Destiny

ONE-HUNDRED-FIFTEEN

There was one car in the gravel parking lot. It was parked near a small trailer. In English, Italian and Japanese the signs read: See the Summit. Twice Daily Trips to the Summit of Mt. Etna. Marcus and Alicia got out of the car and John said, “Whatever it is you have to toss in our volcano, I hope your aim is dead on.”

Marcus smiled. “Me, too. That gas money I promised you—”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Hey, your car’s all shot up, too. I’d like to pay to fix it. Trust me on this…write down a bank account number where I can transfer the money.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, please hurry.”

John wrote the number on a slip of paper, folded it and handed the paper to Marcus. “Thanks, brother, but it’s on the house.”

“John, don’t leave here the way you brought us in, okay? We might have been followed. I don’t want you facing whatever or whoever is coming.”

John nodded. “You guys take care of each other.”

Alicia smiled, leaned down and kissed John on his cheek. “Be careful.”

“I will. If you need a ride back…”

“We’ll take the chopper back,” Marcus said. “Now go on and get out of here.”

They ran to the trailer, Alicia holding up the maternity dress so she could run easier. Marcus heard a BBC broadcast on the radio when he opened the office door of the flight service. A man wearing a baseball cap, polo shirt and jeans, stood from behind the desk. He was tall and athletic with a wide smile. “Welcome, folks, looking for a tour?” His accent was British.

“Yes,” Marcus said, glancing out the window.

“I’m Steve Waterton. Where’d you like to go?”

“Can you fly us over Etna?” Alicia asked.

Waterton smiled. “I can fly you fairly close. The old volcano has been in a slight snit as of late. To be honest, it’s like the mountain’s got a big damn bee in its bonnet.”

Marcus looked at the large aerial photographs of Mount Etna on the office wall, the crater wide, white gases trailing toward the camera lens. “Did you take these?”

“Photography is my hobby. Flying is my bloody passion. In this job, I can combine them both. I’ve always been keen to do that. After my time in the Royal Air Force, I came here. Never looked back. It’s been thirteen years now.”

An announcer on the BBC radio broadcast said, “No one has spotted the American, Paul Marcus, since his Nobel speech. His website, however, is an entirely different story. It’s been visible to more than a billion people.”

Alicia shot a glance to Marcus. She said, “Can you fly us over Mount Etna? It will be the highlight of our honeymoon in Sicily.”

Waterton smiled. “I can fly you close, but not over the crater. The sulfuric gases and smoke can play hell with the intakes on the helicopter. The last thing you’d want on earth is to have our bird get its wings clipped over an active volcano, especially this one. Temperatures in Etna’s belly are more than two-thousand degrees Fahrenheit.”

“Can we go now?” Marcus asked.

“You seem pretty anxious. Doesn’t appear that you or she brought a camera for sightseeing, and your wife is wearing a maternity dress. Whatever your reason for wanting to see Etna, that’s your business, I suppose. If you got the price of admission, you can fly.”

“How much?”

“It’ll be two-hundred-twenty-five U.S. dollars each. The trip is a little more than an hour. We’ll fly the north side of the volcano, around the perimeter circle, and then head back.”

Marcus counted the money. The BBC radio broadcast continued. “The pope has commented, as have many religious scholars and heads of state around the world. Theologians seem split on the probability of what Paul Marcus presents on the website about the end of days on earth. Sir Isaac Newton, whom Paul Marcus traces through Newton’s days in the Royal Mint, apparently left little known, yet vast quantities of biblical research. The results are a combination of Newton and Marcus. A formidable team separated by three centuries. Here in London, Prime Minister Singleton says he will be attending the funeral for U.S. Secretary of State Merriam Hanover. It is not certain who shot Secretary Hanover or why, but we are getting bits of information, allegedly, connecting her to the Circle of 13. As of the whereabouts of Paul Marcus and NSA employee, Alicia Quincy, no one seems to know.”

Waterton put the money in a small, steel box filled with checks and a few Euros. “We’ll lock the office on our way out. My partner is on holiday. I have a feeling you’ll be my last customers of the day anyway.” He led them across the lot to the helicopter. At the helicopter doors, he said, “There are three sets of headphones and mouthpiece microphones. We’ll be able to chat, and I’ll point out some of the more remarkable artifacts in and around the volcano. Ladies first…go on and climb in the bird. There’s plenty of room for both of you in the back, that way you can experience Etna together.”

Alicia boarded the helicopter. Waterton walked around and opened the door to the pilot’s side. Marcus stepped up to the pedal on the skids to enter the helicopter. A stir caught his eye. It was a reflection from the dark window of the helicopter capturing something moving behind him.

A man. Running. Fast. Silent.

Before Marcus could turn around, the man said, “Arms up in the air! Now or I’ll shoot you in the back of your head.”

Marcus raised his arms and turned to face Heydar Kazim. He held the Makarov in one hand, aimed directly at Marcus’s chest.

The face.

Marcus had seen it. Where? Think.

The man who killed his family.

The Lion

Kazim said, “Either you do what you’re told, or I shoot you and search your dead body. Then I shoot the girl in the gut so she can wander off in the woods and die slowly.”

Alicia watched in terror, fearful that the man she loved was going to die in front of her. She looked over to Waterton in the pilot’s seat. He was reaching for something in the console next to him.

Kazim said, “With one hand, slowly reach into your pocket and set the spear on the ground. If you move quickly, you will die, and so will the girl and the pilot.”

Marcus did as ordered, taking the spear from inside his sports coat pocket and setting it on the ground in front of him.

Kazim glanced down. “Good. Now step back.”

Waterton shoved open the passenger door next to him in the cockpit. He pointed the pistol and squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit Kazim in the upper stomach, knocking him to the ground, the gun flying from his hand. Marcus picked up the spear and jumped in the helicopter. He shouted, “Go! Go! Go!”

Waterton started the engine, the rotor blade swinging into motion. Alicia looked out the window. “He’s going for his gun!”

Kazim crawled painfully toward his gun, trailing blood. The helicopter blade gained fast rotation, building lift. Kazim reached for his gun. He grabbed it just as the helicopter rose into the air, the prop blowing dust and grit into Kazim’s face, obscuring a clear shot. He fired three shots, one bullet striking the skids. Waterton flew above the office trailer, climbed over the tree line and set a course for Mount Etna.

Marcus said, “Thank you.”

Waterton nodded. “When you fly for the Royal Air Force, you fly armed. Who the hell is that bloke?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s this spear? What is it so important to him?”

“It has a long history.”

“Would the history go back two-thousand years?”

Marcus was silent.

Alicia said. “Yes. Two thousand years. You knew all along. How?”

“Your faces have been on the tube and all over the Internet. Now, do you two want to tell me the real reason you want to fly to Etna?”

Marcus looked at the horizon, the volcano growing closer. “The spear has to be thrown into Mount Etna.”

“What! Why?”

“I was told to do it.”

“Who told you and why?”

“I don’t know all the reasons. I may not know any of the reasons. Look, I truly believe I was told by God to do it.”

Waterton nodded, the volcano reflecting from his dark glasses. “That’s bloody good enough for me.”

Marcus looked at Etna growing closer. He said, “That’s the largest volcano in Europe. Some people believe when it blew up seven or eight thousand years ago, the explosions, quakes and energy sent a massive tsunami creating a flood of epic proportions over the entire Middle East and Europe. Maybe this spearhead will somehow keep that from happening right now.”

Waterton kept his eyes straight ahead, the volcano now a mammoth mountain in front of them. Smoke drifted eerily from the summit and trailed high into a flat cloud.

Kazim stood and walked to the trailer door. He fired a shot into the lock then kicked the door open. He went behind the counter and picked up a set of keys from one of two hooks on a bulletin board. Above the keys was a note held into place with a thumbtack that read: chopper two.

He pulled a bungee cord from a shelf next to the bulletin board, opened the door to a bathroom and found a clean, white towel. He lifted his bloodied shirt and placed the towel to his wound then used the bungee cord to hold it in place. He limped to his parked car and removed the rifle. Then he walked to the remaining helicopter, opened the door, and started the engine, the rotor blade whining. Within one minute, Kazim was in the air and flying the helicopter toward Mount Etna.