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“If we keep close, the light should be enough for everyone to proceed safely.”
The hired gun nods.
Standing at the edge of the portal, Winter and I turn our headlamps on and, exchanging a nod, we plunge into the passage.
10
WINTER
The headlamps cut two slivers of light into the unforgiving pitch-darkness ahead. We proceed cautiously along a narrow corridor wide enough to admit two people walking abreast. Logan is by my side, and the echo of Smith’s steps behind us tells me the creepiest guard ever is following suit.
Besides being black as night, the confined space is also eerily quiet, except for the sound of our feet dragging on the floor. When the flutter of a sudden rush of wings flies past us, it scares me witless.
“Aaargh!” My scream bounces off the stone walls. “What was that? Something hit me in the face.”
“Just bats,” Logan says.
“Just bats?” I repeat. “’Cause that’s so comforting.”
“It’s an abandoned, dark cave.” Satan scoffs. “What did you expect?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Should I look forward to pits filled with snakes, too?”
“Please, this is not a literalIndiana Jonesmovie.” Logan pivots, blinding me with his headlamp. “I doubt the place is booby-trapped.”
I stop walking and raise a hand to shield my eyes. “Hey, point that thing some other way,” I say, and when he does I add, “You doubt we’ll find booby traps, or are you sure we won’t?”
Logan stops a step ahead and turns back to me, orienting his light toward the wall. “Again, this is not a movie, so it’s improbable—”
“Ah, but not impossible!”
“Listen.” Even if I can’t see under the light’s glare, I know he’s rolling his eyes. “If the statues outside are any indication, this should be a place of worship. Like a church. How many churches do you know with booby traps?”
“Still, I’d rather not have my head cut off by giant rotating blades dropping off the ceiling.”
Logan shakes his head. “You really watch too much TV. Worst we’re going to find is a maze.”
“And you’re not worried we’ll get lost?”
“No. Because I’m marking the way in.” He directs the flashlight beam toward the wall to his right, illuminating a small arrow he must have drawn in white chalk. “But if you’re too afraid to come along,” Logan continues, “you can pass your headlamp to Smith and head out. No one’s forcing you to be here.”
I purse my lips. “I’m not staying behind.”
“Okay, then.”
Without further comment, Logan moves forward.
I follow him, but now I trail a few steps back. Just in case…
In the darkness, it’s hard to tell distances. But when, so far as I can judge, we’ve gone some fifty paces, the obscurity gives way to a faint light. Another minute, and we enter the most wonderful place I’ve ever seen.
An atrium vast and tall like a hall in a cathedral, only windowless. The dim light comes from above, presumably through shafts connected with the outer air and driven into the roof, which arches away a hundred feet above our heads. We’re standing in an enormous single aisle, loftier and wider than in any church I’ve visited. Running in twin rows down the length of the nave are gigantic pillars that shine even in the semi-darkness. Contrary to the exterior of the temple, they appear to be made of solid gold. No matter how impossibly heavy they must be, they soar up to the distant ceiling with a delicate beauty. The tops of the pillars are decorated with sculpted capitals, and the main posts are carved with flowers and leaves that climb up and around to the head of each column.
I try snapping a few pictures of the place, but the images that appear on my camera screen are only a poor imitation of the magnificent chamber. No matter how many times I adjust the exposure and focus, nothing comes even close to the real thing.
As we make our way further into the temple, three more pillars take form at the end of the aisle, placed horizontally across its width. Only, as we draw closer and the shapes get better into focus, they transform from simple cylindrical columns to three colossal forms standing upon huge pedestals of dark rock. With human bodies and monstrous faces, each gold statue measures about thirty feet from the crown of its head to the pedestal, and they’re separated by a distance of about forty paces.
Logan points his flashlight at the figure furthest to the left, and whispers, “Garuda.”
