The Oracle Code (3 page)

4

32 Miles Southwest of Herat

Herat Province

Afghanistan

June 18, 2012

Just as Dmitry was about to enter the cave after the two professors, shadows flitted across the incline ahead of him. He still wasn’t using a flashlight because he hadn’t wanted to alert Glukov and Lourds. Reaching back unerringly with his left hand, he caught Chizkov’s wrist and held the young lieutenant in place.

Chizkov froze instantly.

Dmitry’s hand closed around the butt of his pistol. He whispered almost in the lieutenant’s ear. “Be very still and do not say a word. Do not move.”

After that, Dmitry followed his own advice. He did not try to stare at the shadows ahead of him. He watched them from the corners of his eyes, where his vision would be at its sharpest.

Gradually, the shadows turned into men dressed in loose trousers and shirts. They carried bags over their shoulders and looked warily about. Some of them carried rifles in one hand.

Tomb robbers?
Dmitry tried that logic in his mind, but it didn’t feel right. Men who were interested in stealing artifacts would be looking nearer to camp. This was interesting, and he had no explanation for it. He stood in the shadows and remained unseen.

After the last one entered the cave, Dmitry again leaned toward the young lieutenant. “Go get help.”

“Who?” Chizkov was nervous. They were the only two agents at the camp.

Dmitry thought quickly. During the time he had been at the dig site, he’d quietly assessed the people he came in contact with. That was how he had known Glukov was obsessed and the American linguist was a man who would get into trouble.

How much Lourds had to do with the men entering the cave had yet to be seen.

“You have met Layla Teneen, yes?”

“Yes.”

Dmitry had known the Afghanistan professor would have attracted the young lieutenant’s attention. She was a very beautiful woman, very strong in her independence.

“Go to her and tell her that she needs to bring security personnel to this place.” Dmitry felt certain that, as the liaison for the dig site, Layla Teneen would have access to the Afghanistan National Police and Afghanistan National Army. Perhaps she would even have someone in the International Security Assistance Force.

“What should I tell her?”

“That she should hurry. Now, go. I am growing a beard waiting on you.”

Chizkov sped away across the incline, almost tripping in his haste.

Pistol in hand, Dmitry squared himself and walked toward the cave. There would be numerous questions about his presence there if he was right, but there would be only dead men in that cave come morning if he took no action. He went forward.

***

“Hold the paper across the tips of the mold.” Lourds straightened his own end and placed it under his backpack, anchoring the paper to the ground.

On the other side of the mold, Boris stretched the paper to the end of the mold and waited. He looked expectantly at Lourds. “Am I to be given no explanation?”

Lourds grinned, enjoying the situation. “It’s magic. If I’m right, you’ll be amazed.”

“And if you’re wrong?”

“I’ll be twice as embarrassed as Geraldo Rivera was when he opened Al Capone’s safe on live television.”

Boris grinned. “A good archeologist should be like a good magician.”

“How is that?”

“Before he performs for an audience, he should always know how the trick turns out.”

Lourds reached into his backpack and took out a stick of charcoal. “Hold that end taut.”

“I will.”

“It’s important that there is no play in the paper.”

Slowly, carefully, Lourds dragged a stick of art charcoal across the paper. The tips of the plaster where the charcoal touched was a dark gray, distinctly opposed to the light gray film that covered the rest of the paper.

Diligently, Lourds stayed with the task until he finished it. Once he had, the paper was covered in symbols that looked a lot like the cuneiform engraving on the wall. He put the charcoal away and picked up his flashlight. He traced the beam across the writing.

After a moment, he shook his head.

“I can’t read this.”

“You thought you would be able to?”

“Yes. There should have been a message here.”

“Why would you think that?”

“Because of the carvings. Come here.” Impatiently, head still spinning, Lourds walked back over to the wall. He shined the flashlight beam into the engraving. “See? Do you see?”

Boris peered into the holes. “What am I supposed to see?”

“The tool markings on the edges of the excavations deeper into the writing.”

Dutifully, Boris looked again. “I see what appears to be tool markings.”

“It is. Trust me.”

“I trusted you enough to follow you up here. And I held the paper as you directed. Only to have you tell me that you cannot read what you thought you would be able to read.”

Lourds frowned and reconsidered. There was something he was missing, but it continued to elude him, flitting just beyond his mental reach. “It suddenly came to me that the only reason there would be so many markings was if the deeper excavations in that writing were to leave a second message.”

Boris looked back at the paper then back at the wall. Then he smiled. “You are a brilliant man, my friend, if there truly is a message here.”

“I would have sworn there was. That was why the writer had said, ‘you must seek beyond these words.’ Because there were other words that had to be ferreted out.”

“Absolutely brilliant, I will give you that. However, not above making mistakes. And you have made one.”

“What?”

Boris walked back to the paper, picked it up, and reversed it. “You were looking at it backwards.” He grinned in delight.

Lourds grinned as well, for there was a message on the paper, and it was written in the same Old Persian tongue. “Here. Hold it up with the flashlight behind it.”

Boris held one end of the paper in one hand and the flashlight in the other, shining it through the paper from underneath.

Slowly, Lourds used the charcoal stick to draw in the cuneiform symbols, making them easier to read. When he finished the whole message, he read it aloud. “‘Go north. Third cave on the east. Between the camel.’ At least, I think that says camel.”

Excitedly, Boris patted Lourds on the shoulder. Then he carefully folded the paper. “You are an amazing man, Thomas Lourds. I have always said that.”

“I seem to recall earlier that you weren’t so certain I’d even gotten the first translation right.”

“I’m certain now. Let us go see what we can find.”

Lourds grabbed his backpack and followed Boris back up through the passageways.

***

In her tent, Professor Layla Teneen stared at her notebook computer screen again and tried to think of how she wanted to compose the e-mail she was going to send. When she’d first been offered the job as liaison for the dig site, she’d been honored—and wary.

Afghanistan still didn’t like women in power. The old way of thinking was to keep the country a man’s world.

For the past seventeen years, since the age of sixteen, Layla had dodged the advances of men. Marriage for her in Afghanistan would have ended her life of independence.

She wasn’t willing to give up her dreams of being her own person. She was thirty-three years old, and most of the girls she had grown up with were already grandparents.

She could be an independent woman, but she would also be a lonely one
.
Shaking her head, Layla focused on the small LCD screen.

Someone rang the small bell she’d hung from the front of her tent. “Professor Teneen.”

Startled, Layla glanced at the time/date reading on her computer. It was far too late for someone to come calling. Unless something was wrong.

Layla got up from the small folding desk and walked across the tent floor in her sock feet.

“Yes. Who is it?” She answered in Russian, matching the speaker’s language.

“It is Chizkov, ma’am.”

“Chizkov?” Layla recognized the name. She was very good with names. Chizkov was an attaché for Dmitry Dolgov, who seemed in no way to be an archeologist and not very informed about history either. “What do you want at this hour?”

“It is Major Dolgov. He requests that you bring some security personnel.”

Anxiety shot through Layla’s stomach. The Taliban in the area had been very quiet for the past few months. She really thought she might get through her tour this time without seeing them.

And what about
Major
Dolgov? There had been no mention of a
Major
Dolgov. Only Professor Dolgov. The man’s papers had been checked and verified.

But it wouldn’t have been the first time someone had gotten into a dig and turned out not to be who he—or she—was supposed to be.

“Did he say why he needed the security people?”

“No. Only that he did. We were following Boris Glukov and Thomas Lourds up to the cave where the professors have been spending their time.”

Followed?
Layla picked up her boots and pulled them back on. “Give me a moment, Chizkov.”

“Certainly.”

Layla picked up her satellite phone from her desk and used the speed dial.

A voice answered in Dari. “Yes.”

“Captain Fitrat? This is Director Teneen. I have need of you.”

“I am on my way.”

Before she left her tent, Layla took a flashlight, extra batteries, a first-aid kit, and the Beretta 9mm she kept in her tent for emergencies.

5

32 Miles Southwest of Herat

Herat Province

Afghanistan

June 18, 2012

They found the third cave on the east readily enough. It was a large room, at least sixty or seventy yards across. Not big enough to get lost in but certainly large enough to stash a house. Stalactites hung from the ceiling, and stalagmites stood up from the ground. Several scars that had been smoothed over in the center of the floor showed where other stalagmites had been removed to make room, presumably, for people who had spent the night in the cave.

Boris looked around madly. “I don’t understand. I have been
in
this cave several times while looking for clues. I never found anything before.”

“Were you looking for a camel before?”

“No.” Boris sounded exasperated. “There is no camel in this room. Not a living one and not a dead one either. Don’t you think I would have noticed a camel?”

“Perhaps a pictograph.” Lourds moved off and began shining his light over the walls. The rough surfaces were clear except for phosphorescent chalk marks on the floor that declared the area as CAVE ROOM #16. The chemicals would easily wash off later, but for the moment, it helped with cataloging everything.

Lourds’s beam froze on two stalagmites against one wall. “Boris, when you think of a camel, what do you imagine?”

“An ugly, ungainly-looking beast with a savage temperament and a stench that absolutely reeks. What do you imagine?”

“Aside from those things, what do you think of when you visualize a camel?”

Something in Lourds’s voice drew his friend around. “Humps, I suppose. Why?”

Lourds waggled his flashlight beam over the two stalagmites he’d spotted. “One hump or two per camel?”

“The stalagmites?”

“Yes.”

“No way.”

“The writer did mention ‘between the camel,’ so maybe we’re not looking for a whole camel.”

Boris flicked his light around the room, but Lourds already knew there wouldn’t be another set of stalagmites that looked the same. These two were rounded on the top, as if the ends had been artificially knocked off and sanded.

As if hardly daring to believe what he might find, Boris closed in on the stalagmites. The light caressed the dark gray-brown color of the stone. Boris halted at the pair and stared at them. “These have to be the camel’s humps the message was referring to.”

“I think so as well.” Lourds stood beside Boris and looked around some more.

“What are we supposed to find?”

“Perhaps whatever was here has already been taken. It has been hundreds of years.”

“No.” Boris stubbornly shook his head. “Whatever the author of that carving had hidden, it wouldn’t be hidden in plain sight. There has to be a trick.” He knelt and began feeling around on the humps.

Lourds knelt beside his friend. “The message said
between
the humps.”

“Well, there’s the floor.” Boris slammed his fist into the floor a few times experimentally. “But that appears to be solid enough.” He switched his attention to the wall and banged the butt of his flashlight against the stone surface in a few areas.

Some of the flashlight’s thumps sounded hollow.

“Let me see your canteen, please.”

Unslinging the canteen from his shoulder, Lourds passed it over.

Taking his time, Boris poured water along the wall at shoulder height, then watched it run down the stone. As the water ran along the surface, it unveiled a horizontal groove that hadn’t been visible to the naked eye. Two other lines ran vertically on either side of the horizontal line.

“Look.” Boris could scarcely speak.

“I see it.” Lourds’s pulse beat at his temples, and he couldn’t help smiling. This was what he lived for.

Boris stuck out his hand. “Could I borrow your knife?”

Gently inserting the blade into the horizontal gap, Boris pried at the crack, slowly opening it. A whole section of the wall popped out, leaving an opening three feet across and three feet tall.

For a moment, Boris froze. “Me first?”

“It’s your discovery.” Lourds gestured the man forward. “I’ll gladly follow you into the promised land.”

Lourds gestured with the flashlight. “Are you going to go? Or do you want me to take the lead?”

“I’m going. I’m going.” Diligently, Boris surveyed the tunnel again. “Why couldn’t they have made this big enough for a grown man?”

“Because it’s supposed to be hidden.”

Footsteps scraped the stone floor behind Lourds. He turned swiftly and shined his flashlight toward the center of the cave.

Six men dressed in dark desert clothing that looked black in the shadows stood behind them. The men looked hard and worn. They carried packs over their shoulders and rifles in their hands. Three of them carried small oil lanterns, and Lourds realized that he hadn’t seen their light because he’d been blinded by his own.

“You see, Ghairat, I told you I heard someone inside the caves.”

One of the men dropped his pack, and all the other men did too. “Get your hands up.” He gestured with the AK-47 he held. “Get your hands up or I will shoot you.” He spoke in broken Russian.

“Boris...” Lourds elevated his hands.

Awkwardly, Boris clambered back out of the tunnel.

“Are you spying on us, Russian dogs?” Ghairat strode forward with more confidence.

Lourds cleared his throat. “No.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“We are archeologists.”

One of the men snorted derisively. “More of the dirt diggers. I say we kill them now and be done with it.” He spoke in the Turkmen language, which Lourds knew well enough to understand.

“Young fool.” Another man cuffed the speaker on the head. “If we kill them, the other dirt diggers will start looking for who killed them.”

“If we don’t kill them, they will tell others they have seen us. They will come into the cave and find the opium we have stored here.”

The leader, Ghairat, turned to the young man. “Close your mouth.”

The young man bowed his head in obedience.

“It is a simple solution.” Ghairat grinned. “We will kill them here, then stuff them in that convenient hole in the wall they found.” He raised his rifle.

Lourds grunted at Boris under his breath, “The tunnel. Now!”

Boris didn’t hesitate. He threw himself into the tunnel like a mouse returning to its home ahead of the cat. Lourds dropped as well, expecting to feel a bullet between his shoulder blades at any second.

Ghairat opened fire, but the bullets slapped against the wall Lourds had stood in front of, then tracked down. For a moment, the camel hump-shaped stalagmites offered protection from the bullets, but Lourds knew that was fleeting at best. The men were already jockeying for new firing positions.

One of the ricochets caught a man and knocked him down.

“Brothers! Help me! I am shot!”

Ghairat stopped firing and screamed in frustration. “Get them!”

Lourds dropped behind Boris and hurled himself through the small passageway. Another thing the men hadn’t thought of was that the small arms fire would carry out of the caves and alert the camp. He didn’t know if they were using drugs or were truly just dim-witted, but hanging around to find out wasn’t an option at the moment.

Even a fool’s bullets could kill him. And he was certain the men wouldn’t be without the long, curved herdmen’s knives so many carried out in the wilderness.

***

Heart pounding, Dmitry stood in the passageway leading to the cave where he’d followed the men. He hadn’t known the men had reached Glukov and Lourds until he heard one of them speaking to the pair. Then there had been exchanges in a language that Dmitry couldn’t understand, but none of it sounded good.

Quietly, he stole up to the cave entrance. He took a fresh grip on his pistol. During his time with the SVR, he had killed sixteen men. Most of those had been shot while trying to kill him or his partners. He had mortally wounded his first man when he was twenty-three.

One of the men inside the cave cried out in pain. Since it was in the language that he didn’t understand, Dmitry was certain that neither Glukov nor Lourds had been shot.

However, that didn’t mean they weren’t about to be.

Dmitry drew in his breath and let it out, then he flicked on his flashlight in his left hand, placed it under his pistol in his right, and swiveled so he faced the opening in profile.

The flashlight beam caught the black-garbed men flatfooted. One of them lay on the floor, and two others administered to him. They looked at the opening, holding up hands against the brightness of the light, and tried to see.

One of the men in front raised his rifle to fire.

Dmitry focused on that man first, firing three bullets into the man’s body and noting with professional satisfaction the way the target staggered back. Then he fired several shots into the knot of men trying to boil into action.

He went through the door at a steady run, committing himself to his action. Targeting the men who were still moving, Dmitry kept walking toward them and shot them in the head, one after the other.

Heart still beating rapidly, Dmitry kept the pistol at the ready in both hands. He still had twelve rounds of the eighteen in the magazine in his weapon. Looking around, he saw that no one else was in the cave.

“Put the weapon down! Do it now!”

Even with his ears ringing from the thunderous noise trapped inside the cave, Dmitry recognized the threatening timbre of a professional soldier’s voice. Quietly, he bent and placed the pistol on the ground.