Arkana Archaeology Mystery Box Set 2

by N. S. Wikarski

  His guide unobtrusively reappeared to show him the way out. They walked in silence, Aboud musing all the while on the strange conversation he’d just had. Over the years, his work had brought him into contact with dictators, power-hungry generals, impoverished revolutionaries and directionless anarchists. He had witnessed many atrocities and caused more than a few of them himself. But never in his long professional career had he ever been caught in the crossfire between the forces of heaven and hell. Not for the first time since he entered Abraham Metcalf’s employ, he found himself wondering where it all would end.

  Chapter 45—Dead-End Street

  Erik wiped a trickle of sweat off his forehead and glanced up at the noonday sun. It was way too hot for mid-October. He’d been standing in the same spot since 8 AM wondering if this was the day he would officially die of boredom. He’d managed to fast talk his way into a job as a flag man with a construction crew that was paving a stretch of access road leading from the Nephilim’s secret lab to an intersecting county highway. All day long, he held a reversible sign that read “Stop” or “Slow” to regulate traffic around the road work. Of course, he was the only one who knew there was an underground lab at the end of the road. To the rest of the crew, it was some kind of weird bunker, but they all lacked the imagination to speculate about what went on there.

  The paladin had been onsite for a week. He’d chosen the ideal method for identifying who went in and who came out of the mysterious facility. Although he didn’t stare into windshields at the cars parked obediently in front of his Stop sign, he gave them all a thorough going-over without being obvious about it. He estimated that there were a couple of dozen lab technicians because he came to recognize their cars as they went to work each morning and headed for home at night. He could also identify a BMW that probably belonged to the lab’s director—an Arab who favored expensive suits and flashy jewelry. He’d made a note of the license plate, so he could check out the owner later. Everybody’s routine was fairly predictable except for one car. It was a black sedan with livery plates driven by a nondescript suit. He would arrive at odd hours—probably running personal errands for the director.

  Erik snapped out of his reverie when he saw the very black sedan he’d been thinking about approach. Luckily, his sign was set to “Stop” so he had time to take a closer look. The driver had a passenger with him for a change. The paladin tried not to register shock when he realized it was a Nephilim woman. He recognized her by the weird hairdo, grey smock, and white apron. They all dressed alike and wore their hair braided and coiled around their heads like a giant beehive.

  She appeared young though not a teenager. Pale and thin. Maybe in her twenties. Definitely not a looker. His walkie-talkie squawked, telling him to let the incoming traffic through. He reversed his sign to “Slow” and motioned the car forward. The woman gazed listlessly out the side window. She didn’t seem to notice his presence as the sedan glided by.

  His eyes narrowed as he watched the back of the car receding down the road. This time he made a point of memorizing its plate number.

  “They go in, but they never come out.”

  He swung around to identify who had spoken to him. It was a middle-aged hard hat with a beer belly and a black moustache. He was leaning on a shovel.

  “Huh?”

  The hard hat gestured toward the retreating car. “I said they go in, but they never come out. I mean the funny looking ones.”

  Erik took a few steps toward him. “Which funny looking ones?”

  The man shrugged. “The guys wear black suits—like extras from a Cold War spy movie. The dames wear grey dresses, and their hair is wound around their heads tight as a corkscrew. It’s always the same driver though. He takes them in, but I never see them come out. He always comes out alone. You watch next time. You’ll see.”

  “How come you know so much about it?” Erik challenged.

  “Cause I used to have your job before I got promoted.” He held up his shovel and laughed ruefully. “You go out of your mind standing here baking in the sun if you don’t find a way to kill the time. I used to make a game out of it. Count the weirdos.”

  Erik gave a friendly smile. “So how many weirdos did you count?”

  The man scratched his head. “I think I lost track after the first three dozen.”

  “That’s a lot of weirdos.”

  “Between you and me I hope we finish this job soon. That underground place gives me the creeps. Some days the smell coming out of there is worse than the asphalt.”

  Erik raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I didn’t notice anything since I got here.”

  “You ain’t been here long enough. Wait a little. They got some kind of incinerator going down there. I don’t know what they’re burning, but it smells like rotten meat.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  The hard had held up his hand. “Swear to God. You hang around a while. You’ll see, and smell, for yourself.”

  Erik nodded as the man shouldered his shovel and wandered off to spread fresh asphalt.

  His casual comments made the paladin’s mind race with possibilities. Hannah had already told Faye that some kind of experiments were going on in the lab. An incinerator would be needed to get rid of the carcasses of dead animals except Erik now had a suspicion that the lab was experimenting on something a lot bigger than guinea pigs and rats. He had to find out exactly what was going on in there. The Nephilim driver probably knew at least a few of the answers. The paladin felt an overwhelming need to make the chauffeur’s acquaintance.

  Chapter 46 —Azrael’s Apprentice

  Doctor Aboud checked his appearance in the mirror on his office wall. He smoothed his hair and dusted a speck of lint off the front of his clean white lab coat. He usually changed into his hazmat gear later in order to avoid alarming his test subjects upon arrival. First impressions were important. He gave a nod of approval to his reflection and headed for the underground facility’s reception area to wait.

  He’d gone through this charade many times before. Metcalf’s hand-picked sacrificial lambs were sent to him one at a time to avoid frightening the entire flock. How many had been slaughtered thus far? The doctor had lost count. Three dozen at least. Each one entered the facility warily, but Aboud would give a friendly smile and immediately put them at ease. He would explain that the diviner had chosen them to test a new type of medicine which was to benefit the Nephilim brotherhood and prevent them from catching a disease that was common among the Fallen. There was absolutely nothing to worry about, and the test subjects would receive a special reward in exchange for their participation. It was critical not to arouse their suspicions. He imagined that the personnel overseeing the showers at Auschwitz used much the same approach. Once people deduced that they were about to be exterminated, it was hard to gain their cooperation.

  The elevator doors opened, and his driver emerged with the pale woman named Annabeth. She leaned on the man’s arm slightly for support. Although physically weak, she didn’t appear to be under the influence of any sedatives today. Aboud was about to launch into his routine greeting, but she forestalled him.

  “Oh, hello.” Her face brightened with recognition. “You’re the doctor who came to visit me.”

  “Hello, Annabeth.” He nodded gravely. What was the protocol under such circumstances? Saying “nice to see you again” seemed ludicrous.

  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 hi
s 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. Haven’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.