The Secret of the Stones

by Ernest Dempsey

  Her generous smile was irresistible. “That would be great, if it’s not too much trouble,” Sean answered.

  The lady smiled down at him. “No trouble at all, Sean.” She spoke like she had known him for years.

  While she was in the kitchen, he decided to continue the conversation. “Did you know what it was that your husband was working on the last few weeks just before he died?”

  Sounds of pots being filled with water and dishes being moved around preceded the answer. “I don’t know what he was working on.” There was a pause before she continued. “The police came by twice and asked me the same thing both times.”

  “I’m sorry Mrs. Borringer. I didn’t mean to…”

  “Oh, it’s okay, dear. I know you didn’t.” There was a minute of silence before she reappeared.

  Allyson smiled at her as she came through the doorway of the kitchen, a small plate of cookies in her right hand.

  Mrs. Borringer returned the smile. “Yes,” she began, “I doubt those incompetents at the police department will ever find the villains that did this to poor Frank. He never crossed anybody, never hurt anybody.” Her face grew resolute. “My husband was a good man in a world of horrible people. And I fear that we may never know who took him away.” Rather than breaking down, an odd sort of anger had taken over her demeanor.

  Sean was interested in the police department’s role in this whole turn of events. Allyson had taken a cookie and was nibbling on it, listening intently. “You said the police came by a couple of times?” he stated the question when it felt like the lady could answer.

  She snapped out of her daze with a start. “Yes. Yes,” emphasizing an oddity about the answer. “It seemed strange to me that the investigators that came to visit me were, on each occasion, different people.”

  It was Sean’s turn to perk up. “What did they look like, Mrs. Borringer, the two detectives?”

  A slightly confused look appeared on her face. “The first officer was very polite. He was probably just under six feet tall, had dark hair, white guy.” Then, her thoughts wrapped around the details. “Now, the second fellow was taller, probably six-three or so. He had a trench coat on, but I could tell he must have been pretty strong. His attitude was impatient, though, not very friendly. I much preferred the other policeman.” Her words sounded like a child speaking about a preference of pastries.

  Allyson and Sean had finished their snacks. “This second man, did he produce any identification?” Sean had become more curious.

  The older woman gave a look of confirmation. “Yes. Said his name was Detective Jurgenson.” She stood and walked back into the kitchen to retrieve the coffee. “Cream or sugar?” she called to them from the open doorway.

  “Both,” the two of them responded at the same time.

  “When he arrived,” she continued while stirring the cups, “he presented his badge and ID. Of course, I have never seen those things before. Looked real enough, I suppose. Had to go by what I’d seen on the tele. But he was a pushy young man, I must say. He went through all of Frank’s things in the upstairs office and pretty much everywhere else.”

  “Did you notice if he took anything when he left?”

  “No. I made sure that nothing was taken. Frank was the victim, so there would be no need to confiscate anything of his.” She sat thoughtfully. “I don’t think the man found what he was looking for anyway. After he was done tearin’ the place apart, he started asking me more questions. His queries didn’t really strike me as weird until later.”

  “What exactly did he ask about?”

  She returned with a silver serving tray containing two large latte cups. “Well, he seemed very interested in Frank’s work. While Detective Thompson had seemed genuinely concerned with who might have had it in for my husband, Detective Jurgenson only asked questions about his projects and anyone who may have been assisting him.” There was a pause. Then, “It was almost as if he didn’t care about finding Frank’s killer at all.”

  Allyson and Sean gave each other an interested, momentary glance before graciously accepting their overly large cups of coffee with polite thank you's. Sean looked back at the lady, who now sat staring thoughtfully at her folded hands upon her lap. “Did this man happen to have any scars or an odd accent, just something that would set him apart?”

  Her head cocked a few inches to the right. “You know, now that you mention it, I thought I picked up something odd in his voice. I didn’t think much of it at first, but some of his words seemed to sound almost too controlled, like he was trying to cover up his accent.” She paused for a moment, visibly realizing something was certainly out of place in this whole scenario. “But why would he…?”

  “Mrs. Borringer,” Sean answered before she could finish. “I don’t believe that guy was a cop.”

  The statement struck her even though now it was becoming obvious. “I don’t understand.”

  “Earlier this week, my friend Tommy Schultz was kidnapped. He had been working on a project with your husband.”

  Her face was dazed. “Tommy was here a few weeks ago.” She looked down thoughtfully. The poor woman had been through too much in the last week. “And you think that this Jurgenson may have had something to do with my husband’s murder and Tommy’s disappearance?”

  “I don’t know, Mrs. Borringer,” he leaned closer to her, setting his mug down on the wooden table in between. “Is there anything you can tell us about what Frank was working on? What Tommy and he discussed? If we can figure out what he was doing, maybe we can find Tommy. And if we find him, we find the guy that killed your husband.”

  Her face changed from confused to resolute. The look was a little scary to both of the visitors. “I cannot say for certain what it was Frank had found, but I do know what he was looking for.” The older woman stood and started walking toward the stairs on the other side of the room. “I may know where we can find what you are looking for though.” She smiled and motioned for them to follow.

  Sean shared a skeptical glance with Allyson.

  14

  Blue Ridge Mountains

  “Now, Thomas, this is how it is going to work.” Ulrich circled the large desk like a big cat sizing up his prey. “You are telling me that you do not know where the chamber is.” He stopped directly in front of Tommy, looking down at him with an almost pitying look. “You will figure it out.”

  “Why can’t you figure it out yourself?”

  Ulrich leaned back and smiled wickedly. He brought the side of his hand down hard across Tommy’s face. Tommy grimaced for a moment from the quick strike. “Do not insult me, Thomas.”

  Pain and anger mingled in his brain. “That was unnecessary,” Tommy managed through clenched teeth.

  “Come now, Thomas,” the voice had somehow grown even more sinister, “I know what you found. And I know that you have been working with Dr. Borringer on translating the code.”

  A horrific realization crossed Tommy’s mind. “How did you…what have you done to Frank?” He struggled against the ropes in the chair, but he could barely breathe, much less escape. Thunder rolled outside following a flash of brilliant lightning not too far in the distance.

  “You do not need to concern yourself with Dr. Borringer. I know what you and he were working on.” Ulrich repeated the statement.

  “If you did anything to Frank, I’ll…”

  “You will find the chamber for me, or you and the Wyatts will both die by this time tomorrow!” This was the first time he had heard Ulrich sound really angry. The tall man’s face had turned red, his jaw tightening while he spoke. “You found the Stone of Akhanan! But you could not interpret the code. So, you took it to Borringer, the foremost authority in the Southeast on ancient languages.”

  Ulrich calmed momentarily and wiped a small bead of sweat from his forehead. “Now, I know that Borringer interpreted the code on the back of the stone. Unfortunately, I was unable to find the results of his work or even the stone itself. You can make this a lot eas
ier if you just tell me what the code means.”

  “You’re going to kill me either way,” Tommy’s face became twisted in rage. “You killed Frank, didn’t you?” The question was direct, full of anger.

  “I do what is necessary.” Resolution now manifested itself in the man’s voice. Ulrich stood erect and stepped to the window. “Sacrifices must sometimes be made for the greater good.”

  “Spare me your righteous speeches. Frank had a wife, you son of a…”

  “Mr. Schultz!” Ulrich’s voice thundered, “There is nothing you can do to help Dr. Borringer now.” He thought for a moment, almost savoring it, before he continued. “It may comfort you to know that he died, unfortunately for me, rather quickly. The blade must have gone too deep into his back.”

  The chair strained against Tommy’s adrenaline. Still, neither the rope nor the wood gave way. Moments later, his body relaxed, spent from the futile effort. His face blushed a bright red. Staring down at the ground, a sick-looking smile appeared on his face. In a quiet, matter-of-fact tone he said, “I will kill you.”

  “Now, Thomas, I seriously doubt that. The current situation would lead me to think otherwise.” Ulrich had come back from the window to stand in front of his now-insane-looking captive. He walked around behind him, pulling a gun out from inside a holster concealed within his jacket. A second later, he produced a large blade in his other hand. “What you are going to do is exactly what I tell you.”

  “I don‘t know what the code means, you freak! Frank had everything. I gave him the stone and all the other stuff that I had been working on. He was going to return it to me when he finished. I’m not sure he even started working on it.” The desperate sincerity was convincing. Of course, the man holding him prisoner had no way of knowing it was true. He might just as easily believe him to be lying.

  “Don’t toy with me,” Ulrich stepped closer, holding up the blade, running the gun barrel down the side of it.

  “Listen, why would I tell you I didn’t have anything? If that’s true, then I am useless to you. Unless…”

  “Unless what?” He finished Tommy’s sentence for him.

  “There is one possibility...” His mind was running frantically. Truly, he had indeed given most of his work to Borringer, including the stone itself. If Sean could somehow get the stone and put together the clues, perhaps Tommy could leave a trail of the proverbial bread crumbs to where they were headed. That was a pretty big if considering Sean didn’t know much about what he’d been working on. And it was doubtful that he would be able to find what Borringer had been working on if Frank had indeed begun his task. All of this ran through Tommy’s mind as the blond man stared down at him, waiting. It was a long shot, but it was his only play.

  “Well?” the accent was nearly gone with the question.

  “The stone is only the first clue to the trail. It was dumb luck that I found it.” He cleared his throat as Ulrich gave him a warning look to quit stalling. “However, I did make a copy of the stone. If we can get the copy, I may be able to decipher some of it. Even then, I don’t know if I will be able to interpret enough to get us to the next clue. That’s why I took it to Borringer in the first place.”

  “Next clue?” He leaned back a little, relaxing his menacing gaze into a questioning look.

  “Yes. The legend claims that there is a path that must be traveled. Only those who are worthy can interpret the code and find the path to the four chambers.”

  “How do you know about this?”

  “Because of a riddle I came across a few years ago. It was written on an animal skin. An old man found it in a cave on his property. Said it was tucked away in a high place, sealed off with rocks and mortar to keep it dry. It was dated from the early 1800s. I’m pretty sure the stone confirmed the riddle and the location of the next clue, but I had to take it to Borringer for him to figure out the rest. Only God knows if he did or not.”

  Ulrich turned his gaze out the window in thought. He placed the blade down on the desk as he moved slowly toward one of the chairs facing his bound captive. Rain pattered on the glass as the storm reached the mansion. Thunder again pierced the moment of thoughtful silence.

  Tommy could see the gears turning in the man’s mind. His thoughts were interrupted by, “Why could you not decipher the entire code?”

  He knew the question was coming. Fortunately, he had not had to lie so far, and he wouldn’t have to start now. That would come later. “The text on the back of the stone is a mixture of languages. A great deal of it is hieratic, which I can figure about 50 percent of. The other parts are an ancient Hebrew and some kind of cuneiform, neither of which I can interpret. That left me with only about a third to maybe 40 percent of the riddle.”

  Crossing his leg over his knee, Ulrich asked, “Where is this copy of the stone?”

  “It’s at my house.”

  Ulrich was no fool. He looked skeptically at Tommy. “I’m sure that you would like for me to go to your house so the police can arrest me on sight, at the very least as a suspicious person.”

  “The thought crossed my mind.” At least he hadn’t lost his sense of humor. “But it’s the truth. I left a copy there in my office. If there wasn’t one, and you went there and couldn’t find it, you would kill me as soon as you realized it was a lie or a setup.”

  “True,” Ulrich agreed too easily.

  “Look, I don’t know who you work for or with, and truly, I don’t care.” Tommy was maintaining a surprisingly calm, matter-of-fact tone considering the circumstances. “All I care about at this point is the Wyatts not dying, hopefully myself as well, and never seeing you again. So if helping you find the Golden Chambers helps get us to that point, count me in.”

  Ulrich sat quietly for a minute, considering his options. His gaze pierced Tommy’s eyes. He turned his head left, redirecting his stare to a stack of leather-bound books a few feet away near the desk. Some of them were typical of a wealthy person’s study. A few first editions with rough bindings dotted the shelves in between some newer ones that seemed hardly ever touched. In fact, Tommy doubted many of them had been read. He wondered if this place even belonged to Ulrich. It certainly seemed like someone much older probably lived here. From his experience, décor like this came from years of trying contemporary things or chasing the mainstream but inevitably settling on something a little more classic. Ulrich had picked up the knife from the desk and had begun stroking it unconsciously with the palm of his hand.

  “You certainly make a lot of sense for a man tied to a chair. And you understand that if you were lying to me, I would certainly kill you. But what makes you think that I am not going to do that once I find the Golden Chambers?”

  Tommy swallowed hard. That thought had occurred to him. “Why would you do something like that? Once you have found the chambers, you will be able to disappear to anywhere in the world. Even if I did tell the police, not even Interpol would be able to find you. With the wealth the chambers would provide, you could live worry free forever.”

  Apparently, Ulrich had heard enough for now. “Fine then.” He set the blade back down on top of the desk. “But if you try to cross me at any point, you and the Wyatts die. Understand?”

  He nodded his acknowledgement.

  “There will be police.”

  “I doubt there will be more than one guy watching the place. And I am guessing he will be at the front. You can park at the back and slip in through the neighbor’s yard.”

  Inside, Tommy was hoping there would be more than one cop on the scene, but the reality was there might not be any at all. Still, he had to at least appear to be helping this guy for now to keep suspicion at bay. Ulrich seemed ruthless enough to kill him at the slightest provocation. And the last thing he wanted was to endanger the Wyatts. All he could do at this point was play along and hope that Sean was trying to figure out the clues.

  The calm and logical way in which Tommy spoke seemed to convince Ulrich. “I will go to your house, but this better no
t be a trap. If it is, I assure you, the Wyatts will not receive a quick death from a fiery explosion.” He laid the blade down on the desk again. “They will take a very long time to die.”

  15

  Atlanta

  Sean and Allyson followed Mrs. Borringer up the carpeted stairs into a hallway with walls that were cluttered with family photos and reminders of years past. Though the Borringers did not have children of their own, they certainly had no shortage of relatives. There were pictures a plenty of boys and girls with what must have been siblings or cousins. A few black-and-white pictures that appeared to be quite old dotted the wall space, one of which was a wedding photo. In the corner of it, a date was written in with what looked to be faded black ink. It stated June 20, 19—something. He couldn’t make out the last two numbers.

  “A picture of my parents on their wedding day.” She answered Sean’s questioning glance at the wall. “That is my favorite one,” she smiled, lost somewhere in the etches of time.

  They continued down the hallway to the last doorway on the right. The door was open, leading to a small office. It was humbly decorated with a few simple black and white nature photos in dark wooden frames. The desk was colored a deep black but hardly posed as contemporary or trendy. It could have almost passed for an antique. A laptop sat quietly on the surface. A few letters, probably bills, and a lone candle accompanied the silent PC.

  Next to the desk was a bookshelf, also black. There were only a few books filling its decks: the Bible, the Torah, the Koran, and a few books on ancient mysteries. Amid the collection of spiritual and historical reading was one book that seemed somewhat out of place. A collection of stories and poetry by Edgar Allan Poe, while considered an American classic, was odd sitting next to the works around it.