The Oracle

by D. J. Niko

  “For God’s sake, man. You were an army officer.” Daniel choked out the words. “How could you believe such things?”

  “’Cause they were true, that’s how. It happened to me. I waited and waited to be freed, but no one came. After a while, I realized nobody gave a damn about me. I was written off, as if I never existed at all. I ask you, Madigan: is it worth being loyal to a country that wouldn’t hesitate to betray you?”

  “We had a saying in the Navy: not self but country. It’s never about any one of us. You have to trust the greater purpose, even die for it. If you don’t, you’re lost.”

  Bellamy relaxed his grip and stood. “On your feet, boy.”

  Daniel obeyed.

  Bellamy’s eyes were wild, his chest heaving. He’d stepped over the edge of reason; there was no bringing him back.

  “I don’t like your holier-than-thou attitude, Madigan. I’m prepared to eliminate you here and now.” He cracked his knuckles. “But I’m feeling generous, so I’m going to offer you one chance to redeem yourself. We have intercepted a DHL shipment sent by Sarah Weston to a Jackson Barnes in New Jersey. Want to guess what was in that box?”

  Daniel winced at the notion of his advisor being pulled into this mess.

  “Now we know the omphalos stone is in Turkey. But we as ordinary citizens can’t get permits to dig it up . . . unless we have an eminent archaeologist on board. I’m proposing to hire you to head up our little operation. You don’t even have to get your hands dirty; just lend your name. You do that for me, and I’ll spare your life. You have my word.”

  Daniel shook his head and gave a sideways smile. “Colonel, my name’s all I’ve got. And I’m not willing to sell it to you. I’d rather die.”

  An aftershock ripped through the cave. Daniel looked down and watched the ground crumble beneath his feet. In a heartbeat, he slid downward. As a cloud of red dust obscured his vision, he clawed for purchase but all the rock within reach had come loose. A chunk hit him just above the brow, knocking him onto his back on a thin ledge.

  In the darkness, Daniel saw the shadow of a falling mass and heard Bellamy’s profanities as the man landed next to him with a thud. Daniel felt the rock give and realized the ledge couldn’t support both their weight. As hot blood streamed into his eye, he saw the flickering light.

  Never again, he told himself. Never again.

  Daniel struggled to sit upright. He felt lightheaded, nauseated. Grateful the tremor had stopped, he groped for a handhold until he found solid rock. Grunting, he tried to pull himself upward.

  “Where do you think you’re going, soldier?” Bellamy said. “You can’t abandon a superior officer.”

  Without replying, Daniel edged upward.

  “A man is down, goddamn it. Deserter! You’re just like the rest of them.”

  Daniel’s breath was clipped, and his eyes stung with a cocktail of blood and perspiration, but he pressed on. His physical struggle was nothing compared to his mental one. He fought against the riptide of memories: slamming headfirst onto a cockpit wall, sheets of blood obscuring his vision, straining to break free from an airplane seat to get himself to safety. And he wrestled with what to do with Bellamy.

  Daniel had been trained, as a Navy Diver and as a man, to never leave the wounded behind. But this was different. Bellamy was a menace to society, a clear and present danger.

  Daniel stopped. In the fog of his mind, he saw scenes from his life, as if the end drew near. He heard the voice of his mother insisting he go to college and pledging to work nights and weekends cleaning houses to pay his tuition. And the surprisingly gentle nature of his naval commander, who taught him it was worth paying the physical and emotional toll for greatness.

  And Sarah: the woman who, without fanfare or ambition, followed her convictions, even if it meant being vilified for it. Who stood tall in the face of injustice but never raised a hand in judgment.

  A single word came to his mind: honor.

  He looked back at the shadowy outline of Bellamy. The colonel dragged himself in a way that suggested he’d lost use of his legs. He wouldn’t be able to climb out unassisted.

  Gritting his teeth and praying he wouldn’t regret it, he climbed down and stretched a hand toward Bellamy.

  “I didn’t think you had it in you, boy. Once in a while, a man gets pleasantly surprised.” The colonel wrapped his hand around Daniel’s wrist.

  Grunting, Daniel pulled the man up.

  “I can’t move my leg. I think something’s broken.”

  “Get on my back and hang on. And pray for no more tremors.”

  Bellamy struggled to grab hold of Daniel’s shoulders and, unable to balance his weight, hung there like a two-hundred-pound log. Sweat trickled down Daniel’s face and neck as he pulled the two of them up an inch at a time. He felt his hold slipping under the stress of the extra weight.

  His heart protested against the effort. As he strained, the tendons of his neck came close to snapping. He huffed and stopped to gather his strength. He was unsure he could carry on.

  Suddenly, the cave was flooded with a white beam from above. Daniel looked up, squinting beneath the artificial light.

  “Can you hear me?” a male voice said in Greek.

  Daniel answered in the affirmative.

  “We’re from mountain rescue. We’re coming down. Can you hang on a few more minutes?”

  Daniel fought to maintain a grip. “I don’t know. I’ll try.”

  The rescue worker pointed the lights into the crevasse, and for the first time, Daniel could see how deep it was. The chasm reached so far down he couldn’t see the bottom. The quake had left behind torn, jagged rock, like giant, fossilized teeth. Losing his grip wasn’t an option.

  He watched the workers gun the carabiners into the rock and pass the rope through. Though they appeared competent, he knew from experience it would take a good ten minutes, maybe more, to rig the rope system.

  Daniel felt his fingers slide. Gritting his teeth, he struggled to maintain a handhold.

  “There’s not enough room here for two.” With one hand, Bellamy reached for a hold on the rock. He smiled sideways and abruptly let go of Daniel’s back, throwing him off-balance and sending him on a downward slide.

  This was the end; Daniel was sure of it.

  A limestone outcropping slowed him enough to gain tentative purchase on the rock. He hung there with one hand, his feet dangling in the void.

  He looked up. Sarah kneeled on the edge of the chasm, her hands covering her mouth. His glance darted toward Bellamy, who clung to the rock twenty feet above.

  One of the rescue workers, not waiting to be fully roped, clipped in and dropped to Daniel. “Steady,” he said. “This is going to be tricky.”

  Daniel knew that already.

  “Try not to move.” The rescuer reached around his waist and fastened a belt, then clipped the belt to his rope. With one point of security, he passed the ends of the belt between Daniel’s legs to make a makeshift sit harness.

  Though it was not an ideal situation, Daniel could work with it. He grabbed the rope with his other hand and let go of the rock. He nodded to the rescuer. “Let’s do this.”

  As they ascended to the cave floor, Daniel glanced at Bellamy, still stuck on the rock and awaiting his own rescue. The colonel’s frigid expression turned into a snarl. At that moment, Daniel knew there was no redemption in that soul. He carried on climbing, vowing to never look into those eyes again.

  When they reached the top, Daniel watched Isidor being carried out on a stretcher. The remaining rescue workers had tied a second stretcher to the rope frame and were lowering it to Bellamy.

  As he unclipped from the rope, Sarah approached. Her white gown was ripped and covered in blood, and her skin and hair were coated with ochre dust. Still, she was radiant.

  She lifted her hand to his face and wiped the blood from his brow. He placed his hand on hers and squeezed. They exchanged a lingering glance, both at a loss for what to say. It
was all right: no words were needed.

  The workers hoisted Bellamy’s immobilized body strapped onto the rescue litter. Quickly they unclipped the apparatus and prepared to carry the stretcher out of the dilapidated cave.

  A police officer informed Bellamy he was under arrest and read him a list of rights. Bellamy was quiet but smug. Daniel could read his mind: he was sure he could bribe his way out of this crime, as he’d done countless times before. He wasn’t aware that while he was deploying holograms and inducing seismicity on the ancient ruins of Delphi, Daniel was communicating with Interpol. He’d called Heinrich Gerst on his private line, compliments of Sarah, and blown the disgraced colonel’s cover, setting the wheels in motion for the seizing of his assets and his extradition to the United States. There would be no more chances for Colonel Stephen Bellamy.

  As he was being carried out of the cave, Bellamy called to Daniel. “Hey, Danny boy. I’ll see you—and your father—in hell.”

  “You’re already there, cowboy,” Daniel said softly. He didn’t care to be heard. “You’re already there.”

  Sarah turned to him. “Danny . . . Isidor is barely clinging to life. He needs a transfusion, but I heard the paramedics say he has a rare blood type. They’re going to chopper him to Athens and hope for the best.”

  “What about Phoebe? Can’t she help him?”

  She shook her head. “Phoebe’s gone missing.”

  “Any idea where she could’ve gone?”

  “I’d assumed she’d gone to call mountain rescue. But she never reappeared.” Sarah snapped her fingers. “That’s it. Mountain rescue is based in Arachova. It’s where her mother lived.”

  He put his hand on the small of her back. “Come on. We have to move fast.”

  Fifty-seven

  Sarah and Daniel stepped out of the police car that had transported them to Arachova. The sun was beginning its ascent over the mountains, painting magenta plumes onto the steely post-storm sky and promising to disperse the fog that had settled upon the village.

  Sarah led the way up the hill to Lydia’s house. Phoebe had almost certainly retreated to the house she grew up in, looking for her mother. Sarah dreaded having to tell the girl the truth.

  The front door was ajar. Sarah pushed it open and peeked inside. All was dark inside the shuttered house. There was a musty smell, like water had intruded, laced with the vague scent of wood fire.

  She was there.

  With Daniel behind her, she walked toward the living room. Phoebe was sitting in front of the fireplace, stoking a meager fire, unaware anyone had intruded. Sarah approached and called her name.

  Phoebe jumped. “Go away!” Her voice quivered. “My mother isn’t home.”

  “We mean you no harm, sweetheart,” Daniel said.

  Sarah noticed an oil lamp on the table and some matches nearby. She lit it and held it next to her own face so the girl would recognize her. “We come as friends,” she said softly. “We’re here to help you, like you helped us.”

  Phoebe relaxed. “What happened to my father?”

  “He’s been arrested,” Daniel said. “He’s hurt many people, including you. He needs help.”

  “Does my mother know?”

  Sarah had practiced what she would say, but anxiety still gnawed at her. “Phoebe, your mother . . .” Emotion claimed her voice. She paused to regain her composure. “Your mother has died. I’m sorry.”

  “No.” The girl whimpered. “You’re lying.”

  Sarah glanced at Daniel. He looked down, obviously disturbed by the memory. “We were there,” she continued. “We were with her when . . .” She couldn’t get the rest of the words out. As she pulled the chain out of her pocket, tears formed in her eyes. She wiped them with her palm and walked closer to the child.

  Sarah held out the pendant. “She wanted me to give you this.”

  Shaking like an aspen leaf in autumn, Phoebe accepted the object. She studied it for a moment, then opened the locket. “Mommy,” she whispered and stroked the tiny photo.

  Sarah placed a hand over her mouth to contain her own sobs. She wanted to say something to soothe the little girl, but all that had happened over the last couple of months crashed onto the shore of her soul like a tsunami. She’d faced evil before, but never had she witnessed the brazen stripping of a child’s innocence.

  She put her arms around Phoebe’s shoulders. The child looked at her with melancholy but tearless eyes and collapsed into her arms. Sarah wanted to hold her for as long as it took to make it all better, but no amount of time could take that pain away.

  Sarah felt Daniel’s presence behind them. Phoebe released Sarah and gazed at him.

  “You’re not alone, you know,” he told the girl.

  “But I have no family. No one even knows who I am.”

  “You do have family,” Sarah said. “Isidor is your half-brother. Your father’s first child, from a marriage that dissolved long ago.”

  Phoebe took a step back, pallor washing over her face.

  “I know it’s a lot to take in, but it’s the truth.” Sarah clutched the girl’s hands and squeezed. “Phoebe, Isidor needs you.”

  Her gaze trailed off. “That explains everything . . . my vision . . .” She looked at Daniel, then at Sarah. “I saw him drowning in a whirlpool. Then I put my hand in the water and it was calm. I could see his face . . .”

  “He’s fighting for his life. He needs a blood transfusion and the hospital will be hard-pressed to find a match. Only a close relative can help him.”

  The look in her eyes suggested she already knew. “Tell me what to do.”

  “There is a police officer outside,” Daniel said. “If you agree, he can take you right now to the helicopter that’s flying Isidor to Athens. There’s very little time.”

  “All these years, Isidor has never left my side,” the girl said. “He’s protected me like an angel. I’ll give all I have.”

  “You’re sage beyond your years, Phoebe,” Sarah said. “It would have pleased your mother.”

  Daniel extended a hand. “Come with me, little lady.”

  The girl gave Sarah a quick hug. “We will meet again.”

  Sarah smiled. “I know.”

  The three walked out of the dark womb that was Lydia’s house. As Daniel helped Phoebe into the backseat of the police car, Sarah looked back at the ramshackle edifice, the shuttered windows like closed eyes refusing to admit the harsh light of reality. A wisp of gray smoke escaped from the chimney and drifted toward the low-hanging clouds, becoming one with the fog.

  Daniel placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “We should go.”

  She nodded and ducked into the car. The officer turned on the blue lights and blared the monotone siren. Gravel crunched beneath the tires as he sped away, leaving a small gathering of curious Arachovites in a haze of red dust.

  As the sun shimmered above the peaks of Mount Parnassus, a rooster called to it, welcoming the dawn.

  Epilogue

  Through a diving mask, the waters of the Gönen Çayi appeared halcyon and pristine, as if nothing had disturbed them in centuries. A beam of light broke through the surface, illuminating the way to the long-forgotten object.

  Sarah inhaled through a regulator and glanced behind her at Daniel, who had just entered the water and was swimming to her side. Like her, he was outfitted in a black wet suit with full breathing apparatus. They were going to be down there for a while.

  Daniel gave Sarah the thumbs-up, and she led the way to the spot she’d reconnoitered not so long ago. With smooth, barely perceptible strokes of her fins, she swam down to the base of the old Roman bridge. The last time she was there, she didn’t have the benefit of scuba gear, so she stayed down only long enough to confirm the location of the stone. She was excited to spend more time with the artifact—and to have Daniel’s input, which she’d profoundly missed.

  Her pressure gauge recorded forty feet as they neared the base of the pylons’ foundation. Sarah pinpointed the site—the
base of the pier nearest the west bank—and descended for a closer look. She hovered near the spot, but the object wasn’t readily visible, possibly buried as the riverbed shifted with the currents.

  She pushed aside the silt, raising a plume of sand mud that made the water murky. As the sediment settled, the familiar blackened umber stone came into view. Sarah ran a hand across its porous surface and felt the grain and tiny depressions that distinguished it as the most primitive material of the universe, belched up from the bowels of the planet through a massive explosion.

  Daniel shone a light on the surface and moved it across the markings on the stone. The inscribed pattern, eroded from centuries of being buried underwater, was a series of geometric shapes linked together with obvious intent. The carver was not simply amusing the eye; he was telling a story.

  When Sarah had first seen the stone, she hadn’t realized its meaning. Now, with exposure to the Pythagoreans’ long-held theory, she could see there was profound truth in Isidor’s claim. The symbols clearly were part of a mathematical equation. But deciphering it would be nearly impossible, as only a part of the stone was visible. The rest was wedged into the foundation structure. Getting to it would mean destroying the ruins of the bridge pylons, something for which they weren’t likely to be granted permits.

  Sarah unclipped the underwater camera from her belt and began recording the find from various angles. That photographic record could help build a case for further study, or even excavation, of the artifact.

  As she photographed, she imagined the hands that carved the intricate network of symbols with the mystical meaning. She thought of Pythagoras’ legendary encampment in Delphi, his consulting with the priests of a center of waning influence and with the priestess who had the power to revive it, and suddenly she knew his intent.

  As Greece’s power diminished like a raindrop on hot stone and a fog settled over her once-enlightened inhabitants, Pythagoras had offered the ultimate, if dangerous, knowledge: if the Greeks knew the mysteries of planetary forces, they could harness them for ethnopolitical supremacy.