“Our sources indicate Father Willem’s papers have been found,” Peter continued.
Ben’s bright blue eyes seemed to sparkle with excitement. “Where are they?”
“In the U.S.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes. Regrettably, there is a caveat, sir. For reasons unknown, they were pulled from public auction. It appears the family intends to donate them instead.”
Ben’s face changed drastically, and the lilt in his voice took on a far more serious tone. The sparkle in his eyes turned distant and dark. “That can’t happen, Peter. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir. What offer should be made?”
“A reasonable one, but I must have those papers.”
“Of course.”
Using his satellite phone, Peter dialed the number. It was nearing nine o’clock in the morning on the East Coast of the U.S. Ben could hear the ringing phone go to voicemail. Peter dutifully left his message:
“Good Morning. My name is Peter Grant. I represent a party interested in the Dubois Family Papers. My benefactor is prepared to make a handsome and immediate offer. I’ll ring you again later today. Thank you.”
Hanging up, he turned to meet Ben’s eyes. They’d grown deeply intense. Whatever warmth lay beneath the surface was no longer evident.
Speaking to the driver, Ben instructed, “London City Airport.” Turning back to Peter he said, “Make the offer in person.”
“Yes, sir.”
Peter was soon back on his phone making arrangements for the private jet he’d take to the U.S. Having worked for Ben as long as he had, it behooved him to be ready to go anywhere in the world on Ben’s whim or direction. For just such an occasion, he always kept travel documents and packed luggage for them both in the trunk of the Bentley. Access to large sums of cash was never an issue making his task far easier.
Ben gazed out the window unconcerned with the details as Peter made them. He trusted him explicitly knowing he’d do everything within their combined power to secure the Collection. Ben’s thoughts centered on the countless years searching for the one secret evading him the most. The fact it might be within his grasp made containing his optimism difficult. The possibility of finding his ultimate prize within the worn and crumpled pages of an unknown priest’s letters returned the sparkle to his eyes.
After dropping Peter off, Arthur drove Ben home to West Sussex. Pulling onto the lane toward the main house, Ben breathed a sigh. The grounds were pristine with little remnants of the crew responsible for maintaining it all. Peter ensured all work on the house was done when Ben wasn’t present. The only workers remaining on any given day were Arthur and Adele, the cook, both of whom stayed in the small cottage on the eastern side of the property. Peter was the only person to occupy the main house with Ben.
Once inside, Ben was becoming increasingly tired. The simple exertion of going up the stairs to his suite was exhausting. With each step up, he grew more annoyed knowing what soon followed. Not now! He thought, but the tiredness wouldn’t subside. Reaching the landing, he looked back as Arthur gazed at him with deep concern.
“I’m fine. I assure you,” Ben said.
“Very good, sir,” Arthur replied before going out the front door.
Making his way down the passageway to his private suite, the whispering voices pounded in his head. “Not now!” he demanded to no avail. Instead of quieting down, they grew more cacophonous and insistent. He loosened his tie flopping into his lounger from overwhelming pain and exhaustion. To an observer, what was happening mimicked a severe migraine attack. Pressing the remote, he closed the blinds to block the bright sun. His breathing quickened as the room appeared to spin around him. Then everything went black.
As consciousness returned, he found himself in the realm with others around him.
“Why have you done this?” Ben’s anger was visceral.
“The war wages. You were needed,” Mila said. An entity with immense power capable of hurling entire galaxies to the edges of space and time, only the feminine energies contained the rage within.
“Surely the Nubí are no match for us without Asira,” Ben replied sharply.
“This war would be over if you returned to us instead of maintaining that useless form. It is a waste of time!” Veshlu shouted. Veshlu’s masculine enabled massive eruptions to cleanse or rebuild planets. Many mortals worshiped him with great devotion. He reveled in it.
“What is time to us?” Ben replied sharply.
“An annoyance! You are Bensaí! You belong by our side to defeat the Nubí and The Supreme.”
“We are all Bensaí!” Ben shouted. “This war will continue until The Supreme is no more, but IT cannot be defeated easily. That can only happen if Asira is found.”
“How much longer will you maintain the human form?” Mila asked.
“As long as necessary!”
“We cannot feel Asira’s presence,” Mila said.
“Even you, the greatest among us, have been searching to no avail,” Ontu said coming to Mila’s side.
“I’m convinced Asira sleeps because of the Dajume, but they are dying. It won’t be long before we feel it again,” Ben added. “When it happens, I will awaken Asira.”
The Dajume were select humans endowed with extraordinary gifts. Their sole purpose was protecting the mortal forms assumed by Asira.
“Just kill Asira’s mortal form and be done with it!” Veshlu retorted.
“We will be far more powerful with Asira.”
“And if Asira refuses to join us?” Huria queried.
“Then Asira will be destroyed,” Ben said emphatically. “Now release me so I can conclude my search. And be very clear, I will summon you. Do not do this again upon my form.”
“As you wish. But make no mistake, this diversion cannot last, Bensaí,” Veshlu said.
“You know what must be done until I return.”
“We will always be one with you, but there is a concern you are not one with us,” Mila added.
“I am Bensaí!” Ben said moving away from them as he flexed the full spectrum of his fiery breath and immense energies like a peacock shaking and spreading its glorious tail feathers. With his hands outstretched, balls of flaming gases formed which he consumed as another display of his many powers. They soon departed from him.
Their realm was forged by a source of immense power, but IT had not interfered in their conflict. Instead, roaming the known and unknown realms, The Supreme Being was only detected by increased energies emitted from mortals in IT’s presence. Without The Supreme, the others began quarreling over what was to become of creatures given life and evolving on worlds they’d created. The disagreements split their once harmonious existence until they became distinctly Bensaí and Nubí. One force, the Bensaí, wanted continued control over the creatures and their worlds. The other, the Nubí, wanted to free them to their own devices wherever they led. Asira was Nubí.
Back in his human form, Ben was alert. No longer feeling fatigued, his annoyance with the intrusion lingered. Despite his anger, he couldn’t ignore the frustration expressed by his fellow Bensaí. It made him uneasy. Ontu and Mila were the most loyal. If they were becoming impatient with his search or questioned the validity of his plan, he could only imagine what Huria and Veshlu were doing in his absence. He knew he had to find Asira.
Asira had the power to grant or remove sentience and free will to any life form. In the beginning, the gift was only bestowed to the caregivers of worlds. However, Asira became fascinated by mortal choices ultimately creating more self-aware beings until entire worlds were full of them, but they began turning away from the Creators. Some mortals became too deviant claiming their own divinity. As punishment, those worlds were crushed into spiraling dense masses eventually swallowed up by Veshlu or Huria. Choosing to take on their forms to better understand them, Asira erupted what balance remained within the realm between Bensaí and Nubí. Even in the midst of war, Asira would disappear undetected by even the Nubí.
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br /> Ben tracked the last pulse of Asira’s presence among the newest beings on Earth. Assuming a human form, he began his relentless search, and he would not stop until he found his prize, but his efforts had been slowed. Somehow, the Dajume’s power to protect Asira expanded to include cloaking its energies from both the Nubí and Bensaí. The search already cost him three human forms and one hundred years.
CHAPTER 3
Peter pulled up in the rented car across the street from the Johnson family’s home. He sat for a moment watching men loading wooden crates and boxes into an armored vehicle. This was a problem he had not anticipated. Rather than drive away, he got out of the car and approached the house. An armed guard immediately walked toward him.
“Excuse me, sir, is Mr. Johnson expecting you?” the guard asked.
“I believe so,” Peter responded.
“Your name?”
“Peter Grant.”
“Wait here.”
The guard walked over to the other who stood at the ready with a military rifle in his grasp. They spoke for a moment looking back at him several times. He watched the guard disappear into the house. Moments later a man easily in his sixties came out with him.
“Mr. Grant, I was expecting another call, not you showing up to my house,” Mr. Johnson said.
“Apologies. But as I explained on the phone, my benefactor is very interested in the Collection. I’m prepared to make you a handsome offer for it.”
“You’re too late.”
Looking around at the modest Towson, Maryland, neighborhood, Peter continued. “My benefactor is prepared to offer you five million dollars. I’m sure it would make a handsome retirement or whatever else a great sum of money could do for you.”
Mr. Johnson chuckled loudly. “Well, see, here’s the thing. We’ve been given twice as much to donate it. Timing’s everything, right?”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s a done deal, Mr. Grant. You wasted your time coming here. If you called back instead of showing up at my door, you could’ve saved yourself the trip.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, when did this happen and who made the gift.”
“I don’t see how any of that’s your business, now is it?”
None of this was acceptable. But Peter knew his hands were tied… at least temporarily. The only question remaining was, “May I at least inquire where the Collection is going? A donation suggests it will be made available to the public at some point.”
For the first time, Mr. Johnson seemed uneasy. He looked over his shoulder at the guards who were watching their exchange.
“Goodbye, Mr. Grant. Sorry, we can’t do business.”
Without another word, Mr. Johnson went back into the house. Walking to the car, Peter dreaded making the call to Ben. Disappointment was not something he handled well. It was only about ten o’clock p.m. in London, and he should still be awake, but the truth was it didn’t matter. He knew Ben was patiently waiting to hear from him, so he placed the call.
“Sir.”
“You don’t sound like yourself, Peter. I hope you’re simply tired and not bearing bad news.”
Peter was exhausted, but that was beside the point. “I’ve spoken with Mr. Johnson. He has refused the offer.”
Ben was silent.
Peter continued. “Another party offered him twice your amount to donate it. He won’t reveal where the Collection is going.”
“This is very disappointing.”
“Under current circumstances, I can’t pursue it further because there are armed guards loading it… and obviously protecting the family.”
“I must know where it’s going.”
“I understand.”
“Keep me informed.”
“Of course.”
“Goodbye, Peter.”
“Goodbye, sir.”
Ben paced the floor to release his frustration. What contained his rage was the knowledge he was much closer to unraveling the secrets of Asira’s disappearance than he’d been in over hundred years. Retrieving the portfolio Peter gave him earlier, Ben sat at his desk. He began reading through the information in greater detail for the first time. A smile formed on his face at the realization they were, in fact, on the right trail… a trail that began deep in the Congo.
Hungry and tired, Peter left the Johnson home choosing to make a quick stop at a diner back on the main road. He’d refresh himself with coffee and a bite to eat while waiting until the guards were gone. Then he’d return using any means necessary to find out where the Collection was headed.
Sitting at the diner counter facing the door, he saw a disheveled and presumably homeless elderly black man walk in. Not paying him much more attention, Peter continued eating. When the man sat next to him, the stench was overpowering.
The old man plopped crumpled bills on the counter and said with a raspy voice, “Burger and coffee!”
The smell was so bad, Peter immediately flagged down the waitress. “Check please!”
The man turned to Peter saying, “Listen to you! You from England or something?”
Peter said nothing but nodded as he wiped his mouth holding the napkin close to his nose. When he turned to look at him, the old man leaned in touching his hand. Peter was immediately immobilized. The man smiled, whispering, “The Dajume will not let you harm Asira.”
Peter’s eyes widened as his chest tightened. Clutching it, he stumbled from his stool unable to speak due to excruciating pain. Other diners looked on with puzzlement as he collapsed to the floor.
The old black man shouted, “Call 911! I think he’s having a heart attack!”
People rushed toward a now unconscious Peter as the old man slipped away undetected.
As the hours passed, Ben was becoming increasingly agitated as he waited at home for Peter to call from the U.S. It wasn’t like him not to check in. It certainly shouldn’t have taken this long to extract the information from Johnson. Even if Peter had to resort to enhanced interrogation, it should’ve been over. Johnson was a man in his sixties. There was no way he’d endure the torture Peter was capable of inflicting.
Ben was deeply concerned the more Peter’s unanswered phone rang. Always a loyal and highly capable assistant, this was very uncharacteristic. Something was terribly amiss. He tried again to no avail eventually leaving a brief voicemail.
Nearing midnight in the U.S., Ben couldn’t wait any longer. He called the Johnson home.
“Good evening. Please forgive the intrusion at this late hour, but I’m trying to reach my associate, Peter Grant.”
“You realize how late it is?” the annoyed Mr. Johnson said.
Virtually ignoring him, Ben continued, “I understand he talked with you earlier today.”
“Are you the one who offered us five million?”
“I am.”
“I haven’t seen him since this afternoon.” Then Johnson laughed, “Maybe he took your money heading to who knows where!”
Ben wasn’t amused. “Thank you for your time.”
Hanging up, he briefly considered taking on his natural form to instantaneously transport to Baltimore, but he knew better. Abandoning his human body wasn’t an option. Although the others could pull him into their home realm, the body could sustain the absence because it was only a blink of an eye in earth time if they so chose. But to abandon the body and remain subjected to earthly time would surely kill it after a few short minutes. Instead, he called Arthur to bring the car around. He had to get to Baltimore as soon as possible. He called London City Airport to arrange another jet.
Arriving the next morning, the private car service took him from BWI Airport directly to the Johnson home outside Baltimore. Barely seven a.m., he walked up to the door ringing the bell several times unconcerned with whatever wrath awaited him. After a few minutes, an irritated Johnson opened the door glaring at Ben through the screen door.
“What the ever living hell! Who are you?” he shouted.
“The man you spoke with la
st night. May I come in?”
“Don’t you people know how to take ‘no’ for an answer? Get the hell away from my house, or I’m calling the cops.”
“I’m willing to pay one million for five minutes of your time, Mr. Johnson,” Ben said calmly.
“You’re crazy!”
“And very rich. Now, what shall it be?”
Rubbing his scruffy chin, Johnson opened the screen door letting Ben inside.
“Larry? Who is it?” Mrs. Johnson came to the top of the stairs in her robe.
“One of those crazy Englishmen.”
She stood more erect, wrapping her robe even tighter around her body and descending the stairs to stand next to her husband.
“I’ll ask my question, and you’ll never hear from me again.”
“I got a question for you, Mr. Chips.”
The intended insult wasn’t lost on Ben. “What is it?”
“Why is a bunch of old family papers so important to you?”
“Do you know much about your ancestry, Mr. Johnson?”
“I know my grandfather fell in love with a rich Belgian woman whose family disinherited her when she ran off and married him, a nobody American GI from Glen Burnie, Maryland. I come from hard-working, regular folks.”
“Your grandmother was a Dubois.”
“So what? She was just Granny Camille to me.”
“You have no idea what’s in the Collection, do you?”
“Listen, I made a deal, and we’re happy with it.”
“You must be to refuse my offer,” Ben said.
“Your five minutes are up.”
“But I haven’t asked my question.”
“Fine! What is it?”
“Where’s the Collection heading?”
“I can’t say.”
“Why not?”
“Part of the deal.”
“Not even for a million dollars?”
“I answer you, I lose what I got. Plus… I’m a man of my word. I may not have much, but I have that. None but God could get me to tell you.”
“Fine. Eleven million. The ten you’d lose plus the one for answering the question.”
“I said no. Now get out of my house.”
Asira Awakens Page 2
