The Emerald Scepter

CHAPTER ONE

Cait Everson was running for her life.

As she raced down the center of a quiet street, the only sounds she could hear in the sleeping suburban neighborhood were the pad-pad of her bare feet on the tarmac, the quick intake and exhalation of her breath and the menacing scuffle of footsteps from behind.

She didn’t know who her pursuers were, but her instincts told her that the men trying to catch her were no mere rapists or muggers. It went beyond their freakish appearance, the platinum hair and icy blue eyes. It was the sheer, predatory relentlessness she’d detected in their identical faces since the twin men had started stalking her weeks before.

The alarms clanged in her brain, urging her to greater speed, warning that if they caught Cait she would be as good as dead.

She gulped energizing mouthfuls of air into her lungs and put all her strength into her long-legged strides.

Only minutes before she had driven her five-year-old Honda Accord from Georgetown University across the Potomac River on the Francis Scott Key Bridge to Arlington, Virginia where she lived in a neat two-bedroom condo. Traffic had tapered off as she left the city, and as she stopped at a red light in a quiet residential neighborhood near her condo, hers was the only car around.

Headlights suddenly flared in her rear-view mirror.

Whump!

A big vehicle had slammed into the Accord’s rear bumper. Her head snapped forward. The impact failed to activate the car’s air bags, but it triggered a string of colorful oaths more suited to a sailor than a college history professor.

Cait got out of her car and strode back to inspect the damage. The bumper was a crumpled mess. She stepped out of the glare of headlights from the offending Cadillac SUV and shielded her eyes. In the reflected light, she saw the driver’s blue eyes and white hair. And sitting in the passenger seat was a man with identical features.

She dashed back to her car and went to open the door. The SUV driver snapped the transmission into gear and hit the gas pedal. The door handle was ripped from her hand as the impact propelled the Honda forward several yards. The SUV’s doors opened. The identical twins stepped out and walked toward her.

There was only one thing she could do.

Run.

She kicked off her low-heeled leather work shoes and sprinted along the street. Two pairs of rapid footsteps pounded the pavement behind her. Cait was in good shape — she ran five miles every day — and she slowly outdistanced her pursuers. The footsteps faded. A moment later she heard car doors slam shut and the squeal of tires from the accelerating vehicle as it took off after her.

The SUV would catch up within seconds. She ran down a dark street. The SUV followed. She could feel the headlights burning into her back. Cait changed course like a jack-rabbit being chased by a coyote and ran across the manicured front lawn of a ranch style house. The SUV drove onto the lawn. She ran around behind the house to the back yard and skirted a swimming pool. The Cadillac followed and almost drove into the pool before the driver hit the brakes and threw the SUV into reverse.

She crossed into another yard and then onto a parallel street. The SUV’s engine growled in the distance, and she heard the screech of its protesting tires as it navigated a tight corner. Cait ran up to a house, punched the doorbell, and plastered herself against the wall.

The SUV sped past, braked, backed up, stopped, and accelerated. The commotion had attracted attention. Lights were starting to come on in the row houses along the street and figures could be seen in the windows. The vehicle kept moving until the sound of its engine faded.

Cait fumbled her cell phone out of her jacket and called the number the campus police officer had given her earlier that day. A sleepy female voice answered at the other end of the line.

“Douglas. Who’s calling?”

“It’s Dr. Everson. I talked to you this morning.”

“I remember, Dr. Everson.” The voice was more alert. “What’s going on?”

Cait breathlessly relayed what had just happened.

“Two men are after me. The ones I told you about.”

“Can you help me?”

“That’s out of our jurisdiction,” the officer said. “I’ll call the Metro police and they’ll get in touch with the Arlington cops. Where should they meet you?”

Cait told the officer she would wait in an all-night coffee shop nearby.

An Arlington police cruiser pulled up in front of the coffee shop ten minutes later and drove her back to her car. She was relieved to see her lap-top case still on the front seat. She told the police what had happened. They drove her to her condo and at the request of the university police, a cruiser was stationed in front.

She locked her door and mixed herself a stiff Cosmopolitan. Her hands shook, but a few sips of the drink calmed her down. Those men were the same ones who had been following her for days. Why? And who were they?

The matter had been preying on her mind. Earlier that day, a student had to repeat her name a second time to get her attention.

Cait had snapped out of the trance she’d slipped into as she’d been teaching her favorite class, an introductory course on overland and maritime silk routes. Cait hid her embarrassment with a smile. An associate professor with a doctorate degree in Central Asian history was not supposed to daydream on the job.

“Sorry. I must have zoned out. Could you repeat your question?”

The female student lowered her upraised hand. “I asked about the Tarim mummies.”

“Yes. Fascinating stuff. The mummies were non-Mongoloid, apparently Caucasoid, found more than a hundred miles east of Yingpan, China. They’ve been dated back to 1600 B.C. Long before Alexander the Great really opened up the Silk Road. No one knows where they came from.”

The student had a follow-up. “Do you think the presence of a Caucasoid in China in any way vindicates the theory that east-west contacts go back much earlier than historians are willing to admit?”

“It’s an intriguing theory, but not conclusive without additional evidence. I will say that the mummies are indicative of the fact that globalization is hardly a new concept. Any more questions?”

More hands shot into the air. The class was made up of enthusiastic students in fields that included diplomacy, economics, journalism, politics and the arts. Cait had earned a reputation for bringing a contemporary global perspective to ancient events. The discussion continued until the class ended. She shooed the students from the room, gathered her papers and left the history department building, heading south through the sprawling campus until she came to Village C, the six-story brick building that housed the Georgetown University Department of Public Safety.

She took a deep breath and strode toward the entrance with purpose in her step, thinking that the worst that could happen would be that the police would think she was crazy.

Her instincts proved correct a few minutes later as she sat at a table in Room 116 across from a uniformed campus police officer who said her name was Douglas. The officer had asked what the problem was. Cait had flippantly replied that she felt as if she were in an Alfred Hitchcock movie.

Officer Douglas didn’t laugh. She raised an eyebrow and read from a questionnaire.

“Have you seen a suspicious individual in your neighborhood entering an apartment, room or home?”

“Describe suspicious individual,” Cait said.

“Individuals who like to seem to be lurking,” the officer said, after some thought.

“Oh,” Cait said. “Well then. No lurkers.”

“Have you ever seen a suspicious individual entering an office without apparent purpose, or loitering in a parking lot or trying to force open a car door?”

“No, no, and no.”

“Or possessing two bikes or bike parts?”

Cait emitted a strange sound that combined a laugh and a cry of disbelief.

“This is not about bicycles,” she said with an edge to her voice.

The officer folded her hands in front of her. “What is it about, Professor Everson?”

“As I just explained, I think someone has been following me.”

“Someone you can’t identify.”

“Correct. As I said, I’ll be in a public place and I’ll look up and see a man staring at me. When I stare back he averts his eyes. Or goes back to reading his newspaper. I know this sounds insane, but one minute he is there. The next he’s not.”

“He disappears into thin air?”

Cait frowned. “Please don’t go there, Officer Douglas. Of course he doesn’t vanish. He simply gets up and leaves when my attention is diverted.”

“Would you go over that description again?”

The officer was looking for discrepancies in her story. It was a classic case of Town and Gown, the tension that often existed between local worker bees and the academics in their ivory towers. She described the man again.

“He has platinum white hair, cut short, but I think it’s premature, because his face is younger. Almost boyish. High cheekbones and intense blue eyes. Mouth always seems to be in a half smile.”

“Those are pretty good observations.”

“I’m a scientist, trained to observe.” She paused. “There’s something else. Sometimes there are two of them. Twins, apparently.”

“Twins?”

“Identical. I’m not seeing double. I have perfect eye-sight.”

“That’s a new one.” Officer Douglas pursed her lips in thought. “From your description, he-I mean, they, sound handsome.”

“I suppose so, in a sick stalker sort of way.”

The officer leaned forward onto the table.

“I could not say this if I were a male officer. But men might stare at you simply because you are an attractive young woman.”

At thirty-six, Cait was old enough to know that men found her physically attractive. She was aware, too, that a good-looking woman who had advanced to her level in academia would always be subject to envious whisperings. During her work hours, however, she tried her best to keep a low profile — she had her long hair up, wore functional glasses, hid her figure with practical but unflattering clothing, and used a minimal amount of make-up.

Some attributes were impossible to minimize. She was tall and willowy, with slightly more bust than she preferred. Her eyes were the color of a gentian flower and framed with long lashes. She had white, even teeth and a flashing smile. Had she been true to her California girl roots, her raven hair would have been dyed the color of honey, and her creamy white skin burnished with a surf bum tan. Still, even without those trappings, Cait could walk into a roomful of beautiful blondes and draw every eye in the house.

Cait dismissed the officer’s suggestion. “Are you advising me to make myself less attractive?”

The officer frowned.

“Let’s try another avenue. You said this attention started a month ago. Was there anything going on in your life, any change in a relationship or something that happened at work about then?”

“No,” Cait said with a shake of her head. “Nothing like that.”

Cait hoped the officer didn’t hear the tic in her answer. She was well aware, though, that the surveillance began after she had sent the letter to the State Department. The officer droned on with more inane questions. Finally she sat back in her chair and pinched her chin.

“This is a tough one, Dr. Everson. I have a daughter, so I’m sympathetic. But there isn’t a lot I can do at this point. No crime has been committed. There’s no evidence that one will be committed. All you have is a feeling these guys are looking at you. I need more than that to go on.”

Cait kept her anger in check and said she understood the dilemma. She agreed to keep a journal detailing time, place and nature of the stalking incidents. The officer gave Cait her cell phone number to call if she had further questions. After she left, Cait cursed her naiveté for assuming the police would help her. She walked across campus and was glad to get back to the sanctuary of her office. As she sat at her desk going over the fruitless meeting in her mind, a knock at the door almost sent her tumbling out her chair.

The door opened a second later and a face peered in.

“Are you busy?”

“Never too busy to chat with you, Professor Saleem. Have a seat.”

The man who stepped into her office and took a chair was in his mid-fifties. He wore a misshapen autumn brown corduroy jacket, relaxed fit jeans, a blue button-down shirt, and mismatched yellow tie. Dark eyes peered out from behind owlish round plastic eyeglasses that enhanced his academic look.

The history department sought out non-American faculty to provide depth and global perspective, and in keeping with such policy, Professor Saleem was on loan from a Pakistani university. He and Cait exchanged some campus gossip, but at one point he removed his glasses and leaned forward in his chair.

“I’m curious, Dr. Everson. Has the State Department replied to your letter?”

“Not a word,” Cait said with a shrug of her shoulders. “I guess they’re too busy to pay attention to a lowly history professor.”

He pondered her answer. “Do you think it would have helped if you were more specific with the location of your discovery?”

“I’m not sure it would have made a difference.”

“Perhaps not, but it would give you credibility. Unless you think you’re wrong.”

“Not at all. I’m so close I can taste it. I just need a little more time.”

“I’ve got good cartographical background. I may be of help.”

“Thanks, Professor. But I want to be sure. In the meantime I’d prefer to keep my theories to myself so as not to attract enemy fire.”

“I understand. Good luck then.” The professor rose from his chair. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

“You can help in one way.” She tapped the folder on her desk. “I’ll be working late tonight on some written exams. Would you let the security guard know I’m here?”

The professor said he would be glad to. After he left, Cait began to read. She was near the bottom of the pile when she heard a knock on the door.

A voice said, “Security. You okay in there, Professor?”

Cait glanced at the wall clock. It was past eleven-thirty. “I’m about done. Would you walk me to my car in about five minutes?”

“I’ll check the rest of the floor and come back for you.”

Cait was about to shut down the computer, but she had another thought. She called up a file that contained a number of satellite photos. She went over the photos, zooming in on an image that showed a lake shaped like a figure eight. Using a crayon from her tool bar, she drew a circle at the edge of the lake.

She sent the file as an email to the State Department and a copy to Professor Saleem with a quick note:

“Taking you up on your offer to help. Let’s talk about this.”

Minutes later, the guard escorted her to the parking lot where she had left her Honda. And less than a half an hour later she was pounding breathlessly along an Arlington street in fear for her life.

Now, as she sat in the safety of her apartment, she still felt terribly vulnerable. Gradually, though, she grew angry at the unwanted violation of her life by a couple of freaks. Her fear changed to determination. She tossed down the rest of her Cosmo and placed a phone call.

A male voice answered. “Yes?”

“I need your help,” she said. “Someone is after me and I want a place to hide.”

“It is always a pleasure to see you, but it’s a long way and it could be dangerous,” the voice said, speaking English with a slight accent.

“It’s safer there than here,” she said.

“When?”

“Now.”

“I’ll make arrangements.”

Fifteen minutes later the phone rang and the voice said, “Fly to Zurich and my friends will take care of you.” He gave her a name and number, which she jotted down.

She thanked him and hung up. Then she sent an email to the university saying she was taking a leave of absence to deal with a family matter. She got on her computer and found a first class seat on a Swiss Air flight leaving the next morning. She almost gagged at the cost, but it was the only space available. Next, she packed her biggest suitcase, mostly with field clothing and gear. Then she slept for a couple of hours. When her alarm clock sounded, she got up, showered, and dressed in comfortable traveling clothes.

An officer knocked on her door around eight to check on her.

She told him that she had decided to stay with friends and asked the police to stay a while longer while she called a taxi. As she walked out to the taxi with her bag she couldn’t help reflecting on the craziness of her situation. Her peaceful life had been turned topsy-turvy and she was seeking safety in one of the most dangerous places in the world.

Afghanistan.