[Excerpt]: 7 Deadly Wonders

Excerpt
The following is an excerpt from the book 7 Deadly Wonders
by Matthew Reilly
Published by Simon & Schuster; January 2006;$23.00US/$31.75CAN;
0-7432-7053-3
Copyright © 2005 Matthew Reilly

SUDAN
MARCH 14, 2006
SIX DAYS BEFORE TARTARUS

THE GREATEST STATUE IN HISTORY

It towered like a god above the mouth of Mandraki harbor, the main port of
the island state of Rhodes, much like the Statue of Liberty does today in
New York.

Finished in 282 b.c. after twelve years of construction, it was the tallest
bronze statue ever constructed. At a stupendous 110 feet, it loomed above
even the tallest ship that passed by.

It was crafted in the shape of the Greek sun god, Helios -- muscled and
strong, wearing a crown of olive leaves and a necklace of massive golden
pendants, and holding a flaming torch aloft in his right hand.

Experts continue to argue whether the great statue stood astride the
entrance to the harbor or at the end of the long breakwater that formed one
of its shores. Either way, in its time, the Colossus would have been an
awesome sight.

Curiously, while the Rhodians built it in celebration of their victory over
the Antigonids (who had laid siege to the island of Rhodes for an entire
year), the statue's construction was paid for by Egypt -- by two Egyptian
Pharaohs in fact: Ptolemy I and his son, Ptolemy II.

But while it took Man twelve years to build the Colossus of Rhodes, it took
Nature fifty-six years to ruin it.

When the great statue was badly damaged in an earthquake in 226 b.c., it was
again Egypt who offered to repair it: this time the new Pharaoh, Ptolemy
III. It was as if the Colossus meant more to the Egyptians than it did to
the Rhodians.

Fearing the gods who had felled it, the people of Rhodes declined Ptolemy
III's offer to rebuild the Colossus and the remainder of the statue was left
to lie in ruins for nearly nine hundred years -- until a.d. 654 when the
invading Arabs broke it up and sold it off in pieces.

One mysterious footnote remains.

A week after the Rhodians declined Ptolemy III's offer to reerect the
Colossus, the head of the mammoth fallen statue -- all sixteen feet of it --
went missing.

The Rhodians always suspected that it was taken away on an Egyptian
freighter-barge that had left Rhodes earlier that week.

The head of the Colossus of Rhodes was never seen again.

ANGEREB SWAMP
BASE OF THE ETHIOPIAN HIGHLANDS
KASSALA PROVINCE, EASTERN SUDAN
MARCH 14, 2006, 4:55 P.M.
6 DAYS BEFORE THE ARRIVAL OF TARTARUS

The nine figures raced through the crocodile-infested swamp on foot, moving
fast, staying low.

The odds were stacked against them.

Their rivals numbered in excess of two hundred men.

They had only nine.

Their rivals had massive logistical and technical support: choppers,
floodlights for night work, and boats of every kind -- gunboats, houseboats,
communications boats, three giant dredging barges for the digging, and that
wasn't even mentioning the temporary dam they'd managed to build.

The Nine were only carrying what they'd need inside the mine.

And now -- the Nine had just discovered -- a third force was on its way to
the mountain, close behind them; a much larger and nastier force than that
of their immediate foes, who were nasty enough.

By any reckoning it was a hopelessly lost cause, with enemies in front of
them and enemies behind them, but the Nine kept running anyway.

Because they had to.

They were a last-ditch effort.

The last throw of the dice.

They were the very last hope of the small group of nations they represented.

Their immediate rivals -- a coalition of European nations -- had found the
northern entrance to the mine two days ago and were now well advanced in its
tunnel system.

A radio transmission that had been intercepted an hour before revealed that
this pan-European force -- French troops, German engineers, and an Italian
project leader -- had just arrived at the Third Gate inside the mine. Once
they breached that, they would be inside the Grand Cavern itself.

They were progressing quickly.

Which meant they were also well versed in the difficulties found inside the
mine.

Fatal difficulties.

Traps.

But the Europeans' progress hadn't been entirely without loss: three members
of their point team had died gruesome deaths in a snare on the first day.
But the leader of the European expedition -- a Vatican-based Jesuit priest
named Francisco del Piero -- had not let their deaths slow him down.

Single-minded, unstoppable, and completely devoid of sympathy, del Piero
urged his people onward. Considering what was at stake, the deaths were an
acceptable loss.

The Nine kept charging through the swamp on the south side of the mountain,
heads bent into the rain, feet pounding through the mud.

They ran like soldiers -- low and fast, with balance and purpose; ducking
under branches, hurdling bogs, always staying in single file.

In their hands, they held guns: MP7s, M16s, Steyr AUGs. In their thigh
holsters were pistols of every kind.

On their backs: packs of various sizes, all bristling with ropes, climbing
gear, and odd-looking steel struts.

And above them, soaring gracefully over the treetops, was a small shape, a
bird of some sort.

Seven of the Nine were indeed soldiers.

Crack troops. Special forces. All from different countries.

The remaining two members were civilians, the elder of whom was a
long-bearded sixty-five-year-old professor named Maximilian T. Epper, call
sign: Wizard.

The seven military members of the team had somewhat fiercer nicknames:
Huntsman, Witch Doctor, Archer, Bloody Mary, Saladin, Matador, and
Gunman.

Oddly, however, on this mission they had all acquired new call signs:
Woodsman, Fuzzy, Stretch, Princess Zoe, Pooh Bear, Noddy, and Big Ears.

These revised call signs were the result of the ninth member of the team:

A little girl of ten.

The mountain they were approaching was the last in a long spur of peaks that
ended near the Sudanese-Ethiopian border.

Down through these mountains, flowing out of Ethiopia and into the Sudan,
poured the Angereb River. Its waters paused briefly in this swamp before
continuing on into the Sudan, where they would ultimately join the Nile.

The chief resident of the swamp was Crocodylus niloticus, the notorious Nile
crocodile. Reaching sizes of up to twenty feet, the Nile crocodile is known
for its great size, its brazen cunning, and its ferocity of attack. It is
the most man-eating crocodilian in the world, killing upwards of three
hundred people every year.

While the Nine were approaching the mountain from the south, their EU rivals
had set up a base of operations on the northern side, a base that looked
like a veritable floating city.

Command boats, mess boats, barracks boats, and gunboats, the small fleet
connected by a network of floating bridges and all facing toward the focal
point of their operation: the massive coffer dam that they had built against
the northern flank of the mountain.

It was, one had to admit, an engineering masterpiece: a 110-yard-long,
forty-foot-high curved retaining dam that held back the waters of the swamp
to reveal a square stone doorway carved into the base of the mountain forty
feet below the waterline.

The artistry on the stone doorway was extraordinary.

Egyptian hieroglyphs covered every square inch of its frame -- but taking
pride of place in the very center of the lintel stone that surmounted the
doorway was a glyph often found in pharaonic tombs in Egypt:



Two figures, bound to a staff bearing the jackal head of Anubis, the
Egyptian god of the Underworld.

This was what the afterlife had in store for grave robbers -- eternal
bondage to Anubis. Not a nice way to spend eternity.

The message was clear: do not enter.

* * *

The structure inside the mountain was an ancient mine delved during the
reign of Ptolemy I, around the year 300 b.c.

During the great age of Egypt, the Sudan was known as "Nubia," a word
derived from the Egyptian word for gold: nub.

Nubia: the Land of Gold.

And indeed it was. It was from Nubia that the ancient Egyptians sourced the
gold for their many temples and treasures.

Records unearthed in Alexandria revealed that this mine had run out of gold
seventy years after its founding, after which it gained a second life as a
quarry for the rare hard stone, diorite. Once it was exhausted of diorite --
around the year 226 b.c. -- Pharaoh Ptolemy III decided to use the mine for
a very special purpose.

To this end, he dispatched his best architect -- Imhotep V -- and a force of
two thousand men.

They would work on the project in absolute secrecy for three whole years.

The northern entrance to the mine had been the main entrance.

Originally, it had been level with the waterline of the swamp, and through
its doors a wide canal bored horizontally into the mountain. Bargeloads of
gold and diorite were brought out of the mine via this canal.

But then Imhotep V had come and reconfigured it.

Using a temporary dam not unlike the one the European force was using today,
his men had held back the waters of the swamp while his engineers had
lowered the level of the doorway, dropping it forty feet. The original door
was bricked in and covered over with soil.

Imhotep had then disassembled the dam and allowed the swamp waters to flood
back over the new doorway, concealing it for over two thousand years.

Until today.

But there was a second entrance to the mine, a lesser-known one, on the
south side of the mountain.

It was a back door, the end point of a slipway that had been used to dispose
of waste during the original digging of the mine. It too had been
reconfigured.

It was this entrance that the Nine were seeking.

Guided by the tall, white-bearded Wizard -- who held in one hand a very
ancient papyrus scroll and in the other a very modern sonic-resonance
imager -- they stopped abruptly on a mud mound about ninety yards from the
base of the mountain. It was shaded by four bending lotus trees.

"Here!" the old fellow called, seeing something on the mound. "Oh dear. The
village boys did find it."

In the middle of the muddy dome, sunk into it, was a tiny square hole,
barely wide enough for a man to fit into. Stinking brown mud lined its
edges.

You'd never see it if you weren't looking for it, but it just so happened
that this hole was exactly what Professor Max T. Epper was searching for.

He read quickly from his papyrus scroll:

"In the Nubian swamp to the south of Soter's mine,
Among Sobek's minions,
Find the four symbols of the Lower Kingdom.
Therein lies the portal to the harder route."

Epper looked up at his companions. "Four lotus trees: the lotus was the
symbol of the Lower Kingdom. Sobek's minions are crocodiles, since Sobek was
the Egyptian crocodile god. In a swamp to the south of Soter's mine -- Soter
being the other name for Ptolemy I. This is it."

A small wicker basket lay askew next to the muddy hole -- the kind of basket
used by rural Sudanese.

"Those stupid, stupid boys." Wizard kicked the basket away.

On their way here, the Nine had passed through a small village. The
villagers claimed that only a few days ago, lured by the Europeans' interest
in the mountain, four of their young men had gone exploring in the swamp.
One of them had returned to the village saying the other three had
disappeared down a hole in the ground and not come out again.

At this point, the leader of the Nine stepped forward, peered down into the
hole.

The rest of the team waited for him to speak.

Not a lot was known about the leader of this group. Indeed, his past was
veiled in mystery. What was known was this:

His name was West -- Jack West Jr.

Call sign: Huntsman.

At thirty-seven, he had the rare distinction of being both military and
university trained -- he had once been a member of the most elite special
forces unit in the world, while at another time, he had studied ancient
history at Trinity College in Dublin under Max Epper.

Indeed, in the 1990s, when the Pentagon had ranked the best soldiers in the
world, only one soldier in the top ten had not been an American: Jack West.
He'd come in at number four.

But then, around 1995, West disappeared off the international radar. Just
like that. He was not seen at international exercises or on missions
again -- not even the allied invasion of Iraq in 2003, despite his
experience there during Desert Storm in '91. It was assumed he had quit the
military, cashed in his points and retired. Nothing was seen or heard of him
for over ten years . . .

.. . . until now.

Now, he had reemerged.

Supremely fit, he had dark hair and laser-sharp brown eyes that seemed
perpetually narrowed. Apparently, he had a winning smile, but that was
something rarely seen.

Today, like the rest of his team, he wore a decidedly nonmilitary uniform: a
rugged caramel-colored canvas jacket, tattered cargo pants and steel-soled
Salomon hiking boots that bore the scars of many previous adventures.

His hands were gloved, but if you looked closely at the left cuff of his
jacket, you might catch a glimpse of silver steel. Hidden under the sleeve,
his entire left forearm and hand were artificial, mechanical. How it came to
be that way, not many people knew; although one of those who did was Max
Epper.

Expertly trained in the art of war, classically trained in the lore of
history, and fiercely protective of the little girl in his care, one thing
about Jack West Jr. was clear: if anyone could pull off this impossible
mission, it was him.

Just then, with a squawk, a small brown peregrine falcon swooped in from
above the treeline and landed lightly on West's shoulder -- the high-flying
bird from before. It eyed the area around West imperiously, protectively.
Its name, Horus.

West didn't even notice the bird. He just stared down into the dark square
hole in the mud, lost in thought.

He brushed back some mud from the edge, revealing a hieroglyph cut into the
rim:



"We meet again," he said softly to the carving.

He turned. "Glowstick."

He was handed a glowstick, which he cracked and tossed down the hole.

It fell for twenty feet, illuminating a pipelike stone shaft on its way
down, before -- splonk! -- it landed in water and revealed--

Lots of crocodiles. Nile crocodiles.

Snapping, snarling and grunting. Sliding over each other.

"More of Sobek's minions," West said. "Nice. Very nice."

Just then the team's radioman, a tall Jamaican with bleached dreadlocks, a
heavily pockmarked face, and tree-trunk-sized arms, touched his earpiece in
alarm. His real name was V. J. Weatherly, his original call sign Witch
Doctor, but everyone here just called him Fuzzy.

"Huntsman," he said. "The Europeans just breached the Third Gate. They're
inside the Grand Cavern. Now they're bringing in some kind of crane to
overshoot the lower levels."

"Shit . . ."

"It gets worse. The Americans just crossed the border. They're coming in
fast behind us. Big force: four hundred men, choppers, armor, with
carrier-launched fighter support on the way. And the ground force is being
led by the CIEF."

That really got West's attention.

The CIEF -- the Commander-in-Chief's in Extremis Force; pronounced "seef" --
was America's very best special operations unit; a unit that answered only
to the president and possessed the real-life equivalent of a license to
kill. As West knew from hard experience, you didn't want to be around when
the CIEF arrived.

He stood up. "Who's in command?"

Fuzzy said ominously, "Judah."

"I didn't think he'd come himself. Damn. Now we'd really better hurry."

West turned to his team.

"All right. Noddy -- you've got sentry duty. Everybody else . . ."

He pulled an odd-looking helmet from his belt, put it on.

". . . it's time to rock and roll."

And so into the subterranean dark they went.

Fast.

A steel tripod was erected above the pipelike shaft, and, led by West, one
after the other, eight of the Nine abseiled down it on a rope strung from
the tripod.

One lone man, a dark-haired Spanish commando -- once known as Matador, now
Noddy -- remained up top to guard the entrance.

THE ENTRY SHAFT

West sizzled down the drop rope, shooting past three steeply slanted cross
shafts that intersected with the main shaft.

His falcon sat snugly in a pouch on his chest, while on his head he wore a
weathered and worn fireman's helmet, bearing the badge FDNY Precinct 17. The
battered helmet was fitted with a wraparound protective eye visor and on the
left side, a powerful pen-sized flashlight. The rest of his team wore
similar helmets, variously modified with flashlights, visors, and cameras.

West eyed the cross shafts as he slid down the rope. He knew what perils lay
within them. "Everyone. Stay sharp. Do not, I repeat, do not make any
contact with the walls of this shaft."

He didn't and they didn't.

Safely, he came to the bottom of the rope.

THE ATRIUM

West emerged from the ceiling at one end of a long, stone-walled room,
hanging from his drop-rope.

He did not lower himself all the way to the floor, just kept hanging about
eight feet above it.

By the eerie yellow light of his original glowstick, he beheld a rectangular
room about 98 feet long. The room's floor was covered by a shallow layer of
swamp water, water that was absolutely crawling with Nile crocodiles -- not
an inch of floor space was crocodile-free.

And directly beneath West, protruding half out of the water, were the
waterlogged half-eaten bodies of two twenty-something Sudanese men. The
bodies lolled lifelessly as three big crocs took great crunching bites out
of them.

"Big Ears," West said into his throat microphone, "there's a sight down here
that's not PG-13. Tell Lily not to look down when you two reach the bottom
of the rope."

"Righto to that, boss," came an Irish-accented reply over his earpiece.

West fired a luminescent amber flare down the length of the atrium.

It was as if the chamber came alive.

Deeply cut lines of hieroglyphs covered the walls, thousands of them.

And at the far end of the chamber, West saw his goal: a squat trapezoidal
doorway, raised several feet off the watery floor.

The eerie yellow glow of the flare also revealed one other important feature
of the atrium -- its ceiling.

Embedded in the ceiling was a line of hand rungs, leading to the far raised
doorway. Each rung, however, was lodged in a dark square hole that
disappeared up into the ceiling itself.

"Wizard," West said, "I've got hand rungs."

"According to the inscription in Imhotep's tomb, we have to avoid the third
and the eighth rungs," Wizard's voice said. "Drop cages above them. The rest
are OK."

"Gotcha."

The Eight traversed the atrium quickly, swinging hand over hand down the
length of the chamber, avoiding the two suspect hand rungs, their feet
dangling just a few feet above the crocs.

The little girl -- Lily -- moved in the middle of the group, clinging to the
biggest trooper of the Nine, her hands clasped around his neck, while he
swung from rung to rung.

THE LOW TUNNEL

A long low tunnel led away from the atrium, heading into the mountain.

West and his team ran down it, all bent forward. Horus had been set free and
she flew out in front of West, gliding down the passageway. Lily ran fully
upright.

Water dripped from the low stone ceiling, but it hit their firemen's helmets
and rolled off their curved backs, away from their eyes.

The tunnel was perfectly square -- 1.4 yards wide, 1.4 yards high.
Curiously, these were exactly the same dimensions as the passageways inside
the Great Pyramid at Giza.

Like the entry shaft earlier, this horizontal tunnel was intersected by
three cross shafts: only these were vertical and spanned the entire width of
the tunnel, cutting across it via matching holes in the ceiling and floor.

At one point, Lily's guardian, the large trooper named Big Ears,
misstepped -- landing on a trigger stone just before he leaped across one of
the cross shafts.

He knew his mistake immediately and stopped abruptly at the edge of the
shaft--

--just as a gushing waterfall of swamp water came blasting out of the upper
hole, forming a curtain of water in front of him, before disappearing into
the matching hole in the floor.

Had he jumped, the rush of water would have taken him and Lily down into the
unknown depths of the lower hole.

"Careful, brother dearest," the team member in front of him said, after the
water had passed. She was the only woman in the group and a member of the
crack Irish commando unit, the Sciathan Fianoglach an Airm. Old call sign:
Bloody Mary. New one: Princess Zoe. Her brother, Big Ears, was also a member
of the SFA.

She reached out and caught his hand and with her help he leaped over the
cross shaft, and with Lily between them, they took off after the others.

THE WATER CHAMBER (THE FIRST GATE)

The low tunnel opened onto a chamber the size of a small chapel.
Incongruously, the floor of this chamber seemed to be made up of a lush
carpet of green grass.

Only it wasn't grass.

It was algae. And beneath the algae, water -- a rectangular pool of
perfectly flat undisturbed water.

And no crocs. Not a single one.

At the far end of the chamber -- beyond the long placid pool, just above the
waterline -- were three low rectangular holes burrowing into the far wall,
each roughly the size of a coffin.

An object floated in the pool near the entrance. West recognized it
instantly.

A human body. Dead.

The third and last Sudanese man.

Breathless, Wizard came up alongside West. "Ah-ha, the First Gate. Ooh my,
how clever. It's a false-floor chamber, just like we saw beneath the volcano
in Uganda. Ah, Imhotep V. He always respected the classic traps . . ."

"Max . . ." West said.

"Ooh, and it's connected to a Solomon's Choice of spike holes: three holes,
but only one is safe. This is some gate. I bet the ceiling is on rollers--"

"Max. You can write a book about it later. The state of the water?"

"Yes, sorry, ahem . . ." Wizard pulled a dipstick from a water-testing kit
on his belt and dipped it into the algae-covered pool. Its tip quickly
turned a vivid red.

Wizard frowned. "Extremely high levels of the bloodworm Schistosoma mansoni.
Be careful, my friend, this water is beyond septic. It's teeming with S.
mansoni."

"What's that?" Big Ears asked from behind them.

"It's a microscopic bloodworm that penetrates the body through the skin or
any exposed orifice, then lays eggs in the bloodstream," West answered.

Wizard added, "Infection leads to spinal cord inflammation, lower body
paralysis, and, ultimately, a cerebral aneurysm and death. Ancient grave
robbers went mad after entering places like this. They blamed angry gods and
mystical curses, but in all likelihood it was the S. mansoni. But at these
levels, gosh, this water will kill you in minutes. Whatever you do, Jack,
don't fall in."

"OK then," West said, "the jump-stone configuration."

"Right, right, Hessler found it in Imhotep's sarcophagus . . ." The older
man hurriedly pulled out a dog-eared notebook from his jacket pocket,
started flipping pages.

A false-floor chamber was a fairly common booby trap in the ancient Egyptian
world -- mainly because it was very simple to build and exceedingly
effective. It worked by concealing a safe pathway of stepping-stones beneath
a false layer of liquid -- which could be anything really: quicksand,
boiling mud, tar, or most commonly, bacteria-infected water.

You defeated a false-floor chamber by knowing the location of the
stepping-stones in it.

Wizard found the page he was after. "Okay. Here it is. Soter's Mine. Nubia.
First Gate. Water chamber. Ah-ha. Five-by-five grid; the sequence of the
jump stones is 1-3-4-1-3."

"1-3-4-1-3," West repeated. "And which spike hole? I'm going to have to
choose quickly."

"Key of life," Wizard said, consulting his notebook.

"Thanks. Horus, chest." On command, the falcon immediately whizzed to West's
chest and nestled in a pouch there.

West then turned to the assembled group behind him: "Okay, folks, listen up.
Everyone is to follow me closely. If our friend Imhotep V follows his usual
modus operandi, as soon as I step on the first stepping-stone, things are
gonna get frantic. Stay close because we won't have much time."

West turned and contemplated the placid pool of algae-covered water. He bit
his lip for a second. Then he took a deep breath.

Then he jumped out into the chamber, out over the surface of the pool,
angling his leap way out to the left.

It was a long jump -- he couldn't have just stepped that far.

Watching, Wizard gasped.

But rather than plunging into the deadly water, West landed lightly on the
surface of the flat green pool -- looking like he was walking on water.

His thick-soled boots stood an inch deep. He was standing on some kind of
stepping-stone hidden underneath the algae-covered surface.

Wizard exhaled the breath he'd been holding.

Less obviously, West did, too.

But their relief was short-lived, for at that moment the trap mechanism of
the water chamber came loudly and spectacularly to life.

Copyright © 2005 Matthew Reilly

Matthew Reilly is the author of six novels: Ice Station, Temple, Contest,
Area 7, Scarecrow, and Hover Car Racer. His books are published in eighteen
languages in twenty countries, and he has sold more than 2 million books
worldwide. Reilly's novel, Hover Car Racer, is currently being developed as
a major motion picture by Walt Disney Pictures. He lives in Sydney.

Look for more information on www.7deadlywonders.com coming in December.


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