by Phil Swann
“Stewart,” Sarah said, “Buchanan kept referring to something called, Boedromion.”
“Boedromion is…well…now, late September. The Greater Mysteries would begin on 10 Boedromion in Athens where the initiates would start making the journey to the telesterion in Eleusis. It was called the Sacred Way. Along the trek they’d fast and drink something called kykeon, a mixture of water, meal and pennyroyal mint. It’s believed kykeon was also laced with some kind of hallucinogenic that would apparently kick in once the initiates made it inside the telesterion on 19 Boedromion. There are stories of the initiates seeing and hearing all sorts of weird stuff as the reenactment of the Demeter and Persephone myth played out before them. Obviously, they believed it to be the magic of the goddess. But again, this is all speculation.”
Ben nodded. “Buchanan said 18 Boedromion was today, and on 19 Boedromion, something important was going to happen. It appears it’s this Greater Mysteries thing.”
Ellie stood and walked across the room, nibbling on a fingernail.
“Ellie?” Sarah asked.
Ellie turned. “We shouldn’t get bogged down in a lot of minutia. Otherwise, we could be here making up stories all night, and that serves nothing. I’m a scientist, I deal in evidence, not speculation. Let’s work with what we know. Does everyone agree?”
Sarah answered without looking at anybody else. “We do.”
“We should look why we’re all here.” Ellie looked at Ben. “Mr. Lambros, my—”
“It’s Ben,” Ben interrupted. “My name’s Ben. And…I’m sorry for what I said about your grandfather. Truth is, he did save my life…twice, actually. So, I’m sorry.”
Ellie lowered her head slightly. “Thank you. And…me too.”
Ben responded with a brief nod.
Ellie continued, “Ben, as I understand it, Papau came to you because he believed the president had given you something vitally important. Is that correct?”
“Yes. He and I decided it had something to do with those numbers Tom said to me, the combination to a safe in Sarah’s house. Only, I never got a chance to open it.”
“I understand. And Stewart and I are here because I found an ancient Mycenaean lyre on the Nigerian savanna—one that shouldn’t have been there.”
Stewart nodded.
Ellie threw up her hands. “What the bloody hell does one have to do with the other? And what does any of it have to do with the Eleusinian Mysteries?”
Ben responded, “Is there anything unusual about the lyre beyond finding it in Nigeria?”
“Yes,” Stewart cut in. “It has writing on it, except the carving is by a modern tool.”
“What’s the writing of?”
Ellie replied, “We think it’s an ancient form of Mycenaean music notation.”
“A song?” Ben said, shooting a look at Sarah.
“Yes,” Ellie answered.
“Stewart,” Ben said, “did music play an important part in the Eleusinian Mysteries?”
“Music would have been the way the goddess communicated with the devotees.”
“That’s it, then. That’s the ‘Song of Eleusis.’ That’s the music on your lyre.”
Ellie and Stewart looked at one another.
Ben continued, “Look, Ellie, your grandfather told me the Song of Eleusis was a secret organization he and my father started years ago. But at Sarah’s house, he told Buchanan I had the ‘Song of Eleusis’—an actual song. When Buchanan said they already had the song, your grandfather said they only had part of the song, the mother, and I had the other part, the lost daughter. He said, ‘only when the mother and daughter are at last reunited will the polyphony be heard and the song complete.’”
“Polyphony?” Ellie responded.
Ben went on, “I had no idea what he was talking about, but that has to be it. The mother and daughter is a metaphor for the two parts of the song. One’s on your lyre that they now have, and the other, the daughter, they think I have. That’s it.”
“Wait, wait, this doesn’t make any sense, Ben,” Ellie said.
“Why not?”
“Because if we’re talking about a song associated with the Eleusinian Mysteries, then polyphony wouldn’t even be on the table. Polyphony, or polyphonic music, didn’t come about until the Middle Ages. There was no polyphony at the time of the Eleusinian Mysteries, let alone one that’s notated.”
Ben squinted his eyes. “And you would know this because?”
Stewart cut in, “Because as well as being an archeologist, Dr. Scotes is one of the world’s foremost ethnomusicologists.”
“I’m confused,” Sarah said.
This time, Stewart looked at Ellie. “Dr. Scotes? Would you mind?”
Ellie smiled. “Polyphony is music with two or more simultaneous lines of independent melody. Opposed to monophony, which is one melody line.”
“So it’s like harmony?” Sarah asked.
“No, that’s homophony, a melody and chords. Polyphony is multiple melodies working together. The earliest examples of polyphony are two anonymous treatises called Musica enchiriadis and Scolica enchiriadis. That’s the first known attempt to establish a system of rules for polyphony. It was written in the ninth century AD.”
Ben said, “Maybe we found another one.”
“If so, then fifteen hundred years of music history will need to be rewritten.”
Sarah interrupted, “Okay, this is all very interesting, and I’d love to sit around and listen to this discussion over a glass of wine someday. But Ellie, you were right when you said we shouldn’t get bogged down in minutia and start making up stories. We don’t have to figure everything out at once. Besides, we have a more pressing problem. If what I’ve just learned about this Eleusinian Mysteries stuff is true, then I fear if we attend Buchanan’s little ceremony…none of us will be leaving it.”
The room went silent.
Finally, Ben spoke. “Sarah’s right, we have to get out of here.”
“Agreed,” Ellie replied. “But, we’re literally in a prison. Anyone know how to stage a prison break?”
“As a matter of fact, I might,” Sarah said. “But it’s going to be dangerous.”
“More dangerous than staying here?” Ellie responded. “What’s your plan?”
Sarah walked to the end of the room and put her ear against the door. She listened for a moment and then returned to the others. “Any of you ever have outpatient surgery?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It was nights like this he wondered if it was all worth it, the operating on little to no sleep, the boldfaced lying to everyone he knew, the anxiety of making sure his tracks were covered, an explanation for every unexplained absence, a story for every call not returned. Then there was the guilt—there wasn’t much of it, but there was some. He had, after all, turned his back on his oath, or as the sanctimonious lifers who had drunk the Kool-Aid and convinced themselves it was something more than just a cheap piece of pressed pewter reverently referred to it, “The Badge.” Was it worth it? he asked himself, sitting outside the locked door. He picked up his latest issue of Boating Life magazine and thumbed through the pages until he came upon the one he’d earmarked. There it was, page twenty-two, a glossy foldout reminder of the endgame. In less than twenty-four hours he’d say goodbye to all the bullshit, all the inane departmental politics, all the dumb-ass commanders who questioned his every goddamned move, all the drunken meth-head wife-beating lowlife scum that crawled around this city. In less than twenty-four hours he would wave adios to the lowest paying, least rewarding, highest risk profession ever created. He’d had enough, and soon it would all be a memory. Soon it would be nothing but sun, surf, and a sweet young bikini-clad thing pouring him tequila and cutting up limes atop his very own forty-five-foot cabin cruiser docked somewhere down the coast of Pensacola along the Redneck Riviera. Oh yeah, he said to himself, it’s unquestionably worth it.
“Help! Help!”
The pounding on the door startled him to t
he point he dropped the magazine. He leaped from the chair and rushed to the door. “What is it?”
“We need help. Please.”
He pulled out his ring of keys, located the correct one, and inserted it into the lock. He opened the door and entered. The young English woman was waiting on the other side.
“She says he’s going into respiratory arrest,” the English woman said, pointing to the bed.
“Over here,” the former First Lady said, standing over the old man.
He rushed to the bedside. “What’s going on? What’s wrong with him?”
“Hold down his shoulders while I insert this tube into his trachea,” she said.
The policeman put his hands on the old man’s shoulders. “Like this?” he asked.
She didn’t answer. Suddenly, he felt arms wrapped around him and a sharp pinch in the back of his neck. “What the…” He swung around but was unable to escape the clutch. He looked down and saw there was more than one set of arms around his torso, and someone else was holding his legs together. “Let me go!”
“I can’t hold him much longer,” he heard a man’s voice say.
“Just a few seconds longer,” a female voice replied.
That was the last thing he heard. Then there was nothing.
»»•««
Minutes earlier
“When he leans over the bed, I’ll give him the injection.” Sarah held up a vial and drew a milky-white liquid into a syringe. “Ben, Stewart, you’ll restrain his arms, Ellie, grab his legs.”
“Have you seen the size of that guy? How long will it take?” Ben asked.
“It’ll happen very fast—a few seconds,” Sarah answered.
“And he’ll go down?” Ellie asked.
“Like a sack of potatoes.”
“What is it?” Ben asked.
“Propofol,” Stewart answered. “A very popular and effective anesthesia.”
Everyone looked at Stewart.
“I was premed for a while.”
“Of course you were,” Ben replied.
Sarah added, “He’s right. Propofol is very effective and safe for short-term procedures but not really meant for…well, what we’re using it for. I can keep him sedated for three, four hours. After that, it starts getting dangerous. That’s all the Propofol in the cabinet, anyway.”
Ben said, “Tell me again why we’re not all going?”
“Because these are my patients, and I won’t leave them. Also, I’ll need to keep administering the drug every fifteen minutes to keep him under. You and Ellie go. Stewart will stay here and assist me, he’s obviously more than qualified.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Stewart said. “But I should stay with Dr. Scotes.”
“I’ll be fine, Stewart,” Ellie said. “I need you here to help Dr. Lambros with Bea and Papau. Ben and I will make it out, get help, and be back before you know it.”
Sarah said, “Let’s go over it again.”
Ellie started, “We take his keys and check to see if he has a cell phone, which we all agree he probably doesn’t. Ben and I get to the main gate and see if one of his keys unlocks it.”
Ben picked it up, “If not, we go over the wall.”
Ellie said, “I saw an old fence sitting next to a shed. We’ll use it to scale the wall.”
“Then what?” Sarah quizzed.
“Stewart and I saw an all-night transport café off the duel carriageway when we arrived—it’s roughly three miles away. Ben and I will go there and telephone for help.”
“Call Steve, Ben,” Sarah said. “We don’t know who we can trust, and Steve still has friends in law enforcement. He’ll know what to do.”
Ben nodded.
Stewart said. “What if someone comes back here while you’re gone?”
Ben said, “We have to risk it.”
“Stewart, it’ll be fine,” Ellie said.
“Yes, ma’am,” Stewart responded.
“Okay,” Sarah said, looking at all three. “Take your positions, everybody. Ben over there—Stewart back here.” Sarah forced a smile. “You all know what to do. Good luck.”
“Good luck,” Stewart replied.
The other two said nothing.
“Ellie,” Sarah said calmly, “why don’t you invite our friend in?”
Ellie nodded and went to the door. She paused, let out a long breath, and started pounding wildly. “Help! Help!”
“What is it?” came the voice from the other side.
“We need help. Please,” Ellie answered.
They heard the key enter the lock. Sarah grabbed a rubber tube and bent over Timon. Ellie shook her hands and readied herself to deliver her next line.
The door opened, and the police officer entered.
Ellie pointed to Sarah. “She says he’s going into respiratory arrest.”
“Over here,” Sarah said.
The policeman rushed toward Sarah. “What’s going on? What’s wrong with him?”
Sarah ordered, “Hold down his shoulders while I insert this tube into his trachea.”
As the policeman put his hands on Timon’s shoulders and asked, “Like this?” Ben and Stewart came up from behind and wrapped their arms around him—Stewart going low, Ben high. Sarah stood erect and jabbed the needle into the side of the man’s neck.
“What the…” he yelled, rising up and twisting his body.
Ben and Stewart tightened their hold. Ellie fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around his legs.
“Let go of me!” the policeman growled, trying to break free.
“I can’t hold him much longer,” Ben grunted, using every ounce of his strength to restrain the barrel-chested police officer.
“Just a few seconds longer,” Sarah said.
No sooner had the words come out of Sarah’s mouth than the man’s body went completely limp, causing Ben and Stewart to nearly drop him on Ellie’s head.
“Okay, okay, he’s out. Move, Ellie,” Ben said, lowering him to the floor.
“Put him over here,” Sarah said, motioning to the bed.
“Damn, this son of a bitch is heavy,” Ben said, dragging the cop to the bed next to Timon. “Give me a hand, Stewart.”
Ben and Stewart lifted the police officer off the floor and into the bed. Without hesitation they all began searching the unconscious man’s body.
“Anyone find a phone?” Ben asked.
“I got his keys,” Ellie said. “No phone.”
“Me either, no phone,” Sarah added.
Stewart shook his head.
“Grab his walkie-talkie, we should take it with us,” Ben said.
“No,” Sarah said. “What if someone wants to check in with him? Leave the radio. If someone contacts him, Stewart can pretend he’s him.”
“The Scottish guy? Really?” Ben responded.
“I do a decent American accent,” Stewart said in a flat cliché American dialect.
Ellie smiled. “Drama school, right?”
“No, ma’am, reruns of The X-Files,” Stewart answered.
Ellie said, “We’ll need his torch,” pulling the flashlight off his belt.
“What about his gun?” Stewart asked.
Ben unsnapped the leather strap over the weapon. “We’d be crazy not to take it.”
“Agreed,” Ellie said, removing extra bullets from his belt and putting them in her pocket.
Ben lifted the Glock from the holster and stuck it in his waistband.
“You know how to use that?” Ellie asked.
“Sure,” Ben replied. “I point it and pull the trigger.”
“That’ll work, I guess.”
Ben nodded. “Ready?”
“Once more unto the breach. Take care of Bea and Papau,” Ellie said to Stewart.
“I will, ma’am.”
Ben looked at Sarah and started to speak. She cut him off, “Bring back the Calvary, you pain in the ass brother-in-law of mine.”
Ben smiled and offered a salute. “You got it, sis. See
you soon.”
And they were gone.
»»•««
Ben cracked open the iron door and peered out. A full moon cast a faint yellow glow over the deserted prison yard. It was eerily still.
“Anyone?” Ellie whispered.
“Not that I can see.”
Ellie turned on the flashlight.
“No, turn it off,” Ben ordered. “I can see the main gate from here.”
Ellie switched off the light. Ben stepped out the door and flattened himself against the wall. Ellie followed. Neither moved for several seconds, both waiting for the searchlight to hit them. It didn’t.
Ben said, “On the count of three?”
Ellie nodded.
“One. Two. Three.” Ben bolted onto the prison yard in a full sprint. He hadn’t taken four steps before Ellie passed him like he was standing still. By the time he reached the main gate, Ellie was already rifling through the keys.
“Jesus,” Ben said, gasping for air. “Ever think of trying out for the Olympics?”
“Staying in shape comes in handy in my line of work,” Ellie replied. “It’s none of these. These keys only open doors from this century.”
“Then it’s over the wall. Where’s that fence you were talking about?”
“By that shed.”
They ran to the wooden shed where Ellie had parked the car when she and Stewart first arrived. Just as Ellie remembered, the piece of fence was laying atop a rotted stack of plywood.
Ben lifted the fence and let out a grunt. “It’ll take both of us to carry it.”
“Where’re we taking it?”
Ben looked around. “Let’s go behind that building over there,” he said, pointing to a white concrete building across the driveway. “It’ll give us cover in case someone’s still here.”
“Okay,” Ellie said, moving swiftly to the opposing end. “Wait. Hang on.”
Ben thought Ellie had seen somebody and ducked down. He quickly realized she hadn’t seen anybody, she was thinking. “Christ! You scared the crap out of me. What’s the problem?”
“Math,” Ellie replied.
“What?”
“Math is the problem. Ben, this isn’t going to work.”
“Why?”
