The Sacred Vault_ A Novel - Andy McDermott [148]
‘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.
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