by N. J. Croft
“You’ll look after her,” he said to Peter.
“She comes with us,” Michaela said.
Noah shook his head. “She can’t—she’s not strong enough. We’ll be climbing and no way will she make it with that hand. Peter can stay with her.”
Her eyes narrowed, and her gaze shifted from him to his daughter. Her left hand was cradled against her chest. Damn. He was right. Had he planned it this way?
As if he could understand her thoughts, he waved toward the cliff’s edge. “We’re going down there. You couldn’t have landed any closer.”
She walked across and peered over the edge. Below was a narrow rocky ravine, too narrow for a helicopter to land. She turned back to Noah. “You have the image?”
“No. It was destroyed.”
“Convenient.”
His gaze flicked to where his daughter stood. “No, actually, it wasn’t. But I’d memorized the GPS. You don’t need to worry. I can find your tomb.”
“Okay. Let’s do this. But Peter goes with us. One of my men will stay with your daughter.”
His lips tightened, then he nodded. He’d no doubt been expecting that. He knew how these things worked. Without another word, he turned and strode back to the tree line, returning with a coil of rope over his shoulder and two shovels in his hand. Crossing to the edge of the cliff, he dropped the shovels over the edge then tied one end of the rope to a rocky outcrop and threw the rest after the shovels.
She waved to one of her guards, and he crossed the short distance, took a hold of the rope, and disappeared over the edge of the cliff.
Noah reached out and touched his daughter’s arm. “Keep safe, sweetheart. We’ll be back soon.” Then he followed her guard over the edge. Then Peter.
It was her turn next, and she swung the handle of the spear bag over her shoulder, moved forward, and grasped the rope. It was rough in her hands. She’d done this before, gone through rigorous training, just not for a while. The rock face was sheer. About a hundred feet below, she could see them staring up at her, squinting into the sunlight. Maybe they were hoping she would fall and kill herself.
She wouldn’t fall.
Twisting her body, she slipped over the edge, her feet finding the rock face. For a moment, she hung there, then she slowly moved down, hand over hand.
For the last few feet, the rock face vanished, and she dangled in the air. She peered down; she could make it. Releasing her hold on the rope, she dropped, her ankle twisting and giving way beneath her as she crashed to the ground, the spear digging into her back.
A hand reached down for her, and her bodyguard pulled her to her feet. She glanced across to where Noah and Peter stood impassive, watching her, no doubt hating her. She could feel the intensity of their stares.
Once her friend, her lover. Now her enemy. Everything had a price.
As she took a step, pain shot through her ankle, up her leg, and she would have fallen if not for the hard grip of her guard. “Shit.”
The second guard landed, took in the situation.
“Are you okay to go on?” Noah asked, his tone expressionless as if he didn’t care. Of course he cared. If she didn’t go on, then he wouldn’t get his daughter back.
“I’m fine.” She pulled free of the guard’s hold, ignoring the pain as she took another step forward. “Lead the way.”
Sweat rolled down her forehead, stinging her eyes as she followed the two men, her guards bringing up the rear. They didn’t look back once, just kept up a steady pace, winding around the narrow ravine. There were no plants, the ground bone dry, the footing sandy. She doubted anyone had been down here in years. Maybe centuries.
She gritted her teeth against the pain and kept walking.
Finally, they came to a standstill, and she halted behind them. Was this it? A smile tugged at her lips.
She stood for a moment, breathing deeply, ignoring the sharp pain shooting up from her ankle. Up above, a narrow blue strip of sky showed between the steep edges of the gorge. She’d expected more sky. And unease tugged at her.
Had he got it wrong?
“You want the Talisman, not the body? Yes?”
She glanced up at his question, eyes narrowing. “How did you know?”
“Eve left notes. We found them with the image.”
That made sense. They’d given her the shape and dimensions of the box that contains the Talisman. She nodded. She had no wish to desecrate the body of her revered ancestor.
He stood for a moment, orientating himself. Then he turned so he was facing south and closed his eyes. Was he visualizing the positioning? He stood for so long that she had to clamp her lips to stop from screaming.
Finally, he waved a hand at an area that looked no different than anywhere else. A patch of clear, sandy ground. “According to the image, it’s about six feet down.”
She looked around, found a smooth rock, and walked over, refusing to limp, but a sigh of relief escaped her as she sank down. She watched them dig, taking it in turns. They dug until she could no longer see them, and then she listened to the rhythmic sound of the shovels.
She wasn’t sure how much time had passed.
At last, Noah gave a shout from inside the hole. Peter, who’d been standing beside it, jumped down.
A rush of excitement filled her, and she pushed herself to her feet. She closed the space, her guards at her back, and came to a halt at the edge of the hole, just as they heaved a box to the surface.
Octagonal, smooth wood, dark with age, but perfect.
Ignoring the two men as they emerged from the hole, she sank to her knees. She reached out a hand, stroked her fingers over the smooth wood. It felt warm to her touch, as though it was a living thing, and sensations prickled up the nerves of her arm, settled in her chest.
She’d never believed in magic. Had always thought the Talisman was nothing more than a symbol. Now she was filled with a sense of limitless power. She would prevail.
Running her fingers along the underside, she searched for the catch that would unlock the box.
She’d won.
The Talisman was hers.
Chapter Forty-One
Sara reined in her horse and sat for a moment, listening. Overhead, she could hear the drone of the circling helicopters.
She’d wanted to be there with Noah yet accepted that it wasn’t possible. He’d been told to come alone, and he wouldn’t do anything to risk his daughter’s safety.
All her people had been ordered to stay away. They couldn’t go up against helicopters. Sara alone had been allowed in the area. She knew the plan, and she was going to look out for Harper once the others left. There was another route into the ravine—one possible on horseback—but they’d gone this way to ensure Harper would be left behind. No doubt she would have a guard. If everything went to shit, then Sara’s job was to kill the guard and get Harper to safety.
There was no reason anything would go wrong, except maybe the mad bitch would decide to kill them all anyway.
And she still couldn’t get rid of the nagging feeling that had been dogging her since they’d dug up the tomb yesterday. That something wasn’t right. That things had been too easy. The obstacles she’d expected to struggle with had fallen away effortlessly.
She was situated on a rise about fifty feet from where Harper huddled on the ground, arms around her knees. The guard was paying her little attention, pacing the area, peering over the edge. Occasionally, he tried his radio, but they would be out of contact. That was one of the reasons her father had picked the place. That and the sandy ground and lack of vegetation made it possible to hide the recent disturbance. Plus there was also a burial site already there. One of Khan’s family. Many of them had been buried on the mountain.
She could take the guard out easily. She had a bow in her hand, the arrow already cocked. And a rifle in the holst
er in her saddle.
A noise sounded behind her. Hoof beats on the soft sand? She nudged her mount around, hand tightening on the bow. A horse and rider emerged from the trees. She recognized her father. Her nerve endings tingled with a warning.
He halted a few feet away then swung himself down from the saddle.
“Father?”
She glanced down, saw the pistol in his hand, hanging by his side.
He didn’t speak, but his arm slowly raised until the gun was pointed at her chest. Her mind was blank, her body numb. Some part of her was screaming to run, but she couldn’t move. She stared into his eyes, saw the sadness and the resolve.
She was going to die. Her gaze dropped, focusing on the pistol, the fingers tightening on the trigger.
Then her father dropped to the ground, an arrow through his neck.
And she sat staring, unable to move.
Tarkhan rode up, the bow still in his hand, pain etched on his face. He stopped beside her then glanced from her to where her father lay, blank eyes staring up at the blue sky. Back at her.
She swallowed. “Why?”
“They’re all dead.”
“Who?” Her thoughts were struggling back from the edge of death.
“The men who volunteered to move the Talisman. They’re dead. Your father came here to kill you. And afterward, he would have turned his gun on himself.”
Her brain scrambled to make sense of the words. But really, they made perfect sense.
Her father had believed them. That Michaela Clayton would keep coming. So they’d gone along with the plan. He’d never meant any of them to survive. The volunteers, her father, herself.
He had dedicated his life to the sanctity of the tomb. He wasn’t going to allow any of them to survive. That just left Noah alive who knew the location.
What had her father done?
Chapter Forty-Two
Noah wanted to back away, but he couldn’t get his legs to obey. Couldn’t completely stifle the strange compulsion to move closer and run his fingers over the smooth wood as Michaela Clayton was doing.
To open the box and see what was inside.
As he’d lifted it out of the ground, shivers had prickled across his skin.
He knew he wasn’t safe. That likely he’d never leave this place. That had always been an unspoken part of the bargain. His life for Harper’s. And he could live with that. Or, rather, die with it.
He just wished he could be there to see the end. To see Michaela Clayton brought down. As she would be.
She was sliding her fingers along the edge of the box, searching for something. A way to open it maybe. There was a look of almost mystical reverence on her face. The spear lay by her side; she’d taken it from the case as they’d dug. It had survived eight hundred years. Maybe there was magic in the world. He almost smiled at the thought.
Peter stood close by him. Peter was another who was unlikely to survive. Maybe he’d last longer than Noah, hopefully long enough to get Harper to safety, but Clayton wouldn’t let him live. He knew too much. And in the end, he had chosen his side, and it hadn’t been the senator’s. Despite the betrayal, a wave of sadness washed over Noah at the thought. The truth was he loved his uncle.
He looked into his face, gave a smile. “Thank you,” he said. He meant for everything, for being there for him when he was a screwed up kid, then later, for guiding him, teaching him right from wrong. Ironic, really, but Noah’s passion for justice and fighting against evil came from Peter.
A look of surprise flashed across his uncle’s face. Then he nodded and glanced away, his gaze settling on something high above them, a frown forming between his brows.
Noah’s attention was drawn back to the senator. She’d found whatever she was looking for, and she’d gone momentarily still, her eyes closed. Now she opened them, and a smile curved her lips. She slowly lifted the lid—
“Noah!” His uncle’s tone was frantic, and Noah dragged his gaze away and upward. A rider was silhouetted on the cliff’s edge above them. Sara. She was waving and shouting, but he couldn’t hear. The wind had gotten up and snatched the words away. He concentrated on the shape of her mouth, translated it into words.
It’s a trap.
His gaze jerked to the box.
The lid was lifting. He looked to Peter, saw the dawning understanding. He made to move. Too late. Someone crashed into him, and he was hurled across the space and he was falling. Something heavy landed on top of him, shoving the air from his lungs, and a moment later, the world erupted and darkness engulfed him.
Warm wetness seeped down over Noah’s face. A heavy weight held him down. He blinked a couple of times, clearing the sand from his eyes. He tried to raise a hand to wipe his face, but it was pinned beneath him.
He lay for a minute, breathing slowly. He could hear nothing around him. Everything silent, a faint hum in his ears from the explosion. Finally, he took a deep breath and heaved the body from on top of him and scrambled up. Peter sprawled on his front, the back of his head caved in, a mass of blood and brains and bone fragments. Noah reached out a hand and felt for a pulse, knowing it was hopeless.
Peter had saved his life. He had hurled them both backward and into the hole they had dug to free the Talisman. Then his body had protected Noah from the debris that fell.
He dragged himself out of the hole and stood staring around at the chaos. The two guards lay close together, unmoving. He crossed the space; they were both dead. Leaning down, he pulled the pistol from the nearest man’s waist.
At first, he couldn’t locate the senator. Had she somehow escaped the blast? Then he caught the flash of her dark red hair close to the rock wall, her body almost covered by rocks and sand.
She’d been at the very apex of the explosion. Likely, the force had hurled her backward, her body crashing into the unforgiving rock. The lid of the Talisman’s box was embedded in her throat, the Spirit Banner of Genghis Khan buried deep in her chest.
It seemed somehow fitting.
“I guess you weren’t the one after all,” he murmured.
Epilogue
It could have all ended so differently. Closing his eyes, Noah relived the moment when Sara had come galloping around the corner of the ravine, Harper behind her. His girls to the rescue.
It had been touch and go.
Now they were all in hiding in a safe house organized by Zach in the Highlands of Scotland. Eve and the children. Sara and her daughter. Right now, they had to lie low.
They’d just eaten, and he sat on the sofa, a twin on either side of him, Harper at his feet, her head resting against his knee. While they were safe here for the moment, long term, they had to solve the problem. Too many people wanted him and the people he loved dead. If the Darkhats didn’t get them, then the Descendants likely would—once they had gotten over scrabbling between themselves for a new leader.
So he didn’t plan to stay hiding for long. Now was the time to go on the offensive, when the enemy was in disarray. The threat was still there, and he wanted to be part of the solution.
The first thing he’d done when they’d gotten out was contact everyone he could with a warning. The summit had been halted with only hours to go before the opening ceremony. The world’s leaders had gone home, though it was to be rescheduled for a later date. They needed to work together now more than ever.
He understood the dangers the world faced better than anyone. Project Arachnid was to be reinstated, and he would take lead. Zach would be their U.K. liaison. And they were reaching out to other security forces across the world.
They had lists of names from Peter. He’d shared everything he knew. They were cleaning out the rot. Uncovering the bad guys, dragging them out of the darkness and into the light. It was going to be a long job.
He’d brought Eve a couple of souvenirs back.
A spear an
d the lid of the Talisman’s box.
She stroked her hand along the shaft of the spear. “I don’t suppose you would tell me where the tomb actually is?” Eve said.
He turned around and glared. “No.”
“Hmm. Well, I could always move onto something new. I have a few ideas. Maybe the lost labyrinth of Ancient Egypt?”
Hell no!
Noah clamped his mouth closed on his instinctive reply to give himself time to come up with a more diplomatic approach. But really?
Because if there was one thing he’d learned through this whole mess, it was that the past shaped the future, and who knew what ancient evil lay buried beneath the desert sands, just waiting to be stirred…
…
Acknowledgments
I want to say a huge thank you to everyone at Sideways Books for all their help with getting The Lost Tomb to where it is now. Especially my fabulous editor, Heather Howland.
A special thank you to my friend Andy, whose interest in space archaeology was an immense help and inspiration.
And finally, thank you to my wonderful critique partners at PC, who read my chapters and told me what they really think (as in—you’re not really going to kill Eve, are you?)
About the Author
After a number of years wandering the world in search of adventure, N.J. Croft finally settled on a farm in the mountains and now lives off-grid, growing almonds, drinking cold beer, taking in stray dogs, and writing stories where the stakes are huge and absolutely anything can happen.
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Website: njcroft.com/
Also by N.J. Croft…
The Lost Spear
The Wall