The Sanctuary

Chapter 58

“You see, look, here for instance,” Kirkwood enthused, “it refers to how ‘the memories of the men and the women of the new society will be challenged as never before’ and sets out ways in which to overcome that. And here”—he turned to the previous page—“it talks about how the men and women of the new society should deal with their numerous descendants in their new world. Not just the men. The men and the women.”

“I don’t understand,” Mia confessed.

Kirkwood was still collecting his thoughts. “This book is a code book, a guide on ethics and relationships. It sets out the rules, the principles of living for a society of people whose lives have been radically altered.”

“By living longer?”

“Yes. It’s about adapting to the new longevity. And it talks about men and women, do you see? Men and women.” He shook his head.

“After all those years, he found it. He actually found it.”

Kirkwood wasn’t making any sense. “What are you talking about?”

“Sebastian Guerreiro. He devoted his life to finding the right formulation, and it cost him everything — his wife, his son — but he made it, in the end. He made it. He must have found another book, or maybe a stash of books, another hidden chamber like the one your mom foundonly this one had the full formula in it. It’s real.” He beamed. “It exists.”

A swarm of questions clouded Mia’s thoughts. “How do you know that? I mean, this book could be theoretical. How do you know it isn’t just a philosophical treatise exploring how a society would work, how it would function if such a substance existed?”

“Because Sebastian already had part of the formula,” Kirkwood told her. “He found — well, he was entrusted with — a book, similar to this one. Same cover, same style…It described a series of experiments using a substance that seemed to arrest the aging process. The experiments had led to a formulation, a way to prepare an elixir, but the book wasn’t complete. The last part of it was missing. Sebastian didn’t know what was in the rest of the book. He didn’t know if they had been successful, it there even was a full formula, one that really worked, or if the book just described the failed experiments to try and get it to work properly. But he still thought it important enough to devote his whole life to finding that out.”

“But this book doesn’t have the formula in it?”

“No, but it confirms that it’s out there. The calligraphy in this book — it’s the same as in the one Sebastian had.”

“You’ve seen it?”

“Yes,” Kirkwood confessed, slightly hesitant. “It’s the same cabal, the same group, I’m sure of it.”

Mia felt her head spinning. “How do you know all this? Who was this Sebastian?”

“He was a Portuguese inquisitor.” Kirkwood looked at her, a hue of deep pride suffusing his face. “He was also my ancestor.”

On the roof of a two-story house slightly down and across the street from Mohsen’s home, Corben listened to Kirkwood’s words through the headphones linked to the directional microphone Omar was aiming.

Omar glanced at him. The Arab was listening in too and seemed to understand what was being said as he nodded.

“Your ancestor?” Mia was angrily asking. “What the hell’s going on? Who the hell are you?”

“Mia, please, just…please.” Kirkwood paused, then they heard him say urgently, “Where did you find this book?” clearly asking Abu Barzan.

“I don’t know, I’m…I’m not sure,” an Iraqi voice, obviously Abu Barzan’s, replied in a not entirely convincing stammer.

“Don’t do this, alright? Not after everything we’ve done to get here. You’ve been paid a small fortune already. Where did you get this?” Kirkwood insisted fiercely.

After a brief pause and what sounded like a deep tug on a cigarette, the Iraqi finally said, “I came across it in a Yazidi village. A small place, in the mountains north of Al Amadiyya, near the border. It’s called Nerva Zhori,” he admitted somewhat ruefully.

“Were there other books there with this symbol on it?” Kirkwood asked intently. “Did you see anything else there like this?”

“I don’t know. The village’s mokhtar”—the term referred to its equivalent of a mayor—“asked me to go through a storeroom of old rubbish they had there, to see if there was anything I could buy,” Abu Barzan said. “I took a few things, some old books, a few amulets. They didn’t care what I took, they just needed some cash. Since the war, people are desperate, they need to sell whatever they can to try and make some money.”

Kirkwood paused, then said, presumably to Mia, “Once your mother’s out safely, we need to go there. We have to talk to this mokhtar and find out how this book ended up there.”

“Why?” Mia asked.

“Because Sebastian disappeared somewhere in the Middle East while looking for the formula,” Kirkwood explained, the passion in his voice cutting through the static hiss of the directional microphone. “And this is the first time we’ve found a clue as to what happened to him and where he ended up.”

Omar reached up and pressed his finger to his earpiece, and a breath later, he turned to Corben and nodded as if to say, That’s all we need.

Corben gave him a terse shake of the head, like Not yet, but Omar wasn’t interested. He’d already reached for his handheld radio and, in a low murmur, issued the kill order.