I pulled out the pages I’d gathered on the two PhD students who’d excavated the Bali site. I’d managed to glean a bit more information off them, current residence, clubs they were known to hang out at . . . remember, I said I’d made friends with a talented young hacker.
I passed the sheets to Nadya. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve got no intention of waiting for Nuroshi to bring us those folders. Think you can get those two talking by tonight? Jaded archaeology student to jaded archaeology student?”
A smile spread across Nadya’s face as she looked over the information. “Oh, I think that can be arranged. The owner of this snack bar is a friend of mine. He owes me.”
“Save your favor, just tell them you’re Alix Hiboux.”
She gave me an even stare; it’s not often I use my old name. I shrugged. “You heard Nuroshi. Those two were shafted nearly as badly as I was. Tell ’em you’re me and see if they’ll fill you in on the site so I can avoid falling into some ancient booby trap.”
“What if Nuroshi is setting you up?”
That same thought had occurred to me. Between Sabine and the Paris boys—I still wasn’t 100 percent sure they’d really backed off—I wasn’t thrilled about heading to Bali. “Let’s just hope all he’s trying to do is cut a deal and turn me in to the authorities. Besides, by the time he brings the site details in, I’ll already be in Bali, and hopefully you can get directions off those two students tonight. Waiting for those folders tomorrow morning is my backup plan. If there’s something else funny going on, hopefully I’ll miss it.”
“He didn’t tell you which site,” Nadya said. “How many dig sites are active there now? Six?”
I shook my head. “Five, but only two are old enough and big enough to house tablets that old. I’m betting on the pre–Majapahit Sanur site.”
Nadya crossed her arms. “And what if it’s Besakih?”
“Let’s just really hope it’s not and maybe I’ll get really lucky,” I said.
Nadya snorted derisively.
I was already headed for the door. I’d need ten minutes on my computer to call in a favor Stateside. As an afterthought, I yelled back over my shoulder, “Can I borrow your windsurfing board and beach clothes?”
“Go ahead—and Alix?”
I paused, halfway in, halfway out of the club. Nadya held up the folder on the students. “I’ll see what I can find out tonight, but something smells off about this whole thing. Don’t do anything stupid until I call.”
“Thanks, I owe you one—”
“You owe me a lot more than one, plus my usual cut.”
I smiled. “Just get a barrel ready. I’ve never tried to drown a turnip,” I said, and left.
Nuroshi might not have given me the exact location, but I hadn’t become infamous for nothing. Archaeology in Bali boomed about six years ago when five ancient catacombs had been found, two of them dating back to before the eighth century; old enough to hide something, but young enough to possibly reference Mr. Kurosawa’s egg and scroll, which had been buried in the tomb of the first emperor of China around 210 BC. Even if the Bali tablet didn’t mention the egg or China, it would give me more writing to go on than what was on the puzzle case. One set of catacombs, the Sanur Caves, was sitting nice and cozy on the coastline a little north of a beach resort town called Sanur. The Sanur Caves were accessible two ways. From the road you had to go through gates with a handful of guards. The other way was through underwater caves, which I don’t recommend for the run-of-the-mill tourist. Even if you managed to rappel over the overhanging cliff or anchor your boat without crushing it on the rocks, you’d still have to navigate and crawl through unmapped tunnels.
As tricky as that sounded, I really hoped Nadya would call and say it was Sanur, because the second set of catacombs posed more problems; they were under the Besakih Temple.
Captain howled under my chair as the plane pulled into Ngurah Rai airport.
“Quiet, we still need to get through customs,” I whispered through the carrier screen. I reasoned that even if Sabine had tracked me to Japan, there was no way in hell she could get to Bali in time, but better to be safe and bring Captain than end up vampire chow.
I did one last flip through my emperor tomb dig pictures and checked my ID badges for the site, as well as the most up-to-date Google images I could find of the Sanur catacombs and tide tables in case I had to rappel my way out. I double-checked that I had everything I needed before closing my carryall case. Nuroshi’s fidgetiness still had me on edge, and the sooner I was in Sanur and back to Japan, the better. I stood up with the other passengers and filed off the plane and through customs. Today I was dressed as a student, my hair brushed up in a ponytail, and I’d only worn enough makeup to give me what makeup artists like to call a “natural boost.” Just your run-of-the-mill girl next door with her cat. Yup, that’s me, along with the passport that said I was a Canadian archaeology student named Charity Greenwoods. I mean, Charity Greenwoods—the name reeks of wholesome goodness. No one is going to stop Charity Greenwoods at a security checkpoint, at the airport or at a middle-security dig site.
I picked up Nadya’s windsurfing board at oversized baggage and claimed my backpack before heading into the warm Balinese afternoon. The sun was only nearing the horizon, so I had a few more hours to plan. Perfect. I’d arranged for a surf hostel pickup to Sanur, and the driver, Kato, had emailed me a photo of him and the jeep to keep an eye out for. The jeep was bright orange, and so was his hair; shouldn’t be hard to spot.
While I waited outside with my windsurfing board, a slew of Australian students on holiday passed by me, probably on their way to Kuta, Bali’s surf and party destination. One of them whistled, and I gave him the finger. I planned on avoiding Kuta like the plague while I was here. Considering how many temples were crowded into the small Indonesian island, there was enough cumulative magic floating around to make it a death trap, and Kuta attracted all sorts of nasty supernatural messiness.
As I headed out into the sun to wait for my ride, I found two texts on my phone, one from Nadya, which simply read, On schedule, and a second from Rynn.
The last person I wanted to talk to right now was Rynn. I was working. I opened the message anyway.
Call me.
Damn it. I’d told him I was going to Bali before stepping on the plane, what more did he want from me? I texted back: No. I’m working. Back tomorrow afternoon—call you then.
Next, I called Benjamin, my contact in Toronto. Benji was a nice archaeology boy who’d had the misfortune of running into a supernatural dig site a few years back. He was a nice, normal kid who’d grown up in a nice, middle-class home. He was a bit geeky in an indie rocker, wears corduroys and black-rimmed glasses kind of way, but he’d gotten into the kind of trouble that requires advice from someone like me. He’d had the sense to follow it—and he still owed me, big time.
He answered on the third ring. “Yeah?” he said in a hesitant voice.
“Benji? How’s it going on your end?”
I heard the sigh, likely for my benefit. “I told the team I’m sending down a friend for a tour.”
Benji wasn’t on this dig, but half his supervisor’s students were. The team was staying in a Sanur hostel, and Benji had organized for them to take me—Charity—with them to the catacomb dig site tomorrow morning. As I said, it’s all in the name.
“But listen, Owl, that’s it. Anything else, I can’t help you.”
I sighed and rolled my eyes at Captain. People are real happy to make friends with you when a two-thousand-year-old mummy knocks off half their team, but returning the favor always pisses them off. No one likes to pay up out of the goodness of their heart; that’s why I usually get cash up front. I’d just felt sorry for Benji and figured I could leverage some access later on, the ungrateful little . . .
“No good deed goes unpunished,” I said to Captain.
As much as I wanted to tell Benji exactly where to shove his whining, I didn’t. All he want
ed was to go back to pretending the supernatural didn’t exist. Run, hide, and forget it ever happened. I was putting a severe kink in that game plan. I couldn’t blame him for being afraid, either—it was healthy, smart. “Look, Benji, I know you’re not happy about me calling in a favor this close to home—”
“If anything happens that can be traced back to me, and I mean anything—I’m not stupid, I know you take stuff out of sites—”
“Nothing will happen. I wouldn’t have contacted you if I didn’t need your help and if I wasn’t one hundred percent certain you couldn’t be traced.” And here I go with the white lies. Oh well, I didn’t think Benji needed to hear that I was almost certain I wouldn’t be traced back to him. The last thing I needed was him chickening out and calling the local authorities or his team.
There was a pause on the other end. I got the impression he hadn’t had a lot of sleep. “I could go to jail,” he said.
No shit. Welcome to my world. My understanding, Good Samaritan patience was up. “Yeah, well I could have gone to jail for helping you cover up those South American mummies who decided it was time to get up and kill a few people. Hell, I didn’t even have to help you out. If you screw me over, you realize there are photos . . .”
He sighed, “No, I appreciate it, I still do. But the stuff you do . . .”
I didn’t bother adding anything where he trailed off. His distaste in associating with my types could go screw itself.
“Your university has teams at all five catacomb digs and I need access to all five if need be,” I said.
“OK, I emailed the group. They know you’re there for surfing and might want to go check out some of the sites. They’re letting you stay in the building they’ve rented from the hostel for their research. But you promise no one will know—”
“They won’t have any idea I’ve even looked through their work. Now, badges? Permits? Lock codes?”
“I’m emailing you what I have. I don’t have the gate codes though.”
“But everything else?” Things were going better than planned.
“Yup, on its way.” There was a slight pause. “Are we square yet?”
“I helped you bury two South American mummies, their slaughtered victims, and then scuttle the research.”
“You mean forge and destroy the data.”
“Sweetie, you want to go tell your committee you found real mummies and they killed your still-missing coworkers, go right ahead. Hell, I can help. I’ve got a buddy who can retrieve the data for you,” I said, leaving the hint of blackmail in the air. Necessary, but it still left a bad taste in my mouth. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’ll do it, but it’s the principle that bugs me.
“No, no. I just wish I could forget stuff like that ever existed, you know?”
“Get in line.” I felt bad for Benji. He was a good archaeologist . . . too good, and that had been his problem. He’d stumbled into something he hadn’t been able to handle, and his own integrity was eating him up inside. I could relate. Hell, that’s partly why I’m here and not at a nice cushy university. Benji was not cut out for my line of work. I still felt like I had to throw him hope.
“One more dig site over the next two years and I promise you we’re square. Anything else after that, you can turn a profit or tell me to go to hell. Your choice.”
He sighed. It had that defeated quality to it. “OK. Good luck with whatever you’re after. Can you do me one favor?”
“What?”
“Give me a heads-up if you’re ever coming within a hundred-mile radius of a dig I’m on so I have time to get the hell out.”
“Benjamin, I’m hurt. Can’t I just have a vacation and visit a world-renowned archaeological site?”
He snorted. “And the guy standing in the Mexican whorehouse is just visiting his sister.”
Damn, I’d have to remember to use that later. “Thanks, Benjamin,” I said, and hung up. No sooner had I gotten my phone back in my pocket than it chimed again. I wrestled it out of Nadya’s surf shorts. DRAGON LADY flashed across the screen.
“I thought you were making Oricho make your calls for you?” I said.
“Oricho was not available.” From the tone of Lady Siyu’s voice, I imagined she was none too happy about that. “Kindly listen, answer my questions, and refrain from babbling.”
I sighed. “Fine.”
“You believe the scroll is in Bali?”
“No,” I said, and thought how to most concisely put it. “But the trail points to two sites there, so that’s where I’m off to.” There was a pause on the other end of the phone.
“Are there no other options?”
“No, there aren’t a hell of a lot of references to unknown dead scripts and two-thousand-year-old thefts from China lying around, though if you find any, I’d love to hear about them—”
“You’re babbling again,” came her clipped response.
I was about to end the call, except she was still talking. I put the phone back up to my ear. “Furthermore, you will refrain from travelling to Bali until I get back to you—”
“Too late.”
“Pardon?”
“I said it’s too late, I’m already here and I’ve already arranged to check the sites—”
“Neither I nor Oricho authorized that—”
Man oh man, if one of my days could work out, just one . . . “Look, I didn’t know I needed to ask your permission before getting on a plane. My understanding is that I either retrieve the scroll for Mr. Kurosawa or I’m dragon bait, so, no offense, I plan on doing anything I bloody well like that gets me closer to getting whatever scroll was in that damn egg—”
“A scroll with a case.”
“Pardon?”
“A scroll case. Mr. Kurosawa has confirmed that the contents of the egg chamber should contain a silver scroll case with matching inscriptions.”
It took me a second to recover. “And you couldn’t have given me that information a little sooner?” I’d have to text Nadya pronto.
Lady Siyu didn’t bother answering my question—that wasn’t on the agenda. “I am booking you on a plane back to Tokyo, where you will meet Oricho’s contact—”
“OK, no offense, but I’ve had about enough of your interference. I’ll get on a plane after I’ve got what I came for.”
“Oricho has arranged help for you in Tokyo. There is no one in Bali, and there are other . . . arrangements . . . I need to make—”
“I’ll be back in Tokyo first thing tomorrow morning,” I said, and hung up. I was already antsy about Bali, and Lady Siyu was not helping. Damn it, if I didn’t need to see the inscriptions and site for myself, did she really think I’d be over here?
I noticed the surf hostel shuttle pull up, and I threw my surfboard in the back and hopped into the front seat beside the neon-orange-haired driver. I sent two emails off, one to Oricho with Lady Siyu cc’d, letting them know I was in Bali, and the second to Nadya, letting her know about the scroll case, with a note to mention it to the two archaeology students, Aeto and Shinobi, who had written the thesis and done the excavation. As an aside, I mentioned she should try them on the egg case inscriptions we did have. I thought Nuroshi was our better bet; unfortunately the old turnip was a genius with dead languages, so it was worth a shot.
“Plan on doing some surfing?” Kato said, and I did a double take. He was a lot younger in person than his photo had led me to believe. I wondered if all Balinese looked young for their age, or if Kato was an exception.
“Windsurfing, actually . . . are you old enough to drive?” I said.
“I’m old enough for a lot of things,” he said, flashing me a very white smile.
“Stick to driving, kid,” I said. “Hey, could we swing by the liquor store first? I so need to pick something up for the team. They’re letting me stay with them for free and all.” Nothing wrong with working the broke student angle.
“Sorry, lady. No stops.”
“I’ll throw in twenty bucks.”
&nb
sp; He looked at me over the rim of his sunglasses, trying to look cool. Geez, he couldn’t be more than thirteen. “Where you want to go?” he replied.
“Oh good, we speak the same language.” Kato fixed his eyes on the carrier, and Captain decided at that moment to let out a meow.
“That’s a cat.”
“So?”
“Cat’s extra.”
“Like hell it is. I’m already giving you twenty bucks to take me to the liquor store.”
He smiled. “Another twenty for the cat or no liquor store.”
I leaned over and beckoned Kato with my finger. Smiling, he took the bait. My windsurfing board sticking out the back blocked us from view of the airport. As soon as he was close enough, I grabbed him. “Look, kid, I’m already giving you an extra twenty, and you’re going to be happy with that. Otherwise, you’re out the entire fare and then you’ll have to explain to the archaeologists what happened to me and I’ll tell them you left me on the side of the road after taking my money. Do you really want me to do that?”
He gulped. “I’ll tell them you threatened me.”
It was my turn to look at him over my sunglasses. “Kid, my name is Charity Greenwoods. Look at me—who do you think they’re going to believe?”
Kato gulped again but recovered fast. “Twenty bucks it is, lady,” he said, and we were off.
Captain mrowled as I shoved his carrier into the back of the jeep. “What, you wanted us to be stranded at the airport?” Apparently not, since he settled down.
It’s clichéd, but I let my hair down and enjoyed the salty sea breeze as the jeep wound its way out of the airport and branched off from the rest of the tourist traffic. I had a few hours until sundown. I’d check out the beach, get some surfing in, and give out booze with a little added incentive to go to sleep. Once everyone was passed out in their beds, I’d rifle through their computers and see what I could get. By the time Nadya called, I’d have a complete map of each site.
“Hey Kato, how long till Sanur?”
“Today? In this traffic? One hour.” He glanced over at me. “You don’t act like any of the other archaeology students.”
Owl and the Japanese Circus Page 8