Curse of the Pharaoh: A Brock Stone Adventure

The passageway opened into a vast cavern. Water dripped from stalactites down to an underground lake. Stone columns carved to resemble bundles of reeds were set in the walls all around the chamber. A narrow walkway led to a small marble pyramid in the middle of the lake. They made a run for it.

“What do you expect to find in the pyramid?” Trinity asked.

“I don’t know, but at least the narrow pathway will force the warriors to come at us one at a time.” Privately he thought he didn’t have enough ammunition to hold them off for long.

Interlude 7

Rose seemed to fall in slow motion. The shock and hurt in her eyes was more than Stone could bear. This was the worst thing he had ever done. The fact that he had done it for his country didn’t change the evil nature of the act itself. He watched Rose’s body sink beneath the water and then he turned and ran. He didn’t slow down until he reached the Left Bank.

Stone stopped in front of the Church of Saint-Severin. Suddenly dizzy, he clutched the wrought iron fence that barred the way to the thousand-year-old church, and stared up at its imposing bell tower. He tried to pray, but words failed him.

He didn’t know how long he stood there, trying and failing to ask for forgiveness. Like his grandfather used to say, “The only real apology is changed behavior.” Only a hypocrite asked for forgiveness without making a change.

Finally, he turned and walked away. Soon, this would all be over. He could be his own man. Perhaps then he could earn absolution.

He found a dance hall that was open late and borrowed their phone. He dialed the number he had been given — USA76. It rang twice before someone picked up on the other end.

“I’ve got it,” he said.

“Where are you?” The voice was that of Lemon Face.

Stone gave his location. Five minutes later, a Puegot pulled up to the curb. Stone slid into the back seat and the vehicle pulled away.

“You have it?” Lemon face asked.

Stone kept his eyes straight ahead as he handed over the leather pouch. Lemon Face opened the bag, looked inside, and beamed.

“Well done. You will receive a letter of commendation in your file.”

“Thank you,” Stone said without conviction.

“I know this is not easy. I did the job for many years. I focus on the fact that I’m doing it in the service of something greater than myself.”

Up front, the thick-necked driver from earlier in the day glared at Stone in the rearview mirror. His face was a swollen, bloody mess.

“What happened to him?” Stone asked quietly.

“Set upon by robbers as he was walking through Place du Châtelet. Can you imagine how many men it must have taken to do that to him?”

“No, I can’t.” Stone’s head was buzzing. Was anyone what they seemed?

“I need to deliver this to my superior and then we will deliver you to the train station.”

Stone nodded, too weary and confused to speak. Only a few more months to go and then I’m free.

They pulled up in front of an imposing structure with Greek style columns and a high dome. A man cloaked in shadow waited at the bottom of the steps. Lemon Face hurried over, exchanged a few words, handed the pouch to the man.

“What is this place?” Stone asked.

“The Pantheon,” the driver said. “The brass have a meeting room down below it, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

Stone remembered what Rose had said.

“They sit up there in their secret headquarters underneath the Pantheon, pulling strings, manipulating people.”

Stone suddenly felt untethered from reality, like he was floating. None of this was happening. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe. It was he who had been working for the Illuminati all along.

At the station, he bought his ticket and boarded the train in a daze. They soon departed and while the other passengers tried to sleep, he stared out the window until the lights of Paris faded away. He felt something in his pocket and remembered the book Manon had given him.

It was titled The Path to Inner Peace by Jetsun. He opened to the first chapter and began to read.

“High in the mountains of Tibet lies a monastery no Western man has ever seen…”

27 The God Rises

Inside the pyramid stood a marble throne. Upon it sat a man with the head of a crocodile. The crocodile god Sobek! He wore a feathered headdress and held a scepter in his right hand. His left hand, which traditionally held an ankh, was empty.

The ushabti was burning like a tiny sun. It seemed to pull Stone toward the statue. He trusted his gut and placed the figurine in Sobek’s empty hand.

The effect was immediate. Green light shot out from the ushabti and spread across the surface of the statue. Cracks formed in the surface and the rock began to crumble. Stone caught a glimpse of olive green flesh.