Into The Jaws Of The Lion (The Arkana Archaeology Mystery Series Book 5)

by N. S. Wikarski

  She left the driver behind and walked straight up to Aboud. With a searching look, she asked, “Are we going to see my son now?”

  He hesitated, temporarily baffled by her awkward question. Obviously, his standard explanation about an inhaled vaccine wouldn’t work. He decided that his best strategy would be to encourage her delusion. “Soon,” he demurred. “We need to run some tests on you and make preparations first.”

  “Oh, of course.” She didn’t seem at all curious as to why medical tests would be required as a prelude to a family reunion. Instead, she leaned in close to his ear and whispered confidentially, “The lady angel came to me again after I saw you last. When I asked if you were the one who would bring me to my son, she said ‘yes’. I was so happy to hear the news.”

  “I see.” Aboud’s face showed no reaction. “This way.”

  He dismissed the chauffeur and then led her through the decontamination chamber to an adjoining test area. It was an austere room kept deliberately bare to allow for easy disinfection between occupants. One of the walls was paneled entirely in glass so laboratory personnel could observe the progress of the disease from a safe vantage point. There was a drain in the middle of the floor to wash away the effluvia which the test subjects invariably left behind. The sole piece of furniture was a plastic chair bolted to the floor. Its arm rests and front legs were fitted with restraint straps.

  Annabeth seemed oblivious to the forbidding atmosphere. She followed willingly enough. Aboud sat her down in the chair and applied a blood pressure cuff. He noted that the reading was normal. He then checked her heart rate and temperature and recorded the results on a clipboard chart.

  “Are you comfortable?” he asked, realizing the absurdity of the question given what she was about to undergo.

  “Oh, yes. Thank you very much,” she replied politely, almost as if he’d just handed her a cup of tea at an afternoon garden party.

  “I’m going to leave you for a few moments. I need to put on a special suit. It will completely cover my face and body. I don’t want you to be alarmed when you see me again.”

  “I won’t be,” she said matter-of-factly. “My lady angel told me not to be afraid.”

  ***

  Aboud went into the decontamination chamber to don his protective outfit. This consisted of a hazmat coverall with helmet, portable breathing apparatus, and nitrile gloves. Every square inch of his body had to be shielded from accidental exposure to the deadly bacteria.

  After that, the doctor returned to the room where Annabeth waited. Usually test subjects found his attire offputting. He liked to pause a few moments to allow their anxiety to subside before he applied the restraints. However, Annabeth’s reaction to his apparel ran contrary to anything he’d ever experienced before.

  She clapped her hands in delight. “You’re dressed all in white!”

  He nodded uncertainly.

  “Just like an angel.” She giggled.

  He offered no remark but set about securing the ankle restraints and then the wrist straps. When he was finished, he explained, “We use these bindings to keep you still. It’s important that you not move while we’re conducting our medical testing.” His voice sounded muffled through his helmet but she understood him. As a final measure, he attached a small device to her index finger.

  She examined it with mild interest. “It looks like a giant clothes pin.”

  “This is called a pulse oxymeter. It will monitor your heart beat and the oxygen level in your bloodstream. The signal from the oxymeter is transmitted wirelessly to a console outside the room.”

  His explanation was lost on her. “Oh,” she said, her eyes wandering around the bare space.

  Aboud shook his head in bewilderment. She was quite unlike any of the others. Usually, even the most stolid test subjects began to show some level of apprehension once the restraints were fastened. Their initial dread was nothing compared to their fear several hours into the test when they began to feel the bacteria eating through their lungs. Fear turned to horror once they discovered that their cries for help would go unanswered. Lab personnel watched them from the other side of the glass. The technicians’ faces showed no trace of sympathy as they recorded the remorseless progress of the disease. Eventually the victims could spare no more breath for crying or pleading. In the final stages of consciousness, they were coughing up blood, racked with pain and struggling to inhale. Shortly before they went into respiratory shock, they all realized the grim truth. They’d been immobilized and sealed inside this room and they were dying. Nobody was going to come to their aid. Ever.

  Annabeth remained blissfully unaware of her fate as Aboud reached for the gas cylinder which had been placed unobtrusively in the corner of the room by one of his assistants. It was attached to a thin hose which fed into a plastic mask that covered the test subject’s nose and mouth. The mask was held in place by an elastic strap that ran around the back of the head. Delivering the gas via canister allowed Aboud to measure the exact quantity which had been dispensed and how long it would take for that precise dosage to produce its desired lethal effect.

  He placed the elastic strap behind Annabeth’s head. She gazed up at him trustingly as he covered her nose and mouth. “Now I’m going to have you breathe through this mask for two minutes and then I’ll remove it,” he explained.

  “Yes, alright.”

  He was on the point of opening the valve on the gas cylinder and releasing the deadly contagion when he hesitated. A few moments later, he reached a decision. He slid the mask away from her mouth. “Just a moment. I forgot something. I’ll be right back.”

  She nodded as a sign that she’d heard him.

  He stalked off to a supply room in another wing of the facility and rummaged around until he found the items he needed. Then he prepared a syringe.

  Returning to Annabeth, he removed the restraint from one arm. He positioned her limb, palm upward, on the armrest. “I’m going to give you something to make you sleepy.”

  “But I want to be awake when my son gets here,” she protested mildly.

  “After your nap,” he said gently, injecting the needle. “When you wake up, he’ll be here.” He then refastened the wrist restraint.

  She beamed at him gratefully. “Thank you, doctor. I’ve waited so long. Nobody else would believe me. Nobody else would help me. Thank you! Thank you!”

  Aboud turned away for a few seconds, wishing to avoid her eyes. None of his previous test subjects had received the benefit of a strong narcotic to eliminate their misery. Why should this one be any different? He marveled at himself. It was a bit late in the game for him to be growing sentimental. His associates from the old days would laugh if they could see him now. Never before had he allowed his scientific objectivity to be compromised by emotion. The doctor reminded himself defensively that he would still be able to collect the necessary data in spite of the sedative. He didn’t need Annabeth to be conscious in order to record how quickly she succumbed to the plague. Her pulse, or the lack thereof, was the sole piece of information he required. His oxymeter would tell him that.

  If his benefactor were to ask, Aboud was prepared to offer a colorful account of Annabeth’s agonizing final hours. After all, he had compiled quite a repertoire to draw on—dozens of other victims who had expired painfully. He was quite sure he could supply a description lurid enough to satisfy even Metcalf and the implacable God he served. They both demanded blood sacrifices. Well, they would have their wish. Blood aplenty would be spilled before the day was over but Annabeth would feel none of the pain of it.

  He turned back around and fitted the mask snugly over her mouth and nose. She was already growing drowsy from the sedative. Her eyelids fluttered briefly.

  He opened the valve on the gas canister, releasing its deadly contents into the mask. “Now,” he instructed. “I want you to breathe in and out normally. That’s all you have to do. Just breathe.”

  Chapter 47—Shrine Circus

  “Hi. Have
n’t seen you two around. Are you new in town?” Rabten took a seat in the tiny Darchen cafe and struck up a conversation with an Australian couple.

  “Yes, we’re planning to hike around the mountain. We hear it’s quite beautiful.”

  “It’s a little late in the season to do the full parikrama around Kailash,” Rabten observed. “But you’re lucky. So far, no snow.” Out of the corner of his eye, he kept a close watch on the occupants of the next table—a man in a cowboy hat and his wiry, dark-haired companion. Leroy Hunt and Daniel Metcalf had arrived the night before. They’d apparently driven across the plateau from Lhasa in a hired vehicle. Since Daniel and his henchman had never seen the twins, Rabten and Rinchen were acting as spies to keep tabs on the duo.

  The twins had only returned themselves a day earlier with the duplicate artifacts. They were greeted by an anxious Cassie and Griffin. To keep themselves from fretting, the Scrivener and the Pythia had made daily treks to Saptarishi Cave and back. The hikes helped them memorize the route since they would need to navigate it in the dark after making the relic switch. By now they had shaken off the last of their altitude sickness. It was a good thing they’d gotten some exercise while they still could. With Daniel and Hunt roaming around town, Cassie and Griffin were forced to lay low in their hotel and allow the twins to do the necessary legwork on their behalf.

  This particular morning, Rabten intended to nudge the Nephilim operatives a few steps closer to their goal. He listened patiently while the Australians regaled him with stories of their Himalayan adventures. At a convenient lull in the conversation, he said, “If you’re going to hike Kailash you should really make a stop at Saptarishi Cave. There’s a shrine up there with an amazing artifact inside.”

  The Arkana agent noticed that Daniel had tilted his head in their direction and was listening intently.

  In a louder voice, Rabten continued. “The story goes that a Hindu pilgrim discovered a priceless statue hidden inside the cave. It’s covered with precious stones—so valuable that a shrine was built around it. The faithful consider it a gift from Shiva himself. Once you’re inside the cave, you can’t miss it. The artifact sits right underneath a lily carved into the stone wall.” He paused to sneak a glance at the Nephilim. At the mention of the lily, Daniel dropped his cup, spilling yak butter tea all over the table.

  Rabten kept one ear tuned to the Australians who were thanking him for the tip and the other ear tuned to an urgent, whispered conversation between Hunt and Daniel. A few words drifted his way—enough for him to know that they were planning to visit the cave that same day. The trap was set.

  ***

  Rinchen was loitering in a side street a few blocks away from the cafe. His brother came tearing around the corner with a big grin on his face. “They took the bait,” he said. “You’re up, bro.”

  “Okey dokey,” Rinchen replied. He donned a baseball cap and dark sunglasses so his resemblance to his twin wouldn’t be obvious. Then he raced up the trail to the cave. It took two hours to make the climb at a fast trot. Even though he was fully acclimated, the Arkana agent was breathless by the time he reached his destination.

  He paused just inside the entrance, considering where the best vantage point might be. A few other pilgrims were pacing back and forth along the narrow ledge of rock and praying. Rinchen strolled casually toward the shrine. He took a seat on the ground between the two chortens closest to the artifact. Then he leaned his head back, closed his eyes, and waited.

  About an hour later, Daniel and his henchman arrived. They immediately dropped to the stone floor of the cave, gasping like fish out of water. For a good ten minutes, they did nothing but struggle to fill their lungs with air. After they’d recovered sufficiently, they rose and advanced cautiously along the ledge toward the interior. It took them only seconds to locate the shrine. There was a stunned silence as both men contemplated the relic in disbelief.

  “This is amazing,” Daniel murmured at last. “Even though it’s been exposed, the artifact is still here and still intact after all these centuries.”

  Hunt gave an appreciative whistle. “That feller in town was right. This surely is a sight worth trekkin’ up a mountain to see. How much you think a doodad like that might fetch in US dollars?”

  “I couldn’t even begin to guess.” Daniel’s voice was filled with awe.

  They stopped talking abruptly when they realized Rinchen was seated a few yards away. The Arkana agent appeared to be deep in prayer, murmuring unintelligible Buddhist chants. He had adopted a lotus meditation pose and his eyes, shielded behind dark glasses, seemed to be shut.

  Hunt and Daniel relaxed slightly. They must have assumed he was a pilgrim who didn’t understand English. They lowered their voices but continued their conversation. Over the drone of his own chanting, Rinchen still managed to catch every word.

  “So how you wanna play this?” Hunt asked.

  Daniel hesitated, assessing the situation. “We’ll have to come back long after sunset to collect the artifact. Sometime around midnight.”

  “Nope. 2 AM is better,” Hunt corrected. “That way we’ll make it back into town a little before sunup. We can cut out while it’s still dark and nobody’s stirrin’. Once we put a couple miles between us and Darchen, it’ll be light enough for us to see the road back the way we come.”

  “Yes,” the Scion conceded. “That would make the most sense. We don’t know the route to Lhasa well enough to risk driving very far in the dark. Two o’clock it is.”

  “I’ll have to scare up some tools before that,” the cowboy observed. “Gotta pull off that frame to get the goods.”

  “Then we should start back down immediately to make our preparations.”

  The duo left without a backward glance at the Buddhist pilgrim still muttering his incomprehensible prayers.

  Rinchen kept up the charade awhile longer to give the Nephilim a head start down the mountain. Then he rose to make the journey himself and report back to his teammates. They were all going to have a long night ahead.

  ***

  The Arkana group stood in front of the Saptarishi shrine, studying the false relic now ensconced in place of the original.

  “Does anything look off?” Cassie asked of no one in particular.

  Rinchen leaned in and rubbed a scratch mark off the metal frame. “Nope. The fake is an exact match.”

  Griffin held the real artifact, training the beam of his flashlight on the object. “Thankfully, there were no additional glyphs on the back that couldn’t be seen in our photographs. Our foes will receive a copy which contains the complete riddle.”

  “That’s one less thing to worry about,” Cassie said. “We’re spinning enough plates as it is.” She turned to the twins. “Are you guys all set to go?”

  “Check,” Rabten answered. “We’ll make sure to avoid the Nephilim on the way down.”

  Griffin handed him the Minoan relic, which he promptly stowed in his backpack.

  “As soon as we get off the mountain, “ Rinchen said, “it’s pedal to the metal.”

  “We know a route that’ll get the artifact out of the country without crossing any border checkpoints,” his brother added. “The package will be on Maddie’s desk in about a week.”

  “I still think one of us should stay behind and guard your backs.” The twin’s voice was troubled.

  “Don’t worry, Rinchen, we’ll be OK,” Cassie reassured him.

  The twins stared at one another in shock and then at the Pythia.

  “How did you know which of us was which?”

  “We’re not wearing our baseball gear.”

  Cassie gave a knowing smile. “Because Rinchen’s voice is a fraction of a tone lower than Rabten’s.”

  Rabten chuckled. “Way to go. Only our mother has ever been able to tell us apart.”

  “Til now.”

  “You’ve just witnessed one of the Pythia’s many gifts of discernment,” Griffin observed. “Nuances of perception are her specialty.�
��

  Rinchen persisted. “All kidding aside, I don’t like the idea of you two cornered up here with no backup.”

  “From a purely practical standpoint, there’s barely enough room in this cave to conceal two people let alone three,” the Scrivener retorted. “Aside from that, both of you will be needed to smuggle this artifact across a thousand miles of barren wasteland.”

  The twins still appeared troubled but didn’t contradict him.

  Cassie glanced apprehensively at her watch and then at the shrine. “Midnight. Hunt and Daniel should have started their climb by now. Griffin and I will wait til they steal what’s in the shrine and then we’ll put the second fake in its place. With any luck, we can sneak down the mountain before daylight and be on our way too.”

  Directing his attention to Griffin, Rinchen asked, “Do you know the route back to Hilsa?”

  Cassie answered on the Brit’s behalf. “He’s got an eidetic memory. He’ll get us there.”

  “OK, then,” Rabten said. “Here’s where we part ways. Good luck, guys. I hope you won’t need it.”

  Cassie hugged them both. “Stay safe.”

  Griffin shook hands. “It’s been a pleasure working with you.”

  “You too,” Rinchen replied. “See you both in Chicago.”

  The twins receded into the shadows at the cave entrance, leaving Cassie and Griffin to their nerve-wracking vigil.

  ***

  Two hours later, the Pythia’s teeth were chattering. “My goddess, it’s cold up here!”

  Even though they both wore winter parkas, the wind cut through the layers of insulation as if their coats had been made of cheesecloth. Cassie could feel the icy sting of snowflakes on her face. She huddled closer to Griffin. He tentatively slipped his arm around her shoulders. They had retreated to the far end of Saptarishi Cave between the pedestals of the last two chortens, their backs exposed to the mountainside. The bedsheet-sized prayer flags strung from the golden spires concealed them from the front as they waited for the Nephilim to arrive.