***
Lourds shined the recovered flashlight around the ground where he and Boris had landed after their surprise fall. His left side and arm still throbbed from the impact, but he hardly noticed the pain. He reached down, picked his hat off the ground, beat it against his leg for a moment, then clapped it onto his head.
The flashlight beam played over several skeletons laid out around them. For one insanely creepy moment, no doubt summoned by the potboilers Lourds loved to read when he wasn’t translating documents, he imagined that at any moment the skeletons would jump up from their impromptu resting spots and come at them.
“Thomas, give me a hand.” Boris beckoned for him and Lourds went. “Help me to my feet.”
“Are you certain?”
Boris stared at him. “Are you mad? I took a tremendous fall, I was nearly harpooned by a deadly spear, I braved gunfire–”
“I don’t think either of us braved anything.”
Boris frowned. “You know what I mean.” He nodded at the skeletons. “I want to see what we have uncovered.”
Lourds pulled Boris to his feet and took as much of his friend’s weight as he could. Together, like very weak three-legged race contenders, they limped around the huge cave.
“Look at how the bodies are laid out.” Boris pointed with his free hand. “In a large circle.”
The geometric pattern was hard to make out due to the way the earth had reclaimed many of the skeletons, but the berms of bones defined the circle.
“I bet you a bottle of good vodka that the skeletons on the outside of these will be those of males.” Boris smiled.
Lourds shook his head. “No bet.”
“You know who buried people in circles like this, don’t you?”
“The Zoroastrians.”
“Exactly, and it was the Zoroastrian religion that so defined Persia as it was back in the day of Alexander the Great.” Boris waved at the skeletons. “Do you know how much history we are talking about here?”
“Potentially back to the sixth or seventh century BCE, but I doubt it goes back that far. More likely this dates later than that.”
“Why do you say that?”
Lourds flashed his light onto the ground and picked up a heavily pitted knife. He examined the item briefly, then handed it to Boris, who accepted the blade gratefully. “Greek, don’t you think?”
The knife was nearly ten inches long, single-edged, and had probably been an example of craftsmanship back during its day. The ivory hilt had designs worked into it that showed a beautiful woman archer, a full moon, a cypress tree, and a stag in mid-leap.
Boris traced his fingers over the hilt. “Surely it is Greek. This has to be Artemis, goddess of the wildlands and mistress of animals. See? The stag and the cypress tree are symbols that represent her.”
“I do see. It appears you have found quite the treasure trove. You’ll be buried in research work cataloguing the things that you find here.”
“Only if there’s more of this.” Boris grimaced as he moved his injured leg, but his mood remained ebullient. “Come. We should look more while we are able.”
“While you are able, the two of you should fall to your knees and give thanks that you didn’t get impaled by that spear. I thought you were both dead.”
Drawn by the woman’s voice, Lourds gazed up at Layla Teneen framed in the opening some twenty feet or so above them. “Good evening, Director Teneen.”
“More like good morning. You do realize you’ve probably thrown off everyone’s workday for tomorrow with all the gunfire and excitement.”
Lourds grinned mischievously. “I beg to differ, dear lady. Boris and I are not responsible for the gunfire. We came here unarmed. In fact, all I have to defend myself with now is this dagger, which was probably once very fine but, as you can see, is no longer in good shape.” He held up the ancient dagger for inspection. “As for the excitement, any archeologist worth his or her salt should thank us for that.”
Layla frowned at him as she played her flashlight beam around the circle of skeletons. “You do realize this was probably a Zoroastrian burial site?”
“Of course. We were just discussing that. Once we get a good anatomist in here–”
Boris harrumphed. “I am more than adequately trained in such matters.”
Lourds nodded and continued smoothly. “–like my good friend Boris Glukov here, we should be able to confirm that the skeletons along the outer edge of the circle are male and the skeletons in the center belonged to women in the second circle and children in the final circle.”
“Yes, and with that being the case, you do realize that the two of you are probably traipsing around in lime mortar, don’t you?”
Frowning with irritation, Lourds realized he hadn’t thought about that. Lime was often used by the Zoroastrians to hasten the decomposition of bones. “No. I hadn’t given it a thought.”
“You should. The Zoroastrians believed that the body of a dead person was filled with pollutants and got rid of it as quickly as possible.”
“You know your history.”
“Several histories, in fact, Professor Lourds.” Layla continued to play her light around. She swept the hair from her face. “This is a bit unusual, isn’t it? Didn’t the Zoroastrians bury their dead in dakhmas?”
The term translated loosely from Parsig to “tower of silence,” and they were initially loose constructions designed to hold the bodies of the dead until the flesh rotted away—or was taken by animals, birds, and insects—and the bones could be collected and stored for final burial.
“They did, but eventually they gave up the open-air burial practice for pits.”
Layla gestured to the passageway she was in. “This seems a little user unfriendly.”
“When you throw in the spear, it was tremendously unfriendly.”
Layla smiled, and the sight made Lourds smile even broader.
“I would not have expected a sense of humor after being nearly killed twice tonight, Professor Lourds.”
“I should think the fall would count as well, because I didn’t really think Boris and I would survive it when we tumbled out of that.”
“Neither did I.”
Boris sighed. “Please. The two of you will have all the time in the world to speak about these things. For the moment, I would like very much to see what I—Thomas and I—have found.”
“I have a rope coming. We can get you out of here soon.”
“Don’t hurry on my account.”
“What about your leg?”
“I’m not going to think about my leg.” Boris tried to limp away under his own power. Lourds had to catch his friend before he’d gone three steps. He grimaced and looked up at Layla. “Perhaps you could send a physician down.”
“If I can find one curious enough and sober enough to agree to it, I will.” Layla started to crawl away.
Lourds called after her. “Director Teneen.”
“Yes?”
“Thank you very much for the rescue.”
Layla hesitated a moment, then nodded. “You’re very welcome. And you owe me a story.”
“A story?”
“Of what brought you down into this place.”
8
32 Miles Southwest of Herat
Herat Province
Afghanistan
June 21, 2012
Three days later, after much of the cataloguing of the hidden cave within the mountain had been done, though much also remained, Lourds and Boris invited Layla Teneen to the Russian’s tent for dinner.
At first, Layla hadn’t known whether or not to attend. After all, if anything, she should have been punishing them for risking their necks the way they had.
But there was something about the tall, good-looking, American professor that drew her. He was unrepentant and irrepressible, a man every woman should stay away from and yet so many were drawn to.
Even during her years in the West while at college, Layla had taken only a handful
of lovers. The concept of sleeping with a man while not married to him went deeply against her moral fiber, even though she refused to conform to a typical Muslim woman’s role.
Still, Thomas Lourds interested her, but she would not allow herself to become involved with him. That just wasn’t going to happen.
As she walked through the tents, one of Captain Fitrat’s soldiers dogged her trail. The man was experienced and aloof, no more bothersome than Layla’s own shadow.
She stopped at the front of Boris’s tent and waved the soldier off. He took up a post only a short distance away. As she stood there, the twilight deepening into full night, she realized music was coming from inside the tent.
The jazz was a surprise, filled with light and airy movement. In spite of herself, Layla smiled. So...Professor Lourds had something else in mind other than dinner.
She spoke loudly enough to be heard over the music. “Professor Glukov, it is Layla Teneen. I have come at your invitation.”
After a moment, the tent flaps opened, and Boris stuck his shaggy head out. “Ah, good evening, Director. So good of you to come.”
“The two of you still owe me a story, I believe.” Layla stepped into the tent.
“Indeed we do.” Boris waved her farther into the spacious tent.
Over the past three days, Layla had been dealing with the dead men and the media blitz that had settled on the dig after the announcement of the find was made. She’d had no time to speak with the professors about the events of that night.
Layla was amazed at the smell of food. She recognized the spicy scent of palao and qorma. It had been weeks since she had enjoyed a decent meal. All of her meals had come out of the microwave lately, or a cereal box. Occasionally, and generally only if she was entertaining an archeologist group, she grilled on a small stove outside her tent.
In the center of Boris’s tent, a table stood under a burden of food and braziers that held small flames to the undersides of dishes. Pots held several different foods, including bata—sticky rice, mantu—pasta dumplings, and aush. Layla loved noodle soup, and she felt hunger pangs chew at her.
“Oh, this smells wonderful.”
“It does, doesn’t it? We thought you’d like it.”
“Like it? I’m amazed.”
“Thomas and I will settle for amazed.”
She looked at Boris. “The two of you did not cook this?”
Boris shook his head. He stood on crutches, his right leg bandaged in a protective, inflatable boot. “Of course not. We’ve been busy working with artifacts. We had a caterer deliver.”
“From Herat?”
“There was no closer place.”
“But this must have been very expensive.”
Boris raised a hand. “Please. We owe you our lives.”
“Not exactly me. Major Dolgov had the situation in hand by the time we arrived.”
“Ah yes, my illustrious spy.”
“Do you know why he has been watching you?”
Boris shrugged. “I am opinionated and a university professor. Before the Wall, well, either one of those things would have garnered the attention of the KGB.”
“Major Dolgov is SVR.”
“I do not know their agenda, nor do I care. I am doing nothing that would get me into any trouble. I am simply a man who has dedicated his life to discovering what I can of the past. As you yourself have done.”
“I fear I’m more fascinated than dedicated. History holds my attention.”
“Then let us hope it holds your commitment for a great many more years to come. You are an excellent director.”
Layla looked around the tent. “Where is Professor Lourds?”
“He will be along. He–”
“—Is here, actually.” Lourds stepped through the tent flaps carrying a vase of flowers. “I’d forgotten to ask the caterer to bring a table setting. By the time I remembered, he’d already left Herat. I had to ask another courier.”
Layla watched in perplexed wonder as Lourds put the setting on the table. The bouquet included several large sunflowers, which she loved. “You had another courier dispatched simply to bring the flowers?” She couldn’t believe it. “Do you know how many of my people that would feed?”
“I do.” Lourds faced her squarely. “And I’m hoping that the courier I paid, as well as the flower shop owner, spends their profits within their communities. That’s usually how free enterprise works. You make money. You spend money. I’m a big advocate of that.”
Knowing what he said was true, Layla still felt a bit irritated.
“I know I have been very fortunate when it comes to money, Director Teneen. If you’d like, I can show you a list of foundations I endow and charities I donate to on a regular basis as the sales of my books permit. But don’t think for a moment that I won’t spend some of my ill-gotten gain to enjoy myself. Or to share a fine meal with my friends.”
“Of course. I stand corrected. This is not my business.”
“No, it isn’t.” Lourds smiled. “But I like the fact that you stand by your priorities.”
“I could have lived without the flowers.” Layla was embarrassed at her comments now, because he was totally correct. She had no right to counsel him on his spending.
“Perhaps you could have. But I could not. I wanted this celebratory dinner to be everything that it currently is. Not to impress you, but to congratulate Boris on his dogged pursuit.”
Boris delivered a mock bow while on his crutches and nearly fell over. Lourds had to steady him with a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Thomas, and thank you even more for this fine repast. I shall probably not eat this well again until I see you next time.”
Lourds grinned and patted Boris on the stomach. “I know. You’ve been practically wasting away. I noticed that when we were squeezed together in that passageway.”
“Hello, the tent.”
Layla turned at the man’s voice.
Lourds went to the tent flaps and opened them. “Major Dolgov. Please. Come in.” Lourds waved the man inside.
Dmitry Dolgov appeared a little uncertain, but he kicked his boots off and stepped into the tent. He smoothed his shirt, which was clean but was one meant for work rather than a feast. He gave a small smile. “I appear to be somewhat underdressed for the event.”
“Not at all. Boris and I are glad to have you and twice as glad that you’re a crack shot and a brave soul.”
Dmitry smiled and bowed his head. “As needs must.”
Boris shifted on his crutches. “Perhaps we could sit. Standing isn’t doing much good for my leg, I’m afraid.”
Layla pulled out a chair for the Russian professor, then was pleasantly surprised to find Lourds doing the same for her at the end of the table. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Instead of sitting beside her as Layla had thought he would, Lourds sat at the other end of the table. Layla didn’t know how she felt about that, and she was even more surprised to find that she felt anything at all.
Boris picked up a bottle of wine and offered it to Layla. She refused, and he offered her bottled water instead, which she took. While at school in the West, she occasionally drank alcohol and did not feel as though she were offending God. But while she was in Afghanistan, she held to the edicts of her culture and religion as closely as she was able. Being unchaperoned with three men for dinner was already excessive.
Lourds took wine as well, but Boris offered a bottle of vodka to Dmitry. “A bottle of the best vodka our sources told me could be had in Herat, Major.”
“Danka. But please call me Dmitry. That way, when I am drunk, you will remind me who I am.” Dmitry grinned.
After pouring himself some vodka, Boris held up his glass. “A toast, my companions. To this fine dinner, to Thomas for providing the meal, to Dmitry for his marksmanship, and to Layla, the best director I have ever had.”
They toasted, and then the eating began.
***
As he ate,
Lourds found himself mesmerized by Layla’s dark gaze. She was enchanting, witty, and effusive once she had relaxed, and she matched Boris and Lourds story for story when it came to swapping tales—and even lies, which Boris told with the absolute best authority.
“In your exploration of the cave where the passageway dropped you, you have found no indication of the promised treasure?” Layla picked at the kofta, the meatball made of ground lamb and spices and onions. The dish was a staple of many Afghanistan restaurants and family tables.
Lourds had enjoyed kofta on several occasions and enjoyed it now. Boris had been diligent in keeping the meal properly heated. He drank more wine and picked up a khameerbob, a pasta dumpling filled with onions and ground beef. Biting into it, he savored the rush of flavors and spices from the yogurt topping filled with sour cream and garlic. The dried mint it was topped with mixed in as well.
“Well, that’s a rather humorous story.” Boris looked more embarrassed than amused. “Have you heard of those Internet scams that start something like, ‘I am a Nigerian ex-patriot who was a banker in my country and left a large sum of money in the Bank of Nigeria’?”
“Of course. But that is a con game.”
“Yes. Only one not so deadly as the one I apparently found.”
Layla smiled uncertainly. “You’re saying there was never a treasure.”
“I’m afraid so. Think of all those poor, greedy merchants lured off the trail as they went to and from Herat. Here they were, sold a bill of goods by some thieving murderer and ended up getting impaled by that hidden spear.”
“But why not simply kill the victims where they were found?”
Lourds finished swallowing and picked up the thread of the tale. “Possibly the thieving murderer, to use Boris’s term, was an old person.”
“Or a young one, or possibly even a woman.” Boris shrugged. “We don’t know, but changing the sex and age makes the tale much more interesting, doesn’t it?”
The Oracle Code (Thomas Lourds, Book 4) Page 5