Journey Into the Flame (16 page)

“I am told she didn’t have them at the time,” Simon said with certainty. “Macliv, did Deya have the books with her when she drowned?”

“Not that I saw,” Macliv said matter-of-factly.

“See, she didn’t have them,” Simon repeated. “I tried for some time to buy the books from her. I proposed to pay her more money than she and your father could ever amass in their lifetimes. But she refused to consider any of my offers. Now, we need to know where those books are. So I ask again, where are the
Chronicles
?”

“You killed my mother!” Lokesh shouted, as he struggled to break free of his bindings. “Even if I knew where the books were, I would never tell you. She would never want you to have them!” He spit into the air, the chains making a loud clanking sound against the metal chair as he struggled to break free.

Simon looked at Macliv, who was now standing in the corner of the
room, cutting an apple with a very sharp knife. Simon took a small box from his jacket pocket. “Macliv, I want to show you a special gift from Dr. Malikei. Did you know that your brain works harder when you lie than when you tell the truth? It’s a fact. People lie because they fear telling the truth. They believe that they will get punished or that they will hurt someone else by their admission. Our doctor has created a serum that deadens the amygdala region of the brain, thus eliminating fear. When a person is no longer afraid, he no longer needs to lie.”

“It’s like a truth serum,” Macliv said.

“It is more than that,” Simon said. “Militaries around the world would love to get their hands on this serum. They could create the perfect soldier, one without fear. But the doctor still has some work to do on it.” He took a syringe in the shape of a small handgun from the box and inserted a capsule containing a red liquid. “Currently, it is a one-way trip, and the patient doesn’t last very long.” He put the syringe to Deya’s son’s forehead. “This is only going to hurt for a second,” he said, before pulling the trigger.

The young man let out a bloodcurdling scream and slumped forward in the chair.

Macliv stopped eating his apple. “How long will it take to work?”

“Only a few moments,” Simon answered. “His body will not resist. He is in pain; he will welcome the relief from fear. The serum also contains a muscle relaxant that will eliminate any desire to struggle physically.” Simon put the syringe back in the box and put the box back in his jacket pocket. “See, it is already beginning to work,” he observed, as the prisoner sat up, his eyes fluttering open. “Go ahead, Macliv. Ask him his PCD access code. He will gladly tell you now.”

“What is your PCD access code?”

“LS498,” the prisoner instantly answered.

“This is a most wonderful drug—one of the doctor’s finest, I have to say.” Simon leaned down so that his face was level with the prisoner’s. “Now, let’s get on with this. What did your mother do with her copy of
The Chronicles of Satraya
?”

“No one knows,” Lokesh answered.

“Someone must know,” Simon insisted. “She must have told someone.”

“Not even my father knows,” Lokesh answered. “He thinks that she must have hidden them.”

“Where would she hide them?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does your father know?”

Lokesh did not answer this question.

Simon paused and thought about how to proceed. He believed Deya’s son was indeed stating the truth, but Deya had to have left a clue. Simon just had to ask the boy the right questions. He thought a moment longer, then said, “What was the last thing your mother said to you before she went on her trip?”

“She told me that she loved us,” Lokesh answered.

“Did she give you anything?”

“She wrote us a letter.”

“What did the letter say?”

Lokesh’s eyes closed, and his head fell forward.

Simon slapped him across the face to revive him and repeated the question. “What did the letter say?”

“She told us to take care of the garden.” Lokesh could barely remain conscious, and his head kept slumping forward. “She told us to make sure that the pond was always filled with water.”

“What else did the letter say?”

“Nothing else.” Lokesh’s answer was barely audible.

“Where is the letter now?” Simon asked. Then, more loudly, “Where is it?”

“I threw it away,” Lokesh mumbled.

“What was so special about the garden?” Simon pressed.

“Nothing anymore.” Lokesh was fading in and out of consciousness. “Once it was beautiful, but my parents let it grow wild after my father got sick.”

Simon paused again.
Why would Deya want her family to tend to a garden that she herself had ignored?
His interest was piqued. “And what about this pond—why is the pond so special?”

There was no answer. Simon hit Lokesh again and shook him, but it was too late. Lokesh had died, his one-way trip ended. Frustrated, Simon kicked over a bucket of water. He paced the room for a few moments. “Looks like I’ll have to go to India and see this garden for myself.”

Macliv nodded. “What should I do with the body?”

“Let him visit the bottom of the well,” Simon said coldly. “And then join me upstairs. You will be going with me.”

16

What we have written, what we present to you with our simple words, is philosophy. It is not yet Truth to you. It is not yet Wisdom to you. But if you embrace our words sincerely, an experience will unfold for you, and then our philosophy will become your Truth and your Wisdom.

—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

WASHINGTON D.C., 9:00 P.M. LOCAL TIME,

5 DAYS UNTIL FREEDOM DAY

Mr. Perrot and Logan entered Valerie’s top-floor apartment in a newly constructed eight-story building in the Glover Park district, a short cab ride from the Council of Satraya offices.

“This apartment is immaculate,” Logan said. “There’s not one thing out of place.”

It was true. From the living room to the kitchen and the small dining room, everything was sparkling clean. Off the living room was a set of French doors that led to a balcony overlooking a portion of Washington.

“Yes, my daughter is a rather organized and precise young lady,” Mr. Perrot replied, escorting Logan into the den. “I suppose it is one of the reasons she is such a splendid agent.”

“And I see she loves Asian design,” Logan said. He walked over to a hand-painted Mandarin cabinet standing in the corner of the room.
“I knew she went into police work, but I didn’t know she was so successful. Not that I’m surprised—she always ordered me around when we were kids.”

“Probably practice for her current job. She’s a lead investigator, you know.” Mr. Perrot took a seat in a high-backed chair while Logan sat on the couch. Each took a deep breath of relief, acknowledging the events of the day with a smile and some giddy laughter born of fatigue. “Seems as if fate was on our side today, bringing in my daughter to salvage our adventure.”

“Yes,” Logan agreed. “But that was a bit too close.”

They exchanged another deep sigh. Then Mr. Perrot leaned forward in his chair. “Now,” he said, “let’s have a closer look at that box.”

Logan nodded. He took the box from his backpack and placed it on the coffee table between them. The unassuming tin box had a simple latch that secured the lid. Logan wiped the dirt off it.

“Go ahead, my boy. Open it.”

Logan obliged, slowly unhooking the brass latch. Mr. Perrot watched intently, as Logan removed the items from the box and placed them gently on the table. A blue candle, a lock of hair in a plastic bag, and a roll of papers bound only with a piece of string lay before them. “That’s it,” Logan said, as he closed the lid and set the box aside. “What do you make of it?”

“Interesting—only three items.” Mr. Perrot picked up the blue candle; it was about ten inches long and one inch in diameter. The wick was burnt, and there was melted wax along the side. “This candle has been lit,” he said.

Logan was looking at the lock of black hair. “Why would someone seal a lock of hair into a small plastic bag?”

“Peculiar, indeed,” Mr. Perrot agreed, as he set the candle down and picked up the roll of papers. “Camden didn’t have black hair and neither did Cassandra.”

Logan set the bag down and took the papers from Mr. Perrot. He loosened the string, and the papers unrolled. Logan set them on the table and pressed them flat with the palms of his hands. “It appears as if they were ripped out of a book. The edges are torn.” He examined
the papers more closely. “The writing looks similar to Camden Ford’s in the note that fell out of the book at the auction. I wonder if the wax on it came from this blue candle.”

Mr. Perrot looked at the pages as Logan handed them to him. “Yes, the wax of the candle does look similar. And the handwriting is familiar. I believe these are pages from Camden’s journal.”

“How can you be sure?”

“By the mark in the upper right corner.” Mr. Perrot pointed to a little hand-drawn symbol.

“I often used to watch Camden write his entries. Every time he wrote on a new page, he drew that symbol on the upper right-hand corner. When I asked him what it meant, he refused to say, and I didn’t push it. I wonder where his journal is now.” Mr. Perrot glanced at all the pages, confirming that they bore the mark. “I always loved sitting back and having a good story read to me,” he said, as he handed the pages back to Logan with a smile.

“This is interesting,” Logan remarked, quickly flipping through them. “Most of the pages are dated 2035, but this one page is dated 2037.”

“That’s the year the Council split.”

Logan nodded. “Something tells me to start with that one.” He began reading aloud.

November 21, 2037. I fear that this will be my last entry for some time. I have written a letter to Baté, but the opportunity has not arisen for me to present it. It would be so much better if I could meet with him, but I don’t have a choice in the matter. I never did. The Council has broken up, and we need to leave. Robert is coming with us. I said good-bye to Deya and Madu last night. They both have their own plans. I hope they will be safe.

Logan stopped his reading. “Who is Robert?” he asked.

“Robert Tilbo. He was the man Camden rescued from the Forgotten Ones at the safe house, the day he first discovered the
Chronicles
,” Mr. Perrot answered. “He served with Camden and Cassandra on the first Council and also disappeared after the splintering.”

Logan nodded.
Another disappearance,
he thought. Then he continued to read.

All my fears about Fendral and Andrea were confirmed last night. I overheard them talking in the hallway before the Council meeting. I heard Fendral say that he had figured out a way to restore his family’s place in history. It had to do with securing control of the Council. He told Andrea that if his plan worked, the Hitchlords and Benson families would once again rule from the shadows. And he promised she would have a seat next to them.

I took my chance and barged in on their conversation. Then I confronted Fendral with a secret I’d uncovered which I dare not include here. The only move I had left to save the Council was to threaten Fendral with the release of the information. It seemed to work. For the first time ever, I saw fear in his eyes. We both agreed to depart from Washington and leave the Council to Cynthia. I told him directly that should he attempt to influence the Council in any way, I would publicly release his shame and bring an end to the Hitchlords dynasty.

“Sit where you may mind your enemy,

Remember forever their names as if etched into stone.

That which supports you in your vigilance

Will ultimately be your savior.”

We are leaving tonight. We are not going to risk our safety by playing any part in Fendral’s deadly games.

Logan finished reading the entry and looked up at Mr. Perrot in silence.

“So Camden blackmailed Fendral into leaving the Council,” Mr. Perrot mused. “I suspected he knew something about him that the rest of us did not. I wonder if it has anything to do with what Simon and
Andrea are up to at present. If we can find out what it is, perhaps we can use it again.”

Logan’s mind was elsewhere. “There’s that name Baté again,” he said. “And what about that strange quote near the end?”

“The quote—I have no recollection of it. It does not come from the
Chronicles
.”

Logan turned the page over and saw a short scribbled list on the other side. The name of Hitchlords was at the top, with what seemed to be some members of the Hitchlords lineage underneath it. The names of organizations were written in the margins next to them. Logan read them out loud.

“My knowledge of these organizations is limited,” Mr. Perrot said. “I never heard of ‘Thule’ or ‘MJ-12,’ but I do remember the ‘Federal Reserve.’ It was at the center of the financial world prior to the Great Disruption. Everything it attempted to stave off the Financial Reset of 2025 was met with vehement resistance. I dare say if your father was correct, the Hitchlords family was involved with one of the most influential clandestine groups in history. However—” He broke off. “However, none of this ties Simon and Andrea to the murders of the Council members or your parents. Keep reading; perhaps those other pages, from 2035, will provide something for immediate use, maybe even the secret Camden used against Fendral.”