| |
Rowan crawled into the bunk in a trailer near the dig site. He was hot, sweaty, and filthy from wallowing in the sand all day. His shoulders and knees ached from the tedious digging. The back of his neck stung where he’d missed getting sunscreen on his flesh.
Jean-René groaned as he hauled himself into the bunk above him. Sand fell from the cuffs of his pant legs. “I’m getting too old for this, my friend,” he said, flopping down on the bed, his leg hanging over the edge.
“You’re only five years older than I am,” Rowan grunted.
“Admit it,” Jean-René scoffed. “You’re feeling it, too.”
“Hell, yeah, I am.”
Jean-René laughed. “I knew it.”
There was a long pause as they lay recovering from the day. “So, what do you think?” Jean-René asked. “I did you a solid, didn’t I?”
“Hell, yeah, you did,” Rowan said, grinning. “You are my best friend for a reason. Thanks for the invite.”
“What are friends for?” Jean-René chortled. Again there was a long pause before he spoke, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Did you reach Lauren today?”
“I didn’t have a signal,” he said, lying flat on his back. “I’ll try again in the morning before we head out.”
“Tomorrow, we’re going over to the glass crater.” Jean-René’s voice trailed off to almost a whisper.
“Say what?”
A heavy snore answered him.
* * *
“Henry? Whatever is the matter?” Tima rushed over to him as he backed away from the large white camel who eyed him warily. The boy was wailing. It wasn’t like Henry to be so affronted. Normally he was an easy-going child with a good nature, but he’d been brooding and unsettled all day.
“I don’t like that ... I don’t like camels.” He tucked himself into her and wrapped his arm around her neck as she knelt down beside him. “That camel is mean.”
“But you didn’t even go for a ride yet.” Shemi came over with John Carter. “Is it just this camel? There’s a brown one over there with the longest eyelashes you ever did see. Would you rather ride the brown one?”
“I yike the brown one. I yike camels,” John Carter said, but walked over and started patting the white one on his shoulder. The creature balked and snapped at the boy. It frightened him so badly the next thing Tima knew she had two wailing boys in her arms. She scooped them up and carried them away from the camel. The man running the rides said something sharply to her and she responded back in kind.
“I don’t yike camels!” John Carter wailed. “Bad camel!” He stabbed a finger toward the beast as it rose, and turned, huffing.
“Maybe we’ll ride the camels some other time,” Ahmose suggested. “Mumma, where was your friend from the museum going to meet us?”
“He’s not due for another hour,” Tima said. “I did pack us a picnic.” She sat Henry down.
John Carter squirmed so she sat him down, too. The younger brother reached over and caught his brother’s hand. “Don’t cwy, Heny,” he said. “Momma’s okay.” Then Tima remembered Henry’s dream.
“Come here, Henry.” Tima drew him into her as she knelt down beside him. “Sweet boy, you are not still upset about the dream you had this morning, are you?”
Shemi and Ahmose took John Carter over to look at a vendors’ booth nearby.
“Uh, huh,” he said. “Momma’s in trouble. I’m afraid.”
“You know dreams are not real, right? You miss your mother and it’s natural for you to be worried, but there’s no reason to believe there’s anything wrong.”
“But there is, Auntie Tima.” Henry sniffed, his breath coming in ragged waves. “I know my momma. She’s scared and she’s sick. My daddy should be there with her ... but he isn’t. Can you call my daddy, please?”
“I can try, but he’s in the middle of the desert. His phone might not work.”
“Just try?” He sobbed. “Please. Try?”
She hugged him and patted his back. “Okay. I’ll try.” Tima took her phone from her small handbag and dialed Rowan’s number. The phone rang several times and then went to voicemail. “Rowan, darling. Tima here. The boys were missing you and hope you are having fun on your dig and making new discoveries. Henry would very much like to speak to his father when you have a chance and get this message. Please call when you have time.” She hung up. “So sorry, sweet boy. He’s busy. I’ll try again later if he doesn’t call right back.”
“Thank you, Auntie Tima.”
She ran her hand over his hair. “Of course. Now, let’s see about lunch and then we’ll go look for mummies.”
* * *
“The Sedlec Ossuary?” Bertram furrowed his brow. “Of course, I’ve heard of it.” Kovač had shared his doubts about the so-called Vatican Intelligence Service agents with his superiors on the drive back from the scene. His lieutenant had gone through official channels to have their credentials validated, and it all checked out.
Lauren turned to Kovač. “We need to find it. We have to go there.”
The detective eyed her warily. He still had his suspicions about Dr. Pierce. He wasn’t sure he was ready to trust her; not yet. His mother was dead, and his heart was broken by her loss. But Lauren Pierce claimed she didn’t do it — just like she had claimed not to have killed his victims at the museum. The evidence supported her claims about the murders at the museum, but the evidence of his mother’s killing was still being analyzed. She couldn’t refute the blood evidence. She was covered in his mother’s blood. The medical examiner was checking for DNA evidence from his mother’s nails as well. If Zuzu Kovač had put up a fight — and he suspected she would — there should be DNA evidence beneath her fingernails too.
“Hřbitovní kostel Všech Svatých. I had to look it up. It’s a small Roman Catholic chapel located beneath the cemetery at the Church of All Saints. It’s where the bones of hundreds of thousands of plague victims are ... well, interred might not be the right word,” Tomáš said nervously.
“I think that may be where a missing page might be hidden,” Lauren said. “But my fear is that this ... thing ... this demon ... is trying to bait me into moving it so it can be taken like the page at the museum in Prague.”
“If the page is safest where it’s at,” Tomáš said. “Let sleeping dogs lie, as they say.”
“That would be the easy way out,” Bertram said. “We have our orders. The pages must be collected and protected from being misused. Dr. Pierce, your expertise here will be invaluable.”
Tomáš turned sharply. He couldn’t believe he was saying it. “You realize you’re asking her to place herself in harm’s way, yes? To put her child’s life in harm’s way.” Bertram froze, his gaze darting between his colleagues and back to Lauren before he looked at Tomáš. “You didn’t know she was pregnant.” It wasn’t a question. At this moment, he couldn’t care less about Dr. Pierce’s safety, at least not on a personal level. It was his job, however, and he had taken an oath to protect and serve.
Bertram sputtered. “All the more reason she has to go with us.”
“What are you talking about?” the detective snapped.
“There is a prophesy,” he said.
“It was claimed by the disciples of Jesus that he was of Heavenly origin, with a human mother and God, the Father,” the bald man picked up the story. “There are similar stories in other pagan legends, but all of the prophesies are the same. They all say there will be a child, a child of the gods, who will come to save mankind, sent to be also a teacher of men. The savior will have mystical powers. First the child must be purely born ... of virgin birth.”
“That rules me out,” Lauren muttered under her breath. She was quite sure she knew when this child had been conceived. Rowan had been gone for two weeks on a class trip to Morocco. She’d been happy to welcome him home appropriately.
“Second, it must be a son of a god, not a daughter. In every story, this savior will perform miracles, be crucified, and resurrected, before becoming the judgment of mankind. But, another skills of this messiah in legends, is the ability to cast out demons. If the Devil incarnate is here to reassemble his book and make a play to have his place restored in the heavens, the prophesied child who is sent to save mankind in our lifetime, if such a child is born, would have the ability to cast out demons.”
Lauren had run through these abilities like a checklist, marking off the ones she didn’t think applied to her. She couldn’t mark yes to most of the list, but it didn’t ease her mind any.
“Like Jesus,” the detective muttered.
“There are sixteen stories about crucified saviors, Jesus being one.” Bertram nodded. “Dionysus, Mithras, Osiris, Inanna or Ishtar, the list goes on.”
“I don’t see how any of this has anything to do with me,” Lauren said.
“You are a mother,” the oldest said. “Life grows inside you. This child could be the very salvation of mankind.”
Lauren felt her whole countenance collapse upon itself. The child in her womb was no larger than a strawberry. While she was aware of its movements and had heard its heartbeat she wasn’t sure if the child had any Divine blood. Knowing its parentage without a doubt, she had to wonder. Henry had gifts. Could it be Henry and not the baby in her belly? She could feel her brain whirring in her skull.
“All I know, Dr. Pierce, is we need you.” Bertram reached for her hand, bringing her back to the moment. She didn’t draw it away, but she did watch him warily as he took her hand in his. “If we fail ... if the Codex falls into enemy hands, the Heavens could fall. It could trigger ... the Apocalypse.”
“Apocalypse?” Tomáš and Lauren both chorused their surprise.
“The End of Days.” Bertram insisted. His fellows stood behind him. While they had been active participants in her questioning, they remained silent now.
Lauren’s eyes went to the blond one who seemed less unnerving than he had before, but his icy blue-white eyes watched her cautiously, and it made her feel ill-at-ease.
Tomáš came up out of his chair. He paced behind the table, rubbing his chin. He was grieving for his mother, and she was certain he was not yet convinced of her innocence. Lauren could also sense his gears turning. She was pretty sure he hadn’t slept in two days, and he was pushing his grief over losing his mother to the back of his mind. She also knew he’d deal with that once he figured out who’d killed her; once her name had been cleared.
“I ...” Lauren started but stopped. “I don’t know how I can help.”
“You know where to look,” he said. “Just help us find the pages.”
“You realize what my source was for the next possible location of the Codex page, don’t you? If I haven’t gone crazy; if I haven’t lost my mind, it was the ...that ... the demon himself who told me where to look. He’s using me ... using me to find the pages. He led me to the first one, and now he wants me to find another one for him.”
“You have something now on your side you didn’t have the first time,” Bertram said. “You have His Holiness’ blessing. We are his hand, his sword and his shield; we serve you as well.”
Lauren eyed the man warily. These were the men who’d nabbed her at the café. Her gaze lifted to the detective who appeared dubious. His eyes darted to each of the visiting agents, then back to Lauren’s. Clearly the detective was suspicious of them, too. His eyes narrowed as he hesitated, then finally stood. “You may be her sword and her shield,” the detective addressed the Gendarmerie. “But I’m her hired gun. She doesn’t go anywhere without me.” He turned to Lauren. “I don’t understand what’s happening here and I don’t know that I believe in this kind of thing. But my mother is dead ... three people are dead ... and I don’t trust you.”
“You don’t have to,” Lauren started, not sure if she wanted to convince him, or let him keep her here in custody. She feared what was to come, almost as much as she feared another night in jail, but he raised his hand and cut her off.
“I have to find my mother’s killer and put a stop to all this. So, yes, I do have to. You don’t leave my sight. If you give me even the slightest cause to doubt you, I will have you in handcuffs and back behind bars before you can lift a finger. Are we clear?” Lauren looked a bit taken aback, but acquiesced. Kovač turned back to the Gendarmerie and sat back down. “It will take at least an hour to get there. That’s if there are no traffic tie ups.” He turned to Lauren, grimacing at her. “I’ll have a female detective take you to the locker room. You can get cleaned up. I’ll see what I can find for you to wear. Then we’ll go.”
Lauren nodded. She was exhausted and her skin crawled, still caked with dried blood. She had blood in places no one ever should. A long, hot shower was welcomed. The detective’s locker room wasn’t private, but it was clean and soon the steam filled the room and she didn’t care that there were other women coming in off their shift to shower before they went home to their families. She stood under the needle-sharp jets, letting the hot water course over her hair and body. Her hand went to the swell of her stomach as if to offer a silent comfort to the child safely sleeping there. She made the gesture as an oath of protection, pondering Enki’s promise to her on that space ship so long ago. The gods said they watched over her and protected her children. She had to believe that was true. She just had to.
As she went to work with a washcloth and soap, she knew how Lady Macbeth felt. Out damned spot indeed. She couldn’t scrub hard enough to feel clean, and soon her skin was growing raw.
At one point, she realized the locker room had gone quiet and she was truly alone. A red puddle gathered in the grout around her feet before running off into the drain. That’s when she hit her breaking point. Unable to guard her emotions any longer, she crumpled. As her legs gave out, she found herself sliding down the wall into the corner. Tears came in waves. Her sobs echoed off the tiled walls and filled the shower room until it became deafening.
When Lauren finally lay spent of energy, she no longer cared that she was naked on the floor. The female detective found her. She turned off the water and threw a towel over her. She left but came back a moment later with Tomáš. He scooped her up off the floor. By then, her tears were spent, and she was a limp noodle no one could do anything with. The female detective made a pallet for her on the floor of the locker room from a stack of clean towels. She instructed Tomáš to lay her there. Once he left, she knelt beside Lauren and took another towel, using it to dry her skin and blot her hair. She spoke softly, and it took several moments before Lauren realized she was speaking Slovenian.
“You’re not from here.” Lauren finally found her words as she pushed herself up to sitting grasping the towel Tomáš had wrapped her in.
“You speak Slovenian.” It wasn’t a question.
“I’m a linguist,” she said. She never called herself that, but in truth, that’s what she’d become. “I pick up languages like people collect postage stamps.” There was no humor left in her voice.
“You are the Hand of the gods,” the woman said with a beatific smile.
Lauren’s brow lifted inquisitively. “How ... how did you know that?”
“There is a light in your spirit — a spark of the Divine. But you’ve got a dark shadow over you,” she said. “It’s a curse of being in law enforcement ... we see when trouble follows someone.”
An uneasiness filled Lauren. The woman was talking in riddles. “Yeah, it follows me plenty ...” she muttered, then gazed at the detective with a critical eye. “Have we met before?”
She smiled. “We have,” she said. “Michael sent me. You used to call me Judy Blue Eyes.”
Lauren froze, almost recoiling. Her mouth went as dry as the Sahara. “But ...”
“It was just a dream,” Judy said. “But ... also a warning.”
“A warning?”
“The Dragon is gathering his forces.” She put a hand on Lauren’s arm. “The task before you is great, but you have a strength to your spirit unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. If there’s anyone who can overcome this darkness and put trouble in its place, I think it must be you.”
“I’m not so sure anyone else believes that.” Lauren sighed; her eyes went to the door where Tomáš had disappeared. She sensed he was not far; perhaps listening at the door. “Least of all me.”
“Don’t let Tomáš put doubt in your heart,” she said. “His faith was tested, and it failed him.”
Lauren puzzled, contorting her face in confusion. “You mean ... his mother?”
“Long before that,” she said. “Though he is mourning her terribly, he was in the seminary, studying to be a priest when his father was murdered.”
Lauren felt her stomach knot up and drop like a lead weight in her gut. “Murdered?”
“He was a police officer, too,” she said. “It’s a long story. Maybe he should be the one telling it. Not my place.”
“I had no idea ...” Lauren felt lightheaded. “He’s lost both his parents?”
“Tragic, yes, but now is the time for you to be strong,” she said, patting Lauren’s hand. “Your strength is needed now more than ever. You will not be alone. We are with you.”
Lauren heaved a heavy sigh and nodded.
* * *
“This is the crater I was telling you about,” Greg stood over a wide bowl created in the rising sand dunes. The entire depression sparkled like shimmering waves. “That’s not water.”
“No?” Rowan would have sworn it was an oasis.
“It’s glass,” he said.
“I thought that was some kind of metaphor.” Rowan shielded his eyes to the rising sun. Already temperatures were pushing into the 90s and sweat peeled down his brow.
“Our geologists have dated the impactite found here at 26 million years old.” Greg wasn’t holding back his enthusiasm as he started down the sandy ridge.
Rowan glanced at Jean-René behind the camera before sliding down the sand dune. “Impactite?” He had to raise his voice. “How did it get here?”
“It’s believed to have been caused by a meteorite. Hence the name.” Greg paused and collected a sample. He picked through it finding a small treasure. He held it out for Rowan as he skidded to a stop. “There you go. Libyan Desert Glass.”
Rowan studied the golden glassy nugget. He held it up between two fingers both for the benefit of the camera, and to catch the morning sun. “Beautiful.” The rock was rather plain looking, until the sun hit it, then it sparkled like amber. He thought about taking some samples home for Lauren and the boys. He pocketed the nugget and followed his host through the crunchy sand.
“We have found artifacts at a dig in southern Libya that we have been able to trace through chemical analysis back to this crater,” Greg said. “Like Native American trade-beads, sand-glass was highly sought in ancient times for jewelry. Even in structures west of here, we found the most immaculately crafted headdresses that were adorned with sand-glass.”
“I can see why.” Rowan had a pocket full of the nuggets at this point. The variations in the color ranged from an almost clear buttery yellow to tigers’ eye gold. Each piece was unique, like a snowflake. He had already thought of drilling a hole in a couple of the larger pieces to make earrings for Lauren.
“Part of the team of anthropologists are examining the impact of the environment on this settlement. Weather patterns have varied greatly over the southern Mediterranean for the last several thousands of years. Mankind has had a role in that too. Gaddafi used the riches gained during the oil boom to build a large man-made river. It was the largest water engineering project in the world. Unfortunately, in a climate that is 93% arid, sustainability of such a project has been an issue.”
“Where do Libyan’s get their water? Is it from that river? Surely not the Mediterranean?” Rowan asked.
“There is a finite cache of fossilized groundwater,” Greg explained as they circled the crater. “It’s a leftover from the Pleistocene era. Unfortunately, there’s not enough to meet the demand of local farmers who would use it to irrigate crops. The same was true back when the city complex here was in its prime. We suspect there is a well somewhere among the ruins, but we haven’t found it yet. There are desalinization plants along the coast, but they barely provide enough water for the cities.”
Rowan’s interest was piqued more and more with everything he learned about this site, the ancient people, and their culture. “So where are we digging today?” They started back up the slope.
“There’s an underground structure not too far from here,” Greg said. “We’ll go check it out.”
“Base to Field Team 1.” A radio squelch nearly startled Rowan out of his sand-filled shoes.
“Go ahead, base.” Greg snickered as he responded.
“We’re monitoring some weather to the south,” the site safety officer back at the base trailer came over the radio. “Looks like it’s moving in pretty fast. You guys need to get to shelter.”
“Haboob?” Greg asked.
“Affirmative,” she answered.
“Thanks, Liza,” he said. “We’re about forty minutes from the trailer.”
“You’ve got thirty,” she said. Concern was heavy in her voice.
“We’ll head to the underground structure where the crews are digging,” he said.
Without a word of instruction, the men bolted for the ATVs. Rowan’s four-wheeler didn’t want to start. It took several attempts to get the engine to turn over, and by the time it did, Jean-René and Greg were far enough ahead of him that he felt abandoned. To make matters worse, the winds quickly picked up and the sands began swirling around them. In the distance, an enormous wall rose like a tidal wave, bearing down on the team. The storm seemed to swell, even as he gunned the engine and skidded down the dunes in pursuit of his party.
The ATV fishtailed in the sand, and he felt the two uphill wheels lose contact with the earth. One minute the vehicle was safely beneath him, the next minute, he was rolling with the craft on top of him. Just as abruptly, the craft was back on its wheels, and he whipped his body against the roll. The vehicle recovered as the wheels caught traction and spun in the sand, propelling him forward as if nothing had happened. He gunned the engine, confident that whatever had just happened, wouldn’t repeat itself.
He couldn’t have been any more wrong.