‘Now, what about them?’ Vanita asked impatiently, indicating the prisoners. ‘I think they have lived far too long.’
‘I agree,’ said Khoil.
‘Good! Then kill them!’ She glared at Zec. ‘Now!’
Zec nodded, about to issue a command—
Shankarpa dived at Khoil with a scream of rage.
Zec swept up his MP5K, catching the guardian a savage blow across his face and knocking him down by the foot of the ramp. Another mercenary kicked Shankarpa in the chest and aimed his gun at his head—
Girilal snatched up the dagger and stabbed it to the hilt into the merc’s throat.
The other mercenaries whipped round to face the unexpected threat as the trooper fell, a spray of red spurting out from the wound. Zec fired at the old man. The burst of bullets hit Girilal in the chest and stomach, slamming him to the floor.
And in the moment of confusion, Eddie moved—
He grabbed the gun hand of the nearest man and twisted it round, clenching his trigger finger. The shots hit another mercenary at point-blank range, not even his body armour enough to stop them from ripping into his chest. He spun and collided with another pair of men, bowling them over.
Eddie slammed an uppercut into the first man’s jaw, hearing teeth snap under the impact, then tried to wrench the MP5K from his grasp. Even through the nerve-searing pain, the blood-spitting merc managed to resist, crunching an elbow into Eddie’s sternum and knocking him backwards. He tripped over Kit’s injured leg, making the Indian cry out, and fell heavily to the floor.
The other gunmen brought their weapons to bear, fingers tight on triggers, but Zec thrust his own gun into Eddie’s face before they could fire, shoving a boot on his chest. ‘Don’t move,’ he growled.
All eyes were on the two men.
Except Nina’s.
The sudden chaos had opened up an escape route, however briefly. She took it, throwing herself over the bottom of the ramp into the channel between its two halves. Some of the gunmen whirled at the movement, but she was already in the cover of the rising walls as they fired. Stone chips bombarded her like hailstones as she ran.
‘Kill her, kill her!’ Vanita screeched. The mercs rushed to the ramp and unleashed more bullets down the narrow passage, but Nina was clear, sprinting into the depths of the Vault of Shiva.
27
‘Get her!’ Zec ordered. Two of his men ran after the fleeing American.
Vanita turned to Khoil. ‘Bring the helicopter back, now.’
‘The chest isn’t ready,’ he said. Mahajan and Tandon had broken off from their preparations to protect their master and mistress when the shooting started.
‘I’m not talking about the chest. I want to get out of here!’
‘She won’t get away,’ said Zec.
‘I don’t care. Once I’m aboard, then we’ll collect the chest.’ She strode towards the doors, imperiously waving for her bodyguards to follow.
They looked at Khoil for instructions, caught between conflicting commands. ‘Chapal, go with her,’ he said, exasperation creeping into his voice. ‘Dhiren, go after Dr Wilde. Zec, finish securing the Vedas and take them to the ledge.’ Mahajan grunted and lumbered after Nina’s pursuers. Tandon followed Vanita, while Zec gestured for two of his men to continue preparing the chest.
The remaining mercenaries surrounded the prisoners. Girilal clutched weakly at the bullet wounds. Blood soaked his torn robes. Shankarpa, groggy from the blow to his head, pushed himself up - and saw him. He cried out in Hindi, trying to reach the dying man, but two of the mercenaries kicked him back down.
‘He’s his dad!’ Eddie protested. Khoil’s face remained dispassionate, but Zec relented, a silent nod prompting the mercs to back away. He released Eddie from under his foot, keeping his gun trained on him.
Shankarpa crawled to the yogi, horrified. ‘Father!’ he gasped, putting a hand on Girilal’s chest in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding.
Girilal moaned softly at the touch. ‘Janardan?’ he whispered. Blood bubbled in his mouth.
Shankarpa gripped his hand. ‘I am here, Father. I’m here!’ ‘Oh, Janardan . . . what have I done? I have taken a life. How . . . how will I explain myself to Shiva?’
‘Lord Shiva is a warrior,’ said Shankarpa, in desperate insistence. ‘He has fought many battles, he has killed demons and evil men. It is not a sin to fight to protect—’ His voice caught. ‘To protect those you love.’
Girilal’s eyes closed, a tear running down one cheek. ‘You must . . . find your mother. Tell her . . . I am sorry, I am so sorry. Ask her if she can . . . forgive me. Please. Please, my son . . . say you will do this for me.’
Shankarpa’s eyes welled with tears of his own. ‘I will, Father. I will. I promise.’
‘Thank . . .’ He convulsed, a soft cough speckling his chin with blood. ‘Janardan, oh . . . my son . . .’ A strangled moan escaped him, his whole body shuddering . . .
Then he was still.
Eddie felt a tightness in his throat as he watched the devastated Shankarpa slowly release his hold on his father’s hand. Anger spiking through sorrow, he looked at Khoil and Zec. The Indian was still unmoved by the sight, but Zec appeared troubled, almost guilty.
Beyond them, Vanita had been fastened into the harness, ready to be winched to the helicopter. The chest was secure in its own straps, the two mercenaries carrying it to the ledge. ‘Pramesh!’ she shouted over the rotor noise. ‘What are you waiting for? Kill them!’
Khoil nodded to Zec. ‘Do as she says.’
‘Ready weapons!’ Zec barked. The mercenaries snapped into action, MP5Ks locking on to Eddie, Shankarpa and Kit. ‘Aim—’
Another shout - from the depths of the Vault. ‘Bob Dylan!’
The strange war cry was followed by a loud bang, then a series of thudding clanks, getting faster and faster—
Eddie realised what it meant. He grabbed Shankarpa’s arm. ‘Down!’
They dropped, Eddie covering Kit with his body and pressing against the side of the ramp - as a fusillade of stones rained around them.
Nina had used the Vault’s contents as cover to block her pursuers’ aim as she ran. But she knew she couldn’t evade them for ever - she had to take offensive action.
At the moment the thought formed, she found herself beside the great wheel of a sarvato-bhadra - a stone-thrower.
Like the other ancient war machines, it was still primed for action.
She yanked the lever to release the mechanism, yelling ‘Bob Dylan!’ as a warning to Eddie. The large weight descended, its chain rattling and screeching. The wheel picked up speed startlingly quickly, the leather slings attached to its rim whipped outwards by centrifugal force.
Something else also moved outwards as the machine spun faster, a metal block protruding from a slot running from the wheel’s centre to its rim. A trigger: another block was mounted on the support frame. As the wheel reached its full speed, they clanged together—
Releasing the slings.
The wheel was mounted on the axle a few degrees off vertical. As it turned, it swayed from side to side - hurling the stones across the cavern in a deadly bombardment. They flew over the ramp, barely missing the vimana at its summit . . . and smashed down at the entrance.
Zec threw Khoil aside as a head-sized chunk of rock arced down and shattered where he had been standing.
Others were less lucky. One mercenary was hit in the face with a sharp crack of splintering bone. Another took a blow to the chest, his bulletproof body armour no defence against the force of the rock that punched razor-sharp fragments of broken ribs into his heart. The other men scrambled for cover.
Vanita screamed for the winch operator to raise her as more stones bounced off the floor and flew out on to the ledge. Tandon flung himself out of the way as pieces hurtled past them. One of the mercenaries who had brought out the chest was struck on his knee, the joint bending backwards with a horrible snap and pitching him over the edge. The helico
pter, an Indian-built Dhruv, ascended, yanking Vanita off the ledge.
The chest sat near the edge, stones skimming past it.
Shankarpa pointed back into the Vault. ‘Go!’ he shouted to Eddie as he leapt up and sprinted for the doors.
Eddie pulled Kit upright, vaulting into the gap between the ramp’s sides and dragging the Interpol agent after him. ‘We’ve got to find Nina!’ he said as he hauled him down the narrow channel. Ahead, he saw the stack of black rockets, the first burning brazier beyond. Nobody was chasing them - yet. But the confusion wouldn’t last long. With nobody to reload it, the sarvato-bhadra was limited to a single salvo.
Nina abandoned the war machine - the stones had passed harmlessly over the three men pursuing her. She fled deeper into the Vault.
Shankarpa raced for the open doors. A mercenary fired at him, but he was already through. He saw the chest at the top of the broken steps, but could do nothing about it. Instead, he ran past it as fast as he could.
Jumping—
Cold air whistled in his ears as he sailed over the gap, seventy feet of nothingness beneath him . . .
His foot reached the very edge of the topmost tier. He was moving too fast to stop, slamming against the wall and tumbling to the snow-covered floor. He forced himself back up and ran again, heading for one of the arched openings.
A roar of engines echoed through the valley - the MD 500, swooping down—
He dived through the entrance as bullets tore into the ancient carvings behind him. The shooting stopped, but the rotor noise remained constant. The gunship was waiting for him to reappear, the gunner assuming the chamber had only one way out.
He was wrong. Shankarpa headed into the darkness, the image of his father’s face filling him with a furious demand for vengeance.
The guardians of the Vault of Shiva would carry out their duty. To the last man.
The clatter of stones died away. Khoil cautiously looked out from behind the statue where Zec had thrown him, straightening his glasses. The three prisoners had disappeared - but the chest was still in sight outside. The empty harness reappeared, flapping in the rotor downwash as the Dhruv returned.
‘I - I think it would be best if I went to the helicopter next,’ he told Zec. ‘But have the chest sent up immediately after.’
‘As you wish,’ said Zec, concealing his contempt for his employer’s near-panic. ‘When it’s aboard, shall I evacuate the rest of the men?’
‘Yes.’ Khoil hurried to the doors.
The Bosnian followed him. ‘What about Wilde and Chase?’
The names made Khoil flare with anger. ‘Find them and kill them!’ He calmed, rationality regaining control. ‘If they are still alive by the time the Vedas are aboard the helicopter, we will evacuate - and use rockets to collapse the entrance.’ They reached the chest, and Tandon. ‘Go inside,’ he ordered his bodyguard. ‘I would like you to kill Dr Wilde and Mr Chase.’
Tandon smiled and bowed. ‘It will be my honour.’
‘We leave in five minutes. Go!’
Tandon ran into the Vault. Zec signalled for his men inside to join the hunt. As they scattered, he began to strap Khoil into the harness.
Eddie supported Kit as they hurried through the Vault, but the Interpol agent gasped in pain with every step. ‘I can’t keep going,’ he said, teeth gritted. ‘Leave me, find Nina.’
‘I can’t just dump you,’ Eddie replied. ‘If we—’
‘You have to! I’m slowing you down. Look, in there.’ He waved a hand at the balloon’s palatial gondola. ‘Hide me inside.’
‘If someone finds you, you won’t stand a chance on your own.’
Kit forced a smile. ‘I can take care of myself. Come on, quick!’
Reluctantly, Eddie guided him into the palace. The Indian took one of the swords from the rack before slumping in a corner. ‘Now, go, go.’
‘I’ll try to decoy them away from you,’ Eddie promised. He moved back outside, hearing sounds above the constant rumble of the helicopters.
Footsteps - close by. He scurried away from the balloon, moving into cover behind a statue. Peering round it, he saw four mercenaries advancing on his position. He had to draw them away from Kit; despite the policeman’s brave words, a sword was no match for a gun.
He looked deeper into the cave, the flickering glow of the braziers revealing a shadowy pathway between the Vault’s piled treasures. It was narrow, but the other end would, he thought from exploring the great space earlier, join up with one of the broader aisles.
The mercs were getting closer to the balloon. Eddie picked up a bejewelled vajra and ran for the passage, tossing the ceremonial weapon. The loud clang caught the mercenaries’ attention, as he’d hoped - and they ran after him.
But only three of them. The fourth hesitated, then moved cautiously towards the gondola, MP5K raised.
Eddie swore under his breath, but kept running, rounding a corner before his pursuers had a chance to shoot. But he heard gunfire anyway - from deeper in the cavern.
Mahajan and the other mercenaries had found Nina.
Nina shrieked as bullets shattered a wooden carving just behind her, splinters landing in her hair. She leapt behind a large statue of a cow. The great stone animal shielded her, the gunfire stopping - but she only had a few seconds’ respite before the men had her back in their sights.
The giant spiny roller of an udghatima lay ahead, her only possible escape routes to either side of it. The one behind the machine was narrower, hemmed in by elaborately carved friezes of dark wood, while the wider route ran alongside an even larger statue, this one of a bull, kneeling on all four legs to form a bovine wall. She raced down the latter path, searching for a way out at the far end—
There wasn’t one. The two paths converged beyond the udghatima, blocked in by more ornate friezes. She could climb them, but the mercenaries would catch up before she reached the top. An easy target.
Panic rising, she whirled and looked back down the narrower path. No exits or hiding places there either. But there was a large lever protruding from the udghatima, holding its mechanism in check for untold centuries . . .
Mahajan reached the corner first. A malevolent smile crossed his scarred lips as he advanced down the narrow path towards her. The two mercs ran round in front of the udghatima to cut her off.
She was trapped.
Unless . . .
Nina seized the lever and strained to move it. It creaked, long-frozen gears scraping against each other - then coming free with a jolt. The weight dropped, chain lashing in its wake.
The roller turned.
And the entire machine lurched, the small wheels set into its base driving it forward. Mahajan brought up an arm to protect his eyes as a spray of grit and dust flew off the thick metal bars jutting from the stone.
The mercenaries froze, just for a moment, the unexpected motion of the bus-sized siege engine catching them off guard. It was a moment too long. An iron bar smashed down on one man’s arm, breaking his wrist with a horrific crack. The other screamed, trying to back away - but was trapped between the udghatima and the bull statue. The gap closed—
The screaming stopped, replaced by several wet thumps. A crimson splatter encircled the spinning roller. The udghatima continued to rumble onwards until it struck the statue, the pounding iron bars tearing away chunks of stone.
One of the bull’s great horns broke off and fell, demolishing part of the frieze. Nina saw the dancing light from one of the oil channels through the mangled hole in the carvings.
Jagged wood clawing at her coat, she squeezed through the gap. Behind her, Mahajan snarled and ran after her, tearing at the broken frieze with his hands to widen the opening.
Clutching the sword, Kit heard someone approaching. The light from a nearby brazier cast a glow through the ornate gondola’s entrance: a shadow flicked past. The footsteps moved away . . .
Then slowed. Stopped.
Returned.
The shadow reappeared. Kit
held his breath, forcing himself upright on his good leg. The mercenary’s curiosity had been piqued - the little parody of a palace would make a good hiding place.
An MP5K poked through the opening. The compact weapon had a second grip beneath its muzzle, the merc’s black-gloved left hand holding it tightly. The gun swept the interior, the mercenary about to step inside to complete the search—
Kit stabbed the sword into the back of his hand.
The blade’s tip ripped through skin and muscle between the bones. The merc yelled - as Kit twisted it through ninety degrees. The sword forced the bones apart with a crack before popping free in a spurt of blood. The mercenary’s howl became an agonised screech.
But he was far from immobilised, lunging into the gondola with the MP5K still held in his other hand. Kit swung the sword again in a desperate attempt to swat it away before he fired.
Ancient and modern weapons collided as the mercenary pulled the trigger. The first bullet scorched a line across Kit’s chest, the rest of the burst of fire punching holes in the walls before the final flash of muzzle flame ignited the wood and oil-soaked cloth in the central brazier.
Kit lunged at him. The gun flew across the gondola as both men crashed into a corner. The mercenary snatched out his combat knife, drawing back his arm to plunge it into Kit’s chest—
Kit struck first. The sword pierced the merc’s body armour and sank deep into his stomach. With a gurgling wail, he staggered and fell . . .
On top of Kit, knocking him down. The explosion of agony through the nerves of the Indian’s wounded leg was so great that he almost passed out.
The fire in the brazier flared as little packets of gunpowder amongst the kindling ignited, angry flames surging. Hot air swirled into the open mouth of the balloon, the fabric rustling . . .
Eddie threw himself between two large metal statues of Hindu gods, bullets clanging behind him. He had taken a wrong turn, finding himself in a dead end amongst the war machines and ancient treasures; it only took a few seconds to double back, but that was all the time his three pursuers needed to catch sight of him. Now they were homing in as relentlessly as foxhounds.