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

by N. S. Wikarski

  The Pythia tensed when she heard the sound of falling gravel. She checked her watch again. It was two o’clock. “Say what you want about the Nephilim,” she whispered, “they’re very punctual.” She reached into her coat pocket and withdrew a compact stun gun. Handing it to Griffin, she explained, “Here, take this. I’ve got one too. If we’re both armed, we might stand a chance of making it through the night without getting shot.”

  Griffin wordlessly accepted the weapon and stuffed it into his jacket pocket.

  The crunch of footsteps on gravel became more distinct. Then flashlight beams illuminated the interior of the cave.

  Cassie and Griffin pressed back against the chortens as far as they could without falling off the ledge entirely. The prayer flags which concealed them also cut off their view. All they could see were rays of light through a thin sheet of fabric.

  At first, there was no sound but heavy breathing followed by a string of curses.

  “Every goddam time we go on one of these junkets, I end up with gravel twixt my toes.” It sounded as if Hunt had seated himself on the floor of the cave and was shaking out his boots. The cowboy’s voice carried to such a distance that even without the use of their sight, Cassie and Griffin knew exactly what the Nephilim operatives were up to.

  “Shhh!” Daniel hissed sharply.

  “Who the hell is gonna hear us way up here in God’s waitin’ room?”

  “I’ve been told that pilgrims sometimes camp out on the trail or even in the cave itself.”

  “In this cold?” The cowboy’s voice was filled with disbelief. “If’n they wanna die of frostbite maybe. I didn’t see no tents on our way up. You got a bead on anybody in here?”

  For one anxious moment Cassie held her breath, wondering if the duo might actually make a thorough search of the cave. Her hand crept into the pocket that held her stun gun.

  “No, there’s no one here,” came Daniel’s quiet reply. “I’m just saying there might be.”

  “And there might be pixies dancin’ a conga line.” Hunt snorted in derision. “You got too much imagination, that’s your trouble.”

  “I’m not inclined to disagree with you,” the Scion remarked ruefully.

  “Ain’t nobody around. Not even them three thieves who been doggin’ us since Day One. I ain’t seen hide nor hair of ‘em.”

  “Nor have I.” Daniel sounded mildly relieved.

  “And it’s a good thing too—for them. There’s scores that need settlin’, especially with Miss Cassie. If that scrappy little bitch ever comes at me again with that bug zapper of hers, I got a bullet with her name on it!”

  “Mr. Hunt!” The Scion’s shocked voice echoed through the cave.

  Griffin’s arm tightened protectively around Cassie’s shoulder. She gave his hand a comforting squeeze.

  “Oh, don’t you go boneless on me now, boy. You know your daddy give me a job to do—grab the doodads and don’t let nothin’ get in the way. Right from the start, them three made a whole career out of gettin’ in the way. All I’m sayin’ is if they do it again, it’ll be for the last time!”

  “Fortunately, they haven’t shown themselves at all during this trip. Perhaps they’ve given up.”

  “Smartest thing they could do,” Hunt concluded. “Well, let’s get on with it then. We gotta climb down this mountain before daylight.” It sounded as if the cowboy had risen to his feet. “You shine that flashlight over here so’s I can see. Now where did I stash that screwdriver?”

  For several minutes all was quiet as the two men worked at their task. Eventually, the sound of metal scraping against stone meant that the frame and sheet of glass had been removed.

  The cowboy uttered a cry of triumph. “Ha! Got it.”

  In the silence that followed, the relic was presumably being lifted from its niche.

  “Careful now, you don’t want to shake loose any of them shiny rocks on this doodad,” the cowboy cautioned.

  “I’ll be careful, Mr. Hunt. See, I’m lowering it very gently into my backpack. Are you happy now?”

  “I’ll be a mite happier when we get shed of this town. I never seen a place where folks can’t even figure out how to brew a pot of tea without it tastin’ like stewed cowhide.”

  “I should think you’d like it here,” the Scion observed. “The Tibetans all seem to favor cowboy hats. You ought to feel right at home.”

  “And that’s another thing!” Hunt exclaimed in an offended tone. “How’s a body supposed to feel special when all and sundry are sportin’ his style? These here locals look like a cross between John Wayne and Fu Manchu. It just ain’t natural! The sooner I scrape the grit of this place off my boots, the happier I’ll be.”

  It sounded as if the cowboy was moving toward the entrance.

  “Are you just going to leave the frame lying there on the ground?” Daniel challenged.

  “What the hell am I gonna put it back for? It’s like shuttin’ the barn door after the horses run off!”

  “Very well,” the Scion relented. “We should be on our way.”

  “Damn straight,” Hunt agreed. “Let’s get outta here.”

  Cassie could see the glow from their flashlights fade as they made for the opposite end of the cave.

  Fifteen minutes later, even the sound of their footfalls on the trail was gone.

  The Pythia finally allowed herself to breathe. “Did that really just happen?”

  “What?” Griffin whispered back.

  “For the first time since...ever...our plan actually worked out the way we wanted it to. We were backed into a dead end cave with those guys and nobody got hurt. There’s something very wrong about that.”

  “One should never look a gift horse in the mouth,” the Scrivener reminded her. He rose up from their cramped hiding place and stretched. “That feels infinitely better!”

  Cassie peeped out over the mountainside from between the chortens. She could see two lights bobbing far below her on the trail back to Darchen. “They’re not wasting any time,” she observed. Then she rose and stretched as well.

  The pair set to work placing the second false relic in the shrine niche. They then reattached the glass shield and its metal frame.

  Cassie consulted her watch. “How much lead time should we give them?”

  “That depends on how confident you feel.”

  “Of what?”

  “We can leave now if you don’t mind traveling in the dark. If we were to use our torches, Daniel and his minion might notice the lights on the path above them and come back to investigate.”

  “I see your point,” Cassie conceded. “Considering how often we’ve hiked this route in the past week, I could probably make the trip blind-folded.”

  “I expect that’s very nearly how it will feel,” Griffin remarked. “There’s no moon out tonight.”

  “Moon or no moon, I still want to get out of here ASAP,” the Pythia urged. “The longer we hang around, the more we increase the odds that something will go wrong.”

  “My dear Pythia, I had no idea you were such a fatalist,” Griffin teased.

  “Not a fatalist,” she corrected. “Just a realist. No matter how you try to fight it, Murphy’s Law will always apply... and at the worst possible time.”

  Chapter 48—Murphy’s Codicil Of Optical Occlusion

  Cassie and Griffin traveled down the mountain in silence. The journey was slower than the trip up since they’d dispensed with their flashlights to avoid being seen by Daniel and Hunt. Two hours on the path felt like four but eventually the ground leveled out and they knew they were approaching the base of the mountain.

  Cassie paused to catch her breath. “How much farther do you think it is?”

  “I’d say we’re no more than a mile away now.”

  “I heard a car motor a few minutes ago,” the Pythia remarked. “Sound really travels out here in the middle of nowhere. Since everybody else in town is still tucked into their beds, I’m guessing the roar of that particular engin
e came from our Nephilim buddies hitting the road.”

  “Then it’s good riddance to bad rubbish,” said the Scrivener.

  “As long as we know they’re gone, it should be safe to use our flashlights again.” The Pythia switched hers on and checked the display on her watch. “4:30. That gives us an hour and a half before the sun comes up. We need to be out of Darchen by then.”

  They made quicker progress down the remainder of the trail with their lights to guide them.

  “Almost there,” Cassie said when they were half a mile away from town.

  “And nothing terrible happened,” Griffin countered. “So much for that Murphy chap of yours. It’s merely a silly superstition to believe that if something can go wrong, it—”

  “Watch out!” The Pythia’s warning came too late.

  Several dark figures swarmed from behind the boulders lining the trail, jumping Cassie and Griffin. Before the pair knew what was happening, they were body-slammed to the ground.

  Half a dozen voices were talking at once, demanding answers in a language Cassie didn’t understand. She blinked as half a dozen flashlights pointed their intrusive beams in her face.

  “What’s going on?” she asked dazedly. “Does anybody here speak English?”

  More voices joined the hostile chorus. Rough hands reached out to drag her toward some unknown destination. She stumbled up a rock-strewn path and was thrust inside a small tent. Griffin was propelled in after her. Two of their assailants followed and forced them to sit back-to-back against the central tent pole, tethering their hands to the stake with thick hemp rope.

  Without a word of explanation, their attackers left and shut the tent flap behind them. The voices outside continued to angrily debate some unknown topic.

  Cassie tried to twist around but couldn’t. “Griffin?” she called anxiously. “Are you alright?” She felt the reassuring pressure of his fingers looping through hers.

  “I’m fine, all things considered. And you?”

  “Other than a few bruises, I’m OK too,” she answered.

  The two of them sat back-to-back in silence for several moments, listening to the bellowing match outside.

  “That’s what you get for mocking Murphy,” Cassie said wryly. “Especially the dreaded Codicil Of Optical Occlusion.”

  “The what?”

  “Murphy’s Codicil of Optical Occlusion. It’s an addendum to the other rules.”

  “You’re making that up, aren’t you?”

  The Pythia gave an exasperated sigh. “When have you ever known me to make up three-syllable words and string them together in a sentence? That’s your department.”

  “I stand corrected. So what words of wisdom does Mr. Murphy have to offer in his codicil?”

  “That when a thing that can go wrong is about to go wrong at the worst possible time—you won’t be able to dodge it because you’ll never see it coming.”

  The Scrivener shrugged philosophically. “On the whole, this night might have gone worse. Whoever they are, at least they didn’t kill us.”

  “The night’s not over yet,” Cassie remarked ominously.

  Chapter 49—A Flawless Plan

  The argument among Cassie’s and Griffin’s captors continued for another quarter hour. Eventually, the voices receded into the distance. It sounded as if they were traveling back up the mountain.

  The pair relaxed slightly once the gang was out of earshot.

  “Who were those guys?” the Pythia asked. “They weren’t Nephilim. I know that because we’re not dead.”

  “I have no idea. I didn’t recognize the dialect they were speaking.”

  A lantern glowed just beyond the tent flap, bathing the interior in a dim yellow light.

  “It doesn’t sound like they left a guard outside,” Cassie observed cautiously.

  “I don’t hear anyone either,” the Scrivener agreed.

  They both waited for the lantern’s owner to make a move but nothing was stirring beyond their canvas prison other than the hollow wind.

  In the faint light, Cassie noticed that their backpacks had been shaken out, searched, and then tossed into the tent after them. The attackers hadn’t taken any of the contents which meant they’d been looking for something specific.

  “Check out our packs.” The Pythia drew Griffin’s attention to their scattered belongings. “They didn’t find what they were after which means they must want the relic.”

  “How is that even possible?” The Scrivener registered surprised.

  “Think about it,” Cassie answered. “It was pretty easy for the twins to find out what Daniel and Hunt were planning for tonight. What if somebody else overheard them and decided to grab the goods as those two came back down the mountain?”

  “If that’s the case, why would they waylay us?”

  “Who knows? It was dark out. Maybe all Western tourists look alike in the dark. I’d be suspicious of anybody climbing down from Kailash at this hour.”

  “It still seems odd that they should disappear after tying us up.”

  Cassie was as stumped as her companion. “Maybe they were sure we had the artifact. They were thrown when they didn’t find it. Maybe there’s somebody else who’s giving the orders and they had to report back to him to decide what to do next.”

  “Oh, dear!” The Scrivener sounded stricken. “If those men really are thieves, I can think of only two possible ways this evening can end for us.”

  Cassie braced herself. “I’m only listening to this because my hands are tied up and I can’t cover my ears.”

  Griffin forged ahead. “In the first scenario, they believe we stole the artifact and hid it somewhere. They’ll torture us to find out its location.”

  Cassie swallowed hard. “What’s the second possibility?”

  “In the second scenario, they believe they made an error and someone else stole the artifact. They’ll cut our throats to keep us from exposing them.”

  “Given those two choices, I vote for option three.”

  “Which is?”

  “We get the hell out of here before they come back!” Cassie frantically twisted her hands in an effort to loosen the ropes.

  Griffin seemed not to hear her. “I say, this shelter looks like the old mummery tents that were used by Himalayan climbers several decades back.”

  “So what?” Cassie failed to see the relevance of the comment as she continued to fidget with the ropes.

  “Mummery tents are unusual. Their design is floorless.”

  The Pythia stopped struggling. She tried to turn her head to glare at the Scrivener but couldn’t quite manage it so she settled for whacking him in the back of the skull with her own.

  “Oww! Why the bloody hell did you do that?”

  “To snap you out of it because I think you’ve lost your marbles! Our lives are literally hanging by a thread... well more like a bunch of threads...but that isn’t the point. We’re in dire peril and you’re fixating on flawless tent design?”

  “Not flawless, floorless!” Griffin objected, trying to keep his voice down. “F-L-O-O-R-L-E-S-S.”

  Cassie gritted her teeth. “Griffin, your accent is adorable but in Brit-Speak those two words sound exactly the same. Would it kill you to pronounce a hard ‘R’ every once in a while?”

  Ignoring her comment, he resumed his explanation. “Given our current predicament, floorlessness is a useful feature. We can—”

  She cut him off. “Now that we’ve cleared the pronunciation hurdle, I’m way ahead of you.” The Pythia managed to dig the heel of her boot into the sleeping bag on which she was seated. Dragging the coverlet to the side, she exposed the loose rock beneath. Then she swept the ground with her leg, drawing half a dozen stones toward the two captives. “C’mon, flawless,” she urged. “Mama needs a sharpie.”

  Griffin noticed her actions and began a dredging operation of his own. Unfortunately, his long legs couldn’t quite tuck in far enough to bring the stones close to their bodies.


  “Allow me,” Cassie offered. “Aside from needing a step stool to reach my top kitchen cabinets, being vertically-challenged has its advantages. It gives me a smaller turning radius.”

  By twisting her hips sideways, she managed to push a sizeable mound of rocks right beneath Griffin’s hands.

  “Your fingers are longer. Can you find something in that pile with a cutting edge to fray these ropes?”

  There was silence for several seconds as he sorted through the rock collection.

  “Aha! I do believe I’ve found one. It feels as jagged as an arrowhead to me.”

  “Good, then work on my hands first. Those guys didn’t tie my wrists too tightly.”

  “I imagine they went more easily on you because you’re a woman.”

  Cassie gave a short bark of a laugh. “a!H That mistake is gonna cost them.”

  Griffin sawed away feverishly.

  “Ouch!” The Pythia winced. She could feel blood running down her fingers.

  “Cassie, I’m so sorry!” The Scrivener stopped immediately. “Are you injured?”

  “Forget it. A nick on my wrist is no biggie. Besides, the blood might make the rope slippery—easier for me to slide out.”

  “Forgive me for calling you a fatalist earlier this evening,” Griffin said dryly. “Your willingness to take life’s lemons and make blood lemonade bespeaks a truly appalling form of optimism.”

  “Thanks. I think...”

  The Scrivener returned to his task, albeit more carefully. At the end of five minutes he’d succeeded in fraying the top layer of rope.

  Cassie interrupted his labors. “Hold on. Let’s see if I can wiggle out yet.” She twisted her hands this way and that. The rope was definitely looser but not enough for her to slip free. “A little more,” she advised.

  The Scrivener was about to resume the operation but froze when they both heard a noise outside.

  Footsteps were traveling toward the tent. The two of them sat bolt upright, pressing their backs close together to hide the makeshift knife and pile of rocks.