The Crypts of Eden

CHAPTER EIGHT

Obsidian Hall was back on board the Seafarer, sitting in the antiquities room that overlooked one of the yacht’s three pools. He was surrounded by priceless goods such as jade vases and glass skulls bearing the mystiques of supernatural histories. On the walls were stolen pieces by van Gogh and Rembrandt, the “Poppy Flowers” and “The Storm on the Sea of Galilee,” respectively, and worth more than one hundred and fifty million dollars combined.

“Mr. Montario was the last,” he said into his Bluetooth. He sat in a chair on the upper deck that overlooked two bull sharks circling each other in the pool. “Now that Professor Moore’s entire team is gone, that leaves Ms. Moore as the only person who has the ability to translate this book,” he added, holding the small journal up in front of him.

“You didn’t have to kill him,” said the voice coming over the sound speaker.

“I gave him every opportunity to comply.”

“You would have killed him anyway.”

“Most likely, yes. It’s obvious the Turkish government knows nothing of the location of Eden. And now that Mr. Montario has been liquidated, that leaves me with the high probability that I possess the coordinates somewhere within the encrypted pages of the journal I now hold in my hand. I have thereby taken the liberty to scan the pages and will summarily forward them to you. You will then proffer them to Ms. Moore and mine her for information.”

“After what you did to Mr. Montario, I no longer wish to be in league with you.”

Obsidian traced his fingers over the curvature of a crystal skull that had been misappropriated from a Columbian museum, and was reputed to possess spiritual and mystic powers. Never once did he take his eyes off the sharks. “Do you know what I’m doing right now?”

“No.”

“I’m watching a pair of bull sharks circle inside my pool,” he said smoothly. “If you ever feel that you’re in charge of anything I’m involved with, financially or otherwise, then I will personally oversee the effort to have you brought here to join them. Is that clear?”

When the caller didn’t answer, Obsidian repeated himself more emphatically. “I said, is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I have kept the AIAA afloat for years through corporate grants. If it wasn’t for me, then Professor Moore and his lackey clan of subservient gravediggers would have been nothing more than teachers working in lackluster colleges, rather than at valued dig sites. This has been a long time coming for me. I paid my dues and now I stand at the threshold of greatness. The moment you agreed to accept my funding to keep the AIAA alive, was the day you became my bitch. In other words, you have nailed your soul to the devil’s altar.”

“My intentions were honorable.”

“Your intentions cost me millions — honorable or not. You don’t run the show. I do.” There was silence over the speakers. “Are you still there?” asked Hall.

“I’m here.”

“Does Ms. Moore know that my corporation has funded past digs, most recently the Göbekli Tepe dig?”

“She would never have allowed it if she knew the truth. Neither would her father — given your reputation. It would have broken their hearts, but they would have let the AIAA go under before they accepted a dime from you.”

“So in rushes a man of regard, such as yourself, who is unwilling to stand by and watch an old friend’s vision of leading a crusade to find Eden end up as a pipedream. You paved the road to hell with good intentions to keep this from happening. How noble of you.” Hall continued to watch the sweeping motion of the sharks as they circled ceaselessly and without purpose. “Ms. Moore may prove to be an asset, so get the documents to her. In the meantime, I will gather a team.”

“A team? For what?”

“If there are dangers within Eden, then it would be prudent to go in with an armed unit to keep what happened to Professor Moore from happening to us.”

“She’ll never agree to that.”

“Make her agree,” said Hall. “If not, then your purpose has been served. Let’s not have a repeat of what happened to Mr. Montario happen to you.”

There was a long pause, and then, “Yes, sir.”

“Good enough. The documents are on their way, so check your laptop.” With that, Obsidian Hall cut off the connection.

He continued to graze the tips of his fingers over the smoothness of the crystal skull while holding the black journal in his other hand. There was no doubt in his mind that John Moore, given his anal quality of pursuit and documentation, had encrypted the coordinates within the bindings of the little black book. Now it was up to Alyssa Moore to determine them.

He looked at the skull and considered the legend that it had the ability to speak or sing, and that it contained the answers to some of the great mysteries of life and the universe. But so far it had granted him nothing; not even the secrets of the professor’s journal.

And then he gazed at the paintings, at the vases and antiquities, at all the treasures and realized that he was surrounded by priceless riches that would never hold up to the prizes of Eden. He closed his eyes and could only imagine. The moment he stepped one foot inside the temple, he would have the woman killed.

And all the riches of Eden would be his.