by Alan Baxter
‘Okay,’ the operator said slowly, obviously thinking she had a loony on her hands, never mind, humour him. ‘All right, sir, do you have a pen?’
‘Yes I do,’ Isiah replied. There was no pen anywhere near him, but with a mind as developed as his, memory was surer than a computer database for storing information.
‘We have just three flights that match what you asked for. There’s a flight leaving for Rio de Janeiro, Brazil at eleven fifty pm Thursday night, there’s a flight to Tegucigalpa, Honduras at twelve oh five am Friday and the third is to Guatemala City, Guatemala via Rio at twelve twenty am Friday. Any other flights to South America are before eleven or after one.’
Sixth sense alarm bells rang in Isiah’s mind at the mention of the last flight, coupled with a dose of common sense. That must be it. This operator obviously included Central America in her search. If Samuel is off to hunt down this crystal skull that is supposed to be of Mayan manufacture, Guatemala is where it is most likely to be near, given that choice. Most Mayan archaeological finds had been in the southern and north western areas of Mexico, primarily around Chiapas, Palenque, Chichen Itza. Guatemalan borders were close to both Chiapas and Palenque, and reaching the north eastern regions would be quicker from Guatemala than it would from Mexico City or Honduras. That being true, it was also worth bearing in mind that Olmec, Mayan and Aztec sites were being discovered all over that area, more every year. It would be nice to know for certain. It was possible that Samuel may have planned to leave from a different city entirely, different airline, different destination. Still, this was the best he could do right now. ‘That last one, miss. Are there any seats left on that flight?’
‘To Guatemala? Let me check.’ There was more tapping for a couple of seconds, then, ‘Yes, sir, there are a few seats remaining. Would you like me to reserve you one?’
‘Actually, I’d like you to reserve me two,’ Isiah replied. It was also possible that this was the flight that Samuel had intended to take, but had yet to book himself a ticket. The Balance claimed that some things were a matter of interpretation. If Samuel had had his little panic attack before he booked his flight, things may have begun to change then. Isiah had long since learned to cover all his bases, and this girl wouldn’t tell him any names on the passenger list. And money was of little concern to him. You can make some pretty shrewd investments when you have hundreds of years to play with. ‘In fact,’ he added, ‘give me two seats on the Honduras flight too.’ Just to be sure. Both Guatemala and Honduras were in the Mesoamerican area, and there were no Mayan remains in Brazil.
There was a moment of silence followed by, ‘Are you sure, sir? You won’t be able to catch both flights.’ She sounded like she was talking to a child.
‘I’m aware of that,’ Isiah said, smiling, ‘but I’m not sure yet where I need to go and money is not a consideration. You book the tickets and take your money and it’s no longer your problem, is it?’
‘I guess not, sir.’ She sounded annoyed now that he was talking to her like a child and began tapping angrily at her computer keyboard.
Isiah thought for a moment while Carol confirmed his tickets. ‘Actually,’ he said, ‘could you do me another little favour?’
There was a barely suppressed sigh at the other end. ‘Of course, sir,’ Carol said, but she managed to make it sound like ‘Piss off, prick.’
Isiah grinned, taking a perverse pleasure in her impatience. It was often surprising how people would get angry when something unusual confronted them, a protection mechanism of the psyche. He often used that aspect of people’s psychological makeup against them to make his life easier. He made a point of keeping his voice pleasant and calm. ‘I wonder if you checked flights around midnight flying into Mexico as well?’ He just hoped that Satan had given Samuel some more accurate instructions. Samuel should know more or less where to go when they got there.
There was some keyboard tapping at the other end of the line which Isiah imagined must be making Carol’s fingers bleed. After a few minutes she said, ‘There are no flights on Thursday night to Mexico between eleven pm Thursday and one am Friday, sir. Does that mean you just want two tickets for the twelve twenty to Guatemala and two tickets for the twelve oh five to Honduras?’
Isiah was fairly satisfied, assuming Samuel planned to leave from this airport, that he had everything covered. With no flights leaving for Mexico around midnight it seemed that Guatemala was the most likely option. ‘Yes, please. I’ll pay by credit card.’ Something else he had a large supply of.
A few minutes later he was reaching for his leather jacket, preparing to go out again. He was not looking forward to this next part of the job, but it had to be done. It would not be easy. He slipped on his jacket, stood motionless, thinking. He considered travelling directly, but dismissed the idea after a moments thought. It did make life easier for him and he was in something of a hurry, but it was too easy. Too easy to use too much power and lose his grip on reality. Reality for him being something difficult to grasp in the first place.
It had occurred to him sometimes to end it all by travelling, but never arriving anywhere. Letting the molecules of his body split, dissipate, then never reforming them. But his consciousness was always whole and aware when he travelled. Would he leave himself imprisoned as nothing but a thought in limbo?
He could be destroyed, that much was certain. That’s why forays such as the one before him now scared him so much. He could die after a fashion, almost had on several occasions, but where would he go? Gabriel had asked him what would happen to a person who believed in nothing. What about a person who believed in everything? And it was not simply a belief of faith. He believed in Heaven and Hell, Valhalla, reincarnation, the Underworld of the Egyptians and native South Americans and so many more, and he believed because he knew. He knew because he had been to these places, he had met these deities. There were some gods with whom he had shared more intimate experiences than he had known with humans in hundreds of years. Maybe in his unique position, dying would simply give him the choice to roam all the Realms that he pleased, enjoy each and every one, knowing everything existed somewhere. But he could do that now, so what was the point of being destroyed? And besides, just like everybody else, he didn’t know for sure and that scared him.
The rain outside was easing off, the sky a deepening purple orange as the sun disappeared and night began to settle like a dirty blanket over the city. Isiah raised his hand, hailed a cab. He was immediately assailed by the smell of a cheap pine air freshener, barely masking the driver’s body odour. The driver twisted around in his seat, one elbow hooked over the seatback. ‘Where to, buddy?’ he asked, favouring Isiah with his best yellow toothed grin, his sagging, unshaved cheeks creasing up under his eyes.
Isiah felt sorry for him. ‘The hospital, please.’
The cabbie nodded once, slipped back into his seat. As they pulled away from the kerb, slipping back into the traffic flow, he looked into his rearview mirror, caught Isiah’s eye. ‘Terrible about the lass across town, ain’t it, sir.’
Isiah looked up. He did not really want a conversation right now, but he didn’t want to be rude. ‘What lass is that?’
The cabbie made a sucking sound through his teeth. ‘Haven’t you heard the news? They found a young girl in an apartment across town. All chopped up and torn about, by all accounts. Apparently her heart was gone, probably eaten by some sick bastard, I reckon. Terrible, innit?’
‘Yes, it is,’ Isiah replied with a sigh. He looked out the window, watching the raindrops race each other toward the back of the car.
5
Katherine Bailey leant back in her old wooden swivel chair, stared at her computer monitor thoughtfully. Not taking her eyes from the screen she reached out for her coffee mug, picked it up and took a gulp. Her face screwed up in a grimace of disgust. Cold. She put the mug down again, still reading. It had been a long day and was far from over yet.
She finished reading the article she had been worki
ng on for the last week and a half. It still didn’t read right, but she couldn’t figure out why. It was that time again, deadline week. And she was flying out to South America on Saturday, so the weekend was out of the question. She had to finish this.
She stretched, arching her arms back over her head, hands clasped together. Maybe it was too late. She could go over it with David, her editor, in the morning. He had a remarkable ability to see through the waffle and make a story read well. Probably why he was an editor. He could make a story about Mrs Miggins’ cat getting stuck in a tree sound like a world shocking exclusive.
Katherine smiled to herself, slowly turned in her chair, looked out of the window into the dark, cloudy city night. She was too high to hear the traffic below, except the occasional impatient horn drifting up, muted and distant. But not high enough to avoid the other buildings towering around this one, their myriad lights casting a million reflections and shadows all around. So, another coffee and another reread, or call it a night and talk to David in the morning? She always had trouble trying to organise her life. It wasn’t too late yet to give Peter a call. He would appreciate her calling him, having some time for him. Their relationship had never seemed that serious, yet Peter often chided her for having more time for the magazine than for him. She smiled again at the thought of him. He was a pain in the arse a lot of the time, but he was caring and gentle, and he looked after her in his own way. She was a fiercely independent person, but it still warmed her to know that Peter tried to take care of her.
Decisively she sat up, clicked to save her work and switched off her computer. The offices of the bi-monthly, eco-friendly publication that was One World Magazine were old fashioned, the building itself dating from before the prohibition, but the equipment was fairly up to date. Everything was computerised in publishing these days. It was the only method of journalism Katherine had ever known, coming straight from college to One World as a junior researcher eight years ago. She had worked hard, studied hard and kissed more than a little butt to finally get herself a chief reporter’s role, primarily being the hound for any stories that related to Native American races, from Alaska to Argentina and back again. One World was a publication primarily interested in all things ecological and environmental, reporting on green issues, corporate responsibility for the environment, natural phenomena and so on. Katherine’s stories usually related to the impact of modern living on the indigenous races still attempting to preserve their culture. And she loved her work, had a passion that drove her to work as many hours as necessary, travel as far and as often as required. It was not just a matter of professional pride either. She fervently believed in getting the truth out to people. She believed in preserving the Earth. There was nothing but the great diversity of nature and humanity on this beautiful world, and it needed protecting. This life was all there was, and she couldn’t believe that so many people spent so much time ruining it, destroying native races and their sacred sites and ancestral lands, crushing natural wonders and species. She was something of a crusader for the underdog and was proud to be seen as such. It was her grandmother’s influence she knew.
She flicked on the radio beside her computer while she tidied up her things. The last strains of a song faded and the introduction for the news swelled up. She tutted and got up, walked over to her filing cabinets, not really interested in the state of affairs at this time of night.
Reaching back, she pulled the elastic from her long, brown hair, shook it loose across her shoulders. She slipped the elastic onto her wrist, ran her fingers back through her hair and sighed. Let Peter buy her some dinner and some wine and she could forget about her article and the shitty state of the world for now.
It was only fair that she see Peter as much as possible anyway. On Saturday she flew out to Rio de Janeiro for a meeting with some representatives there before the start of a three week tour of the Amazon basin, visiting South American tribespeople, investigating their lifestyles, cultures, religions. She was more than a little excited about this trip, trekking deep into the jungle, rafting the Amazon. Sometimes she loved her work more than she could justify.
And Peter was upset that she was leaving him for three weeks. She knew that he would actually quite enjoy three weeks without trying to arrange dates with her, arriving to pick her up and waiting outside her apartment for an hour until she finally got home from work, full of apologies. The real root of his annoyance at her three week trip, however, was more jealousy than anything else. She knew he’d love to do what she was going to do, especially if someone else was paying.
If he took her out tonight and fed her well, she’d reward him well, she decided. Take him back to her apartment and give him a real workout. Seemed like it had been quite a while since they had spent an evening together like that. It was already late, but she knew he wouldn’t mind. She was smiling to herself as she reached for the telephone. Just before she could put her hand on it, it rang, making her jump slightly, uttering a little ‘Oh’ of surprise. She picked it up. ‘Katherine Bailey.’
‘Ah, you still there. Excellent.’ The heavily accented voice sounded relieved, but also a little annoyed. ‘I been trying you at home for ages.’
Katherine shook her head. ‘You should know better and try here first, Jesus.’ His name always made her think of someone calling a Greek god, Hey, Zeus! She pictured the little Mexican, all frantic and concerned, always like a worried puppy. He constantly wore an apologetic expression on his tanned face. ‘What’s up?’
‘I have good tip-off for you. My friend at museum is very excited.’
‘Oh, really?’ Katherine was always interested when Jesus called her. He worked as a caretaker in one of the local museums that had a section permanently devoted to archaeological finds in Central America, all things related to the development of that area from the Olmec people right through to the Aztecs and since. Jesus’ ‘friend’ at the museum was Pedro Sanchez, the curator of this section and he often chatted to Jesus about their mutual homeland. That way, Jesus always kept Katherine informed of any new developments in the historical studies of those ancient people and their lands. It often made interesting articles for One World, and it made a few extra dollars for the hard working Jesus. ‘What’s he so excited about?’ she asked.
‘Well, he say that there a new dig in northern Guatemala, very much interesting stuff there.’
‘There are new digs all the time, Jesus. What’s so special about this one?’
‘There is special burial tomb that has just been uncovered,’ Jesus replied. He sounded very pleased with himself. ‘Pedro says that he fly out to oversee further excavation as they have found crystal skull.’
Katherine sat up straighter, suddenly very interested. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Oh yes, Miss Katherine.’
‘They’ve found a crystal skull in a tomb,’ she mused quietly to herself. Then she said, ‘How old is the tomb?’
‘I not know, but Pedro, he say to working men to stop and not do any more till he arrive. He gone already, probably there by now.’
Katherine needed to know more about this. Guatemala. A new and potentially intriguing dig. Crystal skulls. This could make a great story. Her mind started frantically sorting through possibilities. It was possible that she could go to Rio via Guatemala, get a couple of days checking out this story, on the spot report, before her meeting. Shit, it would be a hell of a rush, but worth it if the story was good. She could even e-mail the article in before the Saturday night deadline and get it in this issue at a push. Maybe a prelim article, promising further coverage in the next issue. David always liked that sort of hook. She needed to discuss this with David as soon as possible. Get him to approve the expense, get her out there. ‘Jesus, do you know exactly where this dig is, by any chance?’
She could feel his pride swelling down the phone line. ‘Oh yes, Miss Katherine. I photocopy all Pedro’s maps and papers after he leave. Much information from fax machine. First he copy it, then I copy it!’
>
Katherine smiled broadly, leaned back in her chair. ‘Oh, Jesus, you’re worth every cent I pay you! I’ll come by your apartment in one hour, okay?’
‘Of course, Miss Katherine.’
Isiah stepped from the taxi into fluorescent light in the hospital car park, circles of artificial day under each lamp. Heading for the entrance he began to draw in his will, close himself off from all external emotions, the psychic climate. He was naturally open to the emotions and thoughts of people all around him, all the time. He was constantly tuned in to the psychic maelstrom that swarmed about him, about everyone whether they realised it or not. Everybody was sensitive to it, though most people didn’t understand what made them feel bad in dark places, or happy in safe places. It was one of the many things that gave Isiah his edge. But this was a hospital. In here there was pain, suffering, sickness, death. Concentrated in one place, mixed with despair and hopelessness into a cocktail of negative, sickening energy that could destroy a persons will if it wasn’t filtered out, deflected. Especially a person who felt it, knew it, so completely as Isiah. He had long since learned to protect himself from places with such concentrated bad energy, in the same way as he had learned to absorb the energy from places of joy and happiness.
He paused while the automatic doors hissed open at the main entrance to the hospital. When he stepped inside he was instantly assailed by the clinically sterile smell of hospitals the world over. Even the dirtiest, most poorly equipped hospitals had the same smell underlying whatever else might be pervading them. Disinfectant mixed with sickness, overlaid with a paradoxical concoction of despair and hope.
White coated doctors scurried back and forth, orderlies pushed beds and wheelchairs, ferrying patients from one brightly lit, polished room to another, Just a few more X-rays, sir, We need to run more tests, ma’am. There was a waiting room off to one side. Impatient, worried faces watching the carefully controlled chaos outside their peaceful little haven. Tables with torn, out of date magazines and boxes of broken toys to keep them company, signs telling them to eat more fruit, give up smoking, don’t share needles, all over the walls.
