MAHABHARATA QUEST PDF

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You can download the book from here -Library Genesis. Hope you found what you were looking for. THE MAHABHARATA SECRET BY CHRISTOPHER C. DOYLE. PDF. It's no any sort of faults when others with their phone on their hand, and you're as well. Westland, New Delhi, Soft cover. Book Condition: New. 22 cms. x+pp. This ground-breaking book chronicles the war in South Asia by.


Mahabharata Quest Pdf

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BC: Asoka the Great discovers an ancient secret buried in the Mahabharata. A skeleton is discovered in a cave behind one of the. Mar 18, Free ebooks Download: The Mahabharata Secret book The The Girl in Room by Chetan Bhagat Chetan Bhagat Books, Ebook Pdf, Book. You can easily download A Secret Revealed Pdf, A Secret Revealed The Mahabharata Quest The Alexander Secret Pdf · The Secret of the.

I am mentioning some of them to let you a glimpse of the blunder the author resulted in: 1. The Vimana Parva de-coding really irritated me.! It would contain much more information, apart from that.

Download The Mahabharata Secret By Christopher C. Doyle ebook free

It was illogical to erase the whole chapter only for that. There were much more disastrous weapon in the great epic. If the use of such weapons were to restricted to the ordinary public, then perhaps all the Kurukshetra episode would have been deleted. From the current Mahabharata, we come to know the name of various weapons, yet their usage and technology are not known to us and one only hear rumors about them.

Also if Ashoka came by such weapon, he is likely to destroy that, and not preserve them with utmost care, and left them in the secrecy of the guardians, because he himself destroyed many of his dangerous torture chambers and hugely damageable weapons that he thought may be used by the future generations, when he turned from "Ashoka, The Terrible" to "Ashoka, The Great".

After his death, the pandavas released the 99 other kings of Magadha region and crowned his son Sahadeva the king, who then fought with the rest of other freed kings from the side of the Pandavas, not Kauravas.!!

The protagonists were sometimes acting like buffoons. They were being kidnapped and attacked again and again and even after they came upon important knowledge about the danger they are in, they are never act as if they are bothered about their own safety, or even the security of the knowledge.

On the whole, If you are not that much into Mahabharata and is used to the unfathomably illogical Bollywood-tactics by the protagonists, and don't have any other book at your hand. The author have researched enough and it is really a great loss to see that go in the drain.

The Order had decreed that, to protect it, the relic should disappear forever. Using a knife, he carefully prised open the cap that covered one end of the capsule, and shook it over the desk. A thin strip of vellum fell out. He groaned. Even without looking at it, he knew.

It was a map! He quickly rolled it up and stuffed it back into the copper capsule. The Order should never get to know about the existence of this map. It was the only clue to a location that was supposed to have been secret; hidden away forever.

He contemplated destroying the map then decided against it. He was the only one who knew of its existence. It could come in useful later, if he was ever in trouble with the Order. But the map would have to be artfully concealed in a place and manner that only he knew of. And after him, the location would stay secret. And he knew just the place to hide the capsule away.

June St. It was brand new, one of the latest models which could photocopy using plain paper rather than the electrostatic copiers or the wettype plain paper machines that were in vogue earlier. Yet, it was not fast enough for his purpose.

Sweat beaded his brow as he thought back to the telephone call that he had answered two hours ago. Who is this?

Listen very carefully. I need something that you have. The papyrus documents that you discovered yesterday. He had told no one about the papyrus journals that he had found in a box in the basement of the library, apart from the faculty at the Classics Department.

Had someone from the department leaked the news? That would be unlikely. Then, again, this unknown caller knew. The voice grew hard. I want the documents delivered to the address I will give you now.

The journals should be in a sealed envelope. Even if they are in relatively good condition. Ashford was stunned. The caller had detailed knowledge about the journals, even down to the condition of the papyri! As the librarian, it is my responsibility to protect them, not pass them around to anyone who calls.

You had your chance. He would have dismissed it as a crank call had it not been for the shocking news that he received just forty-five minutes later. Carl Dunn, the faculty member from the Classics Department whom he had first spoken to about the papyrus journals, had been hit by a car as he was crossing the street in front of his house.

Dunn had died on the spot. The car that mowed him down had vanished. There were no eyewitnesses so the car would remain untraceable. An uneasy feeling took hold of Ashford as he received the news. Dunn was a good man. A deeply religious Catholic, he had fitted well into this Jesuit liberal arts college.

Was his shadowy caller behind this accident? It seemed too much of a coincidence. He now recalled the mysterious circumstances that surrounded the disappearance, two weeks ago, of Lawrence Fuller, a former Professor of Classics and Dean at the college. Fuller was returning from attending a seminar at the Oriental Institute of the University of Chicago.

He had checked out of his hotel and then vanished into thin air. The doorman at his hotel and the bell boy had reported seeing him into a cab but he never made it to the airport. These had been stuffed in boxes and buried in the basement without cataloguing them at the time. Where did that leave him then? Would he be next?

Thinking swiftly, he made up his mind. He had one advantage over the caller. No one knew about the two journals he had found along with the papyri. If the translation had surprised him, the second journal had left him dumbfounded. If the two journals together meant what he thought they did, then this discovery was more than just unearthing meaningless documents that were thousands of years old.

The future of the world could be at stake. The copier spat out the last copy. Ashford hurriedly gathered up the papers and stapled them together. For a few moments he stared at the sealed envelope as if reconsidering his course of action.

He called his colleague, from the architecture department, who had offered to drop off the package at the FedEx office downtown. Five minutes later, the package was safely on its way to its destination. After his colleague left with the package, Ashford slumped in his chair. He had done everything he could to ensure that he was not the only one who knew what the journals contained. He was a simple man with a strong sense of duty.

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Even in this situation, the thought that the journals themselves could have been despatched to his friend had not crossed his mind.

They were the property of the college and had to stay here.

Like the papyrus texts. His solution had been to photocopy the journals and send them off instead. Ashford knew what was in store for him. He had no idea what to do next to protect himself. He had thought of making a run for it, but where could he go? This college had been his life for the last thirty-five years and he had not stepped out of the campus in all that time, except for the one occasion when he had attended a conference in Washington DC, in That was the time he had made his only friend outside the college, a historian from India who was speaking at the conference on the subject of preserving ancient documents.

They had hit it off, surprisingly, and stayed in touch over the years. It was this friend whom he had now sent the photocopies to. Resigned to what was to come, he closed his eyes and began praying. A devout Catholic, this was his only succour when he had problems.

The sound of footsteps approaching his office made him open his eyes. Five men entered and fanned out along the walls. He could see the bulge in their jackets indicating shoulder holsters.

They were armed. Except for the one in the centre, a tall man with coal-black eyes and an intense look on his face as if he was perpetually in deep philosophical thought. He was clearly the leader of this pack. At a gesture, one of his men picked up the papyri and carefully eased them into a leather briefcase he was carrying. Ashford stared at them defiantly. He still had an ace up his sleeve. The two journals he had photocopied, which were now safely in a drawer in his desk.

He had always been useless at lying. How did they know? The leader of the pack nodded and one of the men lashed out with a clenched fist. Blood streamed down his face. Three men swiftly rifled through the drawers. One of them found the journals and held them aloft before slipping them into the briefcase with the papyri.

The leader then leaned forward and fixed Ashford with a stare. Like old Fuller. Her face betrayed her frustration and hinted at the seeds of anger being sowed as a result of multiple calls all ending with the same result. No response. She clicked her tongue in exasperation as the call disconnected yet again. Why do I even bother calling?

She stared glumly at her phone for a few moments before stuffing it into her pocket. She had been camping here for the better part of the last twelve months as part of an international team put together by the Greek-American Archaeological Mission of Pydna.

The long months apart had taken a toll on her relationship, culminating in an acrimonious slanging match that had taken place two weeks ago. Bloody idiot. Unless…she pushed the unpleasant thought away with a shake of her head. Her brooding was interrupted by an excited student, breathless from his dash through the tunnel that led to what was expected to be the discovery of the century — a tomb that had not been opened for over years.

A tomb that had been the subject of much speculation for the last years. The excavation team had been assisted by a contingent of over fifty students and an army of local workers, while the two co-directors of the project, a Greek and an American, were based in Thessaloniki, around 50 kilometres away via the E75 toll road. All concerns of her boyfriend banished from her mind, Alice adjusted her backpack and turned to follow the student, her thoughts flitting back to the moment, eighteen months ago, when she had been approached to join the team.

It was ironic that she had just met her boyfriend at the time the invitation came. She had been wallowing in the wake of the incident which she never spoke of anymore.

At that time, she was struggling to put it behind her, and she had finally managed to bury it deep in the recesses of her mind like a centuries-old secret.

He had been such a support to her then, and she had been grateful to him for it.

After dating for a couple of months, she had moved in with him — until she had been called away for this excavation. As she followed the student to the tomb, she recalled her meeting with Kurt Wallace, the billionaire philanthropist. Wallace was funding this excavation through his Wallace Archaeological Trust, an organization devoted to archaeology and the study of ancient civilisations.

The common theme of the books was the hypothesis that humanity had forgotten its roots and turned to an erroneous theory based on the concept of evolution, when the true origins of humankind were hidden deep in the ancient myths of cultures across the world.

Alice had heard and read about Wallace but had never really given much thought to what her opinion was about him and his theories. And, of course, by the ornate trappings of his stately mansion where she had been summoned to meet him. The meeting had lasted precisely ten minutes, and Wallace had opened the conversation by getting to the point. This opening remark had ignited her curiosity and she stared back at the tall figure of Wallace, standing by the window of his study, the portrait of an aristocrat with his finely cut suit, silk tie, rugged face and salt and pepper hair.

And it has everything to do with Alexander the Great. By the time he finished, she would have paid to sign on for this project. Two portable LED pole lights stood in diagonally opposite corners, lighting up the little space.

Alice saw stacks of containers in the chamber. These were padded containers used to gather artefacts from excavation sites to transport them safely to labs where they could be tested, dated and examined more thoroughly. This was against standard archaeological procedure, where every artefact has to be photographed, tagged, mapped and measured to the last detail before being removed from the site.

Lucky guy. Had they laboured so hard for so many months only to be disappointed? Alice took a deep breath. This was the moment of truth. She nodded to Damon who beckoned to Marco. The student hefted one of the pole lights and carried it through the open doorway, into the tomb. As Alice and Damon entered the tomb, he returned for the other lamp, his eyes glistening with excitement.

Barrel vaulted. She looked at Damon and saw the excitement on his face as well. They had been right about this. As she entered the chamber, Alice gasped. She had been prepared to find a sarcophagus, a larnax, or even a mummy. But the sight that greeted her eyes was something that made her hair stand on end. Six months ago, after the dust raised by a terror threat to the G20 nations and the discovery of an ancient secret from the Mahabharata had died down, the governments of the US and India had decided to set up a joint task force to monitor and investigate leads to technology based terrorism.

The idea had stemmed from the attempt by a shadowy global group to partner with terrorists to use cutting edge technology based on the secret from the Mahabharata with the objective of global political and economic domination. The plot had been foiled but the enemy still existed.

And the entire episode had demonstrated that there were enough people out there who would not have any scruples about using technology to achieve their ends. Imran had willingly embraced the idea of a task force that was supported politically and had the authority and responsibility to investigate potential leads for techno-terrorism.

But he had met the leader of the task force for the first time only today. What was worse was, having backed the idea to the hilt initially, there was no way for him to withdraw from the task force. It was a difficult situation.

The email alert from his Blackberry intruded on his thoughts. Not tonight. Normally, he welcomed the challenge of an after office hours email.

It usually meant there was a problem to be solved. And Imran was nothing if not a problem solver. A true Gemini, he loved nothing more than the novelty of a new crisis rearing its ugly head. It gave him the variety his nature sought as a natural diversion from his routine work. He glanced at his email inbox.

What he saw there made him sit up immediately. It was an email from a ghost. The tomb of a Queen As Damon and Alice entered the inner chamber an eerie sight greeted them in the diffused light that filtered through the doorway from the lone lamp in the outer chamber.

In the centre of the room lay a stone larnax, plain and unadorned. There was no other object in the room.

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But it was not the emptiness of the chamber or the simplicity of the larnax that stood out. On the wall of the chamber facing the doorway, an immense stone snake seemed to emerge from the floor of the tomb. Its enormous jaws gaped open and its fangs were bared, as if expressing displeasure at an unwelcome intrusion. Like a protective shelter for the larnax. As it was in life, so it was in death for this queen.

Adding to this surreal vision were the carvings on the remaining walls of the chamber. There were serpents carved in bold relief, coiled, hissing, and stretched out.

In the dim light, they looked like stone shadows about to leap off the wall. Marco staggered in with both the pole lights and stopped short as he saw the strange decoration in the tomb. Alice looked at her two companions excitedly. For the last twelve months they had been hoping that their guess about the occupant of the tomb had been correct. Now, all doubts were laid to rest. The chamber was fairly large, at least fifty feet in length.

Marco was now standing in the far corner of the chamber opposite the entrance, just below one of the massive coils of the snake that towered over them. Alice and Damon hurried up to see what he had found.

The Mahabharata Quest Series

Hidden behind the bulk of the snake, as it reared off the wall, was an opening. They looked at each other. Was there a third chamber? This was unusual for a Hellenistic tomb. He was already carrying one of the lamps to illuminate the hidden doorway, revealing a small chamber lined with two rows of shelves which bore stone statues and stone slabs of different sizes. Alice and Damon proceeded to examine the contents of the shelves. Alice nodded. I guess the stories about her fascination for snakes were true after all.

Damon looked at his watch. Alice looked around as an enormous sigh escaped her. This was the high point of her career as an archaeologist. She busied herself clicking photographs of the chambers, the larnax and the murals.

After she had finished, she turned her attention to the artefacts in the hidden chamber, carefully photographing each one before she packed them in the padded containers. It had been hidden until now behind the statuettes and clay tablets.

At first she thought it was made from ancient bone which had discoloured over the centuries. But, as she turned it over in her hands and studied it in the light of the lamps, she realised that it was actually carved from ivory. She turned to see Marco grinning at her. Oh, by the way, Damon asked you to get the cube with you.

Apparently the directors want to see it. I just need to photograph and tag it. Together, they lugged the containers containing the artefacts to the dig hut, and carefully laid them out on the central table. Alice was sure the two directors would want to see these immediately, since they had specifically asked for them to be removed from the tomb. There were two guards posted at the site and it was miles from anywhere, so it was unlikely that anyone would steal the artefacts.

Back at the hotel, which was little more than a cluster of rustic villas, Alice made her way to her room while Marco parked the car and left to find Damon. She knew that she was just trying to postpone the inevitable. All through the excavations, she had avoided interacting with the two directors as far as possible, leaving Damon to brief them, report to them and take instructions where required. But tonight there was no escape. She would have to accompany Stavros and Peter, the two co-directors of the mission, to the tomb.

But, as one of the lead archaeologists on this mission, there was no getting away from them tonight. As she contemplated this unwelcome thought, a staccato chopping sound filled the night. A helicopter, passing by overhead, very low. The sound of the chopper continued for a while and then suddenly died down, almost as if the machine had landed somewhere nearby. Alice was still focused on the unpleasant task ahead of her. Sighing, she took out her laptop and camera and placed them on the desk in the room.

As she placed her hand on the doorknob, an insistent tap came from the window that overlooked the garden. It was white with fear, as if the blood had all been drained away from his face. He tapped again, with greater urgency, indicating that she should open the window.

Alice retraced her steps and let Marco in through the window. Just like that. What was he babbling about? Why would Peter shoot Damon? She knelt down beside the weeping boy and put her hand on his shoulder reassuringly. He was angry with Damon for leaving you alone in the tomb and for letting you photograph the artefacts.

He said that Damon should have brought the cube to show them. Alice waited patiently, offering him a box of tissues. Suddenly she felt she was in a dream. A very unpleasant dream. She wished to be woken up right now. Marco blew his nose loudly and continued.

The Mahabharata Secret

He pleaded, begged for Peter to give him another chance. He was crying.

He just shot him. Alice stood up as she heard the sound of people racing down the corridor leading to her villa. Was it Stavros and Peter? She sprinted for the door and double bolted it. That would download them some time. If Damon had been killed, there was no doubt about what would happen to Marco and her.

The sound of an assault on the door came to them. The latch shook with the impact but stayed fast. Alice looked at the door and then glanced at Marco, who was frozen where he sat, staring at the door like a deer caught in the headlights of a car on a forest path.

If Peter knew that she was aware of what had happened, they would guess that she was trying to flee and would take action to pre-empt her. He stood up shakily and tottered to the window, sliding out and onto the grassy lawn just as the latch gave way and Peter burst into the room. Two soft coughs sounded and bullets whistled past their ears. Alice realised that someone was shooting at them and the gun was fitted with a sound suppressor.

She raced across the lawn, dragging Marco behind her, to where the Land Cruiser, which was their official transport, stood.

As she ran, Marco suddenly seemed to grow heavier. One moment she was pulling him forward, the next he was an immovable object, as if set in stone. Alice glanced back at Marco as he slumped to the ground. His face was a mask of red and his hair was drenched in blood. The bullets had found their mark. For a precious moment, she hesitated, tears welling in her eyes. She was torn between her own safety and the tragedy she was witnessing now.

A young boy, his life brutally cut short. And for what? More coughs rang out and her instinct took over. The key was in the ignition. Marco must have left it there, in anticipation of driving the co-directors to the tomb site. The engine complained and then revved up as she accelerated, heading out onto the dirt road that led to the tomb.

As she raced down the dirt track, she heard shouts behind her. The coughs rang out once again, and bullets thudded into the Land Cruiser as she pressed the accelerator to the floor. She had to get to the tomb. There were two armed guards at the tomb site and they would protect her from the madness that suddenly seemed to have broken loose here.

The floodlights which had been fitted to light up the excavation were off and so were the generators powering them. Where were the guards? She jumped out of the vehicle and stumbled across the uneven ground. Though she knew her way around, she had never been here after dark, aided only by the light of the stars. Abruptly, she tripped over something heavy on the ground and just about managed to regain her balance.

Shocked, she realised that it was Geordi, one of the guards. She bent down to check on him but there was no pulse. He was dead. She stood up warily, confused; caught between the need to understand what was happening here, and her instinct, which was telling her to flee.

Even as she struggled with her thoughts, a dark shadow clambered out of the shaft that led to the underground tomb. Alice froze. Only now did she see the helicopter, an immense shadow off to one side.

Her mind was a whirl of confused thoughts of which one stood out clearly. She was trapped. Imran stared at the email he had just received, unable to believe his eyes. Anwar and Imran had grown up together in Meerut before Anwar moved to Lucknow to stay with his uncle, after losing both his parents. That was years ago, but the two boys had kept in touch as they grew up.

But the two had remained good friends. Until five years ago when Anwar had suddenly vanished without a trace. And now, he had turned up out of nowhere. A ghost from the past. He opened the email. And felt like someone had punched him in the face. It contained two words. Help Anwar … and into the fire Alice stood, immobilised, as the shadow emerged from the shaft and advanced towards her. She saw it move one hand to its hip and realised it was reaching for a weapon.

This gun had no silencer. There was no need for stealth here. Bullets smacked into the windows, shattering them, as she struggled to start the car. A bullet whizzed past her face and embedded itself in the passenger seat next to her. Alice threw the vehicle into forward gear and raced away from the tomb. Another bullet thudded into the stereo system and she bent low over the wheel, hysterical with fear, trying to control her panic, one thought racing through her head.

She had to get away. Behind her, she heard the helicopter start up and she knew that the intruders were going to hunt her down and kill her. Who were these people and what did they want? Sobbing and shaking with fear, she sped towards the E75, the toll road that led to Thessaloniki. It was the only thing she could think of at the moment. The sound of the helicopter pursuing her followed in her wake.

She pressed hard on the steering wheel of the Land Cruiser as if that would make the vehicle go faster. But she knew that the helicopter would overtake her. It was just a matter of time. Imran knew he was stretching his official privileges. He knew one thing for sure from the message he had received.

His friend was in trouble. And Imran was going to do everything he could to help. As they raced back towards IB headquarters Imran barked orders into his phone. The red beacon ensured that traffic made way for them.

It was as if the traffic jams miraculously melted away, like snow under a deluge of salt. Back in his office, Imran summoned his team. His anger was on a tight leash, his apparent calmness a thin veneer disguising his worry that he might be too late to help his friend. He was sure that Anwar had been interrupted while typing the message which had prevented him from providing more details.

I want the physical address. Every second was valuable. This is an emergency. But he was convinced his friend was in dire trouble. Tonight was the night he would break rules if necessary, even though he had never done it in his long career with the IPS. The men scurried out, looking at each other in bewilderment. Imran leaned back in his chair and exhaled. He could only hope they figured it out in time.

She screamed involuntarily. In the rear view mirror, through her tears, she saw the ball of fire rise above the excavation site. They had destroyed the tomb! Fortunately, she had photographed the find. She still had the memory stick from the camera with her. She consoled herself with the thought that, though the destruction of the tomb was an irretrievable loss to history and archaeology, she still had something that could be salvaged.

Then it struck her. And she was a living testimonial to the discovery within the tomb. They would not rest until she was dead. There was a sudden bump on the roof of the Land Cruiser. The pilot was battering the roof of the vehicle using the struts of the helicopter. Alice jumped in her seat and screamed again, her nerves on edge with the trauma of the evening and the realisation that she would be relentlessly hunted down.

She shifted gears and accelerated again. Whatever happened tonight, she was not going to give up so easily. They may get her in the end, but she would not meekly surrender.

Apparently the helicopter pilot realised that, and, with a sudden burst of speed, the chopper veered off to the right, racing ahead of her and then arcing back towards her, descending as it approached the SUV. Alice stared in horror at the sight of the helicopter heading straight at her. She instinctively realised what the pilot was trying to do. While it was evident that he planned to land on the motorway and block her path, he was also trying to add to her terror by playing with her mind, making her believe that he was going to ram the SUV head on.

Alice struggled to get a hold of herself. The thought of someone thinking that she was so helpless that she would allow herself to be toyed with helped her centre herself. You want a game of roulette, you got it. Then, the pilot seemed to think the better of it and settled the helicopter down on the motorway, straight in the path of the oncoming Land Cruiser.

He had given up the psychological tactics and was now banking on a physical rather than a mental obstacle. A lone figure emerged from the helicopter as its rotors died down and Alice realised that there was no one accompanying the pilot in the helicopter. The man stood to one side, waiting like a spider in its web watching the approach of a fly, secure in the knowledge that the fly would be trapped in its silken snare.

Alice looked wildly around, desperately searching for a way out. If there was a way out of her predicament, she knew she would never find it if she allowed herself to succumb to the terror that was threatening to overcome her. Blinking back her tears, she forced herself to focus on the scene ahead of her, even as her instincts goaded her against it. Then she saw it. A chance, however slim, but it offered her hope. Alice slowed down again and did some quick mental calculations. It might just work.

The pilot, interpreting her slowing down as an indication that she was going to stop, began advancing towards her. The murder had led to the uncovering of a shocking secret that involved Asoka the Great and the Mahabharata.

Vijay grinned at Colin. I thought he was all charm. You know, when our friend Kidwai first told us that the US and Indian governments planned to set up this joint task force, I thought it was a great idea.

But now I know how Red Riding Hood felt when she went walking in the woods. It was a great walk until the wolf jumped out at her.

Just this morning they had both been summoned to the headquarters of the Intelligence Bureau to meet with Michael Blake, the CIA operative who had worked with the IB on their adventure last year. Blake was accompanied by the American who had been appointed by the US President to head the joint task force. It was for this meeting that Colin had flown down from the US a few days earlier.

Bill Patterson was 6 feet 3 inches, all muscle, and evidently all brain too, given his credentials as a PhD in molecular biology as well as chemical biology. Colin, a natural rebel, had disliked him from the moment he laid eyes on Patterson.

His instinctive feeling of repulsion had led to an acrimonious debate over how much devolution of decision making would take place, with Colin ending up at the losing end of the argument.

He was still smarting at the encounter. And you should be, too. Only if there is military action or anything that requires specialist training. You and I had nothing to do with preventing Farooq from getting away with the secret of the Nine.

Our job as part of this task force is to investigate and test hypotheses. If there is any action, it should be left to the guys who are trained for the job. He looked at his watch instead. She whizzed past the surprised pilot who began running after the speeding SUV.

Alice prayed fervently that her gamble would pay off. Was the gap wide enough? The next instant, the Land Cruiser was scraping metal on both sides and the sound of metal crumpling and tearing shattered the silence of the night, as the vehicle squeezed past the helicopter on one side and the metal railing at the shoulder of the highway, on the other side. For a long moment, time seemed to slow down. It seemed to Alice that the helicopter and the railing were both converging on the SUV, crushing it, shattering the remaining windows that had not been shot out earlier that night.

Alice closed her eyes and willed the SUV to force its way through as the harsh grinding of the metal seemed to pierce right through her brain. Suddenly, the Land Cruiser seemed to leap forward, freed of the crushing restraints it had endured. With a start, Alice realised that the vehicle had made it through the gap and she could see the highway stretching ahead of her. A new burst of energy surged through her and her hopes lifted. She forced the accelerator to the floor trying to put as much distance between the SUV and the helicopter, before the pilot could recover and take to the skies once more.

Behind her, through the glassless windows of the SUV, she heard the pilot shout curses and hunched down in her seat in anticipation of the shooting which she was sure would follow. Bullets began whizzing past her head once again.

The front windscreen metamorphosed into a spider web of silvery cracks as a bullet tore through it. Her hopes sank again, as she slowed to a pace that allowed her to focus on the road ahead. But minutes ticked by and she heard nothing apart from the sound of the wind rushing through the cabin of the SUV, through the shattered windows, and the roar of its engine.

She wondered if the helicopter had been damaged by her daring getaway or whether the pilot had decided to give up the chase. Initially, she had thought that the antiquities mafia was behind this. That would certainly explain the furore over photographing the tomb. If photographs of any artefacts within the tomb were leaked to the world, it would become very difficult to hawk them on the antiquities black market, especially for a tomb that was as famous as this one.

But that theory was blown to bits along with the tomb itself. There seemed to be no logical explanation.His grin changed to a frown as he swung the BMW into the lane on the left. While the upper storeys were ravaged, the ground floor seemed to be intact. Eumenes had stood with Alexander outside the underground cave where the secret of the gods was hidden.

Vijay struggled to control his emotions. They are aided by Bheem Singh, current owner of Rajvirgarh fort and Greg White, an archaeologist mentioned in Vikram's emails. Murphy exclaimed, as he took in the details.

Not tonight.