Solomon's Seal

by Skyla Dawn Cameron

  It hurt my brain just thinking about it.

  Before rising from my once-comfortable-and-now-horrible-because-I-was-sick-of-it seat, I called Emaleth at Denny’s. She loved his penthouse and not just because it didn’t have a water-damaged ceiling or crappy leaky fridge. No, he had a wall aquarium of tropical fish and let her stay up until midnight eating cake and watching movies. Of course, she tried to assure me she was getting ready for bed and it was an apple she was chewing while talking, but a mother knows the sound of cake in her daughter’s mouth.

  Next I checked with Pru, who of course was fine and had already talked to Em once that night. I set my nervous energy aside and promised to check in with them again as soon as possible.

  I stretched, my body cracking and aching with each movement; I’d paced the cabin a few times during the flight, but then it started to annoy Laurel. Then I’d done it a few more times before sitting back down for a nap. None of it had been enough to keep my muscles from tiring and I looked forward to being outside again.

  Laurel and Mr. Rolph went ahead of us outside while Dawson and I gathered our overnight bags. I took in my first breath of fresh air as I neared the open door at the end of the cabin. The night outside was black with brittle yellow light spilling out from the plane. I worked my way down the steps and dusty ground met my feet as I glanced around. I’d expected us to land in Addis Ababa, it being the capital and where most flights stopped, but Ashford clearly didn’t play by the rules. We were on a long stretch of grassless land—perhaps an old airport landing strip.

  At least we are definitely ahead of Martin.

  I stepped away from the stairs so Dawson could descend, shouldering my bag and picking through the darkness. A Jeep without its top waited twenty feet to the right, with a dark paint job—only the occasional gleam of metal let me identify it easily.

  Mr. Rolph swept past us, back up the stairs. Laurel had her cell phone to her ear as she paced, I assumed keeping Ashford abreast of our situation. Her expensive-looking—Jimmy Choo, by my guess—pumps were already dusty, a pale brown settling over the black. A business suit with a pencil skirt was probably not her best wardrobe choice.

  And she’s going caving with us. I can’t wait!

  Dawson pulled out his cell phone as well, shining blue over his face, and let his overnight bag thump at his feet. Like me, he wore a long-sleeved shirt and jeans, and he even had a bomber jacket overtop, so seemed prepared for the chilly evening temperatures.

  “Man, I have a really, really bad feeling we’re going to have to camp right away.” He sighed and shoved the phone in his pocket, hunching his shoulders—which I barely came up to. He glanced down at me. “I was kinda hoping for a hotel with room service. I’d kill for a cheeseburger.”

  I was pretty wired on coffee at this point and didn’t think dumping food on my stomach would be a good idea, though I wouldn’t say no to French fries. “I don’t think we’re going to find a McDonalds.”

  “We’re totally not in Kansas anymore, Toto.”

  “I don’t think I’ve been in Kansas for a good long while now, Dorothy.”

  “Hey, did you ever wonder if Toto got euthanized after the happy ending when she got back for biting the neighbor?”

  “They really did leave it up in the air in that movie, didn’t they?”

  Mr. Rolph returned, dragging our main luggage down the stairs. A figure walked from the Jeep—a tall man with closely cropped blond hair moving into the dim light. He was in his thirties, dressed in fatigues, and had the hard look of hired muscle. I’d tangled with hired muscle a lot over the years—I could tell in moments with someone, from the deliberate steps to the cautious awareness in their eyes. This guy looked at Laurel for direction.

  She gestured to the heaps of trunks and suitcases. “All of these in the trailer. The plane departs in fifteen minutes and we need to be on the road and gone by then.”

  Our nameless driver nodded his understanding and gave Dawson and me barely a passing glance before heaving two of our bags up and heading back to the Jeep.

  Dawson leaned over to speak to me in a low voice. “So he’s really friendly.”

  “Let me tell you,” I whispered back, “I am so glad I have someone to snark with here.”

  “I know. I kinda hope you don’t get eaten by flesh-eating, subterranean cave-dwellers. If you do, the return trip is going to suck.”

  ❇

  We’d been on the road for several minutes before the plane took off again; Dawson, Laurel and I sat in the back of the Jeep, all watching the craft depart into the night sky. This left us with little to see by, save for the headlights at the front and lights at the back, which shone over the small trailer housing our luggage and equipment. The road was rough and narrow, dirt flying and rocks rumbling under the tires. To either side, tall grasses stretched on into the darkness.

  I was contemplating another nap when the Jeep halted, and our driver got out. Dawson and I sat up straight, glancing around. No sign of a hotel or a McDonalds—despite it being the first night, we were definitely camping out. The air was crisp and fresh, far from the desert most people pictured Ethiopia as being.

  “The Kadhim cave system’s a kilometer out,” our hired muscle said, his voice drawn out with a Southern accent—Tennessee or Alabama was my guess. Normally I found that kind of thing sexy but he continued to make me uncomfortable. He moved around the vehicle to the trailer, intent on our bags. “I’ll lead you just after dawn.”

  Giving us like three hours of sleep. Good times. “So do you have a name?” I asked.

  He paused with both hands on two separate bags, icy glare on me. “Tucker.”

  “Hello, Tucker.” I smiled sweetly. “Nice to meet you.”

  He grunted at me in response and hefted the bags out. After collecting four of them, he started off into the darkness.

  “Don’t antagonize the mercenary,” Dawson whispered.

  “On the contrary,” I grasped my overnight bag and slipped it onto my shoulder, “as they’re motivated by money, it’s much harder to piss them off. Unless you stop paying them.”

  He shouldered his bag as well, both Laurel and Mr. Rolph picked up theirs, and the group of us started off after Tucker. There was more left in the trailer and I assumed Tucker would be heading back for it. I quickly saw why he hadn’t simply brought the Jeep—wherever camp was, it was well off the road. The ground was uneven, tall grass swishing and cutting against my legs and the bottom of my bag. The glow from the idling Jeep didn’t extend far and the night above was clouded over. Even without a flashlight, our guide seemed to know our path.

  Bugs chirped and whispered, birds chittered, and I shuddered to think what else might be lurking nearby. Wild animals were lovely—from a distance. I was not fond of getting up close and personal with them.

  Eventually the flickering glow of a fire showed in the distance, highlighting large rectangular structures. Several minutes later we reached the camp in a good-sized clearing.

  It was a far larger set up than I’d anticipated; we were “roughing it”, sure, but not in tiny tents on the ground. These were large and a glance past open canvas flaps where a lantern lit one revealed suitable cots beneath mosquito netting.

  One woman sat at the fire, though with large logs on either side of her and the closed tent flaps, I assumed there were more people resting. She wore dark fatigues like Tucker and firelight caught flecks of gold in her shoulder-length red hair. I put her around forty, maybe, but I was notoriously bad at judging ages

  “Any trouble?” Tucker asked.

  New Merc shook her head, chewing whatever her late night dinner was. “Nope,” she managed around a mouthful of food.

  Tucker tossed the bags inside the open tent and looked back at me pointedly. “Dawn.”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” I said.

  He shook his head, muttering under his breath, and went to sit next to his friend. Mr. Rolph stayed with them as well, waving us ahead. Dawson and I followed
Laurel inside and I released the tent flap once we were all in.

  “They are Ashford’s hires, right?” I glanced at Laurel as I tucked my bag beneath the bed at the far end.

  She eased herself onto the end of her cot and pulled off her heels to rub her feet. “Whose else would they be?”

  Not answering my question. “I make it a point to know who works for whom. Just checking.”

  “They’re our escorts.” She yawned and definitely must have been tired if she was talking with me.

  Or the ring’s escorts, I’m sure.

  “They know the terrain,” she continued. “They’ll be taking us tomorrow.”

  “You get stuck with Tucker,” Dawson said with a grin.

  I stuck my tongue out at him.

  7

  The Cave

  I was up before the others, barely getting in a catnap before the sun rose. A cave interior could vary greatly, so I dressed in layers. My standard underclothes—shorts that were the equivalent to boxer-briefs as I didn’t want panties riding up and a fitted tank top with a built-in sports bra—then an insulated caving undersuit and coveralls. Elbow pads and knee pads underneath the coveralls. Double pairs of socks—wetsocks over wool—and hiking boots. I loaded up my pack with rolled up garbage bags, batteries and matches in a Ziploc bag, extra flashlights, glowsticks, and a travel first aid kit that included my package of antimalarials.

  Also my custom holster, magazines, and boxes of ammo in another sealed extra-large Ziploc with guns. Despite what I’d told Dawson, I didn’t entirely trust Tucker. Or Mr. Rolph for that matter. My equipment all went into a separate, larger pack—without knowing what the others had, at least I knew I had enough to take care of myself.

  Sun was a pink glow in the distance as I rubbed sleep out of my eyes. The scent of spices filled the air; on a table by the tent across the clearing sat a spread of shredded bread and some kind of dip or butter. It smelled divine but I skipped it and first went to fill both of my canteens with water from the large drum parked to the side.

  Around the now-cool fire pit sat Curtis—mouth full again, this time with breakfast—along with two others I didn’t recognize. Both were men, who nodded in my direction. Middle-aged, one lean and Caucasian with a twisty mouth, who I suspected was another merc. Given the hired muscle adding up, this trip was feeling less like an adventure and more like Ashford expected us to be attacked. This one gave me a once over, that mouth twisted again, and he went back to his food.

  The other man with the two mercs was tall and slim, African—Ethiopian?—with a generous smile. His gaze lingered on mine, politer than the others had been, and I suspected that whatever he brought to our caving party, it wasn’t guns. These new additions were also dressed in coveralls and boots, so I assumed they were going with us.

  “Brandon and Moti,” Curtis said without looking up from her breakfast, her voice curt. She shoveled in another mouthful. She was built, with biceps showing below her T-shirt sleeves that put mine to shame, and apparently required a lot of calories to keep them like that.

  I nodded at both of them as well just as Dawson stepped out. His sleepy gaze moved in the direction of one of the tents; I followed it to see Tucker standing there.

  “To the tech table, Fabrini,” he called.

  Dawson trundled to the table under a canopy set up between two tents, avoiding Tucker’s gaze and short ponytail swinging after him.

  Eventually Laurel turned up as well, looking exhausted and muttering something about needing coffee. She’d dressed in crisp casual caving gear and I strongly suspected her boots weren’t remotely broken in. Mr. Rolph was the last and he came from around the tents, ready to go. Where he’d been, I couldn’t say, and he studied all of us with a level gaze.

  “Energy bars in the crate by the water drum,” he announced. “Stock up and see Mr. Fabrini for your equipment.”

  Laurel shifted and I all but expected a subtle groan from her, though she remained professional. I took the cue and stuffed my bag with a variety of energy bars—there were freeze-dried packages of other foods there, but I wasn’t sure if we were taking the right equipment to cook it, so left them be—and snatched some of the warm breakfast laid out, and then headed to Dawson’s table before the others.

  More sun crept over mountains in the distance. Pink and orange light scattered over the table as Dawson pulled out equipment. His laptop was already open and on.

  “Here.” I set the food down next to him.

  “You should probably eat something since you’re going to be in a cave without good food and stuff.”

  I shook my head. “Energy bars are fine. I don’t like anything heavy in my system.”

  “Easier to move around?”

  “There’s no ladies’ room down there.”

  “Ah.” He pushed a small sealed box toward me. “Okay, your goodies. Cave radio. Cutting edge technology tweaked by yours truly.”

  I popped open the yellow plastic box to see knobs and dials, and some cables wound into the lid.

  “Purpose is twofold. One, to communicate with us. You open it, put in the cables—color coded—and you’ll see a keyboard on the back for sending short texts. The signal will be going through a lot of rock but it’ll come through. You can also flip a beacon that will tell us your location if there’s trouble.”

  “By ‘us’ you mean Curtis, since it looked like she’s staying here.”

  “Um...I’m sure there’ll be a rescue mission.”

  At least for the ring.

  “Standard walkie-talkies, in case they’re useful down there.” Dawson handed one to me, which I tucked into a holder on my belt. “Also, a camera for you.” The next piece of equipment was a speck of a thing with no wires.

  “Ashford?”

  Dawson nodded as I lifted the tiny cam and glanced over it. “He wants a record. There’s about three days of recording time, battery should last a week. I’d turn it off while sleeping or, like, peeing and stuff. I think he wants to see the location where you find the Seal.”

  “He knows we’ll be in a cave, right? Where something like this will be scratched, banged, and water damaged?”

  “It’s waterproof, if that helps.”

  Nothing is ever waterproof, just water resistant. I sighed and looked for a spot to pin it to. The collar of my coveralls was a possibility, until the first time it was banged loose. A plastic piece folded out from the camera and I suspected I could coil it on my ear. Which won’t be at all distracting.

  “Finally,” he popped open a foam-padded box and withdrew a headlamp for my helmet, “these. Top of the line. Has sensors that detect how much light is needed and adapts accordingly. Double the usual battery life and I’m sending along an extra—batteries are rechargeable.”

  I lifted the sleek headlamp, quite certain I was in love at last. “I don’t want to know how much this cost, do I?”

  “I was allowed a very generous equipment budget.”

  I glanced over my shoulder to see everyone else busy, a good distance from us, and leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. My voice dropped lower. “So what’s the story on everyone?”

  “I, um...” His gaze darted over my shoulder. “I don’t really—”

  “C’mon, Dawson. You’re telling me you’re our super tech guy, in charge of communication, and you haven’t googled who you’re working with?”

  He sighed and gave his chin a little lift; I took the hint and rounded the table to crouch next to him. His fingers slid over the laptop mouse pad and tapped, opening a folder. The first file he showed me was labeled with Laurel’s full name. “Laurel James is all over. The real deal—detailed online portfolio, job history, et cetera. Did you look her up?”

  I nodded. “My friend did as soon as I had names. Nothing about her raised any red flags.”

  “Same here.” He had photos, links to websites, cached social networking profiles, and more files than I could glance over. “From what I’ve pieced together, she’s worked f
or Ashford for a year or so now. According to LinkedIn, her previous job titles have been things like ‘Personal Assistant to the CEO’, ‘Organizational Management’—her specialties are an attention to detail and, pardon my French, but getting shit done.”

  And wearing great shoes. “Outdoors experience?”

  “None. This is...an odd kind of thing for her to be sent to, based strictly on what I’ve read.”

  Interesting. “Mr. Rolph?”

  “Nothing. You?”

  I shook my head. “But we had little to go on.”

  “He’s a ghost, at least under that surname and no one has ever spoken his first. I did find this, though.” He showed me a single photograph with a group of men standing in front of a building in a city—a professional photo, the glass of the background skyscraper gleaming white and a very blue sky above. There were eight men and one on the far right was Mr. Rolph—the thick mustache, thin hair, and bottle glasses.

  “Name?” I asked.

  “Only three of those guys had names on the photo. The other ones I’ve identified—some investment business from about five years ago, no longer around.”

  “Has anyone said what his job is for Ashford? Beyond ‘scholar’?”

  “I think he was hired specifically to work with you on this mission like I was. But otherwise no idea and can’t find anything else.”

  This did not ease my worries at all. “You know, I couldn’t find records of Moses Ashford either.”

  “Offline resources said he’s a prominent collector of relics.”

  That I have never heard of? Seemed unlikely unless he was outside North America, but if that was the case, why meet me at Kent House in the city? “Where’s he from?”

  “Supposedly New Bristol—I’ve found a lot of property deeds in his name, though they took some digging to find.”

  Also odd, as I thought I knew everyone in the city’s community related to my line of work, but maybe I’d been out of the loop living in the suburbs. “That’s all?”