Ancient Echoes

by Joanne Pence

  Michael waited until he thought Olgerbee might have walked away, and then opened the door and hurried into the dark, narrow tunnel. When he shut the door behind him, he saw only a faint bit of light in the distance.

  Michael hurried to catch up to Olgerbee, whose torch led him through a dark, narrow tunnel away from the village. Michael grew increasingly more claustrophobic with every step. Fifteen minutes passed before they stepped out of the tunnel near a steep, rocky rise.

  Tucked away behind tumbled boulders along its base was the entrance to a cave. Olgerbee went inside.

  Michael waited. He expected Olgerbee to come out any moment. When he didn't, Michael inched closer.

  He didn't expect to be able to see much at all in the darkened cave, but to his amazement, torches fastened to the stone walls lit the way.

  Michael crept along the wall until the tunnel opened to a wide room.

  Olgerbee sat on the ground, eyes shut as if meditating. Before him lay pure gold nuggets. Numerous nuggets. Piles of them. A fortune in them.

  Idaho had seen a few gold strikes, but most had been mined out. Michael saw gold the size of one and two inch river rocks, smooth as eggs and oval shaped. He couldn't even imagine where such gold had been found. It couldn't have been veins of gold ore, but must have been from some river to have been worn so smooth, but he'd never heard of panned gold being that size.

  “Who's there?” Olgerbee cried. As he roused from his golden reverie, he glanced about in suspicion.

  Michael didn't move in hopes Olgerbee would assume the sound came from one of the many creatures that walked the forest and caves.

  When Olgerbee stopped listening, Michael quietly backed out of the cave and hid near its mouth to wait for Olgerbee to leave.

  He didn't have to wait long.

  As Olgerbee headed back to the village, Michael snuck into the cave.

  Alone, the gold looked even more wondrous, the quality and quantity more unbelievable, than he'd imagined.

  He truly understood why people considered it the most perfect of all metals, and why, in every civilization, it had been valued and often used in worship.

  A small golden box lay in the back of the cave. The box, about one cubic foot, reminded him of a tabernacle—where Catholics house the consecrated host—with doors that opened from the front to reveal the contents.

  A simple hook and eye clasp with no lock held the double doors shut. He opened it.

  Inside he found an old, grimy bowl made from some thick metal, possibly iron. He lifted it out. It felt heavy, the inside coated with a sooty substance, and looked quite poor and cheap among all this gold. Why someone put it in a place of honor was anyone's guess. It’s slightly sulfuric odor told him nothing.

  Under the bowl lay some sort of book. The cover seemed too grow warm at his touch…as if there were a connection between him and this book. His heart pounded.

  When Charlotte told him about Book of Abraham the Jew, she said it was bound with a cover of brass, and written on some sort of delicate rinds.

  He opened the cover and found the leaves weren't paper, not even parchment, but could well be what Nicolas Flamel described in his writings.

  The first page had greatly faded writing on it, a very stylized script that formed words in classical Greek. Michael had studied both Greek and Latin.

  Upon the first leaf, written with large albeit faint gold capital letter, he read, “Abraham the Jew, Prince, Levite...”

  This was it! The book that had been rumored about for centuries, argued over, sought…and here it was.

  He carefully turned a page. The leaves felt fragile. He feared the material might crumble in his hand.

  Some pages were filled with writing that would take time and effort to translate. Others were painted with symbols—the god Mercury, a Caducean rod with two serpents, an old man with an hour glass and a scythe, flowers, dragons, griffons, a rose tree, a king, infants, mothers weeping at the feet of soldiers, and on and on.

  It made no sense to Michael. Maybe this was why a scholar of the Kabbalah had been needed.

  Time passed quickly. He put everything back the way he had found it. He knew he had to get back before anyone realized he was gone and where he had been. Yet, here, in his hands, he had held the knowledge that men sought for several millennia. And walking away from it was difficult.

  Chapter 50

  THADDEUS KOHLER SENT Brandi and Rachel to the community house to prepare lunch for the village men, but left Melisse alone in the field where the women had dug tubers all morning. The day was crisp and cool, but Melisse's cheeks were flushed and a sheen of perspiration covered her skin from the effort of digging into the hard ground. He stood before her.

  “You must hate men for what they did to you,” he said, feet wide and hands on hips.

  She looked up at him and then stood, rubbing her hands against her cargo pants to brush away the dirt. It didn’t surprise her to see him, not after the way he'd looked at her in the community house that morning. “Those men were the enemy. I hated them—and we killed them before we left the area.”

  “So you don't hold such brutality against my sex?”

  “Yours isn't the only sex capable of brutality.” She thought about how much to tell him, how useful it might be to have him as an ally. Very useful. “In fact, I have a child. A daughter. Age five.”

  His brow lifted. “And a husband?”

  She let her gaze slide over him slowly. She'd known better looking men...and worse. It wasn't the first time she used a man's weakness to survive. “I have no husband,” she said. “As for the father, I don't know where he is. We didn't get along all that well.”

  He regarded her curiously. “Why?”

  She met his gaze steadily, and when she spoke, her voice sounded husky. “He was weak. Too weak for me.”

  He took the iron spade from her hand. “Do you think to lull me with your tempting words and sultry looks and then put this blade between my ribs as I come to you like a lamb?”

  She took back the spade and then tossed it on the ground. “You're no lamb, Kohler. And my thoughts about you were far different from that. But now”—she shrugged one shoulder—“I've changed my mind.”

  She walked away, but when she reached a stand of aspen, he stopped her and held her arm. She let him.

  “You claim to like me now?” He adopted a mocking jeer.

  She stepped backwards, deeper into the trees. “Like you? Not hardly. I don't trust you.”

  He moved closer. “How can you not trust me? You've seen these men. I’m the one who controls them…so far.”

  Disgust filled her face, and her next words were calculated. “So far? And here I thought you were strong.”

  She raised her chin as if daring him to come nearer. He took up the dare, so close she could feel his breath meet hers. Then, as if his hand had a will of its own, he reached out and touched her cheek, her neck, her collar bone. “I saved you,” he said, his voice a raspy whisper, “from the beasts, from a branding, from the others. And now, it is I who have become a prisoner.”

  “A prisoner?”

  “To you, woman! My own men mock me for my weakness.”

  “You lie,” she sneered, and placed her hands on his chest. “Everything you say is a lie. You feel nothing for me.”

  He put his arms around her. “Am I lying now?”

  “What will your men say?”

  “They mean nothing. You want this as much as I do.”

  “I don't.”

  “Then why is your breathing heavy, your heart racing?” His hands spanned her waist then jerked her hips against his. “If you truly wanted me to walk away now, I would know it.”

  She placed her hands on his shoulders. “I despise you.”

  “As I do you. And I could have killed you time and again, but I didn't. Tell me that's a lie, too.” He kissed her ear, her neck, but as he sought her mouth, she turned her head from a peculiar smell, almost of decay, that seemed to emanate from
him. His hand went to her breast. “Tell me,” he said.

  She ran her fingers through his hair, then gripped and pulled it tight enough to inflict pain, enough to heighten his desire. “We both lie,” she whispered.

  He emitted a deep growl and pushed her to the ground. He hovered over her and unfastened her trousers. She began to unbuttoned his shirt, but had only opened two buttons when a gold necklace with a red pendant stone slipped free. “What is this strange jewel you wear?”

  Shocked, he drew back.

  “Is it a gift from a lady friend?” she purred. “Or something you stole.” She took the stone in her hand. It felt warm, and began to glow.

  “No!” He jerked it away from her, sitting up as his eyes leaped from her to the stone. His face filled with conflicting emotions of desire and horror.

  “What is it?” She demanded as she sat up.

  “Nothing.” He stood and rebuttoned his shirt, hiding the stone once more. “Get back to the community house. You need to help the others prepare supper.”

  He turned toward the forest, then stopped and faced her again. “This between us,” he said, “is not over.”

  She remained seated on the ground, puzzled over what had just happened.

  Chapter 51

  “HOW LONG ARE WE going to wait?” Nose threw his dried jerky on the ground. They had spent another night doing nothing but watching and waiting, and now the morning was nearly over, the sun moving high in the sky. “I’m tired of sitting on my ass. This food is for shit. I say we go in, kill those weirdoes with the bows and arrows, find what we need, and get the hell out.”

  Hammill frowned; he didn’t like his men speaking their minds that way, but he wasn’t surprised it. The men felt spooked, and that made them angry. “Okay, hot shot. Tell me how we get out.”

  “Right back the way we came,” Nose said. “I’m sure there’s a way.”

  “Fuck,” Fish said, which meant he agreed.

  “And if the plan craps out, then what?” Hammill asked. “You think those bozos stick around with their thumbs up their asses because they like it here? No one lives this way by choice. Think with your head, man, not your stomach or your dick. We’ll wait.”

  He didn’t admit to the others, but he thought that since Charlotte Reed got them here, she should be able to get them out. He didn’t want to take the chance of killing her. He didn’t like being superstitious, but he was. She had become a totem to him. She’d stayed alive in spite of his best efforts. There had to be a reason for that, and he saw it now. To kill her would be unlucky. To keep her alive would bring him luck. And they needed luck.

  His conviction was confirmed when his scout gestured for him and the others to see what was going on. Three of the villagers led Charlotte Reed and Lionel Rempart. Hammill and his men followed. Each carried the silent hope that Charlotte Reed would show them how to leave this hell when the time came.

  When they finally reached the pillars, Hammill admitted the confused expression on Charlotte’s face made him unhappy. The Professor brought out some big, elaborate book and kept looking from the book to the pillars also worried him. With a jolt, Hammill realized it was the book he’d been sent here to steal. But now, he couldn’t take it. Not if it held the key to getting out of this place.

  If it did, however, the key didn’t fit the lock because Charlotte and the professor kept shaking their heads. Finally, they sat down on the ground, the book in front of them, and began to read it together.

  Hammill hoped his men didn’t feel the same sinking sensation as he did, or he’d have a complete mutiny on his hands, one that could be dangerous even for him. He’d have to act before that happened. Maybe if they captured Charlotte Reed and placed a knife against her scrawny throat, she’d be inspired to get all of them home again.

  That was what they needed to do.

  Charlotte and the book, together. Why wait?

  But what if he was wrong?

  o0o

  “How am I supposed to know how to open the gateway?” Lionel complained to Charlotte as they sat at the top of the mound facing the pillars, The Book of Abraham the Jew on a cloth before them.

  Earlier, after breakfast, Kohler stood and spoke to the group. “I know the interest some of you have in the ancient book of alchemy found here.”

  At their stunned look, he said, “Yes, we have found the ancient book of alchemy, but reading it is impossible for us.” His gaze pin-pointed Lionel and Michael. “Yet, all of us believe it holds the key to our escape from this place. Since Miss Charlotte Reed is a student of Egypt where much of the information from the book stems, and Professor Lionel Rempart also has studied this area, Mr. Olgerbee will allow the two of you to study the book. We will watch and protect you as you go to the pillars each day and attempt to open the gateway. May the Almighty God guide your endeavors and bring you to success.”

  Shortly afterward, Olgerbee and Sam Black escorted them to the pillars and stood guard as they attempted to open the gateway.

  Lionel looked around nervously. He didn’t like the way Olgerbee glared at him. He leaned toward Charlotte and whispered, “If these people are depending on me to get us out of here, we’re in big trouble. You’ve got to come up with a way, Charlotte. Tell me the hieroglyphs on the pillars say how to open them so we can all go home again.”

  “I know how one reads hieroglyphics, but that doesn’t mean I’ve memorized all the combinations of symbols and their meanings,” Charlotte said. “To read them, I need reference books and dictionaries.”

  A large bat-like creature jerkily flapping its wings swooped down over Lionel’s head. Lionel ducked and Sam Black let loose an arrow that struck the strange bat. Lionel stood stock still, petrified, as the creature flew off with the arrow protruding.

  “Well, I’m afraid we don’t have any Egyptian dictionaries,” Lionel said, more nervous than ever. “You’ll have to figure it out without them. I need you to do it quickly.”

  The appearance of the winged creature so stunned Charlotte, it took a long moment for Lionel’s words to penetrate. “I doubt what’s up there explains much of anything,” she murmured. “Something about them handing over this book so easily makes me wary. And don’t forget those mercenaries, whoever they are, who shot at Michael and Quade. I suspect they’re here for the book as well.”

  “Whatever we do,” Lionel said, his face rigid with determination, “When we find our way back, The Book of Abraham the Jew goes with us.”

  Chapter 52

  New York City

  JIANJUN AROSE AND dressed early. He found Phaylor’s house far too creepy. Calvin Phaylor ranked up there on the creepy scale, too. The guy looked like a cadaver on wheels.

  Jianjun refused the huge breakfast, settling for tea and toast, then set up his computer.

  He found that hacking into Phaylor’s computer security system was child’s play. Phaylor’s bank and credit card data provided a plethora of information about his activities over the past few years. Two of the findings surprised Jianjun.

  First, four satellite phones, all with New York City prefixes, regularly contacted Phaylor. Jianjun couldn’t tell where the calls originated, but satellite phones only made sense in remote locations. He suspected Phaylor had bought and given out the phones.

  Second, the recent murders of the curator of Paris’ Cluny museum, and in Jerusalem, of a security guard, a paid assassin, and a scholar of ancient Egypt, all interested Phaylor. He had also queried the name Laurence Esterbridge several times without success. Jianjun’s heart practically stopped when he learned that the Israelis were looking for an American woman named Charlotte Reed in connection with the murders.

  She was the woman Michael asked him to check on! A security camera had caught her driving away in the dead scholar’s car. Who in the heck was she? Was she a killer, out there with Michael?

  He dived into his computer to search for more information on her. Her Virginia home had been fire-bombed some days earlier. Despite both the Virgin
ia and Israeli police trying to find her, she had not been located. Reports speculated that she torched her home to destroy evidence of her wrong-doings, and went into hiding. The only other information Jianjun found about her was a marriage record between her and someone named Dennis Levine. When he searched for information on Levine, he found he was a State Department employee who died in a terrorist attack in Jerusalem some thirteen years earlier. The date struck Jianjun. A lot seemed to have happened between thirteen and fifteen years ago. This background made him think she wasn’t the crazed murderer the press made her out to be. In fact, she might have been a victim.

  What did it all mean, and why did Calvin Phaylor care?

  After having learned so much about Charlotte Reed, he searched for more information on the other person Michael had mentioned, Simon Quade. When his usual personal data searches yielded not so much as a birth certificate, he went into the CIA’s data base. After coming up with nothing, he tried their human resources. Consultants usually had some fingerprint there, even if only a 1099 or other IRS form. Strangely, he found nothing at all. The name had to be phony, which made Jianjun more curious than ever. But without more information, he was at a standstill.

  Searching for six men lost in Idaho some twelve or thirteen years earlier turned up only rumors and denials of same. Everyone involved agreed that six paramilitary types went through the area. He had names starting with their leader, Thaddeus Kohler, and found evidence of the men’s existences before they went to Idaho, but nothing afterward. As one local said when asked if he thought they had disappeared in the wilderness, “Of course not. They left, that’s all. They weren’t exactly the type to drop in to say ‘so long.’” Another standstill.

  The men could be dead, but he found no evidence of that—not even death certificates or insurance payouts. Their families all refused to say anything about the men, which made Jianjun immediately suspect that someone had paid for their silence.