Chapter 19
The Lodge, Institute of Egyptologists, England
SAM NOTICED that Panya was wearing her long black dress when she opened the door to him. The first thing she did was comment on his haircut. It seemed she approved.
"I've brought you a little something back from the corner of Unter den Linden and Friedrich Strasse," he told her. "It's a fantastic place. You can see the Brandenburg Gate at one end, and the Zeughaus at the other. It's a long, long avenue. I found an amazing music shop. I know you've got a CD player. We played Max Bruch the other night."
Panya laughed easily. "I hope you didn't think I was out of touch with the world when we first met." She glanced to the large hi-fi unit on the bookcase, "Although I admit I still play vinyl sometimes." She tried to reach behind his back. "A present?"
"C'sadas," he said, producing the CD. "Gypsy violin music from Hungry."
Panya gave a warm smile. "Great. Did you get anything for yourself?"
"Bach's Brandenburg Concertos. Brass. None of those squeaky recorders that remind me of school. I had to buy the CD once I'd seen the Brandenburg Gate."
Panya cut the wrapping from her CD with a small pair of nail scissors. "Is it okay if I play it now?"
"It's what I bought it for."
As hot-blooded gypsy music filled the small room, Sam launched into his account of Frau List's gruesome secret. "Is that enough for the Vatican to get my children back for me?" he asked when he'd finished.
Panya avoided answering and went into the kitchen to make some coffee. "Tell me more about your children," she called.
He went in to join her. "Tom; he's two. And Karen; she's just four. It was Karen's birthday last week. I sent her a present care of the local council. I've no idea if she got it."
"Don't you see them very often?"
"I don't see them ever." What the hell, there was nothing to lose by letting Panya know everything. Did it really matter what she thought of him? They weren't going anywhere together. "Sally worked here at the Institute," he explained. "Said she wanted a bit of space to herself. She always left the children at a playgroup when she was working." He knew Panya was watching him closely.
"Sounds sensible," she said.
"On her way back from work she bought ten lottery tickets. Won over two million with one of them."
"I heard something about it from the secretaries here." Panya looked embarrassed. "To be honest, I asked."
"Then you'll know the lottery company put her in touch with a financial advisor. The first thing he did was advise her that the winnings were all hers."
"Bad."
"It gets worse. Sally told her work colleagues that she was going to the bank to sort out her account. I was an airline pilot for a budget airline. I was on a flight back from Rome and I got a frantic radio message from the airline saying that the playgroup was asking if anyone was going to collect Karen and Tom. By the time I got home that night, the children were in the care of the local council. I phoned the police but they weren't interested. Just told me to get in touch the next morning if Sally still hadn't turned up. I phoned them at nine-thirty the next morning. They called at eleven to interview me. Social Services came round at twelve to say that they were keeping Karen and Tom in care until our domestic situation was resolved. I haven't been allowed to see either of them since."
"They surely don't think you've done anything to Sally."
"I'd only just finished landscaping the back garden, so the police decided to have a look under it. I don't know where Sally's put the money, so why would I do away with her?"
"Have the police charged you?"
"They've given up thinking I'm guilty -- until they find a body. But Social Services say they'll only return the children if Sally turns up safe and well. I've lost my job, and I'm saddled with a mortgage on the house."
"I guess you'd have them back."
"Karen and Tom. Not Sally."
"I'd love to meet the children. Surely they should be with you, not in care."
"Social Services suspect I'm a maniac killer, but haven't the courage to say it to my face. I used to be an airline pilot, so they're using that as an excuse. Said I'd never be home long enough to care for the children properly. Even though I've lost my job, they're still making excuses."
"You don't look like an airline pilot." said Panya warily.
He laughed. "No uniform? Perhaps I'll get another flying job -- if this nightmare is ever over -- and then you can see me in my gold braid. What about your life story?"
Panya shook her head. "I don't think I could tell you. Not after hearing that."
But he was determined to find out something about this dark-skinned woman. "If you're Mrs. Pulaski, you must he married."
"James. We met while I was a missionary in East Africa."
For a moment he felt embarrassed. The thought of Panya being a missionary was unexpected. "Pulaski. Wasn't Colonel Pulaski a hero in the American Civil War?"
"I think so, but he's nothing to do with James's family. James's grandparents came from Poland. They landed at Ellis Island in nineteen thirty-four."
He looked around the room for signs of male occupation, but saw nothing. "Is James the high-up in the Church who's doing this deal to find me my children?"
Panya shook her head. "When we met in East Africa, James was employed by a civil engineering company, constructing a water pipeline for local villages. He proposed to me one night under the stars. We married six months later and went to the Middle East, just the two of us, helping get water supplies to isolated communities. It was dangerous work."
"The natives were hostile?" He sank back into the armchair. The events in Berlin had made him sleepy, and for a moment he was unaware of the unhappiness in Panya's voice.
"My church back home sponsored us. Our work was a combination of helping the people, and sharing our faith. Nothing heavy. If they weren't interested in hearing the Gospel, at least they got their water." Panya laughed gently. Then she breathed in deeply. "Nothing illegal in it, but an extreme religious sect took exception. Gave James a beating. He never recovered. He..."
"They killed him?"
"He died before it got dark." Panya bit her lip. "The embassy packed me home to the States on the next plane."
"You must be bitter."
"I was angry. Very angry. They didn't only beat James, they wanted me -- if you get my meaning. And there were a lot of them."
He shook his head, trying to understand what the rape must have meant to Panya.
"They hurt me inside. I can never have children."
He remembered saying something insensitive about having children when they'd first met. "It must be tough."
"I'm learning to forgive. James was a lovely man." Panya stood up. "I'll get you a piece of cake."
He watched her open a tin and cut a slice of fruitcake. "No one can just forgive," he insisted. "It's not that easy."
She turned, the knife in her hand. "I never said it was easy. I shouted at God for weeks. I think he understood in the end."
Sam shook his head, realizing how little he understood Panya. "You're the first missionary I've met. I didn't even know there were such people nowadays. There's only one thing I know about missionaries, and it probably isn't true."
She handed him a plate. "The position?"
He decided he'd overstepped a certain mark. "It was meant to be a joke. I'm sorry."
Panya didn't seem at all embarrassed. "Don't apologize. I thought I might be killing the conversation stone dead."
"I wasn't thinking."
"Most married missionaries know lots of positions, I can assure you."
He wanted to change the subject. He'd embarrassed himself more than Panya. "I thought it was a case of live and let live with religions nowadays. You know, everyone trying to accept each other's beliefs rather than fighting them."
"Not everyone feels the need to defend their faith with violence. I work for a group called Unity Through Faith." Panya pou
red some coffee into two mugs. "We've got Catholic, Protestant, Orthodox, and Coptic Christians, as well as Jews and Muslims."
"Sounds like the greatest recipe for friction ever. Christians, Jews and Muslims. They're all so different."
"Different, yes, but Christians, Jews and Muslims accept many of the holy men in the Old Testament. Christians of all denominations believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God who died for the sins of the world. The Jews disagree. They're still waiting for the Messiah. And the Muslims base their faith on the teachings of Muhammad. They have their own holy book, the Qur'an. They say Allah -- or God -- dictated it to Muhammad through the angel Jibril."
"Your Unity Through Faith group sounds like a non-starter," said Sam.
Panya shook her head and smiled. "We're never going to see eye to eye, but we want to show love to one another, and respect each other's beliefs even if we don't share them."
Sam shook his head. "Those people who attacked you didn't show much respect."
Panya stirred her coffee slowly, as though needing time to come up with the answer. "Christians, Jews and Muslims have persecuted each other for centuries," she said at last. "It's the extremists who cause all the troubles -- people who want to force their beliefs on others. I know the terrorist attacks with the planes on New York and Washington were terrible, but that's when people started holding multi-faith services."
"I remember watching the one from the Washington National Cathedral," Sam said. "Someone there said religion should never be used as a reason for conflict."
"Religious conflict is nothing new. A few hundred years ago Catholics burned Protestants, and Protestants burned Catholics. It's a shameful part of our Christian past. Look what's been happening in Northern Ireland and the old Yugoslavia in the name of religion. Mostly it's power fighting, using religion as an excuse. But we've often persecuted Muslims and Jews, and they've done the same in return. Unity Through Faith thinks it's time everyone stopped. Help yourself to more cake and we'll go and sit down."
"I bet your group doesn't go down well with everyone." He took another slice and nodded approval. "I've got an aunt who won't go near a Catholic church."
"Why's that?"
"She doesn't like the Pope. Talking about the Pope, what about your contact in the Vatican who's supposed to be fixing things for me?"
"Michael Fitz? He's a cardinal with special duties. A sort of peacekeeper between different religions in the world."
"A cardinal!? You called him Michael. Shouldn't you call him His Eminence or something?"
"He's my godfather. He was my parish priest in Philadelphia when I was a baby."
He took a bite of his fruitcake. "So what's brought you to England?"
"Michael Fitz invited me over from the States to find out what's going on in the Institute. I'd love to go the meeting that's coming up in Cairo, but I have to stay here to keep an eye on things."
"And this cardinal is the man who wants my help?"
"That's about it."
"And if I help him, he'll find my children?" Sam finished his cake and wiped his mouth.
"He'll try. He's got contacts."
"In the Social Services?"
"Banks, governments, local authorities."
"I've brought the cylinder back from Berlin. Ask him if that's enough."
"I will."
He knew from the way Panya said it that it wouldn't be enough. "As soon as possible. Anyway, why is Cardinal Fitz so interested in this Institute place?"
Panya sat across the room. "He's worried about an alternative agenda by someone here."
"So it's not a case of live and let live?"
Panya looked surprised. "Some groups are dangerous: a threat to others. Eighteen months ago the Institute of Egyptologists predicted the death of someone high up in the Church, and then gave an unpleasant prediction about the future of the Catholic Church. It was enough to arouse a few suspicions in Rome. The Vatican thought the Institute might have an anti-Catholic agenda."
"Isn't that how it always starts? One faction is suspicious of another, and tries to eliminate them."
"We're not doing this for ourselves," Panya protested. "Unity Through Faith is trying to find a common ground between the three faiths. Of course there are massive differences in our understanding of God, but we want to distribute medicines and food in the Middle East -- without religious intolerance and racism getting in the way. No one's expected to give up their own beliefs."
"And you reckon you've got the truth?" He guessed he sounded tactless, but he felt worn out after the drama in Berlin. "I mean, I believe in God."
"The devil believes in God, Sam."
That hurt. "Okay," he countered, "but there are too many religions to choose from, so why bother?"
"It's like crossing a mountain," said Panya.
"I'm sorry," said Sam. "Am I missing something? What mountain?"
"Faith." Panya continued to stir her coffee slowly. "There are lots of signposts telling you to take this path or that path."
"There you are then, they probably all end up in the same place."
"Maybe some of them wind around a bit and come to a dead end. More cake?"
He shook his head and picked up his mug. "What makes you so sure you've got it right?"
"Jesus said he is the Way."
He recalled something from a holiday club at the local church. He must have been about ten, and his mother wanted him out of the house on a wet Saturday. "The Way, the Truth and the Life. Yes?"
Panya smiled. "So why bother with something else?"
"I knew you'd start preaching at me."
She sat down leaned back in her armchair and winked at him, deliberately. "I'm not going to push it on you, Sam. But if you ever..."
He nodded. "Okay, I'll let you know. At the moment you can tell me what you've discovered while spying on the Institute."
Panya looked taken aback. "I've never thought of it as spying."
"I guess there's more to the Institute than the two dirty old men. What else is going on?"
"I'll know more when I hear what Dr. Wynne has to say about Frau List's cylinder. Let me see it."
He produced the cylinder from his bag. He had buried the foul oilskin back with the body in Frau List's basement. "Look, Panya, I'm supposed to give to Dr. Wynne, not to you -- and certainly not to your Cardinal Fitz!"
Panya hesitated. "Before you do ... I mean ... can we compare the two cylinders? See if this one is older than Olsen's?"
"How do we do that?" He had an idea of what Panya had in mind and didn't fancy getting involved.
"We could go over there now and take a look."
"Tonight? Like now? What do we do, break a window?"
"I'm the housekeeper. I have a key to the front door."
"I don't fancy coming face to face with this Olsen."
"Andy Olsen's flipped. He won't come out of his room, but we'll have to be careful. Denby Rawlins may still be up. He can't get any of the computers to work. They crashed earlier this evening. Dr. Wynne says it's a sign from Aten, but Denby Rawlins thinks it's a bug. They were both running round in a panic when I left, afraid of losing any further predictions from the prophecy."
"If there really is one."
Panya looked up and smiled wryly. "I don't pretend to understand how they do it. They claim they can find coded messages on the cylinder, using the rings, the painted markings, and sections of the Pyramid Texts. These give them details of the events that are about to take place. Allegedly."
"That's impossible."
"They need the position of the moon, the stars, and various planetary alignments to give the exact dates for the events. Things like that."
"You'd have to be a professional nutcase to work here."
"They don't do it all by themselves. They've developed an amazing computer program to work it out, thanks to Andy Olsen. There are a hundred lines on the cylinder, one for each year."
"I haven't counted them on Frau List's cylind
er, but that sounds about right."
"Dr. Wynne reckons there must have been over forty cylinders originally, covering every century from 1380 BC."
"And the only one to survive just happens to be the one for now."
"You sound skeptical. The priests of Pharaoh Akenaten concealed the cylinders in a cave in the fourteenth century BC. Dr. Wynne thinks they hoped they'd be found by a civilization that could decode the Pyramid Texts more fully. Six hundred years ago the roof of the cave collapsed during a major earthquake brought the roof down."
"They didn't foresee that one."
"Doesn't look like it. Anyway, the Arabs saw signs of an entrance and dug their way in looking for treasure, but all they found were the broken pieces of clay. They thought the hieroglyphs on them had miraculous properties, and ground them into dust to make some sort of medicinal spell. All that's left is one clay cylinder"
"Convenient."
Panya nodded slowly. "I think you're right: there is no ancient Egyptian prophecy. Cardinal Fitz thinks Andy Olsen was put in the Institute to invent it. But it seems uncannily accurate."
"Was there really an earthquake six hundred years ago?"
"Give or take a few years. And that's the problem, things like that give the ring of truth."
"Right, so there's nothing left of the other cylinders to back up Dr. Wynne's findings."
"No, that's not quite true. Archaeologists recently unearthed a few small scraps. Not enough for working anything out, but they all have the same fine lines."
"And how did Frau List's cylinder manage to survive the earthquake?"
"German archaeologists found it, when they were moving some rocks in nineteen thirty-nine. It had been protected by deep sand. They gave it to Hitler, and more recently Olsen bought it from a collector and gave it to Dr. Wynne."
"I suppose Dr. Wynne instantly managed to interpret the markings?"
"You're being unfair. Dr. Wynne had been studying the Pyramid Texts of King Unas, and was convinced they contained a hidden message. Trouble was, he didn't know how to crack the code. One of the pyramidiots wrote a book about them being prophetic a few years ago, but not many people were convinced."
"Pyramidiots." He laughed at the description.
"That's what Dr. Wynne calls them."
"Perhaps I could warm to the man after all." He thought for a moment. "No, I don't think so. I find all this nonsense about Aten hard to take. Do they practice some sort of ancient Egyptian religion here at the Institute?"
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