“Quite an oven, monsieur.”
“Yes. Yes, it is. Let’s not stay here.”
“What?”
“This building was once the home of a group known as the Blue Council. They’re the reason I found out about the first God Tool. One of their members, an elderly gentleman named Lawton Sawyer, who is no longer with us, told me about this place.”
“Let me guess: you tortured and killed him for the information.”
“My God, no,” Nash seemed genuinely surprised she would make such an allegation. He smiled. “I leave the nasty business of torture to Mr. Rassle.”
Laval did not find it amusing. She loathed Jed Rassle, if for no other reason than his sloppy way of killing with a knife.
“Sawyer was kind enough to share how to access the lower level,” Nash continued. “I’ve been using it as a storage facility. You’re the only one I’ve told this to. Not even Rassle knows what I keep here. Oh, and you can put your gun away. I’m not your enemy.”
Laval slowly placed the pistol back into the waistband of her pants, but this time in the front where she could access it quickly.
Nash closed the metal door. On the back of the door was a single light switch. “I’m going to turn the light on and off in succession thirty-nine times. Thirty-nine times for the thirty-nine books of the Old Testament. Don’t get excited.”
“Monsieur, it takes more than a strobe light to get me excited.”
Nash began flipping the switch. The room went from light to dark, light to dark, continuing until he stopped after the thirty-ninth time. At first, nothing happened. Gradually, the walls began to tremble. In the far left corner, a section of floor retracted, exposing an opening roughly four-feet square. The shaking ceased.
Calmly, Nash walked them to the opening. A ladder led straight down the wall into the shaft.
“Ladies first,” Nash offered.
“I’d rather not.”
“Have it your way.” Nash knelt and climbed down the ladder, reaching the floor of a shallow room.
Hesitantly, Laval followed.
“The roof will automatically close once you’re down.”
It did the moment Laval reached the ground by Nash’s side. Concurrently, a small light came on inside the enclosure. Laval was amazed at the difference between the bland structure above versus this new chamber. The walls were teak and lined with brass in the corners. Before them was a keypad with a down-arrow button.
“An elevator?”
Nash didn’t respond. He typed seven digits into the keypad. The wall shot up so fast, that Laval drew her weapon and pressed the barrel against Nash’s temple.
“I see we still have a colossal trust issue to overcome,” Nash commented dryly.
Laval was startled by what she saw. Ahead was a spacious, brightly-lit room that resembled a botanical garden. In the center of the garden was a black, circular swimming pool sunk into the ground. A rectangular table was pressed against the side wall. Unlike the stifling humidity in the room above, here the air was comfortable, obviously air-conditioned. Tract lighting on the ceiling bathed the area in a golden hue.
Nash stepped from the small room into the garden.
“Let me guess. This is supposed to be the Garden of Eden,” Laval said, following him.
“Yes, that was the Blue Council’s intent. Immature, if you ask me. I like to think of it as my own personal vault; a place to store some of the more valuable assets I’ve acquired.”
They walked up to the in-ground, black pool. It was empty.
“What about other Blue Council Members? Aren’t you afraid they’ll come back here?”
“There is always a chance the few remaining members will return, and sure, they can access the small underground chamber, but they can’t get in here. You see, once I got the seven-digit code from Lawton Sawyer, I changed the combination. I’m the only one who knows it now. Besides, these are elderly people we’re talking about. Without their magical water, most have lost their will to live.”
Nash walked to the back wall. For the first time, Laval noticed there was a small door there. Nash opened it, reached into the closet, and pulled out a two-foot-long tube. It was light brown, pocked with darker spots, and made from a substance suffering extreme decay. Holding it with great care, he brought the tube to the rectangular table. Nash removed one of the end caps and gently withdrew a roll. He slowly, carefully unrolled the brittle sheet and laid it on the table, holding the top and bottom. The parchment was obviously old and contained writing.
Although she couldn’t interpret the ancient text, Laval realized the significance. “You’re a liar. You’re no psychic. You never received visions from beyond.”
“Guilty.”
“What in the hell is going on, monsieur?”
“That’s what I brought you here to discuss. While the followers have been dedicated to our efforts of fulfilling the text from my visions in order to achieve immortality, I have to confess I have not been quite so open with them. You see, the Cult of the End was based on the premise that I have certain powers, that I was being fed ancient words by some higher source. Originally, I only garnered a few dedicated followers, but my credibility as a seer gained strength when the two hurricanes sandwiched Florida last year, and the event aligned perfectly with my vision that, ‘Two strong hurricanes will see it placed in the Ocean.’ Then, recently, when the freshwater springs at Green Cove Springs City Park turned blood red and spewed human remains, and I had previously documented my vision of, ‘Fresh water turning red signifies its release,’ new cult members climbed aboard in droves. We’ve even had to eliminate those who saw the text and did not join us.”
“So it’s a ruse. You’ve been working from some ancient document. Why create a cult following?”
“Because there’s value in numbers. You need an army to fight a battle, and as General, it’s easier to achieve a goal with disciples who will readily sacrifice themselves for the cause. I have no intention of including them in the final objective, however,” Nash offered a crooked smile.
“But if you’ve shared the translated text with the others, they will know what you’re up to.”
“True,” Nash said, still grinning, “if I had shared all the translated text with them.”
“You didn’t.”
“You catch on fast. Actually, I did translate and share with the others. It’s just that, in some cases, I didn’t translate it correctly. Fortunately for me, the ancient script is not easy to decipher. I held back some of the information; particularly the part that refers to the location of the portal. Although I haven’t cracked its meaning yet, with little Tina Falco leading the way, I no longer have to. I also withheld translated text that mentions the fact that once the second seed has passed through to Eden, no man can enter, and lastly, that this combined beast will instantly arrive at the current opening, and will create a trail to follow through. Which, according to Tina, is the only way into Eden now.”
“And the first seed?”
“He’s already there. He entered in a fashion that is no longer available to us.”
“What if one of the cult members is able to correctly translate the text you’ve kept from them? Aren’t you concerned they’ll find out what you’re up to?”
“When the men had the tattoos made without my knowledge, I knew which two had the ancient script in question. Over time, these two men disappeared, never to be heard from again. Mr. Rassle saw to this delicate task. I’ve since kept the original text away from the others; hence, my reason for hiding the scroll here.”
“You haven’t told this information to anyone else?”
“Certainly not. Well, except for Rassle. He helped me to obtain the scroll. We had agreed to enter Eden together and leave the rest of the cult behind to perish on Earth. Per the scroll, we’ll become immortal and exit Eden, returning back to Earth in one thousand years.”
“You’re a bastard, mon ami.”
“Is that so? Why do you think I�
�m telling you all this now? The thought of living forever is unparalleled. Yet if I enter with Rassle, after we kill the others, including the male seed, it leaves one female for the two of us to propagate with: Tina Falco. We’ll have to wait a few years for her to reach maturity. A better idea is for you and I to enter Eden. Rassle has been loyal, but I have no desire to live with that big galoot throughout eternity. Besides, why would I choose him over a beautiful woman? We will become the new Adam and Eve, with one marked difference: when we do eventually return to Earth and propagate a new generation, we will be the immortal leaders.”
Laval still didn’t know if she believed everything that Nash had told her, but she reveled in the notion of double-crossing Jed Rassle. “If he’s already expecting to go with you, how are we going to enter and leave him behind?”
“I’ve already told Rassle that I was bringing you along. He wasn’t thrilled about the idea, but he accepted my decision. At the appropriate time, just before entering Eden, we’ll deal with him.”
The thought of tricking Rassle settled over Laval like warm breath on her neck. Her thoughts turned lurid. She wanted satisfaction, and she wanted it now. “Then I believe, monsieur, we should consummate our agreement.” Laval stared seductively at Nash as an amorous grin spread across her lips.
Nash carefully rolled up the scroll, pushed it back inside, and recapped the tube. He placed it back in the closet and returned to Laval. They locked in an embrace, and she kissed him firmly and passionately. He returned her aggression by squeezing her hard, grinding his lips into hers. Then he pushed her away, guiding her down onto the table top, where she lay on her back. Laval pulled her shirt off over her head.
By now, she was firmly aroused and allowed the man to have his way. This was a most satisfying manner in which to seal the deal.
Afterward, as Laval was getting dressed, trying in vain to straighten her disheveled hair, she silently marveled at the man’s lovemaking prowess. Like their foray in the woods when they first met, he had carnal virility, an amorous aggression unlike any man she had ever met. In fact, he had the drive of two men, as if his desires had gone unquenched so long, he was at the point of madness. Whatever fueled him, she could never let him know the effect he had on her. The last thing she needed was to show weakness in front of a beast.
CHAPTER 16
“Remember last September when I needed your help to solve the Spanish riddle on the wall of the castillo in St. Augustine?” Fawn asked Curt.
He nodded.
“Well, before that, I found a secret, underground room inside Fort Clinch.”
Curt stared at her with raised eyebrows.
“It was hidden beneath one of the bastions and was accessible through the wall of an enclosed spiral staircase.”
“You said that you told me everything that transpired. I don’t recall you mentioning a secret room. I would have remembered something like that.”
“I wasn’t allowed to disclose. The authorities made me keep the room a secret. In order for Fort Clinch to remain open as a tourist attraction, they didn’t want word getting out about a hidden room that someone might try to access and injure themselves in the process. It was a liability issue.”
“I see.”
“Anyway, I discovered the room was part of Fort Clinch’s original construction but could not be found on any schematic or architectural plans. Sarah Courtland, an ancestor of Mike’s, worked at Fort Clinch as a cook for the laborers when it was built in the 1850s. She left a written message that she was aware of the secret room but had no idea of its use or purpose. This was the same underground room that Terrence Courtland rediscovered last summer. On one of the walls, in a seemingly random pattern, are four black bricks. Based on this text, I think it’s possible that’s where the third God Tool is located.”
“The long blade is locked by four black stones,” Curt read the phrase again. It fit the description—and Fort Clinch is a fortification. “We still have to consider the magical date of July 7th; the day all three Tools became accessible. Is that when you found the secret room?”
“No, I didn’t discover it until September, but July 7th could very well be the date when Terrence Courtland, who everyone thought had died in the World Trade Center disaster, first entered the secret underground room to hide out. We have no way of knowing for sure.”
“Maybe we do.” Curt pulled out his cell phone, pressed speaker, and called Bar. “Agent Bar, it’s Curt Lohan. Can you find out if Fort Clinch on Amelia Island has a security video?”
“If it’s a national monument, it does.”
“It is. Do you have a way of checking the video feed for the date of July 7th last year? We need to know if a man named Terrence Courtland, who was thought to have died in New York in the attacks on 9/11, entered Fort Clinch that day.”
They could hear Bar typing. “Got him,” she said. “Terrence Courtland with L.U. Brackens Insurance Company on the 102nd floor in the North Tower.”
Fawn nodded silently.
“Okay, I’ve got a picture. I’ll run facial recognition of everyone who entered Fort Clinch that day.”
“Thanks.”
“Before you go, we’ve identified the man who attacked you at the hospital: Paul Coady from Houston. I know you heard from Johnsten after he interrogated the man. Johnsten’s assumption was correct, Mr. Coady is affiliated with Carr Nash and the Cult of the End.”
“Interesting. Thanks, we’ll be in touch.” Curt ended the call.
Fawn mused, “There’s a chance Terrence Courtland entered Fort Clinch during visitor’s hours and hid out until closing time, or he may have entered like I did, under the cover of darkness, in which case, he’s not going to show up on any video feeds.”
“If you found a wall with four black bricks, it’s worth pursuing regardless. Care to take a field trip?”
Fawn exhaled. “I’m game.”
“So tell me…how did you sneak into Fort Clinch?”
“By the beach. I walked the shore at night from Fernandina Beach north until I reached the fort. There are no barriers if you go that route. We’ll have to wait for the fort to close to tourists. We’ll need a hammer and,” she spread her thumb and middle finger apart about four inches, “a small block of wood about this big.”
“What for?”
“It’s easier if I just show you when we get there.”
“Until then, I think we’ll be safer in a public area. How about dinner in town?”
“I’m not very hungry, but I agree about being in public. Give me a minute.”
CHAPTER 17
A short while later, after they had eaten, Fawn and Curt parked at Fernandina Beach. Mentally, Fawn was still in a dark place, but physically, she felt her strength returning after the meal.
They walked the beach northward as she had done last year to gain access to Fort Clinch. It was a clear, moonlit night. The humidity was tempered by a slight breeze coming off the ocean from the east, carrying the smell of brine. The tide was out, and they walked the hard sand, occasionally passing others strolling along the shoreline.
They each carried a paper bag which concealed an electric lantern. As she had instructed, Curt had a hammer and a small block of wood hidden uncomfortably in his pants. She assured him that both were necessary to reach the secret room.
Not unexpectedly, as they walked, Fawn experienced a powerful feeling of déjà vu. She recalled vividly the night she had taken this very path. It seemed like yesterday. At least this time she had company.
The shoreline cleared of beachgoers as they continued north and entered the restricted Fort Clinch State Park grounds. They stayed high along the beach where the sand was firm. Wrapped up in her own thoughts, the caress of the breaking waves on shore would normally have brought a sense of serenity to Fawn, but she barely noticed.
After walking in silence for some time, the shoreline aimed west as they reached the end of Amelia Island.
Fawn thought of Mike and how his life had ended
with their relationship so tenuous. God, what she wouldn’t give to talk to him one more time and apologize. The more she thought about her husband, the sadder she became. She tried to clear her mind and return to the matter at hand. “By now, we’re inside the boundary of Fort Clinch,” Fawn said in a low voice. “The fort is about a mile ahead.”
“I know,” Curt said. “History and archaeology are kind of my things.”
Fawn did not respond. She knew he was trying to lighten the mood, but her sorrow was tightly bound inside her and wouldn’t allow her any levity.
“Fawn, your husband passed away less than a day ago. I haven’t seen you let loose with a good cry, even once. It’s not good to hold in that kind of emotion.”
“I’m numb. I really don’t want to talk about it,” she said with a sigh. True, she and Mike had not been getting along, and she wasn’t sure if their marriage was going to last, but now she was pregnant with Mike’s child, which only made the situation worse. Maybe it was an emotional defense, but she chose to focus on getting to Fort Clinch. If she came across that woman, Josette Laval, in the process, all the better.
It was as if Curt read her mind. “Fawn, Bar told me the woman who shot your helicopter down is a trained killer. She’s a former counterterrorist with the French Army. She’s a dangerous woman.”
“All women can be dangerous.”
“Did you know that Fort Clinch is named after Duncan Lamont Clinch, a commander in the Seminole Indian Wars in the 1800s?” Curt asked in an obvious attempt to change the subject.
“Yes.”
“Well, did you know that prior to the construction of the fort in the mid-1800s, various military troops occupied the site dating back to 1736? At the entrance to the St. Mary’s River and the Cumberland Sound, the area was a prime strategic location.”
Fawn didn’t answer. She didn’t feel like talking history.
A chirp broke the night air. Curt pulled his cell phone from his pocket. He looked at the display and answered on speaker, “Hello?”
End in the Beginning (The God Tools Book 3) Page 7
