Free Hunt Through the Cradle of Fear by Gabriel Hunt, Charles Ardai Page A

the skin of the leonine torso, the sunken cheeks and troubled brow and half-open mouth of the human head. It was life-size, perhaps a bit larger—maybe nine feet long and four feet tall. He’d never seen Egyptian sculpture that looked like this. He didn’t think anyone had.
    And on its flank was carved an inscription. His Ancient Egyptian was rusty—Sheba would have done a better job of translating it. But as best he could make out, it said something like,
Here reposes for eternity the Father of Fear,
    His mortal portions entombed,
    His secrets kept by stone tongue,
    His divine treasure returned
    To the Cradle of Fear
    DeGroet’s voice thundered: “You wouldn’t dare destroy it, Hunt. An artifact this important, you wouldn’t—”
    “Let her go,” Gabriel shouted, “or I swear to you there’ll be nothing here but rubble.”
    “All right,” DeGroet said. “All right.” Then, after a moment: “Tell him you’re free, my dear. Go on.”
    Sheba’s voice floated in: “I’m…free, Gabriel.”
    The tension in her voice made him skeptical.
    “There’s a hidden doorway to the room you’re in, Lajos,” Gabriel said. “It’s the only way you’re going to get in here unless you want to crawl through the tunnel, and I don’t think you do.” He was still looking at the extraordinary statue. His secrets kept by stone tongue… He wondered how literally the inscription was to be taken.
    “I am willing to open the doorway,” he called, “but only if you promise that no harm will come to either Miss McCoy or myself. Do you agree?” He knew DeGroet’s word was worthless and paid no attention to the man’s shouted response. Gabriel was just playing for time while, holding the torch close to the head of the sphinx, he stuck the smallest finger of his free hand into its mouth and felt beneath the statue’s tongue.
    There was something there.
    “I said I agree,” DeGroet shouted. “Now open the door, Hunt.”
    “All right,” Gabriel said, fishing out the hard, circular, metal object. “Step away from Miss McCoy. I don’t want you anywhere near her, and no guns pointed at her either. Do you understand?”
    “Yes.”
    The object was the size of a coin, with an image of a sphinx on one side. A sphinx with wings. A Greek sphinx.
    “Sheba,” Gabriel called, “have they stepped away?”
    Sheba answered: “A bit. Not very far.”
    “Enough’s enough, Hunt,” DeGroet shouted. “Open the door now.”
    “All right.” Gabriel returned to the wall separating this room from the entry chamber and lifted the granite bars from the brackets one by one. He leaned then against the wall. Then he put his shoulder to the rectangular block outlined by the recessed groove, braced himself and shoved.
    The block rotated a few inches, as if on a central axis, then a few more when he shoved again. One more shove should do it—but Gabriel stepped back instead.
    If he pushed it the rest of the way open, he might well find himself walking into an ambush. Whereas if he made them do it…
    He darted over to the two open caskets. Ancient Egyptians hadn’t been six feet tall—but by bending his knees, Gabriel was able to fit himself into the empty one. He pressed the end of his torch to the ground, stepping on it to extinguish the flame, then dropped it and took his Colt from its holster.
    The room was perfectly, completely dark. And for a moment it was silent.
    Then a crack of light appeared as he heard the sound of a shoulder ramming against the stone door from the other side. The crack widened into a wedge, and a moment later he saw Zuka charge through the opening holding a torch in one hand and brandishing a deadly looking curved sword in the other. He was wearing an expression that contained all of his grief, transmuted into rage.
    Hanif came through the doorway behind him, his red fez tipped slightly forward, tassel soaring, mouth open in a bellow—and in his fist he held a poignard, a short dagger with a silver blade,