The Royal Affair

by Barrett, Gail

“She’s sick. If you help me lift her, I can carry her out.”

  “The hell I will.” As Deven expected, the guard turned toward the young monk working nearby. “Hey, you! Get over here and pick this woman up.”

  Before the guard could turn back, Deven wheeled around, slammed the butt of his gun into his neck. The guard grunted, swayed. Deven hit him again, and he fell to the stable floor.

  “Rip your scarf into thirds,” Deven told Maya. “I need it to tie him up.”

  She jumped to her feet. “Do you have a knife?”

  He dug in his pocket and tossed her his penknife. While she slashed at her scarf, he grabbed the guard’s ankles and dragged him behind the tall stacks of straw. Using the sections of cloth Maya gave him, he bound the guard’s hands and feet and gagged his mouth. Then he swung the guard’s machine gun over his back and tucked his pistol and extra clips into his pants. He kept his own gun firmly in hand. “All right. Let’s go.”

  Fully armed now, he rose and glanced at the young monk cowering behind the braying goats. “Where’s the head monk, the abbot?” Deven asked. “We need to talk to him.”

  The monk straightened, but his face was pale, his dark eyes wide with fear. He glanced around the stable, shifted his weight from foot to foot, as if preparing to bolt.

  “We’re not going to hurt you,” Maya said quickly. “We’re not with these men. We’ve come to talk to the abbot.”

  “We need information,” Deven added. “That’s all. Don’t be afraid.”

  The young monk glanced at the guard on the ground, then back to them. His gaze stalled on Deven’s guns. “You…you can’t see him. He was attacked last night.”

  Oh, hell. “He’s dead?”

  “Not yet, but they say he won’t last the day.”

  “What happened?”

  The monk shook his shaved head. “I’m not sure. I only know that these men came in, and now they won’t let anyone leave.”

  Maya stepped forward. “Please, we have to see him. It’s urgent, and we’ve come a long way. At least tell us where he is so we can try.”

  The monk’s eyes flicked from Maya to him, and then he motioned with one scrawny arm. “He’s in the protector chapel beside the library. The third door down.”

  “Who’s with him?” Deven asked.

  “Another monk. He’s meditating with him.”

  “How many guards?”

  “Only the one at the door.”

  Deven turned toward Maya, knowing they had to act fast. The guards could spot them at any time. “Ready?”

  “Yes.”

  Motioning for her to follow, he strode across the stable to the door. He peeked out at the low buildings surrounding the courtyard, the late-afternoon shadows darkening the paths. A dozen guards had clustered near the gate, gambling. Good. They’d be too busy placing bets to notice them.

  He swept his gaze in the other direction, to the small red porch by the chapel door. An armed guard paced past.

  Deven leaned toward Maya. “We’ll do this in stages. As soon as the guard turns away, run to the next doorway. I’ll be right behind you.”

  “All right.” Her brows wrinkled in concentration. He took hold of her arm, his tension rising as the guard paced toward them again. The guard turned.

  “Go,” Deven whispered, and released her arm.

  Maya darted forward, and he followed, their steps soundless as they rushed to the door. They slipped into the recessed alcove, their soft pants mingling in the cooling air.

  Signaling for her to wait, he eyed the men milling around the gate again, then fastened his gaze on the pacing guard. Cooking pots clanged in the room behind him. The smell of curry made his stomach growl.

  “Get ready,” he whispered. The guard completed his rotation and turned. “Now.”

  He waited a beat, then raced behind her to the next doorway and once again scooted inside. Breathing hard now, he glanced back at the gate, scanned the still-empty courtyard. The rhythmic murmur of chanting filled the air.

  Only one more building to go.

  But the next one would be the trickiest. He needed to divert the guard’s attention, get him to move farther away from the porch so they had time to get through the door.

  “Hold on,” he said. He checked the ground around his feet, scooped up some pebbles, then eyed the small porch again, gauging the time they’d need to run.

  He knew he was taking a gamble. By creating a distraction, he might raise the guard’s suspicions and prompt him to mount a search. And if he found the bound guard…

  But better to risk that than engage in a gun battle now.

  “All right, get ready.” He held his breath, waited until the guard paced past the chapel’s porch. Then he sprang into action and hurled the stones into the shadows past the guard. The pebbles plopped in the dirt; the guard jerked up his head, then rushed to investigate the sound.

  “Run,” Deven said.

  Maya dashed to the porch, leaped up the steps and slipped inside. His eyes glued on the guard, Deven followed her into the chapel and shut the door.

  They’d made it—but the room unsettled him even more. He eyed the dozens of flickering candles, the bloodred pillars painted with symbols, the warlike masks scowling from the walls. Stuffed wolves snarled from tables and corners, their sharp teeth gleaming in the light.

  “What is this place?” He waved a cloud of pungent incense from his eyes.

  “I don’t know.” She moved closer, not that Deven blamed her. He frowned at the savage wolves, the grimacing masks. The odd room made his skin crawl, intensifying his instinct to whisk her away.

  Then a movement in the shadows stirred the smoke. He pulled Maya behind him and raised his gun. But a monk emerged, his head shaved, his red robes swirling around his bare feet. He caught sight of them and stopped.

  Deven lowered his weapon. “We need to talk to the abbot.”

  The monk eyed the machine gun slung over his shoulder, the pistol Deven still held in his hand. His eyes widened, but he planted his feet and crossed his arms. “They’re chanting the death prayers now. He can’t be disturbed. He must be left alone to prepare.”

  “Please,” Maya pleaded, stepping out from behind him. “It’s urgent. We need to talk to him about the inscription on my medallion.” She tugged it from beneath her tunic and held it up. The silver piece gleamed in the candlelight.

  The monk glanced at the medallion, blinked, then leaned closer for a better look. His jaw turned slack. He shook his head, as if in disbelief. Then he bowed, began to back up. “Yes. Of course. This way. The abbot is expecting you.”

  Expecting them? Deven shot a glance at Maya. She shrugged back, looking equally as confused. Hoping this wasn’t a trap, that Singh wasn’t lying in wait, he kept his gun ready as he followed the monk.

  They walked down a long, narrow hallway, the stone floor worn with age, faded prayer flags strung over the walls. More masks and wolves with their fangs bared glowered at them from every side, putting him on edge. When they reached a room at the end of the hall, the monk stepped aside and motioned for them to go in.

  Deven slipped off his shoes as a sign of respect and entered first. His gaze arrowed straight to the man lying on a narrow cot. The abbot’s eyes were closed, his head swathed in bandages. Burning candles surrounded the bed. Another monk wearing a red robe and white headband knelt on the floor by the abbot’s side, chanting and ringing a bell.

  There was a golden statue of Buddha in the corner, religious murals decorating the walls. Sticks of yellow incense smoldered nearby, the thick smoke choking the air.

  Stepping closer to the cot, he eyed the abbot’s pallid face, heard his faint breath rattle and wheeze, and his hopes plunged. The young monk in the stable was right. The abbot wouldn’t last the day.

  The kneeling monk stopped chanting, then rose and stepped away from the bed. Maya quickly took his place. “Namaste,” she said in greeting, raising her hands in respect.

  The abbot stirred and
opened his eyes. “Is it you?” he whispered.

  She shot Deven a questioning frown, then knelt beside the bed. “We’ve come for help,” she told the abbot, pulling the medallion from around her neck. “I’ve had this charm since I was a child. I don’t know where it came from. But there’s something written on the back in a language we don’t understand, and we hoped that you could help.”

  The abbot stretched out his bare, bony arm, and Maya placed the medallion in his trembling hand. He brought it close to his face, peered at it for several seconds, his hooded eyes unreadable in the shifting light.

  Then, to Deven’s surprise, he kissed it and closed his eyes. “I knew you would come,” he wheezed. “I saw the signs. It was foretold that in my lifetime…”

  Frowning, Deven moved closer to hear his faint words, wondering if the abbot was delirious with pain. “Can you tell us anything about the inscription, what it says?”

  “Yes.” The abbot opened his eyes and reverently traced the inscription. “It’s written in Abatta, a language spoken here until the eleventh century.”

  So they’d been right. Deven held his breath.

  The abbot turned the medallion over, studied the figure of Parvati on the front. “It was made at the ancient temple, home of the Hindu cult of Parvati.”

  “How can you tell?” Maya asked.

  “Her sacred thread, her bare breasts…those are ancient signs of her divinity.” He coughed, then dragged in a reedy breath. “Parvati is the mother goddess…She of the mountains…daughter of the Himalayas. The crescent moon is for Shiva, her consort.”

  The abbot wheezed, gurgled, and Deven tensed. The other monk hurried over with a cup of water, but the abbot refused his help.

  “The king commissioned the medallion when the Muslims invaded,” the abbot continued. “Soon after that, the cult was destroyed.”

  Deven went still. If the medallion was connected to the Muslim invasion…Excitement poured through him. This couldn’t be a coincidence. Singh had to be hunting for the crown, the last missing treasure from the Roma legend—a fact that might link him to the Order of the Black Crescent Moon.

  The abbot closed his eyes, his voice fading. “A few holy men survived. Later, they built this monastery…”

  He didn’t speak for several seconds, and Deven waited, his pulse pounding his veins. Had he passed out? Would they be left without the rest of the information when they had come so close?

  But then the abbot opened his glazed eyes. “Things changed over the centuries. We’re a Buddhist monastery now. But we have guarded the sacred knowledge, passed it from head monk to head monk…waiting for you.”

  “For me?” Maya’s shocked voice filled the room.

  “Waiting for the medallion,” the abbot clarified, handing it back to her. “Now you must find the sadhu hermit living in the Forbidden Valley. He will tell you the rest.”

  A sadhu? He had to be kidding. With Singh on their tail, they didn’t have time for detours—especially to chase down one of the ash-covered ascetics who’d renounced worldly life.

  But the abbot hadn’t finished. He signaled to the monk. “Bring her the box.”

  The monk took a small, ornately carved box from a table and carried it over. Deven studied the box, and a sudden whisper of menace coursed through him. Stepping closer to Maya, he placed a protective hand on her shoulder. It took all his willpower not to yank her away, to shield her from a danger he could sense but not see.

  “Open it,” the abbot said.

  Maya lifted the lid. Inside was a small scrolled parchment tied with a golden thread. She pulled it out and handed it to the dying man.

  “No, you keep it,” he said. “It’s a map to the sadhu’s cave. You must hurry, arrive before the lunar eclipse. Only one day left…It was foretold.” He raised his hands, pressed them together in a gesture of respect to Maya, stunning Deven even more.

  “But the inscription! What…Oh, no,” Maya cried as the abbot slumped back against the cot.

  The monk hurried over and shooed them aside. “He needs to meditate, to prepare. Please, you must go now.”

  “Go?” Deven protested. “But we don’t have answers.”

  “I’m sorry,” the monk said. “There isn’t time.”

  Maya hung the medallion around her neck, tucked the scroll into her pocket and rose. Filled with frustration, Deven watched her make her own sign of respect to the abbot, and then he followed her into the hall.

  “That was confusing,” she said as they slipped into their shoes.

  “No kidding.” They still didn’t have hard answers, just more vague clues. And now they had to travel to the Forbidden Valley, the Bermuda Triangle of the Himalayas—the last place he wanted to go.

  Scowling, he eyed the waiting monk. “Who attacked the abbot?”

  “The same men who are here now. They came yesterday,” the monk added as he led them back down the hall. “They demanded that he explain a drawing, but he wouldn’t talk.”

  Deven’s heart tripped. He glanced back at Maya, saw the stunned fear in her eyes. So Singh really had found their paper in the bookstore. Now, thanks to their mistake, the abbot could die.

  And Singh was on the trail to that crown.

  “Wait! Please!” The monk who’d been praying with the abbot ran behind them, his red robes flapping around his ankles as he rushed to catch up. “The abbot wants to talk to you again,” he told Maya, sounding breathless.

  Maya shot Deven a questioning look. “Go ahead,” he said. “I’ll wait.”

  “All right.” She followed the beckoning monk.

  Still frowning over their predicament, Deven turned to the other man. “I need to send a message. Are you allowed to use a phone?”

  The monk angled his shaved head. “Yes, but we don’t have one here. I can call from the market tomorrow—they’ll have to let us leave to get food.”

  “Good. If you have paper, I’ll write it down.”

  The monk led him to a small lacquered table farther down the hallway, then slid open a drawer containing paper and pens. Deven scribbled out a message to his Magnum boss requesting backup, adding that Singh had helicopters patrolling nearby. He scribbled his code phrase—treachery abounds—and put the phone number on the back.

  “Call this number,” he told the monk. “And read this message exactly as I wrote it.” His boss would need that code phrase to verify him. “Then destroy it. That’s all you need to do. And don’t show it to anyone.”

  “I understand.” He tucked it into his robe.

  Deven hesitated, wondering if he should have the monk contact his Interpol boss, but decided against it. His Magnum boss, Skinner, would take care of that.

  He wished he could leave Maya with the monks or somewhere safer. The thought of taking her into the Forbidden Valley—where any number of dangers awaited—chilled his blood. But he didn’t dare let her out of his sight with Singh’s men so close.

  She rejoined him then, her dark eyes troubled, a frown marring her smooth face. “What did the abbot want?” he asked.

  She shook her head, looking perplexed. “He just mumbled about the danger and the eclipse. It didn’t make much sense. I don’t think he’s quite—”

  A shout came from the courtyard, interrupting her words. A burst of semiautomatic gunfire followed, and Deven’s adrenaline surged. Damn. Singh’s men must have discovered the tied-up guard.

  He turned to the wild-eyed monk. “Is there another way out of here?” There had to be a secret escape route in a place that routinely sheltered refugees.

  The monk shook himself out of his daze. “Yes—the bolt-hole. This way!”

  They raced after the monk through the dimly lit hallway, leaped up a short flight of stairs. The monk stopped before a tall, carved chest. “It’s behind this.”

  Deven strode around the chest and grabbed the side, then helped drag it away from the wall. The monk scooted behind it, slid his hands over the wooden panels covering the wall. “The tunnel is
low at the start, but it gets better as you go. The door is here somewhere….” He pushed at the spots where the panels joined.

  More shots rang out. Tortured screams filled the air. Maya glanced nervously around the hallway, and his own sense of urgency swelled. The need to rush out and defend the monks burned through him. But he had to keep Maya—and that medallion—safe.

  Then the panel sprang open, revealing a crudely chiseled tunnel about shoulder high. Dank, musty air wafted out.

  “There are torches—flashlights—just inside,” the monk said. “And a basket with other supplies. Take everything with you and follow the tunnel to the end. It takes about an hour. You’ll come out at a river. You can follow the map from there.”

  “Thank you,” Maya said.

  The monk nodded, pressed his palms together in farewell.

  Deven picked up the flashlights by the door and handed one to Maya. He flicked his on, then entered the frigid tunnel, bending over to accommodate his frame. The weak beam bounced off the rocks.

  Maya stepped inside, and then the door clicked shut behind them. Still ducking his head, Deven glanced back as best he could. Maya stood clutching her flashlight, her dark eyes huge.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, wishing he had room to turn around and hold her.

  “Just worried…confused.”

  “Yeah.” That abbot had raised more questions than answers. But they’d mull that over later. Right now they had to escape this place. “We’d better get moving. I don’t know how long these batteries will last.” He picked up the basket of supplies, tucked it under his arm.

  A scraping sound came from outside the tunnel—the monk pushing the chest back into place. It settled against the door with a muffled thud. The sound echoed through the darkness like a knell of doom.

  Deven started down the low tunnel, trying to shake the misgivings off. But that growing sense of peril dogged him, that feeling of dread. As if they were heading toward something evil, something deadly, an enemy he couldn’t see.

  Something he’d better figure out fast—before more innocent people lost their lives.

  Chapter 11