Seven Deadly Wonders

  7 DEADLY WONDERS

  “… had me turning the pages so fast I had

  blisters on my fingers and my heart pounded so

  hard it sounded like a helicopter was landing on

  my roof! For stay-up-late, can’t-put-down-ability,

  Reilly is the master.”

  —Brad Thor, national bestselling author

  of Takedown

  HANG ON FOR THE RIDE OF A LIFETIME…

  IN MATTHEW REILLY’S SENSATIONAL

  NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER!

  “Adventure with a capital A. Matthew Reilly pulls out all stakes—and beats you over the head with them.”

  —James Rollins, USA Today bestselling author

  “Ancient history, heart-stopping booby traps, and wild adventure… a perfect book to jump-start your vacation beach reading.”

  —Library Journal

  “Fun…. Reilly keep[s] the action coming.”

  —Kirkus Reviews

  More praise for the page-turning fiction of “pedal-to-the-metal action novelist” (Publishers Weekly) Matthew Reilly

  ICE STATION

  “Some of the wildest and most sustained battles in an action thriller in a long time…. Nonstop action, lots of explosions—and a little bit of conspiracy.”

  —Chicago Tribune

  “Nonstop, brain-freezing action from page one… . In Reilly, we have a new thriller star, a combination of Ian Fleming and Tom Clancy. He’s that good.”

  —The Tulsa World

  TEMPLE

  “Reilly’s book has adrenaline in super-sized quantities.”

  —Orlando Sentinel

  “The action is relentless.”

  —Charleston Post and Courier

  AREA 7

  “Reilly … can inspire awe. How many heroes, after all, can kill an enemy aboard the space shuttle in outer space, then return to earth and dispatch another foe by pushing him into a pool full of meat-eating Komodo dragons all over the course of less than an hour?”

  —Publishers Weekly

  “Reilly’s … most suspenseful blow-’em-up. The jet-boat chase through the blind chasms of Arizona’s Lake Powell puts the Bond books to shame.”

  —Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

  “Another action-packed adventure.”

  —Booklist

  CONTEST

  “Reilly hurls readers into an adrenaline-drenched thrill ride. Reilly’s novel is almost impossible to put down.”

  —Orlando Sentinel

  ALSO BY MATTHEW REILLY

  Contest

  Scarecrow

  Ice Station

  Temple

  Area 7

  POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2006 by Karanadon Entertainment Pty Ltd.

  Originally published in hardcover in 2006 by Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information address Simon & Schuster, Inc., 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, NY 10020

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4165-0506-8

  ISBN-10: 1-4165-0506-7

  ISBN-13: 978-0-7432-8241-3 (ebook)

  This Pocket Books paperback edition January 2007

  POCKET and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  Cover design by Jae Song; Stepback illustration by Wayne J. Haag

  For Natalie

  Thank you for purchasing this Pocket Books eBook.

  Sign up for our newsletter and receive special offers, access to bonus content, and info on the latest new releases and other great eBooks from Pocket Books and Simon & Schuster.

  or visit us online to sign up at

  eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com

  “A Collection of Wonders around the World”

  TITLE OF A COLLECTION OF DOCUMENTS WRITTEN BY CALLIMACHUS OF CYRENE, CHIEF LIBRARIAN OF THE ALEXANDRIA MUSEION, LOST WHEN THE FAMOUS LIBRARY WAS DESTROYED IN 48 B.C.

  Cower in fear, cry in despair,

  You wretched mortals

  For that which giveth great power

  Also takes it away.

  For lest the Benben be placed at sacred site

  On sacred ground, at sacred height,

  Within seven sunsets of the arrival of Ra’s prophet,

  At the high point of the seventh day,

  The fires of Ra’s implacable Destroyer will devour us all.

  FORTY-FIVE-HUNDRED-YEAR-OLD HIEROGLYPHIC INSCRIPTION FOUND ON THE SUMMIT OF THE GREAT PYRAMID AT GIZA IN THE PLACE WHERE THE CAPSTONE ONCE STOOD.

  “I have both held and beheld unlimited power and of it I know but one thing. It drives men mad.”

  ALEXANDER THE GREAT

  SEVEN

  DEADLY

  WONDERS

  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 h
is 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.