by Ed Kovacs
“It would have been easier to have shot him and that bitch, instead of blowing up half the desert. Then we’d have bodies... and closure.”
“There’s no such thing as closure, Mister Pratt. The game continues, only the players change. As for Simon Forte, unless that potion he drank turned him into an earthworm, he won’t be going anywhere soon.”
Klaymen’s real reason to destroy the secret chamber of Hui was to eradicate any trace or proof of its existence. The whole issue could now never rise above the label of myth.
Nina watched raptly as the general reached into the black bag and withdrew a handheld digital scanner. It functioned like a normal handheld scanner / copier, except no hard copy printed out. The encrypted digitized information automatically transmitted itself to an NSA satellite. Klaymen had already received the entire contents of Hui’s Book of Spells, beamed to him while Forte and Bailey danced the tango at the Mena House. However, neither Pratt nor anyone else knew that.
“Sure you got every page?” asked Klaymen, removing an SD card from the from the device.
“Every stupid page. Go ahead and check if you don’t believe me.”
“That won’t be necessary.” The General reinserted the memory stick, then nodded toward a book on the table.
Pratt chuckled as he opened it. The guts of the book were cut out and two high capacity external hard drives containing valuable information from Athanor databases were nestled into the cutouts.
“Parlay the data on these hard drives right, and in a few years you could be the next Simon Forte,” said Klaymen.
“Minus the unhappy ending, I hope.”
“We’ll see. Shall we, darling?” With that, General Klaymen and Nina Sprague stood and strolled off with the black bag onto the piazza.
###
A pine log popped in the fireplace as amber light bathed the study's high-ceiling with a cheery warmth. Thousands of books rested on custom mahogany shelving. Fine paintings and sculpture were artfully displayed and lit. Exquisite jewelry and artifacts from dozens of cultures wowed the eye wherever one looked. The room was a treasure trove, literally, of looted loot. Yet as one of the SW’s secret libraries, it remained very much a working room with Italianate desks, ivory inlaid oak index card files, and computers recessed discreetly into cabinets.
General Klaymen entered holding the black medical bag and a bottle of Cristal. Nina followed with two long-stemmed Swarovski crystal champagne goblets. “It’s been a long road, but the custodianship of the Book of Spells, or at least its information, has finally returned to its rightful place.” He set the black bag on a marble-topped desk, then went to work gently easing the cork from the bottle.
“I’m sorry you paid such a heavy price to make it happen, Kurt. I know your son refused to meet me, that he still held out hope of you reuniting with your ex-wife, but I’m terribly sorry that I never got to know Todd.”
“We’ve all paid a price, Nina. I certainly couldn’t have done it without you. But you’re right, it’s a bittersweet moment at best.” The cork free, he filled their glasses with bubbly effervescence. “To endings, and new beginnings.”
They drank, then from behind them, the loud pop of a champagne cork exploding from a bottle caused them to spin around.
“I’ll drink to that.” Sky Wilder took a sip straight from the bottle as he strode into the room. “So, mystery woman, we meet again.”
Nina, a trained professional, barely registered shock, and recovered quickly. “Good evening, Doctor. You’re looking well.”
“Wilder, you never cease to impress me! Where’s Captain Hunt?” said Klaymen, sounding genuinely glad to see him.
“I’ll ask the questions, if you don’t mind.” Sky kept his distance as he angled into the room. “Nice place you have here. You seem quite at home amongst all this art stolen by the Nazis.”
“As I explained to you in Arizona, this place belonged to Simon Forte. I took possession twenty-four hours ago and haven’t had time to redecorate.”
“Yeah, you’ve been a busy boy, what with blowing up Hui’s temple while I was inside with your officer. That was some extreme redecorating you did down there, which tells me you had already copied the Book of Spells, or you made a switch.”
“Copied. That’s what’s in the black bag.”
As Nina made a slight move toward a desk, Sky stopped her with his voice, “Don’t... do that, ma’am.”
Klaymen drained his glass. “I didn’t know you or Captain Hunt would be in that chamber. How could I know that? I found out after the fact, and until just now, I assumed you were dead.”
“I’ve come to believe you’re a deceitful man,” said Wilder.
“That may be true, but I didn’t deceive you or Hunt. I did for you exactly what I said I would and sincerely wanted you to stop Forte.”
“You sent us on a suicide mission. The only thing you hoped for was the Book of Spells.”
“I didn’t hope for the Book of Spells, hope is for second-place finishers. I intended to have it, regardless of what it took.”
“Your semantics don’t interest me, General. What interests me in this room is the massive amount of research conducted in the last sixty years on Hui, the WOR, the Ronhaar family... documents, interviews, official records, photographs. Meticulous, painstaking research notes, much of it logged by hand in ledgers over many decades. Duly translated into English now, and computerized, but originally logged by hand... in German.” Sky turned to Nina. “What did you say your name was again, ma’am?”
“I’m Nina Sprague, and I’m Swiss,” she said disdainfully. “Kurt, how much longer are you going to—”
“Carl Rockow, former SS colonel and son of the powerful German industrialist, died in 1962. Interestingly, most of the important research took place after that. The handwriting of the main researcher is a woman’s. And...” Sky removed a Swiss passport that had been tucked into his pants, “...it seems to match the handwriting on your passport and luggage tags that I found in the bedroom. But it’s the fingerprint match that really nails you, Nina. Or should I say Gretchen. Gretchen Mueller by marriage, Gretchen Rockow by birth, the only child of SS Colonel Carl Rockow, a card-carrying member of the SW, who pillaged the sacred objects of secret societies in the Netherlands and elsewhere during World War Two. I’m not talking fringe theory here, I’m talking historical fact.”
Gretchen executed a perfect tuck-and-roll, retrieved a Walther PPK from an ankle holster and leveled the pistol at Wilder. “Sitzen Sie sich hin, Herr Doktor!”
“Ja, fraulien.” Sky sat, as ordered, and Gretchen pivoted the weapon to cover both men.
“Gretchen, please don’t shoot, I’m just going to pour myself some more champagne.” Klaymen moved his hand very slowly and refilled his glass.
“Why do you call me Gretchen?!”
“Because it’s your name,” said Klaymen matter-of-fact. “Having grown up in Geneva’s high society, you were recruited by the Stasi at age eighteen. You excelled at espionage and leading double, triple, even quadruple lives. Your transformation from blue-eyed blonde rich bitch Gretchen, a sixtyish divorcee worth over five billion Euros, to a rather Bohemian, hazel-eyed, forty-something brunette of humble means called Nina is quite amazing. You were outed to us five years ago by an ex-Stasi agent. We knew you were SW long before you infiltrated the WOR and became my lover. Honestly, the hubris of the wealthy never ceases to amaze me.”
She pointed the gun at Klaymen. “Hubris?!” she said contemptuously. “I dedicated my life to the service of my beliefs and to fulfilling my father’s dying wish to obtain what he could not. I don’t simply toy with the occult, like some fashionable cocktail conversation. I live it. The black arts of sorcery as well as espionage are who I am, they’re in my genetics. It’s not hubris to acknowledge the power I’ve derived from them. After all, I’m the one walking out of here with the Book of Spells, not Sky Wilder or Kurt Klaymen. As for Simon Forte, he never figured out it was I who fed him almost every
thing he ever obtained about Hui. And I’ve forgotten more about black magic than Forte ever knew.” She grabbed the black bag and edged toward the hallway.
“You’re not going anywhere, Gretchen.”
“Au contraire, my agents are waiting outside.”
“They’re in custody, darling. And Captain Hunt, wherever she’s hiding, no doubt has a gun aimed at your head. Although,” he said, glancing at his chronograph, “at this point, that’s not really necessary.”
Almost as if on cue, Gretchen’s throat constricted as her arms went limp and the gun clattered harmlessly to the floor. She dropped the black bag as her face contorted into a mask of disbelief. As she swayed for balance, she turned on Klaymen with a blistering hate, eyes like rusty razors, struggling to unleash the last ounce of venom from a vicious soul upon her conqueror. She fought mightily to form the words of a curse, a hex for all eternity from her dark repertoire, but failed as her eyes rolled up into her skull. Unlike most poisons, this nameless one, synthesized from a plant found only in Southern Cambodia, didn’t prolong the agony, and she was dead before her body hit the marble floor.
Holding a nine-millimeter, Diana emerged from behind a shelf of books in an alcove, then crossed to Sky as he retrieved Gretchen’s gun.
Klaymen lifted his glass in the direction of his lover’s corpse. “To endings.”
“You poisoned her.” Diana didn’t holster the weapon as she looked at Klaymen.
“Hell, yes. I wouldn’t have lived through the night because of what she thought was in that black bag. If you think she wouldn’t have capped us all, think again.”
“All for a formula that couldn’t possibly work.”
“Desperate people will do outrageous things. Gretchen didn’t want to get old. After what happened to her father, after devoting her life to finding the formula and to the occult, she couldn’t conceive of it not working.” Klaymen finished his champagne. “There’s a cleaner team on the way to pick up the body, and the contents of the Book of Spells is in safe keeping, far away from here. End of the story.”
“Not so fast. Whose safe keeping are we talking about?” Sky asked pointedly. “Somehow I don’t think it’s in official American custody, is it?”
Klaymen simply stared, his eyes narrowing.
“There’s a whole lot about you that’s, shall we say, ‘extra-legal,’ isn’t that right General?”
“Where are you going with this, because it’s been a long day.”
“I’m thinking that all this art, these artifacts need to be returned to their rightful owners. At the very least, they can be donated to Holocaust museums and organizations. And the information in the databases here, the ancient texts, these all should be made public.” Sky took another swig right from the bottle. “Because I have no use for covert groups that don’t like to share.”
“I should mention, sir,” said Diana, politely, “that we took the precaution of planting listening devices that have been transmitting everything said in this room to a secure location.”
Klaymen closed his eyes for a moment as he tapped his chin. He then looked at Sky, smiled, and even allowed himself a chuckle. “Know what I think? I think you’re one helluva field operative, Wilder. I already knew you were, Hunt.” Klaymen stood. “I told you already, I try to be one of the good guys.” He strode purposefully toward the door, then turned back. “Better think of a good name for your new library.”
“General, one more thing. The shem-an-na?”
“Why doctor, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
EPILOGUE
The heavy pontoon boat bobbed ever so gently on the green water of Lake Powell as the succulent aroma of grilled meat hung in the still air.
“I tell you, she’s part fish.” Frank Bacavi poured some beer over the burgers sizzling on the grill as he stood on the rear deck and glanced out at Diana, who butterflied through the pure water toward the boat.
“What does that make a couple of cavers like you and me? Slugs?” said Wilder, nursing a very dry Kettle One martini.
“Hey, Hop-along, it’s not wise to insult the chef.”
Sky helped Diana out of the water and handed her a beer as she toweled off.
“That smells good, Frank. I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.”
“Horse burgers coming up!” said Frank, flipping the patties. “So, you guys never told me, did that guy Forte... you know, did it work? Did his body become immortal?”
“Considering where we left him... we can hope. We can only hope.”
###
Sky and Diana stood on the bow, arms wrapped around each other as the golden fingers of dusk brushed the rock-walled narrows.
“If I was a royal scribe-cum-grave robber who knew Hui, I must have known Pharaoh Ramses the Third, right?”
“Right,” said Diana.
“So who is Ramses now? According to your remote viewing of the whole deal.”
“I don’t get that he’s in a body now.”
“So you were... you weren’t my wife, were you?”
“No.” Diana sighed deeply. “I think I was one of the ladies of the court who plotted to overthrow the pharaoh. I guess that explains why I gravitated to such an intrigue-filled career.”
“And why you helped engineer the overthrow of Simon Forte?” She just grinned. “But we knew each other, correct?” Sky pressed.
“I’m sure we were lovers. I think I loved you deeply, but you were married, and a cad. And when I tried to recruit you into the plot, you turned us all in and saved the pharaoh.”
“So you were executed?”
“Maybe. Or maybe I was one of the two women who escaped to Tyre with Hui.”
Sky laughed. “Be something if this was true, wouldn’t it?”
She gave him a look that said she thought it was all true.
“So what about Hui? In your scheme of things, you’d probably say he was Simon Forte, right?”
“I don’t think so, I think Forte had been an apprentice to Hui who got left holding the bag back in Egypt.”
“So what do you see when you look for Hui today, you think he’s around?”
Diana smiled tightly. She had RV’d this very question. Twice. It connected to her earlier certainty that stopping Forte was only part of something much larger, something cloaked from her sight.
“I think we’ve all learned many lessons. We’re not the same people we were before, that’s the point.”
“You’re right about that.”
At both RV sessions she’d gotten physically ill, and could not see faces, Hui had enough power to keep that hidden. She then asked to see a representation, and the image that came sharp as a DVD was of a group in Europe, all in military and police uniforms of different nations, sitting around a table. The tall, slender leader wore the uniform of a United States army major-general.
ABOUT ED KOVACS
Ed Kovacs is the author of the critically-acclaimed Cliff St. James mystery / crime series. Ed has studied martial arts, holds many weapons-related licenses, certifications and permits, and is a certified medical First Responder. Using various pen names, he has worked professionally around the world as a screenwriter, journalist, and media consultant. He is a member of the Association of Former Intelligence Officers, American Legion Post 299, the International Thriller Writers association, and Mystery Writers of America.
Mr. Kovacs graduated from Southern Illinois University, having paid his tuition by working in a steel mill, driving a truck, and spinning records as a late-night jazz DJ on local radio. He splits his time between his aircraft hanger home at a Southern California airport, and his home in Asia.
Please visit his Website at http://www.edkovacs.com. Follow him on Facebook and on Twitter.
COPYRIGHT
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coi
ncidental.
PRINTING HISTORY
First edition: Ardelyan Press trade paperback edition / November 2004
ISBN-10: 0-9762097-0-5 (trade paperback)
ISBN-13: 978-0976209706 (trade paperback)
Second edition: The Phoenix Group, revised e-book edition / June 2016
ISBN: 978-0-9976788-0-2 (e-book edition)
UNSEEN FORCES, Copyright © 2004 by Ed Kovacs
All rights reserved. For information, contact the author at [email protected].
All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to other people. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author's rights. Copyright infringement is against the law. Please respect the work of the author and publisher and purchase only authorized editions.
Cover design by Brion Sausser
Photo of Ed Kovacs © Neungreuthai Chanphonsean
