of Nash's
SIG-Sauer.
'It's been a pleasure, Professor, really it has,' Nash said,
squeezing the trigger.
'No,' Van Lewen said suddenly, stepping forward—in between Race and
Nash's pistol. 'Colonel, I cannot allow you do this.'
'Get out of the way, Sergeant.'
'No, sir, I will not.'
'Get out of the fucking way!'
Van Lewen straightened as he stood before the barrel of Nash's
pistol. “Sir, my orders are clear. They came from you, yourself. I
am to protect Professor Race at any cost.'
'Your orders just changed, Sergeant.'
'No, sir. They did not. If you want to kill Professor Race,
then you're going to have to kill me first.'
Nash pursed his lips for a moment.
Then—with shocking suddenness—the SIG in his hand discharged and
Van Lewen's head exploded, showering Race all over with
blood.
The Green Beret's body fell to the ground in a heap, like
a marionette that had just had its strings cut. Race stared
down at Van Lewen's fallen frame.
The tall, kind sergeant had sacrificed his own life for
his—had stared down the barrel of a gun for him. And now,
now he was dead. Race felt like he was going to be sick.
'You son of a bitch,' he said to Nash.
Nash re-aimed his gun at Race's face. 'This mission is
bigger than any one man, Professor. Bigger than him, bigger
than me, and definitely bigger than you.'
And with that, Nash pulled the trigger.
Race saw the flash of brown shoot across in front of his face
before he even heard the whistling sound.
Then, just as Nash pulled the trigger on his pistol, a miniature
explosion of blood flared out from the Army colonel's forearm as it
was penetrated by a primitive wooden arrow.
Nash's gun-hand was knocked sideways and the SIG dis charged wildly
to Race's left. Nash roared with pain and dropped the pistol just
as a volley of about twenty more arrows rained down all around
them, killing two of the Army crewmen instantly.
The wave of arrows was quickly followed by a blood curdling
battle-cry that ripped through the early-morning air like a
knife.
Race spun at the sound and his jaw dropped at the sight that met
him.
He saw all of the natives from the upper village all the adults,
fifty of them at least—-charging out from the trees to the west of
Vilcafor. They were shrieking wildly as they rushed forward,
brandishing whatever weapons they could muster— bows, arrows, axes,
clubs—and they wore on their faces some of the angriest expressions
Race had ever seen in his life.