Ascension (22 page)

He can't be serious. He’s just taunting me again.
 
A knock on the door interrupts us.

"Come."

A uniformed man enters and nods politely when he sees me.

"Sorry to interrupt, Colonel, but the General wants to speak with you in his office."

"I'll be right there."

The man nods and leaves us alone.

"We'll have to talk some other time.
 
What about a late supper tonight?
 
I'll be in conference all day, and we won't be breaking until 2100 hours.
 
We could talk then, then maybe I'll get you off my back."

He smiles and I stutter something incomprehensible and realize I've agreed to meet him later at the hotel.
 
He shows me out of the office, one hand on my back as if I'm a prized secretary.

"Until later."

The door closes behind me and I wander back to the office to find
Sharon
waiting.

"Where the heck were you? You shouldn't leave the grounds without me."

I sit on the couch and check to make sure Agent Crosby ha
s
his earphones on.

"I just spoke with Soren. He bought me lunch in the market."

She raises her eyebrows. "Well, I guess we can report that you made contact with our target."

"I'm meeting him for dinner at the hotel. I hope you'll be there somewhere in the background."

"Count on it."

The peace talks go on all afternoon.
 
I sit in the foyer across from the main conference room, waiting for the talks to end so I can see and hear Soren and the other officials answer questions from members of the international press.
 
The halls are deserted. Everyone is in the conference room, and it isn't slated to end for another quarter of an hour, but the small office to which Crosby and I have been relegated is hot and cramped.
 
I sit in the cool dimness of the corridor and sip a cup of hot tea
Sharon
purchased in the market.

Then, Soren and a couple of officials emerge from a room and walk down the long halls.
 
Soren stands in the midst of them as if he's the center of importance.
 
I wonder how he's able to weasel his way into the realm of power so easily, as if this is second nature to him.
 
His face is turned to talk with one official beside him.
 
They speak to each other, serious about the topic of conversation.

Then a figure emerges from a stairwell and something about the man catches my attention.
 
He carries a jacket over his arm and my muscles tense.
 
Soren looks up and must have seen the same thing I do.
 
The man yells something at Soren in an unintelligible language.
 
Then a white-hot flash fills the hallway followed by a huge concussion that knocks me back against the wall. The ceiling collapses around us and the noise is deafening.
 

Then blackness.

When I regain consciousness, I'm being carried.
 
Stars still sparkle in front of my eyes but I can see.
 
Soren lays me down on a bench and kneels in front of me, wiping blood off my face. At first, an eerie quiet pervades the hallway, but then I realized it's my hearing. My eardrums have been temporarily damaged. Soon, muffled sounds return. Soren holds my head in his hands, checking me, examining my eyes. I feel warmth pervade my skull, and a sense of calmness descends over me.

All around us are bodies and debris. When the dust clears, ambulance personnel come into focus and I watch as they tend to the injured.
 
Stone from the collapsed wall forms mounds between the fallen. The conference room is in big chunks, and sirens wail.
 

A bomb.
 

"How are you feeling?" Soren says.

“What are you doing?” I try to push his hands away.

“Gotta look after you first, Eve,” he says. “Of all the people here, you’re the most important.”

Soren goes to someone else lying on the floor beside me, bloody.

A medic checks me over, examining me with a scope, checking my eyes and ears, while someone put a blood pressure cuff on my arm. Beside me, Soren leans over a man on the ground, blood flowing from a cut on his forehead. He places his hands over the man's head and presses as if to staunch the flow. He turns and catches my eye and for a moment, he seems to struggle as if fighting something.

Sharon
arrives and rushes to my side.

"I'm taking you to the hospital," she says as she kneels down beside me.

"I'm fine," I say, waving her off. I want to question Soren, who's busy helping medics treat the wounded.

I follow him to one of the injured. He pushes the medic aside and lays his hands on the man's arm where a wound bleeds. Soon, the bleeding stops.

He's healing the injured...

I step back, shocked at what I'm witnessing. He stands up and tries to walk past me to another of the injured.

"Who are you?"

 
Soren pauses and regards me with a look of impatience.

He pushes me aside. "Figure it out yourself. When you do, give me a call and we'll have a little heart to heart. But you can tell Vasquez to stop tempting me. Tell him I have my own plans."

Sharon
takes my arm and pulls me away.

"What are you doing? You should be seeing a doctor."

"I’m fine," I say.

She drags me outside the building where we stand, trying to collect ourselves
. She checks
me over, and then we take a taxi to the hotel.

Back at the hotel, I go to the bathroom to inspect myself and see the extent of my injuries.
 
I run a finger over my forehead, remembering falling rock and flying shrapnel, warm blood on my hands when I touched the wound. There's only a thin silvery line stretching from my scalp to my ear where the wound was. It looks like a very old scar, barely visible – like Julien's. I run a finger along it and feel an almost imperceptible seam.

Soren healed the cut with his own hands. There's no other explanation.

I sit on my bed and try to comprehend what happened and what exactly Soren is. While I do, there's a knock at my door. I open it to admit
Sharon
.

"How are you?" she says, inspecting my face. "You look pretty good considering the amount of blood on your clothes."

"Soren healed me." I point to the scar and she peers at it closely.

"Are you sure?" She touches the scar gently.

I nod. "That wasn't there before."

She sits on the bed and shakes her head.

"I don't know what the heck he is, but no vampire I know of can do that. We have to contact someone in the SCU with this information."

I rub my new scar.

 
“He said I should tell Vasquez to stop tempting him. That he has his own plans.”

Sharon
raises her eyebrows. “That’s cryptic.”

“I expect Vasquez will understand.”

So, Vasquez
was
trying to tempt him. By sending me? Why am I temptation? Does Vasquez want me to be Soren’s Adept?

I check my watch. It's ten o'clock and I haven’t heard from Soren. I guess our late dinner is off, given the bomb.

Finally, I go to bed and hope for a dreamless sleep. Before I fall asleep, I think of Michel and wonder where he is and whether he’s with Soren. It's with Michel on my mind that I finally fall asleep.

In the middle of the night, I wake to see a mist flowing in through the open window, and a hooded man with wings materializes from out of the mist. I expect to see Soren's face beneath the hood but when the hood falls, it's Michel and adrenaline surges through me.

"Michel!"

He sits on the bed beside me and I'm almost breathless, wondering what he'll do, hoping he'll get into bed with me. He brushes hair from my face, traces the scar on my forehead.

"You're alive," he says and leans down, his face by mine, his lips on the skin under my ear. "I thought you'd died. I didn't want any of this for you, but they've forced my hand."

"What do you mean?"

"I have to choose," he says and shakes his head. "I hoped to delay this, give you time, but I can't wait any longer."

Desire fills me at his touch, and I'm not sure whether it's my own or his, or some combination. I feel his tongue on my neck, fe
e
l his lips tugging at my skin, and then intense pain as he bites down.

I want it. I want the pain.

I wake, my heart pounding, my body aroused. I feel my neck but there's no mark, of course. It must have been another dream.
Must have
been
because I wake soon after to a dream of Soren dressed in armor, bearing a flag with a Lion and Raven locked in some kind of battle. In my dream, he approaches me, holding out his hand to me, and for some reason that I cannot perceive, I take it willingly and follow him down a narrow path between trees in a dark forest.

Above us, the moon shines, it's silvery light illuminating the path. We walk to a clearing where a huge stone altar stands. Faceless people in hoods surround the altar and at the head of the altar is a throne made out of rock, carved with two animals on either side – one a rearing lion, the other a huge raven with wings outstretched.

Soren brings me to the altar and I willingly hold onto his shoulders as he lifts me up. I lay down and wait, but for what I don't know. I only know that I do it with breathless acceptance. I want it.

A figure approaches dressed all in black, his face obscured. Behind him stretch huge black wings. He pulls the cloak off but with the cloak gone, he transforms from dark to light, shining so brightly, the air around him glimmering like the sparks off an acetylene torch, so that I can't see his face. He pulls me to the edge of the altar and I willingly spread my thighs for him.

I wake with a gasp, my heart pounding. After the adrenaline subsides, I get up and go to my purse to get a sleeping pill. I don't want to go back to that dream, no matter how willing I seemed to be for what was going to take place. I want to escape into the blackness of drug-induced sleep.

CHAPTER 20

“One must not trifle with love.”

Alfred de Musset

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
The brightness of the early morning light
that streams in between the drapes wakes me. For a while I try to convince myself that the events of the previous day were just a dream, but when I stretch, my muscles all ache as if I've been hit by a truck.

When I go down to check my messages, the front desk clerk says I have one from Soren. I read it:

"Sorry we missed our dinner date.
 
I'm leaving tomorrow, and will be unavailable until I return to
Montana
.
 
Call me next week.
 
I'm looking forward to our little heart to heart."
 

"Soren's gone," I say to
Sharon
when I go back up to my room. Just when I wanted more information from him, when I felt I could approach him and demand he reveal who and what he is, he leaves. I stand at the window and look out over the sunrise, wondering what's true, unable to judge any longer.

I return to the site of the conference, to the makeshift headquarters in another wing of the building that was untouched when the bomb exploded.
 
There's no need to linger in the city. With Soren gone, Sharon and I make plans to return to
Boston
to meet with Terri and Vasquez, to decide on a new course in this case, but I hesitate, wanting to hear more about the blast.

There isn't much for me to do but sit and listen to the other agents discussing the bombing. Since I don't have an official role, I make one last walk around the building to the wing where the bomb went off.

I catch sight of Soren out of the corner of my eye.
 
Before I realize it, he's walking beside me down the long marble hall. Our footsteps echo against the stone walls and ceiling and I wait for him to say something, but he doesn't.
 
He just walks beside me. I finally stop and look at him, searching his face for some clue to his thoughts.

"Tell me what's going on," I say and grab his arm. He glances down at my hand on his bicep.

"It's not that I mind when you touch me, but you'd better let go or there'll be several men with weapons here in a second."

I take my hand away quickly and glance around.

"I don't see bodyguards."

"They're well hidden," he says. "They know what you are, even if you don't. They see you as a threat to me."

I laugh in disbelief. "Me, a threat to you?"

He merely smiles and begins walking down the hall.
 
Then, he stops and turns around.

"Like I said, Eve, when you figure out what I am, you come and talk to me. Until then, you're just a pretty little bit of temptation and a waste of my time."

"Why am I a temptation?"

He shakes his head.

"You really don't know much, do you?" He stands, hands on his hips, and looks away for a moment. "I'd say that's bad management on Michel's part. He's too damn stubborn. But I have a feeling he’s going to change his mind. Soon."

He leaves me standing in the middle of the hallway.

I'm not sad to see the city grow smaller below us as I look out the window of the jet.
 
We're on a busy flight to
Rome
and I'm unable to get an aisle seat. My usual refuge when on a passenger jet.
 
So distracted from the events of the preceding two days, I forget to count to one-hundred and twenty and think instead about my report to Vasquez: what I'll include and what I'll leave out.

I swallow down a scotch and ask for another, needing the heat of the silky liquid to calm me before I have to meet with Vasquez and Terri.
 
They've arranged to meet me at the airport, and I have to build up my courage to tell them the truth.

More than twenty hours later, after a layover in
Rome
, I arrive at the airport in
Boston
.

"Oh, God, Eve.
 
You look terrible."

Terri clucks over my like a mother hen, examining me, checking for injuries.
 
I let her fuss over me. She’s the closest thing I have to family and I relish her honest concern for my welfare.
 

"I'm fine, just shaken."

The driver retrieves my bags and escorts us to Vasquez's car.
 
On the way to Vasquez's office, we discuss the events of my trip.
 
Vasquez doesn't look at me even though he sits in the seat directly opposite me.
 
He holds his hands folded as if in prayer and touches the tips of his index finders against his bottom lip. He looks like the Pontiff himself as I relate the facts of the bombing and the way Soren healed me.

"That scar was there from when you were a child, Eve." He looks at me finally, and the conviction on his face is so strong, I have to reassess my experience.

"You're wrong. I never had a scar on my face."

"That scar you have is very old. Ask any surgeon and he'll confirm that for a scar to look like that, it takes years. Decades."

"You think I imagined this?" I say, anger filling me. "I felt his hands on me, I felt warmth from his touch. I saw him heal others right after the bomb."

"You were obviously upset and in shock. The mind often plays tricks on us when we're under duress. Only the Saints themselves can heal."

I shake my head and look out the window as the city speeds by. His religious explanation for everything irritates me.

"I know what I saw. I know what happened."

"By now, Eve," he says, his tone dismissive, "I'd have thought you'd know not to trust your own senses. Your own prejudices."

Terri reaches out and her warm hand is a comfort in the silence of the rest of the trip.

Back in his office, I look around as Vasquez rustles through his files and then speaks on the phone.
 
The leather chair creaks under my weight as I shift nervously, waiting for the real interrogation to begin.

"The bombing.
 
Please relate the events for me." He turns on a small tape recorder, and smiles at me.
 
"I hope you don't mind, but I want to record your words for our records."

I tell them everything I can remember – meeting Soren in the market, him saying he'd healed my benign tumor. The bombing and his healing me and then others while I watched. Him saying he wasn't what we thought and that I should figure it out before contacting him again.

Vasquez sits, hands folded once again as if in prayer.

"We have to let you go, Eve,” he says and his words shock me.
 
His small eyes finally come to rest on me, and as he speaks, he takes off his glasses and folds them in one hand.
 
I look at Terri. She's staring at the floor in front of her.
 
She doesn't look up at me, even when she must feel my panicked eyes on her. “You're now a liability to the Council and will be unable to fulfill your responsibilities to us any longer. You’ll return to University and continue your studies."

I don't know what to say. He stands and comes to me, leaning against the desk.

"I'm so sorry.
 
I was wrong about your value to us. I thought you were stronger. I blame myself entirely for this mishap.
 
In your condition, we can't afford to allow you to work with us."

"What do you mean, my condition?"

"Your fantasies of Soren healing you. This notion that he healed you of a wound that you received a decade ago. It's clearly psychosis. Only the saints heal."

 
A long silence ensues, during which I'm unable to speak.
 
When I realize I've been dismissed, I stand.

"So that's it? I'm fired?"

"Yes, I'm truly sorry, Eve." Vasquez moves to shake my hand, his arm clapping my back. I don't reciprocate. "You weren't strong enough for this work.
 
Time to retreat, take stock and enjoy some serenity for a while."

I turn to leave, and then look back at Terri.
 
I want her to come with me, to talk with me.
 

"Terri?"

She doesn't look at me.
 
Vasquez smiles and cocks his head sideways as if he feels guilty.

"Sorry, but I need Terri for the rest of the afternoon.
 
I'm sure you two will talk soon enough. Good-bye, Eve." Vasquez presses a hand against the small of my back and gently propels my outside the office.
 
The ornate wooden door closes with a soft thud behind me.

I go to my office at the SCU to begin the process of packing up my personal items. I have a feeling people are trying to avoid me. Word must have gotten around that I was fired and I can't blame them if they want to avoid having to face me. Still, it's pretty cowardly.

I collect what little there is of my personal effects and check my e-mail one last time. There's only one -- from Seth. One of the techs who mines data for the SCU. He’s not working this evening.

I need to talk with you about the relic.
 
Can we meet as soon as possible?
 
This is very important. Please call me.
 
Thanks.
 

Seth
.

I phone the number he's included right away.
 
His voice is strained, as if he's tired or ill.

"We need to talk somewhere private.
 
Can we meet at your place? I'm staying at a friends for a few days so we can't meet at my place."

I agree and after glancing around the empty office, I go home. It feels strange to be on my own, without Vasily or anyone trailing me. Although I'm pleased at the prospect of hearing what Seth has to tell me about the artifact, I feel numb.

Once back at my flat, I turn the television on and watch the news coverage of the bombing of the embassy.
 
Seth arrives, knocking at the door. He’s about twenty-eight, tall and skinny, with rimless glasses. He has fair hair and eyes and looks every inch the geeky IT guy. He comes in and stands in the middle of the living room awkwardly.

"I heard you were there," he says, pointing to the television news report.
 
The camera shows the blast scene, the floodlights picking up debris, bloodstains and emergency personnel as they rush to tend to the wounded.
 
The press had been on site, preparing to cover the news conference and so both camera crews
 
and reporters were primed and ready to cover the carnage once the explosion occurred. They're playing it in endless loops on the news networks.

"I was at the wrong place at the wrong time, I guess."

"You're lucky to be alive."

I nod and sit down, planning on turning the television off so we can talk about the
clay fragment
.

"I'm," I say, my voice quiet. "I'm no longer working for the SCU. They took me off the case."

"I heard. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. The seal?"

“Yes?”

“It was from a tomb in a cave in
Israel
, removed about a century ago where they found some old scrolls in a clay pot. There was a lost scripture in it from the third century. Described the apocalypse. The end of days.”

I smile. “I’m not a religious person,” I say and take the research paper he hands me.

“Read this,” he says. “Don’t tell anyone I gave it to you but it’s a copy of a report someone on the Council prepared. I thought you should know because it involves you and when I heard you were fired, and heard what Vasquez told you about this seal, I thought you were being unfairly treated.”

I look over the paper. It’s titled
Revelation According to St. Therese of the Reeds.

“I have to go,” he says. “I don’t want to stay in any one place for very long, just in case someone’s watching me.”

“Why would they be watching you?”

He shrugs. “Who knows? I know they watch everyone so if anyone asks why I was here, say it was because we were friends or something and I was saying goodbye.”

“How do you know about the tomb seal?”

“I mine data. All of it, even SCU data. I have a few tracers of my own included in the official search terms. I stumbled over some conversations and it scared me. Now I have to go.”