“What’re you doing?” Fil’s tense voice had her starting so that she nearly dropped the plastic container.
“I—I just found this in the garbage can,” she said. “Don’t you think it’s worth looking into, just in case?”
“What do you mean looking into?” He seemed to be in a much worse mood now than he had been fifteen minutes ago. Maybe someone had just reamed his butt in a meeting.
Whatever had happened to the trucks, it wasn’t Fil Strung’s fault. She knew that. It couldn’t even be negligence, because the dockyard wasn’t locked or anything—anyone could drive around or walk around in there during the day—although maybe that could be considered negligence?
But it just didn’t make sense to lock up the yard during the day when they were getting ready for a load—because how else were the truckers supposed to get their rigs back there? Ring a damned bell every time they needed in? Stupid. They’d be running to the gate every five minutes.
“Look, Fil, a weird thing happened yesterday with the guy spray-cleaning the rigs…and then a few hours later, three of them crash. It’s got to be more than a coincidence, don’t you think?”
He was still looking at her with those hard eyes and pinched face, but it didn’t offend Sandy. They were all stressed and the company was in deep trouble and three men were dead—everyone was allowed to be a little tense. “I don’t know—maybe.” He heaved a sigh. “But honestly, what the hell would that even do? It’s just water and maybe some cleaning solution. How’s that gonna cause a problem?”
“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s something else that’s, you know, colorless and odorless—like, uh, carbon monoxide? Or something like that? But it does something to metal?” She shook her head sharply; it didn’t even make sense to her ears. “I know it sounds weird. But I think you should at least mention it to the safety people. Just in case.”
Fil heaved a sigh. “Maybe. I don’t know. It just sounds so far-fetched. Remember—I even got some on myself, and nothing happened. I didn’t get sick or anything.”
“Well, what if it doesn’t do anything to humans? What if it—I don’t know—eats away at metal or rubber or something?” Sandy knew she was just throwing out crazy ideas, but there just didn’t seem to be any other answer. “Look at it this way—no one has ever had anyone hosing down the trucks before, and we do yesterday—right before it rains? Who does that?—and then they crash. I mean…it really could be related. Maybe there was some sort of, I dunno, acid in that canister.”
Fil’s face was losing some of its tension, and that was being replaced by comprehension. “Holy crap. Holy crap.” His eyes bugged wide. He actually seemed to go pale right in front of her—which was significant, since his skin was already pretty colorless.
“What?”
“My belt buckle,” he said in a sort of whispery voice. “My boots…”
She waited as he struggled with the words.
Then, all at once, his expression changed into determination. He yanked the canister from her hand. “I’ve got to get this to someone.”
And without an explanation—or even a thank you—he took off across the warehouse at a very unsafe-workplace run.
Helen Darrow sat back in her chair and looked at the computer screen. She’d just plugged Nicolas Notovitch into Google, and what popped up there was absolutely not what she’d expected.
“So you wrote a book called The Secret Life of Jesus Christ. And you sent your notes about it to someone here in Chicago— Oh, wait,” she said. “Alexina Donovan was the translator of your book from French—your name’s not French, though—to English.”
She had a lot of other work on her desk—including her review of anything her analysts had put together from their daily screens on the Chicago area and Midwest threats, as well as what she considered her own personal wheelhouse of the Skaladeska tribe and potential threat. There were only a small number of people in the Bureau who knew much about the ecoterrorist group, and she was one of the elite team that worked with similar counterparts in the CIA…which included her old flame Gabe MacNeil. Unfortunately.
But despite the daily report that sat there on its yellow paper waiting for her to review, Helen found herself unable to put aside the bee mystery that Dr. Sanchez had dumped into her thoughts. Maybe because the secret life of Jesus Christ—whatever it was—and the pretty pink-gold bee was a hell of a lot more intriguing than reading a bunch of analytics.
The Secret Life of Jesus Christ turned out not to be, as Helen had expected, a blasphemous, Da Vinci Code sort of work of fiction, but a kind of messianic exposé. The book was purportedly a nonfiction account of… Her eyes bulged and her brows rose as she looked at the Wikipedia entry.
Well, that’s interesting.
Apparently, in the late 1880s, one Nicolas Notovitch—a Russian Jew living in Paris writing about Jesus; go figure that one—had traveled to the mountains of northern India and Nepal. He stayed in a Buddhist monastery while recovering from a broken leg, and while there learned from the monks some bombshell information: that Jesus Christ had traveled throughout India.
“Well, if that idea—true or not—doesn’t send tremors through the Christian world, I don’t know what will,” she said, still looking at the computer screen. “No wonder Notovitch sent his ‘proof’—if that’s what it is—here to the U.S.”
She had just clicked “Buy Now” to order a copy of the book—at this point, she had to know more—when her mobile phone rang. “Darrow speaking,” she said, scrolling through more information from the Google search. Lots of entries debunking the Notovitch book over the last hundred years. So whether his contentions were true or not remained to be seen.
“We’ve just got a hit on the Skaladeskas,” said Cody, one of her analysts. “You’d better take a look.”
Helen agreed and disconnected the call. The Skaladeskas had been quiet for the last two or three years. Which meant she hadn’t had any reason to be in touch with Gabe.
But it looked like that was about to change, and that meant she’d be bringing in her colleagues from the CIA.
Helen wasn’t certain whether she was more anxious about dealing with the ecoterrorists or her former lover.
Twenty-Nine
Marina was in the most beautiful place she’d ever imagined. Lush greenery glittered with diamond dew. Silky grasses swayed and flowering bushes shimmered in a subtle breeze. The loamy scent of rich earth mingled with sweet nectar and pungent pine. Crystal-studded water danced over the stony creek bed, twining through the forest like a silvery ribbon.
It was Gaia at her best, showing off her wares.
Marina wandered through the growth, her fingertips brushing over feathery grass heads, satiny blossom petals, rough bark. Her bare feet trod upon cool grass, smooth pebbles, and dark earth in turn. She heard birds singing and calling, the rush of water, the gentle clatter of branches against each other, the happy buzz of insects.
It was a strange location…not rainforest nor deep woods nor mountain region nor meadow nor desert…and yet wherever she was, there were elements of all those environs. Cacti and pines, wildflowers and liana, maples and birds of paradise, orange blossoms, scrubby boulders, edelweiss, and tulips.
She walked, breathing in the beauty of her Mother Gaia, listening for her heartbeat, admiring the array of life that surrounded her.
And then she came to the tree.
It was a massive specimen, reminding her of a tropical banyan. This tree had a trunk ten feet in diameter, and its bark appeared smooth and silky, and of a rich cocoa hue. Its broad network of branches boasted a deep and wide canopy of green, gold, crimson, orange, even purple and blue leaves. Powerful roots surged from the earth like limbs caught in the act of erupting from the dirt.
Beneath the tree, in the embrace of two such undulating roots that formed a natural throne, sat an old man.
Grandfather.
Lev watched her, welcoming her with fathomless blue eyes as she
moved toward him, her heartbeat pounding throughout her body as if to remind her that she was, in fact, alive, awake, and real.
And so was this.
Mariska. His lips didn’t move, yet she heard her name as if he’d spoken aloud. At last you’ve come.
Where are we? She meant to speak, but her mouth didn’t move.
We are in the Lower World. I’ve been waiting for you to join me here for far too long.
Somehow she knew where to sit: facing him, yet slightly to the left. There was a protruding root that curled and created a moss-upholstered seat. As she settled into the place waiting for her, Marina realized she had somehow come to be wearing a long, loose robe of some light, natural material with a sheen. It slid pleasingly over her skin.
Did you bring me here? she asked.
I’ve made the invitation often. This is the first time you’ve chosen to accept it. To travel here. Something has happened.
Although she was surrounded by a stunning wilderness, with its brightest, deepest, truest colors, scents, sounds, and textures, Marina also felt as if she were underwater…or in some sort of strange airless environment in which she could, nevertheless, breathe.
And although what she could see and feel—the emerald moss, springy and velvety beneath her palm, the stunning scarlet flowers bursting from a vine crawling up the banyan, the perfect lavender bird watching her from a slender twig next to Lev—just beyond her near surroundings, everything was muted and blurry and soft.
What happened, Mariska?
She didn’t think she knew what he meant, but somehow she responded. In the cave…I spoke to Gaia. She heard me, and She helped me.
Lev nodded. Something gleamed in his eyes as he watched her steadily.
Why am I here? Marina thought-asked.
You’re here because you’ve at last acknowledged your deep connection to Gaia and have experienced it. Now you recognize who you are and what you are capable of. Tell me what happened in the cave.
I think you already know, Grandfather.
His mouth moved slightly, just a brief uptick at the corner, indicating acknowledgment and humor.
I can’t come to you, Grandfather. She wanted to speak those words, moving her mouth, to make certain he heard and understood how strong they were—how deeply she believed and knew them—but still the statement came only from her mind to his. I won’t join a movement of death and destruction.
As you say now. Despite my sadness and disappointment at your stubbornness, I know that too will change. Because you are who you are. You are a Daughter of Gaia, and you must not forget that. You cannot deny your calling, no matter how much you try. You already know it. I am patient—for all must make the journey in their own time, in their own way…but I don’t know how much longer Gaia will allow me to be here on this Earth.
Those words of finality acted like a sharp thorn in her belly. Was Lev dying? Was he already dead? Had she missed her opportunity to know him?
Roman. The single word escaped her mind and shot between them. Then more: My father.
Lev looked at her, his eyes suddenly spearing her. So it is true.
They looked at each other there in the shadow of a tree in a place on—in—below?—the earth that didn’t exist. She reached out to him. You didn’t know.
I suspected.
I won’t be part of what he does, Grandfather. What he and Nora and Hedron and Varden do is murderous.
Lev shook his head. It is the way of nature, the way of the world, the Way of Gaia. If one species threatens that of the whole, it shall be expelled. For the good of all.
She curled her fingers, felt moss and dirt and bark beneath them. Killing people is not the way.
It is no different than the wars you Out-Worlders fight, than the choices your governments make, the way men spend their capital: some will always die in the pursuits of freedom, safety, protection. Some will always die in poverty and from illness because only a few hold power and money.
Does not the safety and saving of all—of our very world—justify the destruction of some few? That is the way of Nature, Mariska. The way of Gaia. You cannot deny it. Life and death is the cycle. To protect oneself is only natural.
She tried to stand, ready to leave, but her legs wouldn’t move. Now you would hold me here?
He shook his head so slightly that it was nearly unnoticeable. Marina more felt the shift in the air than actually saw him move. We need you. Gaia needs you. You can help protect all of us—everyone—even those who threaten the sacred being. They threaten me as well.
I can’t—
You must speak to Varden. Work with him.
Her response was short and powerful: No.
Lev looked at her, his thoughts silent, his eyes probing. Marina felt the earth around her shiver and shift and vibrate oh so gently—as if to remind her who she was, whom she was with. In whose arms she rested.
A soft buzz caught her attention, and she turned to see a small insect hovering next to her. It was a bee, and it suddenly dove, burrowing into a large white flower that had not been present a moment ago. Somehow, light filtered through the forest—or jungle, or wherever she was—and illuminated the busy insect, setting her awash in pink and gold and magenta. She was beautiful. Stunning. Delicate. Powerful.
Sacred. The word settled in her mind, and she wasn’t certain who’d put it there—Lev, herself, or Gaia.
When Marina looked up, Lev was gone. The tree was gone—even the roots that had made her own chair.
Now she sat in the sun. Just…in the sun. Nothing below her, above her, around her…only warm light.
The bee was still there. It swept up from the white flower, hovering for a moment in front of her eyes, then flitted away, her translucent wings glittering pale rose in the light.
The next thing Marina knew, she felt something cold touching her hand.
She was in her chair, and Adele’s damp nose was nudging the back of her hand. She gave a quiet whine, like an Are you here?
Marina looked around. Yes, she was here, in her own house in Ann Arbor, and both of her dogs sat there looking expectantly at her.
She blinked and came back to herself fully.
“Need to go out, huh?” She pulled to her feet, still trying to shake off the…whatever it had been. Not a dream, she didn’t think. She wasn’t groggy as if she’d been sleeping.
It was more like a journey. Out-of-body travel. What had Lev said? The Lower World.
She had been in the Lower World.
A shiver skittered across her shoulders. She’d heard of the Lower World—and the Upper World and the Middle World. Those places belonged to shamanic traditions. They were places one traveled on shamanic journeys.
Marina opened the front door, and her two dogs bounded outside, eager to do their business—and to sniff around and chase squirrels and scratch in the sun.
As she stood there, watching Boris and Adele examine and then secure their domain, Marina dug the phone out of her pocket.
Several messages had come in while she was doing…whatever she’d been doing. One from Bruce, asking if she wanted to grab dinner and talk about the rescue at Turncoat Don. No thank you, she thought, and decided not to answer right away. She was going to need to have a conversation with Bruce, but not via text and not today.
There was also a message from Eli Sanchez, of all people! That gave her a burst of pleasure, and she smiled, hoping she’d have the chance to see him soon. The third text was from a number she didn’t recognize. It had just been delivered. Within the last minute.
Something made her insides feel funny, and she clicked on that third message before she checked Eli’s text.
We need to talk.
That was the message from the number she didn’t recognize. As she stared at it, a strange frisson of knowing settled over her—and she immediately dismissed it. But whoever had sent the message—and dammit, she suspected she knew who it was—was now typing something else.
Lev’s request
. Not mine.
Marina went cold and then hot as she stared at the phone. It was Varden.
And she certainly wasn’t going to meet up with him.
So Marina, still feeling a little unsteady, tapped Eli’s message.
Incoming. You around? This was followed by a sly smiling emoji.
Her mood lifted again. Yes. ETA?
His response came immediately: Ten minutes?
Marina’s brows rose. Well, that was fast. Good thing she’d showered this morning. She responded with her own sly smiling emoji, and, as she tucked the phone back in her pocket, leaving both Bruce’s and Varden’s messages unanswered, she looked around covertly.
Was Rue Varden watching her even now?
She lived in the Burns Park area of Ann Arbor, where a good number of university faculty, like herself, resided. It was a neighborhood of many mature, leafy trees, curving residential streets, and single-family homes built in the forties and fifties. Her home was one of the smaller ones in the neighborhood—a little brick bungalow on one of the quiet, winding streets shaded by many tall, broad oaks, maples, and elms. She’d made use of one of those large trees several years ago, climbing from the window of her upstairs bathroom onto one of the limbs to escape from Dannen Fridkov—one of Roman Aleksandrov’s operatives. He’d had a gun, and intended to kidnap or kill her. She’d never actually learned which.
Marina had used the cover of the tall, leafy, expansive trees, climbing and jumping from limb to limb and tree to tree above the ground to make her way from her yard to a neighbor’s, then down and away, eventually meeting up on the ground with CIA operative Gabe MacNeil, who’d previously warned her about the dangers of the Skaladeskas.
Since then, Marina had considered but not yet succumbed to the idea of buying her own firearm. And every day when she came out to her yard, she thanked all of the trees for being there to help her escape.
And they whispered back in response.
Shaking off this strange melancholia, Marina looked up just as a vehicle came around the curve of the street. She recognized it right away: Juanita, the battered, worn, trusty Jeep that had loyally carried Eli all the way from Champaign, Illinois. She wondered what had brought him to Ann Arbor or its environs.
Sanskrit Cipher: A Marina Alexander Adventure Page 19
