Destroyer of Worlds (ARKANE Book 8) Read online

  Jake leaned over the edge of the crater. From their vantage point, they could see the top of the vault and the sliced-open spaces that the ARKANE researchers worked in every day. Construction workers in hard hats scurried around the levels, securing metal pipes, beams and other broken parts of the complex below the surface.

  "What was he doing down there?" Morgan asked. The Director's office was above ground in a building to the side of the square, part of the public-facing side of ARKANE. He should have been safe.

  "He's been increasingly worried about something," Jake said. "I know he's had migraines for months now. Apparently he's been working late every night in the lab, but we don't know what on. At least no one else was here and he's the only one injured. The bombers did a targeted smash and grab."

  "Surely Martin can find out what Marietti has been up to?" Morgan said.

  Martin Klein was ARKANE's official librarian and data archivist, nicknamed Spooky because of his ability to find patterns in the chaos of information that streamed into the databases every day.

  "Apparently Marietti wiped the logs every night after he finished. He really didn't want people to know what he was doing." Jake pointed down into the hole. "Martin's down there right now trying to fix the defenses. The security system was hacked directly after the bombing and that wasn't meant to be possible. He's also checking the vault's inventory to see what's been taken."

  "We should get down there," Morgan said.

  Together they walked away from the center of the square and down Duncannon Street to a nondescript doorway next to the Halfway to Heaven pub, an appropriate name for one of the hidden entrances to the ARKANE lower levels.

  Security was tight and they had to pass automatic biometric checks as well as human defense protocols before being admitted into the lab-level corridors. This end of the building was undamaged and there were technicians working on decoding artifacts, business as usual despite the bombing. Marietti would be pleased, Morgan thought. He hated anyone to waste time and there was always so much more to do to hold back the dark.

  They emerged into the exploded section of the complex and dodged around the scaffolding being erected to reinforce the lower levels. The door of the vault was open and Martin Klein peered into the innards of the electronic keypad. He muttered to himself, shaking his head and tapping away on a tablet as he bobbed up and down on the balls of his feet.

  "How can we help, Spooky?" Jake said as they approached.

  Martin turned with a start, his concentration broken. His shock of blond hair stood up in clumps, a sure sign that he had been tugging at it as he worked.

  "Morgan, Jake. Glad you're here." Martin pushed his thin wire-framed glasses up his nose. "I need to show you something."

  His fingers danced over the surface of the tablet computer.

  "My office is buried," he said, "but I can still access the databases from here." He pulled up video footage of the vault and played a short clip of the attack. He froze the image as one of the intruders lifted a box from the vault, a military balaclava obscuring his face. "They knew what they were looking for. They went directly to this box and then left quickly."

  "What's inside?" Morgan asked.

  Martin swiped the screen and quickly brought up an inventory of treasures from the vault. Morgan wanted to read the whole list, the researcher in her desperate to know what else was hidden down here. Before joining ARKANE, she had worked at the University of Oxford, specializing in the unexplained between science and faith, that which fell through the gap of psychology and religion. This vault was one of the reasons she had joined ARKANE in the first place. The knowledge and secrets down here haunted her dreams, yet she had been out in the field on missions since arriving, with no time to lose herself in study.

  Martin pulled up an image of a bronze statue, a dancing god surrounded by flames.

  "Shiva Nataraja," he said. "One of the primary Hindu gods portrayed as the cosmic dancer who is both destroyer and creator. It's a common enough statue in India." Martin pointed out aspects of the figure. "He dances within the flames of the universe and his left hand holds fire, signifying destruction. His left leg is raised and he stands on a demon of ignorance."

  "Lord of the Dance," Morgan whispered, bending closer to look at the image. "It's said that Shiva's long dreadlocks come loose as he dances and they smash the stars into each other, destroying the universe. The snake around his waist is Vasuki, one of the nagas or snake gods."

  "This attack is a lot of effort for just a statue," Jake said as he gestured at the destruction around them.

  "It's not even a whole statue," Martin said. "It's only one piece. The notes indicate that the sculpture was broken into four. The dancing Shiva, the flames that surround him, and then the base in two pieces. The ARKANE vault only contained the fire segment." He tapped on the screen again to reveal the history of the piece. "Marietti lodged it here back in the late 1980s, just after he joined ARKANE from the Vatican. But there are no notes as to its provenance, where it was found or why it was in the vault. As you said, Morgan, these statues are common enough in India. There's no indication as to what is so special about this one."

  "Go back to the video," Morgan said. There was a detail about it that bothered her. Martin flicked back to the video and they watched it again. Morgan tapped the screen, freezing it as the men entered the vault. The leader used a device to scan the area.

  "That looks like a Geiger counter," Morgan said. "Was the statue radioactive?"

  Martin nodded. "A little, but there are plenty of other radioactive artifacts down here so it must have a distinctive signature." Jake raised an eyebrow. "Oh, don't worry. That's why the walls are so thick and we discourage people from spending much time inside. But there's nothing in the records as to why the statue was radioactive. Another mystery."

  "We need Marietti," Jake said. "How's he doing?"

  Martin tapped the screen again and it shifted to display a hospital room. A figure lay on the bed under white sheets, wires from his body attached to machines and the steady beep of monitors pulsed rhythmically from the screen. Graphs showing Marietti's vital signs popped up under the video feed. Martin shook his head.

  "He's still unconscious and has been since the military first on scene found him under the rubble. But the doctors have said they could wake him under extreme necessity."

  Morgan looked at Jake and saw indecision in his eyes. She knew that he had a history with Marietti and the Director's injuries were severe. Waking him would be dangerous. But she and Jake had both lain in hospital, injured after their battles with demonic forces and human foes. Marietti knew the risks of their job and he would have ordered the same if the circumstances were reversed. Jake turned to Martin.

  "Tell the hospital we're coming," he said.

  Martin nodded. But as they turned to go, he called them back.

  "Wait. Can you … come inside the vault for a minute?"

  Morgan frowned at his words and Jake looked as confused as she did, but they followed him into the vault.

  "The cameras are down right now," Martin whispered. "It's safer to talk here, but we must hurry."

  "What's going on?" Jake asked.

  Martin exhaled sharply, steeling himself. "There's no way a breach like this could happen without someone inside leaking specific details. I've also found evidence that someone was monitoring Marietti's movements."

  "They knew he was down here?" Morgan said.

  "Yes, definitely," Martin said. "I don't think he was meant to survive."

  Jake shook his head. "There have been rumors of a power struggle within ARKANE and some are concerned it's been infiltrated by those who would see darkness triumph. It's hard to believe but …"

  "'Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven?'" Morgan said, quoting Paradise Lost.

  "Indeed." Martin tapped at his screen. "If you go after this sculpture, you need to proceed carefully and I think we should keep it off-books as much as possible. I'll sort out funds a
nd logistics from here, but keep a low profile if you can."

  An hour later, Morgan and Jake walked into the private wing of an exclusive London hospital. Despite the luxury, the smell of antiseptic made Morgan's skin crawl. She and Jake had both spent enough time in hospital after ARKANE missions, albeit not quite as plush as this. Hospitals were not her favorite place.

  After clearing security, they found the Director's room. It had a large picture window with reinforced glass looking out over London, stylish furniture and artwork on the walls. But the view didn't matter to this patient. Marietti lay on his back, his eyes closed, his skin sallow. His chest moved up and down as he breathed and the machines around him beeped softly, the rhythm a welcome sign of stability.

  Morgan walked to the bed and stood looking down upon him. The Director had lied to her at the beginning of her time with ARKANE, but she had grown to trust him anyway. There were things that he knew, things that would make even the strongest turn away, and yet he had made it his life's work to protect the world's secrets and keep them all safe. But what had he been doing down in the labs last night – and what was the significance of the statue? Why had it been stolen now, after it had been in the vault for years?

  It was clear that they knew little about the Director. Even Jake, who had known him the longest, recruited back when he had been in the military in Africa, still knew little of the Director's past. Morgan laid her hand on Marietti's unmoving arm and willed him to wake up. They needed to know what to do next, and usually it was the Director who sent them on a mission. He was stalwart and strong and his shoulders were broad enough to carry all of them.

  But now he was reduced to this.

  We are so fragile, Morgan thought. This human frame that seems so strong is easily broken. Now Marietti was brought low, there was only a thin line between the people of London and the supernatural that crouched in the shadows waiting for darkness to fall so they could claim dominion.

  There was a sudden long beep and a line spiked on one of the machines.

  Marietti coughed, his body wracked with shudders. Jake pressed the emergency call button by the bedside as Morgan leaned forward and put her hand on the Director's forehead, trying to calm him.

  "It's OK," she said, stroking his brow as he shook under her hand. "We're here. You're going to be OK."

  Marietti's eyes flew open.

  "Don't let the pieces of the statue come together," he whispered, his voice hoarse and cracked. "The weapon is–"

  His words were cut off by a gurgle as blood spewed from his mouth. He clutched at Morgan's arm and his fingers tightened around her as a doctor and attendant nurses rushed into the room. Then his body stiffened and he seized, collapsing in convulsions on the bed.

  Chapter 4

  Asha heard the beating blades of the helicopter on its approach to the towers and walked to the window to watch as it hovered and then landed on the helipad. From London, the box had been taken to a private jet and flown immediately back to Mumbai, and then brought here from the airport in the fastest time possible. She smiled to think of what had arrived with it. In the midst of the mourning rituals, she was still playing the compliant sister and devoted daughter. Mahesh wouldn't know what she planned until it was too late.

  Minutes later, there was a knock at her office door.

  "Come in," she said, turning to face the entrance. She wore a white trouser suit today, the Hindu color of mourning. The curves flattered her lithe figure, and she found that being underestimated as a mere desirable woman helped her.

  The door opened and the scarred man, one of her favorite bodyguards, stood in the doorway with a bag in his hand. Asha wanted to run across the room and grab it from him, so desperate was she for what was inside. But such eagerness did not become her position.

  "Put it on the desk," she said abruptly, her voice giving no sense of her anticipation.

  The man walked across the carpeted floor, his boots leaving dirty marks on the plush rug. His face was staunch but she felt his eyes flick over her.

  He placed the bag on her desk and pulled the top flap open so she could see the box inside. Her fingers itched to touch it, to finally hold the sacred statue that her father had prohibited her from searching for. She remembered his cautionary words even now. It's too dangerous, Asha. We're not ready for the power it can command.

  But she had searched in secret for the last year, tracing her father's history. In his younger years, he had worked on archaeological digs around the world. He had not been religious back then, choosing to call himself Christian or Muslim, Hindu or Buddhist depending on what dig he worked on. He had once been part of a Vatican team excavating in the caves of Ellora. They had found something there, an object of great power.

  Now, finally, it was within her grasp.

  Asha walked to the desk, her breathing shallow. She rested her hands on top of the bag and looked up at the man.

  "Did you look inside?" Her voice was honey soft and smooth. She smiled and let the tip of her tongue touch her lips, wetting them slightly. The man's pupils dilated and he shifted uncomfortably in place. He shook his head, dragging his eyes away from her mouth.

  "Of course not, your orders were clear."

  She nodded. "Good. Then you may stay and watch."

  As Asha pulled the box from the bag, her fingers shook with anticipation. The energy vibrating from it made her heart race. It was painted with bright colors, displaying images of the god Shiva in his various incarnations. In one he was seated cross-legged on a tiger skin, his body painted blue with a snake around his neck. His right hand was raised in blessing and his dreadlocks flowed down to create the River Ganges. The box itself was a priceless work of art, but it wasn't what she sought.

  She took a deep breath and lifted the lid.

  Her eyes widened. She slammed the lid back down again, the sharp sound echoing in the room. Her eyes blazed and narrowed as she looked at the man.

  "There's only one piece in here. Where's the rest?" Her voice was ice cold, sharp as a dagger.

  Fear flickered across the man's face, confusion in his eyes.

  "I swear it. This was the only box in the vault with that radioactive signature. We didn't look in it, we didn't take anything. I promise."

  Asha pressed the call button on her desk. The door opened and two bodyguards entered the room, their meaty hands resting on their guns as their huge bodies blocked the exit.

  "No, please," the man cried. "I'll find the other pieces."

  He fell to his knees, his hands reaching towards her in supplication.

  Asha ignored him. "Take him to the Kali temple."

  The two bodyguards grabbed the man by the arms and dragged him out, still screaming his protest.

  As his cries faded, she opened the box again and looked down at the single piece of the statue, the semi-circle of fire that was meant to surround the god. The bronze edges had been filed into flames that would burn the world to dust and herald a new age. She could see how it would fit into the base, but she needed the other pieces to complete the weapon. She had pored through the diaries and journals and there had been nothing about this. Her father and the man he had found it with must have broken it apart and hidden the pieces separately. It was too late to discover the truth from her father, but perhaps the team he had discovered it with were still alive. She would find them and they would speak when faced with the chamber of the goddess.

  But first, she had to face her own reckoning.

  Asha clenched her fists and pounded on the table in frustration. She was so close.

  In the corner of her office was a private lift. She walked to it with heavy footsteps and pressed the button. She didn't want to face him now, but she had to.

  The lift took only seconds to get to the roof garden and Asha walked out into the verdant space beyond. The smell of tropical flowers and the patter of a waterfall filled the air. Up here it was possible to forget that the slums of Mumbai jostled below, crammed full of those millions who ek
ed out a living on the edge of abundance. It was said of India that you could throw away a mango stone and a tree would grow, and up here, that was true. Vishal had planted the garden many years ago when he had first made his fortune and now Asha tended it in his memory.

  Palm trees overhead created dappled shade on a stone path made from rocks gathered from all corners of the Kapoor empire. Pebbles from the beaches in Bangladesh where ships were broken up and sold. Glass from the south of Kerala and even precious stones from the forts of Rajasthan.

  Huge glass panels high above could be opened and shut electronically, regulating the atmosphere and heat levels. Solar energy gathered from the roof was used throughout the building. The garden was a fusion of modern technology and the inherent natural power of the gods harnessed together, a fitting metaphor for what Asha intended.

  But the statue was the key, and she had failed to get it.

  She walked on.

  A space had been cleared in the corner of the verdant garden in recent months. As her father lay dying, his position weakened, Asha had taken control of the area, making the changes necessary so her guru would come here. She took tentative steps towards the place now.

  She stepped out of the greenery into a bare sandy area strewn with sharp stones and ash from cremation grounds. The smell of flowers dissipated, replaced by the stink of human waste and the tang of blood. The trees had been cleared so he sat under direct sunlight, cross-legged, eyes closed, fingers resting on his knees in the chin mudra position, thumb and forefinger touching.

  He was naked except for a tiny loincloth, his matted dreadlocks hung to his waist, his bushy beard untrimmed. His dark skin was covered in ash dotted with beads of sweat. In front of him was a human skull fashioned into a kapala bowl, its interior stained with red and black from blood and rotten flesh.

  Asha slipped off her shoes on the edge of the sand and walked barefoot towards him, each step soft and silent even as the sharp stones pricked her feet. Pain and blood only brought her closer to the goddess. She barely breathed and her heart pounded, as it always did when she approached him. She sank to her knees with no regard for her fine clothes. They meant nothing here. She was no longer a desirable woman, heiress to one of the biggest companies in India. Here she was just an acolyte in front of her guru. She rested her hands upon her knees and bowed her head.