The Cross of Sins (8 page)

Jax came bounding up to him.

"Hey, mister! You okay? You hurt?" Shane checked the colt's lanky legs, his hips, his ribs. No broken bones. Now all they had to do was find a way out.

Shane knelt in the pelting rain and stroked Jax's wet coat. "Okay little buddy, here's the deal. You're gonna be brave and let me sling you over my shoulders, okay? Then, you and me are gonna climb our way outta here." He glanced up the wall of the ravine to see it quickly turning into a mudslide, and then added, "Somehow."

With some effort, Shane hoisted Jax over his shoulders and felt the weight. "Damn, you're a growin' boy, ain't ya!" Then, with his fingers clawing into the mud and boots finding footholds wherever he could, the young cowboy started to climb his way out of the ravine.

He got six feet up when thunder cracked across the sky.

Jax squirmed nervously.

Shane lost his grip and slid all the way to the bottom again.

"Okay," he panted to himself. "Maybe this is gonna take a little longer than I thought."

He started clambering up the embankment again. Just then, the rain got heavier. It poured over the brim of his hat. He had trouble seeing what he was doing, feeling his way, making a grab for a ledge or a sturdy-looking shrub with each flash of lightning.

Then, the mud beneath his left foot gave way, the rocks in his right hand came loose, and Shane once again slid to the bottom of the ravine with an increasingly-frightened colt on his back.

That's when both man and colt heard Arturo's whinny at the top of the embankment.

Shane looked up and a coiled rope landed across his face. "Ow!"

Then suddenly, he heard another sound.

Not Arturo's whinny from above.

Not thunder.

This was something altogether different.

A rush.

A roar.

Shane looked quickly up to the opened heavens, and then left, where the ravine ran all the way up to the mountains. And all he could whisper was, "Oh, shit!"

Quickly, he hoisted Jax off his shoulders.

He ripped off his drenched shirt, the weight of it slowing him down.

He took the rope in both hands in seconds made a lasso out of it. "Arturo!"

The crashing roar—the sound of a fast-approaching flash flood—grew louder and louder. There was no telling how far away it was. Minutes. Maybe only seconds.

Jax gave a scared whimper and begin to trot in the opposite direction of the coming flood.

Shane dropped the rope and tackled him. "No, Jax. Stay with me."

With colt in one hand, Shane scrambled back to the rope. "Arturo! Are you there?"

Arturo's head appeared over the top of the embankment. Lightning broke the sky above him. Thunder belted across the night, setting the angry clouds aglow. And getting closer by the second—

—the rush of the killer flash flood.

Shane swung the lasso over his head and threw it hard and high. The loop landed over Arturo's head and slid down his neck.

Shane grabbed Jax and slung him over his shoulders once more. He tangled the roped around his wrists, looked up and screamed, "Arturo! Pull!"

As the mighty stallion backed up, the rope snapped tight, hauling Shane and the colt upward. Shane dug his boots into the muddy, collapsing wall as best he could, taking huge strides upward, trying to help Arturo as the horse pulled on the straining rope.

For the dark of the ravine, the roar became deafening.

The rope cut deep into Shane hands and wrists.

Still, he pushed upward with every kick and stride.

Arturo pulled backward, his hooves slipping in the mud.

Lightning flashed, and Shane glanced left once more. That's when he saw the wall of water appear, destroying a corner of the ravine a hundred feet away as it tore its way toward them.

"Arturo! Pull! Pull!"

Arturo gave it all he had, sliding and stamping backward through the mud.

Jax saw the wall of water coming for them and began to kick and buck.

Shane held on tight.

Pushing and kicking higher and higher.

Mud sliding under his boots.

He felt the spray of water jetting down the ravine toward them. It smacked against his face, his arms. It would only be a matter of seconds before—

—the flood hit the base of the embankment and devoured it.

Everything began to slide downward as the rushing water rose.
Fast!

The wall slipped into a mudslide.

Shane's footing went with it.

The torrent of water slammed into his feet, trying to drag them down as the flood quickly rose.

"Arturo!"

The rope lurched higher.

The flood took out half the wall.

It pulled down on Shane's legs.

Grabbed hold of his bare waist.

Jax kicked and panicked.

Arturo pulled as hard and fast as he could.

Shane felt the tangle of ropes around his hands and wrists begin to give.

Then suddenly—

—the edge.

Shane hit the edge of the ravine.

He threw Jax to safety.

He felt Acacia bite painfully into his shoulder, trying to pull him out of harm's way as Arturo continued pulling on the rope at the same time.

Dragging him clear of the hungry flood that ripped apart the ravine.

Flat on his back, heaving with fear, adrenaline, relief, Shane lifted himself on his elbows and in a flash of lightning saw Acacia sheltering a scared but safe Jax.

Then, he felt Arturo nudge his shoulder to make sure he was okay.

Shane let out a sigh and stroked Arturo's mane. "Thank you," was all he could manage before collapsing on his back in the mud.

He walked up the steps to the porch—drenched, shirtless, and covered in mud—as Gertie rushed to the screen door.

"Shane! Where have you been! Are you okay! What happened?"

Shane shrugged. "I guess I had a little trouble gettin' the horses into the stable."

"Oh, that Jax!" said Gertie. "He's adorable, but such a darn handful!"

"Tell me about it!"

"Oh, and before I forget. Someone rang for you. A Professor Fathom. Such a polite gentleman. He wants you to call him back as soon as possible. He said he works on your geological survey team and that you have a new assignment."

"New assignment? Where?"

V

The Desert, South of Ankara, Turkey

Visibility was all but gone. A sandstorm had turned the world into a chaotic white haze, whipping at the tents that surrounded the dig site. The sound of canvas flapping and cracking in the wind competed with the roar of the gathering storm and the hiss of flying sand.

The young man arrived on horseback, a frayed brown cowboy hat pulled down low and a scarf tied tightly over his face, covering his mouth and nose as if he was some bandit. It was not an unreasonable assumption. In these parts, in the craggy mountains and endless deserts of central and southern Turkey, bandits still plagued busloads of travelers and caravans of aid-workers, stealing money and medicine and sometimes the lives of those they robbed.

When the old man first glimpsed the rider, materializing through the storm, suddenly upon him, his first instinct was to run and warn the others, to hide his discoveries, to save the treasures. But part of him told him to wait.

Wait and see who this rider was.

After all, he knew all too well that Max Fathom's man was on his way. And quite frankly, the sooner he got here, the better.

Amid the sand blasting across the desert, the rider pulled his horse to a nervous halt next to the old man, and with a gloved hand pulled the scarf from his face. Even in all the chaos, under the brim of his hat, the rider's face was strikingly handsome. Blue eyes, as crisp as a desert sky in winter, glimmered out of the dust and dirt that had collected in a powdery horizontal stripe that ran from one ear to the other. Short, thick tufts of honey blond hair, protruding from under his hat, trembled with the force of the storm.

"Doctor Hadley?" the rider shouted over the ferocious wind. The old man detected an accent. American by the sounds of it, although it was difficult to hear anything. "Are you Doctor Joseph Hadley?"

The old man nodded. He practically quivered with relief. "Are you Mr. Houston? Did Max send you?"

The rider dismounted. Despite the gale force conditions, he removed his hat and the glove on his right hand, as a gentleman would, and with a smile and a twang in his voice that came straight out of Texas, the rider introduced himself. "You can call me Shane."

"This is the worst storm we've seen yet," Hadley said as he entered a large tent, his voice still raised as the sides of the tent belted and billowed like the sails of a ship in the middle of a typhoon. Shane followed him inside. The space was filled with instruments and tools, with backpacks and blankets and bundles mysteriously wrapped. Artifacts waiting for shipment, Shane surmised. There was a table in the middle of the room, with maps unfurled and diagrams half-etched on parchments and papers.

Hadley, slight and nervous-looking, with gray stubble on his face and dread in his eyes, glanced anxiously at the internal tent poles, all of which were leaning on the same angle and bowing under the pressure of the wind outside. "I'm astounded you actually found us."

"Hand me the reins of a horse, and I can find just about anything. Either that or I'm just lucky, I guess."

"The desert might be a big place, Mr. Houston, but there's no room for luck out here." Hadley spoke with a stiff British accent. "People die out here all the time. Or worse, they simply vanish forever. Sometimes the sand swallows them whole. Sometimes, the sun turns them into dust or the wind sweeps them away."

He made his way around the warping tent poles to the table, and then pushed aside several maps to reveal a small item wrapped in a frayed yellowed cloth. "Then again, sometimes it's not just the desert that claims lives. Half the men here, I employ them to do a job—to dig. I do not employ them to be trustworthy or kind. I employ them to shovel earth, to move rocks. It's a sad reality that some of them would kill a man without hesitation or remorse. For food. For water. Sometimes just for the thrill of it. And sometimes for things much more precious. The moment this was unearthed, I hid it."

Shane raised one eyebrow, dubiously. "I don't mean any disrespect, Doctor. But you hid it under a bunch of maps? On a table? In the middle of the room?"

Hadley grinned. "The most obvious places always make the best hiding spots."

The Doctor picked up the small wrapped parcel. Delicately, with the patient hands of a man who had unearthed some of the rarest treasures in the world, Hadley lifted back the layers of the cloth.

When the last fold of cloth was pulled away, a thick black stone lay flat in Doctor Hadley's palm. It was more than ten inches long on each side, with the jagged right-hand side evidently the result of a breakage. On it, carved deep into the slate, were three rows of etched markings, each unique with its own curves and lines, almost Arabic or Egyptian in appearance, but not as elaborate. The markings disappeared into the broken edge on the right. Up the top were the letters "Z E F F E."

Hadley said, "I've never seen symbols like this. There are no records anywhere in the world to match these inscriptions. It's not a language, at least not the language of a culture. This is a personal language. A secret language." He stopped and looked at Shane. "That's why I called Maximilian. I suspect he knows the answer. I suspect deep down, we all do. And I can't think of anyone in the entire world who would make a better guardian of a treasure such as this, than Max."

Doctor Hadley held the stone out to Shane.

"Take it to him—with great care."

"I will," Shane said, with confidence, with certainty.

Shane's hands were so much larger and stronger than the frail archeologist's, this Hadley noticed. It somehow gave him faith in this stranger, to keep the tablet safe, to deliver it from harm, and with those large strong hands pass it onto his dear old friend.

"There's something more valuable than the stone out there," Hadley said, "and it's worth finding. The truth is always worth uncovering. One day, an archeologist just like me will dig up my old bones, and when they do, I hope they see the truth in me. I hope they learn something."

Taking as much care as he could, Shane wrapped the cloth over the stone tablet.

"I'd advise you against riding through the storm," Hadley said, "but you found your way through it once already, and I feel now that time may be of the essence."

Shane winked and placed the cowboy hat securely on his head. "The storm'll cover my tracks. I'll keep the wind at my back. I can't ask for anything more."

"Good luck."

"Thanks."

Hadley stayed in the tent while Shane returned to the savage storm. The young Texan reached his horse, slipped the wrapped stone into his saddlebag and tied it down as securely as he could. He steadied his unnerved animal, and then hooked one foot in the stirrup and hoisted himself into the saddle effortlessly. He pulled the scarf up over his mouth and nose once more. Then, with a tug on the reins, Shane Houston evaporated into the storm just as suddenly as he appeared.