by Robyn Nyx
Chase hit the ground loudly and dusty chalk plumed beneath her trusty old engineer boots. Noemie was always prompting her to buy new ones, but they’d been on more adventures than Lara Croft. Chase wasn’t superstitious as such, but neither was she prepared to see what happened if she bought herself a shiny new pair. She released herself from the rope, unclipped her flashlight, and watched her breath cloud before it dissipated upward. Every hair on every inch of her skin stood at attention, gathering heat and preparing her for fight-or-flight. She’d gotten this far. Nothing was going to make her flee what she’d been seeking for over two decades. Chase ran her tongue over her dry lips and swallowed, but there was no moisture. She pulled a water packet from the leg pocket of her cargos, ripped it open, and squeezed the cool fluid into her mouth. She stuffed the packaging back, knowing she couldn’t leave a trace of her visit here.
Chase swung her pack around, accessed the back pouch through a side zip, and pulled out her iPad. She checked the pictures of the carefully drawn maps on the skin-thin shards of alder wood found in the most recent discovery at Vindolanda. Previous pieces had been dated between the first and second century, but this trove covered the last few decades of the third century. They detailed Zenobia’s rise, fall, and most importantly, her final resting place. The Vindolanda Trust had contacted Chase because she was the world’s leading expert on Palmyra’s Rebel Queen. It had taken five months to piece together three different accounts of the last few days of Zenobia’s life according to soldiers who’d served under her but had switched alliance to the Roman Empire after her defeat. The tablets claimed Zenobia had been slain in battle, defending her people and her empire to the last. But before the Romans could claim her body, Zenobia’s soldiers had smuggled her away from the fray. According to the soldiers, she was mummified with her handmaiden and hidden in a hypogeum deep in bedrock. This, where Chase now stood, could be that very hypogeum. Hidden for centuries and built over by the Mamluks a thousand years later in order to further protect the Empress of the East from ever being discovered.
The anticipation of what Chase might now find pressed against her chest and made it difficult to breathe deeply. The crypt was supposed to be less than a quarter of a mile long with only one access point. That access point had remained a secret as Zenobia’s people meant it to, and deciphering the tablets, maps, and messages hadn’t led to it. If it weren’t for the earthquake that had collapsed the ceiling where Chase had entered, it might have taken her years to locate. She shook off the thought that thousands of people had died so that she could profit. Chase pointed her flashlight along the open chamber and wished Zenobia’s people had made the relatively short trip across the water to Cyprus and buried her there. At least then they would have been able to excavate the area properly and give the Warrior Queen the worldwide audience she deserved. Their laziness meant Chase would only be able to take photos and laser scans of the Queen’s sarcophagus to build a 3-D model. If she did find what she was looking for down here, she’d be loathe to leave it. It would only be a matter of time before ISIS heard about it, sent in excavators of their own, and in typically misogynistic fashion, desecrated and destroyed it. She comforted herself with the thought that at least she would have salvaged something real to give substance to the legend.
The chamber steadily became narrower, and the little moonlight from the hole she’d come in through had long faded. Dust danced around the shaft of light she was holding, and the absence of any kind of critters was vaguely reassuring. She was no Indiana Jones—slithery snakes had never scared her—but not having to share the increasingly small space with other oxygen-munching animals was still preferable. The webbing she walked through was another thing. Spiders didn’t consume that much oxygen, surely, but damn, the stuff stuck to everything. The corridor became too small to walk upright, and Chase was forced to crawl. She looked again at the maps of the area on the tablet. There was no indication that the corridor was anything other than ten to fifteen feet wide. There’d been only one way to go. I couldn’t have gotten lost. She pushed the iPad back into her pack and pressed on.
The light from her flashlight bounced back at her, and she reached out to touch the cold flat stone that blocked her path completely. She shone the light around all of its edges. There was no sign of rubble around it, and Chase concluded that its construction was purposeful. It couldn’t have been the result of the earthquake because at its base was a sharp-edged gap, indicating that the stone would descend into a possible space beneath it…if only she could locate a way to open it. She focused her flashlight on the ceiling, methodically scanning the left side, right side, then floor of the corridor leading to the stone. On each surface, bar the ground, was a three-inch-square hole. Chase figured each hole might contain a lever linked to the door to enable its release. Either that or they’d trigger a booby trap and her search for Zenobia’s tomb ended with her skewered three ways in this tiny corridor like some unfortunate extra in an adventure movie. Nope, that wasn’t happening. Chase wanted to be the hero of this particular adventure.
She tentatively probed the opening of the overhead square, finding nothing until she was in up to her elbow. She felt something hard, wrapped her hand around it, and attempted to wiggle it in every direction. There was more give when she pushed it away from her. She hitched her feet onto the side wall, still slightly anxious that the lever might release the floor instead of the door, and pushed. It gave way surprisingly easily, and Chase saw the stone wall tremble a little. She released the breath she’d been holding and moved across to the other side to repeat the process. Once again, the stone trembled as the lever moved something ancient within the walls. She explored the final hole in the ceiling. The lever wasn’t as deeply embedded, but it didn’t want to move as readily as the others had. She took off her backpack, pulled out her crowbar, and repositioned her pack over her shoulders. Only once had she been stupid enough to leave her pack on the ground doing something like this. She’d fallen thirty feet into a muddy pit, and when she emerged some time later, her bag had been picked over by the locals. They’d left her with the only thing they couldn’t make use of, her cell phone. It was an expensive mistake she’d vowed never to make again.
Chase fixed the crowbar into the hole, braced her feet against either wall, and put her entire weight behind it. She pushed, released, pushed, and released until it suddenly dropped away, and Chase fell forward with the force. Her right shoulder smashed into the stone wall as it began to drop, and she managed to roll away from it as it plummeted downward at speed. Chase peered into the darkness beyond the blockade, and the beam from her flashlight illuminated a dark shape in the chamber. The tomb? She swallowed hard and got to her knees to move closer. Chase estimated the distance between her and the tomb was less than twenty feet, but as she inched closer, the space seemed to treble. She’d been searching, hoping, working for this moment for the best part of two decades and now it was within touching distance. The final resting place of the Warrior Queen.
As she drew nearer, the intricate carvings on the stone became clear. Zenobia stood proud at the top of the frieze, with her four children at her feet. Her army and people populated the remainder of the picture. Chase translated the writing across the edge of the tomb lid and whispered, “The noblest of all the women of the East.”
She ran her fingers over the carvings on the relief, feeling the bumps and crevices of its artistry. She’d hoped the casket would be ornate, that her people would’ve had the time to have created something worthy of her. Like most leaders, Zenobia had probably had the sarcophagus made to her specification years before her death, but under the circumstances of the battle, Chase feared they might not have been able to stow her away in the thing she’d created for her journey to the afterlife. Chase closed her eyes and imagined Zenobia’s people in this chamber, robbed of the ability to hold a procession, in hiding from Emperor Aurelian’s forces. Chase was sure they would have managed a eulogy to mark the queen’s passing but doubted they
’d risked a feast. They would’ve been too busy trying to stay alive and undiscovered and needed to draw the invading Romans away from the tomb.
Chase shook off the melancholy of the muted celebration of the Warrior Queen’s life. This ending was definitely better than the Roman myth of being paraded through the streets weighed down by gold. The awareness of her current position and potentially imminent discovery by hostile forces brought Chase out of the past. She shrugged her backpack from her shoulders, pulled out the set of portable lights, and scouted the chamber for the best place to position them. It took Chase less than fifteen minutes to set up the lights, camera, and suspended laser scanner, something she’d practiced maybe a hundred times as she’d prepped for this. She didn’t want to be here a moment longer than she had to be, lest she be discovered. She ignored the stone steps in the corner of the chamber. Though it would have been the entrance and exit for Zenobia’s people when they buried her here, Chase had no way of knowing what blockade was at the top of it. And since she’d had no luck finding it, there was little point exploring it now. She’d found what she’d came for, and she’d leave the same quiet and unassuming way she’d arrived.
She looked through the viewfinder and altered the camera settings to suit the lighting conditions. She allowed herself a smile. She’d done it. She’d found Zenobia’s tomb and she was going to share it with the world.
* * *
“We’ve attracted too much attention. We should abort.”
Rayne shook her head. Usually, she’d always listen to Ginn’s advice—she did have almost three decades of military training and experience—but tonight, she knew she couldn’t. It wasn’t that her client was paying her four million dollars for this jaunt. And it wasn’t because this had been months in the staging and had cost over a million dollars to see through. It wasn’t even that her reputation might suffer a little if she came away empty-handed—that was solid enough to take a few hits. While all of that mattered, Rayne couldn’t take Ginn’s advice for one simple reason.
Chase Stinsen.
Rayne knew Chase was already here. Had probably already found the tomb. The Warrior Queen was Chase’s specialist subject. Rayne would’ve been disappointed if she and her team had found Zenobia’s tomb before Chase, and perhaps even a little upset on Chase’s behalf. Finding Zenobia’s tomb was the equivalent of the Holy Grail for Chase. If Rayne had found it first, it might’ve broken her, and Rayne didn’t want that. She enjoyed their competition, and no one else in the business was close to either of them. It’d be almost boring without Chase around.
Rayne certainly didn’t want to be the reason Chase slipped off the raiding radar, and she definitely didn’t want to be responsible for her death. While Rayne had overseen everything, she’d been happy to let Ginn and Tonyck plan this insertion carefully. This was Syria, not a tiny part of Africa with a small, friendly tribe nearby. Getting caught was a death sentence, and it wouldn’t be a quick, merciful one, she was sure. This place had been G&T’s playground for a good few years. They knew how it worked, they knew which locals they could tap for information about the ISIS forces…and they were trained killers. Something Rayne tended to push to the back of her mind for the most part. She always got the job done, but she wasn’t quite a by-any-means-necessary kind of person.
“Seriously, Rayne.” Tonyck placed her hand on Rayne’s shoulder. “We can’t guarantee your safety if you go any farther.”
Rayne nodded. They hadn’t managed to navigate their way through Palmyra as quietly as they planned, and it wouldn’t be long before they could expect a well-armed posse of insurgents piling up with nefarious intentions. “I know what I’m asking. I’ll triple your claim bonus when we get out of this alive.” She motioned toward the spot G&T had rigged to blow. “But I want that sarcophagus, and I’m not leaving Stinsen here to pay for our clumsiness.”
Neither of the twins had any love for Chase. To them, she was just a bump on the log, the competition they had to beat. But she was also an innocent, and Rayne knew their training wouldn’t allow them to leave her behind.
Ginn nodded and clapped her sister on the shoulder. “Let’s get this done.”
Rayne watched them do their thing from a safe distance and checked her watch. She could be doing something, or someone, much less dangerous at three a.m. Maybe Chase would be so grateful for this rescue, she’d finally be inclined to share Rayne’s bed for the night. More likely she’d deduce, correctly, that it was Rayne’s presence that had necessitated the rescue in the first place, and get all up on her high horse about it. Chase’s morals got in the way of so many good things.
The small blast shot pieces of the rock across Rayne’s path, and she looked across to see G&T giving her the thumbs-up. Rayne quickly moved to the hole the C4 had created and shone her flashlight through it. Stone steps descended into a darkness blacker than the devil’s heart. She scrambled through and dropped directly onto the steps. Tonyck shoved her pack and MPX through to Rayne before tugging herself through with some difficulty.
“Maybe you need to lay off the protein,” Ginn whispered as Tonyck hit the ground.
“Maybe you need to make the holes bigger.” Tonyck dusted her jacket off and threw her pack back over her shoulder.
Rayne rolled her eyes at the identical twins. It was like watching someone poke fun at themselves in the mirror. “Just get your ass in here.”
Ginn pushed through their packs and equipment, before Tonyck pulled her equally muscular sister through the intentionally small passage. Once they had the tomb, they’d blast a much more conspicuous aperture from which to escape. Mac would land the helicopter, they’d secure the cargo, and leave the village with everything, and everyone, intact.
At least that was the plan.
Ginn began to hammer a cleat into the wall and prepare the winch to tug the tomb up the steps. Tonyck clipped the carabiner at the end of the galvanized steel roll of cable onto her utility belt.
“Once this is set up, I’ll be down to join you,” said Ginn.
Even in the dim light of the cavern, Rayne didn’t miss the glance the twins exchanged. They were usually so cool and unaffected by things that would have most people soiling their Calvins, but tonight their worry was seeping from every pore. The look they shared seemed full of unspoken emotion and the possibility they might not see each other again. An uneasy anguish plucked at Rayne’s stomach, and she tried to retrieve her customary composure, again ignoring the nagging doubt she had about taking this commission.
Rayne took the lead, checking the steps for potential fragility. She’d counted two hundred and eighty when light from below began to illuminate their path. Tonyck tapped her on the shoulder. Rayne knew it was to halt her path so she could check the situation, but Rayne shrugged her off. The only person who’d be down here before her was Chase.
“It’s fine.” Rayne unclipped the safety clasp from her handgun holster and withdrew her Delta Elite Rail, more for Tonyck’s benefit than any concern for her own safety. She didn’t look to check Tonyck’s reaction—a predictable raised eyebrow and clenched jaw—and continued her descent.
Rayne rounded the corner after the final step to see the impressive portable setup Chase had assembled. A scaffolding construction supported a suspended laser scanner that was busy traversing up and down the rails, capturing a 3-D image of Zenobia’s tomb. Chase was positioned behind a camera, which Rayne assumed would be a Canon since she swore by Nikon and they were diametrically opposed on just about everything they’d ever discussed. Rayne would have startled her with what had become her traditional greeting, but Chase looked substantially less chunky than when she’d seen her last in the Paris catacombs. Her tight Under Armour sweatshirt revealed distinctively shaped shoulders and bulging biceps even though they weren’t under any tension. Her now broad shoulders tapered into her waist, and she was wearing cargo pants that sheathed an impressively tight looking butt.
When Tonyck prodded her in the back, Rayne wondered just
how long she’d been staring at Chase’s rear view. Rayne batted Tonyck’s hand away and holstered her weapon. “Dwayne Johnson sent me to get his wardrobe back.”
Chase spun around, her foot caught a leg of her camera tripod, and it began to tumble toward the floor. She caught it before it crashed onto the hard surface and cursed.
“Jesus, Marcellus. You scared the crap out of me.”
Rayne stifled a laugh at Chase’s reaction, but Tonyck wasn’t nearly as politic and guffawed loudly.
“Nervous much, Stinsen?” Tonyck asked before coming around Rayne and dropping her pack to the ground to unload her rope rig.
Chase settled the tripod and turned to face Rayne. “Why are you here? And what the hell is she doing?”
Rayne smiled. How to put it? “I have a client—”
“A rich, stupid, and ignorant client, always. But there’s nothing you can take away here without attracting a lot of attention. And not the kind of attention you crave.”
“Are you going to take these down? You probably wouldn’t like the way I’d do it.” Tonyck stood at the head of the tomb, gripping one of the scaffolding columns.
Chase moved around the casket to face Tonyck. Rayne noted she didn’t look quite as hesitant squared up to her as she had in France. She had a new, and attractive, confident aura to match her super fit physique. It suited her enormously. But if she were a gambling woman, she’d still put her money on Tonyck. Rayne would happily tend to Chase’s wounded body though.
“Get your ham hands off my equipment,” Chase said.
She caught hold of the pole but didn’t attempt to remove Tonyck. Sensible decision. “Leave it, Tonyck. You don’t want to break anything she can’t afford to replace.”
Tonyck grinned, released her hands, and stepped back. “Then she needs to break it down in the next three minutes or I will.”
Tonyck went back to setting up her rope rig, and Chase glared at Rayne, clearly waiting for an explanation. She had a way of looking rather adorable when she was mad, which she usually was when they met.