Serpent's Kiss

by Alex Archer

  “Not exactly the most organized effort, is it?” Lochata asked.

  “Not even,” Annja agreed. Her headache had gotten worse. Despite the pain and the frustration she felt, she worked in the journal she was keeping for the Shakti dig.

  She sketched the bay area’s general geographical characteristics and marked the site where the clay pot had been found. The spot where the naga statue had been found had already been marked.

  “I’m surprised the pot survived the tsunami,” Lochata said.

  “Not to mention hundreds or thousands of years at the bottom of the ocean,” Annja said.

  “It wasn’t there thousands.” Lochata turned the pot carefully in her hands. “This was kiln-fired.”

  “So it came from a city or a town,” Annja said.

  Lochata nodded.

  Annja flipped back through the notes she’d made prior to boarding the plane in New York. “The closest city I know of that was on the coast within that time frame was Kaveripattinam.”

  “There were a few others. Smaller, but still viable. But it was Kaveripattinam that the world came to see and trade with. Until a tsunami destroyed much of it twenty-five hundred years ago,” Lochata said.

  “We’re a long way from Poompuhar,” Annja pointed out. Kaveripattinam had been rebuilt over time, though so much of the ancient architecture had been lost, and it had been renamed Poompuhar.

  “The pot could have come from a merchant ship, then,” Lochata said. “I’ve worked with a lot of the pottery that was found offshore there. This piece looks like other pieces that were recovered there.”

  “Even the bas-relief?”

  “No. I was talking about the composition of the materials and the technique used to fire it.” Lochata ran her fingers over the raised images of Shakti. “These mark the pot as something other than an everyday pot. This was probably intended for a religious service. Or as a cherished gift for a lover or a family member.”

  Annja showed the professor her drawing. “The pot and the statue were found in a relatively straight line.”

  Lochata nodded. “I’d noticed that.”

  “It would probably help if some of the students searched deeper into the jungle. Anything that was light would have washed farther up the shore.”

  “When I can get them to stop looking for gold,” Lochata said, “I intend to have them search there.” She sighed. “Provided they’re interested in continuing the dig.”

  Annja glanced out at the students walking through the shallows and smiled. “I think they’re interested. We just need to find a few more things to keep them that way.”

  WHEN ANNJA STRIPPED DOWN to her bikini she claimed the instant attention of every male in the dig crew. She felt a little self-conscious as she walked toward the water.

  She had a good body. She knew that. Hours of work on the weight machines and StairMaster, hours spent in the boxing gym she frequented and an active lifestyle guaranteed that.

  And the bikini showed off her figure. She’d worn it under her clothes so she could go for a quiet, private swim in the ocean at the end of a long hot day in the pit.

  The snorkel and swim fins she carried were borrowed from one of the students whose belongings had turned up in a tree. At the water’s edge, she sat on a rock, pulled the swim fins on and settled the mask over her face. She tried to ignore the continued staring as she made her way out into the water.

  She swam out twenty yards or so. From the way the seabed gradually sloped out, she guessed she was in fifteen to twenty feet of water. After a final deep breath to charge her lungs, she dived.

  The crash of the surf against the cliff suddenly seemed distant. Annja felt as if she’d been wrapped in cotton. She swam cleanly as she moved her arms and legs almost effortlessly.

  The ocean was clearer than she’d expected. With the disturbance caused by the tsunami she’d anticipated a lot of debris in the water. There was a lingering fog, however, that limited her visibility. She resisted the impulse to clean her face mask.

  As always, the beauty of the sea overcame her. The brilliant colors of the fish in the tropical saltwater environment caught her eye again and again. Schools swam and darted in unison. Several coral growths stood proudly on the sea bottom. An eel whipsawed through less than a dozen feet away.

  You’re not here on a sight-seeing tour, Annja reminded herself. She swam down to within reaching distance of the seabed.

  She hadn’t swum far when she found the first gold coin. She dug it out of the loose sand and spotted three more.

  In the excitement, she hadn’t paid particular attention to the tightness that strained her lungs.

  When she flipped over to begin her ascent, she noticed the hull of a speedboat cutting through the water toward the shallows. She surfaced and spit out the snorkel mouthpiece, breathing deeply to replenish her depleted lungs.

  The boat moved in too close and too quick. Several students had to flee the water. Four men sat in the speedboat. They laughed at the students and mimed the panicked reactions of some of them.

  Annja treaded water on the other side of the speedboat. She scanned the craft and noticed the name and registration were missing or covered over.

  Things didn’t look good.

  One of the men brought up a bolt-action rifle and shouted something in his native tongue. Another man tapped him on the shoulder and spoke quickly.

  The man with the rifle addressed the dig members again in English. “I want to talk to your boss now or I will start shooting.”

  6

  The Grimjoy rocked on the sea with a careless abandon that told Goraksh the craft hadn’t been properly anchored.

  The yacht was a thing of beauty. At least forty feet long, the boat was a shipbuilder’s confection of polished teak and brass. It was also rigged and powered to be a motorsailer, capable of traveling with the wind or by the big engines.

  Goraksh listened to his father’s bellowed commands and helped with the sails as the Black Swan closed on the yacht. The lookout in the crow’s nest relayed that no one else appeared to be about.

  Grabbing his binoculars, Goraksh studied the yacht. He spotted a red-haired woman in a bikini waving frantically in the stern, but no one else appeared on deck.

  “What do you think?”

  His father’s unannounced presence at his side startled Goraksh. He took an involuntary step away before realizing it was his father.

  “What do I think about what, Father?” Goraksh asked.

  Rajiv nodded at the yacht. “It could be a trap.”

  “A trap?”

  “There could be armed men belowdecks waiting till we’re within range,” Rajiv said as calmly as though they were discussing the prevailing winds. “They could have rifles or machine guns. Perhaps even a rocket launcher. Those things are not as hard to get hold of as they once were.”

  Goraksh knew that; his father sometimes dealt in munitions. But everyone who had a boat and needed money did. There were always rebel forces in India, Africa and the Middle East who needed them. Sometimes Rajiv only hired out to transport someone else’s weapons.

  The woman continued waving and yelling.

  “I don’t think it’s a trap,” Goraksh replied. “The woman appears too afraid.”

  “Perhaps you’re right,” his father said. “It pays to be right.” He paused. “But it also pays to be careful.” He barked an order to one of the men.

  Instantly the order was relayed to the other men. All of them armed themselves with assault rifles that were brought up from belowdecks. Possession of any one of the weapons was enough to get them in serious trouble. Having all of them—

  Goraksh swallowed hard. He didn’t know what having all of them meant. But it couldn’t be good.

  The woman didn’t think so, either. She shrank back, then turned and fled into the cabin.

  “Here.”

  Goraksh turned once more to his father. Rajiv held a semiautomatic pistol in his hand.

  “Take this
in case you need it,” his father commanded.

  Reluctantly, but trying hard not to show it, Goraksh took the pistol. The weapon fit his hand instinctively, but it was a lot heavier than he’d expected. He prayed he wouldn’t need it.

  Rajiv gave orders to close in.

  THE BLACK SWAN’ S CREW lashed their ship to Grimjoy. Then, after they pulled on disposable gloves to prevent leaving fingerprints, they followed their captain aboard.

  Goraksh accompanied his father because Rajiv grabbed his shirt and propelled him forward. The pistol dangled at the end of Goraksh’s arm. He wasn’t even sure if the safety had been switched off.

  The Grimjoy’s deck rocked beneath their feet. Waves slapped flatly against the ship’s hull.

  “Do you know why I brought you last night?” Rajiv whispered into Goraksh’s ear.

  “No.”

  “Because you are twenty,” his father whispered. “Because you are a man. And because the men who work for me wonder why my son—my only son—hasn’t taken his place with me.”

  Goraksh went forward to the ship’s cabin afraid he was going to be shot at any moment. He thought he might be sick.

  “You are a Sikh,” his father whispered vehemently. “The blood of warriors runs through your veins. I put it there.”

  Goraksh stood at his father’s side in front of the cabin door. He heard the woman crying within. She was also talking rapidly.

  “Help! Anyone! Help! This is the Grimjoy!” The crying broke up her words, but Goraksh knew anyone who heard her could still understand her. “We’re being boarded by pirates! Help!”

  The thought of the woman using the radio twisted Goraksh’s insides into water. “She’s calling for help.”

  “What are you going to do about it?” his father demanded. He released his hold on Goraksh’s shirt.

  “Help? Is anyone out there? There are pirates—”

  Goraksh was unable to bear the thought of getting caught by the Indian navy or coastal patrols. No matter what, he had to stop the radio transmission.

  THE CABIN WAS SMALL. A miniature galley and wet bar occupied the area to the left. A bed and shower cubicle occupied the forward and right sections.

  A man, glassy-eyed in death, lay on the bed and rolled loosely with the pitch of the tethered yacht. He was in his thirties and looked American or European. Artificially blond hair was short and spiky. He’d been tall and fit, his skin bronzed by the sun. He wore brightly colored swimming trunks and was bare chested.

  He’d also been dead long enough that his blood had settled in the lower part of his body. Goraksh had seen such things on television shows but he’d never seen anything like it in person.

  The woman held on to the radio microphone as if it were a life preserver. She continued sending her message.

  Goraksh shoved the pistol into her face as if he’d been doing it all his life. His finger wasn’t even on the trigger.

  “Get away from the radio,” he shouted. Then he realized he hadn’t spoken in English and that she probably didn’t understand him. He repeated the order again as he reached for the microphone.

  The woman jerked away. In the tight confines of the ship’s cabin, she tripped and fell heavily. She had a death grip on the microphone and tore the unit from the wall in a shower of sparks.

  As she floundered on the bed next to the dead man, she cursed Goraksh soundly. Goraksh didn’t know what he was supposed to do next. He glanced back at his father as Rajiv came down the steps into the cabin.

  Rajiv’s eyes rounded in surprise.

  When he swiveled back to look at the woman, Goraksh was stunned to see that she had a small black automatic pistol clasped in her hand. She continued cursing as her knuckle whitened on the trigger.

  The detonation sounded loud in the cabin. Goraksh’s ears ached with the blast and he was partially deafened. Sparks from the gun barrel singed his shirt. The bullet rushed in a heat streak beside his head, and he doubted that it missed him by more than an inch.

  Goraksh pointed his pistol at the woman and fired back. He knew he’d missed, though. He’d hurried the shot and he’d missed. He barely even heard the reports because he was so scared. But there was more than one of them. He was sure about that.

  Something burned into the side of his neck. He dodged away from it, but he knew he was already too late. He’d been shot.

  The woman’s head jerked violently. Her blood splattered the interior of the cabin and landed warmly on Goraksh’s skin. He felt it ooze down his face as the woman fell over the dead man.

  For a moment, Goraksh’s knees wouldn’t hold him. He thought he was going to fall. He tried to take a breath and couldn’t. He wondered if he’d been shot in the throat. It would have been horrible to drown in his own blood.

  Then his father was there. Rajiv slipped an arm under his shoulder and kept Goraksh on his feet. His father turned his head gently with the heated barrel of the .357 Magnum and surveyed the wound in his neck.

  Goraksh felt his blood pulsing out of him. It soaked into his shirt. “Am I going to die?” he whispered.

  “Not today,” Rajiv replied in a choked voice. Tears glimmered in his eyes. “But I thought I had seen her kill you.”

  GORAKSH SAT in one of the upholstered chairs on the yacht’s deck and watched his father’s crew take the Grimjoy apart. They popped panels off the yacht and searched everywhere for hiding places.

  So far they’d found a cache of money and a few weapons. There wasn’t much of either. Whoever the yacht’s owner had been, he’d known that if the vessel was searched those things would probably have been found.

  A few of the pirate crew came over to congratulate Goraksh on killing the woman who’d almost killed him. He didn’t know what to say. He sat quietly and tried not to get sick thinking about it. Her face kept appearing in his mind, her mouth filled with curses until her head exploded.

  Now that shock had worn off and his adrenaline had subsided, Goraksh felt the pain of his wound. His father had insisted on dressing it himself and had told him to keep pressure on it. The wound still bled through. His fingers came away stained with his blood. There was a lot of blood on his shirt, too.

  He was convinced he should have been in a hospital. And he wasn’t at all certain he still wasn’t going to die.

  One of the crew pulled himself up the ladder that hung over the back of the yacht. “Rajiv!” the man called. “Rajiv, come see what I have found!”

  Instantly the crew swarmed the deck. Goraksh had to lean back in order to keep from getting bumped and jostled. He peered around Karam and spotted the pillow pack filled with a dirty brown substance.

  Rajiv pushed to the front of his men and took the package. He slit a small hole in it with his knife, then dipped a finger inside. His finger came out coated with the substance. He smelled it but didn’t put it into his mouth.

  “Opium,” Rajiv pronounced, and grinned. “How much have you found, Makhan?”

  “A lot,” Makhan said. Young and greedy, he was one of the newest additions to Rajiv’s crew. “Maybe enough to make us all rich men.”

  The crew cheered. Karam even slapped Goraksh on the shoulder and then, realizing what he’d done, apologized profusely.

  “Where did you find it?” Rajiv asked.

  “In a blister glued to the hull of the ship. There’s another on the other side.” Makhan preened.

  Goraksh knew about blisters. They were called that because they were fiberglass hulls designed to look like part of a speedboat or yacht. Smugglers used them to avoid cursory searches by law-enforcement personnel.

  “Good. Let’s get it out of there and onto the Black Swan,” Rajiv said.

  Unwilling to be trampled by the men as they hurried to get their new cargo aboard, Goraksh relinquished his seat. With nowhere else to go, he went down into the cabin.

  There in the darkness, listening to the men as they cheered their good fortune, Goraksh stared at the dead woman. The bedding had turned dark with her blood.
She’d been brain-dead from the instant his father’s bullet had hit her, but her heart had continued pumping until nearly all her blood had emptied.

  The man had died from a different cause. Rajiv had declared the man dead from a drug overdose. He’d had a pipe in his hand that had burned into his flesh.

  Goraksh supposed that had been the impetus to get them started looking for illegal cargo and not just taking what they wanted from the yacht. There were always ship owners running opium out of India.

  “What are you doing down here?”

  Goraksh looked up at his father standing in the stairway. “I had to get out of the way.”

  Rajiv glared at the dead woman. “If you came down here to mourn the woman who shot you, then you’re a fool,” he spit.

  “I didn’t.” But Goraksh felt guilty about her death.

  “Then take her rings and jewelry. I had the men leave them for you. You earned them for facing the woman. If you feel like walking, then you feel like thieving. And if you wait too long, the body will become stiff and you’ll have to cut off her fingers to claim them.”

  Without a word, Goraksh turned to commit himself to the task. He knew it would be hours before rigor mortis set in, and her flesh was drained of blood, which would thin her, too, but he didn’t want his father hovering over him while he did the horrible deed.

  Rajiv went back to concentrate on collecting the opium.

  The woman had only a few pieces of jewelry but they all looked expensive. Evidently the man beside her had been both wealthy and generous.

  Goraksh stuffed the rings, bracelet and necklace into his pocket. He looked down at the bed filled with death and wondered if that was how his life was going to end, too.

  Then someone called out a warning on the upper deck.

  Goraksh’s wound throbbed as he ran up the stairs. The ship’s crew crowded the railing on the starboard side. Most of them pointed at something in the distance.

  A ship rolled out on the ocean as it rode the waves. When it started down the back side of one, the blue, gold and white Indian coast guard flag on the stern was revealed.