Amazing guy, thought Lola, watching Hanna, she likes him.
Lola stood up, put her arm around Hanna’s waist and together they walked slowly to the back of the plane. ‘Come, sit with us,’ she said to Jack, pointing to a pair of comfortable leather lounges, ‘and I’ll tell you what sets Isis apart from everybody else.’
Feeling a little dizzy from Hanna’s generous vodka martinis and the scent of her perfume, Jack followed the two women to the back of the plane and sat opposite them. ‘Tell me,’ he said.
‘In the world of Isis and The Time Machine, reality takes on a different dimension,’ said Lola.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Someone in her position can create her own reality. She opens the doors of the imagination through her music and her stage-presence, and she takes her audience with her on an extraordinary journey—’
‘Like a time machine?’ interrupted Jack, a sparkle in his eyes.
‘A bit like that. All her fans have to do is to listen and follow; and millions do. She’s not afraid of being different and she writes all her own material. That’s one of the reasons for her tremendous success.’
‘Is that how you see the world of Isis?’ Jack asked Hanna, who had kicked off her high heel shoes and was snuggling up against Lola on the lounge.
‘I would put it a bit differently,’ Hanna said. ‘The world of Isis is only limited by your imagination.’
‘I’ve never looked at it that way,’ said Lola, ‘but Hanna’s right. Her world has endless possibilities, and at this very moment, we are all part of it.’
Leaning forward, Lola took the swivel stick with the olive still attached out of her martini glass, and then ran it slowly up the inside of Hanna’s thigh, leaving a trail of glistening moisture on her silky skin. Closing her eyes, Hanna moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and, spreading her legs just a little, leant back further.
Lola looked at Jack and smiled. ‘Endless possibilities,’ she said, handing him the swivel stick. Then, turning towards Hanna, she unzipped the front of the young woman’s skirt and began to play with her tiny lace G-string. ‘You can get some sleep, Jack, or you can watch, or you can use your imagination … and join in,’ she whispered, before kissing Hanna ever so gently on the mouth.
Jack woke with a start. He opened his eyes and looked around the cabin. The first thing he saw was his shirt lying on the floor next to his trousers and his shoes. Then it all came back to him. Jesus, he thought, rubbing his aching temples.
Lola and Hanna were sitting at the little dining table, eating breakfast. Noticing that Jack was awake, Lola walked over to him. ‘Welcome to the world of Isis, Jack; imagination and endless possibilities – remember? You seem to have a robust supply of both. Good sleep?’ she asked, handing him an orange juice. ‘We’re about to land; better get dressed.’
15
Calypso was sailing due north, hugging the New South Wales coast on its way to the Great Barrier Reef. An early riser, Macbeth was already at his desk. Lost in thought, he was carefully examining Professor K’s handwritten notes in front of him. The entire little book had been scanned and emailed to the Blackburn laboratories in California for analysis, and Macbeth was anxiously awaiting a phone call from the scientist in charge. If those pages did in fact contain the breakthrough he was hoping for, they could be worth billions.
Macbeth was about to put the book back in the safe when his phone rang. It was the scientist from California. For the next ten minutes, Macbeth listened in silence to what the man had to say, and then slowly put down the phone. Looking out the window, he watched the rugged coastline glide past in the morning mist. Macbeth was used to dealing with the unexpected. In fact, he was at his best in a crisis, and if what the scientist had just told him was true, he was already in the middle of one.
Macbeth reached for Professor K’s notes lying on his desk and slowly turned the pages. The small, spidery handwriting, the neat columns of numbers and strange-looking symbols and diagrams reminded him of Leonardo’s drawings he had admired in the Vatican. The fact that none of it made any sense to him was not surprising. However, the fact it didn’t make any sense to the scientists either, was a bombshell he hadn’t expected. Macbeth closed the book and began to smile as the irony of it all began to sink in. By covering his tracks and tying up a potentially dangerous loose end, he had outwitted himself. The professor’s notes were written in some kind of code. By having disposed of Cavendish, he had most probably silenced the only man who may have been able to help him break it. As the coastline disappeared again in the mist, Macbeth suddenly realised that this wasn’t necessarily so. The professor had appointed a successor just before he died. If his notes did in fact hold the key to his discovery, which seemed more than likely, then his successor had to be able to read them. Of course, that’s it! thought Macbeth. That’s why he appointed a former colleague and trusted friend instead of Cavendish.
Feeling better, Macbeth rang for Carlotta. ‘What have you found out about Dr Delacroix, the genomics expert?’ he asked.
‘Quite a bit,’ said Carlotta. ‘She’s a prominent epigeneticist; high-profile. A lot has been written about her, mainly in scientific journals. We even have a recent photograph of her. I’ll get my notes.’
‘Please do that.’
For the next two hours, Macbeth locked himself into his stateroom with Van Cleef. He was formulating a plan. Calypso had already changed course and was steaming back towards Sydney; a simple phone call to the Gordon Institute had told him all he needed to know: Dr Delacroix had already taken up her position and was working at the institute.
As usual, Van Cleef didn’t blink an eye when Macbeth outlined his daring plan. On the contrary, he came up with excellent strategic and tactical suggestions to make it work. Nothing seemed to faze him. ‘Once again, timing is critical,’ said Macbeth, playing with the two small steel balls in the palm of his hand, a nervous habit that helped him think. In a strange way, it compensated for his lack of mobility. ‘And I don’t have to tell you that nothing must link us to what we are about to do.’
‘I understand,’ said Van Cleef, feeling elated. His boss’ plan had all the hallmarks of a military operation Van Cleef thrived upon: dangerous, challenging, and rewarding in a way no one but a professional soldier would understand. Macbeth could sense the excitement in Van Cleef. He’s like a pit-bull, straining at the leash, thought Macbeth. I would hate to stand in his way. ‘Any questions?’ he asked.
‘Not at the moment.’
‘Thank you, Jan, that will be all. Keep me informed.’
‘Yes sir,’ said Van Cleef, gathering up his notes.
Dr Delacroix is in for a little surprise, thought Macbeth, watching Van Cleef leave the room. He felt like a falconer who had just released his favourite hunting bird. He could already see it circling above, searching for its unsuspecting prey with deadly talons exposed, ready to strike. Like Van Cleef, Macbeth also thrived on danger and a challenge, except that in his case, all the action was in his mind.
Alexandra left the institute and decided to walk home rather than catch a taxi. Jack had shown her a shortcut through the beautiful Botanic Gardens. The extraordinary encounter with Lola the night before was still a blur. Everything had happened so fast. Alexandra had never met a man like Jack before. Within the hour, he had packed his duffel bag, given her the keys to his apartment and left for the airport with Lola. In a strange way, she missed him already.
Alexandra’s second day at work had been a little better. Looking for clues about Professor K’s discovery, she had spent the whole day poring over his institute records. Unfortunately, there was nothing there to suggest a breakthrough. However, Professor K had never been one to exaggerate. It has to be in his notes, she thought. He would have tried to write everything down before he died. Damn!
At first, Alexandra didn’t notice the man following her. It wasn’t until he was walking alongside her that she quickly looked at him. Tall, athletic, with a backpac
k casually slung over his shoulder and wearing a small straw hat and dark glasses, he looked like a tourist. ‘Nice day at the institute, Dr Delacroix?’ said the man without breaking his stride.
Alexandra stopped and looked at him, surprised. ‘Have we met?’ she asked.
‘Not yet,’ said the man, smiling. ‘Please listen carefully; this is how it’ll work.’
‘What do you mean?’ Alexandra was about to turn away and keep walking, when the man grabbed her hand, holding it like a vice.
Van Cleef knew that the next thirty seconds were critical. ‘If you scream, or try to run away, I’ll kill you. Please believe me; I’ve done it before,’ he said. ‘Is this a gun in my pocket here?’ he continued, placing her hand on his hip. ‘What do you think?’ Alexandra could feel something hard like steel. ‘I carry a flick-knife in the other pocket, but you have to take my word for it. If you don’t want to end up in a fish tank like Dr Cavendish, you will do exactly as I tell you. Clear so far?’
Frightened and confused, Alexandra looked around. There was no one nearby she could see. What she couldn’t have known, however, was that two of Van Cleef’s men were in fact just behind her, ready to assist Van Cleef if necessary. Her instincts and a quick assessment of the situation told her that the best option, at least for the moment, was to cooperate. This is no crank, she thought, her mind racing. He knows who I am, and he knows about Cavendish. The man radiated danger. ‘What do you want?’ she asked, her voice sounding hoarse.
‘I can see we’ll get on famously,’ said the man, beginning to walk, but without letting go of her hand. ‘For now, we are two friends strolling through the park. Try to look relaxed, and I’ll tell you what I want you to do. If you do exactly as I say, you will not be harmed. Believe me, you are worth a lot more to me alive than dead. However, if you try something foolish, well, you already know the answer, don’t you?’ Alexandra nodded, but said nothing.
‘Smile and wave to the concierge,’ said Van Cleef, opening the door to the foyer of Jack’s apartment block. Walking arm in arm, they passed the front desk on their way to the lifts. The concierge was busy on the phone and didn’t even look up. ‘I will kiss you now. Don’t pull away, and try to look as if you enjoy it,’ said Van Cleef as the lift doors opened. Going up in the lift, Van Cleef kissed Alexandra on the back of the neck like a lover, aware of the CCTV camera’s searching eye above them. ‘Not bad,’ he whispered, impressed by Alexandra’s self-control, ‘for someone whose entire life has just changed,’ he added. ‘You’ll get through this, but only if you’re strong and follow instructions … ’
I mustn’t underestimate this man, thought Alexandra, standing quite still. Just then, the lift doors opened.
‘Now, let’s go inside and start packing, shall we?’ said the blond man.
‘Packing? Why?’
‘Because you and I are going on a little journey. Why should Mr Rogan have all the fun – eh?’
16
Landing in Mexico City was a nightmare. They had to go into a holding pattern circling the city for more than an hour and wait their turn. Apparently, an American dignitary had just arrived, and the whole airport was in some kind of lockdown. When they finally touched down and were directed to taxi to a quiet corner far away from the terminal, the first rays of the morning sun were waking the ‘city of palaces’ built on top of the Aztec ruins of ancient Tenochtitlan.
‘Welcome to Mexico City,’ said the customs officer waiting for them on the tarmac. ‘We’ve been expecting you.’ When Lola replied in fluent Spanish and held up her passport, all formalities appeared to have been brushed aside, and they were ushered to a black Land Rover.
‘Normally, Isis stays with the crew in one of the main hotels close to the stadium, but not this time. She’s staying with … a friend,’ said Lola. ‘That’s where we are going.’
‘A friend?’ asked Jack, watching the morning traffic choking the city with noise, frustration and toxic pollution so dense it made your eyes water.
‘Yes, a close one. And her house … well that’s something else. Not long now; we’re almost there.’
The only thing visible from the busy road was an elaborate wrought iron gate, which opened all by itself as soon as they pulled into the driveway. Everything else was concealed behind high walls and lush, jungle-like vegetation. Jack noticed several CCTV cameras mounted on poles, watching them from above like birds of prey lining up for the kill. A security guard dressed in battle fatigues appeared out of nowhere and pointed to a wide garage door that also opened automatically as they approached.
‘Most of the house is underground,’ said Hanna, getting out of the car. She saw Jack looking at a rock wall lit up by spotlights at the back of the garage – huge, polished blocks of stone, irregular in shape, but fitting together so perfectly that it would have been impossible to push a razorblade between the blocks resting on top of each other.
‘Aztec ruins?’ Jack queried, running the tips of his fingers along the smooth surface of the polished stone.
‘Yes. Tenochtitlan; what’s left of it after the Spanish invaders razed it.’
‘Amazing.’
‘You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,’ joked Lola. She pointed to a glass lift at the far end of the huge underground garage. ‘Come; let me show you the rest.’
Set into the side of a small hill, the house was built directly on top of the ruins of an Aztec temple. The clever architecture incorporated the features of the ruins into the modern structure without altering, or in any way destroying their integrity. No restoration of any kind had been carried out. Ingenious glass panels and concealed lighting gave the house a surreal, almost stage-like appearance with stairways and corridors leading in all directions.
‘The only thing missing are the high-priests,’ said Jack, following Hanna into the lift. ‘And the chanting of the faithful cowering before cruel gods expecting blood.’
‘That may change,’ said Lola, laughing.
‘Is this a warning?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Here we are,’ said Lola as the lift doors opened to reveal a large, cave-like chamber without windows.
Jack followed Hanna and Lola out of the lift and gasped. The huge room that had once been part of the temple forecourt was entirely lit by candles, sending crazy shadows dancing across the stone floor and conjuring up images of chanting priests and bloody sacrifices. Standing in niches cut into the stone walls, frightening looking gods – precious pre-Columbian artefacts – were staring disapprovingly, thought Jack, at him. It reminded Jack of another eerie place he had visited not long ago; the crypt where he had first met Cassandra and the enigmatic Wizard. However, here something was quite different and unexpected – the music.
‘That’s Isis,’ said Hanna, pointing to the stunning woman standing in a pale circle of light.
‘She’s listening to baroque music? In this place?’ said Jack, surprised.
‘Lola was right; you’re definitely a B&B.’
‘Come, let me introduce you,’ Lola said, as they approached.
‘Superb,’ said Isis, holding up an elaborate, helmet-like headdress made entirely out of multi-coloured feathers.
‘Here, let me help you,’ said her elderly, French dress designer, hovering like a protective crow over his creation. It was a perfect fit. Isis looked at herself in the mirror and nodded. ‘Magnifique!’
Dressed head to toe in a tight-fitting costume inspired by the elaborate ceremonial cloaks and headdresses worn by Aztec priests, Isis looked like a goddess. Following the contours of her athletic body, the feathers and glass beads shimmered like precious stones in the candlelight.
Lola hurried across to Isis and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘He’s here,’ she whispered.
Isis took off her headdress, handed it to her designer fussing next to her and walked slowly towards Jack. She’s much older, thought Jack, watching the tall woman come closer. The woman stopped in front of him, and for what seemed an eternity, just looked at him drea
mily.
He’s much younger, thought Isis, holding out her hand, and very good looking. ‘Thank you for coming. Do you like the costume?’ They shook hands.
‘It’s spectacular,’ said Jack, a little taken aback by the unexpected question. ‘Dress rehearsal?’
Isis smiled. ‘Something like that. We are preparing for the highlight of our tour. Spectacular, you say? Good. You are the first one to see my new stage attire.’
‘You like Bach? This is one of his solo cantatas – ‘Ich will den Kreuzstab gerne tragen’ – if I’m not mistaken.’
This guy’s good, thought Isis. ‘This may surprise you, but a lot of my music is based on classical principles,’ she said. ‘I listen to classical music all the time and try to learn from the masters.’
‘It reminds me of Huitzilopochtli.’
‘What does?’
‘Your costume.’
It was Isis’ turn to look surprised. ‘Did you hear that, Jean-Paul?’ said Isis, looking over her shoulder at her dress designer. ‘Right again; that’s exactly what it’s modelled on. The Aztec god of war, sun and human sacrifice. And he was also the patron of Tenochtitlan, the ruins of which are all around us. And you, Mr Rogan are full of surprises.’
She wants to play cat and mouse, thought Jack. All right by me. ‘And so are you,’ he retorted, enjoying himself.
More than you can possibly imagine, thought Isis. ‘Music, art and history all in one breath? I can already see we’ll get on famously,’ said Isis. ‘Come, let’s sit, and I’ll tell you why I’ve invited you to come here.’ Isis looked at Lola and shook her head. ‘But only you,’ she added quietly.
Realising they had been dismissed, Lola, Hanna and the ageing dress designer discreetly left the chamber.
‘Let me show you something I know you’ll find interesting,’ said Isis. She took Jack by the arm and guided him towards the middle of the chamber. ‘Here … do you know what this is?’
Jack looked at the exquisitely carved circular stone relief set into the floor. ‘The Coyolxauhqui stone?’ ventured Jack after a while.
The Hidden Genes of Professor K Page 9
