She nudged him further. “The man I fell in love with wouldn’t let whoever did this get what they want, Cameron.”
For the next few hours Cam thought about what Amanda had said. She was right—someone was trying to stop his research. But knowing that didn’t change his predicament. He wrestled with his decision all afternoon, pacing around his office. But it really wasn’t a decision at all. He had no choice. Not that Amanda would see it that way.
They had dinner as a family, Cam trying to be upbeat—Astarte had sensed the turmoil over the past two days. She had been through enough, raised by an uncle after her mother died and then, after his death, taken in by Cam and Amanda. She deserved some stability and normalcy. Not that she was going to get it.
After dinner Cam and Astarte went outside and played catch with a Frisbee, Venus racing back and forth between them and intercepting more than a few of their throws. As dusk set in and the mosquitoes came out, he snatched a throw out of the air and turned toward the house. “Okay, shower time for you,” he said as they pushed through the front door. “You done your homework?”
“I have a little math to do.”
“Need any help?”
“Nope. I like math.”
“Good. After your shower and homework, we can watch the rest of that movie.”
Amanda watched Astarte leave the room and turned to Cam. “I’m glad she fancies mathematics. And I’m glad her school doesn’t have any of that gender bias one sometimes hears about.”
“I never understood that,” Cam said. “In ancient times only women could do math; men were thought too stupid. That’s why the root for the word math is the same as for mother—they both come from the name of the Egyptian goddess, Maat. Mathematics literally means ‘mother wisdom.’”
“You are just filled with fascinating little pieces of trivia.”
“You know that beer ad with the most interesting man in the world? I’m the most interesting man in the house.”
“Only because Venus is female.”
Two hours later they took turns kissing Astarte goodnight. “There’s something I need to talk to you about,” he said to Amanda as they moved into the living room.
“Is it a wine talk or a tea talk?” Amanda asked.
He smiled sadly. “More like whiskey. But I’ll settle for wine.”
“Okay,” she said, pouring a large glass of Pinot Grigio which they would share, as was their custom. They sat together on the oversized chair looking out over the lake, Venus at their feet. As always, Amanda smelled flowery fresh with just a bit of muskiness mixed in. On most days he would have nuzzled her neck.
“Okay, a couple of things,” he said. “First, I’m going to have another conversation with Zuberi about taking that teaching job. He called last week to offer it again.”
“What did you say?”
“I turned him down. But that was before the Superfund shit hit. I think we’re going to need the money.”
“But you hated the idea about being stuck in a university setting. I believe the expression you used was, ‘Why would I want to collaborate with a bunch of people who have their heads up their asses?’”
“Yeah, well, I also hate the idea of insolvency. And I’m going to talk to him about some ways to structure the deal so the government can’t grab my salary.”
“Nothing illegal, I hope.”
“No. But, for example, take some of my salary and use it to hire you as my assistant.” He took a deep breath and forced himself to look her in the eye, to let her see the hurt inside him. “Which leads to me next item: We need to postpone the wedding.”
Amanda coughed, a bit of wine escaping and dribbling down her chin. “Why on earth do we need to do that?”
“The obvious reason is because we’re not going to be able to pay for it—”
She cut him off. “Screw that. We can get married in our living room and eat take-out Chinese for all I care.”
He knew she’d feel that way. “But more to the point is that, if we get married, the government will come after you.”
“Why? I’m not on the bloody deed.”
“No, so technically you have no liability. But I know the lawyers who work on these cases—they’re the most competitive, Type A people in the world. If they think they can gain an edge by threatening you, they will.” Many of the lawyers who did government litigation were considered hound dogs in the legal profession—they generally didn’t graduate at the top of their law classes, but they were tenacious, and many of them chewed and slobbered their way up the ladder.
Cam continued as Amanda sat back, her eyes closed. “They have all the cards, all the power, and they know it. They won’t let this die until they have every penny they think they can get.” He took a deep breath. “If it weren’t for Astarte, I’d even suggest you move out, just to keep you completely off their radar. They have no legal right to force you to contribute, but that doesn’t mean they won’t try. This is all just one big negotiation.”
She slid off the chair and began to pace, the wine sloshing over the sides of the glass. “This is ludicrous, Cam. What about just signing everything you have over to them. Now. Tomorrow. Then by June it’s all behind us.”
Cam shook his head. “Whatever we offer won’t be enough; they’ll always think they can get more, maybe from my parents or maybe a payment plan going into the future. So we have to let this play out for at least a couple months, make them think they’ve gotten everything they can from me.” He paused. “But getting married would put you right in the bullseye; they’ll definitely want any assets my spouse has.”
“Well it’s not like I have a trust fund or anything.”
“No, but you have some savings. And a car. And an income. It’s bad enough I’ll be insolvent. But we’re going to need your money just to survive.”
“Bloody hell, Cameron. Your government can be such a bunch of pricks.” Tears pooled in her eyes as she stared out over the lake, the wind rippling the surface and bouncing the moonbeam as if in reflection of the turmoil in the house on the shore. “I want to get married in September, like we planned.”
“I do too, honey. I do too.”
“And what about Astarte?” she asked softly. “We can’t officially adopt her until we are married. Think about her.”
He exhaled. “I am thinking about her. About not having to move out of Westford, about being able to pay for her sports and dance classes and summer camp, about college.”
“Damn it all.” She kicked the couch. “This really fucking sucks.”
Even in her anger, she didn’t blame him. Or if she did, she was kind enough not to voice it. “I’m sorry I screwed this up, Amanda. I should’ve been more careful.”
She flopped back into the chair, rested her hand on his thigh, and chugged some wine. She exhaled. “I don’t blame you for this, obviously. Someone sucker-punched you, and all that you’re guilty of is not seeing it coming. But I sure do wish you had not cut that padlock.”
He closed his eyes. “Tell me about it.”
Cam phoned Zuberi first thing the next morning, which was early Wednesday afternoon in Scotland. Actually, Cam had no idea if Zuberi was in Scotland—he could just as easily be in the Middle East or Asia. He really knew very little about Zuberi’s business, other than it seemed to be worldwide and extraordinarily successful.
“Cameron,” Zuberi bellowed, the emphasis hard on the first syllable. “Have you phoned to tell me your mind is changed?”
From his rear deck overlooking the lake Cam watched a mother duck lead her chicks ashore. Venus, too, watched; for some reason she did not bark at the ducks like she did at the squirrels. “Amanda and I discussed your offer, and I’d like to hear more about it.”
“Excellent. Brandeis is very interested. I will endow a chair for study of history in America before Columbus.” He laughed. “After this, anything is possible. As you Americans say, name your terms.”
“First of all, I’d need to know I’m not going t
o be constrained in any way. I research what I want and how I want it. And my findings won’t be censored.”
“I agree! And Brandeis knows this also. This is why we choose you; we know you have strength in your beliefs. But we also know you are not fool. We have expression in Egypt: ‘Wise man never takes step too long for his leg.’ You will march toward truth, but not run into wall like fool, yes?” He paused to let his point sink in. “Now, what more terms have you?”
“I would be willing to teach a class in pre-Columbian history, but I don’t want to teach anything else. I’m not a historian, so I’m really not qualified.”
“Agree. We want you teach two classes, both in study of explorers to America before Columbus. One class is what I think they call survey class and other is more advanced—maybe teach about Prince Henry Sinclair.”
Two was doable. But all this also entailed preparing syllabi and grading papers and holding office hours. “I would want an assistant. Twenty hours per week.”
“Agree again.”
“Nobody knows this material better than Amanda. Would you be okay with her taking the position?”
Zuberi chuckled. “Most men wish to keep wife away when they are with pretty college girls. But most men do not have wife so pretty as Amanda. But if you wish, why not?”
Cam laughed politely. “Sounds good so far. What are we talking for salary?”
“The salary we discuss is $100,000, plus, say, hourly twenty-five dollars for your assistant.”
Cam was glad Zuberi could not see his face flush; the sum was significantly more than he expected for teaching just two courses. Of course, it was pocket change to Zuberi. Cam reminded himself of the Rule of Two Zeros—when dealing with someone as wealthy as the Egyptian, remove two zeros from the end of every dollar amount. So, for Zuberi, the expenditure of $100,000 compared to buying a new computer for a normal person. Not insignificant, but not life-changing either. “That is generous, thank you. I may ask that some of that be reclassified. For example, I would like to take some of it as a housing stipend, some as a car stipend, some as a life insurance stipend, et cetera, with the payments made directly to third-party vendors.” The less money that ended up in his bank account, the less the government could attempt to garnish.
“I am businessman, Cameron. All of this is play for children. We structure things as you wish.”
“Thanks.” Cam appreciated him not pushing for an explanation.
“But there is one condition: What is saying you Americans have, publish or perish? Carrington and I would like research published. We want to see another book from you. And this will make Brandeis happy also. So salary is half for teaching and other half when book manuscript is complete.”
Cam sensed a loophole. “When my manuscript is complete, or when it is published?”
“Complete. I know you have not control over publisher.”
Cam exhaled. That was fair. It would be a busy year, both teaching and writing, not to mention fighting with the EPA and keeping his law practice afloat. But with Amanda’s help it could be done. He took a deep breath. “I think, Zuberi, that we have a deal.”
“Excellent,” the Egyptian boomed. “And Cameron, I have one more idea.”
“Yes?”
“Maybe you start teaching in summer. Why wait until September? We give you extra twenty-five thousand.”
Cam considered it. The extra money would be welcome. And it might be nice to try out his lesson plan in the summer, when things would be more low-key. “When does summer semester begin?”
“First week June.”
“Would Brandeis be ready for me yet?”
Zuberi chuckled. “They are ready as soon as I write check. I will talk with them.”
The morning mist over the lake had begun to clear as the temperature rose. Cam had no more questions; Zuberi’s terms were both reasonable and generous. “Thank you, Zuberi,” he said. You just saved my ass.
The weeklong Masonic conference was finally winding up. The Spaniard had offered to ride with Randall from the hotel to the airport for his Wednesday morning flight.
The Spaniard’s jowls shook as he slid into the back seat of the sedan next to Randall. He offered a tired smile. “I just received a phone call. Señor Thorne has accepted the position at Brandeis.”
Randall knew better than to ask how they had intercepted the call; the Masons, like any secretive group, operated on a need-to-know basis. “Good. I will continue to cultivate my relationship with him.”
“Yes. Until now you have been giving. Soon it will be time to take.”
“Understood.”
The Spaniard shifted in his seat so he was full face to Randall, large dark bags visible under his eyes. “Brother, there is something else you need to know.” He exhaled, the smell of strong coffee wafting over Randall. “Things are worse even than we believed. ISIS is like a disease, crossing borders and poisoning the populace with its fanatical beliefs. And like most fanatics, it cannot be bargained with or reasoned with or in any way placated.” He sighed again. “Due to ISIS aggression, many of our contacts in the Middle East have either fled or are dead. When we began this operation, Señor Thorne was one of many arrows in our quiver. Now he is one of very few.” He put his hand on Randall’s shoulder. “We need to somehow control Zuberi Youssef. And to do that we need you to somehow control Señor Thorne.”
Cam had greeted Amanda with the good news about Zuberi’s offer when she returned from her morning visit to the gym, then had gone off to the office with a bounce in his step for the first time this week. “My plan is to funnel a chunk of my salary to you as my research assistant,” he said before leaving. “So instead of twenty-five bucks per hour, make it fifty. That, along with your museum job, should give you a high enough income to qualify for a mortgage to buy a new house for us. Maybe we can even figure out a way for you to buy back this one.” The government wouldn’t care, as long as it got its money.
She appreciated the good news, but the thought of delaying the wedding still felt like someone had reached down her throat and scalded her heart with a hot needle. She had tried to remain upbeat while Cam was glum, but the wedding postponement loomed on the horizon of her consciousness like a funnel cloud, threatening to suck her happiness away, break it into a million pieces and scatter it across the countryside. Her reaction, frankly, surprised her—she had never been one of those women who felt her life would be incomplete if she did not marry. But she had fallen in love not only with Cam, but with the idea of finally having a family. Her father had left when she was young, and her mother spent Amanda’s childhood trying to find his replacement, often leaving Amanda home for long stretches with a sitter.
The story of her parents’ marriage was an ugly one, the worst part of which her mother had only recently shared with Amanda. Amanda wasn’t even sure she believed it—it could just as easily have been a tale fabricated by her mother to justify being such a neglectful parent. True or not, the story went that, early in their marriage, before Amanda was born, her parents went on vacation in Marrakech. Late one night they wandered the narrow, winding streets far from their hotel and became lost. They encountered a group of young Dutch tourists who invited them into a candle-lit room to smoke hashish with some Moroccan friends. The hashish mixed with whiskey, one thing led to another, and a few hours later her mother regained consciousness to find an Arab man atop her on the floor while her husband smoked in the far corner of the room. Unable to fight the man off, she succumbed until he finished, then angrily fled. Staggering back to their hotel, her husband at her heels, she turned on him, demanding how he could have allowed the man to rape her. Sheepishly, through bloodshot eyes, he had replied that he feared they were going to do what they wanted in any event, and because of his acquiescence they hadn’t killed them and in fact the Moroccans had given him a week’s supply of hashish and a leather wallet as payment for the use of his wife. Her mother hadn’t divorced him immediately, she claimed, because she had just learned she
was pregnant with Amanda. But the incident had poisoned their marriage. If it was true—a big if—Amanda couldn’t really blame her mother.
In any event, Amanda now had little contact with her mother and none with her father. Marrying Cam would give her not only a husband, but allow them to adopt Astarte as well and then have babies of their own. A family, finally. Now it was all on hold.
And so, in a classic example of hope triumphing over both despair and common sense, she had so far this week procrastinated in notifying the function hall and caterer of the wedding postponement. Another few days should not matter—she had read once that where there is great love there are always miracles. Maybe something miraculous might still come along and save their wedding. She tossed the caterer’s phone number aside.
Amanda showered, washing away both the sweat from her morning workout and the griminess she felt from reflecting on her mother’s Marrakech ordeal. After dressing, she decided to dive back into her Baphomet research. She sat at the kitchen table, fingers on her left hand sliding across the track pad on her laptop while her right hand alternately grasped a cup of coffee and scrawled notes on a legal pad. She had been focusing on the Templar skull they called Baphomet being a continuation of the pagan Cult of the Head worship, and as she read further about the Cult of the Head she in turn found many connections to the Druids.
For example, at an ancient religious site called Roquepertuse in southern France dating to 500 BC, the skulls of the most learned of the Druids had been preserved and placed in niches within arched, Stonehenge-like stone pillars where they were venerated.
Roquepertuse, Provence, France, c. 500 BC
The Druids believed these preserved skulls possessed visionary powers, powers that would help guide and shepherd the living. Amanda smiled, remembering the Druidic trick involving the magnet and the needle: Had these skulls belonged to ancient charlatans who had wowed the villagers with similar parlor tricks?
The Druid belief in the visionary powers of preserved skulls was also reflected in a practice known as ‘death’s head at the feast,’ in which the Druids placed a skull at the dinner table during important feasts. A lit candle was placed inside the skull, giving the skull the light needed to see into the future. These lit skulls, Amanda read, were the precursors to the lit jack-o-lanterns of Halloween.
The Isaac Question: Templars and the Secret of the Old Testament (Templars in America Series Book 5) Page 12
