Fault Line by Chris Ryan

The casualty struggled to sit up and fell back, panting.
    Paulo looked at Alex, incredulous. ‘Do you think he’s trying to escape?’
    ‘Well, I suppose he thinks we’re going to put him in jail.’
    Paulo knelt down next to him. ‘Shh,’ he said. ‘Just hold still. Let’s see what you’ve done.’
    The right leg was an odd shape, with a bulge halfway down the thigh, just below a ragged pair of shorts. Paulo ran his torch up and down it. ‘A few bumps and scrapes, but it’s already stopped bleeding.’ He was about to touch the swelling, but the man grabbed his hand, his eyes urgent.
    Paulo pulled away. ‘OK, I get it; that hurts.’ The leg was probably broken. Even if the man could get free he couldn’t go anywhere.
    ‘Alex, can you call the heli?’ said Paulo. ‘He needs to go to hospital.’
    ‘I’ll get the others to build a stretcher,’ Alex replied as he left the tomb.
    Paulo sat back and thought about his patient. Was there anything else he needed to do? The man was breathing easily, if fast. He wasn’t in shock, but of course that might happen at any minute. Paulo shone his torch on the man’s foot. It was shoeless; the sole was like leather and the skin was filthy. But the toes were the same colour as those on the other foot and they weren’t turning blue, so the blood supply wasn’t damaged and the limb wasn’t about to die. He seemed stable. Paulo relaxed a little.
    As he got to his feet, something in the sarcophagus caught his eye. He shone the torch over it.
    A face looked back at him – eyes, lips and skin covered in the centuries-old dust. He flicked the torch away, shocked. Was it a mummy?
    He realized the robber was watching him closely. He’d already spotted what Paulo had seen. There was a possessive look in his eyes. What was in there?
    Paulo slowly shone the torch back into the tomb.
    It was a face, but it wasn’t flesh. It was still and solid. Nor did it look like a skull; it looked like a piece of art.
    Paulo reached into the tomb and brushed it gently with his fingers.
    The man on the floor spoke rapidly in his incomprehensible language. He sounded angry.
    Where Paulo’s hand had been was a trail of bright gold.
    Li came down the steps. ‘Alex and the others are making a stretcher – I thought I’d come down and . . .’ She tailed off. Paulo was staring down at something in his hands.
    He saw her and turned it round so that she could see.
    A mask of gold.
    Li gasped. She moved towards it. Paulo handed it to her carefully. Made from beaten gold, the mask was a lifelike face with a wide forehead, aristocratic nose and fine lips. The eyes had small pupil-like holes, and between the parted lips was a T-shaped piece of silver.
    ‘I thought it was a corpse when I saw it in there,’ said Paulo. ‘I saw that face and nearly ran out to join you guys.’
    The man on the floor let out another tirade.
    ‘Ignore him,’ said Paulo. ‘He’s been grumbling ever since we arrived.’
    Li shone her torch into the tomb. There was a skeleton, brown and looking as crumbled as old leaves. It wore a jade ring around its twig-like finger and big circles of jade positioned where each ear would have been. Around the edge of the sarcophagus were carvings.
    There were footsteps outside and Alex came into the chamber. Hex and Amber followed behind, carrying the stretcher. They’d cut down saplings and threaded them through one of the hammocks.
    They manoeuvred it into the small space while Paulo assessed the patient. ‘I think we should splint the leg. Otherwise the broken ends of the bones are going to rub together when we move him.’
    Hex glanced towards the door. ‘Tell me what you need and I’ll go and get it.’ He sounded keen to get out.
    ‘A piece of wood, like you used for the stretcher.’ Paulo held his hands so that they were about a metre apart. ‘About this long, or longer. Plus lots of bandages and something to pad the leg.’
    ‘Sure.’ Hex turned and was out in a