The Mountain: An Event Group Thriller (42 page)

The second man reached out and snatched up four rolled maps and started for the door. It slammed shut for no apparent reason.

“What in the hell are you doing?” the first asked as he stood in the center of the room with the heavy bundle in his hands as the second stared at the closed door to his front.

“I didn’t do it,” the man said as he placed the maps underneath his arm and tried the door. It seemed to be either locked or had closed so hard that it had jammed in its frame, which cabin doors often did on sailing ships due to warping. “Damn, Philippe, open this door!” the man hissed through clenched teeth.

“Damn,” the first said as he placed the bundle of artifacts on the table. He struck a match and lifted the chimney on an oil lamp. He placed the flame to the wick and it caught. He held the light up and looked around the cabin. They were alone and none of the portholes or large windows was open, so there could not have been an inadvertent breeze that closed the door. The man pulled out a small six-inch blade from his coat and continued to examine the interior.

“Look,” the second man said as he backed into the same door he had being trying to open.

The tall, fresh candle that had been left alight on the credenza started to lose its brightness. The flame was still there and glowing brightly, but the light cast by the beeswax candle dimmed. Then the lamp being held by the first man started to die. He brought the lamp up and watched as the flame remained the same but the light in the room was slowly drained of color first, and then brightness. The cabin went dark with the exception of two pinpoint dots of light that had been the candle and the lamp.

“What is this?” the second man asked as the maps slid out from under his arm. They fell to the floor with a hollow thump, and then they both heard the decking creak as something moved around them.

Before either man could react, the door suddenly opened and the third man stepped through and then quickly closed it.

“What are you doing and how did you get that door opened?” the first man asked as he tried desperately to see the faces of his two men.

“It’s too dark out there. Something ate the light, even from the open hatchways.”

“We could not get that door opened,” the second man said as he reached around the frightened man and tried the latch. It moved but the door failed to open. He pulled, and then pulled again.

The first man placed the dead lamp on the table and as he did he noticed that the wrapping covering the artifacts had mysteriously opened. He leaned in closer and saw that he could discern some form of lettering. The carved images looked as if they had an inner glow to the etching. He started to reach out and touch the symbols but remembered the intense cold when he had picked up the bundle. He quickly moved his hand back.

“Listen,” the second man said as he abruptly ceased trying to open the cabin’s door. “Do you hear that?”

The other two men cocked their heads. Yes, there was something coming from the darkness. It sounded like several people chanting in a language they had never heard before. The sounds came and went, intensified and then calmed. Deep and childlike. Booming and then almost-silent sobbing. The cabin became intensely cold. Condensation came from the three Frenchmen’s noses and mouths.

“That’s enough. Get that door opened.”

The two men nearest the cabin door started pounding and then slamming their shoulders against the wood. The door held firm and didn’t budge. It was as if the two men were battering a stone wall. The fog outside of the large windows on the stern started to vanish as if even the internal light of fog was being extinguished. Still the two men pounded and charged the door to no avail.

“Damn it, get the attention of the Americans! We have to leave this place and I don’t care if they hang us or not, I don’t wish to die in here!”

All three men started screaming and pounding on anything they could.

Still, the cabin became even blacker than before as the shadows along the hull started to grow and then move in.

Then it was there. The dark shape was silhouetted in front of the large stern windows of the captain’s cabin. It was large and the way it was highlighted against the swirling, white fog beyond the leaded glass made it that much more terrifying to the three French invaders.

The leader of the three tried to move away from the center of the cabin with all thought of scooping up the canvas-covered parcel now gone from his mind. As he slowly tried to slip closer to the door and the two men fighting to get out, he saw the entity that had sprung from the darkest areas of the cabin move toward him. Suddenly some unseen force thrust him down to his knees. The man felt the pressure of a hand, but he knew in his heart there was no hand actually on his shoulder pushing him to the cabin’s floor.

One of the two men fighting at the closed and unmovable door turned and saw their compatriot as his arms splayed out behind him while upon his knees. It was if the man was being tortured by an unseen taskmaster. That was when the man’s eyes took in what was doing it. The shape was that of a man that stood well over eight feet tall. The facial features were a swirl of dark colors ranging from green to dark purple. The features were a jumble of movement like the swirling fog beyond the windows. The face slowly turned toward the two men at the door as the shape held the first man in place. The man screamed as he watched the first man’s head twist in his direction. The two men could see the first pleading with them to help him. Then suddenly the head had turned too far and snapped. The men screamed as the head kept turning even as the spine was severed. The entity allowed the first man to fall to the deck. His chest hit the floor first followed by his head. The face was still staring up at the dark ceiling in its twisted shape.

“God help us,” one of the men said as he continued trying to twist the door latch open. The entity seemed to stand until the topmost portion vanished into the wooden beams that made up the ceiling of the cabin. Both men froze as a large black hand stretched out. The long fingers were like a trail of India ink released inside a water bucket. The fingers caressed the first man as his eyes bulged out. Then the ethereal digits tightened around the Frenchman’s face. The first man turned in time to see the fingers of the entity scrape downward. The second man started to relieve his stomach of its evening meal when he saw the skin first stretch, and then tear. It was like the sound of a piece of paper ripping in two. The face came off as the man screamed. As the skin was lifted free of the skull the head turned toward the frightened man at the door. The look was horrifying as the blood spurted from the man’s open blood vessels. The jaw worked and the tongue moved but no scream could come from the shocked man as he slid to the floor.

The man at the door had lost his mind. It was if a string had been pulled too hard and the twine snapped with a twang. The mind of the third departed this world just as his body joined it. The apparition twisted the head of the crying man until the neck separated from the shoulders. The body didn’t fall to the floor, it slowly slid into a sitting position.

The sudden absence of screaming allowed the faint echo of a chant to reverberate throughout the cabin’s interior. The sounds were foreign and the words ancient. The cloth wrapping the artifacts started to smolder and then as smoke started to rise from the burning wrapping, the chant finally ceased and the bundle of artifacts stopped sizzling in its cloth. The entity came forward and stood over the table for the longest time. The image of the intruder widened, expanded, and then started swirling like an inner tornado.

The entity started to disperse as soon as the beating heart of the last man stopped thumping.

The screams of pain and fear had reverberated off the thick wooden hull for more than ten full minutes and not one sound had been heard outside the cabin.

The Angel of Death had come and gone and not one person had seen or heard anything.

*   *   *

The mess steward, Grandee, and several other crewmen had been organizing carefully packed canned goods and dried meats for the expedition and had wandered quite close to the captain’s cabin. The men went about their work silently and efficiently and not one of them heard a sound coming from the darkened cabin. Six hundred feet away on the train siding where the chartered train awaited its American passengers, Gray Dog stood on the roof of the second-to-last car and looked around through the now-swirling fog. It was the same as before the three prisoners had been murdered. The night had become still and preternaturally silent. Gray Dog heard the men loading the supplies and the Comanche even heard several marines cursing their luck at dice by the tracks, but nothing coming from the distant
Yorktown
. Gray Dog sat back and knew that darkness had raised its presence once more, and he also knew men had already died this night.

*   *   *

As the small paddle-wheeled ferry tied up next to the large French warship,
Dumas
, John Henry led the procession from the boat. The colonel was only slightly put out that Taylor had went gone of his way to embarrass the sultan’s Immortal, but deep down was secretly pleased.

As they made their way down the gangplank it was Jackson who summed the evening up.

“Not to belabor the point, Colonel, but I think the sultan has had his large ears bent about what our true intent may be and has had a slight change of mind in his welcoming pageantry.”

“I concur,” Claire said as they gained the fog-enshrouded dock. “He fully expected one or the other of the combatants to die a horrible death. He fully expected either you or Colonel Taylor to be the example.”

“Sorry I couldn’t have been of more assistance to the sultan,” Taylor said, and even Claire had to stifle her chuckle behind a gloved hand.

“If that’s the case, our return trip may get a little dicey,” John Henry said as he started to put on his helmet but then scoffed at placing the thing on his head. He shoved it under his arm instead.

“The
Yorktown
will have to make a speed run for the Black Sea, but I think she can make the rendezvous on time. If you’re still allowing only five days for any recovery efforts.”

“Yes, I figure it will take the Turks or anyone else at least that long to get any substantial force to the area before we either have what we came for, or have failed miserably.”

“You have yet to inform Professor Ollafson of your restricted time frame, Colonel. He will not be pleased.”

John Henry slowed his pace and waited long enough for Claire to catch up. “Madame, we did not inform Professor Ollafson because he does not need to know. You know because I refuse to excuse ourselves and locate to a more discreet area for speaking purposes. Now you know. Just as I must know how you know that Frenchman. You and he seem to be familiar at the very least.” Thomas stopped to make sure that Claire understood the seriousness of his accusation. Jessy, Jackson, and McDonald had stopped also and wondered what it was that the colonel had seen to prompt him to throw so much mistrust at Claire.

“I … I just wanted to know why he did what he did. This mission is not warlike in nature, so why spy? The mountain range has been there for eons and has never been thought of as a significant place by any government, so why now? Is it because the Americans are interested, or is it something else?”

John Henry didn’t respond to her explanation. He simply continued looking at her beautiful face before turning and making his way down the dock toward the
Yorktown
and the waiting train.

They were stopped by a man running their way. It was a marine corporal who slid to a halt in the fog and then saluted Captain Jackson.

“What’s happened?” Jackson said immediately.

“Sir, we’ve had murder onboard, and Professor Ollafson may be very ill; his heart, maybe, we don’t know.”

“When?” John Henry asked as he saw that the boy was terrified.

“Twenty minutes ago, sir. But that’s not all. We found pieces of men strewn about the captain’s cabin. We don’t know how many, or who, but they have been slaughtered like cattle, sir.”

“Our men?” Jackson asked as he started heading for his ship. The others hustled to catch up.

“No, sir, our personnel are all accounted for. Lieutenant Parnell took a count after Professor Ollafson collapsed.”

“The Indian?” Jackson asked without a guilty look back at Thomas.

“On the train the entire night. He never went close to the
Yorktown
, Captain.”

As they approached the ship they failed to see a single man slip away into the fog. Renaud had heard all he needed to on the failure of his men and their mission to recover the artifacts. He knew the Americans had caught and killed them. The stakes had just been raised.

“Let’s get that train fired up and get the hell out of here,” John Henry said as they arrived to see the men all standing around on the dock. The talk was rampant about what had happened not once, but twice inside of closed areas of the
Yorktown
. Thomas knew if they didn’t get moving he would lose the men before they ever started this fanciful flight of hide and seek.

“Lieutenant Parnell!”

The marine officer appeared out of the thick fog and saluted the captain. “Sir,” he said.

“Instruct the men to board the train. We depart immediately. Keep the Confederate prisoners separated from their brethren, not as much as fifteen men per car. I want armed marines at each exit at all times. Inform Lieutenant Anderson to see me for departure orders for
Yorktown
. I have an addendum to his mission parameters. After that he must get to the Black Sea rendezvous as quickly as possible. The men of the first section will be arriving in the east in about two days and they will start making their way south soon.”

“Yes, sir,” Parnell said enthusiastically, excited to be on the move and not stuck on the slaughterhouse that the
Yorktown
had become.

“And this is the reward we get after I upheld the honor of the nation?” Taylor said with a smirk. “You treat my men as a very untrustworthy lot.”