The Sacred Vault

The roller turned.

And the entire machine lurched, the small wheels set into its base driving it forward. Mahajan brought up an arm to protect his eyes as a spray of grit and dust flew off the thick metal bars jutting from the stone.

The mercenaries froze, just for a moment, the unexpected motion of the bus-sized siege engine catching them off guard. It was a moment too long. An iron bar smashed down on one man’s arm, breaking his wrist with a horrific crack. The other screamed, trying to back away - but was trapped between the udghatima and the bull statue. The gap closed—

The screaming stopped, replaced by several wet thumps. A crimson splatter encircled the spinning roller. The udghatima continued to rumble onwards until it struck the statue, the pounding iron bars tearing away chunks of stone.

One of the bull’s great horns broke off and fell, demolishing part of the frieze. Nina saw the dancing light from one of the oil channels through the mangled hole in the carvings.

Jagged wood clawing at her coat, she squeezed through the gap. Behind her, Mahajan snarled and ran after her, tearing at the broken frieze with his hands to widen the opening.

Clutching the sword, Kit heard someone approaching. The light from a nearby brazier cast a glow through the ornate gondola’s entrance: a shadow flicked past. The footsteps moved away . . .

Then slowed. Stopped.

Returned.

The shadow reappeared. Kit held his breath, forcing himself upright on his good leg. The mercenary’s curiosity had been piqued - the little parody of a palace would make a good hiding place.

An MP5K poked through the opening. The compact weapon had a second grip beneath its muzzle, the merc’s black-gloved left hand holding it tightly. The gun swept the interior, the mercenary about to step inside to complete the search—

Kit stabbed the sword into the back of his hand.

The blade’s tip ripped through skin and muscle between the bones. The merc yelled - as Kit twisted it through ninety degrees. The sword forced the bones apart with a crack before popping free in a spurt of blood. The mercenary’s howl became an agonised screech.

But he was far from immobilised, lunging into the gondola with the MP5K still held in his other hand. Kit swung the sword again in a desperate attempt to swat it away before he fired.

Ancient and modern weapons collided as the mercenary pulled the trigger. The first bullet scorched a line across Kit’s chest, the rest of the burst of fire punching holes in the walls before the final flash of muzzle flame ignited the wood and oil-soaked cloth in the central brazier.

Kit lunged at him. The gun flew across the gondola as both men crashed into a corner. The mercenary snatched out his combat knife, drawing back his arm to plunge it into Kit’s chest—

Kit struck first. The sword pierced the merc’s body armour and sank deep into his stomach. With a gurgling wail, he staggered and fell . . .

On top of Kit, knocking him down. The explosion of agony through the nerves of the Indian’s wounded leg was so great that he almost passed out.

The fire in the brazier flared as little packets of gunpowder amongst the kindling ignited, angry flames surging. Hot air swirled into the open mouth of the balloon, the fabric rustling . . .

Eddie threw himself between two large metal statues of Hindu gods, bullets clanging behind him. He had taken a wrong turn, finding himself in a dead end amongst the war machines and ancient treasures; it only took a few seconds to double back, but that was all the time his three pursuers needed to catch sight of him. Now they were homing in as relentlessly as foxhounds.

He burst out from the far end of the confined space, hopping over the faint licks of flame in an oil channel. A brazier was aflame to one side, the warm light revealing another udghatima - and beyond it a siege machine, a twin of one nearer the entrance, that could be the answer to his prayers.

If he could reach it. And if it still worked.

He sprinted for the wooden grid. Behind, the men charged through the narrow passage.

He passed the brazier, the huge stone roller . . .

A shout of ‘There!’ behind him—

Eddie dived, slithering across the stone floor as an MP5K crackled - and yanking a lever on the machine.

It was a sara-yantra - an arrow-firer.

A rapid-fire series of thwacks rippled through the framework as the firing mechanisms for a hundred arrows were triggered. The missiles hissed down the aisle, a horizontal storm of spiked death that bounced off metal, cracked against stone - and thunked deep into human flesh. The gunfire stopped, replaced by choked screams.

Eddie got up. Not all the ancient weapon’s arrows had fired, but he was still more than happy with the end result. Three twitching bodies were sprawled on the floor, so many arrows poking up from them that they looked like porcupines. ‘Bunch of pricks,’ he muttered, running to them and scooping up one of their guns.

Now that he was armed, he could find Nina and Kit. But there were still the other mercenaries to worry about, and if he called out to her he would give away his position. Instead, he went back towards the entrance.

Nina rushed through the shadows. She had meant to go back to reach Eddie, but was unable to find a route through the tightly packed treasures. All she could do was follow the side wall, heading for the back of the cavern.

And Mahajan was behind her, closing with every giant step.

Two mercenaries ran out in front of Eddie as he approached the entrance - and took bursts of bullets to their heads, the Englishman aiming above their body armour. He saw the ramp ahead, the open doors beyond it . . . and Khoil rising from the ledge as he was winched away.

Eddie dropped behind the incline and shot back as a mercenary outside opened fire. Zec sprinted for cover, but the other merc was caught in the open. With a more distant target, Eddie was forced to aim for the centre of mass rather than trying to score a lethal headshot, but the impact of the bullets was enough even against armour. The mercenary staggered, slipped on the snow - and fell over the edge. His echoing scream ended abruptly a couple of seconds later.

Eddie ran for the doors. He had spotted the chest, ready to be winched into the chopper. Nina would be mad, but shooting it to bits or flinging it over the edge would be one way to spoil Khoil’s plans—

A heel slammed into his back.

Tandon had been lurking behind the ramp, and made a flying leap from its raised end as Eddie ran past. If Eddie hadn’t been moving away from the punishing blow, it might have broken his spine. As it was, the impact was still hard enough to knock him down.

He rolled, bringing up the gun - only for Tandon to kick it out of his hand. Cobra-fast, the Indian struck again, his boot scraping Eddie’s cheek as the Englishman jerked out of the way.

He grabbed Tandon’s ankle, trying to twist it round and trip him, but Tandon threw himself into a somersault, wrenching his foot from Eddie’s grasp. He landed perfectly, spinning as the Englishman clumsily got up.

Zec aimed his MP5K at Eddie - but Tandon blocked his line of fire as he lunged, striking at a pressure point on his opponent’s chest. Only Eddie’s reflexes - and the thick padding of his coat - saved him from the paralysing punch, which hit a couple of inches off target but still felt like someone taking a hammer to his ribcage. He groaned, reeling.

Tandon spun again to deliver a high kick at Eddie’s head. This time, his foot made solid contact. Eddie spat out blood as the other man’s heel crunched against his jaw. Dazed, he staggered through the doors. Zec tracked him, but held his fire: his boss’s bodyguard wanted his fun.

Another kick, this time ploughing into Eddie’s stomach. He whooped for breath, almost collapsing - as Tandon