by L. Todd Wood
Rafe continued to gaze out the window for a long while, his mind spinning. Eventually he closed the curtain, picked up his phone, and dialed a number he knew by heart. The phone rang and a male voice answered. “Yes.”
“It’s me. I need to talk to you.”
“Come to the Rock. I’m staying near the normal place. Meet me there tomorrow at 4 p.m.. Come alone.” The phone went dead. Well that’s done, thought Rafe.
No longer able to sleep, he made some espresso with the coffeemaker in the hotel room and sat down at the table to make plans, opening his laptop. Quickly he confirmed flight reservations to Gibraltar for two and selected a room at a small inn on the side of the mountain he had known for years. He then pulled out a picture of Clare he had in his wallet. His heart melted. He could look at it no more. Rafe sat for several minutes in silence. He then turned on the television, muted the sound, and flipped to the American financial channel, where he normally followed the markets. There was a documentary showing about the European debt crisis and the associated civil unrest. Rafe dropped his coffee cup on the table, spilling the remaining fluid while staring at the television screen. Cecilia briefly awoke but soon rolled over and went back to sleep. The anchorwoman narrating the pretaped documentary was the woman he had seen in the black robe at the altar in the Circus Maximus several hours before.
Rafe’s eyes continued to be locked on the television long after turning it off. His mind was spinning out of control. It was as if he had been thrown into a parallel universe and did not know how to function. The whole world had been turned upside down. What is happening? And why is it happening to me? Rafe continued to sit, thinking about the situation for some time. His anxiety was overwhelming.
Eventually the sun came up, and the light began to peek through the closed shades covering the hotel room windows. Cecilia started stirring in the bed around mid-morning. Rafe had hardly slept at all and he looked like it. He kept the espresso machine humming. "I’ve got to figure out what is going on," he said aloud as the sun was now firmly planted in the overhead sky, signaling the day had begun.
Cecilia finally woke and found Rafe staring out the window. As her eyes adjusted to the conditions in the room, she asked, “What time is it?’
“It’s 10:30 local time. You need to get up and get dressed and get ready to go.”
“Where are we going?” she asked groggily.
“I’ll tell you on the way to the airport. We’re going to see a friend of mine. So get up and let’s get moving.”
“You haven’t slept at all, have you?”
“Why does that matter?”
“Because you need to be your best, if not for you, then for Clare.”
“You let me worry about myself, and Clare also for that matter.”
“Suit yourself,” Cecilia responded curtly and made her way to the bathroom.
Twenty minutes later, she emerged showered and refreshed. Rafe had packed and was still in the clothes he had worn before. He went into the bathroom and splashed water on his face.
“Let’s go,” he ordered coldly.
Once again Rafe awoke as the small aircraft landed with a thud. He had tried to stay awake and think of Clare, but his body had shut down on the flights from Rome to Madrid and then on to Gibraltar. Cecilia was next to him, reading a book, her hand affectionately on his leg.
I’ve been an asshole, he thought. She’s been good to me and I’ve been treating her like the enemy. He moved his hand on top of hers. She looked up and smiled at him. Eventually the aircraft stopped taxiing and the door to the cabin opened, allowing the passengers to offload via mobile stairs and then walk to the small terminal beyond. She’s connected to everything that’s happening in some way, but I just don’t know how. And, maybe she doesn’t know either. We both have to figure it out.
Rafe looked around the airfield as they walked to the seemingly provincial, one-story facility. The Rock of Gibraltar loomed behind them to the south. It was massive formation rising from the flat terrain around it, reaching upwards and outwards like the chin of an outlandish, masculine cartoon character. Rafe could smell the sea.
Located at the bottom of the Iberian Peninsula and guarding the entrance to the Mediterranean, Gibraltar was ceded from the Spanish to the English in the 1713 Treaty of Utrecht and had been a thorn in Spanish/English relations ever since. Twice the population of Gibraltar had voted to refuse to be brought under Spanish control. Once an important base for the Royal Navy, now the Rock mainly subsisted off tourism and financial services. Even the Romans and Carthaginians had settled Gibraltar thousands of years ago. Rafe had seen it all before, for Rafe had been to Gibraltar several times, to meet Neal.
Neal was an agent with MI6. He had recruited Rafe years ago and continued to be his handler. Rafe was a natural target, as he was a famous author. Powerful people loved famous authors. They would invite them to their parties and other social functions in order to make themselves look important and connected. Rich and powerful people always loved the arts. In addition to being famous, Rafe was an attractive man, so doors opened for him, they always had. I just made the wrong decisions with those opportunities, he would often think. Just picked the wrong women, that’s why I’m alone.
Rafe was also second-generation Ukrainian-American. His parents had immigrated to the U.S. during the Cold War. He spoke fluent Ukrainian and Russian. So when the Orange Revolution broke out in Ukraine after the fall of the Soviet Union, Rafe was a natural figure for MI6 to use to gain information about who to trust in the opposition movement. Rafe had made frequent trips to Eastern Europe during that time, wining and dining with Ukrainian centers of influence. His relationship with Neal was a good one; they had looked after each other’s safety and interests. They trusted one another. There was, however, a distance between them, a professional distance. They would never be great friends.
Rafe and Cecilia made their way through immigration at the small terminal, collected their bags, and walked out into the warm night air. The smell of the ocean was never far away. A taxi stand was in front of the airport exit, but the line was nonexistent. They were able to hail a cab right away.
“Take me to the Oglethorpe,” Rafe barked to the driver.
“You haven’t even told me what we are doing here,” Cecilia said as they drove upwards into the densely populated but small city at the base of the Rock.
“And I’m not going to yet,” he replied. He said nothing else until they reached the hotel.
The drive to the hotel took about twenty minutes. Initially the road leading up into the crowded district was wide and accommodated several lanes of traffic. As they neared the top of the inhabited area, the road became thinner, and at some points the taxi had to pull over to let another car pass from the opposite direction. Eventually, they pulled into a small turnoff and parking area in front of the ground-floor check-in area of a large hotel that sprawled upwards on the mountain. Cecilia looked upwards and marveled at the mountain buttressing the hotel against the sea. A bellman took their bags and Rafe checked in to the room.
“Let’s have a drink in the bar before we do anything,” Rafe suggested. They negotiated the winding steps upwards from the front desk of the hotel and soon were in an expansive lounge area overlooking the Atlantic Ocean arrayed in front of them. The entire western wall of the hotel bar area was glass, and the room was decorated with historical artifacts of Gibraltar nautical history. The other side of the Rock, on the eastern opening to the Mediterranean, simply ended at the sea and was not populated.
“Nice view!” remarked Cecilia. “So what are we doing here?”
“I have to meet a friend. You’re going to stay here in the bar until I get back.” Rafe was not worried about being polite at this point. His daughter was all that mattered.
“So I get to stay here and drink? What if some handsome guy comes along?"
“You may indulge yourself if you like. I won’t be long. An hour or so," he said uncaringly. Cecilia looked hut but Raf
e really didn't notice. He glanced at his watch; it wasn’t time yet, so he ordered another round. An hour later, Rafe left the bar, leaving Cecilia wondering and waiting for his return.
Rafe meandered slowly down the small streets, being careful not to get run over by the advancing traffic. Occasionally, he would dart into a side alley and emerge a block or two down the road. It was his way of making sure he wasn’t being followed. It was not as if he had received any training from MI6. He just did as he was told. He wasn’t in a hurry. Soon he neared his destination.
Rafe arrived in an expansive square nestled against the mountain rising above it. The area was ringed with shops and cafes and filled with the local populace. It seemed like there was some local fair or similar event of some kind taking place in the area. Rafe mingled among the throng of people, pretended to be interested in the festivities, and eventually drifted to the far edge of the square and selected an outdoor seat in the approaching shadows at an Italian cafe hidden in the corner. He sat down and waited. Rafe heard mostly British accents; however, not a proper London English. There was a Mediterranean flare to the way the people talked. It seemed to be a rather unique way of speaking. The patrons of the shops were oblivious to Rafe.
Fifteen minutes later, Neal arrived. “Good to see you, Rafe. You look good. Much better than the last time I saw you.” Neal was dressed like a collegiate professor, corduroy sport coat and all. He even had the elbow patches. He was in his late forties, had graying long hair, and stylish glasses. Neal was of average height and in good shape physically.
“Why thank you, boss, you look good yourself, like a true campus radical. So what swashbuckling case are you working on now? Or is it just some boring environmental terrorist or something like that?”
“You always were the cynical one,” responded Neal. “As a matter of fact, I'm saving the world, but you wouldn’t know anything about that. You're hanging out in Venice and traveling all over Europe with a strikingly beautiful, young woman. Yes, yes, don’t look so surprised. We do keep tabs on our people you know.”
“I’m impressed. Do you know anything about what I'm up to? What's going on?”
“I can’t say that I do, Rafe. Obviously that is why you wanted to meet. And as it usually happens that I am the one who wants to meet and not you, I surmise there is something wrong and it’s important. So why don’t you properly get me up to speed?”
Rafe laid out all that had transpired over the last few days since he had met Cecilia and seen the image under the water in Venice. Neal listened intently, occasionally asking questions and taking a few notes. “What’s the girl's full name?” he asked. Rafe told him and Neal pulled out his phone. Seconds later he began speaking. He gave Cecilia’s name and description over the phone and asked for a quick report on her background and activities. Neal also asked for information on Fernando. He hung up and then turned to Rafe.
“So you meet her for a few days of great sex and invite her into your life? Seems a little quick, don’t you think?” asked Neal.
“Yes, you could say that. I’ve thought about that myself, but she has been helping me figure out what's going on. I really didn’t have any other leads at the time. But yes, things have been quite coincidental. Frankly I don’t give a fuck if I can find out more about Clare. I really don’t have any other leads besides her.”
“We will of course do what we can to help, Rafe. I’ll see what I can find out from the Yanks, but it seems like this is taking place in our sandbox. I will say this, you need to be very careful, no matter how beautiful she is.”
“Yeah, I figured that one out on my own. I do appreciate your help however. What do you suggest I do?”
“Stay put here for a day or so. Let me find out some information on these people and on the woman in New York. It’s all quite shocking. I’ll be in touch tomorrow, okay? So stay put for a few days?”
“Okay thanks.” Rafe got up to leave.
“And one more thing, my friend,” added Neal. “You are definitely being led to the slaughter here. We just have to figure out why and by whom.”
“Find my daughter,” said Rafe. "I’ll sacrifice myself for her. That’s all I care about.”
The walk back to the hotel was uneventful.
Rafe found Cecilia sitting alone at a table overlooking the ocean. She had moved across the bar and was gazing out at the white caps cresting the waves. She looked ravishing in her tight fitting sundress. Rafe had almost forgotten how gorgeous she was.
“Ah, back from your secret mission?” she asked as he walked up to the table. “Still not going to tell me?”
“Sorry, no I’m not going to tell you. Maybe someday but not now. I hope you weren’t too lonely while I was gone?”
“No, I’m fine. I did kind of miss you however. Even though we’ve only known each other for a few days.” She smiled seductively.
“Growing attached to me already, huh?” Rafe responded. “Usually it takes a girl a few weeks before she can’t live without me,” he said sarcastically. He was growing more and more depressed over Clare’s disappearance and not knowing where to turn for information. He signaled for the waitress to bring him a drink.
Cecilia reached out and held Rafe’s hand. “Look, Rafe. We’re going to find her, okay?" She then reached over to her purse and pulled out a brochure. She handed it to him. “Look what I’ve found on my table while you were gone. Someone placed it there when I went to the bathroom for a couple minutes. Obviously they wanted us to see this. Seems like there is an ancient Mythraim from the Roman days here in Gibraltar.”
Chapter Six
Rafe and Cecilia lay together in bed. Rafe was leaning against the headboard, and her head rested on his chest. Her silky, black hair billowed up into his face. She smelled wonderful and felt warm and soft. She caressed his skin as the sun set on the Mediterranean Sea through the open balcony to their room. A warm breeze wafted up the curtains through the opening. Rafe could see the ships slowly moving into the port on the western side of Gibraltar through the man-made barriers. He couldn’t help thinking that thousands of years ago, the view was not that altogether different. Only today the ships were modern. The fatigue of not sleeping for days washed over him.
“Rafe, you need to rest and relax. You can’t do anything for Clare in your condition. You’re so wired you’re gonna burn yourself out. You need sleep,” she said softly.
“I can’t get her out of my mind. I can’t stop thinking about what is happening to her. I don’t know what to do. She’s my angel.”
Cecilia sat up and faced him. She was wearing one of his t-shirts and nothing else. He again noticed how stunningly beautiful she was, but he didn’t know if he could trust her.
“I’m waiting on a phone call,” Rafe added. “Then we will make some decisions.”
Cecilia kept on speaking. “Tomorrow we’ll go to the Mythraim and see what we can find, okay? There must be some clues there. We need to try and find out how Clare, and you for that matter, are connected to this ancient ritual.”
“Yes, that seems like a reasonable plan. Obviously someone wants us to go there. But it’s a shot in the dark, so I’ve asked for some help from a friend. I’ll know more tomorrow I hope. Then we can decide what to do as I said.”
“Rafe, don’t be afraid of me. I’m on your side. I want to help you.” She moved forward and kissed him. Rafe tensed his body and turned is head.
“Not until she is found.”
She pulled his face back towards her own. “Look at me. You need to relax and sleep or you can’t help Clare.” She put the palm of her hand against his cheek. “Trust me and let me help you.”
Rafe began to soften. “First thing in the morning we go to the temple when it opens.”
“Of course.” Cecilia pushed him back on the bed and climbed on top of him.
Rafe woke up as the sun again peeked through the curtains partially covering the outside balcony. He felt refreshed and his mind had cleared. His resolve and determination had
returned. He rose from the bed and walked outside on the balcony as he had many times before in Venice. I wish I was back there just writing a book and Clare was safe at home, he thought to himself. My how things have changed in a few short days. The port was starting to come to life as the morning sun rose higher in the sky. Ships were lined up in the harbor waiting to offload their cargo. The longshoremen worked the cranes, efficiently removing the containers and other cargo from the decks of the ships. I’m going to find you, Clare. Rafe walked back into the hotel room. Cecilia was sleeping peacefully, wrapped up in the cotton sheets. He stared at her a while. She scared him with her passion. He'd never been with a woman like her. He'd never felt such power while make love, such strong emotion and force. It was almost like she was a goddess. No, she was not like any other woman he had ever loved. She was off the charts. He touched her arm and shook her gently. “Come on, it’s time to get moving. The sun is up. I want to get there as soon as it opens.”
Cecilia stirred and mumbled, “Okay, give me twenty minutes to get ready.”
They left the hotel and got into the rental car parked in front of the lobby, which Rafe had ordered the previous evening. It was a small Mini Cooper, perfect for negotiating the tiny roads of Gibraltar. They drove through town and then towards the Rock, eventually accessing the Queen’s Road, which led towards the lower nature reserve and the southern base of the mountain. Soon they were parked at the entrance to the Jews' Gate Cemetery and heading out on foot, following the signs to the Mediterranean Steps.
The man-made steps were built by the British two centuries before to provide access to the gun emplacements constructed around the Rock. The steps were literally chiseled out of the Rock by British soldiers. The path meandered to O’Hara’s Battery, almost to the summit. However, Rafe and Cecilia were not going all the way to the top of the mountain. Forty-five minutes later, halfway up the path, they broke off to an alternate stone stairway that led up to a man-made landing hewn out of the limestone. The time was approaching nine a.m. when, according to the brochure, the Mythraim would be opening to the public.
