Restless Soul - Alex Archer [37]
“I should have taken more treasure,” he fumed. “And you should not have stopped me.” Zakkarat chattered in Thai—profanities, she guessed—waving a hand that had several gold rings on it. She pushed his voice to the back of her mind.
At least the odd, chilling sensation had not returned since she’d discovered the bowl and its contents.
But who put the bowl and the other treasures in the chamber? And why? Where did they come from? And where were they going? What was their ultimate destination?
She shook her head, knowing the answers would not come to her on this trail. First, she needed her computer and her contacts, and that wouldn’t happen until they made it back to the lodge and then the nearest city. So she focused on other things, the soggy beauty of the trees and the mountains, the tune Luartaro was humming—something lovely and foreign to her—Zakkarat’s boots slapping against the mud, the chirp of an occasional frog, the chitter of an angry, drenched monkey and the soft purr of…an engine.
Her head snapped up just as bullets struck the ground in front of her feet.
“Run!” she shouted to her companions as she dived off the trail.
Feet pounded the ground behind her, and she slowed so that Luartaro could slide past, arm protectively around Zakkarat’s shoulders as he shoved him into the brush.
The pommel of her sword formed in her hand. She hadn’t even been aware of calling it. She instantly dismissed it.
She didn’t want Luartaro to see it again, but more than that, it was useless at a distance and against machine guns.
As she ran, she looked back over her shoulder and caught a glimpse of their attackers.
The men were dark-clad and Asian. She had only had a flash of them as she left the trail, but she knew there were four in the Jeep, and more in a second vehicle that was roaring up the trail. Another man was on a four-wheel ATV. She couldn’t make out anything else, as she was moving too quickly in an effort to avoid being shot.
They had machine guns, but she could also hear the firing of pistols. They shouted in what she thought was Vietnamese. There was a loud, long exchange and she could pick up only a few groups of words in the mix. What little Vietnamese she’d learned through the years had been from watching travelogues and foreign action films and visiting one of her favorite New York restaurants. She wasn’t entirely sure she was catching the phrases correctly.
She heard the thumps as men abandoned their Jeeps and ran after them.
The men slipped and slid in the mud and over the rain-slick ferns just as she did.
But these men were probably fresh and rested, having ridden in the Jeeps up the mountains, while she and her companions were spent from their ordeals in the caves.
Since they probably couldn’t outrun the men, she had to get her companions to a hiding place. Then she would double back with her sword and get some answers.
“Annja!”
“Behind you, Lu!” She was, though she could have easily passed him by. She stayed behind the two men, hoping that she would be the target. And also the first to turn and fight, if she had to.
As she ran, dodging leaves and branches that slapped at her face, trying to stay upright as her boots skated on mud and leaves, her mind worked.
It all fit together, somehow—the treasure, the dog tags and now the men chasing them.
The pounding footfalls behind her sounded like five or six men were in pursuit. The machine-gun fire had stopped, but the wild pistol shots still zipped and zinged over their heads and off into the jungle.
Thank God the ones still firing were lousy shots! How many men were there? And did they all have guns?
Mud and rocks spit up and bit into the backs of her legs. Something slammed into her back. “Move!” she said to Luartaro, though they were