The Atlantis Code

CHAPTER 21

Hey.”

Alerted by Gary’s voice, Leslie flicked her eyes up to his reflection in the glass. She’d been looking out at the planes on the runways. Her father’s business had often taken him out of the country. She and her mother had always taken him to Heathrow to see him off. The planes held a fascination for her. People were always coming and going.

“What?” Leslie asked.

Gary shrugged self-consciously. He looked like a dork standing there, iPod earbuds hanging around his neck. Then she realized how unkind she was being to him. Unfortunately, at the moment, she didn’t care. But she knew she would later, so she curbed biting observations that immediately came to mind.

“Just wanted to make sure you were all right,” Gary said.

“I’m fine.”

Gary nodded. “I figured you would be.”

“I’m a big girl,” Leslie said, and tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice. “It’s not like he broke my heart. We were just having sex.”

“Yeah. I know. I’ve been there a few times myself.” Gary showed her a lopsided grin. “Funny how you start off telling yourself that it’s just a physical thing and you don’t care—”

“I don’t care.”

“—but you end up in a twist anyway when it ends.” Gary looked more uncomfortable. “I just wanted you to know you’re not alone.”

“Are you feeling particularly big brotherly today?”

“Maybe a little.”

Leslie glared at the reflection of Lourds and Natasha in the seats by their departure gate. The professor worked on the legal pads. The Russian cow sat reading a magazine and sipping water. None of them were talking to each other.

“Then, as my big brother, shouldn’t you go beat Lourds up for me?” Leslie asked.

Gary frowned. “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Why not? Surely you’re not afraid of him. He’s just a university professor. A rough-and-tumble lad like yourself shouldn’t have any trouble with the likes of him.”

“Lourds doesn’t worry me. I’m more afraid of his new girlfriend. She could kick my arse without blinking. And that’s if she didn’t kill me first.”

“Some big brother,” Leslie muttered.

A pained expression twisted Gary’s features. “I just wanted to let you know I was here if you needed anything.” He turned and walked away.

Leslie sighed. You needn’t have been so harsh with him. This isn’t any of his fault. She sipped her sports drink and resumed watching planes. Later she’d apologize to Gary for being bitchy. But for the moment she needed to stay angry.

Being angry was the only way she was going to stay selfish enough to betray Lourds’s confidence and look after her own career. She knew that was what she had to do. Besides, after finding him in Natasha’s bed this morning, she figured it was what he deserved.

A few minutes later, the flight began boarding. Leslie watched Natasha and Lourds gather their things. Diop and Adebayo continued talking about whatever they’d been discussing all morning as they shuffled along. Gary had found a pretty young woman to chat up.

Steeling herself, Leslie turned and dropped the empty sports drink container into a waste receptacle. She headed for the phones over by the bathrooms.

After she swiped the company credit card she carried, she punched in her supervisor’s phone number.

“Wynn-Jones.”

“Philip, it’s Leslie.”

Wynn-Jones’s voice immediately took on a note of severe irritation. “Where the bloody hell are you?”

At another time, Leslie might have been in fear for her job. But not today. The story she had to tell was simply too big.

“In Nigeria,” she answered.

Wynn-Jones cursed spectacularly. “Do you know how much this little foray is costing us?”

“Haven’t a clue,” Leslie replied honestly. She’d given up keeping track after she’d seen bills for the first few thousands of pounds they’d spent.

“You’ve gone far beyond anything I can cover. When you get back here, you might as well start filling out résumés. And you’re bloody lucky we’re going to fly you back home.”

“You’ll be lucky if I don’t demand a pay raise.”

That set off another round of curses.

“Philip,” Leslie said as the final boarding call pealed through the public address system, “I can give you Atlantis.”

The curses stopped.

“Did you hear me?” she asked.

“Yes.” Wynn-Jones sounded cautious.

“What we’ve been following up — the bell in Alexandria, the cymbal that was found in Russia, and a drum here in Nigeria that I’ve not had time to tell you about yet — it’s all connected to Atlantis. Lourds came through. I can prove it.”

Wynn-Jones sat silently at the other end of the connection for a time. “You’re not just desperate, are you? Or mad with some disease from over there?”

“No.”

“Or pissed in some bar?”

“No. I’m in an airport. We’re heading into London.”

“Tell me about Atlantis,” Wynn-Jones said cautiously.

“Lourds has translated the inscriptions on the bell, cymbal, and drum,” Leslie said. She felt excited and depressed at the same time. She didn’t like betraying confidences, but it was all about self-preservation at this point. She loved her job. She didn’t love Lourds. Not at all. Not ever…. She could hear the bitterness echoing in her head. She turned her attention to what she wanted to say.

“I’ve got the story of a lifetime here,” she said.

“I didn’t mean that business about the résumés,” Wynn-Jones backtracked, almost whining in his desire to regain her confidence. “We’ll have to weather some heat, but I’m certain I can keep your job for you. The corporation likes your work.”

Leslie smiled at that. “Good. Then you won’t mind telling them that I want a piece of this one.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I want a percentage of the final product. The television rights. The book rights. The DVD sales.”

“That’s impossible.”

“So was proving Atlantis.” Leslie smiled now, and some of the sting at finding Lourds in bed with Natasha went away. She was about to relaunch her career in a big way. “Make it happen, Philip. I’ve got to run.”

She hung up the phone and shouldered her carry-on as she strode toward the entry gate. She was being a real bitch and she knew it. But she excused herself. Not just for her career and personal advancement, but because being a bitch was the only way to make Lourds remember her. Men always remembered women who struck back.

She was selfish enough to want him to remember her, too.

The last of the Keepers arrived in the late evening. Lourds had offered to pick him up at the airport, but the man declined.

When Lourds opened the door to the private suite at the Hempel Hotel Leslie had surprisingly arranged for them, he was taken off guard for a moment by the man’s appearance. He was of medium height and athletic build. His skin was dark, but his eyes were hazel. A silver headband held his long black hair from his face. He wore stonewashed jeans and a chambray work shirt under a fringed leather jacket. He might have been all of twenty-five years old.

“Professor Lourds?” the young man inquired in a polite voice.

“I am,” Lourds acknowledged.

“I’m Tooantuh Blackfox. Call me Jesse.”

Lourds shook the proffered hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Jesse. Come in.”

Blackfox stepped easily into the room. His eyes, though, roved the suite instantly and took in everything.

“Have a seat.” Lourds gestured to the long conference table he’d had brought up to the room. Diop, Adebayo, and Vang Kao Sunglue, the other Keeper, sat at the table.

Natasha stood near the windows. Lourds didn’t doubt that she’d already gone “shopping” for weapons to replace those she’d had to give up in Nigeria. A long jacket reached to her thighs.

Gary and Leslie sat to one side. Lourds had forbidden any filming, but he hadn’t had the heart to ban them from the meeting. They’d come a long way together.

Leslie had also provided a touch-pad projection computer setup that Lourds was currently using. He was familiar with the system from the university.

Brief introductions were made. Thankfully, they already shared a common language and some history through their exchanged letters.

Vang was an old man, more withered and ancient than Adebayo. He wore black slacks and a white shirt with black tie. He was of Hmong descent, one of the tribal people in Vietnam that the United States had recruited to fight their war against Communist North Vietnam. He’d carefully slicked back his wisps of gray hair.

According to what he’d told Lourds, he’d been a lawyer in Saigon. But that was before it had fallen and been renamed Ho Chi Minh City. Now he lived once more out in the mountains as his people had always done. There he was a shaman. As a Keeper, he cared for the clay flute that had been handed down for thousands of years through his family.

He had been loath to leave Vietnam with the instrument. The flute had never been risked before.

But they were all, Lourds knew, curious about the heirlooms they’d been guarding all those years.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Lourds said as he stood at the front of the conference table, “we’ve all taken part in a remarkable journey during the last month.” He looked at Adebayo, Blackfox, and Vang. “Some of you have been embarked upon this journey for much, much longer. Let’s see if we can bring it to a close. Or at least head in that direction.”

Lourds tapped the keyboard in front of him. Images of the inscriptions on the instruments appeared on the large screen behind him.

“Those instruments each come with two inscriptions,” Lourds said. “You’ve told me that you can’t read either one of them. As you know from your conversations with each other, all of you have been told the story of an island kingdom where many wondrous things were. That, according to the tale, is where the five instruments come from.”

All eyes focused steadily on him. The room was entirely quiet.

“According to the stories you were told, God chose to strike down the island in His holy wrath,” Lourds went on. “I’m here to tell you that one of the inscriptions on each of the instruments confirms that story.”

“You translated the inscriptions?” Blackfox asked.

“Yes. I’ve translated what is on your instrument as well as the writings on the other instruments I’ve seen.”

“You’ve seen the other two instruments?” Blackfox hadn’t been there for the briefing Adebayo and Vang had received.

“Yes, and I suspect that the one on the pipe you’re in charge of will have the same inscription.”

“It does.”

Lourds looked at the young man. “How do you know that?”

“Because I translated it.”

Leslie saw the surprised look on Lourds’s face and smiled a little. You’re not the only brainiac in the group, are you, Professor?

Then she caught Natasha looking reproachfully at her and dropped the smile.

“How did you translate the inscription?” Lourds asked.

Blackfox shrugged. “What do you know about the language of my people?”

“The Cherokee were an advanced society,” Lourds replied. “The popular misconception is that Sequoyah invented the Cherokee syllabary.”

Blackfox smiled. “Most people refer to it as the Cherokee alphabet.”

“Most people,” Lourds replied, “are not linguistics professors.”

Gary held his hand up just like he was in class. Leslie snorted quietly.

“Yes, Gary?” Lourds said.

“I don’t know what a syllabary is, mate.”

Lourds leaned a hip against the conference table and folded his arms across his chest. Looking at him, Leslie felt again why she’d been attracted to him. He was smart and handsome, and his passion for his work and teaching was obvious. Stealing him away from that work was almost like cheating his mistress.

Watching him work was a total turn-on. Except that she knew now he was a hound dog. Still, she’d been warned, and the whole physical relationship between them had been due to her manipulations, not his. It almost made her feel sorry for him when she thought about what she was going to do.

“A syllabary is a system of symbols that denote actual spoken syllables,” Lourds said. “Instead of letters, symbols are grouped together. It’s pure phonics-driven and many words are differentiated by tone. The written syllabary doesn’t reflect the tone, but readers know what it is from the context in which it’s presented. Clear?”

“Sure.” Gary nodded.

“There are eighty-five symbols in the Cherokee language,” Lourds said.

“Do you speak the language?” Blackfox asked.

“I can when pressed to do so. Reading it is harder.”

“They got it wrong when they thought Sequoyah invented the syllabary.”

“I know,” Lourds agreed. “The Cherokees had a priesthood called the Ah-ni-ku-ta-ni who invented writing and guarded the knowledge of it zealously. From what I’ve read recently, the Cherokee priests oppressed their people and were finally killed in an uprising.”

“Most of them were killed,” Blackfox agreed. “Several of their descendants, young men who still knew the language of the priests, hid among the people. They kept their society secret and intact. Sequoyah was one of them. The outrage against the priests was so strong that a written language wasn’t allowed for hundreds of years.”

“How does the inscription on the pipe you’ve been protecting compare to the Cherokee language?”

“It’s very similar.”

“May I see it?”

The pipe was a straight barrel of fired blue-gray clay with six holes. It was little over a foot in length. The inscriptions were there as well, but it would take a magnifying glass to make them visible.

Lourds ran his fingers over the instrument’s semi-rough surface. “You’ve read the inscription?”

Blackfox nodded. “It tells the same story that you’re telling. There was an island kingdom, a place where our people came from, that was destroyed by the Great Spirit.”

“But you haven’t been able to translate the other inscription?”

“No.”

Lourds took a quick breath and refused to be disappointed. The other language would fall prey to his skills soon. He was confident of that, but impatient.

“Did Sequoyah know about the pipe?” Lourds asked.

Blackfox hesitated. “He’d never seen it. That wasn’t permitted.”

“But he’d known it existed.”

“Possibly.”

Lourds stood and paced. “I think someone did, and I think that someone was looking for the instruments in the 1820s or 1830s.”

“Why do you think this?” Vang asked. He was always very quiet and conservative in his dialogues since his arrival yesterday.

“Have you ever heard of the Vai people?” Lourds asked.

Vang shook his wizened head.

“They are people who live in Liberia,” Adebayo said.

“Exactly,” Lourds said, smiling. “They didn’t have a written language. But in 1832, a man named Austin Curtis moved to Liberia and married into a Vai tribe. As it turns out, Curtis was just part of a group of Cherokee immigrants that moved into the area.”

“You think they were looking for the pipe?” Diop asked.

“Possibly.”

Diop shook his head. “That may not be so. In 1816, Reverend Robert Finley proposed the American Colonization Society and James Monroe, who had already been elected President of the United States, helped found it. Under this society, freed slaves were returned to West Africa. This man Curtis may have simply been involved with that.”

“Whatever the case,” Lourds said, “we know that Austin inspired the Vai people to adopt their own written language. Which they did. It’s very similar to the Cherokee written language. The actual Vai syllabary is attributed to Momolu Duwalu Bukele.”

Lourds handed the pipe back to Blackfox. The young man put it in its protective case.

“I believe people have been searching for these instruments since they were first made,” Lourds said. “Many thousands of years ago.”

“Who?” Blackfox asked.

“I don’t know. We’ve been discussing it for days now.” Lourds felt the fatigue hovering over him. Only his self-discipline, excitement, and the certainty that he was about to crack the final language kept him going.

“The inscription also says that the instruments are the keys to the Drowned Land,” Blackfox said.

“When I first translated that,” Lourds admitted, “I didn’t believe it. I thought perhaps there might have been a way once, but not when an island has been underwater for thousands of years. Salt water even leeches away silver over time. Turns it into an unrecognizable lump of oxidized metal. I couldn’t imagine doors made of gold. Much less this.”

He turned to the display and tapped the keyboard. Immediately the image of the massive door down in Father Sebastian’s dig in Cádiz filled the screen.

“I don’t know what this door’s made of,” Lourds commented, “but it doesn’t look like gold. However, after being on the sea bottom — or near to it — that door appears to be unblemished.”

“That’s Cádiz, Spain,” Blackfox said. “I’ve been watching this story.”

Lourds nodded. “It is.”

“Do you think that was the Drowned Land?”

Tracing the inscriptions across the vault door, Lourds said, “This is the same writing as the transcription I haven’t — yet — been able to translate. I’d say it’s a safe bet.”

“Do you think we need to go there?”

“No,” Adebayo said. “Our stories tell us that the seeds of man’s final and eternal doom lie in that place. God must have his vengeance, and we must not seek out his wrath again.”

“It’s possible that we need to destroy the instruments,” Vang said.

The idea of that — which had most emphatically not been discussed before — horrified Lourds.

“No,” Adebayo said. “We were given these instruments by our ancestors. We were told to protect them, as they were told by their ancestors before them, and I believe we should do that or anger God again.”

“But,” Blackfox said quietly, “if the inscription is correct, if the Drowned Land — or Atlantis or whatever you want to call it — does hold a temptation that could destroy the world again, shouldn’t we remove that temptation?”

“I think so,” Vang said.

“And what if we incur God’s wrath by destroying those instruments?” Adebayo asked.

Neither Blackfox nor Vang replied.

“Man is shaped by his belief and his resistance to temptation,” Adebayo said. “That is why God has provided the mountains, to make our way hard, and the oceans, to make it look like some journeys are impossible.”

“We could save the world by destroying those instruments,” Vang said. “Even one of them. The ancestors say all five must be used.”

“I don’t think destroying them would be so easy. The cymbal and the bell have been lost to us for thousands of years,” Adebayo said. “How do you account for the fact that even under trying circumstances they still exist?”

No one answered.

“I propose to you,” Adebayo said, “that you’ve already seen God’s will in motion. He has preserved these instruments, and he has sent Professor Lourds our way to bring us together. For the first time, the Keepers are joined.”

Lourds didn’t know how to feel about that. He’d never pictured himself as a divine instrument.

“There’s something else to consider,” Natasha said.

The men looked at her.

“If you destroy the instruments, your enemies — whoever they are — win. You lose. You will have failed the task you had set before you.” Natasha paused. “Not only that, but your chance to strike back against your enemies will be gone.”

Her words hung over the group.

“And one further thing,” Lourds said, not wanting the potential future of the world to hang on a chance at vengeance — which he didn’t personally see as a positive thing. “It’s possible that the people looking for the instruments might know more about them than you do.”

“They have already proved themselves our enemies. They won’t tell us anything.”

“If we get to negotiate with them at some point, we might learn something.”

“We won’t give up the instruments,” Blackfox said quietly.

“No one’s asking you to.” Lourds made his voice stronger. “You won’t have to do that.”

“You could go to Cádiz,” Leslie said.

“No,” Lourds said immediately. Going to Cádiz meant losing the instruments. His chance to translate the language would be stripped from him. He wasn’t afraid of losing the fame — he didn’t believe in that anyway — but challenge was everything. Besides, the bit about the end of the world worried him, even though he hated to think he was driven by superstition. “That’s a bad idea.”

Leslie frowned in displeasure. She obviously wasn’t happy about that.

“Just give me a little more time,” Lourds said. “I can crack the last inscriptions. I know it. Time. That’s all I’m asking for.” He glanced at the men. “Please.”

“Are you sure about this?” Gary asked.

Leslie almost cursed him out. She would have, too, if she could have been certain she could get another cameraman in five minutes or less.

“Yes,” she snapped. “I’m certain.” She smoothed her blouse to make sure it was wrinkle-free. “Let’s do this. I want to get it to Wynn-Jones as soon as possible.”

She stood out in the street in front of the Hempel Hotel. Night had fallen, and the West End was alive behind her.

Despite her angry words to Gary, she was hesitant about what she was doing. But she figured she was owed it. She’d put her job in jeopardy by believing in Lourds.

Gary stood in front of her with his camcorder over his arm.

“Okay,” Leslie said. She took a deep breath. “Let’s do it. On my mark. Three, two—”

Strident ringing dragged Lourds from sleep. He flailed for the room phone and finally dragged it to the side of his head. Only whoever was speaking — angry and quick — sounded garbled. Then he realized he had the headset to his ear upside down. He reversed it.

“Hello,” Lourds said. He cracked an eye open to read the clock radio. It was 11:41 P.M. locally. The voice on the other end of the phone was American. There was a five-hour time difference between England and the East Coast.

“Professor Lourds,” the crisp, perfectly enunciated voice spat. “This is Dean Wither.”

“Hello, Richard. Good of you to call.”

“Well, maybe you won’t think so in a minute.”

That brought Lourds up short. Dean Wither hadn’t been cross with him for years.

“I thought you were in Alexandria filming a documentary for the BBC,” Wither said.

“I was,” Lourds replied. He swung himself around and sat on the edge of the bed. He was still fully dressed. When he’d gotten up from the computer an hour ago, he went to lie down for just a moment to rest his eyes.

“Now you’re in London?”

That woke Lourds entirely. He hadn’t called anyone connected to the university and let them know where he was.

“How did you know that?” he asked.

“Because you’re on CNN. Right now.”

“What?” Lourds scrambled for the remote control and switched the television on. He flipped through the channels till he reached CNN. He recognized his face immediately. Below him, a text line read:

“Did you?” Wither demanded.

“Did I what?” Lourds asked.

“Discover an Atlantis code?”

Lourds wasn’t sure how he was going to answer that. He stared at the television and wondered how CNN could possibly have gotten the story.

“Something turned up in Alexandria,” Lourds said weakly. “We’ve been following it.”

“ ‘We’?”

“Miss Crane and I. And some others.” Lourds didn’t know how he was going to explain everything he needed to explain in such a short time. “We found an artifact with a language on it I couldn’t read.”

“You?”

“Yeah. Precisely,” Lourds said.

“Many of you may recognize Professor Lourds’s name,” the young male anchor said. “A short time ago he translated a manuscript that has become known as Bedroom Pursuits.”

The particularly lurid cover that graced — and wasn’t that a poor choice of words? — the trade paperback edition showed on the screen. The pose was straight out of the Kama Sutra.

“Oh, God, not again,” Wither said.

Lourds winced. When he’d done the reading at the dean’s house, it had been something of a sensation. However, once the translation got out into the publishing world — and hit the New York Times extended best-seller list, Dean Wither hadn’t been happy. He’d often said—

“If I was going to have this university remembered for anything,” Wither said, “it wouldn’t be for pornography. How many times have I told you that?”

“I honestly can’t remember,” Lourds responded.

“Now it appears that Professor Lourds has channeled his incredible mind into a new pursuit,” the CNN anchor said. “Here to tell us about the Atlantis Code is Leslie Crane, hostess of Ancient Worlds, Ancient People.”

“So you’re in on this together?” Wither accused. “The BBC may find humor in this, but I assure you that I don’t.”

“I didn’t know about this,” Lourds objected.

The video picked up on a street corner in front of the Hempel Hotel. Leslie stood looking radiant with a microphone in her hand.

“I’m Leslie Crane, hostess of Ancient Worlds, Ancient People,” Leslie said. “Many of you have heard of Professor Thomas Lourds. His bestselling translation of Bedroom Pursuits remains a favorite in bookstores. While we were filming a segment for my show, Ancient Worlds, Ancient People, Professor Lourds discovered an ancient bell that has led us around the world. But it was here, in London, that Professor Lourds finally cracked the code that has hidden the last secrets of Atlantis.”

The television cut back to the anchor. “Miss Crane has promised us further information as it becomes available. But until then, it remains to be seen if Father Sebastian and his team will manage to open the mysterious door to the caverns they claim are linked to Atlantis, or if Professor Lourds’s research will put an entirely new spin on the efforts there.”

Lourds switched the television off. He didn’t need to see any more. His very soul ached.

“You didn’t know about this?” Wither asked.

“No,” Lourds replied. “I didn’t.”

“Did you find an Atlantis code?”

“I believe so.”

“So the story is true?”

“As far as I know, yes.”

“But you didn’t know she was going to talk to CNN.”

“No. If she’d requested it, I would have asked her not to. I think she knew that, though.”

“Then why did she do it?”

“To get back at me.”

“Why would she—?” Wither stopped.

Lourds knew he’d said too much.

“Oh, Thomas,” Wither groaned. “Tell me that you didn’t sleep with her.”

Lourds didn’t say anything.

“My god, man, she looks young enough to be your daughter.”

“Only if I’d started having children really early,” Lourds pointed out in his defense.

“So I’ve got that scandal to look forward to as well?”

“It won’t be a scandal.”

“Of course it will be. How could it not be? You’re the only professor I’ve got that is personable enough to be on Good Morning, America, quick enough to swap barbs with Jon Stewart on The Daily Show, and still manage to plummet to the pits of puerile interests and juvenile shenanigans on The Jerry Springer Show with your sexual indiscretions.”

Personally, Lourds didn’t feel sex had to be discreet. And he believed he’d always been accountable for his part in his dalliances. But the dean’s admonition truly surprised him.

“I wasn’t aware that you watched The Jerry Springer Show,” Lourds said.

Wither took a deep breath and audibly counted to ten. “You need to be very glad you have tenure here, Professor Lourds.”

“I am. And some days I’m amazed.”

“You do realize that this is going to look like you’re trying to horn in on all the media attention the dig site is promoting, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Is this connected to Atlantis?”

“I believe so.”

“Much as I hate to say this, then get out there and prove it. You can’t back off this horse in midstream.”

Lourds was pretty certain Wither had mixed his metaphors in there somewhere, but he was too tired to sort it all out. “All right.”

“Make sure you do this right,” Wither cautioned. “We could swing a lot of enrollment from this, and additional funding.”

Lourds shook his head. That was what most things came down to for the dean. He said good-bye and started looking for his shoes. He had to find Leslie, and then he was going to—

He stopped there because he honestly didn’t know what he was going to do.

Lourds met Natasha in the hall. The Russian woman looked angry enough to kill someone. Lourds had a sinking suspicion he knew who that was.

“You have seen the news, yes?” Natasha demanded in Russian. She strode down the hallway toward Leslie’s door.

“Yes,” Lourds replied. “Maybe I should talk to her.”

“We will both talk to her,” Natasha declared. “By revealing this story now, she could have scared off the people who are responsible for Yuliya’s death.”

Lourds really didn’t think that would be the case. Gallardo and his cronies had proved willing to kill over and over again. He didn’t think a little thing like CNN would worry them at all.

“Those men won’t run from a fight,” Lourds said.

“No, but they will scatter in all directions like cockroaches in the light. They will be harder to find.” Natasha stopped in front of Leslie’s door. She rapped her knuckles hard against the door. “We should have left her in Africa.”

Lourds stood beside her and waited. The whole thing was getting entirely out of hand. He could almost feel his opportunity to translate the inscriptions sliding away from him.

“Or Odessa,” Natasha said. “We could have left her in Odessa.” She rapped again, louder than before. She glared at Lourds. “What could you have ever seen in her?”

That question took Lourds aback. He was certain that no matter how he answered that, it would blow up in his face. He tried to stand there and look wise and experienced.

Natasha snorted at him angrily. “Men.” She said it like a curse word. Or maybe like it was a takeout container that had been left in the refrigerator for months, rotting and stinking up the space. She rapped again.

Heads popped out of the next room and two on the opposite side of the hallway.

“Maybe you could keep it down out here,” a balding man suggested.

“Police matter, sir.” Natasha spoke in English. Her voice carried that officious police tone effortlessly. “Please go back inside.”

The people grudgingly disappeared back into their rooms.

Natasha hit the door again, and Lourds would have sworn it jumped on the hinges after each impact.

Just then Gary poked his head out of his room. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Lourds said.

“What’s going on?” Gary asked.

“Where’s the harpy?” Natasha asked.

Gary blinked. “Uh, she’s not here. She went home.”

“When?”

“After we shot the trailer for the new series she’s suggesting to her director.”

“It was just on CNN,” Lourds said.

“No way,” Gary said.

“Way,” Lourds said.

“It wasn’t supposed to be on television. Leslie’s gonna have a cow.”

“At least she’ll breed true,” Natasha said. “And it’ll probably have a doctorate from Harvard.”

Ouch, Lourds thought.

“She made that trailer to show her boss. Philip Wynn-Jones. If this Atlantis thing pans out, she figures she can get you another series to do for the corporation after the one you’re already doing.”

“On Atlantis?”

“Yeah. She sent that trailer to her boss via the Internet. It was supposed to have just been for corporate use. To get him some leverage for all the money they’ve spent transporting you guys around. He must have double-crossed her.”

“Why would he do that?”

“To drum up some additional publicity for Leslie and you.”

“Where does she live?” Lourds asked.

Patrizio Gallardo sat tensely in the van across the street from the Bookman House. The neighborhood was average for the area, small homes and close access to the tube stations. It was the kind of place a young professional woman of modest means trying to make it on her own would live. The streets were dark enough to make it dangerous, though.

They had gotten Leslie Crane’s address from her personnel files at work. After they discovered she’d checked out of the Hempel Hotel, Gallardo now hoped she would put in an appearance at home.

After all, how many places would she be welcomed?

“I see her,” Cimino declared. He sat behind the steering wheel and watched the street through night-vision goggles. He nodded in the direction of the tube station.

Gallardo took Cimino’s word that it was the woman. In the darkness, Gallardo couldn’t be certain. She looked the right shape. He wondered if Lourds would still feel anything for her after the way she’d screwed him with the CNN interview. Murani was still fit to be tied over that. Time was moving inexorably against them.

Even Murani could not stop time.

“All right,” Gallardo replied. He tapped the radio headset he wore. “Do you have her in sight?”

DiBenedetto answered immediately. “Yes.”

“Then bring her in.” Gallardo watched through the window as Farok and DiBenedetto stepped out of the shadows and flanked Leslie Crane while she worked the locks on the door.

The woman froze for a moment. Then she nodded. DiBenedetto took her by the elbow and guided her toward the waiting van. Anyone who saw them would probably mistake them for lovers out for a late walk.

Gallardo checked his watch. It was 12:06 A.M. A new day had begun. He felt satisfied. Now there was only one more deal to make. Fortunately, he was holding all the cards.

DiBenedetto opened the van door and escorted Leslie inside. Then he roughly shoved her back into a seat.

“Good evening, Miss Crane,” Gallardo said in English.

“What do you want with me?” Leslie tried to act defiant, but Gallardo saw her lip tremble.

“You,” Gallardo said good-naturedly, “are going to make a phone call for me.” He turned in his seat and looked back at her. “Then we’ll let you go.”

“Do you expect me to believe that?”

Gallardo gave her a hard look and put menace in his voice. “If you don’t make that call, I’m going to gut you and throw you in the Thames. Do you believe me now?”

“Yes.” Her voice broke. Tears gathered in her eyes, but she somehow held them back.

“Your little stunt on television has angered my employer,” Gallardo said. “The only way you’re going to live is to cooperate.” He took out his cell phone and handed it over. “Call Lourds.”

Leslie’s hand was shaking so badly, she almost dropped the phone. “He’s not going to talk to me.”

“You’d better hope he does.”

Lourds was in his hotel room just zipping his backpack up when the phone rang. He debated answering it but finally gave in. Dean Wither wouldn’t be calling again tonight.

He rounded the bed and lifted the receiver. “Hello.”

“Thomas.”

Lourds recognized Leslie’s voice immediately. Anger blazed through him in a white-hot flash. “Leslie, have you any idea—”

“Please. Listen.”

The near-hysteria in her choked voice held Lourds. His door opened as Natasha let herself into the room with the keycard he’d given her. She looked at him with mild irritation. She was obviously ready to go.

“They’ve got me, Thomas,” Leslie whispered hoarsely. “Gallardo and his people. They kidnapped me.”

Lourds felt as though the floor tilted out from under him. He sat on the edge of the bed because his knees suddenly felt like they would no longer support him.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

That caught Natasha’s attention. She approached him and mouthed, Leslie?

Lourds nodded. He asked Leslie, “Are you all right?”

“They haven’t hurt me.”

Who has her? Natasha asked.

Gallardo, Lourds mouthed back.

“What do they want?” Lourds asked.

“I don’t know. Thomas, I just want you to know that I didn’t have anything to do with that CNN coverage. That wasn’t my idea. I got—”

A moment later, a man’s voice came on the line. “Professor Lourds, I’m in the position to make you an offer.”

“I’m listening.”

“My employer wants the three instruments you’ve located.”

“I don’t have—”

The sound of flesh striking flesh cut Lourds off. Leslie yelped in shock and pain; then she started crying.

“I know you know where those instruments are,” the man said. “Every time you lie to me, I’m going to cut off one of her fingers. Do you believe me?”

“Yes.” Lourds barely heard himself because his voice was so tight. He repeated his answer.

“Good. Act fast and you can save Miss Crane’s life. You have one hour to get the instruments and meet one of my associates in front of your hotel.”

“That’s not enough time,” Lourds protested.

The phone clicked dead in his ear.

“What?” Natasha asked.

Lourds cradled the handset. “Gallardo just gave me one hour to get the instruments to him or he’s going to kill Leslie.”

Anger darkened Natasha’s face. For a moment Lourds feared that she’d tell him to let them kill Leslie. He’d learned that Natasha could be very forceful in her opinions. He didn’t know what he was going to do if that happened.

“We’ll get the instruments,” Natasha said.

Lourds knocked on Adebayo’s hotel door. He had to repeat the knock. The whole time he stood in the hallway and thought he was going to throw up. It helped that Natasha stood beside him and was so calm and—

Adebayo answered the door. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry to barge in on you,” Lourds started.

Beside him, Natasha sighed in disgust. “We don’t have time for this.”

“What has happened?” the old man asked.

“Gallardo. The man who’s been chasing us has kidnapped Leslie. He’s threatening to kill her if I don’t give him the instruments.”

“That is too bad,” Adebayo lamented. His big eyes looked sorrowful. “But you can’t give him the instruments.”

Lourds watched in disbelief as the old man started to shut the door. “What? You can’t just let them kill—”

Natasha stepped forward and jammed her foot into the door before it could close. She put the barrel of her pistol between the old man’s eyes.

“Open the door,” she ordered.

“You would shoot me?” the old man asked.

“If I have to, yes. I don’t have to kill you, but getting shot is very uncomfortable.”

Adebayo backed away from the door. He looked at Lourds. “You can’t let her do this.”

Natasha spoke to him without looking at him. “Do you want to try to save Leslie or not?”

Her harsh tone broke Lourds out of his frozen state. “Of course.”

“Then let’s do it.” Natasha tossed him a roll of tape. “Put him on the bed. The least we can do is make him comfortable.”

“Sorry about this,” Lourds apologized as he taped the old man’s hands after climbing onto the bed.

Adebayo said nothing. He just collapsed there and made Lourds feel guilty the whole time.

Forty-seven minutes later, Lourds left the hotel with all three musical instruments. He rolled them on a luggage cart because it had gotten too awkward trying to carry them all.

Personally he felt he needed an even bigger cart for the guilt he was feeling. Jesse Blackfox had fought to resist. He’d even gotten a punch into Lourds’s eye that had partially swelled it closed. After that, Natasha had dropped Blackfox with a chokehold. No one had come to investigate the sounds made during the struggle.

Vang had cried when they took the flute he’d protected for so long. The Keeper had received the instrument when he was hardly more than a boy. His father had gotten killed and his grandfather had died young. That had been the hardest for Lourds. He had broken Vang’s heart as well as taken his flute.

“Can I help you with that, sir?” a skycap asked as Lourds waited at the street.

“No, I’m good,” Lourds replied. “Thanks, anyway.”

The young man returned to the stand.

Only a few moments later, a van pulled to the curb. The driver reached across and pushed the passenger door open.

“Professor Lourds,” the man said. “You will come with me.”

“Where’s Leslie?” Lourds asked.

“Alive for the moment.”

“I want her released.”

The man lifted a pistol from between the seats and pointed it at Lourds. “Get in. Otherwise I shoot you and hope those cases you bring have what I’m looking for. You have been irritating. It would be good to shoot you.”

Another man leaned into view from the cargo area of the van. He also had a pistol. “I’ll take the instruments.”

Lourds almost glanced over his shoulder. He knew Natasha was there somewhere. But she couldn’t stop the man from shooting him.

Without a word, Lourds handed the instruments to the man in the van’s cargo area. When he was finished, he expected the van to simply pull away and leave him standing there like an idiot.

Only it didn’t.

The driver moved the pistol slightly. “Get in, Professor Lourds. I was told to bring you as well.”

“Why?”

“So I don’t have to kill you right here. Would you not rather come quietly than die in the street?”

Reluctantly, Lourds climbed into the vehicle. The man in back reached around with a length of rope and tied Lourds’s arms to his sides and his body to the seat as the driver pulled into traffic. In seconds, Lourds was unable to move.

“Is Leslie still alive?” Lourds asked.

“Sit back and try to enjoy the drive, Professor Lourds. You’ll have the answers to your questions soon enough.”

Lourds stared blearily through the bug-smeared window. He was so tired and adrenaline-charged by now that he saw words and symbols in the insect detritus. He’d glanced occasionally into the rearview mirror for any sign that Natasha might be following him. They didn’t have a rental car, but she’d always seemed resourceful.

The headlights gradually faded away as they left London behind. Lourds’s hope for rescue faded as well. He was also pretty sure that Gallardo had killed Leslie and dumped her in the first convenient alley. The thought made him almost physically ill.

But no matter what, his mind kept turning again and again to the final inscription on the five instruments that he hadn’t been able to fully translate. He had most of it. He was convinced of that.

A few moments later, the van turned off a highway and drove down a pothole-filled road under massive oak trees. Then they stopped and the sound of crickets filled the van.

“What are we doing?” Lourds asked.

“Shut up,” the man instructed. He shook out a cigarette and lit up.

A short time later, a helicopter descended from the black sky and landed in the nearby field. The two men who had taken him captive climbed from the van, cut Lourds free, and marched him through the tall grass to the waiting helicopter.

Lourds recognized Gallardo at once. The brutish crook sat in the rear compartment of the helicopter. Another man handcuffed Lourds and shoved him into a seat.

“Where’s Leslie?” Lourds demanded.

Gallardo laughed mirthlessly. “You and that little witch have been a problem since the beginning. The only good that’s come of it is that you found all the instruments for me.”

Pain lanced Lourds’s heart. He’d enjoyed Leslie’s company, and it hurt him to think something awful had happened to her.

“We had a deal,” Lourds croaked as the helicopter powered up and leaped into the sky.

Gallardo spoke more loudly. “I give you part of the deal. She’s still alive.” He shifted and revealed Leslie collapsed on the seat beside him. She was handcuffed as well, but fast asleep. He saw her pulse beating at her throat.

Thank God, Lourds thought. She really is alive.

“But how long she stays alive depends on your cooperation.”

Lourds shivered with fear all over again when he realized the implications of what Gallardo had said. “Why do you need my cooperation?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Gallardo nodded.

The man beside Lourds leaned in with a large hypodermic. The needle sank into his neck. He felt the prickling pain for only a moment; then warmth gushed through his head and he fell through himself.

Getting to Cádiz, Spain, proved harder than Natasha had at first believed it would. When she’d seen Lourds step into the van from her observation point on a second-story balcony, she hadn’t tried to follow. Gallardo’s men were professionals. She knew when to hold back and use her head instead of going on a mad dash into danger.

She knew where they were going to take Lourds. At least, she hoped she knew. He might not make it there alive. There was always the chance that Gallardo or his mysterious employer would simply get whatever they wanted from Lourds and kill him somewhere along the way.

But she trusted her instincts.

Instead of following the van, she’d awakened Gary and gone to Heathrow to hire a private pilot. She’d intended to use Gary to hire the pilot so there wouldn’t be any questions about her ID. As it turned out, Gary had a friend who was a pilot who was only too glad to take them.

That problem, at least, was easily solved.

Gary sat up front with the pilot and talked about some of the craziness he’d been through during the past month. Of course, he lied about the women he’d had and his role in the dangerous side of things. It was typical male bonding between two old friends.

Natasha merely rolled her eyes when the embellishments got too outlandish.

Natasha sat in the small passenger section as the plane jumped and danced through the treacherous dark night. She felt certain Gallardo wouldn’t try to get Lourds through a conventional flight to Spain. If that was true, she’d arrive in Cádiz before Gallardo.

It wasn’t much of an edge, but it was all she had.

She made herself comfortable in the seat and willed herself to sleep, but she was plagued by nightmares. She could see and hear Yuliya, but her sister couldn’t hear her anymore, no matter how loudly she yelled.

“We’re through!”

Father Sebastian sat with a blanket snugged around his shoulders to stave off the unrelenting cold inside the cave. Most of the water had been pumped away, but the process of clearing the disturbed bodies continued. They’d taken to stacking them up on pallets like cargo and freighting them out of the caves.

The large metal door had proved to be a problem. Whatever it was made of, Brancati had never seen anything like it. In the end, they’d had to drill through the locking mechanism. They kept wearing out even the diamond-bitted drills. Getting through the lock had taken days.

Sebastian pushed himself to his feet. Dizziness swam through his head for a moment, then gradually dissipated. You haven’t been getting enough sleep, he chided himself. You’ve got to take better care of yourself.

“I think they’ve got the locking mechanism cleared away,” Brancati said. He looked worn as well. “If you’re ready, Father.”

Sebastian nodded, but fear filled him when he thought of what they were going to find.

A cable from a small earthmover was attached to the door. Gradually, as the winch revolved and filled the immediate vicinity with mechanical noise, the slack in the cable disappeared.

Then loud grinding filled the cavern.

All the men looked nervous. No one knew for certain about the integrity of the walls, and none of them could forget about the merciless sea waiting somewhere outside.

Stalactites fell from the cavern roof and caused a minor furor as they exploded against the stone floor and splashed in the remaining pools of water. One of the stalactites smashed against the protective cage of the earthmover.

Startled, the driver put his foot too hard on the accelerator. The machine roared backwards, struggled against the weight of the door, and finally found traction. Then the cable snapped and flicked across three of the workers. They fell like rag dolls and bled furiously.

But the massive door swung open.