The Emerald Scepter

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

The panicked call came in a few hours after Professor Saleem had contacted his cousin to tell him about Hawkins.

“Events are moving faster than I expected,” Mohamed said. “You must come home.”

Saleem was standing in the history department hallway outside his classroom, phone close to his ear, after excusing himself from his pupils.

“Are you mad? I can’t come home. I have classes to teach. What is so important that you must drag me away from my duties to my students?”

“Your duty to your country and the intelligence service you are sworn to obey.”

“I thought I was fulfilling those duties with my service here at the university.”

“Saleem, this is not negotiable!”

The professor had never heard his normally self-possessed cousin on the verge of hysteria.

Saleem asked Mohamed to hold on for a moment and went back into the room to dismiss his class early. When he was alone in his classroom he sat at his desk and said, “I can talk now. Please tell me what has happened. What is your situation like?”

The interlude gave his cousin a chance to settle down. “It is like trying to control a tiger with a leash made of thread. The lure of treasure had diverted our friends as we hoped. I have delayed them to this point with excuses of government bureaucracy. But now they want to move ahead immediately with a mercenary operation to secure the treasure. I can’t help but think it has something to do with Hawkins.”

“You said before that they were not ready to mount an operation,” the professor said. “You said it would take them a while and keep them occupied while we worked on the Grand Plan. That it would keep them from hanging the Prophet’s Necklace around the neck of the United States.”

“True. That was what I thought until I talked to the Doctor and told him about Hawkins. He said he wants to move right away. He also said that the designer of the necklace is a mercenary named Marzak who had been hired to lead the expedition as soon as he finished putting the strands in place. It seems that he is at last free.”

“If this operation slips out of our grasp it would be extremely dangerous,” the professor said, trying to keep alarm from elevating his voice.

“Which is why it isn’t going to happen. Our main goal remains the same. Control of the lithium fields. I want you to go on the operation and keep an eye on Marzak. A plane is flying in from London to pick you up.”

“You forget that my skills are more professorial than operational, cousin.”

“You’ve gone through training the same as the rest of us. Besides, you’re the only one I can trust who can help me hold this thing together.”

“I may need someone to hold me together.”

“Be of good cheer. We may end up with the lithium and the treasure. The Doctor tells me he has summoned Marzak. I’ve arranged for him to be on the same plane as you. I told the Doctor that you will be in operational control of the treasure mission.”

“What? Are you crazy?”

“Not at all. Marzak cannot be wandering about the U.S. We can’t risk having him set something off that will bring the United States more into the region before we make the minerals grab. This development could be to our advantage.”

“Please elucidate, dear cousin.”

“You may be able to glean information about the necklace. Even if you don’t, we can take care of Marzak and at the same time call the American birds in to drop their eggs on the Shadow leadership. Whether the Shadows get the treasure or not, their leaders will assemble to plan strategy and thus be vulnerable.”

“I hope you are right. What about the Hawkins mission?”

“The mercenary force includes formidable air power. The American operation doesn’t stand a chance. They’ll be wiped out along with the drug lord, leaving the field clear for us. In the meantime, don’t let Marzak out of your sight.”

They chatted a few minutes longer, then Saleem hung up. His cousin had a talent for making lemonade when handed lemons, as the Americans said, but as the professor began to pack his suitcase, his thoughts of the future were pervaded by a deep sense of foreboding.

The plane his cousin had arranged for Saleem arrived in Washington to pick up a dozen Pakistani officers on their way back from a training mission with the U. S. Army. As the professor followed the officers onto the plane, he saw the man sitting toward the rear of the cabin.

Fresh from their training in Texas, the chattering officers hardly paid any attention to the man who had a baseball cap pulled down on his head and wore aviator type sunglasses. He had a copy of The Washington Post in his hands. Although his eyes were covered, the professor had the distinct feeling that he was not reading the newspaper, but instead was watching every person who boarded.

Saleem had no idea what Marzak looked like, but this had to be the man he was supposed to keep his eye on.

The officers settled in a group toward the front of the cabin and Saleem took a seat in a row behind them. Minutes after they boarded, the plane took off and began the first leg of its journey across the Atlantic Ocean.

Saleem had often regaled those attending his history classes that the past, present and future could not be treated separately, but as a single organism occupying space and time. Now here he was, proving his point. His present was caught up in a momentous past event that had its origins centuries before in the long lost kingdom of a legendary ruler. He preferred not to think about the future.

His cousin had asked him to watch Marzak. Easier said than done. If he turned around in his seat the man would notice. Nature in the form of a full bladder showed the way. He got up from his seat and made his way to the restroom at the rear of the cabin. As he walked down the aisle, he kept his eye on the flight attendant, who was puttering around in the space at the rear of the cabin.

He smiled at her, but at the last second, glanced at Marzak.

The man had removed his cap, revealing a platinum head of hair. He was reading a book that hid his face. Saleem was surprised to see from the cover that it was a book of poetry by William Blake. He was still looking at the title when the man lowered the book, pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead and gazed at the professor with topaz eyes.

There was something so alien and inhuman in the gaze that the professor felt weak-kneed, much the way a rabbit must feel when it has attracted the attention of a wolf.

He brushed by the flight attendant and locked himself in the restroom where he stared at his reflection in the mirror. His face was as white as a sheet and his skin was shiny with beads of perspiration. He quickly relieved himself, and then threw cold water in his face after washing his hands.

He took a deep breath, opened the door with a shaking hand and strode down the aisle to his seat.

With every step he felt those cold blue eyes boring into the back of his skull.

He settled back into his seat and waited for his rapid heartbeat to slow down.

Don’t let him out of your sight, Mohamed had said.

No worry about that, dear cousin, except for one small detail. The watcher was now the watched.