Chapter Twenty-Five

Tossing Seabury a cord of rope, the Sicilian motioned the gun at him.

“Tie up the women,” he barked, and Seabury complied. He wound the rope around the girls and lashed them to the tree. Lois and Gretchen screamed and struggled to get free. Shouts and cries of desperation filled the air.

“I know who you work for,” said Seabury.

Surprised and angered by the remark, the Sicilian struck Seabury with the barrel of the gun. He doubled over and grimaced in pain as the weapon crashed off the side of his head, leaving a deep purple welt above his left ear. Clenching his teeth, Seabury held back the pain exploding in his head. He wouldn’t give the Sicilian the satisfaction of seeing him suffer.

“Who’s that?” The Sicilian grabbed him by the collar. He forced Seabury down on his knees and demanded an answer. Lois and Gretchen screamed in horror.

“Well?” the Sicilian said to Seabury. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

“Cyril Barat. It’s all on the spy camera.”

“Yeah, I want it back.” He held a hand out.

Seabury felt his head spinning. He fought back the pain. He looked straight at his enemy and said, “Cyril Barat wanted all of us killed, didn’t he?”

The Sicilian smiled a surly smile but didn’t respond.

“He succeeded in getting one of us, though.” Seabury eyes wandered over sadly onto Harlan Hornsby, lying dead a few feet back from the stream.

“Hornsby was a kind, decent man,” Seabury said. “A bright, intelligent academic. He died here today for nothing. Thanks to you and Barat. Barat’s a sick, sadistic scum bag, and you…” He eyed him with a repulsive look. “You’re no better.”

“Brave words,” the Sicilian said, smiling thinly, “for a man about to die.”

“What are you talking about, Sam?” Lois joined the conversation. She stopped squirming in the ropes and stared across at him.

Seabury did a slow burn. His voice was low, flat, almost sullen. “Your ex-lover put a contract out on us. I have it all down here.” He tapped the pocket of his jacket. “I lifted a spy camera from our boy here. He thinks he’s going to waltz off into the sunset after killing us and collect his money, but I’ve got other plans for him.” Seabury swung his eyes back on the Sicilian. “Where’s Barat?”

The Sicilian seethed through clenched teeth. He looked at Seabury and shaped a mocking smile. “You’ve either got to be one of the dumbest men I’ve ever met, or you have a huge set of brass balls. I don’t know which. At this point, it hardly matters, though.”

He paused briefly, then added, “Barat’s on Derawan Island in the Makassar Strait.”

Seabury nodded subtly, taking it all in. His mind raced forward, backward, looking for a chink in the Sicilian’s armor in an effort to exploit it. A wave of fear swept through him. He saw absolutely nothing there. Nothing he could take advantage of.

“Among other things…” the Sicilian continued, “he moonlights as a smuggler. He has his hands in everything that makes money. His team smuggles drugs, fuel rods, plutonium, titanium—all of it hidden in hollowed out compartments in slabs of stone supplied by his Freemason friends. They ship it all over the world. You know about the Masons, don’t you?”

Seabury nodded. “The American forefathers were involved with them. The Carter, Bush, and Obama administrations talk openly about the establishment of a New World Order. How much time do we have before they rule the world?”

“Not much from the looks of it,” said the Sicilian. “That needn’t concern you. Not where you’re going.”

He leveled the gun on Seabury. “There’s a boatload of stone with heroin and plutonium coming in for inspection on a cargo ship from Vietnam tonight. Only you won’t be around to see it.” The Sicilian moved the gun back and forth. The mocking smile never left his face. “You forget something, pal,” he said to Seabury. “I’m the one with the gun.”

“Not for long. Do you know where you are?”

The Sicilian’s face twisted into a ball of confusion. “What do you mean do I know where I am? I’m here with a high-powered handgun, about to kill you. I’m also getting sick and tired of your flippant tongue.” He moved closer, the gun inches from Seabury’s face. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to, anyway?”

For years, Seabury believed there were spirits that had departed the Earth. For a reason that mystified him, they often chose to reappear. He’d seen one in the myopic glimmer of a single band of moonlight, in the shadows of a springtime forest long ago in southern Thailand. Another time, one soared over the orchard outside his villa in north Tuscany. Now, all around him, the Garden light seemed to roll back and change instantly into a thick, impenetrable cloud of darkness.

High above, a loud crash of thunder rocked the Garden and shattered the silence inside. A supernova of bright, exploding light shot down from the sky in a white-hot torrent of illumination. Seabury’s eyes glued to the top of the tree as he searched beyond the nest of withered branches. He blinked twice, and there beneath the shadows, he saw the images. Old Testament Seraphim swooped down and hovered in a small circle above the Tree of Life. Another larger image appeared seconds later. It fanned out in a breathless expanse of broad, flapping wings as thick, dense, and wide as the crown of the tree. It came closer, and its huge image quickly nudged out the other apparitions.

Stunned, the Sicilian’s head jolted back as he heard another crash of thunder. Then, before he realized it, he clutched his hand to his chest and screamed out in a loud, excruciating pain. A fatal heart attack seized him, and he collapsed dead on the ground.

A moment later, the ropes came off Lois and Gretchen, vanishing in a sharp, whisking sound, and they stepped out from the tree. Seabury glimpsed the angelic figure one last time before it vanished. Then, he hurriedly sprang into motion. All around him now, the ground rumbled beneath his feet, and the whole Garden shook with the sound of a loud, earth-shattering explosion.

“Come on. We gotta get out of here,” Seabury told the women. “There’s no time to waste.” Hornsby’s body lay crumpled on the ground near the pool. Seabury picked him up and tossed him onto his shoulders. Together, he raced with Lois and Gretchen toward the entrance to the temple.

As Seabury raced ahead, everything seemed to slow, as if he were running in a swimming pool with the water chest high, and everything slowed down. Hornsby was dead. The guilt and shame, the agony of his tragic death ate at him. Hornsby was a quiet, though at times opinionated, elder statesman. He was bright and gifted, a good man. Now, he was dead. Murdered by a bullet from a nine-millimeter Beretta aimed at him. Hornsby’s death pierced him like a spike to the heart, and he felt responsible. Painful as the death was to fathom, he had to move on and get out of here quickly. Danger lurked all around them.

Lois and Gretchen raced across the floor of the temple, a few yards ahead of him now.

Then, as if the whole world suddenly turned on its axis, the walls of the temple shook. Giant karsts and limestone pillars tore back from the earth and crashed down on the floor of the temple.

“Earthquake,” Seabury shouted and raced on behind Lois and Gretchen. Their arms above their heads, hands flying out, they battled back bits and pieces of rock and falling debris. They raced through the temple and then down through the tunnel leading outside. Up ahead, the tunnel forked.

“This way,” Seabury shouted and turned to his right. A loud, thunderous roar reached his ears as they raced up the right fork of the tunnel. The air ran thick with a wet, heavy mist, and dust and smoke billowed all around them. Lois and Gretchen held shirtsleeves up to their noses. Gretchen pulled her sister along with a new-found burst of energy. Her eyes aglow, her face alive and youthful. Seabury was amazed by her power and strength.

Twenty yards from the opening, Lois tripped and fell. A stream of crimson tore from the top of her right shoulder as she flew like a rag doll and landed hard on the sharp, jagged edge of a limestone boulder. The tunnel shook and shuttered. A wild explosion filled the air behind them. It was as if the earth were coming apart at the seams.

Seabury pulled Lois to her knees, and they raced ahead toward the opening. Outside, they hurried back away from the edge of the cave and down the mountain. High above them now, the forward wall of the mountain collapsed. On the other side, the coal mine crushed under the weight of the mountain as it crashed down around it in a monstrous avalanche of shrubs, uprooted trees, and dark megalithic boulders. They ran for cover and reached the SUV moments later.

“Keys. Keys,” Seabury stammered, tapping his pants pocket. He found the keys, got the trunk open, and laid Hornsby’s body down gently inside. Another minute later, he started the engine. In a cloud of dust and smoke, he backed up away from the mountain, straightened out, and shot across the grassy field toward the gate, got it opened, and drove through out onto the road.

Far off to his left in the distance, he saw the chopper’s dark, dragonfly image swooping low and heading his way. He stared up at the bubble nose of Plexiglas and saw the cop inside, hovering over them. He slowed up and stopped the car.

The chopper doors opened and banged shut. Reinhart, Naomi, and two other cops rushed across, guns drawn, ready for a shoot out. Seabury rolled down the window.

Reinhart leaned inside. “You’re under arrest, Seabury.”

“You’ve got the wrong man.”

“A permit violation and a charge of first-degree murder says I don’t.”

“You’re making a big mistake,” Seabury insisted. “I’m not the man you want.”

Reinhart stepped back away from the car and leveled his gun on Seabury. “Out, now,” he shouted.

Seabury opened the door and stepped outside. Lois and Gretchen came around from the other side of the car. Lois stepped between the two men. She held a palm up. Guns switched back and forth on her, then back on Seabury.

“My pocket.” Seabury raised his hand. “It’s in there. A spy camera with a video tape. You need to see it.”

Rio stared at him suspiciously.

“Can I?”

The cop paused briefly then nodded his head.

Seabury went into his jacket and brought out the camera. “It’s all there on film.” He switched on the camera.

Reinhart studied the figures on the screen. “Kill Seabury,” he heard Barat’s deep basso voice ordering the hit. He heard the hit man asked about the others, heard Barat reply, “Locket’s daughters and a college professor, they mean nothing to me. Kill them all.”

Lois stepped forward. She looked at Reinhart. “The assassin killed Professor Hornsby. Undoubtedly, he’s the same man who killed the antiquity dealer in Singapore. Seabury had nothing to do with it.”

She went around and opened the trunk of the car. She pointed down at Hornsby’s dead body. “We…we’re bringing him in. I want to give him a good funeral.” She shook her head sadly, regretfully. “We disagreed about many things—religion, politics. He didn’t deserve to die like this.” She pointed back toward the mountain. “The assassin’s back there buried under all that rubble.” She exchanged glances with Seabury. Seabury said nothing.

Rio Reinhart walked over to the chopper and dialed a number. He spoke hurriedly into the phone. “Get a warrant for Cyril Barat. Yes, that’s right…the CEO of Eastern Temple Mining Company.”

“Barat?” A sound of disbelief came over the line.

“That’s an order. Now hurry!”

“There’s more,” Seabury said. He told Reinhart about the island and the boatload of stone entering the country illegally. “They smuggle illegal contraband inside the stone.”

Reinhart shook his head. “The guy’s an octopus. His slimy tentacles are around everything.” He looked at Seabury. “It makes you wonder how much money some guys need.”

“I don’t know,” said Seabury, feeling the tension drain from his body. “Rich people can’t get enough, I guess. I know one thing…I want to be around when you arrest him.”

Reinhart shook his head.

“Come on,” Seabury said to him. “The guy ordered a hit on me. I want to see him go down.”

Stepping close to Seabury, Lois said. “Gretchen can take the car back and catch a plane to Jakarta. I’m coming with you.”

“Hold on a minute,” Reinhart said. “This isn’t a Sunday picnic.” He thought a minute. Shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. It’s not a good idea.”

Naomi stepped forward and entered the conversation. “It might not be a bad idea, Lieutenant. We don’t know what kind of security Barat has on the island. Two more bodies might be useful.”

“I’ll get the Indonesian SWAT Team out there. It’s not like we’re going to be under-manned.”

“Ah, come on, Lieutenant,” Naomi insisted. “Barat put out a contract on them. If that happened to me, I’d march to hell and back for the chance to take him down.”

Reinhart said nothing, thinking for a long moment. At last, he said, “Okay, but the two of you need to stay back out of the field of operation unless I ask you to join.”

Lois and Seabury nodded their heads. They climbed into the chopper with the others. The plane raised straight up off the ground in a cloud of dust and grit blowing in off the field. It was now completely dark. A crescent moon. Billions of stars, twinkling in the darkness of space.

“It’s six-thirty now,” Reinhart said, checking his watch. “The closest sea port out to Derawan Island is Berau. We should be there by ten o’clock. I’ll have the SWAT Team on the dock ready to go.”

They flew off into the night, heading east toward Berau across vast stretches of jungle terrain far below.