by Aiden James
Disguised in a robe and turban similar to that of Dr. Quard-e-Lazim’s companions, I witnessed the execution of Dr. Norman Forsythe later that morning. He did not utter so much as a whimper from the time the guards brought him out into the square where his sentence was to be delivered to the time the large machete severed his head from his neck. But, his eyes recognized me. I am as sure of this as anything else from the experience. He looked toward me as I stood near the back of the crowd with my companions, and smiled just before his head was replaced with the horrible gush of blood that drenched the angry zealots sitting directly before him.
Dr. Quard-e-Lazim arranged for my safe escort from Pakistan that afternoon, and by the next morning I was back home, surrounded by the press. Dr. Forsythe’s and my teams had already safely returned to England as well, and before I spoke to you later that morning, I spoke at length with Dr. Quard-e-Lazim by telephone. Omar Quadassi and Dr. Forsythe were the only casualties in this tragedy, and his contacts in the Pakistani government confirmed his suspicion that the murder and rape of our young friend had been staged as a malicious diversion to force us out of Karachi. Apparently, the riches taken from our site two years before found their way into the coffers of every nobleman and government official in southern Pakistan. Fearing they would be found out after the debacle at the Australian dig site, they moved decisively to close our site and force our combined teams out of the country immediately.
Dismayed to hear from Dr. Quard-e-Lazim that my name was not cleared after I returned home, a charge of treason had recently been added to my list of crimes. The Islamic zealots claimed I slandered their religion and covertly assisted the nation of India against Pakistan. What an unbelievable crock that is! This makes any hope of eventually returning to Pakistan impossible. But, my Pakistani friend had other bad news as well. Not only had our site been seized, but also permanently closed. Allowed to view the site one last time, by the time he did everything was gone. Only a pile of rubble and chunks of sandstone sticking up through the hole remained. In a matter of time, the notorious winds in that area will cover it all up. No one will remember what had previously been there.
Not sure how my day could get any worse, Dr. Quard-e-Lazim then told me the Karachian government had seized his great uncle’s warehouse. Although the vast archaeological and gem treasure stored there remained hidden in an underground storage area of the building, he feared the magistrate and his men would have free reign of the place indefinitely. We can only hope they never learn what lies hidden beneath their feet on the main floor.
I told him goodbye for what I believe will be the last time, as we agree it is no longer prudent to associate with one another. This set the mood that you later found me in. I apologize again that I had little to say to you that morning, and for my avoidance of you and our Birmingham colleagues during the past month. So lost am I after spending so many years on this, I feel completely drained physically, emotionally, and perhaps more critically, intellectually. Even my dearest Julia could not bring me out of my melancholy, and I believe she was further hurt by my indifference to her and my beloved son, Alexander. If I could only have the last two weeks I had with them back, I would give my very life, if not my soul!
On the morning of July 13th, when originally scheduled to meet with you, as it was time to present my outline for September’s planned archeological activities for our new students, Julia and Alexander were running late for a dental appointment for my son. As our meeting was still two hours away, I gladly gave her the keys to my Mercedes since her usually reliable Volvo failed to start. I kissed them both goodbye, though somewhat perfunctory, as I felt particularly glum that morning. They went out to the driveway, and I turned my attention to my coffee and morning paper. A moment later a loud explosion shook our home, and several of the main floor’s windows shattered and blew into the house. I ran outside, but it was too late. My car a blackened inferno, and to my horror, the blazing corpses of my wife and son looked silently back at me through the Mercedes’ shattered windshield.
I will never forgive myself for their deaths or my narcissistic behavior since I returned home. All of the years of sacrifice they made on my behalf will never be repaid to them. It brought me no comfort to learn from the police that the Volvo was also wired with explosives, which for some reason did not work. Perhaps, as you so fervently believe, there are guardian angels. If so, they failed to complete the job they started that morning.
Yours and Sonya’s comfort to me has meant more than you could ever know, William. I will always regard you fondly as one of my closest friends, even though the likelihood of us ever speaking again seems remote. I realize now that I am in great danger, and as such, I am a true menace to all around me whom I hold dear. I do not know where I will end up, but today I leave England, perhaps forever. A return to Germany or Austria is possible. Please see what you can do to preserve my work, and especially this, my final correspondence to you.
May we meet again in happiness, William.
Viktor Ludvan Seiverlich
***
“Can you believe this shit?” whispered Jeremy. “This name of ‘Viktor Seiverlich’ made me think for a brief instant maybe the journal wasn’t written by Oscar. But the handwriting’s definitely his. It’s probably the same thing Peter McNamee told you last night, man, that Oscar was on the lam. You’d have to change your name to accomplish that.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” said Jack. “Besides, the way he ended the letter in the journal is the same way Oscar closed his note to us. And, wasn’t Oscar’s middle name ‘Ludvan’ too? If not, it was something similar.”
“I noticed that as well,” Jeremy agreed. “There are other loose papers under here that look like they once belonged in a diary of some sort.”
He closed the journal and set it aside while he sifted through the loose pages.
“They’re all dated within the last month. Check them out, man.”
Jeremy organized the six pages according to the dates written at the top of each one. It appeared Dr. Mensch himself tore the pages out from the diary they belonged to. The dates on the pages ranged from April 15th to May 1st. Jeremy adjusted the lamp on the professor’s desk so they could read each page clearly.
April 15th
The dreams that ended last month have returned. The strange girl with the flowing white hair continues to baffle me. Yet, what she has stated so far has come true. We shall see if the latest prediction of hers comes true or not. If so, it will be the most amazing one thus far. She has told me that a dear friend from my past has finally located me, and will make contact in three days. She even has been so bold as to name this person: Dr. Mohammed Quard-e-Lazim. Perhaps she is not much more than a nighttime phantom who simply has read my dormant thoughts from long ago. It’s been more than twenty-five years since he and I last spoke. But, if he truly does make contact, then I have little choice but to believe this ardent female, this Genovene.
I remain intrigued. If she is right, then how can I resist her repeated requests to trust her? I feel she has some secret task in store for me. I believe this will soon be revealed, provided I first give her the faith she seeks.
Jack and Jeremy glanced at each other, worriedly. Neither wanted to comment on what they just read, so they moved on to the next diary page. They didn’t stop reading until they finished all five remaining pages.
April 18th
I am deeply amazed at the events of this day, to say the least! This morning, I received a call in my office from Dr. Quard-e-Lazim, just as Genovene predicted. I could not believe my ears; it was so good to hear from him! We talked for nearly thirty minutes, and I could tell he was using a wireless phone, perhaps to avoid unwanted surveillance. His purpose for calling me is to resume our research from long ago. At first, I was skeptical as to how this could be done, especially in light of my present location and the level of responsibilities I now have at the University of Alabama. Unfazed by any of this, Dr. Quard-e-Lazim insisted I can c
ontinue to teach and carry on the research projects I presently have scheduled. He told me that he has recovered nearly all of the artifacts we had stored together many years ago, and they would arrive in Tuscaloosa on April 22nd, just four days from now.
I am elated beyond anything I have felt in a very long time, although skeptical as to how this can work. Where will we store these items? In light of what they cost me long ago, the knowledge of their existence must remain secret for now. Dr. Quard-e-Lazim agrees, and told me that he recently purchased a large house near campus. When the treasured items arrive, I am to meet him there. I will drive by this place tomorrow so I know how to get there on the 22nd. The address is 1016 South Queens Court.
April 22nd
It is almost midnight, but I cannot sleep. I met Dr. Quard-e-Lazim and his crew at 1016 South Queens Court today, and am completely overwhelmed with joy! The house is beautiful and my long-lost colleague has spared little expense in having it outfitted for the completion of the project we started together with the late Dr. Norman Forsythe nearly thirty years ago. His men are finishing an underground tunnel from an out-building to the basement, which also has been greatly enlarged to support the considerable expanse of the Star of Karachi.
Additionally, to keep any neighbors that might be inclined to stop by for a visit from becoming suspicious of our pursuits, Dr. Quard-e-Lazim had the main floor and upstairs bedrooms furnished with exquisite antiques and somewhat extravagant modern pieces. The sheer expense of all this made me wonder if my colleague dipped a little into our store of rare gems and artifacts from Karachi. When the nine crates we hid from the ruthless Pakistani authorities arrived, I could not immediately determine if anything was taken or not. Even if he did pilfer some of the wealth, what remains in the basement of 1016 South Queens Court would grandly outfit displays of the star at several of the world’s best museums. I can hardly wait to get started, and will purchase the additional supplies and tables I need tomorrow.
Dr. Quard-e-Lazim has gone to great lengths to procure my journals and other cherished belongings that I thought were long gone, including my beloved desk from a former home in Birmingham, England. I am curious as to how he obtained the journal that contained my last correspondence to Dr. William Dandridge.
April 24th
Last night, Genovene visited me again in my dreams. She came for my pledged allegiance to her and the ‘grand design’ that I am to set in motion for her. Although drawn to this woman’s unearthly loveliness, I still hesitate when considering the complete abandon and trust she requests. “Not to worry,” she says. “You will see the wisdom in my ways soon enough, Oscar.” I thought, perhaps, she might address me by ‘Viktor’, but she seems to prefer my adopted name instead.
Today, I finished setting up the tables I purchased from Wal-Mart. I am glad Dr. Quard-e-Lazim’s crew was here to help me lift the crates onto each table. I am ready now to get started, but I must temper my excitement or I will surely ignore my other responsibilities. My dear colleague told me today that he must leave to attend other affairs in Europe, and his personal jet will take him out of the United States tomorrow evening. He has perked my curiosity about a very important package that will be delivered to me within the next week. The twinkle in his eye told me it is something dear to my heart, although his refusal to elaborate makes me fearful of setting my hopes on a specific item I would surely die for.
April 28th
I have finished my inventory count, and it appears Dr. Quard-e-Lazim or someone else did remove a significant portion of each crate’s contents. I must admit I am disappointed by this discovery, although the combined value of everything still here is awe inspiring to consider. Interestingly, right after I made this determination, I grew very tired and decided to rest awhile on the couch Dr. Quard-e-Lazim’s crew set up for me near my desk. I soon drifted off to sleep, and found Genovene waiting for me. “Stop worrying about such mundane things, Oscar,” she said. “The Blood Star will be reborn, as there is enough of the essence of the original shrine to recreate it in its entirety. Think of it as ‘metaphysical cloning’, my friend, and remember that glory awaits you!” She smiled at me after she said this, and then I awoke from my nap, feeling much better.
Dr. Quard-e-Lazim may have been a bit unscrupulous in building his personal net worth, but if he had not done so, who is to say I would have this wonderful opportunity? I will begin cleaning up each crate’s contents tomorrow, with plans to lay out the Blood Star on the basement’s floor by next week.
May 1st
Today, I received the package promised to me by Dr. Quard-e-Lazim. I can scarcely believe that I have now actually held the ancient object I first heard about almost fifty years ago! I would have thought Ricardo De Gallies’ Cristal Del Sol would be much larger and heavier, and not perfectly round as it is, since it better fits the image of the destructive force that once dismantled the Estrella De la Sangre. Extremely light, the object has the diameter and weightlessness of a standard beach ball.
That was the highlight of my day. Unfortunately, the lowlight soon followed. While examining the Cristal Del Sol, I heard my name whispered softly from somewhere close by. I stood in the main floor’s living room when this happened, and was about to head back to the basement stairwell through the kitchen. I could hardly wait to find out where this strange globe fits in with the shrine fragments downstairs. But once I turned toward the lovely voice, I knew this would never happen. Genovene stood a few feet away, in the flesh, smiling serenely. She motioned for me to place the Cristal Del Sol back in its container. Certainly not what I wanted to do, but what she told me next I cared even less to hear. Yet, I felt powerless to resist her pronouncement. She told me that my involvement with the Blood Star is now finished, and then instructed me to wrap up my work downstairs while I await my life’s conclusion.
In the meantime, the Cristal Del Sol is to remain upstairs. I obediently returned downstairs, where Genovene reminded me of other instructions she gave me earlier last week. Her intent is for one of my students to finish recreating my Star of Karachi. Although I am deeply saddened, she assured me again how I will prosper in her father’s kingdom—the same thing she has often told me these past few months. All my earthly accomplishments are to amount to nothing, she says, when compared to what I will be a part of from now on.
Jeremy flipped the sixth and final page over, so he and Jack could read the professor’s last lines.
In the past I would scoff at such foolishness. But, after all that has happened to me lately, this avowed agnostic is no more. I believe in her. I believe in Genovene.
***
“Holy shit!” whispered Jack. “This is a hell of a lot worse than I imagined! What do the last two journals in the bundle have in them?”
He motioned for Jeremy to take a look at the last items in the bundle, since he was closest to them.
“Well, it appears these are Oscar’s, or Viktor’s—I should say—notes on the specific layout of the ‘Blood Star’.” He quickly leafed through the pages of both journals. “But, I believe these can wait until we’ve had some sleep.”
Jeremy laid the journals down on the desktop, and started going through the boxes again.
“It does look like Genovene is set on obtaining your help with whatever she’s planning,” he continued. “To be honest, I’m not sure I’d want to be in your shoes. ‘Cause I’d have to agree with Oscar on at least one thing he wrote: I believe in that bitch, too. But unlike him, I’ll never trust her!”
The look in his eyes belied his wry smile, and from that alone Jack knew Jeremy was taking all of this very seriously.
“She’s real, all right,” said Jack, determined to fight off the nausea rising within him. “I think I’ll help myself to some peanut butter and crackers from upstairs. Are you hungry, man?”
“I’m definitely hungry,” said Jeremy. “Just not for that shit. I need something a hell of a lot more substantial than a snack.”
He started rummaging through
the desks’ other drawers, and soon found a Blackberry resting in its charger in the bottom drawer.
“Now, here’s the ticket to something better to eat. Thank God!”
“Who are you planning to call?” asked Jack, immediately worried.
“My man, Deshawn Wheatley,” Jeremy replied, a smug grin on his face. “That’s if this thing works. It looks like I’ve got a couple bars of signal strength. Here goes!”
“Wait!”
Jack moved to stop him. Jeremy held the phone just out of Jack’s reach, who tried in vain to take it from him.
“Don’t you think we should really think about this first?” asked Jack, his tone plaintive, still trying to grab the handset from Jeremy. “What if it’s tapped or something?”
