Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6

Chapter 5 Luther and his men escorted Blake, Quartermain, and Sam towards the tunnel that lead in to the temple. Blake glanced around his surrounding looking for any out he could find. The tunnel in to the half-buried temple stretched down in to the ground. A few lamps hung from the walls, lighting the cavern just enough to keep it from total darkness. As they continued through, the tunnel slowly transitioned in to pure brick. He realized the Nazis hadn't built this tunnel; it had been there long before. But the straight tunnel down in to the tomb did very little to assuage Blake's hopes of escape. The eight Nazi soldiers surrounding him didn't help much either. The soldiers brought the trio to a halt just as the tunnel opened in to the temple. Luther moved out of the procession's rear and back in to Blake's visual range. He'd left his usually pristine uniform outside, and now wore just khakis and a white t-shirt. Luther grabbed Sam by one arm and yanked her to him. His Luger appeared in his free hand and he raised it to her temple. "Now, Mr. Blake," Luther said, "I will give you a chance to see your friend and your woman live." "She's not my woman, Luther. And I'd rather die than help you." Luther pulled the gun away from Sam's temple and aimed it at Quartermain. The shot took him in the shoulder, and he stumbled backwards. "That was little more than a flesh wound, Mr. Blake, but in this jungle it could easily become gangrenous. At a word, the medic there," he pointed to a nearby guard, "will treat your friend. If you don't agree to my plan, the next bullet will go in to this lovely young woman's head." "What do you want, Luther?" "For you to retrieve the Midas Hand. This temple is a deathtrap. I've lost over twenty men in my attempts to recover the Hand. Why not send the most renowned archaeologist in the world to find it? And if you die, I've lost nothing." "Fine, I'll do it, but you have to release Will and Sam." "Quartermain and the girl will be released when you return with the Midas Hand. After all, I wouldn't want to risk a double-cross." Blake stared in to Luther's dark eyes. He turned and started towards the main antechamber. "Wait." Blake turned to face the Nazi leader. Luther placed a small cloth sack in his hand. "You'll need this to hold the Hand. Der Fuhrer's scientists have coated it with a special oil they think will be resistant to the Hand's effects." Blake snatched the bag from Luther and walked off without another word. ***** The first leg of the temple offered little to worry about. A few spike traps and dark launchers lined the hall. But they all seemed to have been tripped by the Nazi soldiers whose bodies still lay where they died. The only trap left in the entrance almost proved fatal, but he realized he'd stepped on the pressure plate immediately. He dived back and to the right avoiding the massive scythe that swept down and toward him. Avoiding the plate, he continued forward in to the antechamber. It wasn't much of an antechamber. It looked more like a gorge, but instead of a tranquil river at the bottom, vicious spikes lined the floor. Midas's people liked their vicious deaths. On the other side of the divide, a large wooden drawbridge stood high above. How to get the bridge down was the question. He glanced back and forth down his side of the gorge. A small walkway carved out of the rock stretched to the far end, but the ledge wasn't more than eight inches wide. And the rock above it twisted and curved outwards, making for a precarious walk. He held the torch he carried out to each side and he caught the reflections of something on either end. Trigger device he surmised, but only one would lead to the drawbridge dropping. The other certainly lead to the spikes below. According to the brief he'd received on the legend of the Midas Hand, the golden hand that survived was his right. Was that the answer to the puzzle? It seemed somehow too easy, but it also was the only answer. He glanced back and forth. He started down the left path. The going wasn't easy. The temple's builders left several rough edges on the wall, some jutting out three or four inches. Blake found himself forced out to the very end of an already small ledge. But he continued on his way. The fifteen foot walk took him a good half hour, and midway through he stopped to pull his shirt off to wrap around his sweaty palms. No point in getting all the way out just to fall near at the end. He reached the end of the tunnel and the large piece of quartz jutting from the wall. It was do or die time. He pushed in on the quartz stone. It slid in to the wall with surprising ease for a thousand year old mechanism. The room started to shake, and for a moment Blake wondered if he should have went right after all. Then the drawbridge started to fall. With it came a creak, and the walkway slowly started to withdraw as well. Blake cursed and started down the tunnel. He had to run down the slowly receding walkway. He kept his footing rather well, until he was about four feet from the tunnel’s entrance. That’s when he stumbled in to thin air. Blake whipped his hand in to the back of the belt, grabbing the knife hidden there. He stabbed the blade in to the wood of the drawbridge as he fell forward. The blade caught but not well. It immediately started to cut through the old wood under Blake’s weight. He flipped one leg up and around the chain of the bridge just as the wood around the blade chipped off. Blake threw the knife on the bridge, than grabbed a hold of the chain. A moment of the later, he sat panting on the bridge. That’s when he heard the sound of wood cracking. The drawbridge was almost a thousand years old. Rot had taken it. Blake had to hurry. He grabbed a length of rope, one of the few things the Nazis had left him and tied it to a large boulder just inside the antechamber. The other end went through the chain he had pulled himself up on. Hopefully, the chain would hold, giving him some purchase on his return trip. Blake sprinted down the bridge. He felt the wood giving away under his feet, but he kept running. His foot nearly went through half way, but he nimbly jumped forward. The next step almost went through as well, but he kept moving. He dived forward the last five feet as the drawbridge started to crumple inwards. As he struck the cold stone, the bridge crumbled and fell to the spikes below. But the chain, tied to his rope, held. He had his way out. Blake continued in to the next room. It smelled of death and decay. But the entire room seemed to shine with an unearthly brilliance. Blake waved his torch around at the gold covered walls. Hundreds of hands lined the walls, made of gold, wood, leather and various precious metals. He ignored them and continued inside to find the now rotting body. King Midas had seen better days. The body had suffered decay, but not nearly the decay a body sitting in open air for a thousand years should have suffered. The dull grey skin clutched to the bones, but everything was still in place. Including both hands. He studied the bejeweled body more closely. Both hands had been burned back on to the body after death. But only one could be the Midas Hand. Blake pulled a quarter from his pocket. He dropped it on to the dead king's right hand. It bounced against the decayed flesh and fell to the floor. Blake bent down and picked up his new gold quarter. He pulled his knife free. He had to cut the hand loose to fit it in the bag. Blake raised the knife over his head, and prayed it was still as sharp as the day the Chinese blacksmith forged it for him. He swung the knife down and straight through the wrist, the knife cutting straight through the hollow bone. He sheathed the now gold knife in to its sheathe with a bit of remorse. That had been his favorite blade. Pulling the sack from a pouch on his belt, he carefully placed it over the Midas Hand. He lifted the Hand up and tied it shut. He’d found the Midas Hand. He took a moment of pride out of the fact, before he turned back towards the Nazis. Now all he had to do was live through the next hour.