The Pharos Objective (14 page)

He squeezed into the dusty chamber lit by a succession of floodlights connected by yellow extension cords to a generator below the floor. Forty feet overhead, the domed ceiling caught the shadows of the occupants at the central table. Nolan eyed them as he strode into the room, and he imagined them taking on their celestial counterparts in the freshly painted cobalt blue dome, soon to hold a host of stars and zodiac imagery. He buttoned his gray sports coat and quickly took his place at the head of the long mahogany table. Fifteen others sat around it, drinking tea and whispering among themselves.

“Keepers.” Nolan’s voice was soft and controlled, as if humbled from recent setbacks. “Thank you all for coming.”

“Is this wise?” asked a gray-haired woman at the opposite end of the table. “All of us in one spot?”

“No,” Nolan said, looking over his dull-eyed counterparts, “it definitely is not. But we have no choice.”

“We heard,” said a younger man on his right, “about Ullman and Miles.”

“Horrible,” said the man to his left, who was perspiring despite the cool air filtering through ducts along the floor. His gray suit coat hung on the chair at his back.

Nolan hung his head. “Yes, we’ll mourn their loss. But now we must consider succession.”

“But their successors are not ready,” said the older woman, slapping her hand on the table. “It’s too soon, and they were too young, not prepared properly.”

A younger woman, with short hair and sad brown eyes, stared up at the unfinished ceiling. “Who else is ready?”

“Mine are,” said Nolan. “And if there are no objections—”

“Why does he get two?” asked the young woman.

“Because,” the older woman replied, making a face, “Nolan can’t decide which child he loves more.”

Nolan Gregory shrugged. “They each have valuable strengths. I’m only volunteering them because I see no alternatives. It was unfortunate that our fallen colleagues were not prepared, but I am.”

The first man who spoke leaned across the table and pointed to Nolan. “Then that will leave us one short if you are next to die.”

“I’m aware of the math,” Nolan said with an exasperated sigh. His attention roamed about the room, noting the alcoves built into the rounded walls and the hundreds of empty shelves; and for just a moment he set his imagination free, allowing it to fill them. He completed the vault, applied the finishing touches and imagined it full. Whole.

Soon
, he thought.
Soon
.

“This is our most desperate moment,” he said. “This new enemy threatens everything. We can survive without our full number for a time, but I maintain that what we have before us at this moment is an opportunity. With my successors in place, we may have a chance to get to the Renegade, to find the key, and claim our legacy.”

“Assuming,” the old woman said, hunched over, “we aren’t all killed first.”

Nolan crossed his hands in front of his face, simultaneously rubbing both temples. “My other reason for calling this meeting was for our protection.” He looked up. “We’re safe here, and here we’ll stay.”

The older man straightened up. “For how long? I have commitments—”

“—which will have to wait,” Nolan said. “We stay here until the threat has passed, which I promise you will be soon.”

“How do you know?” asked the young woman, her face flushing.

Nolan stared at her. He knew she and Ullman had been more than just colleagues. “I know, because our enemies are on the wrong track.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’ve been misled,” replied Nolan. “Misled about the codes. Someone—I don’t know who—first told them the wrong sequence, and based on the recovered recordings from Ullman’s body, he was able to think fast, and managed to strengthen the initial lie.”

The old woman frowned. “But then, who started it?”

Nolan shook his head.
That is the real question.  
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “However our enemies know about the door and the sequence, they have it wrong; and in their blind impatience, they will surely try it.”

Smiles broke out around the room as the Keepers glanced at one another.

Nolan Gregory nodded and sat down with a heavy sigh. “Now, we only need to sit tight, and wait. Wait,” he repeated, “for the Pharos to protect itself.”
And then we can get back on track
.

He again stared over the incomplete shelves and the empty walls, and he listened to the echo of his voice as it traveled outside the room, down the desolate corridors and chambers of this venerable vault.
Now I have ensured it: my successors will be the ones to find the key, and they will bring the treasure here, to its new home.

15

She waited in the hotel lobby café behind a wilting palm tree and a mosaic-tiled fountain. The others were still upstairs, those that were going on the descent, preparing. But Nina was already packed and ready. Now she wanted a minute alone with Waxman, and after calling up to his room five minutes before, he was on his way.

Of course, the merry widow had been with him up there.
Always with him
, Nina thought, stewing that she had to wait for her assignments until he had a chance to sneak around and come to her room in the middle of the night. He always stayed longer than necessary, which was fine by her. Waxman was powerful, and a skilled lover. Two qualities she desired in a man. But this time she only needed a minute.

She opened her makeup case, turned away from the lobby and started to apply, watching. The stairwell door opened and George came out, looking flushed with excitement, a book bag slung over one shoulder and a diving bag over the other. He came right up to the pillar by the palm tree and, glancing around the lobby first to make sure no one else from the group was lingering about, whispered, “What is it?” He stood on the other side of the palm’s trunk, pretending to check through his bag for a lost item.

Nina brushed her eyebrows. “I’m not convinced.” She waited for his reaction, then continued when he made none. “I want to find another Keeper and be more deliberate this time. I think I might have led the last one in my questioning—”

“I thought you were a professional,” he said. “Did you lead him or didn’t you?”

In her mind, Nina replayed Ullman’s last words again, trying to recall the nuances in his voice, listening for any signs that he had misled her. Then she cursed herself for killing that first Keeper so quickly, reacting out of fear. She snapped the case shut. “No,” . . .
but
I can’t be sure
.

“Well, the rest of them won’t be so easy to find. Now that you’ve put the fear of God into them, they’re scurrying under the rocks, afraid of their own shadows.”

Nina shifted uncomfortably. “I know, but I can still get to them. We have the location of their families, and it would be easy to grab key relatives and convince one of them to—”

“No,” Waxman said. “You did your job. You got a confirmation. I say we go.”

Finally she nodded.

“Good,” Waxman said. “And remember, if we get inside the vault, the others don’t make it out.”

Nina grinned. “Believe me, I haven’t forgotten. And I assume you mean everyone . . .?”

“Yes. Make it look like the traps took care of them and only we survived.”

“So . . . Helen as well?”

“Yes,” he said without pause, “especially her. It’ll be easy. Caleb already believes we’re all doomed.”

 
Maybe he’s right,
Nina thought. But at least Waxman hadn’t made this mission personal. If he had asked to spare Helen, Nina would have had to question his priorities. Despite last night, Nina’s priorities were intact. At least she could say that much, even though she had to admit she was tempted. Caleb had a certain darkness about him that attracted her, and a streak of individuality she saw as a challenge, something to tame.

“Okay,” she said, and steeled herself for the coming tasks, the culmination of their project, and hopefully the end to all this mess of novice psychics, codes, legacies and secrets. She glanced over her shoulder. But Waxman was gone, already heading to the front desk to call up to the rooms and bring everyone down to the waiting jeeps.

16

On the way to the elevators, his pack slung over his shoulder, Caleb stopped. Room 612. The door was open a crack, and someone was peering through the gap, watching. The door opened a little wider, and a patch of red hair emerged from the shadows, then bloodshot blue eyes darted up and down the hallway.
“Danger.”

Caleb took a step to the door. “Xavier?”

“Danger,” he repeated. “I’m not going with them.” Shirtless, still in his striped pajama bottoms, Xavier Montross looked like he had been through a four-night bender. His hair disheveled, eyes dark, bits of food stuck in his teeth.

“Did you see something?” Caleb asked. “Is that why you’re not going?”

Xavier gave an almost imperceptible nod, retreating back into the shadows.

“Wait.” Caleb reached out as the door closed. “What was it? What did you see?”

The latch clicked and a bolt slammed home. The eye view on the door flickered. Caleb imagined Xavier pressed close, breathing the sour breath of an anxious man. “Xavier!”

From under the door, his voice, like a desiccated whisper came, “Climb, Caleb.”

“What?”

“I’ll see you again . . . at the . . .”

“What?”

“. . . mausoleum.”

Caleb knocked on the door. “Xavier?”

Down the hall, the elevator doors opened and Helen stuck her head around the corner. “There you are!”

Caleb shuffled away from the door, shaking his head.
The mausoleum?

“Come on, lazybones!” said his mother, holding open the doors. “This treasure isn’t going to find itself!”

“How did George
arrange this?” Caleb asked Nina as they stepped out of the jeep before the deserted lot around Qaitbey’s fortress.

Normally, the promontory was crawling with tourists and peddlers, couples enjoying the view and sitting in a revitalized courtyard, sipping cool drinks by transplanted palm trees. Some waited for their chance to tour the empty fortress, now a museum, although there were no artifacts inside and nothing to look at but the empty hallways. Normally, they would have had to sneak in during the early hours after midnight or attempt a brazen break-in. Now, apparently, they had other means.

Nina smoothed back an unruly wave of hair, gave Caleb a knowing grin and said, “It pays to have connections.”

“But this . . .” He looked around, amazed. Armed Egyptian soldiers stood guard outside, beyond the perimeter of the jeeps, keeping onlookers away.

Helen overheard them. She gave Nina a frowning look and said, “It’s what I’ve been working on, Caleb, building relationships with the Council of Antiquities. And George’s monetary influence helps.”

“Of course.”

“Let’s move, people!” Waxman spread his arms and turned in a full circle in the breeze. Seagulls took off behind him, circled and alighted on the castle’s ramparts. “Today is an historic day! For archaeology, for history, and for the new trail we’re blazing in paranormal research. Follow me, if you please.”

The members of the Morpheus Initiative followed through the outer gate, one by one, Waxman and Helen in the lead. They crossed the deserted courtyard to the inner citadel and mosque. Once, from these windows, arrows had rained down upon Turkish ships.

Inside, the fort was cool and refreshing. Caleb let his fingertips dance along a granite wall and took a moment to consider that they were possibly touching a remnant of the great Pharos Lighthouse. “This archway looks older,” he noted, catching his breath. “And those pillars—they have to be part of the Pharos.”

“I think you’re right,” Helen said, up ahead, her voice breathless.

Out the open window, three seagulls had followed them and were circling, screeching. Caleb had the sudden fear they were sounding an alarm, protesting an unwarranted intrusion. He looked past them into the harbor where a fleet of boats, dinghies and random vessels of all colors and types were moored, pointing toward Alexandria, waiting for some great pronouncement from Cleopatra, perhaps, or Caesar himself.

“Ready, Caleb?” Nina pinched playfully at the back of his thigh, then took off down a plain corridor that narrowed like the inside of a tomb. Waxman, Helen, Victor, Elliot, Mary, Amelia, Tom and Dennis waited, expectantly. Helen nodded, smiling.

“Your show, kid,” said Waxman. “You saved us from going in through the water vents and braving the currents, so this is your vision, go with her. Lead the way.”

Helen paused, counting. “Aren’t we missing one?”

“Xavier?” Waxman said, glancing around.

“Got the kid’s stomach bug?” Elliot asked.

“Or he’s hung over,” said Victor.