The Tomb (Repairman Jack)

'He must be inspected like everybody else.'

MacDougal glanced after the retreating mule train. 'Jaggernath said they don't like their food touched, sir. Only by their own kind.'

'Well, isn't that a pity! And I suppose you let him pass uninspected out of the goodness of your heart?' Westphalen was growing steadily angrier at this soldier's insolence. 'Empty your pockets and let's see how many pieces of silver it took to get you to betray your fellow soldiers.'

Color suddenly flooded back into MacDougal's face. 'I'd never betray me mates!'

For some reason, Westphalen believed him. But he couldn't drop the matter now.

'Empty your pockets!'

MacDougal emptied only one: from his right-hand pocket he withdrew a small, rough stone, clear, dull red in color. Westphalen withheld a gasp.

'Give it to me.'

He held it up to the light of the setting sun. He had seen his share of uncut stones as he had gradually turned the family valuables into cash to appease his more insistent creditors. This was an uncut ruby. A tiny thing, but polished up it could bring an easy hundred pounds. His hand trembled. If this is what the priest gave to a sentry as a casual reward for leaving his temple's food untouched…

'Where is this temple?'

'Don't know, sir.' MacDougal was watching him eagerly, probably looking for a way out of dereliction charges. 'And I've never been able to find out. The locals don't know and don't seem to want to know. The Temple-in-the- Hills is supposed to be full of jewels but guarded by demons.'

Westphalen grunted. More heathen rubbish. But the stone in his hand was genuine enough. And the casual manner in which it had been given to MacDougal indicated there might be many more where it came from.

With the utmost reluctance, he handed the ruby back to MacDougal. He would play for bigger stakes. And to do so he had to appear completely unconcerned about money.

'I guess no harm has been done. Sell that for what you can and divide it up between the men. And divide it equally, hear?”

MacDougal appeared about to faint with surprise and relief, but he managed a sharp salute.

'Yes, sir!'

Westphalen tossed the Enfield back at him and walked away, knowing that in MacDougal's eyes he was the fairest, most generous commanding officer he had ever known. Westphalen wanted the enlisted man to feel that way. He had use for MacDougal, and for any other soldier who had been in Bharangpur for a few years.

Captain Sir Albert Westphalen had decided to find this Temple-in-the-Hills. It might well hold the answer to all his financial problems.

Chapter Three

Manhattan

Friday

1

Jack awoke shortly before ten feeling exhausted.

He’d come home jubilant after last night's success, but the glow had quickly faded. The apartment had had that empty feel to it. Worse: he felt empty. He’d quickly downed two beers, hid the second half of his fee behind the cedar plank, then crawled into bed.

After a couple of hours of sleep, however, he’d found himself wide awake for no good reason. An hour of twisting around in his sheets did no good, so he gave up and watched the end of Bride of Frankenstein. As the dinky little Universal plane went around the world and said 'The End,' he’d dozed off again for another couple of hours of fitful slumber.

He now pushed himself out of bed and took a wake-up shower. For breakfast he finished off the Cocoa Puffs and started on a box of Sugar Pops. As he shaved he saw that the thermometer outside his bedroom window read 89°—in the shade. He dressed accordingly in slacks and a short-sleeve shirt, then sat by the phone. He had two calls to make: one to Gia, and one to the hospital. He decided to save Gia for last.

The hospital switchboard told him that the phone had been disconnected in the room number he gave them; no Mrs. Bahkti listed as a patient. His heart sank. Damn! Even though he’d spoken to the old lady for only a few minutes, the news of her passing hurt. So senseless. At least he’d been able to get the necklace back to her before she packed it in. He told the operator to connect him with the nursing desk on the old lady's floor. Soon he was talking to Marta.

'When did Mrs. Bahkti die?'

'Far as I know, she didn't.'

A flash of hope: 'Transferred to another floor?'

'No. It happened during the change of shift. The grandson and granddaughter-'

'Granddaughter?'

'You wouldn't like her, Jack—she's not a blonde. Anyway, they came to the desk at shift change this morning while we were all taking report and thanked us for the concern we'd shown their grandmother. Said they'd take care of her from now on. Then they walked out. When we went to check on her, she was gone.'

Jack pulled the receiver away from his ear and scowled at it before replying.

'How'd they get her out? She sure as hell couldn't walk.'

He could almost feel Marta shrug at the other end of the line. 'Beats me. But they tell me the guy with one arm was acting real strange toward the end of the shift, wouldn't let anyone in to see her for the last few hours.'

'Why'd they let him get away with that?' For no good reason, Jack was angry, feeling like a protective relative. 'That old lady needed all the help she could get. You can't let someone interfere like that, even if he is the