| |
Denver International Airport
LOOKING AT THE two main halves of the mural as one, Crowley saw immediately how the they worked, connected by the rainbow, into a single narrative.
“The illusion of peace is the beginning,” he said.
Rose had seen it too. She nodded subtly as she spoke. “The swords into plowshares, empty Nazi uniform... The world believes the threat is ended. But from the blood of the Second World War comes something that appears beautiful, but is actually deadly.”
Crowley’s eyes followed the rainbow as it wrapped around the happy, distracted children, to the scene of horror, where it faded into a huge blade, honed for slaughter. “The boy and the dove are seeing the future no one else yet sees,” Crowley said.
“A future where the dove of peace is dead and the Nazis rise again,” Mike said in a low voice.
Crowley couldn’t tear his gaze away from the Nazi’s sword stabbing the white dove mid-flight. That single portion, among all the other weirdness of the paintings, made his gut tighten. Eventually he looked at Mike. “I have to say, you are the world’s darkest art critic.”
Mike laughed. “I’m just telling you what smarter people than me have said. Or at least, people who are a whole lot more paranoid than me.”
Rose narrowed her eyes, swept her hair back with one hand. “So what part was Lily interested in? Remember in the CCTV clip she was focused on one particular area. If we read the mural this way, the final image contains the bit that Lily...” She cut off in mid-sentence and hurried over to the corner of the mural.
Crowley had reached the same conclusion, remembered the letter painted into the lower corner. Lost in their contemplations, they hadn’t considered which part had so fascinated Lily. But he remembered, the letter from the child who died at Auschwitz. Sorrow tugged at him once more as he recalled reading it earlier.
Rose crouched before the metal railing that prevented people getting close enough to touch the artwork. She read aloud. “I was once a little child who longed for other worlds. But I am no more a child for I have known fear. I have learned to hate...” Her voice caught, grew husky with emotion, but she pressed on. “How tragic, then, is youth which lives with enemies, with gallows ropes. Yet, I still believe I only sleep today, that I’ll wake up, a child again, and start to laugh and play.”
“You know the history of that letter?” Mike asked.
“We do,” Crowley said.
“So, yes, if you interpret the painting from left to right, that’s what we’re left with. Tragedy, hate, and death.” He sighed. “Word is, the airport is planning on painting over the darker halves of these murals, but who knows?”
“What the hell are things like this even doing in an international airport?” Rose asked, her face twisted in a kind of grief. “I mean, this stuff, the demon in a suitcase, the giant hell horse out front? What’s going on here?”
Neither Crowley or Mike had any real answer for her, but the question seemed largely rhetorical anyway. She didn’t wait for an answer, but turned back to the mural and snapped a photo of the letter. She stood, drew a hand back over her hair again, visibly shaken.
Crowley wanted to comfort her, longed to gather her in a hug and try to reassure her, but he wasn’t sure she would welcome it.
“Are you okay?” Mike asked. He looked to Crowley then back to Rose, made a face of chagrin like it was his fault. Perhaps he thought his stories had frightened Rose, but it ran deeper than that.
Rose shook her head. “It’s fine. It’s not you. I’m sorry. My sister is missing, and we have reason to believe she came here and took a particular interest in this painting. This letter in fact.”
Mike smiled gently. “Sister. Last week, I had pretty much the same conversation with her that I had with you. Nice girl. I almost said something, but I didn’t want to sound like one of those ‘all Asians look the same’ kind of people.”
Rose managed a smile in return. “Did my sister say anything about where she might be going?”
Mike pursed his lips, shook his head. “The only thing I can tell you is she was really interested in the Great Hall.”
“Like the Freemasons call the room where they perform their rituals,” Crowley said. “We already looked around there.”
Mike shrugged. “This way.” He led them away from the paintings. “Around here it’s what we call the Main Concourse. I’ll show you something.”
As they walked, Rose looked at Mike. “So, we’ve got a painting depicting the rise of the Nazis and the slaughter of much of the world’s population, at an airport with swastika-shaped runways and a horse statue that symbolizes the apocalypse.” She let out a laugh, shook her head, still obviously having trouble believing what she was saying. But she went on. “Is it possible that there really is an underground city here that’s designed to protect, I don’t know, the Illuminati or whoever from what’s to come?”
Mike drew in a long breath, looked suddenly serious. “I don’t know what’s down there. Some of it really is used for running the airport. Tunnels for baggage transport and the like. There’s room for vehicles and it’s much easier and safer than driving around above, on the runways. But that’s the only part I’ve seen. It’s all that any outsiders have been allowed to see. But I know there’s more. Much more.” A shudder ran through his body. “They say...” He paused, looked at the ground.
Rose put a hand on his shoulder. “They say what?”
Mike swallowed, looked Rose directly in the eyes. “They say sometimes workers go in and they don’t come out.”
Rose recoiled slightly, eyes widening. “Seriously?”
Mike frowned. “I stay as far away from the underground as I can. No one’s going to miss a janitor.”
They reached the concourse and he pointed out a painting. It was a Native American-style work showing an alien-looking figure hovering in front of a mountain range. The figure was stylized, a horned headdress above a long neck, arms out to either side. On its diamond-shaped body was a design of a kind of plant with radial lines either side and a descending root like a constellation. On the right of the figure a bird sat on a stalk of corn. On the left, a baby floated on its back.
“This is what my sister was interested in?” Rose asked.
Mike nodded. “She took pictures, stared at it forever, did stuff on her phone. She kept looking between it and her phone, like she was trying to match something up.”
“You were watching her?” Crowley asked.
Mike looked a little sheepish. “Keeping an eye out, you know? I don’t meet many people who are that into the artwork. We had a good talk, like I’ve had with you two.”
Rose nodded. “You like to discuss this stuff, huh?”
“It’s pretty cool, I think.”
Rose laughed. “Bizarre is what it is. Thank you for looking out for Lily while she was here.”
“She was a nice girl, traveling all alone. Just seemed like something wasn’t right, I guess.”
“She wasn’t with a man?” Crowley asked.
Mike shook his head. “Not that I saw.”
“Can you tell us anything else that might help us find her?” Rose asked.
Mike pursed his lips in thought. “Actually, maybe. I said she ought to visit the Denver Museum of Nature and Science. They have a new Egyptian mummy exhibit there and some visiting experts. So maybe she went there and talked to someone? They might be able to tell you more.” He glanced at his watch. “I got to get back to work. I’ll be in trouble.”
They thanked him, and then Crowley thought of one more question. “Is there anything in the airport connected to Anubis, by any chance?”
Mike laughed. “Other than the big-ass statue of him?”
“You’re joking.” Crowley couldn’t help laughing himself. This was all too strange. “That would qualify, yeah.”