Secrets Of The Serpent's Heart (The Arkana Archaeology Mystery Series Book 6)

by Wikarski, N. S.

  Elle interrupted. “What’s a trove?”

  Griffin hesitated.

  Cassie cut in. “That also falls into the category of things we shouldn’t talk about. If you know too much about our operation, it might put you at risk.”

  The sentinel eyed her skeptically. “And here I thought you guys were just on a scavenger hunt.”

  “More like a scavenger hunt with flying bullets.” The Pythia grinned ruefully. “There are some very bad people who want to get their hands on the Minoan relics. Let’s just say it would be better for the world if they didn’t.”

  “Relics plural?” Elle’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean there’s more than one?”

  “Like I said, the less you know—”

  Elle put up her hands in resignation. “Forget I asked. The last thing I want is to be caught in the middle of your private war.” She shifted slightly in her seat, turning her attention back to Griffin. “You were saying something about the Minangkabau people?”

  Griffin hastened to elaborate. “Yes, the Minangkabau hold the distinction of being the largest remaining matriarchy in the world. Even the most dyed-in-wool mainstream anthropologists can’t deny it since the people describe their own society as a matriarchy.”

  “I’ve never heard of them,” Cassie murmured.

  “They are quite a fascinating culture,” Griffin continued. “As you might expect, property is passed to female descendants under the rationale that women need a home to provide for their offspring while men have the luxury of living anywhere. When a woman marries, her husband moves in with her family and is guided by their decisions.”

  The sentinel chimed in. “The Minangkabau believe that undirected male energy is chaotic. It disrupts the harmony of the family if left unchecked by the wisdom of the elders, both male and female.” She smiled wryly. “Given the guys I’ve dated over the past decade, I’d say the Minangkabau got it right—at least about men under fifty anyway.”

  Griffin forged ahead, trying to ignore the unintended insult. “Though their village headmen are male, they are elected by the property owners.”

  “Who all happen to be female,” Cassie stated.

  “Correct.”

  “That’s exactly like the Iroquois,” she added.

  “It’s like most other matriarchal societies around the world,” Griffin countered. “Women control the resources and men manage political affairs with their consent. Even if that division hadn’t originally been part of their culture, the patriarchal societies surrounding the Minangkabau would have eventually pressured them to appoint a male authority to represent them in the outside world. The most curious trait of these people is that they are all staunch Muslims.”

  “What?” Cassie registered disbelief. “How is that even possible?”

  Elle laughed at her reaction. “Islam in Sumatra is an entirely different animal than in Saudi Arabia. Just to give you an example, a lot of women in Sumatra wear the hijab. That’s the traditional headscarf worn by Muslim women. To people who live in the West, the hijab is a symbol of Islamic male oppression. But that isn’t how the Minangkabau view it. The women have managed to hang onto their power, headscarves and all.”

  “I suspect that many of the traits which we define as Islamic are merely Arabic,” Griffin said. “Culture frequently shapes religion rather than the other way round. The Minangkabau have a fluid and adaptive way of dealing with the outside world. Assimilation and compromise are excellent strategies to guarantee social stability. Of course, it also helps that Indonesian Muslims weren’t converted at the point of a sword. The spread of the religion was entirely peaceful. Islamic traders from India first began to appear in the area in the 14th century. Their beliefs became fashionable with the rulers of various principalities and some converted. Over time, the rest of the population followed suit. However, the Minangkabau appear to have adopted some Islamic ideas and discarded those which were at odds with their culture, such as the notion of male superiority.”

  “They have this thing called ‘adat’,” said Elle. “It’s hard to translate but it means something like custom or tradition or even cosmic balance. They live their lives by it. It’s just as important to them as Islam. Maybe more so since it’s been around longer.”

  “Still I have to wonder.” Cassie frowned as a new thought struck her. “If they are Islamic then I don’t think they would take kindly to graven goddess images of any kind. How did you manage to convince them to protect the relic for you?”

  “I had to find some common ground. After a little digging, I learned that the Minangkabau believe in a semi-mythical Queen Mother who founded their culture along with her sons. They think they’re all descended from her and she’s still venerated in songs and stories. All I had to do was tap into that.”

  Given the puzzled reaction of her listeners, Elle elaborated. “I asked around until I found the most influential matriarch in one of the hill villages outside Padang. I explained to her that I had a cherished relic which had belonged to the Queen Mother of my own people. I told her that it was no longer safe to keep it in my homeland because the men there had forgotten how to respect their mothers and they might destroy it. I asked her to hide the artifact for me until I came back to claim it and she agreed.”

  “Very clever.” Griffin nodded his approval.

  “I didn’t build a career in marketing for nothing,” Elle retorted. “It also helped that I took the time to learn their language. Let me tell you, there aren’t any Rosetta Stone courses in Baso Padang.”

  The pilot came on the intercom at that moment to announce their descent. They all dutifully adjusted their seats and refolded their tray tables.

  “When we land, we’re going straight to the hotel to check in,” Elle informed them. “After that, we’re off to a little village in the highlands where you’ll get your precious artifact and I can be on my merry way.”

  Griffin studied her for a moment. “I must say, despite your personal objections to the role, you’ve proven yourself to be an able custodian of our priceless relic. I’m sure your sentinel ancestors would be very proud of you.”

  “Sentinel,” Elle echoed. “Yet another word I don’t like.” She folded her arms decisively. “After today, nobody better call me that again. Ever!”

  Chapter 30—Dead Zone

  Leroy killed his van’s lights and turned onto a dirt lane that ran next to the back fence of the farmhouse property. His surveillance had shown that nobody used this road so it was the perfect place to lay low for a couple of hours. He wanted to wait til everybody in the neighborhood had turned in for the night before he made his move. Yup, tonight was the night. He’d been staking out the place for nearly two weeks now. That was longer than he’d originally intended but he wanted to make absolutely sure he knew the schedule of everything that happened in that house.

  The additional time spent in surveillance contradicted his pet theory that the farmhouse was a front for Mr. Big’s operation. Even though the trio and Mr. Big were somehow connected to the place, Hunt figured that both Hannah and the old lady were in the dark about the doodads. Nothing in their monotonous daily routine betrayed anything remotely shady.

  After little Hannah left for school, the old lady would pile into her station wagon and do errands. She’d be gone for hours during the middle of the day but Leroy didn’t trouble himself about what she was up to. Probably stocking up on more flowered housedresses. Once the gal got back from school in the afternoon, she helped the old lady with cooking and chores, did her homework, and went to sleep. On weekends, her boyfriend showed up to take her out to dinner or a movie and always got her home before curfew. Everything was as humdrum as could be. Of course, after tonight nobody in the neighborhood would ever be able to say that again.

  The cowboy had thought long and hard about how he wanted to play this scene. His main objective was to eliminate Hannah. He couldn’t have her ratting out Daniel and gumming up the works for him with the old man. Teenage girls generally h
ad a tendency to blab too much. They couldn’t help themselves. It was in their natures. Unfortunately, killing Hannah outright might rile the preacher so Hunt had to make it look like an accident.

  For starters, Leroy planned to break into the back of the house around 3 AM. He’d go upstairs to the old lady’s room and smother her with a pillow before she knew what hit her. A nice quiet way to take her out. Then he’d tiptoe down the hall to the little gal’s room. She was maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet so she wouldn’t put up much of a fight. Leroy could snap her neck like a dried twig. Then he’d drag the two bodies to the top of the stairs and roll the old lady down first. The body would get banged up enough to make it seem she’d died from the fall. Then he’d drop the gal from the railing. Same result.

  Of course, he planned to tell the grief-stricken preacher a whole different version of how things went down. With a catch in his voice, he’d explain that his plan had gone horribly wrong. He’d broken in with the intention of grabbing Hannah but the old lady woke up and got in the way. While he was struggling with her, Hannah lunged at him, missed and went over the railing, breaking her neck. The old lady squirmed free and tried to run down the stairs but tripped and took a tumble herself. Before Leroy could do any damage control somebody had called 911 and the sirens told him he needed to high tail it out of there. With no fingerprints at the scene of the crime and a pane of broken glass in the kitchen door, the cops would naturally assume it was a burglary gone wrong.

  Leroy leaned back against the headrest and took a minute to admire the elegance of his plan. With Hannah gone, the treasure hunt could stay on track. And, as an added bonus, tonight’s raid might send a message to Mr. Big. He would know that Leroy was on his trail. Maybe that would rattle him enough to call the trio off for good, leaving the field clear for Daniel to collect the rest of the doodads. No doubt about it. Everything was coming up roses for a change. The cowboy consulted his watch. Plenty of time to get some shut-eye. He had a late night ahead of him. Tipping the brim of his baseball cap over his eyes, he nodded off to sleep.

  ***

  Hunt snorted into wakefulness. The alarm on his wrist watch was chirping at him. He checked the time. It was 3 AM. He yawned, stretched and then scanned the backs of the houses in the subdivision. Not a single light was on. Clearly, nobody in the neighborhood suffered from insomnia. It was show time. He grabbed a pair of black leather gloves sitting on the passenger seat. When he lifted them up, he noticed a cell phone lying beneath. It was the tapped line that he used for calls to the preacher. Leroy made it a rule never to turn that phone on while he was conducting his private surveillance operation because whoever was monitoring his calls to old Abe might also be tracking his physical location. If Mr. Big’s flunkies were to pinpoint his coordinates a hundred feet from the farmhouse, all kinds of bells and whistles would go off. He stared at the phone with a sense of foreboding. The cowboy already knew whenever that phone had been shut off for long periods the preacher would find a reason to call him. He couldn’t help feeling that his wise precaution of staying off the grid was just about to jump up and bite him in the ass.

  Leroy tried to dismiss the urge to listen to his messages. After all, he had big party plans for tonight and didn’t want to be distracted. On the other hand, the cowboy usually operated on instinct and that method had always served him well. As a tracker, he knew that good instincts spelled the difference between a dead animal and a live one. That rule applied to two-legged critters as well as four-legged ones. Try as he might, he couldn’t quell the impulse to check that phone right away.

  Of course, he couldn’t power it on from this location. Swearing under his breath, he switched on the ignition and drove off. About ten miles down the road, he pulled into a gas station parking lot. That should be far enough away from the farmhouse so as not to attract Mr. Big’s attention. Leroy had already disabled the GPS tracking feature on his phone but whoever was dogging him could still triangulate a signal if he stayed on the line too long. He’d have to make this quick. He parked and switched the phone on. Sure enough, there were half a dozen voice mail messages waiting for him. The first one was time-stamped early that evening. It was businesslike. The preacher’s voice was cut and dried. “Mr. Hunt, please phone me immediately.” Click. By the time Leroy reached the sixth, he had to turn the volume down. It was time-stamped at 11 PM and the old man was spitting brimstone. He wanted the cowboy to drop whatever he was doing and call back ASAP, no matter how late.

  Leroy cursed his luck and switched the phone off again. Those calls needed to be answered but not from here. The cowboy’s only option was to drive back to his apartment in order to have his late-night chat with the preacher. He was already certain he knew the reason for all those messages. The old man wanted him to saddle up and hit the trail with Daniel, most likely at the crack of dawn.

  If that was the case, then Leroy couldn’t afford to start something tonight that he couldn’t finish. If he went ahead and snuffed Hannah right now, the days after her unfortunate demise would be critical. He would need to hover at Abe’s elbow to maneuver him into the right frame of mind over his dearly-departed—to steer the preacher away from any suspicion of foul play. He couldn’t manage Abe from overseas so it was either one thing or the other. Kill Hannah tonight or follow Daniel tomorrow. The competing ideas tussled inside his head for priority. He let out a frustrated growl, feeling as frazzled as a two-dollar whore on nickel night.

  After some serious internal struggle, Leroy decided it was best to follow the money. His staged break-in would have to keep til he got back. He shrugged philosophically. After watching Hannah and the old lady go through their boring routine for two solid weeks it was obvious nothing earth-shattering was going to happen before he returned. Muttering a final curse, he started his engine and drove back to the city to place his call.

  Chapter 31—Crowning Moment

  The airplane touched down smoothly and on schedule in Padang City. Immediately after they retrieved their luggage, Griffin, Cassie and Elle took a taxi to their high-rise hotel in the downtown district.

  The island on which the city sat had once been part of the Dutch West Indies. In modern times, Sumatra was a big draw for surfers who could find immense waves on the island’s western shore. As a result, tourism had become a major industry and beach resorts weren’t hard to find. Though the 2009 earthquake had demolished many of the older inns, ultra-modern replacements quickly rose to take their place.

  When the three arrived at their hotel, they checked in and separated briefly to unpack. After reconvening in the lobby, Elle led them outside to a waiting car.

  “No taxi?” Cassie asked.

  “It’s quite a distance out to the village so I hired a car and driver for the afternoon. Get in,” she directed them.

  Elle sat up front while the other two slid into the back. Once the doors were shut, the driver screeched away from the curb. The sentinel shifted in her seat to speak to them. “You don’t want to take the wheel yourself in this part of the world, trust me, and it isn’t simply because there’s a left-hand traffic pattern. Indonesians have a very unusual take on the whole driving experience.”

  Their chauffeur slapped on the brakes to avoid hitting a pedestrian, causing his passengers to lurch forward.

  Unfazed, Elle continued, “They carry a set of Rules Of The Road in their heads but sometimes their intuition is off the mark. Do you know there’s no such thing as vehicular manslaughter here?”

  Griffin squinted at her in disbelief. “Really?”

  “I swear. If somebody gets killed accidentally in a car accident, the person responsible just pays compensation to the victim’s family and they all walk away. In fact, the person driving the biggest car usually gets stuck with the bill because everybody assumes he can afford it.”

  “You’re kidding!” Cassie gasped.

  “I wish I was,” Elle countered. “Driving here would scare the hell out of my mother—the New York cabbie.” She shook her h
ead in wonder. “Indonesians. They’re the nicest people on the planet but they drive like maniacs.”

  As if to punctuate her comment, the driver slapped on the brakes again, almost sending the sentinel through the windshield. This time, a motorcycle had cut directly in front of their car to make an unsignaled right turn.

  “Need I say more?” Elle turned to face forward and cinched her seatbelt.

  They traveled in silence for nearly half an hour. Once out of the city traffic, they passed coffee and rubber plantations on a flat plain which separated the sea from the mountains to the east. The driver took a road leading upward toward the hills. After days spent in the cool mountain air of Lugu Lake, the humid tropical climate took some getting used to.

  Fortunately, the higher the car climbed, the cooler the air became. The road grew narrower and the vegetation became so dense that it qualified as a jungle. The car followed one bend after another in a series of disorienting curves until it brought them into a clearing. A jumble of houses of varying sizes sprouted from the undergrowth. They were constructed of wood and bamboo on pilings raised about ten feet off the ground. Some houses had horn-shaped gables of woven palm fronds which were so sharply pitched they resembled steeples. Elle informed them that this design was meant to mimic the horns of a water buffalo. The driver stopped in front of the biggest house in the village. Its proportions suggested it might be the town hall rather than a dwelling.

  They all got out.

  “We’re here,” Elle announced. “I sent word ahead and she’s expecting us.”

  A woman less than five feet tall emerged at the top of the front stairs to greet them. She was dressed in a floral batik mumu dress. In her sixties, the matriarch was portly with short gray hair and a good-humored face.