The Atlantis Stone

by Nick Hawkes

  After five minutes, he bent over the letter that lay on the hospital bed table and traced over Felicity’s signature. He drew a line under the F and then traced the e-l-i-c.

  He handed the paper over to Phoebe. “The F is more printed than Felicity normally writes it. Only the e-l-i-c is consistent with her normal signature.”

  Phoebe took the letter and stared at it. Almost immediately, she glance up and asked, “Does Felicity know Pitman shorthand?”

  Benjamin nodded. “She said she once wanted to be a journalist, so yes. Why?”

  Phoebe bent the letter between her fingers. “Because I think she’s incorporated shorthand very cleverly into her signature.” She leaned forward, put the letter on the table and stabbed at it with her stubby finger. “See the dash just before her name—that’s K. Then there’s the odd-looking F…” She looked up. “That’s KF.”

  “Khayef,” murmured Marjorie. She was lying on her bed with her eyes closed, as if in prayer. “Anything else?”

  “Yes. See here? This long S shape that slides off to the bottom right is 4.”

  “And the squiggles after it?” asked Benjamin.

  “The little subtext that looks like a 20 means weeks.” She tapped the final mark. “And that supertext l means die.”

  “Four weeks…die,” said Marjorie quietly.

  Benjamin sat in silence as he tried to digest the significance of what he had heard and its dreadful possibilities.

  Phoebe resumed her knitting. Clickety-clack, clickety-clack.

  “Gentlemen,” said Marjorie, “The gloves are now off regarding Khayef. If we take this letter to the police, they will trouble Khayef with a search or two and some uncomfortable questioning but nothing will be found.” She sighed. “I’m afraid it’s up to us.” She breathed deeply as if to draw in energy. “This means we will be operating in a gray area legally.” She turned to Phoebe. “What are the options?”

  Phoebe answered immediately. “Khayef needs Felicity’s expertise as an historical archivist to unravel and authenticate the Sardinian treaty. After which, she will be killed. They must have hinted as much for her to put it into the letter.” She sniffed. “So, the first objective is to locate and rescue Felicity. I estimate our window of opportunity to be about four weeks.”

  Marjorie continued on from Phoebe as if taking for granted that they thought and spoke with one voice. “The second objective is the complete destruction of the Khayef Group. It is evil.”

  Benjamin would have thought it absurd to hear such a statement from a frail old woman dying of cancer, had it not been for the disturbing conviction in her voice. He glanced at Archie. He wasn’t smiling. Benjamin shook his head. It was surreal.

  Marjorie breathed heavily to catch her breath, then turned to Archie and asked, “Priorities and possibilities?”

  Archie looked at her with his bleak eyes. “Any rescue of Flick will be a big blow to Khayef. It may even cause some people to be arrested, but it is unlikely to kill the company. We have to do something that will cause the Khayef Group to implode…as well as expose the abduction of Felicity and attempted murder of Ben.”

  Phoebe nodded as she pulled a length of wool from the ball.

  Benjamin put his head in his hands. “But they’ve got everything. They’ve got Felicity. They’ve got the real treaty from Sardinia. And they’ve got the Atlantis stone, which prevents any Portuguese connection being made.” He shook his head. “They’ve got everything.”

  “That’s not quite true, mate,” said Archie. “They haven’t got you.” He nodded to Benjamin. “You’ll have to expect a note pretty soon requiring you to present yourself somewhere, probably in exchange for Felicity. They want you, mate, every bit as much as the treaty.”

  “What are our options?” asked Marjorie.

  Archie put his hands behind his head and chewed at a lip. “We get in first and call for a meeting with Khayef. That’ll mean we regain some initiative and put them off balance.”

  Phoebe shook her head. “Too dangerous. Benjamin will be killed.”

  “We call the meeting but it’s up to us whether Ben attends it.”

  “What concrete benefit could we obtain from such a meeting?”

  “Use it as a way of getting a visual on the enemy—to gain intel.”

  “How do we do it?” asked Phoebe.

  “I’m working on it,” smiled Archie.

  They were silent for a while.

  “Let that stew for a while,” said Marjorie. “Meanwhile, Phoebe and I will call in every favor we can in order to obtain information through ASIO and the police about anything connected with the Khayef Group.” She reached out toward Phoebe. “Will you apply some pressure and dig around, dear?”

  Phoebe nodded.

  “The next issue,” announced Marjorie, “is the safety and security of Felicity. May I suggest we work to a three-week time frame, just to be safe.”

  A knife turned in Benjamin’s heart. He screwed up his eyes and lifted his head in anguish.

  Marjorie patted his hand. “I know this is difficult but right now we need your input.”

  Benjamin forced the storm within him to quieten slightly. He breathed a deep breath. “What do you need from me?”

  Marjorie nodded approvingly and glanced at Archie.

  Archie leaned back and stretched his legs out. “What connection did Felicity have with Khayef?”

  “It was through a lawyer, a bloke called Carter. He gave Felicity his business card.”

  “Can we get that card?”

  “It shouldn’t be too hard. I imagine it’s in Felicity’s office somewhere.” Benjamin shrugged. “It’s in her brother’s house. I’ve never been inside it, but I’ll call in and get it when I get back.”

  Archie nodded. “Didn’t you say that this joker from Khayef was a bit of a history buff?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then there is some chance that he’ll be somewhere close to Felicity when she does her history thing for them.”

  Marjorie nodded and closed her eyes. She looked exhausted.

  Phoebe glanced at her. “I think, gentlemen, that is all we can do for now.” Her face was expressionless as she looked at both men over her knitting. “I’ll be in touch.”

  Two hours later, Archie and Benjamin were well down the Princes Highway, on their way back to Port Fairy. There was very little conversation between them. Benjamin was grateful. His mind was trying to comb out the facts of what he’d just experienced from his screaming emotions. He wondered at Marjorie’s extraordinary calm. She’d gone into hospital ostensibly to have a shunt fitted but hadn’t left as expected—or at least, not yet. He wondered if she was lying on her deathbed. What would it be like to have her serenity? Does knowing God change things? Benjamin began to marshal together the words of what he hoped was a prayer…but his thinking was sidetracked by a niggling question and a disturbing conviction.

  By the time they reached the town of Colac, he was able to articulate it. How did the Khayef Group know that Felicity had gone to Sardinia and been ready to abduct her on her return?

  He thought he knew the answer…and he didn’t like it.

  Chapter 17

  “Where is she?” Doran Khayef demanded.

  Eddie pointed to a white van parked outside the worksite’s cyclone fence. “In there.”

  “And the treaty?”

  Eddie lifted up a white plastic shopping bag.

  Khayef permitted himself a single nod. “Come inside.” He turned, pushed his way through the door of the demountable site office, and took off his hard hat. All around him, he could hear the sound of engines revving and whirring…and scaffolding poles clanking as they were repositioned for the next building phase. It was an encouraging sound; the massive concrete skeleton outside was beginning to grow. Khayef held out his hand, took the bag from Eddie, and placed it on the desk. He steepled his fingers either side of it and savored the moment. He had worked so hard to get the British treaty, taken so many ris
ks, spent so much money…but now he had in his possession the authentic Sardinian copy. He smiled. Such were the ironies of life. It had cost him nothing…and he would be free from any allegations of having the stolen British treaty. It couldn’t be better.

  Khayef pulled out the decorated ivory canister and weighed it in his hands.

  “The top pulls off but it’s fairly tight,” warned Eddie.

  “You’ve not touched it?” demanded Khayef.

  “No. Just checked it was there.”

  Khayef pulled off the top and gently fingered the brittle edge of the parchment. He put the top of the canister back thoughtfully. How the hell will anyone be able to unravel it to determine whether it is actually the Sardinian treaty? He set his lips into a hard line. There was still work…

  He was interrupted by a knock on the door.

  Khayef placed the canister back into the plastic bag and called, “Come.”

  Andrew Carter, looking incongruous in a suit and an orange hard hat, stepped inside. He took off the hat as if it was something smelly and put it on a shelf.

  “How do we know this is the treaty?” demanded Khayef without preamble.

  “I’ve got the story from the girl about how it was found. I must say, she’s been extremely resourceful—very clever indeed. There’s little doubt that it is the treaty.”

  Khayef banged the desk with his fist. “But how do we know?”

  “We unravel it.” Carter sat himself in a chair with a sigh. “It turns out that Ms. Anderson has worked for two years at the Melbourne museum and knows what it takes to unroll an old parchment.”

  Khayef sat himself on the edge of the desk. “Hmm. What a useful little lady she is proving to be.” He turned to Eddie. “How do you see this working?”

  Eddie had been standing as silent as a sentinel with his arms folded in front of him. “She has two uses. We use her as bait to get Bidjara, and we use her to open the document.” He might have been talking about using a can opener.

  “It will, however, take some time,” warned Carter. “She estimates that the process will take about four weeks.”

  “Where can we keep her secure, away from prying eyes, and equipped with what she needs to unravel the treaty?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that, sir,” replied Carter. “She doesn’t need very much in the way of equipment or space, so I thought she might be…er, accommodated on your boat.” He shrugged. “It could be moved to an offshore mooring in Pittwater where she would be very secure.”

  “You bloody idiot. Might I remind you that I live on my boat because I’ve had to sell my house to help pay for the next stage of this development.” The memory of having to sell his twenty-five million dollar harbor-side house continued to rankle—but he still had his boat. It was his pride and joy. He would never sell it—except to get a better one. He growled, “It would be the first place the police would search if someone reports the bitch missing.”

  “Oh, yes. Of course. Sorry.”

  “The concept is sound, though.” He pointed to Carter. “You go sailing with your boyfriend, don’t you? Doesn’t he keep a boat in the next bay to mine at Pittwater?”

  “He’s away in Europe on some stock exchange business at the moment.”

  “But he lets you sail it in his absence. You told me that you did.”

  “Er, yes.”

  “Describe the boat.”

  Carter looked uncomfortable and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well…it’s a McGruer fifty-four foot mahogany ketch—about twenty tons displacement.”

  “Don’t bore me with the details. I want to know if it’s big enough for Anderson to do her work…and for you, Eddie and a relay of other men to live aboard?”

  Carter swallowed. “Ah, she’s pretty comfortable. Perhaps a bit old-fashioned now—she was built in the seventies. She can sleep six.” He rubbed his chin. “We could put Ms. Anderson in the forepeak, I suppose. It has no windows, only an outside hatchway that can be locked. It has two berths and its own heads.”

  “Heads?”

  “Toilet.”

  “Could she use one berth as a workbench and sleep on the other?”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Suppose?”

  Carter cleared his throat. “Yes. She can.”

  “Then do it.” Khayef turned to Eddie. “Fix it.”

  Eddie nodded.

  “Make sure she has everything she needs to sort out the treaty. Keep her comfortable but frightened. Don’t harm her…at least, not until she’s finished.”

  Felicity wriggled in her seat trying to ease the muscles in her limbs. The ride had been interminable. She’d been able to see through the windscreen from the back of the van and knew she was somewhere in Sydney, somewhere west of the city. Her wrists had become badly chafed as a result of her testing the plastic tie that held them together.

  The last twenty-four hours had been a nightmare. Eating; going to the toilet—everything had been done with her hands tied together. No concessions had been made. Her clothes were now sweaty and foul. She’d wept her tears in the first ten hours, angry and frustrated with herself at being so easily forced into the van. They’d done it so quickly and efficiently that even though it had happened in broad daylight, nothing would have appeared amiss to anyone watching. Two men, both smiling, had come either side of her and taken her arm. One of them had grabbed her trolley bag. She and her bag had been lifted into the van with an efficiency that spoke of practice.

  The smiles did not continue once she was in the van. She was hit across the face and forced into a seat bolted to the rear floor of the van. A black bag was put over her head, and her wrists were strapped together.

  After a short ride, the van stopped. One of the men took the bag off her head. She saw enough to know that the van was parked in a garage or underground car park. There wasn’t much time to take stock as the man pressed the muzzle of an automatic pistol against her temple. She’d shrieked in fright. He slid the muzzle of the pistol slowly down her cheek, down her neck, and then snaked it across to her cleavage where he rested it between her breasts. “Don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

  The passenger door opened allowing one man to get out and another dressed in an expensive overcoat to slide in and take his place. When he turned around, she was amazed to see that it was Andrew Carter.

  “Good morning, Ms. Anderson. I believe you might have something we want.”

  He grilled her about the details of her trip overseas and whether she’d got the treaty. When she started to prevaricate, The man in the driver’s seat turned and slapped her hard…then told her in detail how he was going mutilate Benjamin in order to get the details from him. The terror she experience at that point broke her. She confessed to having the treaty.

  The man opened her bag, found the ivory container, and opened it. He touched the inside of it with his finger and then showed it to Carter. He’d inspected it briefly before closing it, wrapping it in one of Felicity’s shirts, and putting it in the glove compartment.

  Felicity realized she was in real danger. The fact that none of the men appeared greatly worried at her seeing their faces was not a good omen. She’d cried out that the treaty was incredibly delicate and needed to be handled with enormous care. She should know because she had worked at the Melbourne Museum for two years. One of her roles had been to help conserve old documents. Felicity was stretching the truth a little. In reality, she’d only spent a week working with the conservators, but it was long enough to sound convincing.

  “The collagen fibers in the vellum need to be rehydrated carefully and gradually after so many centuries of desiccation. If you don’t, you’ll end up with nothing but crumpled fragments and dust.”

  “You’d be able to restore the document, then?” asked Carter.

  “Given some basic equipment, yes.”

  “And you’d be able to do it without sophisticated equipment, with material readily available?”

  “Yes.”

  “
You said the process would need to be done gradually. How long would it take?”

  She desperately wanted to buy Archie, Benjamin, and Marjorie as much time as she could, but daren’t ask for too much. “Four or five weeks, I expect.”

  Carter stroked under his chin for an agonizing minute. Eventually, he’d turned back and said, “Then Ms. Anderson. We’ll just have to keep you alive and well for four weeks, won’t we.”

  “But now, I require you to write a note. Your hands will be untied briefly to allow you to do it.” He gestured to the man with gloved hands. “Eddie enjoys violence. I suggest you comply.”

  She wrote the note in a swirl of emotions, hoping that Benjamin would understand its truth, its lies, and its secrets. It was her one chance to warn him…and explain—to truly explain. She released the clipboard reluctantly as Carter pulled it from her hands. He read the note, nodded, and got out of the van.

  She spent the rest of the day locked in the van. They allowed her to lie on a mattress in the back, but one of the two men was always sitting in the front seat watching her. Then, a little before midnight, both men lifted her into her seat, climbed into the front…and they began driving again.

  An hour or so later, the journey ended. No one said anything.

  She could feel the warmth and humidity of Sydney permeating the parked van. The man detailed to watch her from the passenger seat now had trickles of sweat running through the stubble on his face.

  Suddenly, the passenger door opened. The man got out, and Carter sat in his place.

  Carter turned around. “Now, Ms. Anderson, tell me exactly what you would need to reconstitute the treaty and make it readable.”

  Felicity had been preparing for this question for the last twenty-two hours. She didn’t hesitate. “I’d need two plates of glass, about half a meter square; a wooden box able to contain the vellum, and an ultraviolet lamp.”