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

by N. S. Wikarski

  “Whoa, junior. Not so fast.” She stepped outside and closed the door behind her.

  Zach backed away and retreated down a few stairs. “Maisie,” he blurted out, immediately realizing his mistake. “Oh, crap,” he muttered under his breath.

  She towered over him, glowering. “What’s my name?”

  “Uh, sorry. Maddie. Your name is Maddie.”

  “That’s right and you’ll make a point of remembering it in the future.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he agreed humbly. No sense in ticking her off any more than he already had. “I’m here for tyro orientation.”

  “That remains to be seen,” she replied ominously.

  Zach felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. “Gamma said I could,” he retorted defensively. Even as he spoke, he winced at his infantile protest. He must sound like a five-year-old.

  Maddie gave a mirthless laugh. “Just because your gamma said you could, doesn’t mean I agree.”

  “But isn’t she the boss of you?” He peered up at her in confusion. She had to be almost six feet tall and she wasn’t even wearing heels.

  “The boss of me?” Maddie repeated in a menacing tone. “What do you think this is? Some stinking overlord pyramid where the guy at the top gets to shout orders at everybody below him?”

  “Overlord?” Zach murmured weakly.

  “We’ll get to that later. Sit down,” she commanded.

  Zach obediently took a seat on the top step of the schoolhouse porch.

  Maddie sat down beside him. Fishing around in her jacket pocket, she drew out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. “Mind if I smoke? Oh wait, I don’t care if you do.” She proceeded to light up.

  Zach didn’t offer a comment. He watched her silently for a few seconds. At least she had the decency not to blow smoke in his face. “Do they let you smoke inside?” he asked hesitantly.

  “Only in the chimney,” she said.

  “The chimney?” He repeated, baffled.

  “We’ll get to that later too.” She shifted sideways to face him directly. “That is, if I decide you’re a good fit for this organization.”

  “But Gamma said—”

  She cut him off. “Your gamma, er, Faye can suggest candidates but I’ve got veto power.”

  “Oh,” he said in a small, disappointed tone. If Maddie was the decision-maker in this process, he didn’t stand a chance. He silently kicked himself for making such a bad impression when they first met.

  “So what do you think we do around here? In the Arkana, I mean.”

  Zach shrugged. “I don’t know much. Gamma’s given me the brush-off every time I asked for the scoop. I know you guys run around collecting ancient artifacts. Like Indiana Jones.” His voice rose with excitement. “I mean, that must be so cool. Digging around in buried crypts. Beating the bad guys to the punch and collecting all the plunder.”

  Maddie stared at him, clearly unimpressed by his enthusiasm. “Most tyros never get out of the Vault. They do a lot of filing.”

  “Sure, at first. Everybody starts in the mailroom, right? But after that. They get to go on assignment to someplace exotic and dangerous. Raiding tombs, fighting smugglers and bandits. Jeez, that’s every kid’s dream!” He darted a furtive glance at her face to see how she was taking his pitch. Judging by her deadpan expression, his interview wasn’t going well.

  “This isn’t some video game, junior,” she observed grimly. “People can get hurt. They can get killed. Some of them already have.”

  Zach registered shock at her words. He thought back to the letter written by somebody named Sybil that had first given him a glimpse of his grandmother’s secret life. He averted his eyes, embarrassed.

  “What’s the matter, kid? Did I burst your bubble?” Maddie asked sarcastically as she ground out her cigarette.

  The boy shook his head. “No, it’s not that. I was remembering something. The whole reason I stumbled across the Arkana in the first place was because of a letter from a lady named Sybil. She wrote it to her sister Cassie knowing she might die. And now Cassie is on the same mission that got her sister killed.” He finally looked up at her. “I get what you’re saying. The risky side of your work. I understand it even better than you think.”

  Maddie lit another cigarette. Casually blowing a smoke ring, she said, “Enlighten me.”

  “I know because of Hannah,” he replied simply.

  “Metcalf’s runaway bride?” Maddie treated him to a surprised glance. “What’s she got to do with the Arkana? She doesn’t know anything about what goes on here.”

  “You’re protecting her,” Zach answered readily. “I know that much. I know she was forced to marry a guy old enough to be her grandfather. Spent her whole life locked inside a cinder block prison. When she first got outside, she was helpless. Didn’t know how to dress or talk or think or take care of herself at all. That’s because the crazy guy wanted it that way. He wanted to own her. I know the Arkana is fighting to keep him from getting hold of something that would make him more powerful. It seems to me a guy like that shouldn’t have any more power because he’s abusing the power he’s already got. It’s a drop in the bucket to protect one runaway kid but I think if the Arkana stops this crazy guy from winning then it’s doing more than that. It’s protecting the world.” He hesitated, embarrassed that he had run on so long.

  To his surprise, Maddie was watching him with a pensive look in her eyes. “Go on,” she prompted.

  “I guess I only have one more thing to say. I always wanted my life to make a difference. I think the Arkana is trying to make a difference in the world and I want to be part of that.” He caught himself. “Er... that is, if you’ll let me.”

  Maddie gazed off to the edge of the clearing and took another drag of her cigarette. A gust of autumn wind shook loose a clump of maple leaves that swirled in the air before fluttering to the ground. Finally she spoke. “About eight years ago I had a tyro who was a lot like you. That kid rubbed me the wrong way from the get-go. So I brought him out here and sat him down and we had a chat. Just like the chat you and I are having today about why he should be part of the Arkana. Strangely enough, he gave me the same reason you just did.”

  “Did he make it past the front door?” Zach asked nervously.

  She finally turned to look at him, her expression unreadable. “He’s in India right now wearing a bull’s-eye on his back. He’s risking his life to keep that crazy old guy you mentioned from getting any more power.”

  “Then his life is making a difference,” the boy observed.

  “Yeah, it is.” Maddie stood up without warning and ground out her cigarette on the steps. She walked silently to the schoolhouse door and opened it. Standing in the entry, she stared down at Zach who remained motionless. Opening the door wider, she said, “Well, don’t just sit there. Are you coming inside or not?”

  Chapter 19—Final Dissent

  Chopper Bowdeen locked his table tray in place and leaned back in his seat. Although his eyes were shut, he remained alert to the conversations going on around him in the plane. He savored the inconsequential small talk of the stewardess and passengers because it made a nice change from what he’d just left behind. Six months holed up in one freaky compound or another all across Europe and South America training Abraham Metcalf’s Nephilim Ninjas. No matter what country he visited, the compounds always looked the same. Cold, sterile places where everybody spoke in whispers if they spoke at all. He was so hard up for companionship during his time overseas that he’d begun cultivating a friendship with Metcalf’s son Joshua. The spymaster always showed up after Chopper finished a round of weapons training. It was his job to indoctrinate candidates earmarked for the intelligence arm of Metcalf’s operation. Chopper had secretly started calling them God’s Gestapo.

  The captain came on the intercom to inform them the plane was making its final descent into O’Hare Airport. Chopper felt a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach that matched the plane’s loss of altit
ude. He’d soon be having a face-to-face with Metcalf. His dread had nothing to do with his job performance. He’d given the old man no cause to be displeased with his work. The marksmen could generally hit what they were shooting at. Surveillance cams were set up at all the compounds with a competent staff to man them and Joshua had been given lists of names for espionage work. It was Chopper’s future employment, not his past accomplishments, that fueled his anxiety.

  The mercenary realized he was indulging in wishful thinking if he imagined that Metcalf would stop short of having the entire Nephilim brotherhood trained. Even though the Americas and Europe were wrapped up, there were satellite compounds on other continents unaccounted for. The cult’s recruiters had infiltrated every corner of the globe. Bowdeen wondered if he’d have the nerve to say “Hell no” if the Diviner had a mind to send him to those outposts. He couldn’t afford to tick Metcalf off and find himself on the receiving end of a bullet from one of his own trainees. He hoped it wouldn’t come to a confrontation but his queasy gut told him not to rely on hope.

  Chopper couldn’t shake the conviction that Metcalf was planning something more sinister than simply beefing up the Nephilim’s defenses. Of course, the mercenary’s theory amounted to nothing more than paranoid speculation since he didn’t have any proof. Joshua hadn’t been very useful in supplying any facts that might allay Chopper’s suspicions either. On the plus side, the spymaster seemed to be in as big a sweat as Chopper himself to find out if the old man had a secret agenda. Maybe if they joined forces, they could suss out what was really going on behind the scenes. If it looked too dicey, Chopper was prepared to bail. Money had lost its charm as an incentive for him to stay on. The problem was that he was still too much in the dark to know if the time had arrived to cut and run.

  The mercenary thought back to his last conversation with his old army buddy Leroy Hunt. Aside from Joshua, Leroy was his only other potential source of information. When he’d tried to pry some intel out of the cowboy before, it had gone badly. Chopper now realized his mistake. He’d been too direct when he should have taken a more subtle approach. Hunt could be slick as a greased weasel when his guard was up so Bowdeen needed to lower his old buddy’s resistance. Luckily, Leroy had a weakness for the bottle. After the whiskey started to flow, the cowboy tended to run off at the mouth. It was possible he’d let some tidbit of information slip. Maybe he’d heard or seen something that might fill in a few pieces of the puzzle.

  Bowdeen found it ironic that for somebody doing intelligence work, there was precious little information circulating in his direction. One thing he did know for sure. After training was completed at the rest of the compounds, Metcalf would be in a position to mobilize his Nephilim Ninjas and aim them at the target of his choosing. Chopper had no intention of becoming a casualty of friendly fire.

  Chapter 20—Burning Questions

  Ever since Cassie had found out that her team was flying to Kochi to meet a trove-keeper, she’d been eagerly anticipating a glimpse of an Indian cache of artifacts. Her imagination ran wild conjuring a pastiche of images from Indiana Jones movies. She expected to see an eight-armed statue of the goddess Kali with a gigantic ruby in her forehead. The statue would be hidden, of course, in an ancient crypt accessible only through secret tunnels which were guarded by thuggee assassins. When their plane touched down on the very modern tarmac of the very modern Cochin International Airport, Cassie got her first inkling that they were light years away from the Temple Of Doom. For starters, there was the city itself. Some called it Kochi, others called it Cochin. Either way, it didn’t look ancient. It didn’t even look particularly Indian. Set right on the Arabian Sea, with a tropical climate, a marina, and miles of high rises, it looked and felt like Fort Lauderdale. Unlike much of the rest of India, Kochi had slipped comfortably into the twenty-first century.

  The trio had been instructed to meet their contact at an address in a suburb that catered to technology companies. The steel and glass skyscrapers which sprang upward from acres of palm trees, jogging paths, and carefully-tended flower beds gave the impression of a Silicon Valley business park. A high-speed elevator shot them to the top floor where the trove-keeper’s office was located.

  The tyro staffing the reception area acknowledged their arrival by a curt nod. “Please go in. She’s expecting you.”

  Erik strode forward and opened the door to the inner office. “Anybody home?” he asked tentatively.

  The room was decorated along post-modern minimalist lines in shades of black and grey. Seated at a sleek desk against a curtain wall of windows, the trove-keeper glanced up from her computer. A delighted smile spread across her face.

  “Erik, my goodness, I haven’t seen you in ages.” The woman rose, crossed the room and hugged the Paladin, kissing him on the cheek before releasing him. “I’d always hoped you’d find a reason to visit my country one day.”

  Cassie stiffened at the welcome her teammate was receiving. A girl in every port. Even the southern tip of India. So typical!

  To her surprise, the trove-keeper gave the same treatment to Griffin. “And you!” she exclaimed in mock-surprise. “Somebody finally pried you out of the Vault, I see.” She hugged him and then, standing on tiptoe, pecked him on the cheek.

  Before Griffin could perform any introductions, the woman spun on her heel and fixed Cassie with her full attention. “You see I saved the best for last. Our new Pythia!” She rushed forward to give Cassie’s hand an enthusiastic shake. “I finally get the chance to meet you!”

  “Cassie, this is Damini Pandala,” Griffin interjected. “She’s the Malabar trove-keeper.”

  “Malabar?” Cassie echoed.

  “It’s rather a catch-all term for anything matristic that happened in southern India,” the Scrivener explained. “Since this area used to be known as the Malabar Coast in ancient times, the name stuck.”

  The Pythia gave the trove-keeper a tentative smile. “Hello, Damini, it’s nice to meet you.”

  “Oh please, call me Dee,” she replied breezily. “Everybody does.”

  “That’s not an Indian name, is it?” Cassie was struck by Dee’s accent. It was American English with only the slightest wisp of something foreign in the inflection.

  “No. I earned my degree in anthropology at UC-Berkeley. I’ve probably spent more years in the States than I have here.” Dee paused to give Cassie’s face a searching look. “There’s just a hint of your sister in your eyes. She had unusual eyes too, you know. All the better to see what the rest of us can’t.”

  The Pythia stepped back, flustered by the keen observation.

  Addressing the trio, Dee said, “Everybody, come in. Sit down and we’ll have a nice long chat. You have to tell me the latest gossip from headquarters.” She gestured toward an alcove which had been fitted up as a conference area with couches and chairs surrounding a central coffee table. The alcove’s windows offered a spectacular view of the garden belt below. Late afternoon sunlight glinted off the windows of high rises sprouting above the green canopy in the distance.

  As they were sorting out the seating arrangements, Cassie took a moment to study the trove-keeper. Dee must have been in her early forties. Not much taller than Cassie herself, she was quite attractive—dressed in a tailored pantsuit which did little to hide her curvy figure. Her thick black hair was styled in a smooth pageboy, her nails were perfectly manicured in a subdued shade of red, and her make-up gave her skin the texture of bisque porcelain. Cassie remembered Griffin’s explanation about skin tone and social rank in India. Dee’s family must have come from one of the upper Hindu castes—Brahmin or Kshatriya. Not a hair out of place, she appeared to be a typical buttoned-down businesswoman but there was something more to her. She exuded an odd combination of flirtiness and intensity. What would you call that? Cassie remembered an old-fashioned word that seemed to fit—vivacious. The Pythia blinked herself back to attention when she realized Dee had asked her a question.

  “Can I offer you some ref
reshments?” the trove-keeper repeated.

  “I wouldn’t mind a cup of coffee,” Cassie suggested weakly. Bouncing around from one end of the country to another had aggravated her old friend—jetlag.

  “Oh, I can do better than that.” Dee smiled archly. She walked out to the reception area and murmured instructions to her assistant.

  “It will take just a few minutes,” she explained, returning to her seat. She swept them all with a bright gaze. “I don’t get many visitors. What an exciting day this is.”

  “Is your trove stored onsite?” Cassie asked doubtfully as she glanced at the ultra-contemporary surroundings.

  Dee gave a slight moue. “Yes and no. The physical artifacts are all stashed away in a secure location in the Western Ghats. That’s a mountain range to the east of here. These days, my job consists of collecting other things—the kind that can be stored digitally.”

  “Like what?” Cassie registered surprise.

  Without answering, Dee stood up and returned to her desk. She selected what looked like a piece of parchment encased in plastic. Bringing it back to the alcove, she handed it to Cassie. “Like this,” she replied.

  Cassie scanned the document but it was written in some ancient language she couldn’t decipher. She handed the sheet back to Dee, still puzzled.

  “I’m in the business of collecting legends, myths, fragments of folk tales,” the trove-keeper elaborated. “Anything that will help me to reconstruct the matristic origins of the people of the Malabar Coast. There are megalithic sites in Kerala dating back to 6000 BCE which show a connection to the IVC. It may well be that the matriarchal traditions which are present here can trace their roots to the Indus Valley. I’ve only just begun to tug on that thread. Time will tell if I can establish the connection.”

  At that moment the office door opened and Dee’s assistant entered bearing a tea tray.