The trip back to their hotel in Phnom Penh was entirely dominated by discussions over the golden urn and the urgency around finding the bona fide one. Alex and Sam recited the scroll’s riddle over and over in an attempt to decipher the clues. Excitement poured from every cell in Alex’s body. Even while Sam nodded off from the painkillers, Alex continued to repeat the riddle out loud, but nothing sounded even vaguely familiar as to where they should start.
They arrived back at the hotel well into the evening and agreed to meet up for a late dinner to continue working on the clues. The hotel restaurant had already closed for the night, so they followed the main road along the river to a nearby local restaurant. Sam found his cane to be a welcome aid, inspecting it properly for the first time when they sat down at their table.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite like this,” he commented. “It is most unusual, don’t you think?”
Alex took the walking stick and inspected the odd-looking head of the dragon handle. It was entirely black apart from the gold dragon’s tail that was coiled around the rod.
“Quite remarkable indeed. Now let’s get back to business, shall we?” handing the cane back to Sam and flipping open her laptop. “Let’s start at the beginning. The first line read ‘Where the three kings sleep’.”
Her fingers frantically danced over the keyboard as she searched for possible locations.
“You will not believe how many kings there were. It could be any of them,” she said annoyed.
“Where would they ‘sleep’? In the Royal Palace perhaps?” Sam asked.
“Their bedrooms? But they’re all dead,” Alex replied.
“Their graves! Get it? They’re asleep. In their graves,” Sam yelled across the table. “Where were the kings buried when they died? Look for a Royal graveyard or something.”
“Brilliant!” Alex hit the keys again before slumping disappointingly back in her chair. “None of them were buried. They didn’t believe in burials. They were all cremated.”
Sam pondered as he stuck a mouthful of noodles in his mouth. “Okay, so where were their ashes strewn?”
Alex turned to the search engine again. “All over the place, it seems. They were placed in stupas for the people to worship at.”
“So in shrines, right?”
“Yup, shrines and there are many all over Cambodia.”
“Okay, but Phnom Penh was the capital city, so it’s fair to say it’s somewhere here. How many stupas with king’s ashes are around the city?”
“No way!” Alex shouted. “I don’t believe it!”
“What? What is it?” Sam called watching as Alex’s fingers moved faster over the keys. “WHAT? Speak up, woman.”
“We were right there, Sam! It’s the Oudong temple! It had three stupas, remember? Each stupa holds the ashes of a king. Look here,” turning the laptop sideways so Sam could see more clearly.
“It says here, the first stupa is the North-Western one called Damrei Sam Poan and was built by king Chey Chetha II who ruled from1618 to 1626. He built it for the ashes of his predecessor, king Soriyopor, who was the founder of Oudong. The second stupa is Ang Doung. This was king Norodom’s father. This stupa was built by him in 1891 and houses the ashes of king Ang Duong who ruled from 1845 to 1859. The South-Eastern of the three stupas is Mak Proum which is the funeral stupa of king Monivong who ruled from 1927 to 1941.”
“That certainly fits the dates perfectly. You are brilliant Alex Hunt, you know that?” an impressed Sam called out. “Now we just have to figure out where the sun’s rays meet.”
“Sunrise or sunset and ‘meet’ with what?” Alex responded taking a bite of food for the first time that evening.
“Let’s go there first thing tomorrow morning and have a look around. The next part of the clue is ‘the guardian of the ancient world sits at their feet’. If we can figure out who the guardian of the ancient world is and at whose feet he is sitting, it might somehow bring us one step closer to finding the place where the sun’s rays meet. I think this calls for a toast, don’t you?” a cheery Sam announced as he called the waiter over.
Alex closed her laptop and finished her meal, unable to stop smiling or hide her excitement. The restaurant was completely empty and it was by now, close to midnight already.
“We should probably get back to the hotel and get some sleep. Tomorrow might be a busy day,” Alex said. “Besides, I don’t think it would be wise to drink while medicated. The mere thought of having to carry you is utterly daunting,” she joked.
They were both in high spirits. It was the first taste of success since they had arrived in Cambodia. Alex shuffled excitedly on the chair.
“Do you realize how incredible it would be when we discover the original golden urn? Something no one even knew existed. We will go down in the history books, Sam!”
“I can see the headlines — Renowned archaeologists discover ancient lost golden urn!” Sam played along as they got to their car.
Moments later Alex’s shrill screams echoed through the dark as two masked men picked her up and pulled her into a black van. Before Sam could stop them, he felt the painful blow to the back of his head seconds before everything went black.
When Sam came to it was pitch black. His eyes were open, yet he couldn’t see a thing. When he tried lifting his hand to his face he couldn’t and instantly realized his hands were bound above his head. Still disorientated he was aware that he was standing—just. Fighting the throbbing pain in the back of his head, he turned his head to find Alex.
“Alex,” he called out but she didn’t answer. Was it possible they hit her over the head too, and she was still unconscious? He focussed his eyes in a futile attempt to see better through the absolute darkness, but his eyes painted murky images of nothingness before him.
“Alex, can you hear me?” he tried again. “Are you here?” Still, there was no reply. All he heard was his voice bouncing hollow sounds off the walls. It confirmed what he already suspected, that he wasn’t outside. It was hot and humid, and he became aware of the faint dripping of a tap somewhere in the background. Angst gripped at his throat as he tried to free his hands from the suspended rope above his head but it was too tight. Suddenly becoming aware he was shirtless, he then lifted his one knee to feel if he had his pants on. He did, but he wasn’t wearing any shoes. Underneath his feet, the floor was wet and felt like concrete. He had no idea how long he had been hanging there or where Alex was. Deciding he’d have to rely on his other senses he closed his eyes and focussed his hearing on the surroundings, turning his head slowly from side to side. A dog was barking outside in the distance behind him. The dripping tap splashed onto the floor somewhere on his right. The tin roof made a rhythmic drumming sound. It was raining. He pondered whether the dripping tap wasn’t perhaps a leak in the roof which would explain why the floor was wet. His mind trailed to his arms that had no feeling left in them. His medical background told him that he had to have been hanging for several hours for that to occur.
The darkness made him dizzy but he continued to look around for any objects that might give away his location. High above his head a small beam of moonlight was just visible in the roof making it obvious that it was nighttime. That meant that, if they had been captured just past midnight, it was entirely possible that it was around three or four a.m. The dog barked again. He turned his head toward the sound and was certain he heard footsteps coming from outside somewhere. He listened intently but couldn’t be sure. His thigh hurt a lot since the painkillers had worn off and, desperate to know where Alex was, he called out to her again, but still, there was no reply. Fear flooded his mind. What if they killed her? He pushed the thought aside. It didn’t make sense. If anything, they would kill him. She would be too valuable in helping them find whatever it was they were after. Deciding to cling to his theory, he wiggled his bound wrists in an attempt to pull his fists through the loops of the rope. The scruffy rope chafed at his sweaty skin leaving an intense burning behind, but he pushed on and kept at it for several more minutes. He had to keep trying if he were to get out of there. For all he knew they intended on leaving him there to rot to death.
A couple of hours later, the moonlight through the roof made way for a faint beam of sunlight and the hard rain from earlier had stopped. His wrists were raw, but he had wriggled enough that the cord was not as tight as before. He no longer registered the immense pain coming from his flesh or aching armpits.
The complete darkness around him had somewhat dissipated into a dark grey shade that allowed him to see faint images of something resembling a chair several feet in front of him. From what he could tell he appeared to be in some sort of warehouse. He looked up at his hands. Streams of blood from his raw wrists had trickled down his arms to where it now rested on his shoulders. He was exhausted. Though there was a slight improvement in visibility, he still couldn’t see or hear Alex anywhere around him. The dog wasn’t barking either. Fatigue overcame him, and he stopped wriggling, just for a moment. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his shoulder and relaxed his chin on his chest. He would give his hands a break and then try again, even if the rope ripped away any remaining flesh from his bones.
His moment of rest was short lived when the clanging sound of a padlock being unlocked was echoed through the emptiness around him. Someone was there. Could it be Alex coming for him? He squinted his eyes toward the noise in an attempt to see but it was still too dark. The door screeched open and allowed the bright daylight to light up the narrow doorway at the far end of the warehouse. He narrowed his eyes in response to shield the bright light from his eyes all the while refusing to look away. The shadowy silhouettes of what looked like three men moved through the opening toward him. His heart rate quickened as realization struck that they were the kidnappers. Within seconds a piercing light from a spotlight hit him full in his face. He jerked his head away on impulse and tightly shut his eyes. It was done with intent, blinding him from their identity. The metal feet of a chair being put down sounded on the concrete floor and Sam fought hard to take control of his raging emotions.
“Good morning, Dr. Quinn,” an authoritative male voice resounded.
Sam had no intentions of being polite by reciprocating the greeting from a man who spoke perfect English with only the slightest Asian accent.
“Where’s Alex?” Sam responded, surprised at how weak his voice sounded in comparison.
“She’s safe,” the man answered, “for now.”
Sam went weak. “I want to see her.”
“I’m afraid that is entirely dependent on you, Dr. Quinn.”
Unsure of what he meant, Sam kept quiet and instinctively tugged at the rope around his hands.
“Oh save your energy, Dr. Quinn. You are going to need it. Unless of course you decide to cooperate with us.”
Sam’s heart skipped several beats as he contemplated the significance of keeping the scroll’s content secret versus saving Alex’s life. Knowing her, she would rather die a thousand deaths than allow a relic to fall into the hands of evildoers. Could he, on the other hand, permit himself to have her killed by refusing to co-operate?
“What do you want?” Sam said softly.
“It’s really very simple, Dr. Quinn.”
Sam cringed at this man’s politeness.
“We need the content of the scroll,” the man continued. “Tell us what it says, and we will let you both go.”
Judging from the conditions surrounding his capture Sam instinctively knew they’d never let them go after they got their own way. Even without their identities known, they would undoubtedly kill them both.
“I need to see Alex first, see if she’s okay,” Sam gambled.
The man laughed sarcastically, “Dr. Quinn. I am not in the business of idle threats. This here is not a negotiation. You either comply or you don’t and bear the consequences. Your decision.”
Sam heard the chair scraping ever so slightly on the floor followed by footsteps moving away from him. Deciding to play his bluff, Sam remained silent. They would be back to try again, he thought. He guessed they would work the same maneuver with Alex, but knowing how protective over relics she can be, they stood little to no chance of succeeding. He knew her well enough to be convinced of that. As long as they didn’t hurt her, he would wager that the man would not succeed.
The spotlight still blinded him, so he kept his eyes closed. Seconds later he felt a hard punch to his stomach leaving him gasping for air. A second and third punch followed in quick succession. He hung from the rafters unable to breathe; like a human piñata about to explode all over the floor. He heard footsteps moving in behind him before he felt another blow against his kidneys. The dull thrust filled his mouth with blood. His feet were too numb to help him regain his balance, and he swung forward and spun around. With the spotlight behind him, he caught a glimpse of his attacker for the first time. There was just one. The other one might have left with the man in charge. Could he somehow muster the strength to use his suspended fists as support and kick his attacker in the hope of knocking him out? Then what? He’d still be hanging unable to free himself. If he failed at knocking him out, it might just anger him. Sam decided to tough it out. He pulled his stomach muscles tight as he prepared for another punch, but instead heard the man walking away. Shortly after, he heard the door open before the spotlight switched off and the padlock clicked back in place.
The warehouse was dark again, and he blinked several times to help his eyes become accustomed to the darkness. When his eyesight adjusted, he squinted at the crevice in the roof again. The sun’s rays shone slightly brighter now bringing into focus the expanse of the structure. The warehouse was entirely empty with nothing but the single chair in front of him. Still struggling to catch his breath and recover from his beating, he turned around slowly. There was a tiny window in the roof above the rafters that allowed more light in. It was already sweltering and humid during the night, so without any ventilation, it would soon become a sauna that would drain him of any water he might still have left in his exhausted body. Logic told him that they wouldn’t return until nightfall to continue preventing their identity from being known.
He spat a ball of bloody saliva onto the floor and wiped the corner of his mouth against his shoulder. His breathing had returned to normal, but the dull aching on his kidneys remained and he no longer had any feeling in his arms. He looked up at his bound hands to assess the lacerations on his wrists. The rope had been twisted around his hands several times finished off by a double knot. The more he pulled down at it, the tighter the knots became. Clever, he thought. He tried not to hang on the rope, robbing him of an immense amount of willpower and strength. He stood upright and tried to stand on his toes, but his legs were just as weak. Still trying to recover from the bullet wound, it throbbed under the strain of having been vertical for so long.
He tried once more and wriggled his hands as his fingers worked the knots. It loosened, somewhat, but not enough to come undone. Fighting with all his strength, his toes eventually gave way, and the rope pulled tight again. If ever there were a time he could cry, it would have been then. He had only ever cried once in his entire life, and that was when his little sister exhaled her last breath. She was twelve at the time. He was fifteen. The doctors had done everything they could, or so they said. They stopped fighting for her. She couldn’t fight anymore either. Leukemia had drained her of any existence of life. Life. It was never the same after she died. Dad threw himself into his veterinary practice, and four-legged patients as a way of coping with her death and Mom entered just about every baking competition and homemaker’s fair in the district. They all aimed at staying as busy as possible to avoid being in their much too silent house for any extended periods of time.
Sam felt a tear gently roll down his cheek. Perhaps that was why his parents pushed him toward becoming an oncology doctor. Why they were so adamant, he followed in the family tradition of medicine even though it was too late. What good would that have done? Their daughter and his only sibling were gone forever. He tried. God knows he tried. In spite of the fact that he had finished top of his class and achieved the highest recognition, his heart had lost a piece that could never be mended.
The sharp squeak of a rat scuffling from underneath an old crumpled newspaper that lay in the middle of the floor toward the door jerked him back to the present. Alex was out there somewhere being tortured by these scumbags. For all he knew she was beyond her point of tolerance and depending on him to save her. Hell will freeze over before he let her down and lost her too. He will fight with whatever was left in him. He had to keep trying with the knots, even if it killed him.