by P. W. Child
“Everything okay?” Sam asked Purdue when he sat down.
“Perfect,” Purdue replied in his light manner. “So far we’ve not been shot.” He looked at Nina, who cowered a little now that she’d calmed her temper.
“He asked for it,” she muttered.
For the most part, the ensuing take-off took place in conversational white noise. Sam and Purdue were discussing territories they’d visited before on assignments and tourist trips, while Nina put her feet up for a snooze.
Patrick was going over the itinerary and noted the coordinates of the temporary archaeological village where Purdue last fled for his life. For all his military training and knowledge of global laws, Patrick was subconsciously nervous about their arrival there. After all, the security of the expedition party was his responsibility.
While silently regarding the seemingly jovial exchange between Purdue and Sam, Patrick could not help but be haunted by the program he found Purdue rushing through when he came into the Wrichtishousis laboratory complex under the ground floor. He had no idea why he was paranoid about it at all, because Purdue had explained to him that the system was designed to separate certain areas of his premises by remote control activation, or something of that sort. He had never been one for technical jargon anyway, so he reckoned Purdue was touching up his home security to keep out any agents who had learned the security codes and protocols while the mansion was under MI6 lockdown. Fair enough, he thought in conclusion, a bit unsatisfied with his own validation.
Over the next few hours, the mighty Hercules roared its way across Germany and Austria, proceeding on its taxing journey down to Greece and the Mediterranean Sea.
“Does this thing ever land to refuel?” Nina asked.
Purdue smiled and shouted, “This Lockheed breed can go on and on and on. That’s why I love these big machines!”
“Aye, that answers my layman’s inquiry completely, Purdue,” she said to herself, just shaking her head.
“We should hit the African shores in just under another fifteen hours, Nina,” Sam tried to give her a better idea.
“Sam, please don’t use that colorful phrase ‘hitting the shore’ round about now. Ta,” she moaned, to his amusement.
“Safe as houses, this thing,” Patrick smiled and patted Nina on the thigh to reassure her, but he didn’t realize where he put his hand until he h’d already done so. Quickly he removed his hand, looking mortified, but Nina just laughed. Instead, she put her hand on his thigh with a mock serious, “It’s alright, Paddy. My jeans will prevent any kinky business.”
Relieved, he shared a hearty chuckle with Nina. Although he was more for a docile and demure type of woman, Patrick could understand Sam and Purdue’s deep attraction to the feisty historian and her forward, unafraid approach.
The sun had set over most of the local time zones just after they took off, so by the time they reached Greece, they were flying in the night sky. Sam checked his watch and discovered that he was the only one still awake. Whether by boredom or catching up on rest for what was to come, the rest of the party was asleep in their seats by now. Only the pilot said anything, exclaiming in awe to the co-pilot, “Do you see that, Roger?”
“Oh, there?” the co-pilot asked and pointed ahead of them. “Yeah, I see it!”
Sam’s curiosity was a rapid reflex and he quickly looked ahead to where the man pointed. His face lit up at the beauty of it and he watched intently until it disappeared into the darkness. “God, I wish Nina could see that,” he mumbled as he sat back down.
“What?” Nina asked, still half-asleep when she heard her name. “What? See what?”
“Oh, no big deal, I suppose,” Sam replied. “It was just a beautiful vision.”
“Of what?” she asked, sitting up and wiping her eyes.
Sam smiled, wishing he could film with his eyes so that he could share such things with her. “A brilliantly bright shooting star, love. Just a super bright falling star.”
19
Chasing the Dragon
“Another star fell, Ofar!” Penekal exclaimed as he looked up from the alert on his phone sent through by one of their people in Yemen.
“I saw,” the weary old man replied. “To trace the Magician, we’ll have to wait and see what sort of illness befalls humankind next. A very cautious and high-priced test, I’m afraid.”
“Why do you say that?” Penekal asked.
Ofar shrugged. “Well, because with the state of the world these days – the chaos, the insanity, the ludicrous mismanagement of basic human morality – it’s quite hard to determine which tribulations befall mankind apart from those evils already present, don’t you think?”
Penekal agreed, but they had to do something to keep the Magician from harvesting more celestial power. “I’m going to contact the Freemasons in Sudan. They must know if this is one of their people. Don’t worry,” he halted Ofar’s impending protest to the idea, “I will inquire tactfully.”
“You cannot let them know that we know something is going on, Penekal. If they as much as get a sniff…,” Ofar warned.
“They will not, my friend,” Penekal replied sternly. They’d been standing vigil in their observatory for over two days now, exhausted, taking turns sleeping while looking up at the skies for any unusual deviations in the constellations. “I’ll be back before midday, hopefully with some answers.”
“Make haste, Penekal. King Solomon’s scrolls predict that the Magician’s power will take mere weeks to become invincible. If he can bring the fallen to the surface of the earth, imagine what he could do up in the heavens. Realigning stars could wreak havoc on our very existence,” Ofar reminded through pauses for catching his breath. “If he has the Celeste, none of the iniquities can be retracted.”
“I know, Ofar,” Penekal said while gathering up the star maps for his visit to the local master of Masonic jurisdiction. “The only alternative is gathering all of King Solomon’s diamonds, and they’re scattered over the earth. That sounds like an insurmountable task to me.”
“Most of them are still here in the desert,” Ofar comforted his friend. “Very few were taken. Not many are out there to be gathered, so we might have a chance to counter the Magician that way.”
“Are you insane?” Penekal shrieked. “We’ll never be able to claim those diamonds back from their owners now!” Tired and feeling quite hopeless, Penekal sank into the chair he had slept in the night before. “They would never relinquish their precious riches for the salvation of the planet. My God, have you not been paying attention to the greed of humans at the cost of the very planet that is keeping them alive?”
“I have! I have!” Ofar snapped back. “Of course I have.”
“Then how could you ever expect them to give their gemstones to two old fools asking that they do it to prevent an evil man with supernatural abilities from realigning the stars and reintroducing Biblical plagues to the modern world?”
Ofar stood up defensively, for once threatening to lose his temper. “Don’t you think I know how it sounds, Penekal?” he barked. “I am no fool! All I’m suggesting is that we consider asking for help to collect what is left so that the Magician will not be able to wield his sick ideas and make us all extinct. Where is your faith, brother? Where is your promise to stop this arcane prophecy from coming to fruition? We have to do all in our power to try, at least…try…to fight what is happening.”
Penekal could see Ofar’s lips quiver and a frightening tremor rattled through his bony hands. “Calm down, old friend. Calm down, please. Your heart will not take the tax on your anger.”
He sat down next to his friend, maps in hand. Penekal’s voice had considerably toned down in intensity, if only to keep old Ofar from succumbing to the furious emotion he was suffering. “Listen, all I’m saying is, short of buying the remaining diamonds from their owners, we will not be able to obtain them all before the Magician does. It’s easy for him to simply kill for them and claim the stones. For us, good men, the task of c
ollecting the same is intrinsically more difficult.”
“Then let us gather all our riches. Contact the brothers of all our watchtowers, even those in the Orient, and let us purchase the remaining diamonds,” Ofar implored through his hoarse and weary gasps. Penekal could not process the absurdity of the idea, knowing the nature of people, especially the wealthy of the modern world who were still of the mind that stones make kings and queens of them while their futures lay barren with misfortune, famine, and asphyxiation. However, in order not to further upset his lifelong friend, he nodded and bit his tongue in implied surrender. “We shall see, alright? Once I’ve visited with the master and once we know if the Freemasons are behind this, we can see what other options are available,” Penekal said soothingly. “For now, though, get some rest and I will hasten to bring you what is hopefully good news.”
“I’ll be here,” Ofar sighed. “I will hold the fort.”
Down in the city, Penekal hailed a taxi to take him to the home of the head of the local Freemasons. He had made an appointment under the premise that he needed to find out if the Freemasons knew of a rite performed using this particular star map. It was not an entirely deceitful front, but his visit was based more on determining the involvement of the Masonic world with the recent celestial disruptions.
Cairo was alive with traffic, a peculiar contrast to the ancient nature of its culture. While skyscrapers rose and grew towards the sky, the blue and orange of the firmaments overhead breathed in solemn silence and tranquility. Penekal regarded the sky through the car window, contemplating the fate of mankind seated right there on the throne of the benevolent-looking thrones of glitter and peace.
Much like human nature, he reckoned. Much like most things in creation. Order from chaos. Chaos superseding all order across the peaks of time. God help us all in this lifetime if this is the Magician spoken of.
“Strange weather, hey?” the driver suddenly remarked. Penekal nodded in agreement, surprised that the man should note such a thing while Penekal was pondering upon the events looming.
“It is, yes,” Penekal replied out of courtesy. The overweight man behind the wheel was satisfied by Penekal’s response, at least for the moment. A few seconds later he said, “Rather gloomy and unpredictable rains too. It’s almost as if something in the air is changing the clouds and the sea has gone crazy.”
“Why do you say that?” Penekal asked.
“Didn’t you read the papers this morning?” the driver gasped. “The shoreline of Alexandria had declined by 58% in the last four days, and there has been no indication of atmospheric change to support the event.”
“What do they think caused the phenomenon, then?” Penekal asked, trying to hide his panic in a steady-voiced question. For all his sentinel duties, he hadn’t known that the sea level had risen.
The man shrugged, “Don’t really know. I mean, only the moon can control the tides like that, right?”
“I suppose. But did they say the moon is responsible? Did it,” he felt silly even for implying it, “somehow change in orbit?”
The driver peeked at Penekal through the rear view mirror with a look of ridicule. “You’re joking, right, mister? That’s absurd! If the moon changed, the whole world would have known about it, I’m sure.”
“Yes, yes, you are correct. I was just speculating,” Penekal replied quickly to stop the driver’s mocking.
“Then again, your theory is not as crazy as some I have heard since it was first reported,” the driver laughed. “I’ve heard some absolutely ridiculous shit from some people in this city!”
Penekal moved in his seat, leaning forward. “Oh? Like what?”
“I feel stupid even relaying this,” the man chuckled, now and then darting his eyes up to the mirror to speak to his passenger. “There are some older citizens who spit and wail and cry, saying it is the doing of an evil spirit. Ha! Can you believe that shit? A water demon is loose in Egypt, my friend.” He mocked the idea with a rowdy laugh.
But his passenger was not laughing along. Stone-faced and deep in thought, Penekal slowly reached for the pen in his jacket pocket, upon retrieving which he scribbled on his palm, ‘Water devil’.
The driver was having such a good laugh that Penekal decided not to burst his bubble and add to the amount of insane people in Cairo by revealing that, in a way, those ludicrous theories were quite correct. For all the new concerns he had, the old man chuckled coyly to satisfy the driver’s amusement.
“Mister, I can’t help but notice that the address you asked me to drive you to is,” the driver hesitated a bit, “a place of great mystery to the average person.”
“Oh?” Penekal asked innocently.
“Yes,” the zealous driver affirmed. “It is a Masonic Temple, although few people know that. They just think it is another of Cairo’s great museums or monuments.”
“I know what it is, my friend,” Penekal said quickly, tired of bearing with the man’s flapping tongue while he was trying to unravel the ensuing catastrophe in the heavens.
“Ah, I see,” the driver answered, looking a bit more tamed at his passenger’s abruptness. It seemed that revealing that he knew his destination was a place of ancient magical rites and world-governing forces with a high-class membership had slightly frightened the man. But if it frightened him into silence it was a good thing, thought Penekal. He had enough on his plate as it was.
They turned into a more secluded part of the city, a residential area with a few synagogues, churches, and temples among the three schools situated in the vicinity. On the street, the presence of children lessened gradually and Penekal could feel a change in the air. Houses grew more opulent and their fences more secure under the thickness of lavish gardens where the street meandered. At the end of the road, the car turned onto a small side avenue belonging to the grand building that peeked out through harsh security gates.
“Here you go, mister,” the driver announced as he brought the car to a halt a few meters away from the gate as if he were wary to be within a certain radius of the temple.
“Thank you,” Penekal said. “I shall call you when ‘am done.”
“I’m sorry, mister,” the driver objected. “Here.” He passed Penekal a business card of a colleague. “You can call my colleague to pick you up. I prefer not come here again, if you don’t mind.”
Without another word, he took Penekal’s money and pulled away, speeding up hastily before he even reached the T-junction to the other street. The old astronomer watched the brake lights of the taxi vanish around the corner before he took a deep breath and turned to face the tall gate. Behind it, the Masonic Temple stood brooding and silent, as if it were waiting for him.
20
The Enemy of my Enemy
“Master Penekal!” he heard from a distance on the other side of the fence. It was the very man he had come to see, the local master of the lodge. “You’re a bit early. Wait, I’ll come and open for you. Hope you do not mind sitting outside in the fresh air. The power is out again.”
“Thank you,” Penekal smiled. “I have no problem getting some fresh air, sir.”
He had never before met Prof. Imru, Head of the Freemasons of Cairo and Giza. All Penekal knew of him was that he was an anthropologist and the chief executive of the People’s Movement for the Protection of Heritage Sites, recently having been involved in a global tribunal on archaeological crimes in North Africa. Although the professor was an affluent and powerful man, his personality proved to be very agreeable and he made Penekal feel at home at once.
“A drink?” Prof. Imru asked.
“Thank you. I’ll have what you have,” Penekal answered, feeling rather silly with rolls of old parchment under his arm here in the solitude of natural beauty outside the building. Unsure of the protocol, he kept to smiling cordially and keeping his words reserved for answers instead of statements.
“So,” Prof. Imru started as he sat down with a glass of ice tea, giving the other to his guest, “you say you ha
ve some queries about an alchemist?”
“I do, sir,” Penekal admitted. “I am not a man to play games, for I’m simply too old to have the time for subterfuge.”
“I can appreciate that,” Imru smiled.
Clearing his throat, Penekal dove right in. “I was just wondering if currently the Freemasons are perhaps engaging in alchemic practice that involves…uh…,” he struggled with the formulation of his query.
“Just ask, Master Penekal,” Imru said, hoping to sooth his visitor’s nerves.
“Are you perhaps busy with rites that could influence the constellations?” Penekal asked, narrowing his eyes in a wince of discomfort. “I realize how it sounds, but…”
“How does it sound?” Imru asked curiously.
“Unbelievable,” the old astronomer conceded.
“You’re speaking to a purveyor of grand rituals and age-old esoterica, my friend. Let me assure you, there are very few things in this Universe that are unbelievable to me, and precious little that is impossible,” Prof. Imru revealed proudly.
“You see, my brotherhood is also an obscure organization. It was founded so long ago that there is practically no record of our founders,” Penekal explained.
“I know. You are from the Dragon Watchers of Hermopolis. I know,” Prof. Imru nodded assuringly. “I am after all, an anthropology professor, my good man. And as a masonic initiate, I am fully aware of the work your order has been engaged in all these centuries. As a matter of fact, it locks in with much of our own rites and bases. Your forefathers followed Thoth, I know, but what is it you think is happening here?”