The Devil's Triangle

by Catherine Coulter

  “There is that,” Lilith agreed. “It required five highly trained men to restrain him. He’s been drugged and taken to your palazzo in Castel Rigone. He can be easily disposed of after we kill the Fox.”

  He gave her a hard fast kiss, rubbed his knuckles on her cheek. Lilith flinched; Cassandra saw it. “See to it, my beautiful Lilith. Now.”

  When she’d left the room, Ajax held out his hand to his sister. “Come, let’s pack. We need to go to the Gobi.”

  “But first, we need to call Grandfather. He will be overwhelmed by the news of what his magnificent sandstorm has brought us.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  1908: A massive explosion over Tunguska, Siberia, leveled sixty to eighty million trees over 2,150 square kilometers. Blamed on an asteroid or comet, or Nikola Tesla’s Coil.

  The Bermuda Triangle

  Jason Kohath was drinking a cup of the finest coffee the world had to offer, Black Ivory, which he imported directly from northern Thailand to Cuba. The boys brought it to the island once a month, and he was careful to ration it out, one cup a day—more, and his heart seemed to jump into his throat.

  He looked at the line of clocks that gave him local time anywhere in the world, and fixed on Italy. The twins should have called by now.

  He took another sip of his coffee, surveyed the screens that surrounded him, some ten feet tall, some only twelve inches. Some showed the oceans, others the sky, others the cities across the globe, others the atmosphere above the earth. Still more held calculations, ran computer models, showed weather patterns spreading across the globe.

  They took up nearly all the wall space, and he sat in the center in front of them at his solitary command post, his comfortable chair on wheels so he could easily scoot across to any of the screens he wished. He was proud of his control center, a huge cavern set directly in the center of the island, over a now-defunct volcano. From there, he ran the family business. From here he decided where the next storm would occur. The Gobi sandstorm was his masterpiece, its purpose not to make more millions for the Kohath coffers but to find his precious Helen’s last dig, and he’d bowed to the fact that it had to be done. Now he had to wait to hear if his calculations had been on target.

  Why hadn’t the twins called him? He could call them, of course—after all, he owned the satellites, could move them into any place he wished across the planet. No, he wouldn’t call them, that wasn’t the protocol he’d established when they’d turned sixteen.

  Jason Kohath sat back in his comfortable chair, sipped the rest of his coffee. From his uncharted island, deep in what was called the Bermuda Triangle, he controlled the skies, the clouds, the oceans.

  And he controlled the weather.

  He’d once dreamed about controlling the gravitational forces of the moon, but he knew he’d be dead before that could be possible. In the twins’ lifetime, maybe. Ah, the twins. Both were gifted, no doubt about that, but he knew he would have to accept what his beloved daughter, Helen, had finally realized so long ago. The twins had no understanding of humanity and what it meant, and what was worse, they had no desire to gain the understanding. He’d never forget when they’d been seventeen and sent by their mother for two weeks to a dig in Ankara, Turkey, their job to assist the team leader, Dr. Demir, a good friend of Helen’s, an estimable man of excellent character, to learn the ropes and do whatever they were told. They hadn’t wanted to go.

  One morning, Dr. Demir had been found dead in his tent, bitten by a black viper. Helen had known they’d put the snake in his tent, she’d known even before she’d spoken to other team members and verified the twins’ uncooperative attitude. The twins had returned to England on the next flight, overflowing with respectful sadness about Demir, and back to Oxford and, Helen suspected, their supply of cocaine.

  Now, ten years after their mother had disappeared, he had to accept that they never would become what either their mother nor he had hoped. He thought they saw the world through crazy eyes, something even their respective genius IQs couldn’t fix. They saw the world as theirs to control, to kill without remorse for something they wanted. They would decide on something they wanted, use their clever brains to rationalize it, and then be willing to move the earth to get it, no matter that it wasn’t important, or it was a bad idea, or that people could get hurt, or die. They were very rich and they had a great deal of power, too much of both. For them, that combination was poison, and yet, he still desperately hoped they would somehow change, that they would see themselves as a power for good. But then he’d remember the young Oxford student, dead in an alley, stabbed in her heart with a stiletto. The local police knew Ajax had slept with her for more than six months, but had he killed her? Nothing could be proven. Cassandra had provided his alibi, along with a young man Cassandra had been sleeping with. Odd, but he, too, had died in an accident three months later. Helen knew what Ajax had done, knew Cassandra was complicit, and she’d wept as she’d told her father of the blackness in their souls—such darkness—no remorse, no guilt for what they’d done, only pleasure they’d escaped. She had no more hope, but she knew he did.

  If only he could change the past, he would try harder to convince Helen not to marry that crazy David Maynes. But she hadn’t listened. He knew before she’d left for her last dig in the Gobi Desert, she’d finally accepted that her faithless husband had injected madness into the family through his children.

  A proximity sensor lit up, flashing red. A boat was nearby. He immediately made sure the electromagnetic net he’d designed was tight around the island. It wouldn’t do for someone to happen upon him. His cloaking device was magnificent, yes, but over the years, a few planes and boats had ventured too close, and he’d been forced to take them down. He’d refined the cloak every time and now had an excellent pop-up storm system programmed into the computers. He launched the storm protocol, saw the lightning strike the water, watched as the seas around the island began to churn and the sky began to darken. The small pleasure craft that had drifted too close was faced with sudden waves too large for it to handle, and so it turned tail and shot away.

  He allowed the storm to play itself out; it would look suspicious to have it come up suddenly then disappear with no warning. Besides, he rather enjoyed watching a good storm right outside his front door. Whenever he looked upon a storm he’d created, he thought of England and how he missed the cold, drizzling weather, and the thick gray fog that swirled around the ankles.

  He eyed the small maelstrom surrounding his island, wild and beautiful, his own creation. His grandfather, Appleton Kohath, had been undoubtedly brilliant, as was his friend and partner, Nikola Tesla. Jason’s own father, Alexander, and his mother, Babette, had been quite clever, too. But Jason was the genetic masterpiece, and a good thing, too, given what he’d had to do.

  But the genetic masterpiece, namely himself, was getting old, and couldn’t be restored. He had to accept the sore joints, the pains in his heart, arthritis in his hands, unlike the twins, not yet thirty, brimming with good health. The twins—always the twins—and what was he to do? Their selfishness amazed him. They’d focused on finding the Ark for the simple reason that they wanted the power to rule the world. It made him shudder. Had any of his predecessors been as ruthless as these two?

  Earlier, on his closed-circuit TV, he’d seen Cassandra present ten million euros to some Polish archaeologists. Knowing her as well as he did, he still found himself admiring her show of sincerity, admiring her charm, her obvious popularity with the press. He knew that many believed the twins to be brilliant archaeologists, they had the pedigree and the schooling and the experience, but he knew differently. He’d seen firsthand what was in their hearts, in their souls.

  In objective moments, Jason had to admit his own motives weren’t all that pure. He’d lusted after the Ark since he’d been a young man, known if he could only touch it, forever would be his. No sore joints, no pills for his failing heart. Holding God’s hand, he’d have accomplished anything he wished. The
technology assembled before him would be considered child’s play, antiquated. Every storm he’d ever created, all the money he’d put to good use from the storms’ disasters, all was in pursuit of the Ark of the Covenant. He’d always believed if he were the one to possess the Ark, he would govern and shepherd this world, and the people would love him for it.

  The phone buzzed and a small hologram popped up above it. His assistant was calling, not the twins. Jason pressed the button for the speaker. At least he’d married the technology to video and created the hologram. It wasn’t quite as distant.

  “Yes, Burnley?”

  “Sir, there is a shipment coming in thirty minutes. Will the storm have cleared in time for a soft landing?”

  “Yes. Tell them to come the southerly route, I had to chase someone away earlier, and the seas are still rough on the leeward side of the island.”

  “Yes, sir. Also, your grandchildren have requested an audience. Shall I put them through?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  Their beautiful faces appeared. They greeted him, and Cassandra began talking. By the time she’d shut her mouth, Jason had managed to get control of his disbelief, his rage, at what they’d done. “You’re telling me that you had the staff stolen from the Topkapi? You never thought to discuss it with me?”

  Ajax said, “We wanted to surprise you with it, Grandfather. We thought—”

  “No, you did not think. Stealing that ridiculous staff, what good did it do you? You say you wanted to verify that the staff of Moses in the Topkapi was fraudulent? Of course it was. I could have assured you of that if you’d only asked me. And now you’re telling me you’ve actually kidnapped the thief’s husband to lure her back to Venice to be killed?” He wanted to scream at them, but he managed to remain calm and in control, to be the voice of reason.

  Cassandra’s lovely clipped voice said, “I think what we did was smart. We only had some bad luck, that’s all. We used some men who proved incompetent. We are not stupid, Grandfather, nor are we children. We will take care of the thief.” She paused, then gave him a big smile. “Congratulations on your magnificent storm in the Gobi. Dr. Gregory believes he’s found Mother’s last dig site.”

  As he’d hoped it would. “Why didn’t you tell me this immediately?”

  Ajax said, “Because you’ve always preached that we’re to inform you of our actions in their proper order, and I was complying.” Jason heard the smirk in his voice, knowing he’d scored a point on him. “Cassandra and I are on our way to the Gobi now. And we’ll be in touch as soon as we can to tell you what we find.”

  “Go, then,” Jason said, picturing it all in his mind. “I will be watching.”

  The hologram ended, and he turned away from the screens. Only now did he allow tears to gather and run down his face at the succession of memories flooding his mind. He felt his heart fluttering like a bird in a cage. “Not now,” he whispered, swallowing a pill to stop the palpitations. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, willing the medicine to work.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Over the Atlantic

  Once they’d cleared New York airspace, Nicholas rose and clapped his hands. “Our flight is about eight hours, so we have plenty of time to develop a plan for how we’re going to save Kitsune, her husband, and find out if the Gobi storm was engineered.”

  Lia fingered one of the studs in her left ear. “Is that all you want us to do?”

  Laughter, then Mike said, “Beware, people. I predict that within thirty minutes of landing, we’re going to break rules. ‘Breaking Rules’ is Nicholas’s middle name, right after Desmond.”

  “You’re kidding,” Adam said. “Desmond is one of your names?”

  There were looks all around, then grins.

  “Moving right along,” Nicholas said.

  Adam said, “I thought that’s why they created Covert Eyes in the first place, no worries about breaking rules.”

  Mike took her glasses off to clean them. “Within reason. Adam, we need you to find out everything Kitsune’s been up to in the past four months, including her marriage to Grant Thornton, and where the clients might have taken him.”

  Nicholas said, “I don’t think they’d stash him in Venice. Adam, I did a quick search on Thornton earlier, after he left the Beefeaters—doubtless because he’d married a criminal—he became a freelancer. He works for a company called Blue Mountain. They specialize in close protection and security, employ mostly ex–Special Forces.”

  Adam said, “Are we supposed to arrest Kitsune?”

  “We’ll see,” Mike said.

  “Dude, I don’t want to throw her in jail, I want to marry her, let her have my babies. Can you begin to imagine how smart they’d be? They’d rule the fricking world.”

  “That could work until there was something you had that she wanted,” Lia said. “Then you’d be toast.”

  “Adam, don’t romanticize Kitsune. Actually, she’d hate that. Okay, people, let’s set up the secure videocon with Ben so he can give us a rundown of the history behind the Ark of the Covenant and the staff of Moses. We all need to be on the same page.”

  Adam tapped on his computer for a moment, then Ben’s face filled the video screen.

  Louisa said, “Hey, Ben, bet you were sitting there, all down in the mouth, just waiting around for us to call, right? Hey, do you know your hair isn’t as red from thirty-five thousand feet?”

  Lia laughed. “You said the last time you raced Ben, Louisa, you lost only because you had a sprained ankle and his hair blinded you.”

  More laughter, then Nicholas said, “Ben, tell us about the Ark and the staff. Start at the beginning.”

  “I’m going to give you the CliffsNotes version. After God gave the Ten Commandments to Moses, he instructed Moses and his brother, Aaron, to craft the Ark of the Covenant to hold the tablets. God also gave Moses a jar of manna to keep in the ark, then instructed him to leave his staff in the Ark as well.”

  “Wait, what’s manna?” Adam asked.

  “It’s a special kind of bread. I guess you’d have to say it’s magic because it never runs out, always perpetuates itself, which means no matter how much you take, it replenishes instantly.”

  “Now there’s a bread with colossal mojo,” Mike said.

  “Good one, Mike. Okay, the count on the Israelites escaping from Egypt is more than six hundred thousand people. A jar of manna would feed this many people—in what time frame? Never mind, let’s stick with the myth and the magic and drop the logic. So while they wandered around in the desert, it’s written the manna is what kept them alive.

  “And they carried the Ark, which was basically an acacia wood box that had all this incredible ornate gold work on it—cherubs and sundials and the like. It was more than a talisman to them, it literally held the power of God. The Israelites went into battle with it, and always won. Interesting factoid: in 1070 BC, the Philistines stole the Ark and took it to their territories. Soon after, they suffered an attack of what they called the ‘golden rats.’ ”

  Louisa said, “The plague, most likely.”

  Ben nodded. “They wrote that anyone who got near the Ark got sick and died. They lost battles, lost lands, lost crops. They finally decided the Ark wasn’t worth all the misery, so they tied it to a cart and sent it back.

  “Now here’s the best part. There’s an Ark prophecy that clearly states that only members of Moses’s family—the Kohaths, also called the Levites—can handle the Ark without dying. The Kohaths are the direct descendants of Moses.”

  “So where is the Ark supposed to be?” Mike asked.

  “Good question. There are long stretches of history when there is no mention of the Ark. It’s last known address was Solomon’s Temple. King David—of David-and-Goliath fame—is said to have brought it to Jerusalem, and it resided in the temple for many years. Jerusalem was sacked in 892 BC, and the Ark vanished. Many historians believe the Egyptians got their hands on it, but no one really knows.”

 
Lia said, “But wouldn’t the Egyptians have had the golden rats show up and kill them?”

  “Good point. I don’t know,” Ben said.

  Adam said, “Why is it called an Ark? Wasn’t that Noah’s boat?”

  Ben said, “Just a second, let me check that out.” He typed for a minute, then said, “Says here an ark is technically anything that holds something. A box or a ship, an ark is essentially a container. This ark contained something holy.”

  Nicholas said, “Calling it the Box of the Covenant just didn’t have the same ring to it.”

  A few groans. Mike threw a pencil at him. Nicholas caught it, tucked it behind his ear. “Okay, Ben, tell us about the staff.”

  “Moses received the staff directly from God. Moses and his brother, Aaron, used it to perform the miracles that ended in the Jews’ exodus. They used it to turn rocks into water, although how that would work I can’t imagine, and one legend has the staff devouring snakes. But the staff, too, was lost as well as the Ark.”

  “Now we get to move to the modern era. As I said, the Ark was in Solomon’s Temple, the last place it was ever seen. In 1519, when the sultan Selim conquered Egypt, he supposedly got his hands only on the staff of Moses and took it back to Istanbul, where it stayed in the Topkapi Palace until they put it on display with the Holy Relics thirty years ago.”

  “It didn’t start a plague there, either?” Adam asked.

  “Evidently not.”

  Mike said, “Does any reputable historian believe it’s real, Ben?”

  “Of course the Turks claim it is. They don’t have an explanation why it would be separated from the Ark, though. Is it the real deal?” Ben shrugged.

  Louisa said, “Tell us about the museum where the staff has been all this time.”

  “Looking, looking. Okay, the Topkapi was the palace for the sultans of Turkey until the Ottoman Empire abandoned it in the mid-nineteenth century. It was turned into a museum in 1924 and opened to the public. It’s reputed to have layers upon layers of security, all guarded by the Turkish military. The staff has been in the Holy Relics area of the museum since the seventies, which is even more highly guarded. So if Kitsune really did steal it, she is really good.”