by Lori Sjoberg
“Yes!” Gwen exclaimed, her voice pitched with excitement. The librarian glared at her, and she mouthed a silent “Sorry.”
Dmitri glanced up from his computer. “What did you find?” he asked in a lowered voice.
“The language on the stone. It’s Akkadian.” Her pulse pounded with exhilaration. The last time she’d felt this kind of rush was when she cracked a Soviet military code. With a grin, she tilted the screen in his direction. “The Akkadians ruled Mesopotamia between the twenty-fourth and twenty-second centuries BC.”
Leaning over, Dmitri squinted his eyes and stared at the rows of ancient script. “And you know this how?”
“Because I recognized the writing as some type of cuneiform. We wrote a few codes with it back in the day. At first I thought it was Sumerian, but the mixture of graphic and phonemic writing was way too advanced for that particular language. So I did some more digging and finally matched it up with Akkadian cuneiform.” She smiled, and much to her surprise, he actually smiled in return.
Dmitri leaned back in his chair and rubbed a finger along the line of his jaw. He hadn’t bothered to shave that morning, and his chin was shadowed with stubble. “Does that mean you can decipher it?”
“Given enough time, yes.” But it wouldn’t be easy. She’d need to print every Akkadian cuneiform sign list she could locate if she stood any chance of translating the relic. Good thing she’d brought her credit card, because the library charged by the page.
“How much time will you need?”
She shrugged. “Can’t say for sure. The bulk of the script looks well preserved, but the writing along the edges is hard to make out. I can’t tell if that’s from natural weathering or from the quality of the picture. Without the actual stone or a sharper image, I’ll have to make an educated guess.”
Dmitri checked his watch. “It’s more than we had two hours ago. Let me know when you have a rough translation.”
After leaving the library, they stopped for gas and a quick bite to eat before returning to the motel. While Gwen spread her notes out on the table, Dmitri began working through his list of contacts.
The first three were a waste of time. But a call to the Smithsonian led to the curator of the Harvard Semitic Museum, which in turn led to the dean of humanities at the University of Chicago. The dean was extremely helpful, providing him with the name and number of the faculty member who specialized in Akkadian history and possessed an extensive private collection. As luck would have it, Dr. Dennis Vickers had recently returned from his sabbatical at Cambridge and was working on his research thesis from his vacation cabin in Vermont.
Dmitri dialed Dr. Vickers and left a message when the call dumped directly to voice mail. If he didn’t hear back from Vickers by the end of the day, he’d call again in the morning.
Ready for a break, he hooked his phone to the charger. They’d been at it for most of the afternoon, and his ear was going numb from making so many calls.
Gwen, on the other hand, showed no signs of slowing down. Head bent and eyes thinned in concentration, she flipped back and forth between multiple sets of photocopies. Every so often she’d stop chewing her thumbnail long enough to scratch something down on a sheet of paper beside her phone.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
Her head tipped up, and she rubbed her eyes with her fingertips. “Well, I’ve only translated about a third of the script, but I think I know why Patrick wants it so badly.” Her index finger traced a line along the top of the picture of the artifact. “The stone tells the story of a king who aspired to godhood. He charged his priests with the task of building a gateway to the deities so he could claim his rightful place among them.”
“And you think Ziegler wants to replicate the process to invade Fate’s domain?”
“I can’t say for certain, but that’s what it looks like to me.”
He grunted. “Sounds like something that can only end badly.”
“I haven’t gotten to the part that says how it ends.” Her brows knit together as she leaned in close, and the sweet smell of her skin invaded his senses. She pointed to the fourth row of script, and her voice lifted with enthusiasm. “You see, this line describes the altar that was built, and right beneath it are the incantations spoken by the priests. And this section over here mentions the use of a sacrifice to complete the ritual.”
“What kind of sacrifice?”
“I’m not sure. It says something about bathing the altar in the blood …” She squinted as she held the paper a few inches from her face. “This can’t be right.”
That didn’t sound good. “What can’t be right?”
She didn’t answer right away. Like a maniac she rummaged through the stacks of papers until she found what she was apparently searching for. Her fingers skimmed the length of the page before stopping a few inches from the bottom. Face pale, she looked up at him again. “The blood of the Deathwalker. You don’t think—”
“What, that this Deathwalker was one of us?” He scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“What’s so ridiculous about it? For all you know, reapers have been harvesting souls since the dawn of civilization.”
It wouldn’t surprise him in the least. Since it was forbidden to let mortals know about their existence, reapers made a practice of leaving no trace behind. That made recording their history virtually impossible, with only scant bits of information passed down verbally from reaper to reaper. Then again, it wasn’t like the life of an agent of Death changed all that much over time. Find the mark, collect the soul, and guide it safely to the afterlife without mortal interruption or intervention.
“Okay,” Dmitri said, “for the sake of argument, let’s say Ziegler thinks the relic is some sort of do-it-yourself portal building kit. If he needs to sacrifice a reaper to make it work, who do you think he’ll use?”
“Beats me,” Gwen said. “Maybe one of his followers?”
“Maybe.” But he doubted it. “Or maybe that’s why he ordered Cooper to capture you in D.C.”
Chapter 9
Dr. Vickers called back a little before seven, and Dmitri spoke with him for nearly half an hour. By the time he was finished, not only did he have Vickers’s address, but he also had an appointment to meet with him the next morning at eleven.
Of course, that meant getting on the road before midnight. Vermont was a ten-hour drive, and he wanted extra time in case they ran into any detours.
Gwen dozed off a few hours into the drive, her head resting against the cab’s passenger side window. In sleep, the lines between her eyes softened, and her full lips curved with the hint of a smile. It made her look younger, sweeter. Vulnerable.
With a shake of his head, he cast aside thoughts of tenderness and focused on the road. For fuck’s sake, he was on a mission. In all of his years as an agent of Death, he’d never allowed his emotions to clutter his mind, and he wasn’t about to start now. He had no business entertaining those kinds of feelings, especially not with her.
In spite of the late hour, traffic was heavy on the highway. After passing a minivan, he pulled behind a tanker truck and merged onto I-95N. He stopped for gas and coffee at the New Jersey border before getting back on the road. By the time Gwen woke a few hours later, the sun was rising above the horizon, casting the mountains in a soft orange glow.
“Where are we?” Her voice sounded groggy as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
“We just crossed into Vermont.” Checking the gas gauge, he noticed the needle was below a quarter tank. “Are you hungry?”
As she shook her head, her stomach growled loudly enough for him to hear. The corner of her mouth hitched up. “I guess that’s a yes.”
No surprise there. They hadn’t eaten in more than twelve hours. Dmitri took the nearest exit and pulled up to a diner that looked like it was built from an old rail car. The inside was a little claustrophobic, but the food was tasty and inexpensive. After filling up on eggs, pancakes, and home fries, they gassed up
the truck and resumed their journey. A few miles later, he hooked a right onto a two-lane road leading into the mountains.
The maples and birches had already changed colors for the fall, painting the hillside gold and red. Some had already started shedding their leaves, a sure sign of an early winter.
The road grew steeper the higher they went, causing the engine to strain with effort. As much as he hated to admit it, it was a good thing they’d swapped vehicles with Adam. Without a doubt, the truck was much better suited for handling the rugged mountain terrain.
“Are you sure this is the right way?” Gwen cast a quick glance in Dmitri’s direction before turning back toward the passing scenery.
“Of course I’m sure,” Dmitri replied, irritated that she thought he’d get them lost. The GPS on his phone wasn’t working in the mountains, but he’d never had a problem with reading a map. Besides, the directions he’d gotten from Vickers were fairly straightforward and didn’t involve a lot of turns.
He headed east at the fork in the road and continued up the incline of the mountain. A guardrail barrier separated the road from the steep drop-off on the right. Actually, the guardrail was nothing more than a wire cable threaded through a series of three-foot wooden posts. Beyond it was a granite quarry so deep the bottom was obscured by mist.
A couple of miles later, the road veered to the left and the quarry disappeared from view. When the road changed from asphalt to gravel, signs of civilization became more infrequent. The forest grew even more dense and closer to the road. Just as Gwen grabbed for the map, Dmitri turned left onto a long dirt driveway that led to a small wood cabin.
“Told you I knew where I was going,” he said as he parked the truck beside an old tan minivan. Resisting the urge to gloat, he cut the engine and unfastened his seat belt.
Gwen picked up her purse from the floor and slung it over her shoulder.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Dmitri asked.
“What? I thought we were going to talk to Vickers.”
“Not we. I. And I didn’t tell Vickers you were coming. An extra person might throw him off.” And after ten hours of driving, he wasn’t about to let a tagalong blow his lead.
“Oh, please.” She gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Look at me. I’m about as nonthreatening as you can get. Besides, you can just tell him I’m your cousin or something.”
From head to toes, he raked his gaze over her. “Yeah, because we bear such a close resemblance.”
“Don’t be closed-minded. We could be related by marriage.”
Dmitri blew out an exasperated breath. “You’re going to be a pain in the ass about this, aren’t you?”
She smiled sweetly. “Just doing my part to make sure we get the information we need. With my knowledge of cuneiform, I can help if you get stuck on something.”
He briefly considered debating the matter further, but recognized the futility in arguing. “Fine. But remember who’s in charge.”
Her smile brightened as she hopped down from the cab. “Always.”
With a snort of annoyance, he strode toward the cabin, leaving Gwen to hurry to keep pace. He stepped onto the modest front porch and knocked on the door. No answer. He knocked again.
“Who is it?” a rough, raspy voice called out from inside.
“It’s Dr. Stepanov from the University of Moscow,” Dmitri replied, using the name he’d given for his cover. “We spoke on the phone last night.”
The curtains hanging over the front window stirred, and a few seconds later there was the sound of locks disengaging. The door cracked open less than an inch, and one brown eye peered out at them through the gap. In a low voice, he asked, “Who’s she?”
A few beats passed before Dmitri answered. “This is Gwen. My cousin.”
The door creaked a few inches wider, enough to see the old man’s nose pinched up like he just smelled something bad. “I don’t care if she’s the queen of England; I only agreed to talk to you.”
Dmitri shot her an I-told-you-so look. Gwen shrugged and smiled in return. “Not a problem. Just give me the keys and I’ll wait in the truck.”
If she wasn’t going to make a big deal about it, neither was he. He dropped the keys into her open palm, and she turned on her heel and sauntered away.
The door opened wider when the truck door closed, and Dr. Dennis Vickers came fully into view. His thick white hair was neatly combed, framing a face lined deep with age. Over his short, stocky body he wore pressed khakis and a pale blue button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
“Thank you for agreeing to see me,” Dmitri said. “It’s not every day I get to speak with an authority in the field.”
The old man looked him up and down, distrust plain on his face. “What can I help you with?”
Vickers hadn’t seemed this wary over the phone. If anything, he’d sounded excited by the prospect of talking shop with another academic in his field. Had he checked Dmitri’s credentials and discovered that he was a fraud?
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions about a specific artifact I’m trying to locate. Do you think we could go inside? It’s a little chilly out here.” Dmitri rubbed his arms for effect.
Knowing Gwen, she already had the heat blasting in the truck. By the time he finished speaking with Vickers, the cab would be hotter than molten lava.
“As long as you make it quick,” Vickers said as he opened the door wider. “I have a doctor’s appointment in an hour, and it takes almost that long just to drive down the mountain.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your time.” Dmitri wiped his feet before stepping inside. “Dr. Colby at the University of Chicago spoke highly of your upcoming article.”
The cabin consisted of one large room with a small kitchenette tucked in the right rear corner. A door on the left led to what was probably the bedroom. Two black leather recliners sat in front of the fireplace, where a small stack of wood blazed in the hearth. Everything was tidy, from the stacks of paper on the desk by the window to the plates and cups in the glass-front cupboard above the sink.
“Dr. Colby doesn’t know when to keep her big mouth shut,” Vickers replied, sounding surlier by the minute. He closed the door but didn’t lock it. “She knows the comparative analysis isn’t even close to finished.”
“Perhaps, but it sounds like the preliminary findings are promising.” In a way, he envied the old man. He’d lived a full, active life doing exactly what he loved and still had enough of his faculties in place to enjoy his golden years.
Vickers made a sound low in his throat. “You can skip the butt kissing, son. My ego doesn’t need the polish. What’s so damn important you couldn’t discuss it over the phone?”
Dmitri smiled. He appreciated a man who knew how to cut to the chase. “I’m trying to locate a particular piece that was on exhibit at the Smithsonian a couple years ago. It’s a stone tablet, about six inches in diameter, with a script that recounts a king’s quest to become a god. Dr. Colby thought it might be part of your private collection.”
“Dr. Colby’s mistaken. I’ve never heard of any artifact matching that description.”
Something about the way Vickers answered made Dmitri uneasy. The old man had built his career around the Akkadian empire. How could he not be aware of the artifact? Dmitri retrieved the picture from his back pocket and handed it to Vickers. “Look familiar?”
Recognition flickered in his eyes, but he shook his head and handed the paper back. “Nope. Are you sure it’s Akkadian? The cuneiforms look Sumerian. You might want to check with Dr. Schmidt at the New York Museum of Natural History. I can call ahead and refer you. It’s a five-hour drive, but if you start now you can get there before his office hours are over.”
Dmitri’s senses went on high alert. Not only was Vickers lying, he was also trying to get rid of him. Over the phone, he’d acted eager and enthusiastic. Why the sudden change in attitude? Leaning close, he asked, “Are you in trouble?
”
Fear drained the blood from the old man’s face.
Shit. He knew he should have strapped on his ankle piece.
Vickers swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. His voice was barely above a whisper when he said, “She said she’d kill my wife if I didn’t cooperate.”
“Does she have the artifact?”
Vickers nodded.
Wonderful. After coming up empty in Washington D.C., Ziegler must have done the same research as they had and sent his minions to retrieve the relic from Vickers. Just how many reapers had the asshole persuaded to join his crusade against Fate?
Every muscle in Dmitri’s body tensed when he heard the sound of a shell being racked into the chamber of a gun.
Shit, shit, shit.
“Hands up high where I can see them,” a smoky, feminine voice said from behind him.
Careful not to make any sudden movements, Dmitri raised his hands and turned toward the sound of the voice.
“Wanda,” he said when he recognized her. “It’s been a while. You look good.”
They’d worked together for a few months back in the nineties. Pretty girl, but her mind was warped, which might explain why she was hanging around with Ziegler.
Wanda kept the pistol trained on his head. “Spare me the bullshit and move back against the wall. You too, old man. And don’t try anything stupid.”
Keeping her distance, she shadowed Dmitri’s movements as he stepped backward until his ass bumped the wall beside the door. His gaze darted out the window toward the truck, searching for Gwen but finding the cab empty.
“It’s not too late for you,” Dmitri told Wanda. “Just give me the artifact and I’ll speak to Samuel on your behalf.”
Wanda scoffed. “I don’t think so.” After digging her phone out of her jacket pocket, she dialed and pressed it to her ear. “Yeah, I got it,” she said to whoever was on the other end of the line. “Got the Russian too. The girl? Nah, she’s outside somewhere. Better come up in case she makes trouble.”
