Sacred Trove

By Subin Mathew George

Sacred Trove, is a collection of short and long fictions from Subin M, a wonderful writer of paramount thrillers.

 

In Sacred Trove, Subin M, tells stories about flawed men and their realm. This collection includes eleven bold, exhilarating and intriguing stories that feature a paleographer gets caught up in an epic battle between state and church, a photojournalist and a sniper who becomes embroiled in the complex plans of a terrifying warlord and other stories.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Subin Mathew George
• Release date: Sep 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393456629

Subin Mathew George

Subin Mathew George is a power system engineer, filmmaker and a fiction writer. He is an India-born, lives in Middle East with his wife and three kids.

Book preview

A person wearing a costume Description automatically generated

SACRED TROVE

Crashing through dense undergrowth, a Humvee emerges from a forest into a sunlight dappled meadow... and meets a solid wall of furry flesh.  A herd of bison blocks its path. Raymond Kingsley, mid-50s, slams on the brakes. George Howard, a stocky, bearded man in his early 50s, braces himself in the passenger seat. Raymond drums his fingers on the steering wheel.  A ruggedly handsome man with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he doesn't like anyone or anything standing in his way.

George looks askance at his friend and reaches for a hunting rifle on the back seat. Want me to scare 'em off?

Raymond glances about anxiously. Naw.  Don't want to start a stampede. And someone might hear the shot.

He presses on the gas pedal, and the vehicle inches forward. The herd of bison lazily parts to let the Humvee through. As the path clears, Raymond shifts gears and accelerates, heading as quickly as possible for the cover of trees on the opposite side. He glances nervously in the rear-view mirror. Raymond's Humvee pulls over and stops.  Raymond and George get out.

How much farther? Raymond asks.

Not much. George says.

And we're walking?

Sorry, Ray. There's no shuttle service to the cave.

How'd you find it? Ray asks.

Came up here deer hunting last fall.  Chased a buck and stumbled onto it, George explains.

Raymond opens the back of the vehicle, and a golden retriever, Bruno, jumps down. It frisks about eagerly. He shoulders a backpack and takes a case from the vehicle. Lead the way, Bwana.

The golden retriever noses its way through the bushes as if on a scent. George follows, rifle at the ready, bushwhacking a path for Ray, who is something of a tenderfoot.

Hard to believe you'd find a cave tucked this far into the woods, Raymond says.

Who can say what it looked like a few thousand years ago, replies George.

What I mean, George, is it's hard to believe you'd go so far off the beaten path.  These woods, they're pretty scary, says Raymond as he looks around.

A fearless mind can find anything, George replies dismissively.

Fearless, eh?  Throw away that gun, we'll see how fearless you are, Raymond challenges.

Yes, mankind is nothing without his weapons, says George.

Shrouded by big trees with creepers trailing from low-hanging branches, it is barely visible on the side of a cliff. The golden retriever backs away, growling and baring its teeth, as if sensing something terrible in its depths.

George nods to Raymond, who winces with apprehension, and they switch on their flashlights.  Stooping under the cave's overhanging lip, they warily venture into it. Raymond's dog whimpers but obediently follows them.

George stops and gestures to their surroundings, grinning with a look of expectation.  Raymond pauses and looks about, his eyes adjusting to the dark.  He reacts, awestruck. Amazing!

The beam of his flashlight reveals ancient drawings, hundreds of them.  They depict men hunting bison, women cooking and caring for children, exotic birds and plants.  The life of an entire village is detailed in a giant mural.  The ceiling is covered with swirling lines drawn in the soft stone.

Look at the ceiling. Those finger flutings. Similar to those in Chauvet. They're definitely upper paleolithic. Raymond takes out a camera and snaps a few photographs. 

That makes them... what? Five-thousand years old? George asks.

I'd say fifteen thousand. Or more, Raymond confirms.

George whistles. We’re seeing a presence of Native Americans going back before the Olmec?

More than a presence.  Look, it's about their life, their culture. I've never seen anything like it.  Not here in this country.  Why did you wait so long to show me? Raymond asks.

There's more. George moves deeper into the cave.

Careful, George. For all we know, a family of bears might be living here. Raymond warns.

Don't worry. George pats his rifle. I know how to deal with 'em.

Raymond's dog sniffs at the darkness and barks. The ceiling comes alive with dozens of bats.  They take flight with a flutter. George and Raymond dodge them as they fly out of the cave. And yet the dog still barks, its eyes fixed on something in the shadows. A hissing stops George in his tracks.

There's a... a snake.  A really big snake in here, George says.

Raymond sweeps his flashlight across the floor to reveal a snake slithering toward them.  It has reticulated patches on its back and is big enough to swallow a whole man.

My God.  What is it doing here? Raymond exclaims.

Probably looking for its next meal, says George.

It's a Burmese Python.  They're not indigenous, Raymond says.

George takes aim with his rifle.

Don't shoot it!  It has a right to live, just as we do.

Right. Two enemies meet in a cave. What should they do? says George.

Attack each other?  Perhaps.  But retreat is also an option.  Let's see what its intentions are.  It's not poisonous, after all.

Okay.  But if it starts wrapping itself around my neck...

Then you have my permission to kill it.

George says to the golden retriever, What do you think, Bruno?  Friend or foe?

The dog shrinks back and cowers shivering behind its master.

I take that as foe."

The golden retriever whines and slinks off toward the exit, tail tucked between its legs. Raymond probes deeper into the cave, where a shaft of daylight shines from a hole in the ceiling and comes upon what once was a prehistoric living quarters.

This is incredible, he says in awe.

Piles of rocks support a stone slab, blackened by soot, in a place that must have functioned as a crude kitchen.

Check the floor for remains. Human or animal. Bones and charcoal, Raymond says.

George starts poking through some detritus around the stone-age oven. Raymond kneels and opens his case.  He scrapes some algae from the floor and places it in a vial. The python slithers closer and raises its head. It eyes George evilly, seemingly upset at the humans’ invasion of its home. Or perhaps it's just hungry.

George pauses and glances at the cave's mouth, as if gauging the distance to it and whether he can make it before the snake. Uh... Ray?  D'you think you've got enough for now? 'Cause if you don't... um... maybe we ought a come back later?

Raymond beckons to George and nods toward the exit. George, holding his breath, rises slowly with his bag of samples. The python lunges at him. George scrambles away.  Grabbing his rifle, he bumps into Raymond, and they both hightail it for the exit.

The golden retriever has been waiting a safe distance away. George and Raymond stumble from the cave, running as fast as their legs will carry them. They trudge back the way they came, the golden retriever happily out front.

Now what do you think?  When we meet an enemy, do we kill it?

If the situation demands it, yes. But the question you should be asking is:  How do we recognize an enemy?

A great gray owl, perched on a branch under a full moon, turns its head and blinks. It hoots. Raymond opens the rear of his Humvee.  The golden retriever eagerly jumps in. The dog anxiously glances about as if it can't wait to get going. George tosses his bag in.

I heard you're going to Russia again, he says.

Really?  Where'd you hear that? asks Raymond.

Word is you got an invitation from Khrushchev himself.

Raymond sets his case in the Humvee and slams the door. I got an offer, it's true. They want to turn some old cathedral into a museum. And they want me to help curate it.  But I haven't made up my mind.

He gets in and starts the vehicle.  George quickly gets in and locks the door. Why not? It sounds like a cushy job.

Through the dark forest, the Humvee’s headlights struggle to penetrate the mist.

It's not the best time. Their situation is like that cave: You can't see what's ahead. And any moment, something terrible may strike you dead.

But if they call you again...?

If they'll let me bring Mary, then maybe.  I think she'd like it.

Just don't tell her I'm coming.

Who said I'd...? Raymond grins. Sure, Bwana.  What would I do without you?

Another forest road, a dark BMW is speeding along a rutted, single-lane passage, going way too fast around the curves. Valentina Chernetsky, an intense, angular woman in her late 20s, is driving.  FR. Anton Komarow, mid-40s, seems on the verge of having a heart attack. How much longer?

About half an hour, I'd guess, Valentina says.

Do you think he'll help us?

Who can say? He's notoriously unpredictable. But I know he'll listen to me.

Raymond's Humvee turns out onto an asphalt highway. I haven't seen Alexy since that mess in Siberia.

George sips from a pocket flask. Raymond's dog peers curiously over his shoulder.

An old, termite-infested church they were going to tear down.

The Church of the Holy Visage.

Over three-hundred years it changed hands, God knows how many times. Christians, Buddhists, Muslims, all claiming rights to artifacts we found. It was hell.

Ultimately, it belonged to the State.

That's what worries me about this new job.  In Moscow.  With the KGB breathing down our necks.

What the fuck! Raymond shouts.

Coming around a curve, they see a black Mercedes sedan parked on the edge of the road.  Yuri Skripal, wearing a dark leather duster and an Ushanka gray military hat (the furry badge of the Soviet Army) stands next to the car.

Did his car break down?

I don't think so.  It looks like he's waiting for someone.

He slows down as they pass, but Oleg makes no effort to flag them over.

That hat. Does he look Russian to you?

GOOD KNIGHT Roadhouse. Flickering neon illuminates this kitschy facsimile of a castle. Some of the crenelating hangs loose. It has seen better days. Raymond's Humvee pulls into the crushed-rock parking lot.

After that shit storm in Siberia, I thought I'd never hear from Alexy again.

That cathedral must really be something special.

But this cave. I've gotta go back there.

That cave will be there forever, my friend.

The Humvee stops, and George gets out. He pockets his flask and grabs his rifle.

Good night, George!

Good night!

Raymond watches George toddle to the entrance, and then he drives off.

Raymond's House. A rustic horse property at the edge of Cody, it lies sheltered under a craggy mountain range outlined by moonlit clouds.  The lights are on, and crickets are chirping.

Raymond's Humvee pulls into the garage.  He gets out, quickly followed by his dog.  Nearly tripping Raymond, it rushes to the door, tail wagging. The golden retriever skitters to its food bowl and begins munching.  Raymond enters, and sets down his case. Mary?  Mary, I'm home!

Mary Kingsley, late 40s, enters from the living room, her face tight, arms folded.  Her long hair, shot with strands of gray, hides luminous eyes rimmed red with tears.  Raymond tries to kiss her, but she pulls away. Do you realize how late it is?

I got wrapped up.  Lost track of time.  It's farther than I thought.

Why didn't you call? I started to worry.

Sorry, sweetheart. But that cave! It's amazing!

You know I don't like it. All alone out here. I feel so... so vulnerable.

It may be the greatest find of my career.

Is that what he said?

No, seriously. Wait till you see the pictures.

That loser...

George?

He's such a screw-up.  I thought maybe he steered you off a cliff or something.

Oh, honey. Raymond embraces her. I can take care of myself. Then we did have a scare though.

I knew it!

A close encounter with a massive python. 

A snake?

Probably someone's escaped pet. I wonder what it's been eating.

The golden retriever lies curled up under the table by its master's feet. Raymond and Mary sit across from each other, each of them picking at a wedge of lemon meringue pie.  Her eyes glitter as she studies one of the photographs he took at the cave.  The others are spread across the table.

The realism is fantastic.  These are not primitive sketches, but the work of an artist.

An artist who lived more than fifteen-thousand years ago.

Unbelievable. I've never seen such patterns before.

Raymond takes her by the shoulders and looks into her eyes. Work with me on this, Mary.  I can't do it without you.

We do make a good team.  But no.

Why not?

It's George's project. He found it. And I refuse... after the last time –

Sweetie, c'mon.  I'm sure you can find some common ground.

I don't know what you see in him.

The guy has no ego.  To him, the project is everything.  Sure, he's a bit anal retentive and nit-picking...

A bit!

... but you'd be hard-pressed to find anyone more devoted.

Okay.  Oh, by the way, you got another letter from Alexy. I guess he's not ready to give up on you.

She hands an envelope to Raymond. He sets it aside on the table. I don't know.  Another project in the Soviet Union?

Seems there's a lot riding on this one. The pay could be quite good.

Mary, you know me.  It's never about the money. And I've got plenty here to keep me busy.  Like that cave.

I think you're afraid.

Afraid?! Of what?

Of the whole Soviet system. The bureaucracy. The spying. How the State insinuates itself into everything.

Oh, that. So you have been paying attention.

I saw what it did to you.

Exactly.  I'm too old for that shit.

But I also never saw you more excited.

Jesus.  I really don't feel like walking into that minefield again.

The doorbell rings.

Who could that be?  At this hour? Mary says.

Mary opens the front door to find Valentina and Fr. Anton there, grinning nervously with expectation. Good evening, madam. Fr. Anton greets.

Yes?  Can I help you?

Sorry to bother you. I'm Father Anton Komarov, and this is Valentina Chernetsky.  We would like to meet with Mr. Kingsley. Is he home?

Why? What's the matter?

Raymond calls from the dining room, Mary, who is it?

We need his professional help, Fr. Anton pleads.

Very well.  Please, come in, Mary relents.

Raymond enters from the dining room.

Professor Kingsley?  You remember me?  I was a student of yours. Class of fifty-six? I went on an excavation with you.  At the Nicolas site? Valentina says.

Oh, yes.  Of course.  If you were covered with mud, I'd recognize you in an instant.

Yes, it was something of a slog.

She crosses and shakes Raymond's hand. Valentina Chernetsky.  And this is Father Anton Komarov.

What brings you all the way out here.  This isn't a pitch for the Alumni Fund, is it?

Valentina laughs. No, I assure you, we're not here to ask for a donation. But we do need your help.  And I recall you being very kind to all us grunts, working in the trenches.

Hey, I've been there.  How can I be of help?

Well, we... Father Anton and I... we belong to the Russian Orthodox Church.  We've worshiped in exile for most of our lives.

Yes, I'm aware of the schism between Church and State.

After the Communists took power, the State toughened their stance on religious freedom.

It led many believers... like us... to go underground.

The Bolsheviks systematically set out to replace our faith with their own living church,  which is a sham.  Their goal is to control the Church and stop its influence on the Russian people.

Their latest provocation is to turn Saint Vasily Cathedral into some sort of historical museum.

Mary glances at Raymond as if to see his reaction.

Really?  I know that cathedral, Raymond says.

It is said to house many secrets within its walls, secrets from the past that no one has been able to decipher. To make matters worse, renovations have already started.  So it's likely these secrets will be lost forever, Fr. Anton says.

What is the nature of these secrets?

The Bishop has spoken of them. He said they are of deep concern to both the Church and the State. It is thought to be the secrets of the Staff of Moses.

Why would the State be concerned?

I believe they are using the museum as a smokescreen.  Their true mission is to obtain the Staff... and use it to control the Church.

That would indeed be tragic.

Valentina hands a notebook to Raymond. I have been researching the cathedral's history, its architecture and interior decoration. It's all in this notebook.

Raymond glances through its pages. It's quite a piece of work. You put a lot of effort into it, didn't you?

I did all I could, Professor. But the secret... if there is one... eludes me. Still, I can't help but think there must be something to it. Otherwise, why would the KGB come after it?

The KGB? They've contacted you?

I've been followed. Spied upon. We had to be clever to throw them off our trail.

I fear our lives are in danger. Sorry to say, I must now carry a gun along with my crucifix.

Scary. Let me look through this, and I'll get back to you.

Thank you.

But what are you looking to get from me?

We value your expertise, Professor. Any insights you may have, any leads on where to look.  But I'm afraid we can't pay you.

I'll do what I can.

It's wonderful to see you again, Professor. She offers her hand, and they shake. Good night.

Good night.

Valentina turns to go but pauses at the door and returns, speaking to Raymond confidentially. Has the State contacted you about this?

No, not yet.  Why do you ask?

"There is an archaeologist.  Maybe you know him?  Alexy Kotov.  They've put him in charge of the renovation.  If he offers you the consultancy,