The Goddess Legacy (18 page)

Allie’s gaze moved to just beyond Helms’s shoulder. “We need an agreement before I do.”

“Surely you realize, young lady, that’s the oldest trick in the book. Pretending someone’s behind a gunman to distract them. Enough of your mischief. Hand it over, or I’ll–”

An ivory tusk crashed against the back of Helms’s head, and he tumbled forward. His pistol fired once as his fingers clutched reflexively, but the bullet sank harmlessly into the wall behind Drake and Allie.

Spencer stared at the motionless Englishman and shook his head. “Should have taken the two mil,” he said. He stooped to feel Helms’s pulse and detected a weak throb. Scooping up the gun, he flipped on the safety and slid it into his waistband at the small of his back.

“Is he alive?” Drake asked.

“Barely.”

“He killed the professor.”

“I heard.”

“How did you…?” Allie asked.

“You have a lovely screaming voice. Piercing.” He took a final glance at Helms and then cocked his head. “We need to get moving. The gunshot will draw the cops pretty quickly.”

“Don’t you think we’ll sort of stick out, running down the street?”

“Who said anything about running? I got in through the garage. There’s a car in there.” He hesitated. “Did you touch anything in the house?”

“Just the front door handle.”

“Let’s wipe it down just to be safe.” He headed back to the entry, opened the door, and rubbed the handles on both sides with his shirt while Drake and Allie watched. When he was done, he pushed it closed with his foot. “That should do it.”

Spencer led them through the house to the garage, where a fifteen-year-old black BMW sedan in mint condition sat with a thin film of grime on it. “How are we going to get it started? Can you hot-wire it?” Allie asked.

Spencer held up a set of keys. “I could, but I figured these would be better. They were on a hook by the garage door. Snagged ’em on the way in.”

They climbed into the car, and the engine cranked over with a throaty growl. Spencer depressed a garage door remote attached to the sun visor and the door raised behind them. He reversed quickly and then reclosed the door.

“What about the gate?” Drake asked.

Spencer tried the other buttons and the gate slowly swung inward. He lowered his window while they waited and glanced at the gas gauge. “Sirens. This could be close. Let’s hope I can figure out how to drive on the wrong side of the road.”

“We can’t use the car for long, Spencer. They’ll put out a bulletin for it.”

“I know. But I bet if we leave it with the keys in it, things will take care of themselves.”

Spencer pulled out of the driveway and pressed down on the accelerator. The big engine responded instantly, surging ahead. At the next street he made a hard right and called out to Allie. “You got a map on your phone? I have a feeling there are a lot of dead ends in this neighborhood.”

She withdrew her cell from her purse and pulled up an image with GPS coordinates. Seconds passed as it acquired a fix, and then she leaned forward. “Fifty yards, make a left, then at the next street, a right, and that should let us out on a main avenue.”

“And from there?” Drake asked.

“From there, we find the first area with taxis and dump this with the engine running,” Spencer said, and sped toward the next turn, the high wail of sirens receding as they distanced themselves from the professor’s house.

Ten minutes later Spencer left the car in the driveway of an electronics emporium with the keys in the ignition and the window down. He wiped the steering wheel, shifter, and door handles. There were still thousands of people on the street, so they had no problem blending into the pedestrian traffic as Allie checked her phone for possible hotels near the train stations. One, named after a popular American rock starlet, drew a smirk from Drake.

“That sounds perfect. A budget hotel with diva pretensions,” he said.

“There are a bunch more around there if we run into a problem,” Allie said, studying her phone map.

“So now all we have to do is cross town, and we’re home free.”

They continued walking, the balmy night soothing their nerves, and stopped outside of a nightclub that was just getting warmed up. After a short wait a taxi dropped off a couple, and they snagged it and gave the driver the name and address of the hotel. He twisted to look at Allie and scowled. “Are you sure? Not a very nice place. There are many better for the same price.”

“Near that one?”

“Oh, yes, I know of several you would prefer, if you saw the one…in question.”

“Fair enough. Take us to the least expensive.”

The establishment recommended by the driver turned out to be one slim level better than a barn, but in its favor, the reception clerk didn’t ask for anything but money when Spencer and Allie checked in. Drake waited a half hour and then entered and rented a room, receiving the identical lack of scrutiny, and used Spencer’s cell to call Allie once he was in his room.

“We’re in 211,” she said. “Door’s open.”

When he arrived, Allie was seated on the bed with her tablet and Spencer was watching the television news, waiting to see whether the professor’s murder would be reported. Allie looked up when Drake locked the door behind him and stared at the two beds. “I figured you and I could swap since this one has twins,” she said.

Any vision of Allie’s naked form next to him evaporated as Drake nodded. “Good idea.”

“You think Helms will live?” Allie asked Spencer.

“Maybe. I conked him pretty good, but his heart was still beating. The cops will deal with him – the murder weapon has his prints all over it, and he’s at the scene of the crime, so it should be open and shut.”

“They’ll probably want to know who hit him.”

“Any story he tells will be presumed to be a lie, judging by the way I was treated,” Spencer said.

“Still, it’s a fair question.”

“They might just assume that the professor did it as he was dying,” Drake said hopefully.

“Either way, it’s not likely that they spring into action looking for anyone else with him caught red-handed,” Spencer said.

“I wonder who he was working for,” Allie said. “He said ‘powerful interest,’ or something like that.”

“Which tells us why Indiana was scared witless,” observed Drake.

Spencer nodded. “Apparently whoever used to have it will do anything to get it back.”

“I’ve got photos of the flip side now, so it doesn’t matter. We don’t need the dagger anymore – which raises another obvious problem: we need to find someone who can translate the remainder of the script,” Allie said.

“Which puts us back at square one.”

Allie raised an eyebrow. “Maybe, maybe not. I have an idea, but it will have to wait until tomorrow.”

“What is it?” Drake asked.

Spencer shushed them and turned up the volume on the news. An earnest woman was staring at the camera with a troubled expression, speaking in English.

“Hours earlier, a gunshot drew the police to a privileged enclave in one of New Delhi’s most expensive areas, where the body of Dr. Rakesh Sharma was found, murdered. Details are few at the moment, but our sources tell us that the police are actively pursuing leads to find the killer. Anyone with information is urged to call the hotline number on the screen. All tips will be kept confidential.”

Drake and Allie shook their heads. Spencer frowned. “Unbelievable,” he said.

“Maybe they haven’t told the reporters everything yet?” Allie ventured.

“Or he somehow got out before they showed up,” Drake said.

“Or worst case, whoever hired Helms has the clout to get charges dropped even with him at the crime scene. In which case, we’re in even more trouble than we thought,” Spencer said.

“If he’s on the loose, he knows we have the dagger…and he knows our names,” Allie pointed out.

“Which means even if we somehow manage to get out of this, we’ll be at constant risk,” Drake said.

“There’s an easy way to solve that. We can just donate the dagger to a museum or something and make it public knowledge. Then there’s no reason to.”

“It may not be so straightforward.”

“What do you mean?”

“Think about it. Maybe the real value is whatever’s hidden in the script, and the dagger is just the messenger, so to speak. If that’s the case…” Spencer said, not needing to finish the thought.

Drake sank onto the bed next to Allie, his eyes glued to the screen. A night shot outside of the professor’s house filled the background as a journalist echoed the newscaster’s paucity of information. When the report shifted back to the newscast and the headline switched to a bus strike, Spencer lowered the volume and turned to them.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m going to hose off and hit it. We’ve got our work cut out for us tomorrow, and I’m beat,” he said, rising from his chair.

“Sounds like a plan. If I can sleep at all, that is,” Allie said, switching her tablet off and standing. She placed it in her duffel and held out her hand to Drake. “Can I have your key?”

“Oh. Sure,” he said, retrieving it from his pocket. He placed it in her hand and there was an awkward moment when he debated kissing her, but with Spencer standing there and Allie looking exhausted, he thought better of it at the last second. To his surprise, she leaned forward and planted one on his lips, and then pulled back and smiled ruefully. “See you bright and early.”

“Sleep well.”

“I’ll be counting sheep all night at this rate, but I’ll do my best.”

“More like roaches in this place.”

“Thanks for planting that visual as your parting shot,” Allie said.

Drake smiled. “Don’t worry. The rats probably keep them at bay.”

“Much better. Good night,” she said before turning and moving to the door. When she’d gone, Spencer grinned at Drake.

“Love’s in the air. I told you this trip would be a good idea. Look at how close it’s brought you two.”

“I’ll try to think of a suitable way to thank you,” Drake volleyed back. “Don’t slip in the shower or hit your head or anything.”

“Oh. That’s right. You haven’t seen the bathroom.”

Drake took a deep breath. “That bad?”

“Let’s just say the mold has mold.”

“But there’s a toilet, right?”

Spencer’s face could have been carved from stone. “I won’t spoil the surprise.”

The next morning Drake and Spencer were up early, the strident protests of vehicles in the street below serving as their alarm clock, the light filtering through the moth-eaten curtains already heating the air. Drake walked down the hall to Allie’s room and knocked on the door, and she called that she would be ready in a few minutes and would meet them in theirs.

Spencer applied another coating of makeup and inspected himself in the hazy mirror as Drake watched TV. He leaned from the bathroom doorway when he was done.

“What do you think? Does it look convincing?”

Drake glanced at him and shrugged. “Sure. Better than nothing, right?”

“That’s very reassuring.”

“It looks fine. Really,” Drake said, his tone glum.

“Dude, what’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing. We’re on the lam, Carson and the professor are dead, we have no way to translate the second half of the script, and we’re that DOD guy’s bitch. Other than that, everything’s awesome-sauce.”

Spencer nodded sagely. “Someone woke up grumpy. Turn that frown upside down, Mr. Downer.”

“Seriously. How much worse could it get?”

“We could be broke.”

“Money’s not really helping, is it?”

Allie’s knock interrupted them, and Spencer pulled his shirt over his head while Drake moved to open the door. When she entered the room, a heady scent of vanilla and flowers preceded her, and Drake almost swooned, it smelled so good. She gave him a peck on the cheek, set her bag on the floor and her purse on the postage-stamp table, and then sat with a bounce on Drake’s bed and beamed a high-wattage smile at them.

“Good morning. Ready to hit the ground running?” she asked.

“Whatever you’re smoking, Drake needs some,” Spencer said.

“I know how to cheer him up,” she said knowingly.

Spencer rolled his eyes. “Want me to leave?”

She ignored the innuendo. “I have an idea how to get the script translated.”

“How?” Drake asked.

“The professor isn’t the only linguistics expert in Delhi. He can’t be. We can head over to the university and ask his grad student who else might be able to help us. She should know.”

“What about me?” Spencer asked.

“You can hang out here or find a cyber café and keep researching the mosaic.”

“There are thousands of images of mosaics. Thousands. I only got through a few hundred yesterday.”

“He wouldn’t have had a picture of the thing if it didn’t mean something,” Allie countered.

“Maybe, but that won’t help me locate it.”

“Do you have anything better to do?” Drake asked.

“I’d say sleep in, but it’s a little late for that now.”

They agreed to meet up after Drake and Allie were finished at the university, and within minutes were on the street, which was already clogged with pedestrians and vehicles on their way to work. They found a coffee shop and had breakfast, and then Spencer went in search of an Internet café while Allie and Drake headed to see Divya. Allie convinced Drake to remain outside with her bag while she spoke with the grad student, figuring that two young women would more easily establish rapport without him acting as a third wheel.

When they arrived at the administration building, Allie beelined for the professor’s office, but hesitated at the end of the hall when she saw two uniformed police standing by the door while what looked to Allie like a plainclothes inspector questioned Divya, who paused occasionally to blot tears. Allie turned away and busied herself with her cell phone while watching them, easily blending with the dozens of students and faculty roaming the corridor. After a half hour the police left, and she waited until they’d descended the stairs to the lobby level before approaching Sharma’s office.

Divya was in an obvious state of shock when Allie knocked softly on the doorjamb. She looked up through puffy eyes and took several seconds to register Allie’s presence. Recognition spread across her face and she struggled to compose herself, but ultimately failed and began crying again.