by J. F. Penn
"An ancient civilization in the Indus Valley," Vishal explained. "They found skeletons scattered along the streets there as if some instantaneous death knocked them down where they stood. The skeletons were still radioactive after thousands of years."
"This weapon is what the Nazis sought," Marietti whispered. "Thank God they never found it."
Nataline looked up, her face pale in the flickering light. "But there are others who will seek it. We can't leave the statue here now, not this time. If you found out about it, others will too. And look at the Indian government with their nuclear weapons and the ongoing saber rattling with Pakistan. This is too powerful to leave behind."
Vishal gave his customary head wobble. "I agree, sir. This is very bad for my people."
Marietti spun around and paced away from them into the darkness, not wanting them to see his indecision. He looked back at what was left of Joseph's body, the outline of a human corpse barely discernible against the grey rock. He couldn't be sure that the statue would be safe in the Vatican, even in the Secret Archives. There were too many people with contacts in the shadows, those who would barter such an object for temporal power, or use it to spread chaos.
But they couldn't leave it here. Nataline was right, there would be those who would follow in their footsteps.
He turned to look at his two companions, such different people moving in separate worlds, and an idea began to form.
"We could break it apart," he said. "Each take a section and hide it without telling the others where. I'll explain Joseph's … accident to the Vatican and you two can return to your own lives."
Nataline stood, her hands out as if to push him away. She shook her head vehemently. "No, not me. I won't touch that thing." She crossed herself. "I promise to be silent but don't involve me, Elias." She looked up at him and he could see that her eyes were wet with tears.
He walked over and pulled her to him, rubbing her back with his hands. "It's OK," he whispered. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to." He could feel her body under her clothes and he felt a stirring within, a desire to protect and shelter her. She was so fragile. How could he even ask such a thing of her?
"I'll do it," Vishal said. "We can take half each and hide the pieces far away."
Marietti released Nataline and nodded.
Vishal crouched down next to the statue. It lay on its side where it had dropped from Joseph's hands.
"It's stopped glowing. Look, it seems to be only metal again." He used a pocketknife to prod it gingerly.
Nothing happened.
"Let's try with gloves," Marietti said. Vishal looked up with doubt in his eyes. Marietti shrugged. "I'll do it."
He pulled on a pair of thick gloves from his pack and knelt down by the statue. He met Vishal's dark eyes. The other man nodded. Marietti put his gloved hands on the statue.
Nothing happened.
Their collective sigh of relief echoed through the cave.
Marietti picked it up. "It looks like it's made up of several pieces anyway," he said. "Perhaps it was hidden separately way back when it was created."
He pulled out the flames from behind the dancing Shiva and then unscrewed the god from its pedestal and finally split the base in two.
Vishal pulled some rags from his bag, wrapped up one half of the base along with the flames and handed them to Marietti.
"I will take good care of the other pieces," he said.
Marietti nodded. He trusted the Indian, but he also knew that hard times could change anyone's mind. He needed to ensure that Vishal was never tempted to sell the statue. Himmler's diary had other maps in it, and there were treasures hidden in this land that could be useful now.
He put his hand out and shook Vishal's, meeting the man's eyes. "I know you will," he said. "But there's something else I'd like to talk to you about."
***
A medical alarm down the hallway interrupted Marietti's dream and he was suddenly back in the present, trapped in the hospital bed years later.
Vishal had taken some of the treasure they found later and used it to start a business empire. His natural ability to charm and his entrepreneurial spirit had taken him into the realm of billionaire. Marietti had returned to the Vatican, handed in his notice and joined ARKANE. He wanted to hunt for artifacts but he didn't want to do it under the auspices of the Vatican anymore.
Nataline had returned to Goa and, God help him, he had gone to her more than once. He missed the cool touch of her hands on his fevered skin now. He missed … Marietti sighed. He had given her up for his work, like so much else in his life and as regret circled him, he slipped back into unconsciousness.
Chapter 12
Agra, India
Morgan and Jake emerged from the taxi in front of the public gates of the Taj Mahal complex. They had flown into New Delhi and been driven the 110 kilometers through the night, both grabbing as much sleep as possible on the way. Morgan felt rumpled from the long flight, her limbs cramped, but she also had a sense of excitement about seeing the mausoleum again.
It was still dark, a few hours before dawn, but already the courtyard thronged with vendors. Some laid out postcards and t-shirts alongside snow globes and brass replicas of the famous dome. Others cooked street food, the sizzling of onions and turmeric filling the air with a heady tang.
"Here, madam," an enthusiastic young man shouted, as he noticed the foreigners arrive. He ran over with his arms full of cheap souvenirs which he brandished in front of them. Morgan was swiftly reminded that the sense of personal space in India differed from the West. He soon gave up at their indifference.
But there was something here that Morgan definitely wanted. She took some small rupee notes and bought cups of chai from one of the sellers, handing one to Jake. The tea was rich with buffalo milk, sweet with sugar, and spicy with cardamom and cinnamon.
"That is good," Jake said, and went back for a second helping. He returned with two more cups and some paratha bread and they stood in the semi-darkness, listening to the bustle around them.
"I could drink this all the time," Morgan said as the hot drink revived her. "Chai is one of my favorite things about India."
"I got these too," Jake said. He pulled out a little tub filled with syrupy dough balls. "Gulab jamun. Like sticky toffee sweeties."
Morgan dipped her fingers in and pulled one of the balls out, lifting it to her mouth quickly as the syrup dripped to the ground. It was an explosion of sweetness, almost too much, and she swallowed it down in a moment of extreme pleasure.
"These are Ganesha's favorites," she said and reached for another one. "The elephant-headed god always has one hand full of them."
As they munched happily in a moment of simple pleasure, Jake checked his watch. "Martin said that we should be meeting a professor near the main gate soon," he said. "Apparently, he works here occasionally and has out-of-hours access. Let's head over there."
They walked to the public gate and stood waiting in the semi-darkness. It was impossible to see the famous view of the dome from their position, as the visitor had to walk through a courtyard before reaching the iconic mausoleum. But the area in front of the gate was abuzz with activity and they had plenty of life to watch as they waited.
It would only get busier as the day wore on. Agra was notorious for overcrowding and, at peak times, the crush of tourists in the heat of the sun was unbearable. The smell of sweaty bodies and the shout of tour guides made peaceful contemplation of its beauty impossible. India was often best before the crowds and Morgan was glad that Martin had sorted out a way in before the place officially opened. She looked at her watch.
If the professor turned up, of course.
It was best to breathe and adjust to Indian time. Things would happen when they happened. She sipped the last of her chai as a tinge of pink appeared above the horizon and the black sky turned to shades of indigo.
A few minutes later, a soft voice came from behind the gate.
"Mr Timber?"
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Jake and Morgan turned to see a thin, older Indian man beckoning to them from inside. He smoked a hand-rolled bidi cigarette, sucking on it as he waved. He wore a faded green jacket with a Nehru collar over dark jeans. Both were ill-fitting and made him look like he'd lost a lot of weight recently.
"This way, please." They followed him to a smaller side gate and went inside. He walked away quickly, gesturing for them to follow. "Hurry. We must get away from the view of the gate."
The man only stopped when they were out of sight of those on the other side. He stubbed the end of the bidi out and placed the butt in a nearby bin. He adjusted his jacket and held out his hand in a proper manner.
"I'm sorry to be so hasty, but there are watchers at the gate." They shook hands as he continued. "Some report to people who would not approve of your visit. I'm Professor Chetan Palekar from Delhi University, employed briefly by your good company to show you inside the Taj. I'm an expert in Mughal architecture." He pointed to the next archway. "This way please and you may see the beginnings of the sunrise before the tourist horde."
They walked through the arch and suddenly, there it was.
The mausoleum of Shah Jahan's beloved wife with the iconic dome and four tall minarets, reflected in a long pool of water and flanked by manicured gardens. Morgan gazed up at it, silhouetted against the last stars of night. The early morning mist shrouded the edifice, but every second the sun rose higher and revealed more of its grandeur.
Morgan had stood right here with Elian many years ago but strangely, she didn't feel his loss so heavily now, just a sense of how different she was. She had been someone else back then, caught up in ideology, ignorant of so much that ARKANE had revealed of the world beneath the headlines.
"A teardrop on the cheek of eternity," she whispered.
Chetan nodded. "Yes, indeed. As described by Rabindranath Tagore, one of India's greatest poets. The Taj is a World Heritage Site and one of the jewels in India's architectural crown."
They stood in silence for a moment, then a clang came from behind them as if someone else had come through the gate.
Chetan looked back in alarm, but there was no one there.
"Come," he said, a worried furrow in his brow. "We must get inside before they open the gates. We can't be found here."
He pointed at a footpath off to the side, shielded by a row of cyprus trees so as to avoid the walk down the main boulevard in view of anyone else arriving. Chetan scurried ahead, his long legs striding away and Jake and Morgan walked quickly after him.
"Do you think we should be expecting company?" Morgan whispered. After the unexpected attack in Geneva, Martin had arranged for weapons to be issued on the military flight over, but they had hoped to be in and out of the Taj before anyone knew they were even there. They did not want to be caught with guns at one of India's most important monuments.
"I hope not." Jake nodded towards Chetan. "Because he's not going to be much use in any kind of fight."
As they drew closer to the mausoleum, the complexity of the building became evident. The ivory-colored marble was inlaid with ornate designs of flowers and Arabic calligraphy, the green, red and black highlighted with semi-precious stones. Although the building was heavy marble and anchored to the earth, it seemed light and airy, with decoration lifting the architecture into the realm of art.
Chetan led them under the vaulted archway into the main chamber. Morgan and Jake pulled torches from their packs and shone them around, illuminating the twin sarcophagi before them, surrounded by an intricately designed metal barrier.
"This is the tomb of Mumtaz Mahal," Chetan said. "She was the beloved wife of the Mughal Emperor Shah Jahan and she died during the birth of their fourteenth child. It was built in the mid-seventeenth century and it is said that over 20,000 artisans worked on it."
Morgan looked up into the vaulted dome overhead and then played the torch around the corners of the chamber. It was smaller than she remembered and there were no obvious places to hide a piece of a sculpture, especially that of a Hindu god. This was a Muslim tomb, after all.
Jake was clearly thinking the same thing as he peered through the grating at the sarcophagi of Shah Jahan and his beloved wife. They were beautifully decorated with flowers but otherwise they were quite plain, with none of the embellishments of Catholic monarchs in Europe.
"I don't think we're going to find anything here," he said, disappointment in his voice.
"Oh, but these are not the real tombs," Chetan said.
"So where are the real ones?" Morgan asked. "That's what we need to see."
"Oh no, no." Chetan shook his head. "That's impossible. I can't take you down there."
Suddenly, they heard shouting from outside.
Raised voices spoke quickly in Hindi and the flash of torchlight from outside pierced the interior of the mausoleum.
Chapter 13
Morgan pulled out her gun and moved to the side of the main door. Jake slipped silently to the other side. Chetan huddled behind the tomb and crouched near the floor, closing his eyes as if that would make everything go away.
The three of them stood still and silent for a moment as they listened. It was soon clear that the noise was only the jovial banter of security guards doing their rounds before opening up to the public for the day.
As the sound faded away, Jake walked around the tomb and pulled Chetan to his feet.
"We need to see the real tomb."
Chetan nodded, his forehead beaded with sweat at the near-discovery. "This way." He walked quickly over to a side panel behind the tombs. He slid his hand along the marble design, touching the intricate carvings gently as he searched for the entrance. "It's been a long time since I was last here."
There was an audible click and a metal handle popped out from the marble. Chetan tugged it to reveal a door and stone steps spiraling down into darkness.
Morgan shone her torch ahead and walked down into the lower level of the tomb as the men followed behind. The room was simple and stark, with two marble sarcophagi, the Emperor's bigger and grander than his beloved wife's. The walls were a fine patchwork of marble blocks in hues of pink and grey, the fine grain polished to perfection. It was cool and the air smelled of a light incense. Not a bad place to spend eternity.
She spun around and shone her torch at the walls, but there looked to be nowhere obvious to hide a piece of the sculpture. She shook her head.
"Another dead end." Her voice echoed in the chamber. "There's clearly nothing here."
"What exactly are you looking for?" Chetan asked. "Your employer said only to show you around."
Jake pulled out his smart phone to reveal a picture of the Shiva Nataraja sculpture. "A piece of a sculpture like this," he said.
Chetan paled and his hand flew to his throat in alarm.
"You come here looking for Shiva." He shook his head in despair, his eyes bulging in fear. "I might as well tell you this, but there are those who would deny it and consider it slander. The Taj Mahal is dear to the nation, a flashpoint for emotion." He took a deep breath and continued as he paced up and down in the small tomb. "Some say that this land was not empty when the Taj was created and there are aspects of the building that are several hundred years older. There are rumors that an ancient Hindu temple lies beneath, dedicated to Shiva."
"It's not unusual for kings and conquerors to build over existing holy places," Jake said. "Most of Europe's great churches are built on originally pagan sites. So why is it such a big deal if it happened here?"
Morgan leaned against the cool stone of Mumtaz's tomb.
"The history of Muslims and Hindus in India is complicated and at times, very bloody," she whispered. "So I understand, Chetan. In Israel, there are those who still dispute the ownership of a particular piece of land thousands of years ago, as if that should affect who owns it today. These ancient grudges last a long time."
"But essentially there could be a temple to Shiva underneath," Jake said. "Which means the scul
pture piece could still be here. So how do we get to it?"
***
Asha Kapoor leaned against the window of the helicopter as they dropped down into Agra, soaring over the city towards the Taj Mahal. She dialed a number on her phone.
"We'll be landing in the Taj Gardens," she said with a tone of authority. "Make sure the public aren't let in until I leave."
Her contact in the tourism department would be well paid for the service, and they would have the time they needed to locate the sculpture piece. Money was useful at times like these, but ultimately it was ephemeral. She was set on a greater goal, a legacy that would last longer than the business her father had created. Asha's heart beat faster at the possibility that she might soon hold the third piece in her hands. The Aghori would be pleased with her and they would be one step closer to the sacrifice.
The helicopter hovered over the manicured lawn of the Taj Mahal garden, its rotors beating the air as it descended. Branches of surrounding trees were whipped into a frenzy at the sudden chop of wind, but as the helicopter engine shut down, calm was restored to the garden again.
Asha climbed out of the helicopter, bending low as she walked quickly towards the mausoleum. Two of her bodyguards followed along, their weapons tucked away as they dragged another man between them.
Gopan had written a book on the existence of a Hindu temple under the Taj Mahal. He had gone into hiding when the book had brought him death threats, but Asha's hackers had found him in little time and they had picked him up on the way from Bangladesh. If her father had left a piece of the Shiva statue at the Muslim Taj Mahal, surely it would make sense that it be located where this fabled Shiva temple was.
Now Gopan would have the chance to prove his conspiracy theory for real. If he was wrong … well, there was a faster way out of the helicopter to the ground below.
