by Scott Hunter
Three hours later Potzner emerged from the hospital. He’d been lucky. Superficial damage only; five stitches, no broken bones. Hurt like hell though. He popped one of the prescribed pills and called a minicab. He watched the passing trade in broken humanity, raw materials for some junior doctor. Potzner hated hospitals; he’d spent enough time in their sterile embrace, heard the whispered conversations, the fearful encouragements, the bravery of the terminally ill. He was glad when the cab arrived. Sitting in the back he checked the time. Time to be an encourager yourself, Jim. He tapped the shortcut key and waited.
“Hello?”
She sounded okay. He knew the signs. Today was a good day. “Hi. It’s me.”
“Well, hi yourself. How’s it going?”
“Had a little trouble earlier but I’m better now.”
“Want to tell me about it?”
Potzner flexed his toes and regretted the movement. He suppressed an exclamation. “Honey, you know the rules.” He tried to inject a light-heartedness into his voice but she was too perceptive, knew him too well.
“You’re hurt, aren’t you, Jim?”
“It’s nothing. Just a scratch.”
Her voice was warm with concern. “Jim. You shouldn’t be doing this stuff any more. It’s time to let the youngsters take the risks. Are you really okay?”
“Yeah. Really. It’s just a cut on my foot. You can hardly see it. But what about you? You sound pretty good.” He bit his lip. Keep it up, Jim boy.
“Well, you know. Some days up, some down. Today is good so far. I’ve done some housework. Mary’s in later so she can finish up.”
“That’s great. But you’ve gotta take it steady. Conserve your energy, right? Your body needs all its energy for healing.”
There was a small sound, almost a sigh on the other end. “Jim. We both know there’s no healing. Only the time we’ve been given.”
“I’m not letting that time go, babe. I’m working on it, believe me. I’m on the case. Soon we’ll be able to –”
“Hush, Jim. Just tell me when you’re coming home. I miss you.”
He gritted his teeth. “I miss you too.”
“Jim – I – I want us to be together – you know – while – while we can.” Her voice faltered a little.
He took a deep breath. “I know.” Potzner cleared his throat. “I just need a little longer. I have to fix something for our guys, then they’ll be on the case for us. They know how important it is.”
“Just come home soon.”
“I will. You bet.”
The signal broke up; his phone gave three short beeps. Disconnected. He put it back in his pocket. That’s how it would be at the end, he knew. One last word, a last thought. Then disconnection.
Chapter 18
By the time they began their descent Dracup was past caring. He had experienced every conceivable discomfort, ranging from airsickness to paralysing terror. Closing his eyes brought little relief. He knew only a thin Perspex bubble separated him from several thousand feet of nothing. Sturrock was babbling stuff about vectors and altitude, giving the impression of thoroughly enjoying himself. Dracup risked a quick look out of his window just as Sturrock banked. Dracup groaned and closed his eyes again. He hoped he could hold out a little longer; he’d run out of brown bags.
Twenty minutes later Dracup’s feet were in contact with French soil, and the object of his misery was parked securely in a hanger reserved for light aircraft. His legs were rubber as they walked to the exit. Sturrock clapped him on the back. “Wasn’t so bad, eh? Bit blustery over the Channel, though – still, soon cleared up. Listen, while you’ve been retching I’ve been thinking. I have an idea about that stanza – I’ve seen a reference in a late apocryphal tome – twelfth or thirteenth century, I recall. Have you heard of ‘The Book of the Bee’ or ‘The Cave of Treasures’?”
Dracup shook his head. His mouth felt gritty, acidic. “B what? No. Why?”
“Well, I don’t think Theodore’s sceptre, or staff if you will, was originally Noah’s at all.” Sturrock smiled cryptically.
Dracup fought a new wave of nausea. “Charles, I need a while to restore my faculties –”
Sturrock laughed and punched him playfully on the arm. “Understood, understood. Well, listen, I tell you what: if I find anything useful, I’ll drop you a line. Have you still got your hotmail account?”
“I think so – I haven’t used it for a while.”
“Right, splendid. I’ll pop something in the old electro-post if I think it’s worthwhile.” He wagged a finger at Dracup. “Don’t forget to check.”
Dracup smiled weakly. He was going to miss Charles. “Thanks. I won’t – if I can get online in Addis.”
Sturrock groaned theatrically. “Simon, you can get online from anywhere these days.” A French official appeared, gesticulating with a clipboard. “Ah, oui m’sieur, nous allons vite – come on, Si, buck up. We’ve got to check in at security.” Sturrock rubbed his hands gleefully. “Quick toddle around duty-free then back over the water in time for supper. Can’t be bad, eh?”
The airliner was half empty. Dracup chose a window seat, closed his eyes and tried to piece together everything he had discovered. He remembered the conversation in Potzner’s office: “I’m talking breakthrough here. No theories. This is the real McCoy.” The American had spoken of longevity research, a critical program utilizing some material that was quite irreplaceable. The artefact – no, organic tissue. Stolen – reclaimed rather – by its original owners. People who held a century-spanning resentment of his family line; a covert, intelligent, persistent organization who had targeted himself and his family for some act of sacrilege committed by his grandfather. Dracup smiled bitterly. The sins of the fathers. Not for the first time, he wished they had taken him. He would be a willing substitute for his child. Let them do whatever they wished to him. Just let Natasha go. Natasha. My baby.
He remembered his child when she was small. He wondered at her uniqueness, so like her mother and father yet very much an individual. She was headstrong, like him. She was focused, like her mother. Had they taught her enough to survive a crisis? Did she have the required skills to emerge from her ordeal unscathed? Her survival depended on a combination of both instinctive and accumulated resources. And on his deductions, his actions.
Dracup looked out of his window and for the first time wondered if he would ever see his daughter again. The thought was terrifying. He racked his brains. Organic tissue, stolen. Noah’s sceptre. Alpha. Alpha and Omega. The aeroplane droned on, passing out of French airspace into the open skies above the Mediterranean. Stewards moved up and down the aisle, smiling and attentive. He smiled back automatically, ate the proffered plastic food, read the in-flight magazine from cover to cover. There was a photograph, a young girl modelling executive yachts. She looked a little like Sara. Sara, the girl who had come into his life and saved his sanity; the girl who seemed to him like an Egyptian queen. The girl who had rekindled love in his bruised and battered heart; the girl he thought was his, however unlikely it had seemed. He couldn’t believe she’d had anything to do with Natasha’s abduction. No, that wasn’t true; he didn’t want to believe it. But without her, he had nothing left. Dracup replaced the magazine in its elastic folder and reached for his earphones, listened to the piped classical music. He felt nothing but emptiness. After a while he slept.
Chapter 19
Sara took a deep breath before entering the chamber. She was tired from the journey, tired of the deceit and racked with guilt over what she had had to do. Her dreams were of Dracup; his drawn, anxious face, his helplessness. She had been recalled and the only sensible course of action had been compliance. Could she have resisted? Could she have turned back when her two worlds hung in the balance? Pointless thoughts. It was done. She had stepped across the boundary and tasted the forbidden fruit. She had loved and deceived in the same breath. And Kadesh knew. She could see it in his eyes. He knew. And her fate had become an internal s
truggle for him because he loved her. And so her life hung by the most slender of threads. She bit her lip, took another breath. Then she pulled the curtains aside.
A woman stood in the centre of the chamber, silent, expectant. She extended an arm but remained where she was, as if reluctant to make contact. She spoke softly, a breath of recognition. “Sara.”
“Ruth.” Sara moved slowly forward. “How are you, sister?” Her eyes scanned the chamber for the girl, but Ruth was alone.
The women embraced. Ruth’s body was taut, defensive.
“Well enough.”
“And where is your charge?” Sara asked brightly. “I expected to find her with you.”
Ruth looked away. “Natasha is with Jassim. He is teaching her.”
Sara nodded. “I see. And is she well?”
Ruth’s expression hardened. “I am looking after her.”
“Sister –” Sara held out her hand, but Ruth moved away, sat before her mirror and began brushing her hair with short, bristling sweeps.
Sara stood by her. “You are angry with me.” She sighed. “Let me talk to you. Please.” She placed her hand on Ruth’s shoulder, feeling the muscles stiffen at her touch.
“Not angry.” Ruth put the brush down and stared at her reflection. “Look at me, Sara. I am old. My time is passing.”
“Oh, Ruth.” Sara put her arms around her sister’s neck. She felt her tears hot against the warm flesh. “It’s not too late. You are beautiful. There will be others –”
Ruth spun around and stood up, eyes blazing. “There can be no others. There is only one. And he doesn’t want me. He wants you.”
Sara stepped back, alarmed at her sister’s transformation. “Ruth –”
“No. Listen to me. You are young. You have someone. You should stay with him, make him your own, then perhaps I have a chance.” Her eyes blazed.
“But you know I have been called. I can’t refuse –”
“You did what you wanted. You had no remorse then. Why do you come now to torment me?”
Sara held out her arms. “Ruth, please – I – I’m frightened of Kadesh. I don’t know what he’ll do. I’m frightened for Natasha. For you and me. I can’t help how things are – I never encouraged him, I promise you.”
Ruth gave a hollow laugh. “You should fear him. He is changing. We all fear him.” She put out her hand and touched her reflection, stroking the glass. “But only I – only I love him.”
Sara went to the small bed in the corner. She picked up a dress, a pretty shade of purple. A flower motif was embroidered delicately on the pocket. “And what will he do with the girl? There is no reason for her to be here.”
“I am taking care of her.” Ruth’s voice quavered slightly. “She is my responsibility.” Ruth took the dress from Sara and began to fold the discarded clothes and place them in a drawer. “She belongs to me.”
Sara felt a chill in her stomach, a cold dread. She said, as gently as she could, “Ruth. She belongs to her father and mother. They grieve for her.”
Ruth spun and her hand lashed out, connecting with Sara’s cheek. Sara reeled back in surprise, caught her foot on a corner table and fell heavily onto the floor. She lay there, disbelieving, looking up at Ruth.
“She is mine now.” Ruth nodded emphatically. “Mine.” She stabbed her finger into her breast. “She has been given to me. Remember that.”
Sara fled along the passages of her childhood. She headed for her special place, the place she’d always sought out when she wanted solitude. The stream met and accompanied her to the waterfall and she entered the dark, foreboding gash in the cavern bed she called the funnel, half falling, half stumbling down the twenty or so stepped projections until she reached the low-ceilinged gallery. A soft phosphorescence lit the void; the stream was a distant whisper of sound, comforting her. She cried for a while, then as the tears subsided she forced herself to think.
She had to get Natasha away. It was the least she could do for Simon. Now that she had torn herself away from him she found it easier to assess her feelings. All the while she had known their time together was like water escaping through her fingers. Kadesh was always in her mind’s eye, watching, waiting, expectant. Wait for the diary. You are the safeguard. If it falls to you, you must bring it home. We will be watching. If. She had played her part with alacrity, never expecting to be called upon. He was attractive, certainly, but she could keep a distance, couldn’t she? But then it all changed. And Simon was no longer the subject; he had become the lover. Sara held her head in her hands. She had lost him anyway, and he had lost more. She must act before Kadesh came to a decision. If the security of the Korumak was at stake he would show mercy to neither lover nor enemy. She remembered Ruth in her chamber, wild-eyed: We all fear him.
Her brother had related Ibrahim’s fate. It is not the same here, Sara. You are in danger. Jassim had smiled grimly. It may be that we are all in danger. I will speak with Kadesh. Perhaps he will listen. Sara lay flat on the smooth bed of stone. She felt cool air venting from the funnel, soothing her spirit, breathing courage into her veins. She heard the soft sigh of the wind passing down the length of the gallery and hugged her knees, a delicate shiver running down her spine. She had never ventured beyond the gallery, not even as a childhood dare; it was considered a haunted place, a place to be shunned. But here… here in the familiar quietness she was safe.
Sara lay still, staring at the arches, the gently glowing strata above her. She felt her ancestors’ presence, and with the feeling came a crushing weight of responsibility. Who was she to place her needs above those of the Korumak? Her life was of little consequence, a drop in the millennia. But her knowledge might yet prove advantageous to her people. The CIA man, Potzner, was dangerous. With Simon’s help he would find the caverns, and there would be an end to it all. Simon would not rest until he found Natasha; he was smart. It was only a matter of time. Together they were a powerful partnership, but she knew that Simon mistrusted Potzner. So she needed a lever, something to exploit Simon’s intuitive reservations and split them apart. Then she could concentrate on returning Natasha to Simon whilst Potzner scrambled around in the dark.
The archives, the pre-CIA records were in Kadesh’s possession. They were damning; case histories of the drugs which had been used to control and finally destroy the minds of those participating in the Twenties expeditions. She knew what Theodore Dracup had experienced on Ararat: dreadful, terrifying hallucinations, the effects of the chemicals injected as they slept at the instigation of the US government. Her people had watched and observed. The Americans had wanted at first to control the minds of the expedition members but then later, when the implications of what they had found became clear, to impose a permanent amnesia – the discoveries were too significant, too contentious to be made public. Dracup’s grandfather had had his life erased like an unwanted recording. Simon had the right to know. And once in possession of that knowledge he would drop Potzner like a brick.
Sara bent and picked up a handful of stones, threw them one by one into the blackness of the gallery. She bit her lip. Kadesh would never agree to the release of such information. She would have to obtain it herself. And the final step would be the hardest: to gain Ruth’s confidence and free the child.
Sara took a deep breath. To do this she had to be prepared. She must go to the one they protected. She must see for herself. And having seen, she would be strengthened. Sara stood up and began to climb the funnel, back to her people.
A handful of the faithful were gathered for their evening vigil. Sara joined them, bowing cordially to those she recognized. The holy chamber was suffused with a deep emerald light. One by one they were shepherded forward to lean into the deep-cut circle of brilliance. The slow, ritualistic approach tested her patience; the need to experience the truth had become an imperative. Her life up to this point had been marked by expectancy, a looking forward to what would inevitably be revealed. Now the reality was before her. She felt a coolness invade her n
ostrils, a faint smell of some preservative chemical.
Then the mist cleared and she saw. A small gasp of astonishment escaped from her mouth and she fell to her knees. She felt a prayer tumble, unbidden, unrehearsed from her trembling lips. Her hands came together and her head bowed in acknowledgment. He had walked with God and now he rested in the bosom of his people. Sara lifted her head and the attendant acolyte returned her smile, nodding slowly. He knew, he understood. For decades they had lived without purpose, only hope and patience sustaining them. Now the wait was over.
Chapter 20
“No dice.” Farrell replaced the receiver. “No one of that description has passed through any major UK airport.”
Potzner wasn’t surprised. “Well, he must have got out somehow. How about the wife?”
“She’s not giving anything away. I don’t reckon he filled her in. Either that or she’s a damn good actress.”
“Maybe, maybe,” Potzner grunted. “What about the car?” He shifted his legs under the desk and grimaced as his injured foot caught the pedestal.
Farrell shook his head. “It was found two blocks away from Dracup’s apartment. Empty.”
“Terrific.” Potzner picked up the phone. “Get Fish on, would you?” He arranged his legs across the desk, taking care to place right over left. Farrell wandered to the glass wall, gazed out onto the busy office thoroughfare.
Fish’s high voice announced itself in Potzner’s ear.
“I need an update, Fish. Preferably a good one.” Potzner listened impatiently. He had learned to dissect Fish’s offerings, weeding out the scientific gobbledegook from the pertinent information. “Yeah, yeah. And?” Fish rambled on. “What’s that? Say again –” Potzner covered the mouthpiece and called over to Farrell. “He has a theory about the purpose of the cross.” Then into the phone: “Yeah, go on. I’m listening.” As Fish spoke, Potzner reflexively began the task of associating new information with what he currently understood. “So it’s a staff headpiece, a sceptre of some sort. Marked with cuneiform script and a large A indentation, possibly the Greek letter Alpha. Yeah, I know Greek wasn’t around that far back. No, I can’t explain it either. It’s partially complete, uh huh. The rest is most likely on the missing half. Right. Traces of wood splinter within the bottom join, hence the sceptre theory. Carbon dated – 5–10000 BC. Okay. That figures.”
