The Lucifer Code (2010)

by Charles Brokaw

  Breaking free of the passionate kiss they shared, Lourds gazed into Olympia’s wide-set brown eyes. ‘Do you smell the perfume?’

  ‘Yes.’ Olympia’s hand curled round the back of his neck and played with his hair. The sensation was incredibly delightful and Lourds knew she was aware of that. They’d been good lovers who had explored each other’s bodies well enough to know what worked and what didn’t.

  ‘Doesn’t that worry you?’ Lourds ran his hands under her jacket and the matching teal chemise she wore to unfasten her bra. He managed the feat with one hand, which brought a smile to Olympia’s beautiful face.

  ‘You’ve still got your touch, I see,’ she whispered.

  ‘And you still have a one-track mind.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say that.’ Lourds closed his hands over the tender flesh of her breasts and gently tweaked her nipples. ‘I’m quite capable of multi-tasking when there’s a need.’

  A quiet moan escaped Olympia as she tilted her head back. ‘Oh, there’s a need. A definite need.’

  Lourds grinned and kissed her again. He slid his hands across her back and pulled her close to him. He felt the heat of her melding into his.

  ‘The perfume could have been from a maid stopping by to turn down the bed,’ Olympia suggested. She pushed free of Lourds and gazed up at him. ‘There is a bed, isn’t there? I specifically asked for one when I reserved this room.’

  ‘There must be one in here somewhere. I just haven’t seen it yet.’

  Olympia looked around the room. ‘If it were me, I’d guess it was behind that door.’

  ‘Well, then we’ll try that one. You do have a doctorate, after all.’

  ‘Three, actually.’

  ‘You’re obviously overcompensating for something.’ Lourds bent down and lifted her into his arms, then started for the bedroom door. Once inside he fumbled for and found the light switch. He turned it on and a soft glow filled the room.

  The bedroom was spacious and adorned with pastel-coloured curtains and bedding. The king-sized bed

  ‘You’re dirty,’ she said.

  Lourds stood at the side of the bed, only then remembering his current state. ‘You weren’t objecting a moment ago.’

  ‘A moment ago, we were in the living room, not in the bed where I expect to be happily entertained for the next ten or twelve hours.’

  Lourds cocked an eyebrow in mock surprise. ‘You do have grand designs, don’t you?’

  ‘A large appetite, thank you. And it’s already been kept waiting for two days while you’ve been off gallivanting around.’

  ‘I’d hardly call nearly getting killed – on more than one occasion – and getting interviewed by the local constabulary “gallivanting”.’

  ‘An imposition, then.’

  ‘Most impositions I’ve had don’t include getting shot at.’

  Olympia sat on the edge of the bed and unbuttoned his shirt. She ran her hands across the flat planes of his chest and stomach. Years of playing soccer had kept him taut and lean. He ran his fingers through the shimmering waves of her hair, then bent down to kiss her. As they kissed, her fingers busied themselves with his belt buckle and trousers. A moment later they slid down his slim hips. He’d already been erect, and getting freed only promoted that. Her fingers closed round

  Lourds’ knees almost buckled at the sensation. His breath came in ragged gasps and he teetered on the edge of control. He was aware she knew that, and doubtless enjoyed being in a position of power. Olympia had always been a generous lover, but she’d also been an incredible tease. Just before he begged for mercy or permission, Olympia drew back and smiled wickedly up at him.

  ‘Go,’ she said sternly. ‘Shower. We’ll continue the frivolity after you’re clean.’

  ‘Of course, my lady.’ Lourds took her hand and kissed her fingers. ‘I won’t be but just a moment.’

  ‘You’d better take longer than that. You reek.’

  Lourds turned to walk away and very nearly tripped over his own trousers, which were down round his ankles, forgotten during the distraction. He unlaced his boots and stepped out of them, then the trousers. He glanced back at Olympia, who sat on the bed half-undone with one sleek leg tucked under her.

  Washington Dulles International Airport

  Washington D. C.

  United States of America

  17 March 2010

  Vice-President Elliott Webster’s cellphone rang as his private limousine glided out onto the tarmac to the waiting military jet scheduled to fly him to Saudi Arabia. When he checked the Caller ID, he answered and said, ‘One moment, please.’

  The limo driver parked the vehicle in the shade of the jet. Webster raised the soundproof glass that separated the rear of the luxury vehicle from the chauffeur. Then he nodded at the three secret service men who were part of his personal detachment.

  ‘If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen, I need to take this call alone.’

  The three agents opened the doors and stepped outside. They stood watch while Webster relaxed in the back seat.

  ‘We’re alone, Colonel, and on a secure line. You may speak freely.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ Colonel Anthony Eckart said. In his early forties, the colonel had been a Marine officer

  ‘I assume you’ve heard about the deaths in Saudi?’ Eckart asked.

  Webster’s gaze flicked to the plasma television hanging from the limo’s ceiling. WNN News had been covering the story since early that morning. The footage of the flaming building in King Abdullah Economic City had been taken by a ship out in the harbour. Black smoke hung above the city.

  Currently, it was evening in Saudi Arabia. Arranging the trip had taken hours.

  ‘I have,’ Webster replied. ‘I’ve been expecting your call.’

  ‘Things here have become a little crazy,’ Eckart said. ‘After the attack, the whole city was blacked out – all ordinary communications are down. I didn’t want to use the sat-phone till after the media people had descended into the metro area en masse. Otherwise the Saudis might have tracked our signal.’

  ‘Understood. I take it you and your men survived?’

  ‘I’d heard they might be negotiating oil disbursements with the Indian government.’

  ‘Those people were at the party as well. The hardest part was managing to take out the two primary targets without killing Khalid, the younger prince.’

  ‘That was done?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘So how is our young prince?’

  ‘Khalid was wounded, but sustained no permanent damage.’

  ‘I take it the prince – now king – is talking of retribution.’

  ‘From what I’ve heard, he’s positively foaming at the mouth, sir.’

  Webster smiled. ‘Khalid was always hot-headed and looking for a fight.’

  ‘He’s going to turn that country into a hornet’s nest.’

  ‘As we’d planned.’

  ‘If our enemies destroy each other, sir, it saves a lot of our soldiers.’

  Webster knew the coming military conflagration would do more than that. He was counting on it.

  ‘There was some collateral damage,’ Eckart went on. ‘Some of the king’s servants and personal bodyguards and a few of the wives and children were also killed, but no one we’re going to lose any sleep over.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I’ll mention it to them.’

  ‘There’s been a change in plans,’ Webster said. ‘I want you and your team in Istanbul as soon as you can get there.’

  Eckart transitioned smoothly. He always did. ‘It’ll be a few hours before we’re able to move from here without alerting suspicion.’

  ‘That’s fine. For the moment I’ve got someone sitting on your target.’

  ‘May I ask who the target is, sir?’

  ‘A Harvard professor named Thomas Lourds. You’ve probably heard of him. He’s the man who was involved in the hunt for lost Atlantis.’

  ‘I have, sir. That story was all over the
news.’

  ‘I don’t want Lourds terminated at present,’ Webster said. ‘I just want to talk to him.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’ll let you know when we’re en route.’

  ‘Very good. I expect to see you soon, Colonel. Until then, best of luck.’ Webster broke the connection and pocketed the cellphone. Then he unmuted the television to listen to the news anchor.

  ‘The Saudi Arabian government hasn’t confirmed who died in last night’s fiery attack in King Abdullah Economic City,’ the anchor said with sterling confidence. ‘But it’s clear several injured and several dead were removed from the rubble of the building that was struck by a missile weapon.’

  The television cut away from the anchor to the

  ‘We have unconfirmed reports that King Yousef and Crown Prince Muhammed were among those injured and possibly killed in the attack.’

  Images of the king and crown prince formed on the screen, overlying the destruction.

  ‘If those two men are casualties,’ the anchor continued, ‘many political analysts fear the changes that may take place in the Middle East. Here, for a special look at the situation, is Jane Keller.’

  Webster listened to the special report with zeal, for it agreed exactly with his assessment of what would happen.

  Georgetown University Professor Clarence Doolan looked grim and foreboding in the television studio. In his seventies, tan and withered, Doolan looked like a hanging judge about to pass sentence. Jane Keller, the young television reporter, looked as though she’d stepped straight from a Victoria’s Secret commercial.

  That was precisely the reason Webster hadn’t had him killed.

  ‘What makes you say that, Professor?’ the reporter asked.

  ‘Saudi Arabia occupies a singular niche within the Middle East,’ the professor explained. ‘It’s a powerful country, and its impact on oil production is immense. However, the United States has depended on Saudi Arabia to maintain a non-aggression presence within that community. Sometimes the US has had to be heavily persuasive to manage that feat.’

  ‘Why is that non-aggression presence so necessary?’ the reporter asked.

  ‘You have to understand the fundamental differences in the Muslim world. There are two distinct religions within Islam: the Sunni and the Shia. They have differing interpretations of the line of succession regarding the prophet Muhammad, and they’re willing to kill each other over those differences when they come into conflict. Saudi Arabia has sometimes prevailed to cool the fires of war in the Middle East, but I’m afraid that Prince – now possibly King – Khalid doesn’t have a stable temperament.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘From the beginning, Khalid has chosen a much less generous path than his father and brother. His mother, one of King Yousef’s many wives, was killed

  Webster remembered seeing the video footage of that attack twelve years ago. It had been most compelling and had, briefly, captured the attention of the world.

  ‘If this attack on his father and brother also turns out to be Shia initiated,’ Doolan said, ‘the young prince may choose to retaliate.’

  ‘Against the people who killed his father and brother?’

  ‘No. He won’t settle for a handful when he’s got a whole people to punish. He’s been very vocal about wanting the Shia driven from Saudi Arabia. That attitude has already fomented political and economic repercussions for the country and the royal family. He’s also not been a big supporter of the United States policies in those areas.’

  ‘Are we talking about the country possibly being torn in half as a result of Khalid’s ascendancy? If that is indeed the case?’

  ‘Not Saudi Arabia, no. That country is primarily Sunni. However, you have to remember that country is bracketed by Iran, Azerbaijan, Bahrain and Iraq, all of which are primarily Shia. Lebanon and Kuwait are almost equally divided between the two Islams. But there are many Shia in Afghanistan, India and Pakistan.’

  As the professor spoke, a map appeared on the wall behind him, quickly marking the mentioned countries as Shia or Sunni.

  ‘What you’re talking about,’ Doolan said, ‘is the

  ‘Looking at the map, I see that Iraq is marked as a Shia region.’

  ‘Yes, though there are many who disagree, myself among them, with that designation.’

  ‘You don’t agree that Iraq is primarily a Shia nation?’

  ‘I don’t. I think those numbers were inflated at the beginning of our second Iraqi conflict.’

  Another limousine pulled up in front of Webster’s location. As he watched, the driver helped a beautiful woman from the back seat. Her blonde hair, neatly coifed, shone in the afternoon sun. A black leather coat hung to her sculpted calves. Her burgundy red Manolo Blahniks were anything but sensible. Webster wouldn’t have expected anything less.

  He knocked on the window and the secret service agent nearest the door let him out.

  ‘Thank you, Brandon,’ Webster acknowledged.

  ‘My pleasure, sir.’

  Webster approached the woman and he watched her head swivel to face him. She smiled, and the effect was dazzling.

  ‘Mr Vice-President,’ she greeted him.

  Smiling, Webster waved a hand. ‘Vicky, please, if I’ve told you once, I told you a thousand times. Call me Elliott.’

  Eserin Crown Hotel

  Sultanahmet District

  Istanbul, Turkey

  17 March 2010

  Inside the bathroom, Lourds set the shower for a hot, invigorating spray, lathered quickly – twice – and shampooed. Despite the promise of the lovely woman waiting for him in his bedroom, his mind kept wandering back to the book in his backpack. When it came to his relationships, the women in his life could only be mistresses that pulled him away from his love of his work. Or, in Olympia Adnan’s case, he could share that work. Unfortunately, they were both tied to different fields of expertise and to different geographical locations. Neither of them would give up their university environment. Those were their retreats as well as recharge centres.

  When he returned to the room, Olympia still sat in a state of near undress while sitting cross-legged on the bed. The book Lourds had stolen from the men in the catacombs lay in her lap and consumed her attention so much that she didn’t know he was there for a time.

  ‘Find anything interesting?’ he asked.

  Olympia started, then swept the hair from her eyes and smiled. ‘My apologies. I thought I’d set up your workstation.’ She waved to the nearby desk where she’d spread out his books, computer, map tools, cameras and digital recorder. ‘Then I found this. Something new you’re working on?’

  She shook her head. ‘It’s written in Greek, but not any kind of Greek I was ever trained to read.’

  ‘I think very few people could read that.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I believe it’s an artificial language.’

  ‘Hundreds – I’m assuming here, of course – of years ago?’

  ‘More like two thousand, unless I miss my guess.’

  ‘I would trust your instincts on something like that.’

  ‘Good.’ Lourds sat on the bed beside her.

  ‘But what makes you think this is so old?’

  ‘A test?’ Lourds grinned.

  ‘As I recall, you always did well with tests.’

  Lourds flipped through the pages of the book. ‘The paper is old, probably hundreds of years. Handmade. Not purchased off a rack at a department store.’

  ‘The size gives that away immediately.’

  ‘Very good.’ Lourds dipped his head in appreciation. ‘But that only covers the handmade part. The age I’m going to guess at because of the stylized lettering and because of the rag content in the paper rather than wood. Charles Fenerty and F. G. Keller invented a paper-making machine and technique that used pulped wood instead of rags in 1844.’ He tapped the book. ‘These sheets were made out of a rag-fibre slurry and calendered to improve the writing surface.’

  ‘Im
pressive.’

  Lourds shrugged, but he was pleased with himself. ‘Even if this turns out to be a copy of something else,

  ‘So what’s this about?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet.’

  ‘You?’ Olympia smiled in disbelief. ‘The incredible Professor Thomas Lourds is stumped?’

  ‘Only a minor setback, I assure you.’ Lourds ran his fingers over the textured pages. ‘I’m already starting to make some headway, I think.’

  ‘All this while dodging terrorists at the airport?’

  ‘Multi-tasker, remember?’ Lourds gazed longingly at the flowing script, then reached out and flipped through the pages.

  Olympia closed the book. ‘Nope. Not at this moment, Professor. You’re tired, and you know you’re not at your best when you’re overly fatigued. All you’ll do is stare at those pages while your brain spins helplessly.’

  ‘Really?’ Lourds loved the way she knew him so well.

  ‘Yes, really.’ Olympia ran her fingers through his hair and massaged his scalp. ‘After you get a few hours’ sleep, you’ll perform much better.’

  ‘At solving the riddle of the book, I assume you mean.’

  She tweaked his nose playfully and grinned. ‘That. And certain other distractions.’

  ‘Any clue as to what those distractions might entail?’

  Without a word, Olympia set the book aside, then put a hand on his chest and pressed him back on the bed. When Lourds lay supine, she shimmied out of the skirt suit and straddled him wearing only her teal

  She leaned forward and kissed him, and her hips naturally pressed against his hips. His erection was trapped against her sheer panties and her warm excitement soon allowed her to glide up and down against him. They continued kissing, and Lourds’ tongue parried hers again and again. Her breath came in shorter gasps and she inadvertently shivered as she stroked against him harder and harder.

  Lourds thrust up against her and held in check his own impulse to flip her over and rip the thin material away. Within the next moment, though, she shivered and convulsed, then collapsed against his chest. He luxuriated in the warm feel of her flesh pressing against his. He stroked her back, running his fingers from her shoulder blades to her buttocks.