Riddle Of The Diamond Dove (The Arkana Archaeology Mystery Series Book 4)

by N. S. Wikarski

  Griffin perched on the edge of the table and gestured toward the mound of uncooperative papers lying on the floor. “I’m in the final stages of packing and thought I’d try to bring along some relevant material from the Catalog. We’ll be leaving in two days for Botswana.”

  “Botswana. That’s a bit off course, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, the latitude I calculated using the lapis dove would put us in equatorial Africa but I thought we might take a short side trip as long as we’re already on the continent. I wanted to have Cassie validate something for us.”

  Faye smiled knowingly. “Ah, I see. We’re in the San file room and your destination is Botswana. Obviously, it’s the Python Stone you’re after.”

  “Always three steps ahead of the rest of us, aren’t you?” Griffin observed. “There’s been a great deal of speculation in the archaeological journals lately as to the Python Stone’s purpose. I thought we might have a go at it ourselves.”

  The old woman nodded. “I agree. It would be wonderful to have some first-hand documentation about it in our files. Have you told Cassie yet?”

  The Scrivener shook his head. “I didn’t want to give her too much information because it might influence her telemetric reading.”

  “I suppose that’s wise. Best to let her tell you what she senses, rather than have you tell her what she ought to sense.”

  “There’s no urgency for us to begin the quest for the next relic immediately, is there?” Griffin’s voice sounded worried.

  “No, not at all. Maddie’s latest intelligence has the Nephilim safely tucked into the compound. No travel arrangements have been made so I think you have a little lead time.”

  “That’s good,” Griffin sighed and then lapsed into silence. He appeared lost in thought again, staring at the floor until Faye interrupted his reverie.

  “Is something troubling you, dear?”

  The Scrivener caught himself. “No, nothing,” he said a trifle too quickly.

  “Nothing at all?” Faye urged with a hint of skepticism.

  Griffin appeared to be debating whether to tell her or not. He sighed again and quitted his perch on the side of the table. Drawing up the other chair to face the old woman, he said, “It’s nothing that will affect our mission, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  Faye chuckled. “I’m not worried at all but you seem to be. Please do tell me what it is, dear.”

  Griffin clasped and unclasped his hands. “I think something is about to happen between Cassie and Erik.”

  “How do you mean?” Faye was taken aback.

  “I have a feeling that they’re attracted to one another and it won’t be long before they act on that impulse.”

  The old woman raised her eyebrows. “From my own observation, they seem to be chaffing one another about as much as they’ve always done.”

  “But lately there’s been an underlying spark to their banter that’s almost palpable,” the Scrivener said gloomily.

  “And you disapprove of romance in the workplace?”

  “Hardly,” Griffin retorted. “Given the type of work we do, it’s unlikely any of us would meet a suitable mate anywhere else. It’s just that...” he trailed off.

  The Memory Guardian waited patiently for him to collect his thoughts.

  “This is very awkward. I shouldn’t even be thinking such things,” Griffin demurred.

  Fare reached out to pat his arm reassuringly. “I won’t breathe a word of what you say.”

  The Scrivener sat up straight. “Right then. I worry about the two of them together as a couple. Erik takes a very casual view of romance. I think Cassie could do better. There I’ve said it!” Griffin looked as if he wanted to snatch the words back again instantly. He blushed to the roots of his hair.

  Now it was Faye’s turn to sit forward anxiously. “Is there some bad blood between you and Erik?”

  “Good heavens, no! I didn’t mean to imply that at all. Erik is brilliant. In the field, there’s no one better.” He hesitated for several seconds before continuing. “It’s just that I’m afraid it won’t end well if the two of them become involved. It would be a volatile combination.”

  “Isn’t that the general idea in a romance?” Faye observed.

  Griffin shook his head gloomily. “I’m reminded of Friar Lawrence’s speech in Romeo and Juliet. ‘These violent delights have violent ends, and in their triumph die, like fire and powder.’”

  “And you’re afraid of what exactly?”

  “If one of them were ready to end it before the other, I’m afraid Cassie would be hurt.”

  “But you aren’t concerned about Erik being hurt.”

  The Scrivener laughed sardonically. “He won’t be on the receiving end, you can be sure.” Then he repeated, “She could do better.”

  Faye sighed. “It is so difficult to stand by and watch those we care about walking into trouble.” She gave him a keen look. “They wouldn’t thank you for interfering.”

  “I know that.” Griffin stared down at his clasped hands. “It has to run its course, whatever that may be.”

  Faye was silent a moment, weighing her words carefully. “Cassie is fortunate to have such a disinterested friend.”

  Griffin’s eyes flew open wide. He searched the old woman’s face intently, alarmed at her veiled inference. “She would never think of me that way. Never!”

  The Memory Guardian smiled thinly. “The pity of it is that you would like her to, wouldn’t you?”

  Griffin blushed even more furiously than before. “It’s ludicrous to imagine she ever would! You’ve seen Erik—handsome fellow. Blond hair, green eyes, muscular physique. The only sort of woman trouble he’s even known is how to keep them at bay.”

  Faye paused to study the young man seated across from her: his full head of chestnut hair, expressive hazel eyes, chiseled features, and tall slender build. “My dear, it’s obvious that you don’t own a mirror,” she said, stifling a chuckle. “Let me be the first to inform you that you’re far from a homely creature yourself.”

  “That may be.” He brushed aside the compliment. “But I am bookish. Women never go for bookish chaps. It’s the swashbuckling hero they all want. On a field mission, my physical accomplishments are limited to tripping over my own feet or getting shot at highly inconvenient moments.”

  Faye rested her chin on her hand, considering his words. “From what I’ve heard,” she reflected softly, “Cassie has proven quite adept at taking care of herself in the field. I don’t believe she needs to be rescued by a swashbuckling hero.” She paused. “Have you considered that she and Erik might be a bit too much alike?”

  Griffin refused to be comforted by the observation. “I’m being ridiculous. Please forget everything I just said. I hardly know what I want or whom.” He continued to stare at the floor, refusing to make eye contact. “She could do better than me as well,” he added bitterly.

  Faye rose to go. She rested her hand gently on his shoulder as she passed him. “I’ll leave you to the rest of your packing. You need some time to sort out what to take with you and what to leave behind.”

  Chapter 6—Plagued With Difficulties

  Abraham limped rigidly off the elevator into Dr. Aboud’s underground laboratory. He silently cursed the aches and pains that had begun to make themselves felt in his knees, his back and even his finger joints. He’d never felt really old before. The cares of recent months were taking their inevitable toll. He feared that before long he would need the assistance of a cane.

  The Diviner impatiently dismissed the thought and turned his attention to the foreign doctor who stood waiting to receive him. Aboud had traded his expensive suit jacket for an immaculate white lab coat. For the first time in Abraham’s memory, the mysterious little man actually seemed pleased to see him.

  Giving a slight bow, Aboud extended a hand to his benefactor. “You are very welcome here, Mr. Metcalf. I and my staff are making great progress.”

  “So you have no caus
e for complaint this time, Doctor?” Abraham asked pointedly.

  The doctor was in too good a mood to take offense. He shrugged off the comment. “All is as you promised. All is as I wished it to be. The design of the facility. The supplies I require. The skilled staff to execute my orders. Everything is quite satisfactory.”

  Abraham gave a curt nod. He looked around the reception area which appeared as it would in any normal office setting. A coffeemaker on a table, magazines scattered about, chairs and couches lining the walls. His gaze traveled down a hallway that led off to the left. At the very end was a stainless steel door with a glass inset. He began to walk toward it. “I wish to tour the facility to see what you’ve accomplished so far.”

  Aboud hastened after him. “That will not be possible, sir.”

  “What!” Abraham bristled, continuing to march toward the door.

  “The lab is hot now.”

  “I don’t care how warm it is in there!”

  Aboud grasped him by the elbow. “I’m not referring to the ambient temperature, sir. I mean we’ve already brought in our experimental material.”

  Abraham ignored the explanation and paused before the heavy metal door. He peered through the glass panel to see a small room lined with more stainless steel. A shower was suspended from the ceiling and a drain was positioned in the middle of the floor. At the opposite end of the room was another metal door with another glass panel. Beyond it he could see a silent fluorescent corridor. He scowled in puzzlement, not sure what to make of the tiny room.

  As he gripped the metal door handle, Aboud threw his hands up. “Since you will not listen to me, I can only assume you have chosen to end your life this day. Very well. Proceed, by all means. It will not be a pleasant death, I can assure you.”

  Abraham’s hand fell away from the door. He stared at the foreign doctor standing at his elbow.

  Aboud regarded him with a sardonic smile. “I have your undivided attention at last.” The doctor stepped between Abraham and the door. “Beyond this point, we have collected the most deadly diseases known to man. You might consider this section of the facility as a maximum security prison for pathogens. The room in which you are so interested is both an airlock and a decontamination chamber. No one enters this wing of the lab without the proper protective attire.”

  “I see.” Abraham backed down slightly. “Then perhaps we should talk about your plans for the inmates of this facility elsewhere.”

  “Yes, of course,” the doctor agreed. “Let us go into my private office where we can speak freely.”

  Guiding Abraham by the elbow, the doctor nudged him back through the reception area and into another wing of the facility. They stopped before a wooden door bearing the letters, “Director’s Office.”

  Aside from the requisite desk and office equipment, the room held a small alcove furnished with two cushioned chairs positioned on either side of an end table.

  “Let us sit here,” Aboud prompted.

  Abraham sank down into one of the low seats, grateful for the sake of his back that it was upholstered.

  The doctor took the opposite chair and leaned forward eagerly. “At last, my work begins in earnest.”

  “Have you chosen the instrument of my judgment yet?” Abraham asked cryptically.

  “I have indeed. I considered all the usual alternatives, of course. Ebola, anthrax, flesh-eating bacteria, but in the end, I settled on plague.”

  “Plague?” Metcalf echoed in surprise. “The disease spread by flea-infested rats which killed half of Europe during the Middle Ages?”

  “There are many different strains of the bacteria,” Aboud demurred. “I envision nothing as clumsy as infecting a multitude of fleas and setting them loose in a haphazard fashion.”

  “I should hope not.”

  “Besides, people are more inclined to practice hygiene in this day and age. The fleas would stand little chance.” The doctor sat back in his chair, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I have something far more elegant in mind. More elegant and much more efficient.”

  Abraham cocked a skeptical eyebrow but remained silent.

  “I think we shall use pneumonic plague. Airborne bacteria which can be spread by a cough or a sneeze. All the victim needs to do is breathe in and breathe out.”

  “Yes,” Metcalf murmured half to himself. “I think that may suit my purposes very well.”

  “Of course, there is much to be done first,” Aboud hastened to add. “My staff is currently tasked with developing new strains of the bacteria. We need a far more lethal strain which will kill more quickly.”

  “How quickly?”

  “No more than twenty four hours. Once we have developed a sufficiently deadly virus, we will begin to test it. First on small mammals and then on larger and larger ones. Soon we shall be in a position to know how long it will take for a mammal the size of a human to succumb.”

  Abraham nodded, pleased with the doctor’s plan.

  “Of course, I could focus my research much more accurately if you were to tell me who you intend to target,” Aboud hinted discretely.

  The old man scowled fiercely. “Not just yet. I’ve told you enough to guide your efforts in the direction I wish them to go.”

  Aboud pursed his lips at the rebuke. “Of course, just as you wish. I have enough information to design my experiments in a general way for the time being. However, when we are nearer the end of the road and I am ready to create the delivery mechanism, I will need to know.”

  “And when that days comes, you shall,” Metcalf agreed. “But not a moment sooner.”

  The doctor stroked his chin, musing half to himself. “I think we should begin our tests using rats. Yes, that would be fitting. The Asian black rat was the first beast to carry the Black Death to the West.” He chuckled to himself.

  “What’s so amusing?” Abraham asked suspiciously.

  “I was thinking back to an anecdote I heard in medical school regarding the spread of the plague in Europe. The medieval church was sure the disease was of demonic origin. Since the church equated demons with cats—seeing them as agents of the devil and familiars of witches—it thought to cure the disease by eliminating them.”

  “I dislike cats myself,” Metcalf agreed. “Vile independent creatures. Always sneaking about. Subject to no authority but their own will.”

  “It’s too bad you hold such a low opinion of them,” Aboud observed mildly. “During the height of the plague, the church exterminated hundreds of thousands of felines.”

  “And your point is...” Abraham demanded, becoming impatient with the meandering tale.

  “The one creature which might have effectively controlled the rat population of Europe was targeted for destruction. The church’s hysterical vendetta against demon cats actually accelerated the spread of the disease.” Aboud looked pensively at the ceiling for a moment. “It is often thus. Actions fueled by fear prove to be the quickest means of bringing about the very catastrophe one wishes to avoid.”

  “Since you are so fond of cats, I take it you won’t be performing any of your experiments on them,” Metcalf observed sarcastically.

  Aboud shrugged. “You mistake me. I have no particular attachment to the species. If they suit my purposes, I will use them but I think I should rather begin with the common rat. Genus rattus, species rattus. It is fitting that he should be the first to die in our experiments.”

  Abraham rose wincing, trying to mask the pain the effort cost him. He wasn’t that old yet. Piqued that the doctor should witness his moment of weakness, he said petulantly, “The Black Death was brought to Western shores by shipboard rats from your part of the world. On the vessels of foreign traders.”

  Aboud chose not to rise to the bait. He stared coolly at his benefactor. “Then it is only fitting that the humble rat and a humble foreigner such as I should be the ones to bring the pestilence full circle. As it began, so shall it end.”

  “Oh yes,” Abraham agreed softly. “We
are fast approaching the end.”

  Chapter 7—School Daze

  Faye was in the kitchen kneading bread dough. Hannah was working quietly at the computer which had taken up permanent residence on the dining room table when a loud thumping at the front door interrupted both their occupations.

  “Gracious, who’s making that racket?” Faye murmured half to herself, wiping her hands and heading toward the front of the house.

  “I’ll get it.” Hannah sprang from her seat but the door burst open on its own to reveal Zachary, out of breath, as he lugged a long cardboard box into the parlor.

  “Somebody get the door,” he ordered as he hoisted the box upright and dragged it against the far wall.

  Hannah complied.

  Faye noticed that her house guest glanced into the foyer mirror to check her appearance. She needn’t have worried. Most teenage girls would have envied her fashion model figure, her straight blond hair, and her perfect ivory complexion. Hannah apparently cared a great deal what Zachary thought of her.

  Faye observed that, for his part, her descendent had stopped wearing ripped blue jeans and faded T-shirts whenever he came to visit. Today he had donned corduroy pants and a fisherman’s sweater. He had also traded his porcupine hair style for a modest side part. The old woman guessed the change was motivated by a reciprocal desire to make a good impression on Hannah.

  “I see you got it,” Faye observed cryptically.

  Zach flashed a conspiratorial grin. “Yeah, it was the last one in stock but I got it.”

  “Got what?” Hannah asked in bemusement. The girl left the mirror and scurried over to see what he had brought.

  “A present for you, my dear,” Faye replied.

  “But it isn’t my birthday,” she objected in a flustered tone.

  “No, we missed that some months back because you neglected to tell us it was your fifteenth birthday. Consider this a very belated gift.”

  Hannah eyed the tall box dubiously. “Well, thank you.”

  Zach couldn’t resist the urge to tease her. Turning to his ancestor, he said, “I don’t think she wants it, Gamma. I better take it back.”