by Lynn Sholes
"There's definitely some graffiti on the wall. See the writing?"
Holding the display closer to her face, she said, "Yeah, I see it now.
"Can you make out what it says?"
"No, but I remember from the quick start instructions that I can zoom into a picture once I've taken it. Let me try."
She worked with each button causing menus to appear and the function icons to change. Then success. The image changed in the display, and the graffiti became bigger and clearer.
"Now you should be able to read it," Matt said.
"It says destroy the veil by fire." She turned to Matt, his face barely illuminated in the faint light of the display. "Any idea what that means?"
He repeated the words written on the tunnel wall as he studied the image on the LCD. "Sounds like a cataphile took one too many hits from whatever he was smoking down here."
"None of the graffiti we've seen has made any sense." She pressed the zoom-out button and examined the photo again. "Looks like there's a turn in the tunnel to the right just past the wall with the writing. Let's make our way to that point, then take another picture."
"I'll lead the way. Grab on to my jacket."
Turning at the wall with the graffiti, Seneca followed Matt along the bend in the tunnel. After a dozen slow-going steps, they stopped. She oriented herself parallel to the wall and extended her arm with the camera aimed forward.
"Ready?" she asked.
"Do it."
A moment later, they stared at the photo in the LCD display.
"More of the same," Matt said. "But the ceiling looks pretty rugged and somewhat lower. We need to be extra careful."
"Lead the way," Seneca said, holding onto the back of his jacket. She extended her other hand above her head as the ceiling dropped, causing them both to stoop while they made their way forward.
Ten photographs later and what Seneca figured was a few hundred yards along the tunnel, it was time for a break.
"Something tells me we're not going in the same direction we came," Matt said as they sat.
"I agree. None of the pictures look familiar."
"I'm tempted to pull out the other glow stick, fire it up and see how much distance we can manage to cover-"
"What's wrong," she asked.
"Maybe it's just my imagination."
"I swear I just heard someone laugh."
Without being told to do so, they both remained still and silent-Seneca holding her breath. A minute went by, then two.
"Yes!" Seneca said. "I just heard it."
"Any idea from which direction it came?"
"No, but I'll bet it didn't come from where we just did."
"I say, let's light up the glow stick and see if we can find who's down here with
Seneca stood and waited for Matt to unwrap the stick. Soon, their surroundings became visible, this time painted a pastel yellow. With Matt in the lead, they moved along the tunnel as it zigzagged below the Paris streets.
Rounding a turn in the passage, Matt stopped. He turned to Seneca and whispered, "Smell that?"
She nodded. "Marijuana."
"And it's close by. Let's go."
Again they continued down the tunnel, Matt's arm extended in front as he gripped the glow stick.
Making another sharp turn in the passage they entered a spacious chamber. Two men sat on a small limestone bench. They wore headlamps and looked up in unison, illuminating Matt and Seneca. The lights formed beams through a thin gray fog of smoke.
Seneca saw that one of the men held a can of beer. With a laugh, he raised it in a toast and said, "We have company."
The other man blew smoke into the air before saying, "Five Euros they're lost."
"Yes," Seneca said, "we are desperately lost. Can you help us?"
"A sucker bet," the first man said. "Of course we can help you. But first you should join us for a beer and a buzz." He reached into a nearby backpack and produced two cans, holding them in an offering gesture.
"No thanks," Seneca said.
"Or me," Matt said. "But thanks anyway"
They walked forward until they stood in front of the two men.
"Whatever," the first man said, stuffing the beers into the backpack. "At least take a moment, relax, and enjoy the solitude of the Empire of the Dead."
Seneca and Matt sat on a nearby stone bench. "We're kind of anxious to get out of here," Seneca said.
"I'm Nightcrawler," the first man said, ignoring her comment. "This is my friend, Nomad. Welcome to our cozy underground abode. And who might you be?"
"Seneca, and this is Matt. You both speak English. Are you Americans?"
"Expats," Nomad said. "We moved to Europe many years ago. We're teachers at a local university but like to come down here once a week or so to get away from the real world."
"Well, we're sure lucky to have found you," Matt said. "So you can show us the way out?"
"Sure," Nightcrawler said.
"How far are we from an exit?" Seneca asked.
The two men looked at each other and laughed. Then Nomad pointed to his right and said, "About twenty feet that way."
DEAD-END 2012, PARIS
NIGHTCRAWLER AND NOMAD GUIDED Seneca and Matt out of the catacombs by way of a sewer access culvert that led to an abandoned railroad tunnel. From there they thanked the two expatriates before making their way across an open field and along a few quiet neighborhood side streets until they were able to flag down a taxi. It drove them to a police substation a couple of blocks from where they were staying at the Hotel du Lion. After meeting with an investigator for a brief fifteen minutes, they walked the remaining distance to their hotel. Moving across the lobby, they came under intense scrutiny from hotel security. Their muddy clothes and scraggly appearance caught the eye of the staff and guests alike.
After cleaning up and getting dressed, Matt came to Seneca's room where they placed a call to Al and reported their catacombs experience.
Seneca gave Al the French sister publication information and a description of the guide, and he promised to call back within the next few hours.
While they waited, Matt and Seneca ordered room service. After finishing their dinner, Seneca curled up on the bed and slept while Matt sat on a nearby couch and watched a French version of Jeopardy.
The ring of her cell phone jarred her awake.
Matt got to her phone first. "Hello."
Seneca groggily sat up. "Is it Al?"
Matt nodded. "Here she is."
"Hey, it's me. I'm putting you on speaker." She pressed the icon for the speakerphone. "What did you find out? Any idea who the man was who kidnapped us?"
"First off," Al said, "the official guide who the magazine arranged to take you into the catacombs said you called and canceled. Now we know that wasn't you. Other than that, not much else. You said you talked to the police? What was their take on the incident?"
"They said we were lucky to make it out without getting seriously injured," Seneca said, "and they reminded us that it's illegal to go down there in the first place. Almost like they didn't hear a word we said about the kidnapping at gunpoint. And since we had no proof that any of it actually happened, I'm not sure they even believed us. The investigator cautioned us on the consequences for giving a false statement to the police. Unquestionably they were not interested in doing any follow-up."
Matt went to stare out the window at the lights below. "Al, what do you really think is going on here?"
"At first, it looked to me like the Mexico City bombing and the helicopter incidents were just an unfortunate coincidence. But now you add getting marched into the catacombs at gunpoint, and things start to look a little more suspicious. Then there's that intel about Seneca's name in the chatroom. There are some other small traces I'm getting bits of info on, but not enough to make any declarations. But I can tell you this, I don't like it."
"What about the list of tomb robberies your colleagues dug up-pardon the pun?"
"Interesti
ng and undoubtedly bizarre, but I'm not sure. Even though I still don't see a direct connection, the evidence is enough to raise questions. If there's a tie-in to the robberies, then whoever is stealing those human remains doesn't like you guys nosing around. At this point, I would suggest that for your own safety you return home and get back to your normal routines. Butt out."
"You know I can't do that," Seneca said. "Nobody else is trying to find out who murdered Daniel and the others. This series of tomb robberies is my only lead."
"Look, I think you have a serious problem. Somebody wants you dead. All I'm saying is try to eliminate the motivation for that in any way you can. Let me and my buddies keep investigating."
"I thought you said they could get into trouble helping you out now that you're retired."
"I still have a few connections here and there. You let me worry about it."
Matt said, "Al, what about the fact that all the remains belonged to, for lack of a better definition, what most would consider mass murderers? What do you think about that?"
"Again, fascinating but not worth risking your lives over. What can someone possibly do with their bones? Now if they were somehow bringing them all back to life, well, that would be a whole different story."
"The fact that they're trying to stop us is exactly why we need to keep going," Seneca said. "Not only might this have the potential to help uncover who is responsible for Dan's death and add valuable research for Matt, but the mere fact that someone wants us to stop investigating is a red flag that there's something to investigate."
"Okay," Al said, "let's say for argument's sake that you're right. What's your plan? Where do you two go next? The list of robbery locations is all over the map-South America to Europe to the Middle East. Are you going to try guessing where the next one will be? That gives me a headache just thinking about it." There was a long pause. "So, have you even got a plan?"
Seneca looked at Matt and shrugged. "We're still brainstorming."
"Even more reason to catch the next flight. I've taken the liberty of arranging for a company to move your stuff to the new place you and Daniel had put a deposit on. It'll all be done by the time you get back."
"Al, I've already explained to you that I can't afford that condo on my salary. I have to find a cheaper place."
"No, you don't. I'm your father and as far as I'm concerned, you've just had a little setback. That's where you wanted to live and that's where you're gonna live." His voice was strong and stern, rattling the small cell speakerphone. "So get your tickets and head home. There's nothing more for you to see or do in Paris. It's a dead-end."
Seneca shook her head as she glared at Matt. "Al, when you said you had taken liberties, you really meant it. I don't know whether to say thank you or hang up on you."
"Listen, little one. Don't be cutting off your nose because of pride."
Matt gave her an encouraging smile and nodded in favor of her father's advice.
"I suppose you're right," she said. "If someone wants me dead, there's no sense in me being bullheaded and letting them have their wish. I'll text our flight information to you as soon as we have
"Good. In the meantime, I'll keep looking for a connection to all this from my end."
"Oh," Seneca said, "there is one more thing. While your spy pals are doing their digging, have them see if they can figure out the meaning of a phrase we came across."
"What is it?" Al asked.
"Destroy the veil by fire."
2012, BAHAMAS
COYOTL SHIFTED HIS WEIGHT in the club chair. His palms left a slick of perspiration on the leather when he moved his hands from the armrests to his lap, and he felt the same cold dampness accumulating on the backs of his thighs, moistening his trouser legs. Scarrow had summoned him to the Azteca library from his afternoon duties of working with the apostles. Coyotl assumed this was not going to be a friendly chat.
Scarrow sat opposite Coyotl on a matching leather couch, the brass nail heads as hard and cold as Scarrow's eyes.
"Have you ever really taken a close look at the quality, the perfection of every feature and appointment in Azteca? Examine the flooring, Coyotl. Exquisite wenge wood, clear grade, no blemishes of any kind. Some believe it has mystical powers. That's why it's been used for hundreds of years in its native Africa to make ceremonial masks and statues to honor the gods."
Coyotl kept his eyes cast down, understanding that Scarrow's mood was as dark as the color of the brown floor.
"And the rugs. They are not just any rugs. They are authentic Persian rugs, made from silk and kurk wool shorn from the chest and shoulders of mountain lambs. They have as many as one thousand knots per square inch. The dye mellows with age and the rugs improve over the years. A good Persian rug can last for a hundred years ... they say." Scarrow glanced from one rug to another as he spoke, almost as if he were admiring works of art on a museum wall. He paused before fixing his glare on his chief of staff. "Perfection. But nothing lasts forever, does it?"
Coyotl raised his head, knowing his eyes didn't hide his fear.
Scarrow continued. "Attention to perfection is important to me. I don't tolerate anything less. So you can see I am having a problem, my friend."
The blood flowing through Coyotl's heart felt as if it had clogged and jammed. "But I am not responsible for Paris!"
Scarrow stretched back against the couch. "Ah, your comment tells me that you clearly understand my concern."
"Yes, Javier, I do, but I'm trying to clarify what happened."
"Did you not escort the apostle Mengele to Paris?"
"Yes, but-"
"Then it was your responsibility."
Coyotl squirmed, a bead of perspiration tracking down his spine. "I didn't devise the plan. You made the decision for them to be abandoned in the catacombs. I even warned that it was not foolproof."
"And that was your responsibility, to see that it was foolproof."
Coyotl felt the urge to stand and pace. Instead he replanted his palms on the armrests, feeling his fingers curl over and clench the leading edge. "That was impossible. I don't know how they found their way out. They were taken so deep in the labyrinth it would have taken a
Scarrow steepled his fingers and tapped them against his lips, seeming to pause in thought. "So you're telling me it was also a miracle that they survived the assault on the boat in the Keys? And the bombing in Mexico City? How could anyone have survived that? You believe they were all miracles?"
"The Hunt woman and her companion have had extraordinarily good luck. All the plans had shortcomings. You chose strategies that had a risk of failure because of the design-to make them look like accidents. Why not just outright kill them both? Shoot them. Make it look like a carjacking or a robbery or some other random act of violence. But just get it done. Sometimes simple is the best choice."
"Only under the right circumstances." Scarrow stood, drawing himself up to his full height, a scowl sweeping his face. "You don't understand. Perhaps no one can understand. The Phoenix Ministries is the result of my life's mission. The task I have been given weighs heavy on my shoulders. Out of everyone who has ever lived, I was chosen. I can't fail, because if I do, it's the end of mankind. There will be no second chance. We are within days of fulfillment."
"Javier, we can only attempt to understand and empathize. I believe in you and am completely dedicated to you and the mission of the Ministry. But perhaps you need to consider a less complicated solution to this problem so you can move on with your work."
"If Seneca Hunt and Matt Everhart are killed in a way that would invite a police investigation, it would put us in grave jeopardy. I can't afford even the most microscopic link that could lead to me or my purpose. One miscalculation on our part-one single infinitesimal inkling or suspicion-and these two individuals will unravel everything. However we choose to eliminate them must not open any type of police or government probe."
Scarrow walked across the room, pulled back the drape and looked out the wi
ndow to the green blanket of pine forest beyond. He spoke softly, almost to himself. "The woman already has knowledge that could destroy us. She just doesn't know it."
THE JAGUAR SLEEPS TONIGHT
2012, PARIS
"I COULD DO WITH a few more hours sleep," Seneca said, resting her head on the seatback as the taxi pulled away from the hotel and headed to Charles de Gaulle Airport.
"You can get some rest on the plane," Matt said, sitting beside her. "It's a long flight."
"My internal clock will be all screwed up by the time we get to Miami."
