The Belial Stone (The Belial Series) (2 page)

Blue’s frantic barking changed to mournful howls as they approached the farmhouse.  Run, Blue, run, Kenny shouted in his mind.  But the only words that were heard weren't his. 

“Don’t worry, Blue,” Gideon murmured.  “I haven’t forgotten about you.”

CHAPTER 1

Dewitt, NY

P
rofessor Delaney McPhearson glanced at the clock over the kitchen cabinets.  She was barely a quarter of the way through the tall stack of undergrad criminology papers in front of her. 

“Crap, crap, crap,” she muttered.  She needed to move if she was going to make her self-defense class. 

“Crap, crap, crap,” Max, her roommate Kati's three-year-old son, said from his spot on the floor. 

Wincing, she gave Kati an apologetic smile.  “Sorry.  Forgot he was there.”

Jotting down two more quick remarks, she whisked the papers off the table, placing them next to the larger stack of still-to-be graded ones on the kitchen island.  

She knelt down to Max and ruffled his sun-kissed brown hair.  “That's a bad word, Max.  I shouldn't have said it.”

Max nodded at her, his bright blue eyes, matching the Sesame Street t-shirt he wore,  solemn.  “Crap bad.”

Laney restrained the urge to smile.  “Yes, bad.”

She looked over his head at Kati, who was shaking her head good-naturedly.  Kati and Max shared same the soft, brown hair, slim build, and button nose.  The only difference was their eye color: Kati's were a deep brown.  Kati’s hair, now in a short pixie cut, only accentuated the similarities between mother and son.

“You better move if you’re going to make your class,” Kati warned.

“I’m going.  I’m going.”

With a quick kiss to the top of Max's head, she jogged to the stairs.  Taking them two at a time, she ducked into her room, and rummaged through her dresser for her workout clothes. 

Pulling off her pajamas, she struggled into the sports bra and yanked on a deep purple t-shirt.  Pulling her long, wavy, red hair into a ponytail, she had just slid into the black pants when her cell phone rang.

I have no time for whoever this is
, she thought, even as she reached over to her nightstand to check the caller ID.  She smiled and flipped the phone open, cradling it to her ear.

“Drew.  Where the hell have you been?”

Drew Master’s familiar chuckle made Laney smile even wider. She pictured him sitting at his desk, his mop of curly brown hair falling over his deep blue eyes. 

Her uncle had always hoped the two of them would turn their platonic friendship into a romantic one.  At least, he had hoped it up until she explained that the main stumbling block was their identical taste in men.

“Sorry, Lanes.  Work’s been insane.”

“See?  You’re working too hard.  You should have taken that position with my uncle.”  Laney’s uncle, Father Patrick Delaney, was one of the Roman Catholic Church’s premier archaeologists.  He’d gotten custody of Laney after her parents had died in a car crash when she was eight.  As a result, she’d spent almost every summer at one dig site or another since childhood. 

Since Laney met Drew freshman year of college, he’d spent every summer with them as well.  Even when they went to different doctorate programs, they stayed close.  When Drew finished his doctorate, her uncle had offered him a position with one of the Vatican’s dig sites.  Drew turned him down.  Instead he’d agreed to work with Dr. Arthur Priddle.  Not a good call in Laney’s opinion, but also not her decision. 

“You know I think the world of your uncle.  But Arthur’s research is much more in line with my own.  And, at the time, I thought it would come with fewer strings.”

“Not the case, huh?”

Drew snorted.  “Hardly.  He’s been running me ragged.  I don’t think he understands that we’re colleagues and I’m not his grad student.  And he’s been even more security conscious than usual.  The man has taken paranoia to a whole new extreme.” 

Laney caught her reflection in the mirror, her dark green eyes reflecting her concern.  This wasn’t like Drew.  He wasn’t a complainer.  He’d spent one summer in Egypt covered in bug bites, in the sweltering heat, with an unknown rash that caused his feet to swell to the point that he’d had to hobble around in sandals two sizes too big.  He’d barely mumbled a complaint. 

Seeming to sense her worry, he added some bounce into his next words.  “I mean, it’s intense, but good.  Priddle really has a way of looking at things from a new angle and developing an innovative approach.”

Laney opened her closet, looking for her gym shoes, and grimaced.   “Right.  Innovative and without any social skills or conscience.” 

At Drew’s silence, she sighed, realizing she wasn't helping.  “Sorry.  Ignore that.  I just don’t like you being so far away.  So tell me, how are you doing?  Really doing?  And no placating.”

Drew let out another laugh, this one less good-natured and more nervous.  “Okay, maybe things are a little stressful, right now.   But you know Priddle, perfection is his goal.”

Although his tone was light, Laney heard a heavier emotion under the words.  “Drew, is everything okay?”

He hesitated before answering.  “I don’t know.  He’s been even crazier than usual lately.  We’ve got this new project we’re working on, and he won't let me talk about it with anyone.  And I mean anyone.”

Leaning down to tie her sneakers, she tried to think of a way to give her thoughts an optimistic spin.  “Well, he’s not exactly known for his openness.  And besides, his research is so esoteric and off the map, it’s often dismissed before anyone really gives it a chance.  Maybe he’s just trying to make sure word doesn't leak out before he can present his entire argument.”  She paused.  “Are you regretting your choice to go work with him?”

“No.  I mean, I really think ancient civilizations hold the answers to who we are and where we’re going.  There’s so much out there we can’t explain - who built the sphinx, why the older pyramids are more technologically advanced than the newer ones, the maps of Antarctica that pre-date our history.  And those are only a few.  There are thousands of examples of unexplainable history.  Pre-historic civilizations are the only possible answer.  And he’s the archaeologist doing the most innovative research.  So, I don’t regret it.  I just wish…”

“He was a normal human being?” Laney deadpanned.

Drew barked out a laugh.  “Exactly.”

Laney didn’t disagree with Drew’s interest.  Before she’d turned to criminology, she’d thought hard about archaeology, for many of the same reasons that Drew had mentioned.  According to mainstream archeology, the dawn of civilization began around 3,000 BC.  Yet, there were more and more archaeological sites and discoveries of great skill that were being uncovered that pre-dated that arbitrary timeline.  The Piri Reis map, the research of Steen-McIntyre, Puma Punku.  None of them could be explained by the traditional timeline.  She knew why Drew was so passionate about the topic.  She just really wished the academic who was top in the field wasn't also such an ass.

She grabbed her exercise bag as she headed down the stairs.  “Well, at least I got you to laugh.  And I hate to do this to you, but can I call you later?  I’m heading to my self-defense class.”

“You still teaching that?”

“Yup.  Every Saturday, me and Rocky have a group of anywhere between five and twenty women we take through the paces.”  Rocky, a.k.a. Detective Rochelle Martinez, was a pint-sized powerhouse.  Six months ago, she and Laney had started offering a free women’s self-defense class Saturday mornings. 

“Maybe that’s what I need.  Some martial arts.  I liked those classes you took me to in undergrad.”

Laney smiled.  She’d been studying martial arts since she’d been a kid.  And she always loved introducing people to the discipline.  But Drew, while a gym enthusiast, was not exactly the most coordinated student she had ever taught.  “Well, I think exercise is always good,” she said diplomatically, as she waved goodbye to Kati and headed outside.

Walking down the porch, she crossed the lawn to her silver Pathfinder.  “I really do need to go, though.  Can I call you later?”

“Um, yeah.  Actually, though, I have a favor to ask.”

“Anything.” 

“Any chance you could read over a paper I’ve been working on?”

“I thought you weren’t allowed to share any of that work,” she teased as she threw her bag into the passenger seat.

“I’m not.  But I thought maybe if I showed him something that we could send out, it would kind of pave the way for some of the bigger findings we're going to be revealing down the road.  Before I give it to him, though, it has to be perfect.  I want to make sure there are no glaring errors in the logic, or God forbid, a typo.  But I really need you to keep this on the down low.”

Laney hopped into the driver’s seat and hit the speakerphone button on the cell.  “Not a problem.  I have some papers to grade tonight.  I can look at it tomorrow, though, and get some comments back to you by around lunch.  Will that work?”

She could practically feel Drew's relief pour through the phone.  “That would be incredible.”

Putting the truck into reverse, she started to back out of the drive.  “What's the paper on, anyway?”

Drew was silent.  She waited for a slow-moving Honda to pass and maneuvered out, onto the street.  “Drew?”

The sigh was barely audible, but she caught it.  “Promise me you’ll be open-minded?”

“Of course.”

“It’s on an ancient technologically-advanced society that existed prior to written history.”

Laney slammed on the brakes and stared at her phone, knowing exactly what Drew was trying to avoid saying.  “Drew, are you talking about what I think you’re talking about?”

“Yes.  It’s about Atlantis.”

CHAPTER 2

Saint Paul, MN

A
few stray beer bottles rattled along the street, blown by the wind.  Gideon curled his lip in distaste.  Neighborhoods like this disgusted him. It was populated almost solely by undergrads, with a smattering of graduate students and a few young professors who had not yet made enough money to move to better accommodations. 

The houses weren’t rundown because of economic shortcomings, but because of neglect.  The residents didn’t take pride in where they lived.  

Although it was late morning, the neighborhood remained quiet.  Given the hours traditionally kept by this population, that was not surprising.  In fact, Gideon had been counting on it.

He’d watched the couple on the first floor of the prewar-era colonial drive away a few minutes ago.  Like most of the houses on the block, this one was broken into two apartments.  His target lived on the second floor.  He watched the street for another few minutes, noting little activity.
             

Easing himself out of his car, he straightened his trench coat, pulling up the collar against the slight rain.  He crossed the street and tried the front door.  Unlocked.  He sighed.  This was simply too easy.  He passed the entrance to the first floor apartment and headed up the stairs.  

At the landing, he followed the hallway back to the front of the house.  Pausing before the only door, he listened for any sounds from inside.  A chair scraped along the floor and someone crossed the room.

He rapped on the door three times, tapping his foot as he waited for the occupant to answer.  He heard the locks being undone and restrained the urge to roll his eyes.  No asking who it was, simple trust that nothing of harm could be on the other side of the door. 

The man who opened his doors was in his late twenties, of medium height, with a mop of curly brown hair, jeans in need of a good wash, and a rumpled Henley.

“Can I help you?”

Gideon smiled.  “Drew Masters?”

Drew nodded.

Gideon took a step forward, crowding Drew back into the apartment.  “We need to have a little chat.”

CHAPTER 3

Dewitt, NY

M
uscles aching, Laney settled into the bath with a contented sigh.  After the self-defense class, she’d stopped by the Kung Fu school for a little sparring. 

The plan had been to stay for a half hour, tops, and then get right back to her papers.  But Sifu had decided to run a bracket.  Everyone paired up and the winners fought the winners of the other pairings until only one remained. 

She’d tried to beg off, knowing if she didn’t, she’d be up all night grading.  But then one of the new guys made a snarky comment about women getting black belts due to affirmative action, and she was in.  She smiled.  The victory was good, but man, it hurt.

The house phone rang just as she started to doze off.  She opened her eyes with a groan.   I’m not getting it.  There is nothing short of fire that can get me out of this tub right now. 

Kati and Max had left an hour ago to spend the week with Kati’s parents in Ohio.  Quiet in this house was a rare and wonderful thing.  She wasn’t giving it up, short of an emergency.  A really desperate emergency.

But then thoughts of her ungraded papers replicating like rabbits in the kitchen seeped into her brain.  With a muttered curse, she pulled herself from the tub and dried off.  Throwing on some sweats, she did a quick run-through with the hair dryer and headed back down the stairs.  Pouring a giant mug of coffee, she settled down once again in front of her papers with a sigh.

Twenty minutes later, she was deep into a paper on the role of neuropsychological deficits in violent crime when the front bell rang.  She looked at the clock.  Six o’clock.   She couldn’t think who it could be.

Walking to the door, still holding her paper in her hand, she peeped through the transom glass next to the door.  Smiling, she undid the locks and flung open the door.  “Uncle Patrick.  I did
n’t know you were coming by.” 

“I calle
d.  I guess you didn't hear me.

His strong Scottish brogue seemed more pronounced in the quiet.  She’d overheard one of his parishioners describe him as a redheaded Paul Newman.  She couldn’t disagree.  With his strong cheekbones, bright blue eyes, and just the smallest hint of grey around the temples, he did bear an uncanny resemblance to the actor. 

She stepped back to let him in.  “I was in the bath.  We ran a bracket at the school.”

He pulled her into a hug and held her longer than normal. 

She pulled back and looked into his eyes.  “What's wrong?”

He shook his head.  “How’d you do in the bracket?”

“I won.  But they gave me a good run for my money.”

“You really should get your instructor belt.  You could have had it years ago.”

She waved his words away, leading him back into the kitchen.  “I don’t need it.  I’m happy with my current belt.” 

“What’s all this?” he asked, eyeing the papers covering the table.

“First term papers of the year.” She held up the paper she was grading.  “Believe it or not, one of my students has actually written a good paper.  Miracles do happen.”

“So I’ve heard.”  He smiled, but it lacked its usual warmth. 

She frowned.  Her uncle could always be counted on to bring up the energy level in a room.  Today, though, a worried expression marred his usually upbeat countenance.  And his ramrod-straight posture, a remnant of his Marine Corps past and strict exercise routine, was also noticeably absent.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” 

He cleared his throat.  “It’s just …” He looked around the room, anywhere except at her.  His eyes stopped on her coffee pot.  “Could I get some of that coffee?”

Alarm bells shrieked in her head.  Her uncle never drank coffee.  Tea, yes, practically by the bucket.  But coffee? 

She paused before nodding.  She knew from experience her uncle would tell her what was going on when he was ready and not before. Growing up, it had frustrated her to no end. 

“Of course.”  She gestured at the table.  “Take a seat.”

In less than a minute, she’d placed a coffee before him.  Settling back in her chair, she waited until he took a shaky sip.  “Okay, you’re beginning to scare the heck out of me.  What’s going on?”

He sighed and looked into her face, a veil of tears in his eyes.  “It’s about Drew.”

Her stomach plummeted and she shook her head.  “Drew?  Nothing’s wrong with Drew.  I just spoke with him this morning.”

He leaned forward in his chair, his surprise and intensity evident.  “You did?  What did he say?”

Laney recounted their conversation. “So I told him I’d review the paper, and get it back to him tomorrow.”

Patrick’s shoulders drooped at the words.  He reached out, taking both of Laney’s hands in his.  “That won’t be necessary, sweetheart. I got a call from a colleague of mine out at Saint Paul.  Drew…”

Laney tried to pull her hands away and ignore the icy fingers of fear that ran down her back.  “Of course it’s necessary.  I promised him I’d get it back to him.”

She could feel his hands trembling, and tears now ran down his cheeks. She felt a catch at the back of her throat as her own tears threatened. 

“I’m sorry, honey.  Drew died this morning.  He committed suicide.”