| |
Professor awoke with a start, and for a few sublime seconds, felt nothing more than mild confusion at the unfamiliarity of his surroundings.
Then the pain arrived like a cartoon anvil dropping from the sky on his head.
The total-body muscle pain triggered a memory—the black truck coming from out of nowhere to T-bone Jimmy’s rental car.
“Jimmy!” he said, almost shouting.
To his utter astonishment, he heard the other man’s voice. “Hey, he’s awake!”
Professor sat up, gritting his teeth against the pain. He felt woozy, and for a moment wondered if he had sustained a concussion, but dismissed that explanation; this felt more like a narcotic fog.
Another memory percolated up. He was back in the car, covered in broken glass and partially pinned by a collapsed segment of the frame... A man in a blue uniform—a paramedic?—leaning over him, urging him to remain calm, promising that they would have him out in a few seconds... And then the man had reached in with a hypodermic syringe, a drop of fluid glistening at the needle’s tip.
This will help calm you down.
He looked around, his brain finally processing the visual stimuli. He wasn’t in a hospital, nor was he in anything that resembled a prison cell. Rather, he appeared to be in a library, or perhaps a private museum. Three walls of the elegantly appointed room were lined with floor to ceiling bookshelves, but only about half of the shelves sported leather and cloth bound books. The rest held an eclectic display of artifacts—souvenirs from cultures around the globe and across history, along with several pieces of nautical memorabilia. It was the kind of place, Professor thought, where Dane Maddock would feel right at home.
The hardwood floor was covered by a beautiful Persian carpet. The remaining wall was mostly windows and a set of French doors with glass panels that looked out over a somber landscape of trees denuded with the onset of winter.
“Toto, I’ve a feeling we’re not in Maryland anymore,” he muttered, struggling to sit up.
“You got that right,” Jimmy said, stepping into view.
Professor blinked to bring the other man into focus. Jimmy had changed clothes. There was an abrasion on his left cheek, but he appeared otherwise uninjured. He definitely didn’t look like a prisoner or a hostage.
“Where are we?”
“New York,” intoned another voice—masculine and booming, but friendly enough. “Long Island to be precise. Welcome to my home... Professor is it?”
Long Island? That meant he’d been unconscious for several hours.
Professor turned slowly, not trusting that his equilibrium was fully restored, and located Jimmy and the other man. The latter—their host—was about the same height as Jimmy, but considerably older, early seventies, Professor guessed, with tousled hair that was more salt than pepper and a full beard that was all white. His skin was deeply tanned, his high forehead creased with a map of wrinkles, but his blue eyes were clear and twinkled like sapphires. He was smiling, and his body language showed no hint of aggression, nor did Jimmy seem the least bit on his guard in the man’s presence, but Professor remained wary.
“My friends call me that,” he said.
The man laughed. “Fair enough, Dr. Chapman. My name is Christian Garral. You may call me Christian. As you like.”
“Garral? You’re Nick Kismet’s father.” Professor immediately regretted blurting the revelation.
The man’s bushy white eyebrows arched in surprise. “You know my son?”
He had recognized the name from his earlier reading of the files of the man who had helped Jade and he out of a sticky situation in Peru. Nick Kismet worked for the Global Heritage Commission—a United Nations agency tasked with monitoring World Heritage sites and protecting international antiquities. Kismet had actually been in South America looking for them, or rather for Jade, on personal business. He was seeking information about a manuscript that had belonged to famed British occultist Dr. John Dee, and thought Jade, who had dealt with a notorious collector of Dee memorabilia a couple years earlier, might have some special insight on the matter. Kismet’s arrival had been both serendipitous and suspicious, but a cursory check of his bona fides had impressed Tam Broderick enough to recommend that Jade stay with Kismet and help him out while Professor looked into the matter of Jimmy’s disappearance.
But now the trail had circled back to a connection with Nick Kismet. Professor didn’t believe in coincidences, and this was a hell of a big one.
And he had just tipped his hand.
Nothing to do about it now, he thought. Might as well call.
“Evidently, not very well,” he replied. “I bumped into him in South America a couple days ago. He was looking for information and thought my partner Jade Ihara could help him.”
Garral nodded. “Ah, yes. The Liber Arcanum. My boy does get around.”
Professor searched the craggy face for any sign of duplicity, but saw none at all. Garral clapped his hands together. “I’m sorry, you must be full of questions about what has happened. But first, how are you feeling? Do you require additional medical attention?”
“I was drugged,” Professor accused. “Was that your doing?”
“It was. My men didn’t know who you were or what your intentions were, respecting Mr. Letson here.” He paused and then corrected. “Jimmy, rather.”
It was a small detail, but telling. Jimmy’s insistence on the use of the familiar indicated that he had been won over by their host.
“My intentions were to keep him out of trouble.”
“Yes, he explained it to us. We didn’t realize—”
“Who’s we?” Professor snapped.
For the first time since entering the room, Garral appeared discomfited, but what Professor first took for irritation was soon revealed as something else altogether.
“Go on,” Jimmy urged. “Tell him what you told me.”
“This will sound a bit like the stuff of conspiracy theories, but Jimmy assures me you have some experience with such things.” Garral took a deep breath, let it out with a sigh. “There is a very powerful, and very old, organization—a secret society, if you like—that is secretly manipulating the destiny of humankind.”
“The Dominion.”
Garral shook his head. “No. At least, I don’t believe they are one and the same, though in the shadowy world where these groups operate, it is difficult to say. They call themselves Prometheus, named for the Titan of Greek mythology.”
Professor nodded. “Prometheus was especially fond of humans. He stole fire from the gods and gave it to men. And he put hope in Pandora’s box.”
“You are correct. Prometheus is often associated with the gift of foresight. A thoughtful figure who anticipates trouble and takes pre-emptive action, unlike his brother Epimetheus.”
“Prometheus is also the name of a high IQ society which restricts membership to those who score in the ninety-ninth percentile. I don’t suppose that’s who you’re talking about.”
Garral chuckled. “That group takes its name and inspiration from the group of which I speak, but to the best of my knowledge, there is no direct relationship. The real Prometheus organization has roots that go much deeper. It has existed in many forms, going back perhaps as far as the Athenians in the Greek classical period, but its current incarnation began during the Enlightenment. As men began expanding their knowledge of the cosmos...” He paused a beat. “Pardon me. That is a Western conceit. I should say, as Europeans began broadening their horizons, moving forward toward the Renaissance, there were some who believed that humans were on the verge of opening up another sort of Pandora’s box. A trap, left behind, perhaps unintentionally, by an ancient forgotten race of beings.”
Professor ignored the obvious question, focusing instead on something else. “What do you mean by ‘unintentionally’?”
“Imagine that this knowledge is a box of matches, left on a shelf. Fire is what sets us apart from other animals. It is what made civilization possible, and yet in the hands of a child, it can be very dangerous. The knowledge and power of this ancient race is beyond even our current comprehension of the universe. We are children, and this is a kind of fire we’re not ready for.” He paused. “That’s what Prometheus believes, at any rate.
“The knowledge is hidden—encoded, if you will—in the lore and traditions of all the world’s religions. Tales of gods and fallen angels who walked among humans, even interbred with them. Stories of powerful devices—technology mistaken for magic. I’m sure you’re familiar with many of the myths. The men of Prometheus have, for many centuries, dedicated themselves to finding these devices and hiding them away so that humanity will not be tempted toward self-annihilation. Prometheus invites only the best and brightest into its ranks. Intelligence and vision are essential, but candidates must also exhibit the wisdom and forethought of Prometheus himself. The location of their vault is a secret known only to the innermost circle.”
Professor raised a hand. “You keep saying they. ‘They call themselves “Prometheus.”’ You’re not part of it?”
Garral looked chagrined. “Not exactly, but that’s a long story and a detour which will take me even further from answering your original question.
“The short explanation is that there is currently a power struggle for control of Prometheus. One faction—the radicals, for want of a better name—believes it is their destiny to use the knowledge and power which they have accumulated to take control of humanity’s destiny. The other side favors the original mission. They are the traditionalists. Whichever side prevails will have control of their vast trove of knowledge and ancient technology.” He hesitated, scrutinizing Professor for a moment, then went on. “My son—my adopted son—is very important to Prometheus. Particularly to the traditionalists. I’m not at liberty to go into detail about that, but suffice it to say, I was brought into their confidence.”
“Okay,” Professor said, nodding. He wasn’t sure he believed the story about Prometheus, but he was satisfied that Garral believed it. “Let me see if I’ve got this right. Prometheus is in the business of tracking down and hiding artifacts purported to have supernatural power.”
“Like Warehouse 13,” Jimmy put in.
Professor frowned, but only partly because of the interruption. He had no idea what that reference meant, which surprised him. Probably something from a video game. He pushed ahead. “And something about that old plane wreck that Dane Maddock discovered was a loose thread that might have led back to Prometheus and their treasure trove. When Jimmy went poking around looking into it, it tripped an alarm and Prometheus went after him.”
“That’s mostly accurate,” Garral said. “That plane and its occupants discovered an important site in Antarctica. They weren’t a part of Prometheus, but when the organization learned of it, they took steps to erase the incident from the public record.”
“And they’re still trying to cover it up today. That’s why they went after Jimmy.”
“No,” Garral said slowly. “It’s a bit more complicated than that. You see, the radicals are weak. They’re outsiders, and without direct access to the collection of artifacts, their only hope for victory is to find something new. Something that isn’t in the collection yet.”
“Like something from that site at Antarctica,” Professor said.
Garral nodded. “There is something there—an ancient power source. Prometheus calls it ‘the anomaly.’ They’ve known of its existence for decades, but did not have its exact location, despite numerous expeditions to find it. So they placed trigger-alerts on search topics related to the original discovery.”
“That old plane was at the top of the list,” Jimmy added.
“And then waited for someone else to do the heavy lifting,” Professor finished.
“The radicals desperately need to find the anomaly.”
“And that’s why they came after Jimmy?”
Garral shook his head. “No. I’m afraid nobody ‘came after’ him, at least nobody I’m aware of. The men you encountered were working for me, keeping an eye on Jimmy. My... Ah, contact inside Prometheus—one of the traditionalists—warned me that they might. When you accosted Jimmy outside the National Security Agency headquarters, they thought you might be working for the radicals, and intervened. I apologize for the misunderstanding.”
“You could have made contact with Jimmy any time. Brought him up to speed. You didn’t. You were dangling him out there as bait.”
Garral spread his hands in an apologetic gesture. “A mistake on my part,” he admitted. “I realize that now. I should have brought Jimmy into my confidence. But you’ll be safe here, provided you stay below the radar.”
“What about Dane Maddock?” Professor asked. “The radicals might go after him as well.”
“Way ahead of you, dude... er... Professor. I tried to call him first thing. Believe it or not, he’s already looking for the anomaly doohickey. Although, I’m not sure he knows it. I talked to Willis.”
Willis was Willis Sanders, another former SEAL swim buddy, currently crewing on Dane Maddock’s boat, Sea Foam.
“Maddock and Bones headed for Antarctica a few hours ago. They’re pretty much incommunicado down there.”
“So there’s no way to warn them.” Professor glanced at Garral. “I don’t suppose you’ve got the resources to get us down there.”
Jimmy threw his hands up in protest. “Whoa, what’s with this ‘us’ stuff? And in case you’ve forgotten, Antarctica is a big place. We don’t even know where to start looking.”
“Maddock had to have left a paper trail. You can track that down. And I can have Tam task a satellite in polar orbit to look for him.”
Garral spread his hands helplessly. “Time is the resource in shortest supply. There aren’t exactly direct flights into Antarctica. It would take several days just to get you to an airport with service to the continent. By then, it may be too late.”
Professor pondered this for a moment. Garral was right. It had taken him nearly two days just to travel from Peru to Maryland.
He broke into a grin as an idea dawned. “There are flights from Argentina to Antarctica, right? If we had somebody already on the ground in South America, that would cut a couple days off our response time.”
Garral nodded, thoughtfully. “You're referring to your friend Jade Ihara?”
“And your son.”
“They may have already left.”
Professor shrugged. “Can’t hurt to ask.”
Jimmy let out a low whistle. “You want to send Jade off to rescue Maddock. I can’t imagine how that might go horribly wrong.”