King's Crusade (Seventeen) Page 8

  Fleshy thuds and grunts rose from behind as Jackson fought her attacker. Below her, Dragov heaved on the chain once more.

  The links slipped an inch through her grasp. She heard air travel down Dragov’s throat.

  He groaned, reached up with his right hand, and curled his fingers into the wound on her arm. Alexa gritted her teeth against the stinging pain. The flow of blood from her injury doubled and the links slid through her increasingly wet hands. A hiss of disgust left her lips.

  She let go of the chain and dropped off the giant’s back. As she landed lightly on her feet, Alexa caught a glimpse of a tattoo on the back of his neck.

  It was a cross with a red rose entwined around it.

  Jackson was pushing himself off Dragov’s unconscious accomplice; the man’s face was a bloodied pulp. He retrieved the gun from the floor and threw it toward the top of a container.

  Barely eight minutes had elapsed since they entered the warehouse.

  Dragov slowly turned to face them. A feral smile flashed on Alexa’s lips as she observed the fresh, red marks around his neck.

  The giant swung the chain in his hands. She leaned out of the way and felt the iron links whistle past her face before they struck a crate with enough force to split it. He yanked on the chain. The crate groaned; the metal links were firmly wedged inside the thick wood. Dragov scowled, dropped the chain, and came at her with his fists.

  She bobbed and weaved, effortlessly avoiding his punches. Rage darkened the giant man’s eyes. His lips curled back to expose his teeth.

  A faint noise suddenly reached her ears. She looked over her shoulder.

  A figure stood in the shadows at the end of the aisle behind them. It was holding a long, tubular object to its shoulder. A flash of light and a whoosh erupted from the gaping mouth of the rocket launcher.

  Alexa twisted on her heels, grabbed Jackson’s arm, and pulled him into a passage to the right a second before the grenade detonated against the tower of crates next to where they had been standing. A wave of compressed hot air and flames washed over them as debris pelted their backs. Jackson stumbled.

  An ominous rumble rose behind them, underpinning the fading roar of the blast. Alexa glanced back and saw the wall of boxes come tumbling down. She pushed Jackson to the ground, dropped on top of him, and braced herself as she wrapped her arms around their heads.

  A crushing weight landed on her back, pinning both of them to the floor. Darkness engulfed them. She felt Jackson’s heart race frantically against her chest and his breath wash shallowly over her face. She ground her teeth as more boxes dropped on them.

  It was almost ten seconds before the avalanche came to a thunderous close and the final thuds sounded dimly around them. Alexa blinked in the stifling gloom.

  ‘Are you okay?’ said Jackson in her ear.

  She nodded and realized he could not see her. ‘Yes,’ she said steadily.

  ‘Not that I mind the close intimacy, but how the hell do we get out of here?’ he drawled after a while.

  Alexa placed her hands on the floor on either side of his head and heaved up with her body. The crates above them barely shifted. She felt Jackson’s arms rise around her and push at the deadweight. She heaved again.

  A moment later, something slipped above them.

  Now that her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, she could make out Jackson’s features. He was grinning.

  ‘What?’ she snapped.

  ‘This is kinda nice,’ he murmured. His gaze switched to her lips.

  She wondered whether the fall had given him a concussion. ‘Two days ago, I was kicking a woman out of your bed,’ she said.

  Jackson shrugged. ‘Hey, she knew what she was getting herself into,’ he responded. ‘I don’t do relationships.’

  She ignored the disturbing feel of his heated breath on her cheek and murmured, ‘On the count of three.’

  It was another half-minute before dim light stabbed through the shadows of the tomb-like space where they lay trapped. Alexa used her elbows and heels in a succession of rapid strikes and kicks to shatter the remaining boxes that held them captive. Once clear, she snatched the Sigs from her body holster, rose, and quickly scanned their surroundings, the guns tracking her line of sight.

  They were alone. From the warehouse’s empty feel, Dragov and his accomplices had long left the building.

  Jackson climbed to his feet and brushed fragments of the wreckage off his clothes. ‘We should get that checked out,’ he said, his gaze falling on her wounded arm.

  Alexa glanced at the bullet hole. She had forgotten about it. ‘It’ll heal,’ she said and turned on her heels.

  ‘Hey, where’re you going?’ Jackson called out.

  She climbed over the debris from the explosion, retrieved her jacket, and headed toward the back of the warehouse. The source of the light became visible when she rounded a wall of containers. It was spilling onto the concrete floor through an open doorway ahead. She stopped on the threshold and studied the room beyond.

  Filing cabinets lined the confines of a narrow office. A desk stood next to the far wall. Seated in the metal chair behind it was a dark-skinned man. Dull brown eyes stared unseeingly at the ceiling. There was a single bullet hole in the middle of his forehead. Blood and brain matter had splattered across the back of the chair and the wall behind him.

  Jackson came up behind her and froze in his tracks.

  Alexa crossed the floor and started to examine the papers on the desk.

  ‘‘Shouldn’t we be calling the cops?’ asked the Harvard professor quietly, still staring at the dead man from the doorway.

  ‘No,’ she replied, glancing at his troubled expression. ‘I want to find out who this guy is and why Dragov killed him.’

  ‘And then we’ll call the cops?’ said Jackson in a hopeful voice. Silence ensued. ‘We’re not calling anyone, are we?’

  ‘This warehouse is in use,’ said Alexa. ‘He’ll be discovered in the morning.’

  They found the identity of the man from his wallet. Jawaed Hassan was forty-six years old and the father to two children; there was a picture of his family tucked behind his Egyptian ID card. A search of the desk revealed that he was the general manager of three warehouses in Port Said and oversaw the shipping and delivery of goods for a number of companies in mainland Europe and the Middle East.

  ‘What kind of martial arts was that?’ asked Jackson as they started to look through the filing cabinets lining the walls. He glanced at the dead man uneasily before meeting Alexa’s blank stare. ‘You know, when you were fighting the Hulk? I thought I recognized some kickboxing moves.’

  ‘You’re correct.’ She turned her attention to the folder in her hand.

  ‘And?’ prompted Jackson.

  ‘And what?’

  His eyebrows rose. ‘There must more to it than that. I mean, that guy was as strong as an ox and you were seriously kicking his butt! Also, I don’t know about you, but people trying to kill me with guns and rocket launchers don’t usually feature on my daily compass.’

  Alexa’s eyes narrowed. She was starting to entertain thoughts of shooting him again. ‘I know all of them,’ she said brusquely. She started to examine another document.

  ‘All of what?’ said Jackson.

  ‘The martial arts.’ She saw no point in revealing that, in addition to sparring with the best fighters in every branch of unarmed and armed combat in the last three centuries, she had also beaten several of the current world champions in private fighting rings.

  ‘Really?’ he said skeptically.

  She stared at him. ‘Would you like me to demonstrate?’

  ‘No, thanks. I’ll pass,’ said Jackson with a grunt.

  Ten minutes later, Alexa came across several bank statements and bills t
ucked inside a document folder at the bottom of one of the cabinets. ‘Hassan owed a lot of money,’ she said thoughtfully, studying the numbers on the papers. ‘His account’s been in the red for more than a year.’

  Jackson looked at the figures and whistled softly. ‘He had a lot of credit cards in his wallet.’

  She stared blindly at the wall. ‘The artifacts were probably stored in this warehouse before being shipped elsewhere. Hassan must have been in on the job.’

  ‘The cave was raided more than a month ago,’ said Jackson with a puzzled frown. ‘Why kill the poor bastard now?’

  ‘I think Hassan got greedy.’ Alexa tapped the bills with a finger. ‘He must have contacted Dragov for more money.’

  ‘You mean our dead guy was blackmailing the Hulk?’ said Jackson dubiously, glancing at the body in the chair.

  ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘We need to figure out what it was that he knew.’

  It was another half hour before they discovered a possible link between the dead man and the tombs. The shipping orders for a cargo vessel that left with containers from Hassan’s warehouses four weeks previously were missing from the records. A search through the dock receipts for the month of November showed that the freight ship returned from Mersin several days later.

  ‘That’s a major port in southeast Turkey,’ said Jackson close to her ear. He was studying the paperwork over her shoulder. ‘It’s about four hundred and fifty miles from here.’

  Alexa frowned faintly, her gaze fixed on the dock receipt; she was starting to find Jackson’s proximity strangely unsettling. She turned to hide her unease and walked to a cabinet that held the contracts for the warehouse. ‘There are three depots that Hassan normally dealt with in Mersin,’ she said, looking up from the documents. ‘I guess we won’t find out which one may have held the tombs until we get there.’

  Jackson stared at her. ‘We’re going to Turkey?’

  ‘Yes.’

  A queasy grimace washed across his face. ‘We’re not taking a boat, are we?’

  ‘No,’ Alexa replied and was startled to find her lips twitching. She forcibly suppressed the smile threatening to emerge.

  It was midnight when they finally left the warehouse. Jackson breathed in the night air deeply and blinked at the star-lit sky. ‘I’m not sure I like where this assignment is going,’ he said quietly.

  Alexa looked at him steadily. ‘I’ll tell Reznak you want out,’ she said, startled at the odd sense of disappointment that flitted through her.

  Jackson’s eyes bore into her. ‘What will you do if I quit?’ There was an edge to his voice that she had not heard before.

  She shrugged. ‘I’ll finish the mission.’

  ‘On your own?’ he said harshly. ‘I can’t let you do that. These men are killers! Hell, does Reznak even know what kind of dangers you’re exposing yourself to?’

  Alexa scowled. ‘Dimitri Reznak is not my keeper. And I’m not some weakling who needs protecting.’ She was bewildered by the anger that modulated her voice. Few people in the world had the ability to rattle her. She turned to mask her confusion and took a step away from him.

  ‘Wait!’ said Jackson. He grabbed her shoulder.

  She froze and glared at him. ‘Let go,’ she said.

  The blue eyes darkened with annoyance. ‘Look, I just want to talk. This is far too—’

  Alexa turned, gripped him above the elbow, hooked her arm under his shoulder, lifted him in the air, and threw him to the ground in front of her.

  Jackson’s breath left his lungs in an audible whoosh. He stared up at her with a stunned expression, his face mere inches from hers.

  ‘You were saying?’ she said.

  ‘Wow,’ he whispered. All trace of anger had vanished from his voice. ‘Was that some kind of judo move?’

  ‘It was,’ Alexa admitted reluctantly. She felt her own irritation drain away and stood back.

  Jackson winced as he rose to his feet. ‘What’s it called? “Woman kicking man’s ass”?’ he said, rubbing his lower back.

  ‘No.’ She hesitated. ‘It’s the Ippon Seoi Nage.’

  His eyebrows rose. ‘The “one-arm shoulder throw”?’

  Alexa concealed her surprise and nodded impassively. ‘You know Japanese?’

  Jackson shrugged. ‘Yes.’

  They headed for the place where she had hidden their bags. ‘How many languages are you proficient in?’ she asked, curious despite herself.

  ‘Spoken or written?’ said Jackson.

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘Both.’

  ‘Too many,’ he replied. A smile crossed his lips at her expression. ‘Hey, two can play this game, lady.’

  Alexa lifted his duffel bag from under a forklift and kept a hold of the strap as she passed it across. ‘Does this mean you don’t want me to call Reznak?’

  Jackson went still and stared at her. Clouds drifted past in the sky and muted the light from the stars. She could barely make out the expression in his eyes.

  ‘Hell, I’d never be able to live with myself if I walked away now,’ he said in disgust.

  Chapter Seven

  It was morning by the time they located a helicopter to take them across the Mediterranean Sea to Turkey.

  Jackson watched with a faint frown while Alexa paid the representative of the private charter company they had hired. The number of zeroes he glimpsed on the bill made his eyes smart.

  ‘Did you just put that on an AMEX black card?’ he asked as they headed across the tarmac to a black Sikorsky helicopter. Alexa nodded briefly. ‘Man, I’ve only ever heard of those,’ he murmured. ‘Aren’t they like, the Holy Grail of credit cards?’

  She shrugged.

  Jackson sighed. In the sixty-nine hours since he’d met her, he had come to realize that Alexa King was a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. He still found it hard to believe that she worked as a henchman for Dimitri Reznak. Although he continued to have doubts on the subject, what he had seen of her skills in the last two days was quickly changing his opinion.

  He also could not dismiss the strange pull he felt toward her. Although she dressed pragmatically and was not his usual, full-figured type, there was no denying the fact that she was stunningly beautiful. With her silver-gray eyes, pale skin, high cheekbones, and dark hair, she could have graced the cover of any fashion magazine or runway in the world. Jackson strongly suspected his life would be in mortal danger if he ever came on to her. The woman was one scary package.

  The aircraft had just lifted off the tarmac at Port Said Airport and turned to make its way to the city of Adana when she mentioned the tattoo she had seen on Dragov’s neck.

  ‘A cross and a red rose?’ said Jackson thoughtfully.

  Alexa nodded.

  ‘Sounds like a Rose Cross,’ he said.

  She stared at him blankly. ‘Isn’t that what I just said?’

  ‘No,’ he replied with a rueful smile, ‘what I meant was that the symbol of a cross entwined with a rose is called the Rose Cross. It’s also known as the Rosy Cross or the Rose Croix. It’s generally associated with Rosicrucianism and Rosicrucian Orders, but has existed under various guises in other esoteric societies like the Freemasons, the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, and the Ordo Templi Orientis.’

  A puzzled expression appeared on her face. ‘What’s an esoteric society?’

  ‘Without wanting to sound crass, I could talk about Esotericism for an entire day,’ Jackson said with a grimace.

  Alexa glanced at the Timex on her wrist. ‘You have just over two hours,’ she said in the dispassionate tone of voice he had gotten accustomed to.

  As the helicopter flew over the cargo ships, fishing boats, and leisure crafts dotting the dark waters of the Mediterranean, she listened attentively while he explained th
e concept of Esotericism. Derived from the Greek word esōterikos, which literally translated to “belonging to an inner circle”, the term described a set of arcane religious belief systems, wisdoms, and philosophies understood by and taught to a select group of specially initiated, enlightened individuals throughout the history of mankind.

  ‘The core principle of Esotericism centers around the possession of secret mystic gnosis,’ said Jackson.

  ‘Gnosis?’ repeated Alexa. ‘Isn’t that the Greek word for knowledge?’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ he replied with a nod. ‘In the current context, gnosis signifies spiritual knowledge or mystical enlightenment.’

  She gazed silently out the window. ‘“We are not human beings having a spiritual experience, but spiritual beings having a human experience”,’ she murmured slowly.

  He pulled back slightly, startled. ‘Yes. Do you know who said those words?’

  ‘No,’ replied Alexa. ‘I came across it in a newspaper a while ago.’

  Jackson was somewhat bemused. He had not heard of such a feature article in the last half decade. ‘It’s from Le Phénomène Humain, a book written in 1955 by Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, a French priest, scientist, and philosopher,’ he said. ‘Although he was not thought to be a member of an esoteric society, his words underpin the most original idea of Esotericism—that our outer physical body is but a shell that hides our inner, higher spiritual self. It’s one of the binding concepts of the divine truths.’

  Another frown appeared on her face. ‘Where exactly does the Rose Croix come into this?’

  ‘I’ll get to that,’ said Jackson. His reply did nothing to impress her. ‘Now, Esotericism has spawned a range of alternative spiritual movements and philosophies over the millennia, among them Alchemy, Astrology, Herbalism, Christian Mysticism, Magic, Mesmerism, and Rosicrucianism. Egypt itself is thought to have been one of the places where Esotericism originated, with secret centers for learning established during the reign of Thutmose the Third and his stepmother Hatshepsut. These centers were used to explore the mysteries of life. From there, the mystic knowledge eventually spread to Greece and Rome. It’s a strongly held belief that Plato and Aristotle belonged to one of these esoteric orders. In more recent times, Dante, da Vinci, Bonaparte, and even Benjamin Franklin were thought to have been Rosicrucians.’