“We can get it done for you,” Rabten suggested brightly.
Cassie and Griffin stared at him skeptically.
“We’ve got contacts in Lhasa who could do the work. It’s not the first time we’ve had to handle artifact restoration in this part of the world,” Rinchen explained.
“Lhasa is six hundred miles away,” the pythia objected.
“We’re already acclimatized. We can fly. Granted, the nearest airport is a two-hundred-mile drive, but we’ve got the Land Rover. There are only two flights per week, but I know for a fact there’s a plane leaving tomorrow,” Rabten said.
“We can take your photos and the dimensions and get a copy made. It shouldn’t take more than a week for us to get back here with it.”
“That’s an excellent suggestion.” Griffin smiled with relief. “In the meantime, Cassie and I will stay in contact with Home Office, so we’ll know when the Nephilim are on their way. Thank goddess, Darchen actually has phone and internet connections. Otherwise, we couldn’t manage this operation at all.”
“Uh, guys. There’s just one hitch,” Cassie said.
Her companions stared at her blankly.
“We don’t need one copy,” she reminded them. “We need two. The first one is for the Nephilim to steal. Then we need to put a second copy back in the shrine, so nobody knows there’s been a theft of the original.”
“You’re right, of course,” Griffin agreed. “But this will constitute quite a challenge to orchestrate since the substitutions will need to be made almost simultaneously. We’ll have to conceal ourselves here in the cave during the time the Nephilim are stealing the artifact. As soon as they leave, we’ll have to place the second copy, so none of the pilgrims are treated to the sight of an empty shrine the following morning.”
Cassie shuddered. “I’m flashing back to the last time we were stuck in a cave with those guys.” She eyed Griffin. “It didn’t turn out so well for you.”
“Yes, I have the scar as a memento,” he patted his abdomen ruefully. “Still, it’s our only option.”
“I guess so,” the pythia conceded. “Remind me to carry an extra stun gun when we make the switch, just in case things get dicey.”
“Oh, I’m sure everything will go smoothly this time.” Griffin gave an unconvincing smile in an attempt to reassure her.
“Yeah, that’ll happen.”
Chapter 41—Native Son
“Well, that was more fun than a barrel full of cobras,” Hunt remarked sarcastically.
Daniel and the cowboy passed through the revolving doors of their Mumbai hotel. The air-conditioned lobby provided welcome relief from the tropical heat and humidity outdoors.
The pair had spent the day fruitlessly searching Elephanta Island for a trace of the Minoan lily symbol. Daniel found himself overwhelmed not only by the dizzying array of artwork in the caves but by the perplexing nature of the Indian subcontinent itself. It was unlike anything he’d experienced in his earlier travels. The intricacies of the Hindu religion. The colorful saris and the complex spice palate of the food. The teeming streets of Mumbai—a paradoxical combination of modern technology and ancient mysticism. He found it all vaguely intimidating but strangely attractive at the same time. Above all else, he found the culture profoundly confusing. Not for the first time, he whispered a silent prayer of gratitude that Chris was only a phone call away to help him navigate this exotic land. Without his friend’s help, he doubted he would ever find his lily-shaped needle in this mandala-patterned haystack.
“I got a mouth that’s drier than Gandhi’s flip flops,” Hunt announced. The cowboy made a beeline for the hotel bar which was tucked into an alcove at the back of the reception area.
“I may as well join you,” Daniel said diffidently. “It’s been a long day.”
Hunt did a double-take. “Come again?” he asked with elaborate surprise. “I think somethin’ might be cloggin’ my ears cause I coulda swore—”
Daniel cut him off. “I said I’d join you.”
The cowboy removed his hat and fanned his face with it. Then he peered up at the ceiling, searching intently for something.
Noticing the direction of his gaze, Daniel asked, “What are you looking for?”
“Flyin’ pigs, son. Stands to reason if you’re trailin’ me into a tavern, then this is surely the day they done gone airborne.”
Daniel rolled his eyes but offered no reply.
They walked into the cool, dim recess and claimed two seats at the marble bar. It was still too early for happy hour, so they had the place to themselves.
“You know they got a law here that says I need a permit to drink?” Hunt confided. “Don’t that beat all? These Injuns are damn near as bad as them Ayyy-rabs with their killjoy ways.”
“I’m sure you’ll be fine as long as you buy your liquor inside the hotel,” Daniel countered. “Each state in India has different rules about alcohol consumption.”
“Well, gimme a list of the ones that say it’s alright. I’ll hole up there til you’re finished sniffin’ around for clues.”
The bartender bustled over to take their orders.
“Whiskey,” the cowboy barked, placing his beloved hat on the barstool to his left.
Daniel leaned forward and asked, “Do you have pale ale, by any chance?”
“Yes, sir,” the bartender nodded. “A very good local brand of India pale ale.”
“I’ll try a glass,” the scion said. Half to himself he murmured, “How ironic. India pale ale was invented by the British. Now they brew it here.”
When the bartender left to fetch their drinks, Hunt swiveled around on his stool and squinted at Daniel.
The scion glanced at him sideways. “What is it, Mr. Hunt?”
“I never thought I’d live to see the day. You drinkin’ a man’s brew. Well, not exactly a man’s brew. More like a sissy man’s brew but I don’t mean no criticism.” The cowboy raised his hands in protest. “It might lead to better things down the line.”
“Someone recently introduced me to ale. I found I enjoy the taste. It helps me relax.”
Their drinks arrived, and
