“Hello, Professor Grey.”
Silas couldn’t help but smile at her mentioning his name in perfectly polished British English. He greeted her by reaching in for an embrace, trying to hide his surprise. He asked the obvious: “What are you doing here?”
“What, can’t a girl drop in on her former partner-in-crime? After all, we did almost get blown to bits in our last two encounters.”
Silas chuckled. There certainly was something about hanging on the precipice of death that bonds two people. But this was unexpected. And suspect. He noticed the coeds he rescued from earlier in the morning glancing over, then giggling. He rolled his eyes, then motioned for them to step into the hallway.
Celeste led the way, taking her time walking in her long, black boots. Silas followed, trying not to stare at the figure in front of him. As a former MI6 agent and director of operations for SEPIO, she knew how to keep in shape. It showed. He glanced back over to the group of coeds. They smiled and giggled again. He removed his tie, feeling the heat rising again. Nothing about the morning was going as planned.
Silas closed the door to the lecture hall. “Nice seeing you, and all, but what’s up? I told Radcliffe I wasn’t interested. The first time and the seventh. Sending you isn’t exactly the best way to plead his case. No offense or anything.”
Celeste smiled slightly, her lips never parting, but nose flaring slightly. “None taken.”
The tone of her British-laced words wasn’t as frosty the first time he met her. But there was an edge to them. Silas raked his hand over his close-cropped hair and glanced up the hallway, then down at his watch.
“Seriously, what’s the deal? I’ve got a class to get back to.”
Celeste opened her mouth to say something, but then stopped herself. She folded her arms before saying, “Is there someplace we can talk?”
“We are talking.”
She sighed. “I mean someplace private.” She unfolded her arms and said in a lower voice, “Please, it’s important.”
Silas got the feeling he was being recruited for another hair-brained mission. Why else would Celeste be here? He shifted and glanced up the hall again.
“I’ve got, like, two minutes before I'm supposed to lecture more about the True Cross. Plus, I'm still paying my Dean for missing a week of lectures last time you used me for one of your operations during the semester.”
“I seem to recall you benefited from that operation you speak so highly of. Besides, I’m sure your students won’t mind getting let out early.”
Silas stepped back, tilted his head backward, and squinted one eye. "What you got cooking this time?"
She just folded her arms again and smiled.
He looked at his watch again, looked at Celeste, then sighed. “Hold on.”
Most of the room had already reassembled itself and sat ready for the last half of the lecture. Silas was sorry to disappoint. After explaining something had come up that he had to attend to, he dismissed the class for the morning until next week. He grabbed his raincoat and satchel, and met Celeste back out in the hallway.
Walking past her, he said, “This better be good.”
“No need to fret. It is.”
The rain had stopped, but a frigid breeze had replaced the mild temperatures. Since classes were still in session for another hour, the sidewalks were virtually empty, leaving Silas and Celeste to chat in peace.
“So,” Silas started, hands in his coat and head down, “how’ve you been?”
Celeste grinned slightly, mildly amused at his attempt at pleasantries. “Oh, you know. Same ol’ same ol’. And you? How’s your brother?”
Silas appreciated her asking. On their mission to save the Shroud, he had shared their relationship had been strained ever since their father had passed, and he had found religion in the military. As a spiritual-but-not-religious former-Catholic agnostic, Sebastian strained to understand his life direction as a professor of Christian theology. Silas admitted he had played the proselytizing card too early, too often, and too hard, which contributed. He had only wanted to share with him what he himself had experienced. But it was too much. And then with Sebastian being caught up in their exploits, having been nearly kidnapped by the ancient enemy of the Order and Christian faith, Nous, and then betraying Silas's trust, the past few months had returned to a status quo they both seemed to have reconciled themselves to.
He looked over at her as they walked, nodding and smiling slightly. “Thanks for asking, but nothing’s changed.”
She turned to him and offered a sympathetic smile. “Sorry.”
“It is what it is. At least we’re still mostly on speaking terms.”
Silas held the door open for Celeste when they reached his office building.
“How chivalrous of you, Dr. Grey,” she said taking off her jacket. Silas nodded and led the way inside.
“Hello, Millie,” Silas said when they reached his office. “This is my friend Celeste. You might remember her from my harrowing adventures the past few months.”
“Why, yes!” She came out from around her desk and gave Celeste a hug. Which was quite the sight, seeing the five-foot-four Millie embrace the six-foot Celeste. “So good to meet you, Celeste. I've heard so much about you!” She winked at Silas and grinned widely before returning to her chair.
Silas rolled his eyes. “You’ll have to excuse my administrative assistant. She had a concussion a few years back and is prone to alternative facts and misremembering things.”
“Aren’t we all?” she said, following Silas to his office.
“Professor, for whatever reason have you returned?”
“Hello to you, too, Miles. Miles meet Celeste. Celeste, Miles. He’s my trusty sidekick.”
“Celeste?” Miles said, turning to Silas. “As in, Celeste Bourne? That...lady?”
Silas frowned. “That is, he’s been my trusty sidekick. But that could always change.”
Celeste smiled and extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Miles.” He took it, and said, “Likewise.” He turned to Silas, and said, “But why are you back, what, almost an hour early?”
Silas set his satchel down on a pile of papers on his desk then took off his coat. “Super-secret meeting for which we need our privacy.” He nodded toward the door, eyebrows raised.
“Got it. Nice to meet you.” Miles waved goodbye and left, closing the door behind him with a wink.
Celeste said goodbye and looked for a place to sit. The only two seats available were filled with stacks of books and manila folders full of papers, some spilling their contents. Between the shelves of thick, musty books, the Mr. Coffee full of day-old coffee on a mini-fridge in the corner, and a stack of records next to his desk, the cliché of the messy absentminded professor was perfectly formed.
“Sorry about that. Here, let me move those.” Silas came out from behind his desk. She picked up one of his records as he tossed the contents of one of his chairs to the floor, then motioned for Celeste to have a seat.
“Miles Davis fan, are you?” she asked holding up the record.
“You know it. Here, have a seat.”
She set down the record and took a seat. When she did, she gave a startled cry.
He turned around and frowned. “Barnabas!”
A slate-gray Persian cat had lunged for Celeste’s lap and was making himself at home. She sat frozen with arms raised and eyes wide. “What do I do?”
Silas laughed and crossed his arms. “Am I to understand that Celeste Bourne has met her match in a cat?”
“Just get it off, would you?” she said waving her raised arms.
He laughed again, then came around the desk and grabbed the stout feline. “There, there, big fella. She takes a while warming up to you. I’d know.”
Celeste scoffed and smacked his back with the backside of her hand as he plopped the gray furball outside his door.
“Didn’t take you for a cat person,” she said as Silas went back to his chair.
“Neither did I. Picked him up while serving with the Rangers during Operation Iraqi Freedom. He was just skin-and-bones when he wandered into camp looking for a handout. I'd always been a dog lover, but the poor fella played a number on my heartstrings, and that was that.”
“Aww, what a fine chap you are. But I thought U.S. Central Command outlawed companion animals.”
“They did, just before 9/11. But I was nearly finished with my tour, and it seemed like the right thing to do.”
She cocked her head and smiled. “Barnabas…He was Paul’s companion on his missionary journeys, wasn’t he? Means ‘son of comfort,’ right?”
He nodded. “Sure was. And he’s definitely lived up to his name. So, what brings you to my humble abode?”
She crossed her legs and leaned back in her chair. “Does the name Lucas Pryce mean anything to you?”
Silas snapped his head back and cocked it slightly. “Wow, haven't heard that name in a decade.” He stopped and furrowed his brow. “But you already knew that, didn't you?"
The corner of Celeste’s mouth curled upward. “Perhaps. So what can you tell me about him?”
Silas opened his bottom drawer in search of a clean coffee mug. “One of the leading archaeologists of our time. Expert in ancient, Near Eastern cultures, specifically ancient, Semitic culture, and especially Hebraic and the pre-Davidic dynastic eras.”
“And you worked with him.”
Having found a mug, albeit encrusted with a bit of stale coffee, he walked over to Mr. Coffee for a shot of brew. “And I worked with him, for a summer. It was an internship at one of his digs, Tell-es Sultan.” Silas paused to fill up the mug from his alma mater Harvard with the tar-like substance leftover from earlier in the morning. Celeste grimaced as he did.
“That's the old Jericho site if you didn't know,” he said, walking back to his desk.
“Yes, I did know, thanks. I have never understood how you Yanks could consume that sludge.”
Silas picked up his mug and grinned. “What's this?” He took a swig, then grimaced himself. "It was better this morning. At any rate, he was one of my professors for an elective I took during my doctoral work at Harvard. The summer after the elective he had gone to the old Jericho site to oversee an expanded excavation of the southern section to test some theories he had regarding the city’s destruction, and more importantly when that destruction took place. He invited me along for a front row seat. It was fascinating stuff."
“Did you discover anything of noteworthiness?”
He nodded. “We did. Not only did we discover identical rubble underneath two other layers of construction, indicating the same kind of sudden, cataclysmic destruction of the city as the previous excavations found. We also discovered that this portion was part of the royal quarters, which led to a most curious find.”
Silas took another swig of his coffee, then leaned back in his chair and propped up his legs on his desk, pausing for dramatic effect.
Celeste raised her eyebrows and tilted her head. “And?”
One end of his mouth curled upward. “Preserved in a jar were scrolls that basically verified the story of the book of Joshua.”
Celeste sat up straighter and scooted slightly to the edge of her seat. “The story of Joshua? Which one?”
“Which one? You’re worse than my lapsed-Catholic brother.”
Celeste rolled her eyes and sighed. “Just give it to me, prof. And without the cheek.”
Silas held up his hands in surrender. “Alright. Didn’t mean to hit a nerve. You know, the one about Joshua and the battle of Jericho. The prostitute Rahab and the two spies. The marches around the city with the Ark of the Covenant. The trumpet blasts—”
“Wait a minute,” Celeste interrupted. “Did you say the Ark of the Covenant?”
“The one and only. Then on the seventh pass around the city, the people gave a shout and, ‘The walls came tumbling down,’” he sang.
“Cute. Catholic school song or something?”
“Evangelical Vacation Bible School one summer. A friend brought me. Stuck with me ever since.”
“Let’s go back to the Ark. What role did it play?”
“George Lucas and Stephen Spielberg popularized it as some superpower weapon, but it wasn’t like that. It was said to contain the power of God. Or, at least God’s presence was with it as it circled around the city. It was his power and his presence that brought down the walls. Not the Ark.”
“And Pryce discovered this verification in some sort of scroll you say?”
Silas squinted and tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curling up toward a smile. “What aren’t you telling me, Celeste? Why all the interest in Pryce?”
Before Celeste could answer, there was a knock at the door. "Come in," Silas said. It was Miles.
“Professor, have you been on the internet?”
Silas brought his legs off his desk quickly and sat up in his chair, bringing his laptop to life. “No, what happened? Please don’t tell me another bomb blast took out another one of my colleagues.”
“No, no,” Miles said waving his arms. “Nothing like that. It’s your old professor, Lucas Pryce, from Harvard.”
Celeste and Silas shot a wide-eyed look at each other. “Give me the 411.”
“Apparently, he’s found the Ark of the Covenant!”