The Sacred Vault nwaec-6

by Andy McDermott

  ‘One of my vimanas - the name in the ancient Hindu epics for the flying machines used by the gods. They are described as flying chariots, mechanical birds, even floating palaces . . . the products of a great civilisation now lost to time.’ The little aircraft made its way to a stand at one side of the room, hovered above it, then lowered itself down. As the buzz of its engines faded, Khoil walked to the drone, Nina - and the three bodyguards - following.

  She saw that slung beneath its body was a dart gun, a camera lens above it. ‘That’s how you tranqued the tiger? Cool little toy.’ The gun had a conventional trigger, pulled by a mechanism protruding from the drone’s belly. It had a magazine holding two more of the darts, which were fired by a small bottle of compressed gas.

  She leaned closer. The amount of tranquillising agent needed to take down an animal as large as a tiger could be potentially lethal to a human. If she could reach the trigger mechanism . . .

  ‘Vanita has her pets; I have mine. I grew up under the flightpath of Bangalore airport, and when I was a child I thought the airliners were the vimanas my father told me about when he read from the Vedas and the Mahabharata. I actually wanted to be an engineer, to build aircraft, but then I discovered computers.’ Khoil became noticeably more animated as he warmed to his subject. ‘But it is still an interest. I own a large stake in one of India’s military aircraft manufacturers, and I designed this drone myself. Getting a high thrust-to-weight ratio in a small frame was—’

  ‘Pramesh,’ his wife scolded from the control station, ‘if you must talk to her at all, at least do her the courtesy of staying on topic.’

  Khoil’s expression dropped back to its usual blankness. ‘But, yes, the Vault of Shiva. I do believe it is real, and I also believe it contains the means to advance the world into the next stage of existence - the words of Shiva himself, the wisdom of a god.’ Nina looked at him for a long moment. ‘You doubt me.’

  ‘It seems . . . far-fetched. To say the least.’

  ‘Why? Your own translations say the priests showed Talonor stone tablets from the Vault. The Shiva-Vedas, the words of the god.’

  ‘Which doesn’t mean they were literally carved by Shiva himself.’

  ‘I am not saying they were. But what is important is what they say . . . and when they were made. Dr Wilde, have you heard of the yugas?’

  ‘Well, you just jogged my memory, so yes - they’re parts of the cycle of existence in Hindu mythology.’

  ‘Correct. There are four stages in the current cycle: the Satya Yuga, the Treta Yuga, the Dvapara Yuga, and finally the Kali Yuga. The Kali Yuga is the last, and most debased, part of the cycle, farthest from the golden age of the Satya Yuga. It is also the yuga the world is in now.’

  ‘But that’s a theme with practically every religion,’ said Nina. ‘The present is always the worst time there’s ever been, and things were invariably better in the past. It’s either rose-tinted nostalgia, or “proof” that things have descended into sin and decadence - and the only way out is through whatever flavour fundamentalism the preacher prefers.’

  ‘In the case of Hinduism, though, it actually is true. The world will sink deeper into the darkness, until Shiva ends the cycle.’

  ‘By destruction.’

  ‘So that a new cycle can begin. A new Satya Yuga, a time of enlightenment and bliss. And the Shiva-Vedas will make it happen.’

  ‘How?’

  He ignored the question. ‘The Talonor Codex proved that the Shiva-Vedas were in existence at the same time as Atlantis, around nine thousand BC. Yes?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Then they must come from an earlier yuga - at the latest, the Dvapara Yuga. The Hindu calendar is very old, and we know the exact date when the Kali Yuga began: 3102 BC. Specifically, January the twenty-third, in Gregorian dating. Because the words written in the Shiva-Vedas are from an earlier yuga, they are by definition more pure, more enlightened, than anything created in the corrupt Kali Yuga. They will form the cornerstone of the new era when it begins - when I make it begin.’

  ‘What, you think you’re Shiva now?’ said Nina, aghast.

  ‘No, I am just carrying out his will. But to end the cycle, I must have the Shiva-Vedas. They are the key to humanity’s salvation. Without the teachings of Shiva himself from a more enlightened time, the world will fall back into corruption, and everything I have achieved will be wasted. So to get the Shiva-Vedas I must find and enter the Vault of Shiva - and to do that, I need the Talonor Codex.’

  ‘But you’ve got the translations. Why do you need the Codex itself?’

  ‘For the key, Dr Wilde. The key the priests showed to Talonor - the key impressed on the cover of the Codex. From the impression, I will be able to make a duplicate. And I will use it to open the Vault.’

  ‘You need more than just the key, though,’ she pointed out. ‘The priests told Talonor that “only those who know the love of Shiva” can use it.’

  ‘But I do know the love of Shiva,’ said Khoil. ‘For all my life. Shiva does not care about castes. My wife and I are both Dalits - the “scheduled castes”, as the government calls them . . . or the “untouchables”, as you probably know them in the West. The lowest caste, oppressed and scorned for nothing more than an accident of birth and the professions of their ancestors centuries ago.’ Bitterness entered his voice. ‘Even now, Vanita and I still experience prejudice - from people whose businesses, whose lives, we could buy and sell on a whim.’

  ‘Ah, so everything you’re doing is to benefit the class struggle, is it?’ said Nina mockingly.

  ‘In a way,’ Khoil replied, her sarcasm once again failing to make it through his shield of literalism. ‘I believe in empowering the powerless, whether through free access to information - or by more direct means.’

  She gestured at the trio of bodyguards. ‘Like paying them to do your dirty work?’

  ‘Some problems cannot be solved by discussion. Like Urbano Fernandez, who would have made a deal with Interpol if Madirakshi had not silenced him.’ The tongueless man gurgled something, Khoil replying in Hindi. ‘Poor Madirakshi. She was a loyal servant.’

  ‘Yeah, Eddie told me how loyal. She killed herself rather than be arrested.’

  ‘She was excellent at her work. Her eye was cut out by a drunk who took her for a prostitute. Vanita and I learned of her through our charitable foundation and paid for her facial reconstruction - and then we used Qexia to trace her attacker. He became the test subject for her . . . secret weapon, you might say.’

  ‘You’re a real humanitarian,’ said Nina. She regarded the three men. ‘So you’ve got Bollywood Bruce Lee here,’ she said of Tandon, who seemed amused rather than annoyed by the insult. ‘What are this pair’s stories?’

  ‘Dhiren Mahajan,’ said Khoil, indicating the bearded giant, then gesturing to the man with the filed-down teeth, ‘and Nahari Singh. Nahari used to compete in illegal street fights, but not through choice - he was bonded into it through debts his family owed. He was not the biggest fighter, so his owners gave him an advantage.’ Singh grinned spikily at her.

  ‘Your employee welcome package didn’t include dental, then?’

  ‘His choice. The mutilation can be useful. As you discovered.’ Nina rubbed irritably at her bandaged arm. ‘As for Dhiren, he was an enforcer for a gangster, until he became too friendly with the man’s girlfriend. An ancient punishment used by the Brahmins, the highest caste, was to put a red-hot nail in the mouth of transgressors. The gangster thought it would be amusing to resurrect the tradition.’

  Nina looked at the bearded man in dismay. ‘Jesus. So the gangster, the “owners” - I’m guessing they’re not around any more.’

  ‘They have moved on to their next cycle of existence, yes. But Dhiren and Nahari and Chapal are not simply my servants - like myself and Vanita, we are all servants of Shiva. My faith in him has brought me to where I am today. And now, I am ready to repay him by bringing humanity into a new cycle.’ He stepped towards th
e front of the drone. ‘So, Dr Wilde. Now you know my intentions, I shall ask: will you help me find the Vault of Shiva?’

  Nina folded her arms across her chest. ‘Because of you, my friend is dead - and so are a lot of other people. Do you seriously think I’d voluntarily do anything to help you?’

  ‘No, not really.’ A slight shrug. ‘Twelve per cent was only a small chance, after all. But I had to try.’

  Vanita called to him. ‘I’m going down to the infirmary to watch the operation.’ She started for an exit, her two facially mutilated bodyguards following.

  ‘I will see you at the palace,’ Khoil said, shifting position as he turned to watch her leave . . .

  Moving directly in front of the drone.

  Nina lunged at the machine. She grabbed for the dart gun’s trigger, and pulled it. The weapon bucked in her hand with a thump of high-pressure gas, the steel dart exploding from the barrel—

  And stopping an inch short of Khoil’s chest. As fast as a blink, Tandon snapped out his hand and caught it.

  Khoil flinched away from the line of fire, eyes wide behind his glasses as Tandon dropped the dart at his feet. ‘That - was very foolish, Dr Wilde,’ he said, regaining his composure.

  Vanita’s reaction was more nakedly emotional. She rushed towards Nina, screaming ‘Get her!’ to her companions. Nina tried to dodge away from them, but was quickly cornered. The huge bearded man grabbed her, twisting her arms up behind her back. She tried to hack at his shins with her heels, but he wrenched harder. Her shoulder joints crackled agonisingly, ending any further thoughts of resistance.

  Vanita stepped closer, holding out one hand as she spoke in Hindi. The shark-toothed man came to her. For a moment Nina feared she had ordered him to bite her again, but instead he took something from a pocket and placed it in Vanita’s hand.

  Click. The object was a switchblade, a glinting steel knife four inches long springing out of the handle. Vanita savagely yanked at Nina’s hair, taking hold of her right ear and pressing the blade’s sharp edge against it. Nina froze.

  ‘The only reason you’re not dead already is that we need you as leverage over your husband,’ Vanita hissed. She slid the knife across Nina’s earlobe, just hard enough to cut the skin. Nina gasped in pain. ‘But if you do anything like that again . . .’

  The knife jerked back sharply. Nina screamed as it sliced into her ear.

  ‘You’ll die in pieces,’ Vanita finished, stepping back. ‘Chapal, come with me.’ She returned the bloodied knife to its owner and, shooting a final look of loathing at Nina, strode imperiously away, Tandon following.

  ‘You crazy bitch!’ Nina yelled after her, feeling hot blood running down her neck.

  Khoil regarded her wound almost curiously, as if examining a laboratory specimen. ‘Nahari, tend to that,’ he ordered. The smaller of the two bodyguards gave Nina a mocking flash of his jagged teeth as he went to get a first aid kit. ‘Dhiren, release her.’

  The giant let go of Nina’s aching arms. She put a hand to her ear, grimacing at the sting when she touched it. The knife had gone deep enough to slash cartilage. ‘Jesus Christ!’ she cried. ‘Fucking psycho!’

  ‘I hope that will teach you not to underestimate us,’ said Khoil.

  ‘Do not make the mistake of thinking I am just a computer nerd.’ The word sounded strange in his affectless voice. ‘I grew up in the slums. I fought every centimetre of the way to be where I am today. And I did whatever was necessary to achieve my goals.’

  Singh returned with a Band-Aid and prepared to apply it to Nina’s ear, but she snatched it from him. ‘I’ll do it,’ she snapped. As she fumbled with the dressing, she glowered at Khoil. ‘So what are your goals? What are you going to do once you get the Shiva-Vedas?’

  He didn’t answer, instead gesturing for his bodyguards to take Nina away.

  10

  New York City

  ‘So, that’s what we’re dealing with,’ said Eddie. ‘And we’ve got to do it by tomorrow night. Any ideas?’

  The expressions of the other people in his apartment varied, but none was brimming with confidence. Mac was the first to speak. ‘We’ll do everything we can to help, obviously,’ he said, ‘but wouldn’t it be better to go after this Khoil fellow and get Nina back?’

  Eddie shook his head. ‘He’s got Zec keeping tabs on me. I’d already be on a plane to India to punch the pudgy little bastard in the face if he hadn’t.’

  ‘Can’t we just clobber this Zec bloke the next time he turns up?’ asked Matt Trulli.

  ‘He checks in with Khoil’s people every so often. Miss a call, and . . .’

  The faces were now all downcast. ‘Do you think you’ll even be able to get into the vault?’ asked Karima Farran, sitting with her fiancé on the couch.

  Eddie indicated a six-foot length of steel ventilation ducting propped against one wall. ‘According the plans Lola got for me, that’s the same size as the air vents in the vault area. I should be able to fit.’

  Karima looked dubiously between the duct and Eddie’s waist. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘We’ll test it out in a minute. If I can’t, I’ll have to get some emergency liposuction.’

  ‘The vault’s really got ducts big enough to crawl through?’ Matt asked disbelievingly. ‘Sounds a bit Mission: Impossible, if you ask me. And I mean the proper original one, not the Tom Cruise malarky. The real Jim Phelps’d never turn traitor.’

  Eddie smiled slightly. ‘You’ve been wanting to get that off your chest for years, haven’t you?’

  ‘Too bloody right, mate!’

  Lola held up a structural blueprint. ‘They have to make them that big by law. When the UN was built, it was exempted from New York building codes because it’s legally on international territory. But the NYC Fire Department still has to respond if there’s an emergency, so when the building was refurbished a few years ago they made them bring the place up to code. One of those codes is that vaults have to have external ventilation in case someone gets locked inside . . . and another is that vents to underground floors have to be able to carry a minimum volume of air per minute.’

  ‘Which means,’ said Eddie, banging the duct with his hand, ‘they have to be this big. Nine inches by fourteen.’

  ‘Only,’ continued Lola, ‘they obviously knew that a vault having ducts big enough to fit a person isn’t a great idea. So the ones that go into the UN’s secure archives have metal plates welded inside them, so air can get through - but people can’t. And the actual air vents are on the sixth floor machine level. If you tried getting in that way, there’s a seventy foot drop, straight down.’

  ‘So the only way to get into the vault through the vents,’ said Radi Bashir, scratching his chin, ‘is to be in the room where the vault is in the first place?’

  ‘Pretty much,’ said Eddie.

  ‘And won’t the guards be a little suspicious of that?’

  ‘Well, that’s something else we need to work out, innit? On top of all the other stuff - avoiding the security cameras, disabling the alarms, taking the Codex from the vault, getting the bloody thing out of the building without anyone noticing . . .’

  ‘I can handle the security cameras,’ Rad said. ‘That is, if Matt can get his submarine to the junction box.’

  ‘Servo’ll get there just fine,’ said Matt, a little defensively.

  ‘Servo?’ Mac asked.

  ‘Segmented Robot Vehicle Operations. He’s like a snake - wriggling through narrow spaces underwater is what he’s designed for. But we’ll have to do it at high tide, which won’t give us much time. If anything holds us up, he’ll be left grounded when the water level drops.’

  ‘And we’ll be fucked,’ Eddie added. ‘Which is why we’ve got to work all this stuff out now. And fast.’

  ‘Putting all the pieces together’ll be a tall order,’ said Mac. ‘But if anyone can figure it out, you can.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Eddie said with a half-hearted grin. ‘But then, I’ve bloody got to if I w
ant Nina back, haven’t I?’

  ‘Then we’d better come up with a plan.’ Mac stood, his prosthetic leg creaking as he put his weight on it. ‘First things first. If you can’t fit through this duct, it’s all over before it even begins.’

  ‘Why do you have to do it, Eddie?’ Karima asked. She stood, displaying her slim body. ‘I could fit a lot more easily.’

  ‘I’m doing it,’ Eddie said firmly. ‘If I get caught, then so be it, but I’m not having anyone else take the fall for me. Okay, let’s have a look.’

  He and Mac laid the duct on the floor. Lola examined one end. ‘Gee, Eddie. Is that really nine inches tall? It doesn’t look very big.’

  Eddie had the same thought, the opening appearing impossibly small. He pulled off his jumper. ‘Okay, Matt, Rad, hold it in place. Mac, give me a hand.’

  As the two men gripped the duct, he lowered himself on to his stomach and extended his arms, shoulders tight beside his head as he edged forwards. Elbows in, biceps . . . The edges of the thin sheet metal pressed against him on both sides. Could he even fit?

  ‘You can do it,’ said Mac encouragingly, as if reading his mind. ‘Twist round a bit - left side down, right side up.’

  The move gave him the extra fraction of an inch he needed. He wormed into the duct. Christ, it was tight! His shoulders were the widest part of his body, so theoretically he would fit all the way in - but he was already experiencing an unpleasant sense of claustrophobia.

  ‘Keep going,’ Mac told him.

  Eddie grunted and kept advancing, little by little. The top of the duct rubbed against his head, forcing him to turn it sideways, adding to his discomfort. ‘Shit,’ he said, the sweat that had already formed on his fingertips causing them to slip on the smooth metal. ‘I can’t get a grip.’

  ‘Hang on,’ said Matt. ‘I brought some things that might help.’