by Seeley James
Griffith leaned back in his chair and stroked his chin while he thought. “All right, I’ll admit they are a problem. And for the record, there are thirty-two. They were not my choice. Tradition holds that the Protector chooses the Knights, not the Guardian. For this round, the Protector chose a chapter from Turkmenistan. I’d have preferred more civilized Knights, maybe Norwegians or Scots. My orders to them did not include bloodshed. That’s a cultural distinction I hadn’t anticipated.”
“Nonetheless, fifteen of my colleagues are dead.”
“Regrettable, no doubt. And ineffective. But it’s done and doesn’t matter now. Life and death balance each other. A death here and there makes no difference in the grand scheme of things. The mission must continue for the preservation of civilization. And that’s where you come in, Cherry.”
She wanted to scream when he dropped the weight of civilization on her shoulders. Instead, she closed her eyes and thought of how Uncle Rafael would handle this man. With calm, calculated observation. He would listen without comment.
A servant appeared with a silver tray of green drinks in martini glasses. He served Griffith first. Cherry took hers, said thank you, and watched him disappear without a sound.
She said, “OK, I’m listening. What about civilization?”
“Why did some Mayan cities collapse and not others?”
“Drought is the prevailing theory.”
“A drought that destroyed Calakmul but not Chichen Itza, a hundred miles away?” Griffith dismissed her idea with a backhanded wave. “The Poison Stone is real. You know it and so does Rafael Tum. It destroyed Mesopotamia. It ruined Egypt. It brought down Rome. And it wreaked havoc on the Maya.”
“Poison Stone, Freedom Stone, Balance Stone,” she taunted. “Fairy tales.”
“If it’s a fairy tale, why did your beloved uncle follow Jacob Stearne into the rain forest?”
It was a good question. One she’d been asking ever since Amanow and his murderous thugs showed up. Uncle Rafael knew they were coming yet left her behind with little more than a warning. Had he miscalculated their violence? Or had he fled for his life? Answers she would find later. She would show this man nothing.
“I see your proud Indian heritage won’t let you divulge your thoughts,” he said.
“Indians live in India.” She glared at him.
“Mestizo, Latina, whatever.” He dismissed her a second time with a wave of his hand.
She hated that her mother married into San Francisco society, then spent the rest of her life groveling to earn their acceptance. They handed her empty glasses at her own cocktail parties, asked her to bring fresh towels at the country club, and asked her to pronounce her name again. She’d politely correct them: No. Not cerveza. Cereza. It means cherry in Spanish. Her mother should’ve told them all to drop dead, Joe Griffith first among them. The reason she’d been the only brown person at her debutante ball was to help her mother become one of them. Even though the Crocker family was older and wealthier than any other in San Francisco society, they never accepted Cereza Tum Crocker. Cherry wasn’t going to suck up to them only to suffer the same fate.
“Mayan,” she said. “Unfortunately, only half. My mother made the mistake of marrying into a white family.”
“Very well. Mayan then.” Griffith chuckled as if it were cute. “Did your Mayan uncle tell you about the ancient society he’s involved in?”
“What my family discusses is none of your business. Why am I here?”
He clasped his hands and leaned forward. “At the time of the American Revolution, the world’s population was well under a billion. Today, we’re nearing eight billion. The time for allowing cities and states to rule by acclamation is long gone. Look at China. They’ve dealt with a huge population for years. They went from the Stone Age to modernity in the space of two generations. They had no time for debate and council. They needed and benefitted from strong, decisive leadership. There are many of us who’ve worked hard to bring that same leadership to other countries. Culturally appropriate leadership, of course. We’ve done a great deal to prepare the world for the next step in civilization.”
Cherry waited through his dramatic pause while suppressing her shock. She rolled her hand. “And?”
“Jacob Stearne has no idea what he found. Your uncle does. That box can unleash pure anarchy on this world. We could end up like the Mayans. We have to find it and secure it.”
“What do you want from me?” she asked.
“Somewhere on your journey, Jacob Stearne hid the Poison Stone. Your dear uncle refused to retrieve it. We need you to help us find it.”
Jenny’s fury strained her muscles as she strode through the lobby’s labyrinth of hallways. With her eyes fixed on the gold-and-red patterns in the carpet, she saw nothing else around her. Was she making a mistake marrying Jacob? Her domineering father never let her mother make a single decision. Everything the family did was on his whim. Her mother had been a respected admiral before President Williams picked her as his vice president. Everyone else saw Anne Wilkes as a smart, capable leader. Why didn’t Bobby Jenkins understand his wife could make rational decisions? Dad controlled everything within reach. Jenny found herself constantly trying to win his approval and never getting it. Nothing was good enough to please him. He even tried to control where Jenny went to college by claiming he would only pay for Stanford. Jenny chose the Naval Academy. She’d stood up to her father and proved she could make her own decisions.
“Jenny?” The voice came from across the lobby.
Jenny looked around. It was late and there were few people in the usually busy space.
Gu Peng waved a hand from a corner of the room, catching Jenny’s attention. Peng sat with perfect posture, as if she were waiting for the queen. Jenny crossed the space.
“What are you doing here?” Jenny asked. She slid onto the small divan next to the older woman.
“Mother of light bless you,” Peng said. She reached out and cupped Jenny’s cheek with her palm. “But anger not best color on you. What trouble you, dear?”
Jenny found the touch comforting, calming. “I’m ashamed of how Jacob treated you. I told him to change his mind. We got into a fight.”
“You want him do what you tell him?” Peng rested her walking stick against the edge of her seat and folded her hands in her lap.
“Yes. Just once.”
“Why you so angry at him? He want me do as he say. You want him do as you say. It same thing. He want power over me. You want power over him. That give you power over me.”
Jenny felt herself lean back. The old lady’s expression was flat, not judgmental, not superior, just stating a fact.
“Yeah,” Jenny said. “I hadn’t thought of it like that. Still—”
“Brotherhood of Claritas over three thousand year old.” Peng’s gaze swept the grand space around them. “In all time, Council always elect woman to lead.”
“That can’t be.”
“It can be—and there reason for it.”
“What?” Jenny asked.
“Once in great while, pride of lion need male for strength, aggression, and violence. He defend pride from outside threat. Rest of time, he not do anything. Women run whole operation. They provide food, raise young. Women decide who is and who is not member of pride, including who is lion king.”
Jenny had a feeling she knew where the conversation was heading.
“So why we call ourself Brotherhood?” Peng asked.
Jenny shrugged.
“Marketing.” Peng laughed and pushed Jenny’s knee. “We lioness. Let men strut and demand and threaten. Let men throw each other to floor. Young lion challenge lion king. Many time lose, one day win. No matter. We choose who is and who is not Brother. In that way, we choose who throw who to floor. And who is lion king.”
Jenny nodded along with her new friend.
“It not good feminist,” Peng said, “to call ourself Brotherhood. But would Danny join Sisterhood? Jacob?”
“Danny more capable than Jacob know.” Peng looked to the ceiling. “You fight for him. Thank you. I notice how you place hand on Jacob back. You steer him to right place. You light his way. Jacob in darkness, he not see. Danny deserve chance to prove himself. But there be another day. Another chance.”
“That’s what Jacob said.” Jenny twisted to face Peng directly. “Are you saying I should give up?”
“Ah. You want win. Quick win is false victory.” The old woman patted Jenny’s knee. “Goal not win argument. Goal win lifetime together. Find harmony. Find balance.”
Jenny thought about her parents. They had fought. In third grade, her carefully staged fairytale world of privilege and luxury was blown up by their divorce. Overnight, she was thrown from her stable, comfortable world into shouting and crying and being forced to take sides. Too young to understand the dynamics, she could still see their posture and hear their tones. Her mother challenged her father head-on. He stiffened and met the challenge with rising rage. They spiraled out of control. Peng was right. They were trying to win. To gain power over each other. In the end, everyone lost.
“You go through big life-transition,” Peng touched her forearm. “Transition very scary time. Baptism, bris, man yue, confirmation, bat mitzvah all ritual to help you leave old monster from childhood behind. They prepare you for new monster ahead. Now you face big transition—marriage. You leave one stage and walk into fog forest. Unknown world. You worry about many thing. Will I be safe? Will I be accept? Will I have power? Will I have respect?”
Jenny felt her anger slipping away under Peng’s analysis. She was afraid of the future. Afraid her future would parallel her parents. Ironically, she had taken the same position her father had, immovable. She didn’t want to become her father. She said, “Not all transitions go well.”
“No.” Peng’s eyes filled and she looked away. “It not mean we have no courage.”
Jenny watched in silence as the grand lady composed herself. Jenny wanted to reach out, to say something, to console her, but something told her Peng’s pain went far beyond Jenny’s life experience. She sat still.
Peng produced a tissue from a hidden pocket, sniffled, wiped her eyes, and gave Jenny a smile.
“Thank you,” Jenny squeezed the old lady’s hand. “I’ll make up with Jacob. How can I repay you for the advice?”
“It nothing, child.” Peng shrugged. “Maybe one day, you join Brotherhood. Bring freedom to people.”
“I would like that,” Jenny said.
Peng swept the carpet with her shoe. “Maybe you answer question, help me. Jacob confide secret with you?”
“Oh yes, he tells me everything.”
“Did he say where he hide Freedom Stone?”
CHAPTER 21
I jumped out of a perfectly good airplane at 0250 hours and hurtled toward a dark mansion on a black lake along an unlit shoreline. It took sixty seconds to free fall the first ten thousand feet. For the next three minutes after that, I maneuvered my chute through a light breeze toward an easy landing on Griffith’s expansive roof. Thanks to endless Ranger training, I could do it in my sleep.
While I floated down, the image of Hidalgo’s head shattering across the plaza popped into my mind. The innocent archeologists cried out for justice. For their sakes and untold numbers of others, I vowed to track down and kill Mr. Baldy. Based on what I saw in his Guatemalan camp, he must’ve brought Cherry here. I could only hope he was still on the premises.
Griffith’s roof was the one area where my surveillance exposed a gap in their security. One access door with one sensor. No cameras. No one expects an assault from above. Not the Taliban, not ISIS, not the Qatari … Wait. Forget that last one. I’m not supposed to talk about that mission until 2042.
Off the coast, Jenny’s infrared beacon, visible only to me, blinked with a steady cadence. I added her reliability to the list of things I adored about her. After our fight, she came back to the suite and apologized. Then she rifled through my backpack, pulled the clay-covered altar I’d been carrying around in place of the alabaster albatross, and questioned me about where I left the real one. Which led to another fight. Why did I hide the stone without telling her? To protect her, I’d said. I learned a valuable lesson. Never protect her without discussing it first. I apologized for that oversight. We achieved balance, or maybe yin-yang. Or whatever. We were back on the Highway of Love, and that’s all that mattered in the end.
We went ahead with the mission in good spirits.
I checked my comm link. “Jenny, you look just as beautiful in the dark as you do in the light.”
“That better be a compliment,” she said.
A boat ran up the coast, heading toward Jenny. Before reaching her, it arced toward Griffith’s dock. Half a mile east, another boat lay at anchor. Everything else was dark.
“Is that a security detail from Griffith’s people?” I asked. “Kinda late for a shore patrol. If it is, you should back off another half mile.”
“Checking,” she said. Over the comm link, I heard her goose the motor enough to move quietly.
I flared and ran across the angled solar panels to deaden the thump of landing. It worked well except the chute caught on a corner. I struggled with it for a few seconds before deciding to abandon the rig.
The access door was full-sized sheet metal with a standard wireless sensor. Using my Sabel phone to mimic the sensor’s signal, I used a slide hammer to remove the lock mechanism and open the door. The stairwell went down only one floor. Pulling the lower door open a crack, I used the monocular periscope to look around the space. A windowless attic, it held several desks and monitors in a narrow corridor. A wall separated the rest of the space. Along that wall were two doors. No lights seeped beneath them, but a sound came from the other side. I listened closely.
Snoring.
I risked a peek inside, quietly turning the knob to give an inch. The thermal setting on my visor revealed several bodies prone. A makeshift bunkhouse. The Knights? I quickly pulled the door shut again.
Mercury tapped my shoulder, scaring the crap out of me. Always nice to know you got the enemy in front and behind you, right homie? Don’t be making the same mistake Consul Paullus made at Cannae.
You mean Hannibal’s famous double envelopment move that wiped out the Roman army in 216 BCE? I asked. Never heard of it.
Mercury said, Nobody likes a smartass.
I said, How about telling me something useful. Are all the Knights in there?
Mercury said, Only twelve. You left eight in the jungle. The rest are across the way in that service house. Basement. Griffith was too cheap to spring for a motel.
I said, Tell me the truth—do I have a chance of surviving this?
Mercury said, With your techno-gizmos and my brains, absolutely, dawg! Probably.
Filled with confidence, I looked for and found the next stair well. It was a tight, unadorned service well wrapped around a small elevator. I could tell it was the service stair because it smelled of garbage. The rotting remains of dinners and parties had exited the building down these steps. Some had spilled.
The house was silent. Not even the heating system made noise. I crept down the next flight to the bedroom level and creaked open the door. A dark hallway lined with excess furniture, empty cabinets, nightstands, and end tables. Cherry’s room was lakeside, to the left down a different corridor. I stepped into the passageway and heard the floor creak under my weight. I stopped and tested it.
I was in the service hallway where they’d cheaped out on the flooring. I moved to the edge where the joists held more of my weight and made my way down the hall. I came to a junction with the passageway to the owner’s wing. The carpeting was much nicer. To my right, a grand staircase led to the ground floor and a foyer the size of my home.
From my position, I could see plenty of empty space down the main corridor in both directions. I trie
d to orient myself in the building. Cherry’s room had to be one more left turn and down at the end of the hall.
Jenny’s voice came over the comm link. “You’re not going to like this.”
“What?” I whispered.
“That boat. Not security. Danny and three others just tied up at Griffith’s dock. They’re armed with saps and bats. They’re running up the pier toward the house.”
I silently cursed the chaotic anarchists and their undisciplined methods. I said, “And the second boat?”
“Not sure. No lights, no movement. Strange place to anchor.”
It was odd. She and I both knew it. Did Danny bring backup? Or a getaway boat in case his sank? It would be the smart move. It could also be Griffith’s men. Or the local marine cops. Or drunken fishermen who gave up trying to find a port in the dark. The last thing I wanted to do was ask more questions in the dead quiet around me. I left it to Jenny to figure out.
The silence didn’t last long. An alarm rang. Not loud on the owner’s level, but distinct. I backed up to the door and listened for the Knights. I’d counted eight security guards on the day shift. During my descent from above, I’d only spotted two men making rounds, which led me to believe there were four to six overnight.
Thanks to Danny, they were now all alert and calling for backup. There could be five to fifteen more men deployed in minutes. Add twenty-four more if they wanted to roust the Knights.
Light burst from underneath a nearby door. Someone stirred inside. The room didn’t face the lake, so it couldn’t be Griffith. I slid behind a bookshelf and flattened against the wall. The door opened and Mr. Baldy, the man who assassinated Hidalgo, stepped out dressed in black jeans, t-shirt, and jacket. Two Knights flanked him. He carried his Scorpion at his thigh and strode confidently to the grand staircase. No silencer attached this time. For a split second, as he rounded the top of the stairs, his gaze was level with mine. He didn’t see me.