by Tom Hunter
The man stepped aside, as Gord shoved Fatima into the room. She fell to the floor, as Pin came in behind them. Gord pulled Fatima to her feet, manhandling her into the chair bolted to the floor in the middle of the room.
“Good afternoon, Doctor Ali.” Pin nodded in the direction of the doctor, who bowed deeply in return. “Have all the preparations been made?”
“They have indeed,” replied the doctor, gesturing towards a table at the side of the room. It was laid out with a number of sharp, lethal implements, polished to a wicked shine, as well as an electronic torture device similar to the one that had been used on Director Haisam. “As you can see, the interrogation room is laid out with all your favorite tools, which have been fully sterilized in accordance with your preferences. The fridge is stocked with all the requisite drugs, with a number of vials already drawn out with appropriate doses in accordance with the patient details you supplied me with.”
“Excellent, excellent.” Pin moved over to the table, lightly running his hand above the tools without touching them, as if debating which one to select. “You may leave us for now. My work requires privacy. The information I will be obtaining is on a strictly need to know basis.”
“Of course, Mr Nam-Gi.” The doctor bowed deeply again, before hurrying out of the room, closing the door behind him with an ominous thud.
“Have you secured the woman?” Pin asked Gord.
“She’s not going anywhere,” Gord told him, tugging at the bindings at Fatima’s wrists and ankles one last time to make sure that they were so tight that she could barely move. “She’s all yours.”
“Just as it should be.” Pin placed St. Augustine’s hat down on the table and picked up a scalpel to inspect the blade. He turned it in his hands, the light from the single overhead bulb glinting on the metal, before placing it back down again. He turned to face Fatima, fixing her with a calculating stare.
“I know what you’re after,” she told him defiantly. “And whatever you do to me, it won’t work. I’ll never reveal the secret that unlocks the potential of the hat. You might as well kill me now and save us both some time.”
Pin picked up the papal cap, fondly running his hand over the embroidery. “You know, the whole mystery of St. Augustine’s legacy absolutely fascinates me.” He spoke casually, as if they were old friends, rather than abductor and abductee. “I’ve spent some time studying this hat, as I’m sure you can imagine. I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s not particularly interesting or useful on its own. Of course it must have been wondrous to St. Augustine’s peers. Just imagine! A device that could reveal another man’s thoughts! How incredible! However, with modern truth serums and the Bruard’s conditioning techniques, there really isn’t anything out of the ordinary about that particular ability. There certainly isn’t anything that would justify going to any real trouble to protect it from men such as I. Why bother fighting so hard to stop me doing something I can already do? Which means that the purpose of this device goes well beyond simple conditioning and information retrieval. Am I right?”
Fatima said nothing, staring calmly at Pin.
“I will take your silence as confirmation that I’m on the right track,” Pin continued. “Which would tie in with my own rudimentary experimentations with the hat. I’ve noticed that it seems to affect only the strongest moods, which leads me to surmise that it can force emotions to shift one way or another, although I have yet to be able to facilitate this myself. Moderately impressive I suppose, but it still doesn’t explain why this hat would be seen as a threat that requires so much protection. So I can make someone feel happy instead of sad. So what? No, there must be more to it. What do you think, Gord?”
“I don’t know,” Gord shrugged. “Maybe it needs batteries or something. It’s been lying around in that cave for centuries. Perhaps it’s just broken.”
“That is a possibility,” conceded Pin. “And while I know that your comment about batteries is pure facetiousness on your part, I suspect that there’s never a truer word spoken in jest. I believe that you have touched upon something very important here. I suspect that this hat is only one piece of the puzzle. I think that the sum of the whole is greater than its parts. Combine the power of the hat with the rest of St. Augustine’s secret, and then I suspect that we really will have something special to work with. By the time I’m finished with you, Fatima, you will tell me everything I need to know. In fact, you’ll be begging me to let you tell me all the details.”
Fatima said nothing, continuing to gaze placidly at Pin.
“Ah, Gord,” smirked Pin. “I had a sneaking suspicion that this woman would be a wilful old bat. She won’t be an easy nut to crack. Still, you know me. I love a challenge. Let’s get to work! This is going to be fun.”
He turned to the table filled with instruments of torture, tapping a finger against his chin as he deliberated.
“Hmm. What to do… what to do…?” He picked up and put down a number of different tools, debating on the best place to start. “Of course, the simplest and quickest way to get what I want is usually to supplement the interrogator.” He reached for the paddles attached to the electronic device used on Haisam, turning to face Fatima. He waved the paddles about in a little dance, considering whether to hook her up to the machine. “However, I have a sneaky suspicion that, in your case, your psychic abilities will grant you a certain level of protection against suggestion devices.”
Carefully, he placed the paddles back on the table. “No, I think the best thing to do with you is to bleed the truth out. It’s a pity, really. The elderly do have a tendency to break rather quickly and I promised my friend Gord here that he’d have some entertainment tonight. He does get bored very easily, you see. So I would very much appreciate it if you could at least try to resist for a little while, while I do my best to prolong the agony. Let Gord feel like he’s getting his money’s worth, so to speak.”
He picked up a freshly sharpened ice pick and sauntered towards Fatima, humming a little tune to himself as he moved.
“Which knee is your favorite? The left or the right?” Pin lifted the pick high above his head before bringing it down with all his might.
Four
Samuel and his team were huddled around a computer in a secluded corner of the Bibliothèque Centrale. Samuel pulled the jump drive out of his pocket and looked round at the others.
“Here goes nothing,” he grinned, as he plugged the drive into the computer. A window popped up with an unmarked folder and a text file marked ‘read me’. Ignoring the text file, he clicked on the folder, only to be rewarded with a prompt asking for a password.
“Dude! The file said ‘read me,’” Josh pointed out. “Can’t you ever follow a simple instruction?”
“You know me,” Samuel shrugged. “I’m a rebel at heart.”
He clicked on the text file, but it was nothing but gibberish.
“Great,” sighed Samuel. “Yet another mystery to unravel.”
“It’s okay,” said Waleed. “It’s pretty straightforward. It’s in Amazigh, that’s all.”
“So what does it say?” asked Samuel, moving aside so Waleed could get a better look.
Waleed leaned forward to focus. “This file is protected in case it falls to less patient hands, though research may discover the early tribe of Him as the West may call it,” he read.
“It is another riddle,” huffed Basile. “I thought the Order wanted us to help. Why are they making it so hard to do the right thing?”
“It seems to be pretty standard where the Knights are concerned,” Samuel pointed out. “They seem to like layering defense upon defense to take into account all the potential what-ifs. After all, they apparently have powerful psychics on their side if Fatima is to be believed. Remember what she told us–there are a number of different futures that could come to pass, and we won’t know what timeline we’re in until we’re right in the heart of it. She sees all of those possibilities. It makes sense to put extra protection in,
just in case we wind up in one of the more dangerous futures. If I’m interpreting what she told us correctly, she couldn’t know for certain that it would be us holding this jump drive at this moment, so this little puzzle helps to ensure that the knowledge it contains stays in safe hands.”
“I’m assuming that the answer to the riddle will give us the password to unlock the files,” mused Shafira. “So how do we figure it out?”
“Well, ‘less patient hands’ clearly refers to Samuel,” joked Josh. “After all, the first thing he did was to attempt to open the protected folder, ignoring the read me file.”
“And we’re in a library,” added Shafira. “Which is where you come to do research.”
“So we need to look for information about an early tribe in the area, maybe one that was Christian originally,” concluded Samuel. “Okay. Everyone split up and look through the library for any books that might have information about the tribe the clue could be talking about. Meet back here in twenty minutes.”
Soon, the team were sitting around a table near the computer, books piled up in front of them. Josh picked up a text that Waleed had selected so he could help by skimming through it, but put it straight back down again.
“Waleed!” he sighed. “How am I supposed to read this? It’s not in English.”
“No, my friend,” laughed Waleed. “It’s in Amazigh. I figured that since the clue was written in that language, perhaps there would be something in here that’s missing from an English text. Even the most accurate translations have flaws. It’s best to go direct to source if you can.”
“Hang on.” Samuel snapped his fingers. “I think it might go deeper than that. The text file could have been written in Latin, English, or Arabic. In fact, they could have chosen any language which is more universal than a specific dialect confined to a relatively small region. So I think the use of Amazigh is itself a clue. I think we’re looking for a tribe that spoke Amazigh or a related variation.”
“Wait a minute.” Shafira picked up a book she’d found about the development of the Amazigh language. She flicked through the pages until she reached a section on the various peoples who spoke the language. “Listen to this. Berbers refer to themselves using variations of the word i-Mazigh-en (singular: a-Mazigh). It has been theorized that this means "free people" or "noble men".” If you’re right that the language is a clue, then surely a people that actually call themselves Amazigh must be what we’re looking for.”
“All right. Let’s give that a go.” Samuel went over to the computer and clicked on the password protected folder. He typed in Berber but nothing happened. “Dammit!” he swore. “That’s not it. I still think we’re onto something though. Let’s look into the Berbers some more.”
Silence descended as the six of them feverishly pored over the books, looking for any information about the Berbers that might help them unlock the files.
“Eureka!” Basile slapped the table, making the others jump. “I think I’ve got it. In here, it says that the Berbers originally followed a number of religions, including Christianity and Judaism, until they were conquered by the Arabs and converted to Islam. Although we can’t be certain who were the first tribes to convert, we know that one of the earliest were the Zenata. Let’s try that.”
“Okay.” Samuel nodded, turning to the keyboard once more. “How do you spell that?”
“Z-E-N-A-T-A.” Basile spelled out the name as Samuel typed.
“Yes!” Samuel fist pumped the air as the folder opened, revealing a number of different files. Scanning the screen, he let out a low whistle when he realized what he was looking at. “We’ve really hit the jackpot. We’ve got details of all the various camps and cells of the Knights of the Spring Dream across the world. Wow. I wasn’t expecting this. If we wanted to take down the Order, we’ve got everything we need right here.”
“What does it tell us about St. Augustine’s secret?” asked Akhenaton, eagerly elbowing his way through the others to sit next to Samuel.
Samuel clicked through a number of files. “By the looks of it, there are two sites that have a specific connection to St. Augustine’s secret. We’ve got the ancient city of Meroe and an archaeological site in Dougga.”
“What’s so special about those places?” asked Shafira as Samuel clicked on the file marked ‘Meroe.’
“According to this, there is a cell in Meroe that’s safeguarding a gold scepter inlaid with gemstones to form a cross. This scepter acts as a psychic focus, so that if someone wields it while wearing the papal cap, they can affect not only emotions, but also memories and the individual’s sense of truth. However, there are problems with using the scepter, since St. Augustine was unable to perfect its ability before his death, so there will always be doubt within the target’s mind, creating strong instances of déjà vu-like symptoms.”
“Fascinating,” breathed Shafira as Samuel moved onto the file about Dougga.
“And in Dougga, there’s a collection of scrolls detailing genealogical records that run from the time they were first created right the way through to the distant future. Allegedly, the ancients were able to use St. Augustine’s secret to accurately trace the lineage of those imbued with the ability of bonding fully with the artifacts. This allows them to counteract the déjà vu effect transforming the scepter into a perfect mental weapon.”
Samuel looked around at the rest of the group. “It would appear that Fatima already knows about all of this. In the files is a letter she wrote revealing that she’s a direct descendent of the Order’s original leader, St. Augustine’s handpicked right hand man. She has sole access to a number of original source documents that detail exactly how the relics were used after St. Augustine’s death. Apparently, the first leader removed knowledge of how the artifacts work from everyone’s mind except for the designated sole heir. She says that her line was chosen to protect the sacred secrets because she has no affiliation by blood to St. Augustine, so can’t be tempted to use the artifacts for herself.
“She says that she would rather destroy this jump drive than see it in the hands of those who cannot be trusted. She signs off with a phrase that is meant to prove that she really is the author of the documents, but I can’t read it. Akhenaton?”
“It’s Arabic,” Akhenaton told him. “It means ‘The Spring Dream is when mankind blooms with St. Augustine’s truth.’ It’s a phrase that is used within my Order to demonstrate kinship. Fatima put together the documents in this drive all right.”
“Excellent,” beamed Samuel. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“But where do we go next?” asked Shafira. “Should we go to the site of ancient Meroe to recover the scepter, or should we track down the genealogy records hidden in the archaeological site of Dougga?”
“Dougga is closer,” observed Josh. “It would make sense to go there, since we can get there the fastest.”
“But if the scepter is some sort of power focus, isn’t it more important to recover that first?” argued Shafira. “Even without the genealogical records, the scepter combined with the hat puts a dangerous weapon in Pin’s hands. Shouldn’t we eliminate that threat and make sure that Pin can never have both items?”
“Shafira’s right,” nodded Samuel. “It might not be the most direct route, but I think we should go to Meroe first so that there’s no chance of Pin being able to focus the hat. That’s got to be our highest priority. The more we can do to neutralize St. Augustine’s secret, the better.” He unplugged the jump drive, secreting it back in his pocket. “So, what’s the best way to get to Meroe from here?”
Five
Rabah Bitat airport was small but lively, as tourists and travelers bustled about. Posters on billboards advertised car rental companies and local attractions, while security guards watched over the crowds, hands conspicuously placed on their firearms in anticipation of trouble.
Josh gazed anxiously about, keeping an eye open for Bruard agents, as Samuel rested against a counter, smiling his most charming
smile at the travel agent.
“We really need to get to Meroe as soon as possible,” he told her. “What’s the best way to do that?”
“The easiest way is to go to Khartoum and transfer,” advised the agent, tapping at her keyboard to check the flights. “There aren’t any commercial flights for the second leg to Shendi, so you’d need to charter one, which is expensive. It’s probably better just to rent a car and drive there. That’s what most people do.” She frowned at the screen. “Ah. Unfortunately, right now there is a staffing strike so all flights to Khartoum are suspended. Let me try Port Sudan.” She typed some more. “Hmm. There are no more flights leaving today, although I could get you on something tomorrow afternoon. Will that do?”
Samuel winced. “Is there really nothing sooner than that?”
“I’m sorry,” the agent shrugged. “All the other flights are fully booked.”
“What about Atbara?” suggested Josh. “That’s within driving distance of Meroe. Can you get us there?”
The agent turned back to her screen. “You are in luck! There’s a flight leaving in three hours I can get you on. How many tickets do you require?”
“Six one way tickets, please,” Samuel replied. “And thank you so much. You really are a lifesaver.”
The printer spat out six tickets, and the agent passed them over to Samuel. “You can check in at that counter over there. Enjoy your flight!”
“I’ll enjoy it a lot better when all this is over,” Josh grumbled under his breath. Samuel and Josh crossed over to join Shafira and the others, passing out tickets to each of them.
“Why don’t we get through security as quickly as possible and get comfortable in a café?” suggested Josh. “The flight’s only around four hours so there isn’t going to be any inflight food. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m starving.”
“Sounds like a plan,” nodded Samuel. “I could murder a burger or two.”