Restless Soul (Rogue Angel, Book 28)

By Alex Archer, Jean Rabe

In 1966, a gaggle of battle-weary American GIs trekked during the Vietnamese jungle understanding every one step may perhaps suggest dealing with the enemy's weapons. yet rather than ambush, they stumbled upon a hidden treasure past their wildest goals. It was once a discovery that exacted a poor cost.

A destination picked at random, Thailand is meant to supply rest time for globe-trotting archaeologist Annja Creed. but the impossible to resist pull of the country's mythical Spirit Cave lures Annja and her partners deep inside of a community of underground chambers—nearly to their deaths. the traditional burial websites have slumbered during the a long time. but no relaxation is located there—just the voices of the useless. while the lifeless converse, will they assist Annja discover the confusing earlier of a awesome locate or will they name her to hitch them?

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I suppose you’re correct. Sorry. It used to be particularly darkish, in spite of everything. i assume i may were seeing issues. ” “And I’d prefer to see a couple of extra of this stuff earlier than we need to leave,” she stated, joyful he had given in to her lie. And sooner than I cease Zakkarat from hauling precious items out of the following, she notion. yet she wasn’t going to squander the mins to argue with the Thai guy at that second. Annja became clear of Luartaro and went again to studying the coffins. My resolution needs to be right here, she idea. Why can’t I see it? Why can’t I pay attention— unfastened me. 7 Annja did her most sensible to close out the sounds round her—the rain coming down and pelting opposed to the pool within the heart of the chamber, Zakkarat babbling away in Thai and Luartaro pacing and conversing and taking photo upon photo. Annja desired to depart this position and ensure Zakkarat took nothing—at least not anything of importance or which may deliver difficulty upon him later. a number of trinkets or a few gold cash, she really couldn't begrudge him that. “But it’s no longer but time to leave,” she acknowledged sternly. “Not just—” loose me. She stood in entrance of the center coffin and stared on the contents. Her eyes drifted to a specific piece, one of many coated bowls she’d glanced at past. This time she felt attracted to it. “That’s it. ” Annja one way or the other felt a connection to the bowl, and in understanding it, the chilling sensation that had gripped her vanished and he or she nearly felt a feeling of peace. She’d informed the boys to not contact anything—not that Zakkarat listened. Now she used to be going opposed to her personal suggestion, yet she needed to! The voice wouldn’t permit her to attend from now on. She set the flashlight at the fringe of the coffin, angled so it highlighted the bowl. yet what's it? On nearer inspection she observed it wasn’t rather a bowl. She moved a number of the different issues clear of it. The box used to be a lifeless white, polished and coated with flowing symbols that would be letters, however it was once no language that she well-known. She took an image, considering she knew humans at the archaeological networks that may aid translate it. She took extra photographs from varied angles after which again to it, seeing a thumb-size darkish brown splotch. “More dried blood. ” She drew in a deep breath. The air was once more energizing the following than in the other chamber they’d been in, yet there have been strains of previous issues in it—the teak and the treasure…and now that she was once alert to it, she was once yes she may scent blood. She took one other deep breath and collected the scents of the jungle and the rain. ultimately, she leaned ahead, arms lightly folding round the box, chastising herself for doing this with out gloves yet unable to prevent herself. the instant her fingertips touched the outside, photographs flashed via her brain. The jungle. Rain coming down. Flowered vines twisting within the wind. The black gaping maw of…of… What? A tomb? males. White males with green-and-black paint smeared on their cheeks, airborne dirt and dust smeared on their arms, their expressions reworking from pleasure and pleasure to being twisted through worry. soreness.

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