The Lucifer Code (2010)

by Charles Brokaw

  ‘I’m looking at it,’ Webster said. ‘On the television and in the streets here.’

  Waggoner cursed, another thing he rarely did. ‘I hadn’t forgotten you were there in the middle of it, Elliott. Sending you there might not have been the best idea after all. I’m worried about you too.’

  ‘I know, Mike. It’s a tough time for all of us.’

  ‘Are you all right? If you think you or your people are in danger, just say the word. I’ve got a Marine special OPS HRT waiting on board an aircraft carrier nearby. The colonel says he and his teams can be there in twenty minutes or less to get you out.’

  ‘There’s no need to do that yet,’ Webster said. ‘We’re safe enough here at the moment. If we do pull out, it could be taken as a sign of weakness. We don’t want that hanging over us.’

  ‘I know. I keep telling myself that.’ The president sighed tiredly. ‘I just don’t know how this situation went south so quickly.’

  ‘Does Khalid really think he can get away with this without any repercussions?’

  ‘Prince Khalid’s in a powerful position. He’s not addicted to wealth and power like his father and brother. He’s looking to avenge his mother, his father, his brother and the rest of his family who were killed. He doesn’t care about repercussions. He wants to prove his manhood to the world. And he doesn’t think anyone can stop him. More than that, no one will stop him. Not everyone, perhaps no one, can afford to stop buying the oil Saudi Arabia has to sell.’

  ‘He’s insane is what he is.’

  ‘Crazy like a fox, maybe.’

  Below in the street, a few quick flurries of flashing lights drew Webster’s attention. He recognized the muzzle flashes at once and knew that another battle or massacre had begun.

  ‘I thought you had a handle on this guy,’ Waggoner said.

  ‘With his father in place, I did. I’d hoped some of that goodwill might rub off on the son eventually. But he’s young and convinced of his own rightness in the world. We can both remember being that young, Mike.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘His brother was much more manageable.’

  It wasn’t luck, Webster thought. Everything is going according to plan.

  At least, everything was going almost according to plan. The situation in Istanbul was more than a little troublesome. Webster had expected Eckart to report success there. He hadn’t, and things were still loose regarding the whereabouts of the scroll. That was troubling, but Webster had full confidence that the scroll would soon be his.

  On the television, Saudi Arabian tanks rolled through the streets and scattered pedestrians in all directions. A man darted out in front of a tank. He held a Molotov cocktail in one hand. Hardly pausing, he lobbed the bottle and it shattered against the tank’s armoured skirt. Flames licked over the metal and drove the commanding officer back inside. Then a machine gun opened up on deck and .50-calibre rounds hammered the man to the ground. Before the body stopped twitching, the tank ran him down. When the tank passed, nothing recognizable as human remained.

  ‘I’m getting a lot of pressure here at home,’ Waggoner said. ‘A lot of American corporations are concerned about having their assets privatized over there. They’re thinking that the Saudis are going to be drilling wells with their equipment, then selling it to China or India. Needless to say, that doesn’t make anyone here happy.’

  ‘That’s going to happen,’ Webster said. ‘There’s nothing we can do about it if Khalid wants to do that.

  ‘They’re going to be less enthusiastic about paying inflated oil prices there when it’s been pumped through equipment they financed or built and claims they’ve located.’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about that. Maybe it’s time to let Prince Khalid know that we can play hardball too.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘As you pointed out, we’ve got a Marine expeditionary force and the US Navy not far from here. It could be time for us to flex a little muscle.’

  Waggoner was silent for a short time. ‘I’m not entirely satisfied that we’re there yet.’

  ‘I understand, but the longer we wait, the harder this is going to be to get control of.’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Waggoner sucked in a deep breath and expelled it. ‘Do we know if a Shia assassination team is even behind the attack?’

  ‘No. The prince insists that it was a Shia cell.’

  ‘No one had eyes on those people?’

  ‘No. Prince Khalid has found a trail that leads back to Shia extremists.’

  ‘Are they extremists?’

  Webster approached the desk where his laptop lay open. ‘According to the CIA, they are.’ He glanced at the faces displayed on the screen.

  Eckart and his men had found the ‘Shia terrorists’ nearly a month ago. They had actually been Shia businessmen operating in Financial City. During their

  ‘We knew about these people?’ Waggoner demanded.

  ‘We did, Mike, but we didn’t know they were going to do this.’

  ‘Or do it so well.’

  ‘No, we didn’t.’ Webster sipped his whiskey. It was bourbon mash from Tennessee and he took it straight. The fiery liquid burned the back of his throat.

  ‘If we could find these guys, prove it was them, do you think the prince would be satisfied with his pound of flesh?’

  Webster watched the violence scroll across the television. More news, much of it directly linked to the fighting in Saudi Arabia, scrolled across the bottom in ticker-tape fashion. The death toll mounted almost every minute. Back on one of the new stations, a reporter on the ground covering an armed conflict was shot down. The cameraman got it all, then took off running for cover. Judging from the tumultuous way the camera flipped through the air and landed so suddenly, Webster didn’t think the cameraman made it.

  ‘It’s not just about Prince Khalid and his father,’ Webster said. ‘Not any more. Even if we could calm the prince down, do you think the Shia would back off at this point?’

  ‘Because those have worked so well the past.’ Webster let the sarcasm sound in his voice.

  ‘We’ve got to do something. If the situation in the Middle East gets torn completely to shreds, the United States might not be able to withstand the economic repercussions.’

  ‘I know. You’re forgetting who wrote most of the Middle East diplomacy scenarios we’ve been working with while you’ve been in office.’

  ‘I hadn’t forgotten, Elliott. I just hoped it would never come to this.’

  An excited smile spread across Webster’s face. He felt it stretch his lips. He hadn’t thought things were going to be so easy, or that President Waggoner would ever concede to the desperate measures they had concocted.

  ‘We’re not ready – our country isn’t ready – to give up our dependency on oil,’ Webster said calmly. ‘Steven Napier is close to a solution. But even when he has an alternative fuel source that works as well as we need it to, converting the United States over to that alternative fuel source is going to take time. We need time. That time was one thing you and I both agreed on.’

  ‘I know. I do know. And I still agree. I just don’t like where this leaves us.’

  ‘We didn’t leave us here, Mike. We didn’t leave the American people without recourse. Khalid did. If you’ll keep that in mind, that will turn everything around for you.’

  ‘If we do nothing, a lot of lives are going to be affected. There’s no getting round that.’

  Waggoner didn’t speak.

  ‘The American people – our people – are depending on us to do the right thing,’ Webster said. ‘And the right thing isn’t letting Prince Khalid hang us out to dry or start a religious war that may leave the whole Middle East disrupted for years, if not generations.’

  Waggoner didn’t say anything.

  ‘Let them fight over whatever they want to out here,’ Webster said. ‘They’ve been doing that ever since the first one of them picked up a rock. No matter how much we try to civiliz
e these people, they’re never going to tolerate someone who isn’t them.’

  ‘If we do this, if we – God help me – invade that country—’

  ‘Not invade, Mike. We’re only going to make sure the whole world isn’t disrupted. Someone has to. Otherwise, we won’t have heat in the winter. Our elderly and our children will freeze, our industries will lapse into recession. And these people won’t care. They don’t have to because we’ve always handled them with kid gloves.’ Webster set his empty glass down on the windowsill. ‘The world is always divided into us and them. Only civilization allows for one us. If these people can’t be civilized, then they have set themselves up against us.’

  ‘Genocide isn’t an acceptable retribution,’ Webster said. ‘And that’s what Prince Khalid intends. That’s what all these countries over here intend. Retribution. Destruction. Winner take all.’

  ‘We can’t live like that.’

  ‘No, Mike, we can’t. Our people can’t live like that. Do you want your children growing up in a country without hope, without a future?’

  ‘Of course not. I just keep hoping there is some other way.’

  ‘If there was another way, I’d let you know. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do you trust me?’

  ‘I always have, haven’t I?’

  ‘Then trust me now.’

  Gazing into the window, Webster saw his reflection highlighted by fires burning aboard luxury vessels moored in the marina. Webster didn’t know if the fires had been started by Shia resistance or by Sunni military units seeking to do as much damage to Shia property as possible. In the end, it didn’t really matter. The flames just needed to be fanned.

  Webster licked his middle finger and thumb and smoothed his eyebrows into place. ‘Mike? Are you still there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then let’s get this done. Let’s set the hounds loose

  Across the world, the President of the United States took a deep breath and let it out. Webster listened to the sound and knew he had the man right where he wanted him.

  In fact, nearly everything was right where he wanted it.

  ‘All right,’ Waggoner said. ‘Make your calls.’

  ‘I will.’ Webster smiled at his reflection. ‘Everything will turn out okay, Mike. I’ll make a believer of you yet.’

  ‘Call me as soon as you know something,’ Waggoner told him.

  ‘This will take some time. Keep your chin up. We’re going to win.’ Webster broke the connection then started calling numbers he knew by heart.

  Catacombs

  Hagia Sophia Underground

  Istanbul, Turkey

  19 March 2010

  The tunnel was only wide enough for them to walk comfortably in single file. Lourds’ head kept knocking against the low stone ceiling. Only the sound of shoes scuffing the stones beneath their feet and their breathing echoed within the tunnel. All else was silent as a crypt – a crypt like the room where the elder monks

  Sometimes, my friend, you are far too imaginative for this profession, Lourds told himself.

  Imagination was a necessary component of his work, though. Translating and deciphering ancient and dead languages required someone who could navigate between creative thinking and logic, between fantasy and fact. Either one of those two disciplines could bring him to a basic understanding of a manuscript, but it wasn’t until he was able to combine both that he was at his best.

  He flicked his flashlight beam round the tunnel. Shadows shifted like oily ghosts, plunging into the voids left by the lights. The halogen beam easily cut through the darkness and revealed the rough walls. Pickaxe scars showed in the strata, softened over the years by the passage of bodies. He wondered what stories those old scars could tell if they could only speak. The Hagia Sophia had enjoyed – or suffered, depending on one’s point of view – a vigorous history. It had been built on the site of a former pagan temple, a common practice in those days. It had stood for forty-four years before getting burned to the ground by Empress Aelia Eudoxia. The empress had been at odds with John Chrysostom, the Patriarch of Constantinople at the time. Chrysostom had denounced extravagance regarding women’s clothing choices, and the empress had taken the matter personally.

  The second church had lasted one hundred and

  But the tunnels beneath the structure had been maintained and grown more labyrinthine over succeeding generations. Lourds would have loved to have had time to explore thoroughly the tunnels. Even after all these years, there were treasures still to find for someone who was looking.

  ‘Are there tunnels underneath this whole city?’ Cleena asked. She followed Lourds.

  ‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘And cisterns.’

  ‘What’s a cistern?’

  ‘A cistern catches and holds rainwater, maybe groundwater if it’s available,’ Lourds replied. ‘The word comes from Latin – cisterna – and the root of that is cista, meaning box. Of course that came from the Greek as did most Latin. The original word was kiste, meaning basket.’

  ‘Container for water would have done nicely.’

  ‘You’re welcome. If you get the chance, before you leave Istanbul, you should go see the Yerebatan Sarayi. It’s also known as the Basilica Cistern and Yerebatan Sarnici.’

  ‘Not exactly here on a sightseeing tour,’ Olympia said from in front of Lourds.

  ‘Of course,’ Lourds responded.

  They hadn’t talked much in the last hour while Joachim had led them through the underground network of tunnels. This prolonged lack of conversation bothered Lourds more than walking around in the dark.

  Or are the final blitherings of a madman, he told himself.

  Still, a part of him was – perhaps – a bit afraid. He had never been superstitious. Not exactly. However, he had seen things that had given him pause over the years. He had never expected lost Atlantis to be found again, and especially not to have walked through part of those fabled lands himself.

  But he had.

  ‘So tell me about the cistern,’ Cleena invited.

  Ahead of Lourds, Olympia blew out an angry breath and cursed.

  Lourds didn’t mind.

  ‘Today, the cistern is more commonly known as the Basilica Cistern, which was the name first given to it.’ He spoke quietly but his voice still echoed. ‘The Turks called it Yerebatan Sarayi, which means Sunken Palace, and Yerebatan Sarnici, which means Sunken Cistern. In fact, we shouldn’t be far from it. The cistern was constructed near the Hagia Sophia.’

  ‘Since the cistern’s sunken, I suppose that means it’s underground.’

  Lourds negotiated a particularly narrow passage then continued, ‘Exactly. And it ties back to the

  ‘I guess during times of drought though, the emperor wasn’t so generous.’

  ‘No, he wasn’t.’

  ‘Having the cistern so close to the castle meant the emperor’s guards could easily defend it.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Constantine sold the idea of the cistern to the people by saying it was for the common good, then took it back if he needed it. Close placement to the castle just made it easier.’

  ‘I suppose so,’ Lourds said. ‘But it also made the cistern more defensible when the city was under siege. I think that was the original concept. I don’t know that Constantine ever kept the citizens from the water, but the city was sacked and besieged on more than one occasion.’ He did, however, think the comment was indicative of her particular mind set.

  ‘How big is the cistern?’

  ‘It’s the largest in Istanbul. As I said, Constantine started the cistern, but Justinian enlarged it after the Nika Riots of 532 AD. It’s almost five hundred feet long, a little over two hundred feet wide and thirty feet deep.’

  ‘Big swimming pool,’ Cleena commented.

  ‘When it was full, the cistern held almost three million cubic feet of water. There were also over three

  ‘Medusa heads? As in the snake-haired woman
whose glance turns people to stone?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lourds agreed, ‘that Medusa.’

  ‘Sounds kind of strange for a Christian emperor to put something like that in his cistern, don’t you think?’

  ‘There is some conjecture regarding the placement of the Medusa heads. One stands upside down, and the other lies on its side. Both support pillars. Some historians believe that Constantine simply availed himself of whatever materials there were to build the cistern. The heads were thought to have been salvaged from a Roman building.’

  Olympia stopped so suddenly that Lourds ran into her.

  ‘If you’d been paying attention,’ Olympia said, ‘that wouldn’t have happened.’

  ‘My humblest apologies.’ Lourds didn’t put his heart into the effort. He knew she was primarily irritated by the attention he was paying to Cleena. ‘Why did we stop?’

  ‘Because we’re here.’ Joachim shone his flashlight over the wall to his right. Ahead of him, the passageway split into a Y and continued into double-barrelled darkness.

  Lourds played his light over both tunnels but saw no discernible difference between them. ‘Which way?’

  Faint clicks barely reached Lourds’ ears. He placed his hand against the wall and felt the vibrations as Joachim shoved back a section large enough for them to pass through.

  ‘Come on.’ Joachim disappeared into the hole in the wall.

  On the other side of the wall, Lourds pointed the flashlight ahead of him, then behind. There was only one way to go: forward. The tunnel dead-ended behind them. This tunnel was narrower than the first tunnel. He had to turn sideways to go along it.

  ‘This way was made for smaller men,’ Joachim said.

  ‘Obviously.’ Lourds held his hat in one hand over his heart. His backpack slid along the rough stone, catching every now and again. Against his forearm, the stones were worn smooth. He couldn’t help wondering how many people had traversed this tunnel since its construction. He also imagined the stories they would’ve had to tell.

  ‘No one has been here in a long time,’ Joachim said. ‘I’ve only been here three times my whole life.’