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.