by Gabriel Hunt
“Any time,” he said. “Just give me a chance to recover from this time first.”
She turned to Gabriel. “Uncle Daniel said he’s gotten us tickets for an early flight to Antalya tomorrow morning. They’ll be waiting for us at the airport. Get some sleep—I’ll knock at six.” She slid open the glass door and stepped inside.
After she’d slid it closed again, Noboru looked at him curiously.
“What?” Gabriel asked.
“Is there something you want to tell me about you two?”
He shook his head. “There’s nothing to tell. She’s an old friend of the family, that’s all.”
“Really.” Noboru raised his eyebrows and took a sip of tea. “I guess she must feel she can count on her old friends.”
“What do you mean?”
“Didn’t you hear what she said? Her uncle told her he was buying two tickets. She knew from the start you would go with her.”
Gabriel turned to the glass door, but Joyce was already walking with Michiko down the hallway toward the guest room.
Chapter 13
Antalya was nestled at the inland tip of a large bay along Turkey’s Mediterranean coast. From the air, it looked like any other resort town. Gabriel saw enormous luxury hotels sprawled along the coast, each surrounded by swimming pools, golf courses and beaches. A few miles to the northwest was the country’s more desolate mountain region, where archeological digs had been taking place nonstop for nearly a century. Just a few years ago, he remembered, a new site of ancient Hittite temples had been unearthed in the western city of Burdur, and the remarkably intact foundations of a Roman village had been dug up outside Ankara. It was no surprise, then, that Daniel Wingard had been drawn to Turkey. How could any archeologist resist the seemingly limitless treasures still waiting to be unearthed? And he’d been right to come, given what he’d wound up finding, even if he hadn’t had a clue at the time what the consequences would be. The entrance of Edgar Grissom and the Cult of Ulikummis into their lives could be traced back to the moment Daniel Wingard pulled the Star of Arnuwanda out of the dirt.
On the ground, Antalya was a good deal less generic than it had seemed from above. The Mediterranean had a flavor all its own. The smell of the sea, the ancient sunbaked features of the people, the sounds of the Turkish seabirds calling to one another as they circled over the water. It was as warm as Borneo had been but noticeably less humid, the breeze off the sea like a cool fan on the back of Gabriel’s neck.
They deplaned and took a taxi to the Peninsula Hotel, in the city’s center. Thirty floors of concrete and glass that covered most of a block, flanked by smaller buildings on either side. Balconies dotted the building’s façade. Thick cement ledges, each carved with traditional Turkish designs, wrapped around the hotel in bands between the floors. It was the city’s highestend luxury hotel and as Gabriel and Joyce walked into the vast air-conditioned lobby, Gabriel carrying his beat-up suitcase, Joyce with her rucksack hanging from one shoulder, the guests sitting on the couches and at the bar by the piano turned to watch them, murmuring among themselves.
At the front desk, the concierge, a young man in a gray blazer, looked up from what he was doing and blanched. “Are you all right?” he asked in Turkish. “Do you and your wife require assistance?”
“We’re fine,” Gabriel replied in the same tongue. He could see their reflection in the mirrored wall behind the desk. Their faces were covered in bruises and cuts, and there was still a dark raccoon circle around one of Joyce’s eyes. “Just visited some rough spots before coming here.”
The concierge looked like he wanted to ask more but he was too well trained. As long as they paid their bill, guests were free to do what they liked, even if it left bruises. “You’re certain you don’t need anything?”
“One thing,” Gabriel said. “We need Daniel Wingard’s room number.”
The concierge flipped through a box of index cards, found one marked “Wingard,” and read through the notes penciled on it. “You are checking in to stay with Professor Wingard? Mister, uh, Hunt, is it?”
“Yes,” Gabriel said. “He’s expecting us.”
The concierge told them to go to the penthouse, room 3002, and pointed to the elevators. He offered to have their bags taken up by the bell captain, but Joyce snatched her arm away when he tried to take hers off her shoulder. She wasn’t letting anyone near it. Not while the Star of Arnuwanda was nestled inside, wrapped in one of her old T-shirts. They crossed to the elevator bank, hit the call button beside the silver-plated doors, and as they waited Gabriel watched all the reflected faces in the doors watching them. Were they just curious bystanders? Joyce had said the Cult of Ulikummis had members all over the world. It would make sense that they’d at least be in Turkey, the ancestral home of the Hittite Empire. Any of the men staring at them from the lobby might have his own skull mask hidden away in his attaché case or tucked in a drawer back home.
The elevator doors slid open and they stepped inside. They rode to the penthouse floor in silence, soft jazz playing through the speakers in the ceiling. When the elevator pinged and the doors started to open, Joyce said, “I’m glad you came, Gabriel.” She walked out of the elevator before he could answer.
He followed her into a long hallway with plush carpeting and creamy silk wallpaper. He watched Joyce walk ahead of him and thought about how she’d slept through most of the flight from Borneo, turning in her sleep at one point so that her head fell against his shoulder. She’d looked calm, peaceful for the first time since he’d pulled her out of that cage in the jungle.
She’d looked beautiful.
Cool it, he thought, carrying his suitcase down the hallway. You knew her when she was seven, for God’s sake.
But she’s not seven anymore, another part of his mind pointed out.
They found room 3002 around the corner from the elevators. When Joyce knocked on the door, it swung open and Daniel Wingard rushed out, crushing Joyce in a bear hug.
“Thank god you’re all right,” he said. He looked her over, frowning over her bruises and black eye. “Oh, my dear girl, what did they do to you?”
“I’m fine,” Joyce said. “Really, I’m okay.”
“And Gabriel! Thank you for finding her, thank you!” He pumped Gabriel’s hand like he expected to draw water. “My god, look at you. I haven’t seen you since the memorial service. That’s what, eight years now?”
“Nine,” Gabriel said. “It’s good to see you, Professor.” Daniel Wingard looked exactly as Gabriel remembered him, if a little grayer on top and a little more wrinkled around the eyes and mouth. He was a full head shorter than Gabriel, with round features and the belly of a man who enjoyed hotel buffets.
“Only my students call me Professor,” he said, waving a dismissing hand. “It’s Daniel, my boy. Ambrose and Cordelia were among my dearest friends—I won’t stand on ceremony with their son. Now, come in, come in.” He held the door open for them.
Directly inside was the suite’s living room, an enormous chamber with arched doorways leading off on either side to bedroom and bathroom, study and kitchenette. Daniel had them to put their bags in the study, and when they returned to the living room he held out two glasses of scotch for them.
“Tell me everything, my dear,” Daniel said. “From the beginning, don’t leave anything out.”
While Joyce brought him up to speed, Gabriel sipped his scotch—it tasted smooth, smoky and expensive—and walked restlessly around the room. Hadn’t they gone over this on the phone already? If not, what had made that call last an hour? He didn’t begrudge Daniel the information, of course, but every minute they delayed setting off to find the second Eye gave Grissom that much more of a head start.
He walked over to a set of three metal cylinders standing against the living room wall beside a long wooden table. Each cylinder stood about three feet tall and bore a sticker in German that warned the contents were under pressure.
“Oh, be careful,” Daniel said, rushin
g over. “You shouldn’t touch those. They’re acetylene gas for the dig site. They only just arrived today, I haven’t had a chance to bring them over yet.”
“You had them delivered to your hotel room?” Gabriel asked.
Daniel nodded. “We’ve had a lot of items go missing from the site. It seems we have a thief on our hands, probably one of the local kids we hired. They can make a lot of money selling tools and instruments on the black market. They could get a lot for acetylene. Better to keep it here until it’s needed. Out of harm’s way.” He turned back to Joyce. “Same reason I sent the Star to you. Speaking of which, I am dying to see what you worked out, the way it operates with the map—will you show me?”
Joyce fetched her bag from the study, took out the Star and unfolded the map. “Grissom has the first of the Eyes—but you’ll help us find the second, won’t you?”
“Absolutely, my dear.” He shook his head disbelievingly. “To think that the Three Eyes of Teshub, the Spearhead, might all be real. How could I possibly say no to that?”
Joyce set the map on the floor. “We’ll need a light,” she said. Gabriel fished a flashlight out of his suitcase while Daniel went around the room drawing the curtains in front of all the windows and the glass doors to the terrace.
As Daniel pulled this last curtain shut, Gabriel thought he saw something, a movement glimpsed out of the corner of one eye. He looked over more closely. A man’s silhouette crouched outside—
“Get down!” he shouted, and Joyce and Daniel dropped to the floor. Gabriel ran for the curtain and threw it open. Beyond, the terrace was empty. He blinked in surprise.
Joyce came up behind him. “What is it?”
“I thought I saw someone,” he said. He unlocked the door, slid it open and stepped out onto the terrace, a rectangle of tiled cement enclosed by a waist-high brick wall. A table stood at the far end, its umbrella folded, flanked by two matching lounge chairs. There was no one in sight. With all the carvings providing handholds and footholds, the wall of the hotel would be easy enough to scale; and the neighboring terraces were close enough to jump to, or from. Someone could have been there. He scanned the row of terraces stretching to either side, then leaned over the edge of the terrace and looked down. No one. He turned to look up at the roof of the hotel, just above their room. There was no sign of movement.
Maybe it was just his nerves. He’d felt on edge in the lobby too.
Daniel poked his head out. “What was it?”
Gabriel walked back inside. “Don’t know. Maybe I’m jumping at shadows.”
Daniel slid the door closed and locked it again. “I’m not surprised, after what you’ve been through.”
Daniel may not have been surprised, but Gabriel was. He could have sworn he’d seen a shape moving out there. He glanced at the terrace one more time. There was nothing but sunlight and the cityscape beyond.
“Can we…get back to the…?” Daniel waved an arm at the map on the floor.
Joyce held the Star in position over the map and Gabriel switched on the flashlight. He angled the beam so the light passed directly through the artifact. Joyce rotated the inner ring till the projected cuneiforms began to line up.
“All right, I see it,” Daniel said. “That’s the one you found in Borneo, the one marked with the symbol for earth.”
“Right,” Joyce said. “Now let’s see the second.” She turned the central starburst further until the Nesili symbol for “water” was opposite her. She moved the Star until the symbol’s silhouette lined up perfectly with its twin below. The beam from Gabriel’s flashlight passed through the tiny green jewel at the end of the starburst’s shortest arm, sending a pinpoint of emerald light down to strike right in the open Mediterranean Sea.
“Mm,” Daniel said. He got down on his hands and knees next to the map and peered at the penciled-in grid. “The question is, what’s there? An island, perhaps?” He rose to his feet. “Wait here, I’m going to get my atlas.” He hurried off into the bedroom and returned a moment later with a big hardcover volume in his hands. “Here we go.” He sat next to the map again and flipped through the pages of the atlas until he found one showing a detailed view of the relevant portion of the Mediterranean. He pulled a small stub of a pencil from one of his pockets, licked its tip and made a mark on the page. “It appears to be about thirty-three degrees longitude,” he looked at the map again, then back at the atlas, “twenty-seven degrees latitude.” He made another mark and put the pencil down, frowning in confusion. “But there’s…” He looked at the atlas again. “There’s nothing there, just open sea all the way from Rhodes to Egypt.”
“There’s plenty there,” Gabriel said and he switched off the light. He fixed both of the Wingards with a concerned stare. “Remember, the first element was earth, and the crypt was underground. What we’re looking for isn’t on the water. It’s under it.”
Chapter 14
The cave smelled of spice and smoke. Deep in meditation, Vassily Platonov knelt before the altar, a low, flat boulder surrounded by candles whose flames illuminated the cave with a flickering glow. Incense smoldered from inside a stone brazier next to the boulder. With his headdress on the ground by his knees, he bowed his bald head in reverence. No statue of Ulikummis graced the altar. Such images were forbidden—theirs was a god of darkness and secrecy, his face so terrible it was said no mortal, not even his most devoted follower, could look upon it. Instead, resting at the center of the altar on a small woven blanket was a human skull that had recently been flensed of its skin.
In a low singsong Vassily chanted verses from memory—the ones he had been taught as a child and the ones he had only been permitted to learn upon turning twenty-one. He had recited them morning and night for decades now, and the words blended together as he sang them rapidly, his tongue flicking against his palate. With both hands he made the signs of Ulikummis and traced them along his chest. The time was coming near: World’s End, as the prophecies described it. When it came, the ancient stories would be played out again Just as Ulikummis had been born to defeat Teshub, Vassily had been born to become Ulikummis’s renewed vessel on earth, a shell for their god to inhabit when he once again descended to their plane to plunge the world into darkness and despair.
A rustle of movement drew Vassily from his thoughts as someone entered the cave behind him. “High Priest,” a voice said in Russian.
Vassily got up from where he knelt, placing the headdress back on his head. One of the younger brethren stood in the doorway, dressed in his street clothes instead of the ritual robe and skull mask. The young man was breathing hard and rubbing his hands anxiously on the thighs of his jeans. It was clear he had run to the cave with important news, but as with so many of the younger brethren, he had to be taught proper respect first.
“In the presence of our god’s altar, Arkady,” Vassily said, “you will address me in the sacred tongue, not the corrupt language of our adopted land. Is that clear?”
Arkady’s face flushed with embarrassment. “Yes, High Priest,” he answered in Nesili.
“Deliver your news,” Vassily said.
“We have confirmation our enemies have left Borneo,” Arkady said. “Our brother in the…” He paused, struggling to find words that didn’t exist in the ancient language. Vassily nodded, allowing him to substitute Russian words for them. “…in the airport reports both the man and the woman were on a flight to Turkey this morning.”
“And the Star of Arnuwanda is with them?”
“Yes. Our brother caught it on the…” He struggled for the words again. Vassily was losing patience with this young one, as he often did with so many of them. The younger generation seemed less interested in serving Ulikummis than in the mere fellow-feeling of being a member of the group—that and indulging in the occasional violence their god demanded. Vassily wearily signaled permission with a wave of his hand, allowing Arkady to use Russian words again. “Our brother caught sight of the Star in the baggage X-ray, but without privacy he
could take no action at the time. The flight landed in Antalya this afternoon. The man and woman were spotted checking into a hotel.”
Vassily nodded. “Have our brothers in Turkey keep eyes on them at all times. I must be informed of their every move.”
“Yes, High Priest.” Arkady bowed stiffly. “Shall I gather the brethren and tell them to ready themselves for travel?”
“Not yet. Have the thieves followed for now, but take no action against them until my order.” Vassily picked his staff up from the ground. “What news of the others we fought? The army of outsiders?”
“They are gone,” Arkady replied. “They left us no trail to follow.”
Bad luck, Vassily thought. The first Eye was in their possession and would have to be retrieved. But the Star of Arnuwanda was the priority. It had to be captured at all costs. Only the Star could lead them to Teshub’s Spearhead.
Vassily returned to the altar, knelt before it. How foolish the old storm god had been, hiding such immense power from men in the name of mercy. Mercy was a word without meaning to Ulikummis, as the world would soon find out.
The boat was named the Ashina Tuwu and belonged to one of Daniel Wingard’s colleagues, an engineering professor at Akdeniz University who had made a bundle from an invention of his, something involving lasers. He reluctantly agreed to lend the boat to them. A Hatteras 77 Convertible, the Ashina Tuwu was more yacht than fishing boat, with black-tinted windows lining the flybridge, two luxury cabins belowdeck, and a streamlined white fiberglass hull that sliced effortlessly through the water as Gabriel steered it out of its mooring at the Setur Antalya Marina and into the open Mediterranean Sea. Traveling at a speed of 33 knots, it wouldn’t take them long to reach the coordinates they’d calculated from the map.
Daniel joined Gabriel on the flybridge, taking one of the riding seats beside the helm chair. Four state-of-the-art displays were embedded in the forward console just past the steering station: compass, speedometer, sonar, and a touch screen where the ship’s computerized system monitored everything from engine diagnostics to fuel transfer and tank levels. Gabriel would have preferred a more old-fashioned bridge, with fewer controls—fewer things to go wrong—but you made do with what you had.
