Chaos Theory

by Graham Masterton

  ‘Five forty-eight.’

  When she had finished talking to the police, Silja came up to Noah and held him close. ‘I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. How were they killed?’

  ‘The same way as Jenna. Their throats were cut. Mo – they cut him down there, too – castrated him.’

  ‘Oh my God. Do you think it was the same people?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t understand it at all. Who would want to murder an innocent guy like Mo? He wrote comedy, for Christ’s sake. He wrote jokes.’

  They were still waiting for the police when they heard a key turning in the front door.

  Noah immediately stood up and reached for the knife that Trina had been using to prepare her salad. He gestured for Silja to stay well back in the alcove beside the refrigerator, and then he crossed the kitchen and stood next to the door.

  Without any hesitation, a curly-haired young man in an orange T-shirt walked in, and tossed a canvas bag on to the kitchen floor. Noah wrapped an arm around his neck and held the point of the knife up against his right side. ‘You move – you blink, even – you’re going to be very, very dead.’

  The young man froze, with one arm still lifted, as if he were playing statues.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Noah demanded.

  ‘What am I doing here? I live here, man!’

  Noah hesitated, and then he relaxed his grip. ‘Leon?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  Noah let him go, and lowered the knife. ‘Jesus, Leon, I didn’t recognize you. Last time I saw you, you were only knee high to a high knee.’

  ‘Mr Flynn! What are you doing here? Where’s my dad?’

  Leon was a taller, skinnier version of Mo, with a pale face and close-set eyes and a large, curved nose. His upper lip was dark with an incipient moustache. On the front of his T-shirt was a large picture of the Jewish reggae singer Matisyahu.

  ‘Leon, you’d better sit down.’

  ‘Why? Why do I have to sit down? Where’s my dad?’

  ‘Leon, something bad has happened.’

  Leon stared at Noah in panic. ‘What? What’s happened? Tell me!’

  ‘Somebody’s broken in here. Somebody’s broken into your house and your dad and Trina are both dead.’

  ‘What? What do you mean dead? Where are they?’

  ‘You don’t want to see them, believe me.’

  ‘I want to see them! I want to see my dad! I don’t understand any of this! Who broke in? What did they do?’

  It took Noah almost five minutes to calm Leon down. By that time the police had arrived, three squad cars and two detectives. Then an ambulance from the coroner’s department, and two Humvees from the CSI. A few minutes later, two mobile TV trucks turned up, and several more cars, until the whole block looked like a battle scene.

  As the house began to fill up with police officers and crime scene investigators and medical examiners, Noah took Leon out into the backyard, and stayed close to him, with his hand resting on his shoulder.

  ‘I tried to call Dad last night,’ said Leon. ‘I should have known that something was wrong when he didn’t answer.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, Leon.’

  ‘Yes, it is. I should have been here. If I hadn’t stayed over with my friends in Sherman Oaks—’

  ‘There’s no question, Leon. If you had been here, they would have killed you, too.’

  ‘But who could have done it? My dad never hurt anybody in his entire life. Dad was just Dad. He made everybody laugh.’

  A tall black detective came out of the house, with his coat slung over one shoulder. He had a grey walrus moustache and his bald head sparkled with perspiration.

  ‘Mr Finn, is it?’

  ‘Flynn. As in, “in like Flynn”.’

  The detective dragged out a large white handkerchief and patted the back of his neck. ‘Hell of a mess, this, Mr Flynn. Any ideas at all who the perpetrators might have been?’

  ‘There was more than one of them, then?’

  ‘That’s what the footprints are telling us. And one of the neighbours saw two men approach the house round about three o’clock yesterday afternoon. They were wearing grey suits, the both of them, that’s what she said. She thought they were Mormons, or maybe Bible salesmen.’

  Noah pulled a face. ‘I don’t know who they could have been. Mo was everybody’s friend, and it wasn’t like he had anything much to steal. A few screenwriting trophies, that’s all.’

  The detective looked around the yard, and at the faded sunbed that was circling in the swimming pool. ‘I hate cases like this. There’s a reason they got killed. There’s always a reason. But the reason is so goddamned bizarre you can never work out what it is.’

  When the detective had gone back inside, Noah said to Leon, ‘Listen – you’re going to have to call your family. You have an uncle in San Diego, is that right?’

  ‘That’s right, Uncle Saul. And two aunts in Pasadena. And all my cousins and all. My granddad died last summer.’

  ‘You’d better come home with us first. Why don’t you grab some clothes and a toothbrush and we’ll get the hell out of here?’

  ‘OK,’ said Leon, and then his eyes suddenly filled up with tears. ‘I just wish I could have said goodbye to him properly. You know, instead of arguing.’

  ‘You argued with him?’

  ‘He called me in the morning and gave me a hard time because I hadn’t taken that stuff that you wanted my professor to look at. That cuneiform writing, you know?’

  ‘Yes, I know. And that wax rubbing, too.’

  ‘Well, the reason I left them at home was because I was taking a couple of days off college. My friends in Sherman Oaks and me, we were setting up this dating website for single Jewish students. We thought we were going to make a bundle out of it.’

  ‘But your dad didn’t know about it?’

  ‘Uh-hunh. He would have totally flipped. He takes all of this Jewish Studies thing real serious. He says Jews should never forget what we are and where we come from. Not ever. If he’d known that I was planning to cut class—’

  ‘But then he found out that you were?’

  Leon smeared the tears from his eyes with the back of his arm. ‘Yeah. And he said I was disrespectful and all kinds of stuff like that. And I said what does it matter about the ancient frickin’ Babylonians but he said that he’d promised to find out for you what the writing meant and a promise is a promise and if I wasn’t going to do it then he was going to take the stuff and show it to my professor himself.’

  Noah frowned. ‘And so far as you know, that’s what he did?’

  ‘I guess. I didn’t speak to him again. But when Dad says he’s going to do something, he always, like, does it.’ He hesitated, and sniffed, and then corrected himself, ‘Always did it.’

  Noah ushered Leon back towards the house. The kitchen was crowded with CSI and photographers and police officers, but they all shuffled respectfully out of the way as Noah and Leon came inside.

  Noah stood with Leon in his bedroom as Leon packed a few T-shirts and shorts. ‘Who’s your professor?’ he asked. ‘The one who your dad was going to show the writing to?’

  ‘Julius Halflight. He kind of specializes in the siege of Jerusalem and Nebuchadnezzar and all that stuff.’

  ‘OK. Maybe I should talk to him.’

  Leon was folding up a pale blue T-shirt with cuneiform writing on it.

  ‘Is that the T-shirt with the ancient riddle on it?’ Noah asked him.

  ‘That’s right. “What building do you enter blind, but when you leave it, you can see?”’

  ‘All right. So what’s the answer?’

  ‘A school,’ Leon told him.

  Twelve

  Noah popped another Momint as he walked under the archways of Royce Hall. He had swallowed two large glasses of Jack Daniel’s as soon as he had arrived home from Santa Monica, one after the other, and he didn’t want Leon’s professor to smell it on his breath.

  He had been to Roy
ce Hall twice before, but only to shoot campus-based movies. In Nightmare At UCLA he had abseiled down one of the two tall red-brick towers and chipped his left ankle. In The Philosopher’s Stone he had run along the college cloisters with his clothes on fire, and singed off his eyebrows.

  Underneath the archways, it was cooler and shadier. He found the door to the Centre for Jewish Studies and walked along the corridor to the secretary’s office. Three young students in yarmulkes were standing in one of the window bays, arguing loudly about the relative merits of Splinter Cells and Sid Meier’s Pirates. So much for Jewish studies, Noah thought.

  The secretary had sounded like a middle-aged dragon on the phone, but she turned out to be a dark, pretty girl in glasses, with a beauty spot on her right cheek. Her hips were too big for Noah’s taste, with a purple sash around them, but Noah thought, What the hell, there must be plenty of men out there who like a woman with a wide undercarriage . . .

  ‘Noah Flynn. I have an appointment with Professor Halflight.’

  ‘That’s right. You’re so lucky to have caught him. He’s flying to Israel first thing tomorrow.’

  ‘Well, I appreciate him taking the time to see me.’

  ‘Can I bring you a soda? It’s so hot today, isn’t it?’

  ‘No thanks.’ But I could murder another Jack Daniel’s, straight up, no ice, if you’re hiding a bottle in your filing cabinet.

  He waited almost ten minutes while the secretary tapped away at her computer. Outside in the sunlight, he could see students laughing and talking and jostling each other as they crossed the quadrangle. In here, it was cold and hushed and it smelled of stationery, mingled with the secretary’s strong, musky perfume.

  On the walls of the office hung black-and-white framed photographs of all of the centre’s faculty. Noah stood up and examined them. Carol Bakhos, assistant professor of Late Antique Judaism; Saul Friedlander, professor of Holocaust Studies; Lev Hakak, professor of Hebrew Literature . . .

  And here he was: Julius Halflight, chair of the department of Middle Eastern Languages and Culture. A broad-faced man, with slicked-back hair and heavy eyebrows, and pitted cheeks. The camera flash seemed to have reflected in his eyeballs, because they looked totally blind and silver – more like ball bearings than eyes.

  Noah was still staring at the photograph when the secretary’s phone gave a sharp buzz. A thickly-accented voice said, ‘Marcia – do you want to show my visitor through to my office?’

  The secretary led Noah across the corridor. She knocked on the door of the office opposite, and opened it.

  Professor Halflight was standing in the bay window with a small brass watering can, carefully tending to a tall pot plant with spiky white flowers. His photograph had failed to show how big he was. He was nearly 6’ 4”, with a massive head, and immense shoulders. He was wearing a black long-sleeved shirt, with a long black necktie, and a pendulous belly that hung over his belt.

  Noah waited in the middle of the office while Professor Halflight finished his watering. It was a huge room, yet Professor Halflight was so large that Noah felt claustrophobic, as if he were crowded into an elevator with an elephant. The walls were panelled with dark oak and covered with dozens of framed diplomas and certificates, which made Noah feel even more enclosed.

  ‘You know what it is, this plant?’ asked Professor Halflight, without even introducing himself.

  Noah squinted at it. ‘Sorry. Plantology – that’s not exactly my strong point.’

  ‘Botany, you mean, don’t you? This is an asphodel, one of the earliest recorded plants in history. Asphodelus ramosus, also known as the King’s Spear. It was mentioned in writings that go as far back as the eighth century BC.’

  He turned around, and as he did so he gave a half-lurch, as if he were suffering from a serious hip injury.

  ‘The ancient Greeks believed that the asphodel grew in abundance over the fields of Hades, the meadows of the underworld, and they used to plant it close to tombs, because they believed that the dead would feed off its roots.

  ‘King Nebuchadnezzar himself ate the roots of the asphodel, baked in hot ashes, and drank a spirit made from asphodel roots, too.’

  ‘Gather you’re quite an expert on good old King Nebuchadnezzar,’ said Noah. ‘And Babylon.’ He hoped he wasn’t making too much of a fool of himself.

  Professor Halflight reached across and took hold of a walking stick that was propped against his desk. The walking stick had a silver knob on top of it, almost the size of a man’s fist, sculpted into the shape of a Judaic lion. The shaft was carved to look like intertwining snakes.

  He came hobbling over to Noah with a complicated gait that took him sideways rather than forwards, and Noah could hear a mechanical creaking in his right leg. Professor Halflight held out his hand and said, ‘Mr Flynn, isn’t it? A friend of that gentleman who came to see me – on Tuesday afternoon, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Moses Speller, that’s right.’

  ‘Well – what your friend showed me was very interesting, Mr Flynn. The photograph, and the rubbing. Very interesting indeed, even if they weren’t especially valuable. The two medallions were almost certainly Babylonian, from the sixth century BC, with cuneiform inscriptions on them. You know what cuneiform is, I suppose?’

  Noah nodded. ‘Picture-writing, kind of. Could you translate what they said?’

  ‘Oh, yes. It wasn’t particularly difficult. There’s always some room for speculation and argument when it comes to cuneiform translation, but I am fairly sure they said “emu ki ilani”, which means “to emulate the gods”.’

  ‘And – uh – that means?’

  ‘To live like the gods, Mr Flynn. To be all-knowing, all-wise, all-just, all-powerful – and most of all, to control the destiny of other men.’

  ‘I’m still not sure I get it.’

  ‘It was how King Nebuchadnezzar wanted to live. Not only to be master of the territory over which he ruled, but to be master of the world beyond it. And how do you think he was going to do that?’

  Noah said, ‘That wax rubbing – that was taken from a medallion I found in the ocean off Gibraltar, when I was diving.’

  ‘Yes, your friend told me,’ said Professor Halflight. His expression was unreadable.

  ‘The thing is, it was stolen from me yesterday. Four guys attacked me and they would have killed me, if I’d given them the chance. The way they were talking, they were really desperate to get their mitts on it, and I was wondering if you might know why.’

  Professor Halflight shrugged. ‘As far as I know, they meant very little, those medallions. They were forged in their hundreds in Babylon, when the royal palace was completed, and the hanging gardens were finished, and the triple walls were built around the city to protect it from any invader. Perhaps they were forged in their thousands – who knows? They were nothing but good-luck charms, that’s all. Mementoes.’

  Noah said, ‘My girlfriend, Jenna, had her throat cut in front of my eyes, Professor. These guys took my medallion and then they killed her. I mean, for Christ’s sake, what kind of a good-luck charm is that? It must mean something pretty damned important to somebody.’

  He took a breath, and then continued. ‘Moses Speller has been murdered, too – and so has his new wife, Trina. I’m wondering if there’s any connection.’

  ‘Are you with the police?’ asked Professor Halflight. ‘I’m flying to Israel early tomorrow morning. I can’t afford any trouble with the police.’

  ‘Do I look like I’m with the police? I’m just trying to find out what this is all about. I was hoping you could explain it to me.’

  ‘I wish I could. I’m deeply sorry to hear about your friend. He was very amusing, very animated. He made me laugh.’

  ‘But you can’t think of any possible link between the medallion that I found off Gibraltar and the medallion that suicide bomber was wearing? Those guys who took it from me, one of them said that I knew too much, but even if I do know too much, I’m damned if I know what it
is.’

  ‘Maybe it is more than a coincidence, Mr Flynn, but believe me, I am as mystified by this as you are. All I can do is express my condolences.’

  There was nothing more that Noah could say. If one of America’s most respected experts on Babylonian antiquity didn’t know why his medallion was so critically important, then who else could he turn to?

  ‘Thanks for your time,’ he said. ‘If you think of anything else, maybe you could call me.’

  Professor Halflight took Noah’s card but didn’t even look down at it. ‘Life is full of mysteries, Mr Flynn. Most of them are insoluble, and it is probably better that they stay that way.’

  Noah called DOVE headquarters in New York, and asked to speak to Adeola Davis.

  ‘Ms Davis has only just returned from Europe, sir. She won’t be back in her office until Monday morning at the earliest. May I ask what you’re calling about?’

  ‘I need to ask her about the bombing in Dubai.’

  ‘I don’t think she’ll be answering any questions about that, sir. But I can put you through to our public relations department.’

  ‘I need to ask her about the medallion the guy was wearing.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘The guy who tried to kill her, the suicide bomber, he was wearing a medallion. I need to ask her about it. Maybe she knows if it’s a symbol of something, some organization, maybe – some terrorist group.’

  ‘Well, I’ll try to mention it to her, sir, but I can’t promise that she’ll get back to you.’

  ‘Tell her that I’ve seen another medallion like that. Tell her that a good friend of mine was killed by some people who were trying to steal it.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sir. I can’t take messages. I think you’d be better off speaking to our public relations department.’

  ‘Listen, I don’t want to speak to your public relations department. All I want you to do is tell Ms Davis that I’ve seen another medallion the same as that guy was wearing before he tried to blow her up, and that I think there could be some kind of connection.’