Chase Baker and the God Boy: (A Chase Baker Thriller Series Book No. 3) (19 page)

…Kali…you are alive…you are
trying to stop us in our tracks before we even come close to the diamond mine…

A great scream comes from down
inside the earth. So loud it makes my teeth chatter. The fire that came from
the face dies, and in its place something else arises from the four openings.

Anjali comes up on my side.

“What is that black stuff?” she
says, her tone urgent and afraid.

“Hey,” Rudy says, “it’s oil. We’re
bloody rich.”

I take a closer look. “That’s not
oil.”

“Then what is it?” Tony says.

“Those are snakes. Black snakes,
rising out of the earth, and covering the ground like a plague.”

The Sherpas shriek at the sight,
about-face, and begin to run away in the direction of the elephants.

“Our guides are abandoning us,” Anjali
warns.

“It’s what Kali wants!” Tony
shouts. “He wants us to turn tail and run.”

“That would be a
she
, Tone,”
I say. Then, “What we have to do, we have to do on our own. Grab your stuff and
let’s get the hell out of here. To the trees. Now!”

The earth stops shaking, but the
snakes keep coming from the face formed in the earth. An evil face that is surely
a sign we should stay away from Kashmiri’s diamond mine. The warning doesn’t
come from God. Far from it. The warning comes, instead, from Hell’s eternal
wrath.

We make a run for the trees. We don’t stop until we reach the treeline
where we collapse onto our backs in exhaustion.

“It’s good to get away sometimes,
ain’t it?” Rudy says. “You know, a little rest and relaxation, fresh air, and
exercise. Five-star hotels and room service. Free drinks all around and man oh
man that breakfast buffet. I could really get used to this kind of traveling.”

“Very funny,” Tony says. “You
missed your calling.”

“Huddle up everyone,” I say. “This
is where things get serious.”

I catch the expression on Anjali’s
face. It couldn’t be more serious if it were chiseled out of granite.

I say, “I want everyone to stick
together. Don’t wander off. Keep your eyes and ears open for booby traps. This
narrow strip of forest is the last line of cover between us and Kashmiri’s
compound. I have no idea what to expect, which means anything could happen.”

Turning to Rudy. “That means you,
pal.”

He’s got this tight as all hell
expression on his round face like a big part of him wants to run away along
with the elephants and Sherpas, forget about having any part in rescuing the
God Boy. But I know he has his own agenda in mind.

“Sure hope the diamonds are worth
it, Chase,” he says.

I, too, am feeling the pressure.
I’m no stranger to supernatural events. But an evil power like Kali…a power
that has the ability to invade my brain while I sleep…is entirely foreign to
me. It’s not so much being afraid because fear I can deal with. It’s more a
matter of not knowing what to expect. But then, that’s the essence of
adventure, isn’t it? Not knowing what lies in wait for you.

The jungle is dark and foreboding
even midday. Monkeys jump from tree branch to tree branch while giant vampire
bats fly away from us in packs of hundreds, or even thousands. Animals don’t
like earthquakes any more than we do. There isn’t much of a trail to follow, so
we’re forced to bushwhack our way without the assistance of a machete. The
going is slow and tough, and our bodies are covered in sweat.

After an hour of hiking, the woods
thin out and the grassy plain becomes visible through the breaks in the trees
and foliage. There it is, a sight for sore eyes.

Kasmiri’s encampment and the
diamond deposit.

We look out onto the encampment
while hidden by the bush. Trucks and 4X4s circle the many-acred operation. Dozens
of slaves have formed an assembly line from the mouth of the tunnel that is
housed by the tin-roofed shack. The line of slaves extends to the outside where
they dump the contents of their overloaded wheel barrels onto the motorized
screens which then sift the rocks and gravel for pieces of priceless diamonds. By
all appearances, the earthquake hasn’t had any effect on the mining operation
as if it was built to withstand a seismic event.

Every now and again one of the many
black-robed Thuggees who guard the place fires off a round or two in the air to
keep the assembly line moving as rapidly as possible.

“Tony,” I say, “binoculars.”

The excavator pulls them from around
his neck, hands them to me. I put them to my eyes and grab my first close-up
view.

“Four soldiers guard the tunnel
opening and the shack that surrounds it,” I say. “Another four to six are
walking the perimeter of the exposed diamond deposit. The Kali statue has gone underground
since last night’s ceremony.”

I feel the key hanging from the leather
strap around my neck. It’s not only crucial that I get to that boy. I need to
get at that statue to unlock it. To find out its secret. A secret that, in my
mind, could mean the end of the line for the resurrected Kali.

“We could just shoot them,” Tony
says.

“Once we drop the first man, the
rest will spill out of that hole in the ground like that plague of snakes we
saw back there.”

“Good point,” Tony says. “Best to
go with our original plan. Wait until dark, plug up the air intakes, force them
out by suffocation.”

“Does that mean we’ve got to wait?”
Anjali asks.

“We need the cover of darkness,” I
say. “Without decent firepower, we’re as good as doomed.”

Rudy shuffles closer to me.

“You mean I gotta go all night
without a drink?” he says. “That ain’t right.”

“Sorry, Rudy,” I say. “Look at it
this way. It’ll do you liver good.”

He makes a sour face. “Stuff I
gotta go through to get rich.”

I pull out my .45, release the
clip, check the load.

“Everyone make an inventory of
their weapons,” I say. “Something tells me we’ll need every last round.”

I’m just about to return the piece
to my shoulder holster when I feel the solid metal gun barrel pressed against the
back of my head.

So much for our plan of cunning, stealth, and plugging up the
air intakes.

The new breed of 21
^st
century Thuggees bind our hands behind our backs with good old fashioned duct
tape. They scream orders in Hindi and Nepali. Words that mean nothing to me.
But that doesn’t mean I don’t feel their punches to my gut. To my head.

The man I pick out as the Captain
of the Guard is as big and tall as a giant. He’s got a thick, black beard and mustache,
and he bears a black half-moon tattoo of the Thuggee on his forehead. Wrapped
around his waist is a wide yellow sash with a large medallion planted in its
center. If my history serves me correct, the Thuggee were famous for utilizing
the scarf as a garrote—a device by which they would torture their captives by
strangulation and/or flogging.

I hope my history serves me wrong.

“Anjali,” I whisper. “You okay?”

“I’m okay, Chase,” she says. “Just
do as they say. These men aren’t interested in quick kills. They will torture
you first.”

“Silence!” Black Beard shouts.
“There will be no talking.”

…So the big man speaks English…maybe
like a lot of terrorists, he was educated in the States…

“Sir,” Rudy interjects. “Sir, allow
me to explain. This isn’t what you think.”

“Rudy, shut up,” Tony says.

But the bartender barrels his way
for Black Beard like he has no business being his captive.

“Please allow me to explain,” Rudy
presses. “You see, I have no idea who these people are. I was only out for a
hike when I came across them after that dreadful earthquake. If you let me go,
I can get you money. Lots of it. I promise.”

“Traitor,” Tony says.

“We should have let him hang,” I
say.

“So, what do you say?” Rudy presses
to Black Beard. “Let me go and I’ll fetch…”

Raising his fist, Black Beard
brings it down upon Rudy’s head, knocking him cold. But the bartender comes
back around when Black Beard tosses half the water from his canteen onto his chubby
face. From down on the jungle floor, Rudy shakes his head, looks around. “Where
am I?”

“Things are definitely not looking
up,” Tony says.

“Couldn’t agree more,” I say.

“That monster tried to scramble my
brains,” Rudy mumbles.

“Silence!” Black Beards repeats.

The Thuggees collect our weapons and
begin to march us across the grassy plain, all the time poking us with the
barrels of their automatic rifles until we come to the tin shack protected entrance
to the tunnel. Two solid steel doors secure the entry. But for now anyway, the
doors are wide open while slaves move in and out with their wheel barrels of
diamond-studded earth along a concrete ramp that steadily descends into the
earth.

Rudy perks up as soon as he sees
the wheel barrels being dumped onto the screens, some of the crystal clear
diamonds automatically separated from the worthless earth, others not so bright
and still embedded in chunks of rock.

“Look at that,” he whispers. “I can
bet that each one of those wheel barrels represents a million Pounds.”

Obviously his head isn’t hurting
anymore.

“You will follow,” Black Beard
insists.

“Like we have a choice,” I say, as
the guard behind me once more pokes me in the spine with the barrel of his Kalashnikov.

We’re led into the tunnel entrance
where we immediately hook a left down an empty corridor made of reinforced
concrete and illuminated with ceiling-mounted lamps protected behind metal
cages. These guys aren’t kidding around. The floor descends at a thirty-five-degree
angle which means our descent is rather rapid, and just to prove it, the air
becomes cooler, moister with each step we take.

After maybe fifteen minutes of
walking, the newly constructed tunnel empties out into a large, ancient space
that appears to have been carved out of stone centuries ago. We’re made to
stand shoulder to shoulder and not make a move. Before us is a kind of Hindu
temple that’s been sculpted into the opposing rock face. It must be one hundred
feet high by at least that wide in length. Carved into the center of the façade,
above the door, is an eight-armed Kali, its eyes wide open gazing down upon us,
its tongue protruding from its mouth mocking us, a sword in one hand and a
severed head in another, beating hearts in the others. Old fashion fire-lit
torches hang from the walls beside the thick stone doors. This must be the
temple that was constructed to honor Kali. A temple built far underground and
nearly impossible to find. Until Elizabeth finally discovered it.

“What the hell is this?” Rudy says.
“The temple of doom?”

Black Beard turns, peers at Rudy
with his black eyes. “You are alive, only because Kashmiri wants it that way. Do
you understand?”

Eyes wide, Rudy swallows, his Adams
apple bobbing up and down in his neck like a frightened turkey facing a sharpened
axe. Just then, the big doors to the temple begin to tremble as they slowly
open.

“Easy everyone,” I say. “Keep cool.”

A man emerges from the opening.
He’s tall, slim, and bearing a beard that’s just as black and thick as Black Beard’s.
He’s also wearing a green military-issue jacket, and aviator sunglasses, even
inside this dimly lit, Hollywood-like setup.

Kashmiri…The son of a bitch who
cut out Elizabeth’s heart…

“My guests have arrived,” he says,
working up a smile.

He approaches us. First he eyes me,
then moving down the line, Tony, and after him, Rudy. When he comes to Anjali,
he raises his hand. My pulse begins to pound in my temples because I’m
convinced he is about to wrap his fingers around her neck. But he does no such
thing. Instead, he gently places his hand to her face, leans in, kisses her
gently on the mouth.