The Atlantis Stone

by Nick Hawkes

  Felicity bit her lip. “I…I suppose so.” She looked up at him and prodded him on the shoulder. “If I do this, I demand a succession of excellent pizzas and irresponsible amounts of red wine tonight as compensation.”

  Benjamin kissed her on the cheek. “Anything else?”

  “Yes but you’ll have to work that out for yourself.”

  “Hmm.”

  Archie stood up. “Let’s do it.”

  Felicity led them through the gate in the cyclone fence, spoke briefly to the young archaeologists, and walked over to the retaining wall. She beckoned Benjamin and Archie to follow her. The archaeologists sat back on their haunches and watched for a few seconds before continuing their work.

  Benjamin pulled the spare panel of fencing across the buttress, ostensibly to gain access to the wall behind it. Then he strolled over to the corner of the site, where he pulled the pile of hessian away and looked around, apparently bewildered, before hefting it over the top of the fencing panel. He beckoned Archie across and pointing to the space where the hessian had been.

  Archie whispered, “Thanks mate,” and made a pretense of passing the scanner over the area.

  Benjamin nodded. It would only take Archie a few seconds to spread the hessian out like a curtain and be invisible to the public. Please God, let this work.

  Archie stood up and returned his attention to the retaining wall.

  Benjamin watched him work his way along the stonework until he came to the buttress, where he took particular care to scan the stones at its base. When he had finished, he stood up, stretched extravagantly, and pointed to the gate.

  Felicity waved her thanks to the archaeologists and followed Archie through the gate. “Ciao.”

  They waved back.

  The three of them had no chance to talk. Archie pointed up the laneway. “Back to the hotel.”

  Benjamin could feel Felicity’s excitement as she hung onto his arm. She was trying not to skip.

  Once they were alone in the lift and on their way up to the top floor, she demanded, “Well?”

  Archie smiled. “It’s there, Flick. I could see it on the display panel as soon as I started to scan it.”

  Felicity gave a squeal of delight and clapped her hands together. The lift bounced as she jumped up and down.

  Archie laughed and tried to stop himself from being strangled as Felicity hugged him. “Well done, Flick. You were right.”

  When they got into their apartment, Benjamin pulled out a bottle of limoncello from the fridge. He’d bought it after the waiter suggested it as a digestivo the previous night. Unlike the wine, he had enjoyed it. “I think a celebration is in order.”

  “You bet, buddy,” said Felicity as she pored over the images being played back on the scanner’s display. “There it is!” she squealed. “Look.”

  Benjamin peered over her shoulder. A clear picture of a cavity could be seen inside the elephant, just in from where the tail would normally be. What was equally exciting was that a long cylinder was visible inside it.

  Archie sat back. “Flick, I think we’d better chat about what happens now. Would you be okay with not going to the authorities with this information until we’re back in Australia? It would simplify matters and avoid the risk of our being caught up in any investigations.” He shrugged. “Whilst we may not have broken any rules, we’ve certainly bent a few.”

  Felicity twisted around and accepted a glass of limoncello from Benjamin. “If you think that’s wise—okay.”

  Felicity was always grateful to finally be seated on a plane. It was the sense she had that all the waiting, the queues, and the worry were over. She grabbed Benjamin’s arm and sighed contentedly.

  Archie took his place in the third seat by the aisle. As he sat down, he poked a thin ivory canister into the seat pocket in front of him.

  “What’s that?” asked Felicity, only slightly interested.

  “A souvenir. Got it yesterday afternoon. Quite old, I think.”

  A dreadful suspicion began to cross her mind. “You…you’ve not got the treaty, have you? Tell me you haven’t. That’s…” She struggled to find the words. “That’s theft of national artifacts. There are all sorts of rules…”

  “…and red tape,” finished Archie. He rolled the matchstick in his mouth to one side and said, “Relax. There’s no treaty in the cylinder.”

  Felicity leaned back against the seat. “That’s good, then.”

  “It’s rolled up in the newspaper in the seat pocket in front of Ben.” Archie closed his eyes. “I couldn’t do twelve across. What’s a Latin fig?”

  Chapter 16

  Benjamin could see that Felicity was not in a good mental state as they collected the ute from the long stay car park. On the flight, she’d been terribly conflicted. One moment, she was holding his hand and resting her head on his shoulder, apparently very much at peace…and in the next, she was reaching out to touch the rolled up newspaper in front of Benjamin as if to confirm what was happening was real. Felicity had unrolled it just once to check that the precious document inside it was safe. It was—sort of. Safe, he conceded, was probably too ambitious a word. The treaty was brown, brittle, and fragile. Benjamin thought it would have about as much chance of being unwound as a waffle cone.

  Felicity had grilled Archie about it repeatedly until he’d closed his eyes and refused to engage. He’d said that it was highly likely it would escape scrutiny at Melbourne’s Tullamarine Airport, but if it were discovered, a phone call to Marjorie would sort things out. After all, the Australian government should be very pleased to have it.

  Before they exited the airport terminal, Felicity insisted on going into the toilet, where she reinserted the treaty into its ivory canister for safekeeping. Once she was back in the ute, squeezed between Benjamin and Archie, she brooked no argument. She slapped the console in front of her. “This document has got to go to a cold, dry place where we know it’s going to be safe from physical damage…and safe from developing mold. It needs to go to a friend of mine at the Melbourne Museum. So, that’s got to be our first port of call.”

  “Um…shouldn’t we head over to Warringal Private Hospital first and chat with Marjorie? There are probably all sorts of protocols and permissions that will require her diplomacy.” Benjamin shrugged. “And we haven’t even confirmed that it actually is the treaty.”

  “Precisely my point,” insisted Felicity. “I don’t want a bunch of ignorant policemen storing it on a shelf under a brick used to break a jeweler’s window.”

  Archie felt compelled to object. “I think ASIO can be relied on to take a little more care than that.”

  But Felicity remained adamant and pointed ahead. “The museum. Drop me there and pick me up when you’ve seen Marjorie.”

  It was the morning rush hour, and the traffic was horrendous. Benjamin drove into the city along the M2 as far as Flemington, where he took the slip road off the motorway. He wound his way around Melbourne University and joined the Eastern Freeway.

  Felicity looked glumly at the traffic. “Look, just drop me off at Nicholson. I’ll hop a tram down to the museum. It’s just a kilometer straight down the road. You can keep going and head up Heidelberg to the hospital.”

  Archie pursed his lips and thought about it. “I suppose it’s okay,” he said eventually.

  Benjamin incurred some indignant toots from drivers as he dropped Felicity off near the busy intersection. She grabbed her trolley bag containing the precious ivory cylinder from the back of the ute, waved goodbye, and headed off to the tram stop.

  Benjamin loved watching her walk but not walking away. He experienced a sense of desolation watching her go…and a gnawing sense of anxiety.

  Half an hour later, he was driving along the front of the Mercy Hospital for Women. It was a massive white edifice with a sloping gray and orange-pillared portico. He felt as if a child had been playing with giant colored blocks and left them in a rather untidy pattern. The Warringal Private Hospital on the other si
de of the road was an altogether more humble affair.

  They found Marjorie in a private room. Benjamin was shocked. She looked pale and jaundiced. Tubes filtered down to her from various machines.

  She smiled weakly and raised a hand in welcome as Benjamin and Archie came in and drew up chairs beside the bed. Phoebe was seated in an armchair on the other side of the bed, knitting.

  Archie took over the conversation and gave a summary of all that had occurred in Sardinia.

  When he finished, Marjorie settled her head back on her pillow and said, “Bravo. You’ve all done exceptionally well.” She turned to Phoebe, who had continued knitting throughout Archie’s report. “What do you suggest, Phoebe? Things are little complicated diplomatically.”

  Phoebe kept her eyes on her knitting, “A few discreet inquiries are in order. If what you have is indeed the other copy of the treaty, the state and federal government will have all they need to forestall any legal claims by the Khayef Group to be exempt from paying mining tax. However, the document officially belongs to Italy.”

  Clickety-clack, clickety-clack…knit one, purl one.

  Phoebe continued. “I suspect the document may well end up residing in some safe place in Australia and only be viewed by legal teams when occasion demands. I’ll put a call through to the museum to ensure the document remains in safe hands until we know its status.” She looked over her knitting at them. “Felicity is probably right to take it there. They will know how to care for it best.”

  The hospital machines blinked and beeped in the silence.

  Benjamin reached out and took hold of Marjorie’s hand. “And how are you feeling?”

  “You have all made me feel much better.”

  “But how are you feeling physically.”

  “It is an irrelevance—although, I concede, I don’t have as much time to fiddle about and be pathetic as I once thought.”

  Phoebe blew out her cheeks and snorted. “You’ve never just fiddled about or been pathetic in your life.”

  Benjamin glanced at both women. There was real love between them, one that he didn’t understand. It may not be sexual, but it was certainly there. Life and love…both were bewildering things. He cleared his throat. “Er, do you still want me to make you a box for your tapestry paraphernalia?”

  Marjorie squeezed his hand. “Of course, dear. It represents hope.”

  Benjamin nodded and allowed his thoughts to turn to Felicity. He excused himself, walked over to the corner of the room, and called her. He furrowed his brow as he heard the recorded refrain: The mobile phone with the number you have called is currently switched off. Please call again later. Benjamin was puzzled. He looked up the number of the museum and put a call through to the information desk.

  “Oh, hi,” he said when the phone was answered. “I’m calling to ask about Felicity Anderson, or Felicity Mercurio as she was once known. She used to work at the museum. She would have checked in at the information desk and is probably with you now. Can I please speak with her?”

  “Hang on a moment, sir, and I’ll check. May I ask who you are?”

  “I’m Benjamin Bidjara, Felicity’s boyfriend.”

  “Oh, right. Well, I can tell you that no Felicity Anderson or Mercurio has signed in, but I think we have a note for you. Hang on one moment.” There was a brief pause. “Are you there, sir?”

  “Yes.” A wave of apprehension began to wash over him. “Still here.”

  “Yes sir, we have a note for you, left here by a young boy.”

  “What?” None of what he was hearing made any sense.

  When no more information was forthcoming, Benjamin thanked the receptionist and rang off. He turned to Archie. “Mate, I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Felicity hasn’t been seen at the information desk…and evidently she’s organized for a note to be left for us. We’d better go.”

  Archie nodded and stood up.

  Marjorie’s brow furrowed with concern and held out a hand toward them. “Let me know what has happened the instant you learn anything.”

  Phoebe glanced up from her knitting. “Come back here if you are uncertain about anything and we’ll talk options.”

  Archie nodded.

  Benjamin gave Marjorie’s hand a squeeze and followed Archie out the door.

  Benjamin burrowed his way through the traffic on Nicholson Street toward Carlton Gardens, where the Melbourne Museum was located. Up ahead, he could see some giant signs—all angled, and white writing on a gray sloping wall saying: ‘Melbourne Museum.’ It too was angled. The uncharitable thought flashed through his mind that Melbournians seemed incapable of building anything that wasn’t crooked.

  He swung into a museum service road and parked in a loading bay, trusting that the ute’s grubby tray top would give the illusion he was there on business.

  Both he and Archie strode along a walkway under a long, sloping plaza roof to the museum entrance. Benjamin saw that a twin plaza roof extended toward the entrance from the other direction. To the left was the stolid form of the Royal Exhibition building. It looked more like a cathedral with its Gothic Victorian architecture and domed central tower, and was in stark contrast to the modern glass façade of the museum.

  They pushed through the museum doors and headed to the information booth directly in front of them. Benjamin leaned over the counter, and a woman smiled politely up at him.

  “Hello. My name is Benjamin Bidjara.” He flashed open his wallet and showed his driving license. “I understand you have a message for me from Felicity Mercurio who used to work here.”

  “Ah, yes sir. You called half an hour ago.” She fished under the counter and pulled out a white business envelope. “Here it is.”

  Benjamin murmured his thanks and took it from her. He turned away and ripped open the envelope.

  Dear Ben,

  I have decided to go away for a few months to try and sort things out in my head. I’m sorry to spring this surprise on you.

  I’ll see you probably, in a while.

  Go carefully.

  Felicity

  Benjamin could feel the blood drain from his face.

  “What’s the matter, mate?” inquired Archie.

  “Something’s badly wrong.” Benjamin shook his head, trying to shake off the nightmare that was beginning to unfold. No, no. It’s not possible. Something’s very wrong. He swung around to Archie. “Something’s very wrong. This isn’t true.”

  Archie came around to Benjamin’s side and read the note. When he’d finished, he put a hand on Benjamin’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I agree, mate. Something’s happened. I’ve seen you two together the last few days, and this doesn’t fit at all. It’s suss—particularly given the circumstances and everything else that’s going down.” He turned around and walked back to the information booth, leaving Benjamin to look dumbly at the letter. The shock of what he saw…of what it claimed…froze his mind into immobility.

  Archie came back a minute later. “The receptionist hardly remembers the boy. She said it was just a kid, about sixteen years old, who was carrying a skateboard. He was probably given twenty bucks to deliver it by a bloke who was outside.” He shook his head. “There’s no lead there.” He nodded to the entrance. “Let’s go outside and sort this out.”

  They made their way outside and sat down on a long orange bench. Benjamin put his head in his hands.

  Archie was all business. “Right, mate, what’s wrong with this letter? It’s been carefully crafted to persuade any policeman not to waste time looking for her but why do we know it’s crap?”

  Benjamin wanted to scream, Because she loves me—that’s why! He drew a deep breath and flicked the edge of the paper with his finger, forcing himself to see it clearly. There were several things wrong with it. He knew that instinctively—but what were they?

  Archie waited patiently as Benjamin analyzed the letter.

  After a few minutes, Benjamin sighed, “The letter is addressed to Ben.” He looked up. “She nev
er calls me Ben.”

  “Keep going.”

  “And there is nothing to ‘sort out’. We had just…discovered…” He gave a shuddering sigh. “We’ve just discovered each other. It’s new and magical. There’s nothing old, jaded or complicated.”

  “And?”

  “And there’s no mention of the treaty. She hasn’t signed in as she would have to do if she arrived here with it, so the treaty is still with her.” He shook his head. “She’d never go without first making sure the treaty is safe. It’s like it doesn’t even exist.”

  “Anything else?”

  “The signature is wrong. It may look like a badly scrawled Felicity but it’s not her handwriting.” Benjamin shook his head. “I don’t know what to make of it.” He threw the letter down onto the bench in disgust. “About the only thing I believe is her comment to go carefully.”

  Archie nodded and got to his feet. “Come on, mate. Let’s show it to the boss and to Phoebe. If anyone can make sense of it, those two can.”

  Phoebe handed Benjamin a red ballpoint pen. “Draw over Felicity’s signature but only on the part of it that you know is consistent with her normal signature.”

  Benjamin took the pen and nodded, forcing himself to be still and quiet…to be with Felicity. He was now over the shock of the suggestion that she’d run away from him. Deep down, he knew beyond all doubt it was untrue—which meant only one thing: Felicity had been abducted and forced to write a note aimed at satisfying the police. He glanced again at the message. She was trying to reach out to him, to say that what she was writing was not true…and to warn him to be careful. But what else was she trying to say?

  He closed his eyes and called her to mind. Would she come? He waited. Then, in the midst of knowing, she came…faint but there. Their connection still existed. Benjamin nodded. Felicity was okay.

  He blinked and rubbed his forehead, drawing out from his memory the two or three times he’d seen Felicity’s signature. He didn’t have much to remember it by…but then he didn’t need much. He was able to recall detail, to describe things that mattered to him, to recall shapes and ratios he’d seen years before in order to replicate them on his wood lathe. All he needed was quiet.