“Earthquakes do damage,” he said. “But tomb is remarkable.”
He was right. Perhaps the most fully intact Thracian sanctuary ever found.
In the center stood the deathbed, fashioned of stone, like the altar from the earlier chamber. Lying across the top were the remains of a skeleton, bones arranged anatomically as they’d been when released from the grip of flesh and muscle. The skull was large and possessed a huge gash across the right side.
“He died from head wound,” Sokolov quietly said.
Her grip on the gun tightened as they threaded a path to the remains. She drifted three steps back, adding distance between them, enough that she could see exactly what he was doing.
Bits of cloth lay scattered amongst the bones—perhaps, she thought, burial robes long gone to dust. A gold band wrapped the neck bones. Gold brooches, earrings, and greaves lay to one side. A gold armlet, corded and patterned, encircled one of the wrists. Bits and pieces of a leather belt remained, inset with a gold band. A gold dagger, figured, tapered, and burnished, lay near the right hand. Remnants of shoes embellished with gold stripes rested opposite the skull.
“He is important,” Sokolov said.
She agreed. Only Thracian leaders possessed such wealth.
She kept one eye on the Russian and studied the rest of the room. Dark shadows signaled more objects. The flashlight cut a swath through the darkness. On the far side, to the right of the entrance, stood a bronze-plated wooden chariot, its four wheels more than a meter across. Amazingly, the petrified wood had survived. She stepped toward it and noticed lavish ornamentation. She’d read about the chariots, seen drawings, bits and pieces here and there. But nothing whole. This was a major archaeological find. Lying beside the chariot were wooden and leather objects that appeared to be harnesses. She knew somewhere nearby would be the bones of horses, sent with their master into the afterlife.
“I have wife in China,” Sokolov said. “We meet when I am there last year. I want to be with her.”
His tone suggested that he meant it. If so, she envied his conviction and wondered if she’d ever meet anybody for whom she’d risk everything.
“Russians do not let me go. I work in oil production and know too many secrets.”
“Why are you even here?” she asked. “This doesn’t involve oil.”
“That was my question to you, which you never answer.”
“I came for this tomb. Nothing more.”
She saw that he believed her.
“Russian’s short on experts in geology. My colleague was to come but he became sick. They tell me just few days in Bulgaria, and Comrade Varga will watch over me. He is Russian security. My keeper. Not someone to take lightly.”
She still wanted that one opportunity with Varga.
“I decide to leave,” Sokolov said. “When you show up I know the time is now.”
But she had to say, “We’re both trapped.” She motioned around with the gun. “Of course, we do have a fabulous treasure.”
Beside the cart lay exquisitely shaped rhytons, amphorae, and phials, each gilded and embossed with more mythological scenes.
She shook her head. The find was priceless.
Thorvaldsen had told her that, if anything was found, he’d finance a dig to study the site. That was the thing she admired about her friend, one way they were exactly alike. History was far more important than wealth.
“If I get to Greece,” Sokolov said. “I get to China.”
She knew the border was less than fifty kilometers south.
“Varga does not want me to go.”
She glanced beside the chariot to a stone slab where more gold bracelets, hatches, and ornaments lay. Propped at its base was some bronze body armor adorned, she saw, with more goddesses. A sword with a gold-studded pommel stood beside it. Though the Thracians had been fierce warriors and accomplished horse breeders, they’d also excelled as goldsmiths.
And this tomb was clear proof of that fact.
She stepped back toward the deathbed.
“I want to be with my wife,” he said. “Varga knows I am gone. He is looking for me.”
A detail he’d omitted earlier.
“I trust you,” he said. “You have my gun.”
“Comrade Sokolov,” a voice called out from outside.
Varga.
She stared at Sokolov.
“Did you think me that stupid?” the disembodied voice asked. “I knew you wanted to help her yesterday. Your eyes, comrade. They betray you. I was told to watch you carefully.”
Her gaze raked the tomb. Only one exit.
Had it been Sokolov’s task to lead her here?
“You are important man,” Varga called out. “But I care not. Neither do your superiors. They told me to deal with any problems you create as I wanted.”
Something thudded to the ground just outside the portal.
Her gaze locked on it.
Another bundle of plastique explosive with another timer clicking down.
40 seconds.
39.
38.
Her question about Sokolov’s loyalty had just been answered.
The Russian ignored the bomb and rushed toward a pile of rock.
“Help me,” he said, as he started clearing the pile.
She immediately assisted.
As they worked she saw an arched opening appear in the circular wall, maybe a meter high. Tight, but enough to crawl through. Now she knew why he’d led her here.
She glanced back.
23 seconds.
22.
“Go,” he said. “Fast.”
On all fours, still gripping the gun and the light, she scooted through the tunnel, Sokolov following.
“I find this tunnel when I am inside,” Sokolov said as they kept crawling. “It became exposed when I blast. I hide it. Is to be my way out.”
Her mind was still counting.
Under 10 seconds.
The darting beam of her light revealed the end five meters ahead and she quickened her pace, emerging and clearing a path for Sokolov, who leaped out just as the concussion from the explosion spewed dust and gravel from the crawl space.
She lay face down, arms covering her head, eyes closed.
The blast subsided. Debris settled.
She raised her head, as did Sokolov.
“Where are we?” she asked.
He stood. “Good place.” His tone had changed. More exuberant. “Come.”
She followed him through the tunnel on a straight run. Two turns and fifty meters later they emerged out into a light rain.
“This is the far side of mountain,” he said. “Long way from camp.”
She was glad to be out of there.
“Now Russians think me dead,” he said. “I can leave and no one cares.”
“I thought you were important to them.”
“This is the thing about Russians. Nothing is really important. That belief will be their destruction one day.”
“Are you always so depressing?”
He shook his head. “Not anymore. I am free. I know you to be a capable woman when I first see you. I am glad you do not shoot me back there.”
“How did you know that I might?”
“Not hard to realize. But you are good person. You don’t pull a trigger unless necessary.”
“How would you know that?”
He pointed to her face. “It is there. I take a chance with you. Much better than trusting Russians.”
She smiled. “I assume that’s a compliment?”
He gave her a slight bow. “Most respectful.”
This man had saved her life. She owed him.
“Thanks,” she said. “For everything.”
He pointed to what she thought was west. “Village is not far. You can make it there on foot and find your way back to Sofia. I go this way.” He pointed south. “My wife waits for me.”
“You must love her so much.”
“I do. She is with child. My child. I hope it is a son.”
He extended a hand, which she shook.
“Too bad about tomb,” he said. “Probably destroyed.”
She shrugged. “Not necessarily. It’s been there a long time. We’ll come back and dig it out.”
He nodded. “Good-bye. Take care.”
She watched as he trotted off toward a thick stand of trees. She couldn’t just let him leave. “Comrade Sokolov.”
He stopped and turned.
“I can get you out of the country,” she said. “You’ll need some money. I can make it easier.”
He shook his head. “Getting away from those men inside mountain. That was what I need your help for. I am okay. We both get what we want.”