THE LAST ORACLE
Sam Jardine Crime Thrillers, Book 3
Christopher Hepworth
Amazon Kindle Edition
THE LAST ORACLE
Christopher Hepworth
Copyright © 2017 Christopher Hepworth
Christopher Hepworth asserts the moral rights to be identified as the author of this work.
While some of the events are based loosely on historical incidents, this novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, businesses, organisations and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the author.
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‘Those who will not reason, perish in the act.
Those who will not act, perish for that reason.’
– WH Auden
Table of Contents
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Launch Bonuses
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Epilogue
Author’s Note
More Books by the Author
The Sleepwalker Legacy
The Wulff Agenda
About the Author
Connect with Christopher Hepworth
CHAPTER 1
Luxor, Egypt, 12th September 1997
The Egyptologist applied a cool, damp cloth to the fevered brow of her twelve-year-old daughter. There had been an outbreak of malaria in the busy city of Luxor and many children had died from the mosquito-borne disease. Saara gazed at her beautiful daughter and fretted she had left her telephone call to the doctor too late.
There was no denying Sienna was different from other children, even allowing for her mixed-race bloodlines. She was beautiful beyond imagination and taller than the other children in her classroom. Sienna was academically gifted to the point of brilliance, but her mother worried about her social development. Her daughter was remote with other children and possessed an extraordinary spiritual awareness that unnerved those around her. The local imam had suggested sending Sienna to the Luxor Al-Azhar school, where she would receive a strict religious education, but on her mediocre government wage, Saara would struggle to afford the fees.
Saara had often considered writing to the wealthy American, Rex Daingerfield, to let him know he had a daughter, and only Allah knew how much she needed the money. But she feared the handsome American oil tycoon with his sophisticated Western ways would take Sienna out of Egypt, leaving Saara with nothing but her memories.
Sienna trembled with fever and Saara wondered why the doctor was taking so long to arrive. At last she heard a banging on the door. Saara placed the damp cloth back in the bowl of water and rushed to let the doctor in. She slid the chain off its latch and unlocked the door.
‘She’s through here in the lounge. I should have called you earlier but—’
Saara reeled from the blow delivered across her face and fell to the floor. The man who entered was tall and thin with a shaved head, and stared at her with grey, fanatical eyes. He was dressed in religious attire, but it was obvious he was not an imam – nor was he a doctor. He was no more than thirty years old, and wore a long white robe decorated with symbols from the old religion. Two other men rushed past the priest and into the lounge of her little house. Saara screamed as she realised the intruders were intent on abducting her daughter.
‘She’s sick. She will die if she doesn’t see a doctor soon. You can’t take her!’
The priest hit Saara on the side of the head once more and strode into the lounge. He pulled a small green glass vial from under his robe and crouched next to the threadbare sofa Sienna lay upon.
‘So pretty,’ he mumbled in a strange foreign accent as he ran his fingers along Sienna’s cheeks.
‘No!’ screamed Saara. ‘Leave her alone.’
The priest lifted Sienna’s head and made her drink from the green vial, causing her to gag at the foul taste.
‘Silence the mother,’ commanded the priest.
The two attendants grabbed Saara, pulled her head backward and forced a similar bottle to her lips, pouring its contents down her throat. They covered her mouth until she had swallowed the cloudy liquid, then gripped her head until she lost consciousness. After laying her on the floor, they turned their attention to Sienna. She was gently lifted from the shabby sofa and carried out to a battered old Toyota Cressida waiting in the street outside.
* * *
Sienna was led into a vast underground cavern that resembled a natural cathedral. Light shone from a skylight that had been cut through several metres of solid mountain rock. In the centre of the cavern was a crystal-clear pool fed from an underground spring. The cavern had been formed millions of years before from an immense hollow within a natural rock formation. Colourful stalactites hung from the roof twelve metres above her head, like grotesque organ pipes. At the far end of a large, open concourse, four massive granite columns rose from floor to roof and beyond them was a doorway surrounded by large stone lintels. Two massive oak doors separated the large underground cavern from the hand-cut tombs, chambers and passageways, which she would come to know as the temple’s inner sanctum. Sienna stood transfixed at the sight of the gilded painting that decorated the oak doors. She recognised the image from her history books as the portrait of the brutal ancient Egyptian goddess, Sekhmet the Avenger.
Sienna trembled, but not from the after-effects of malaria. She knew she had been cured of the disease by the mysterious priests. She had read stories about the ancient goddess who had almost wiped out humanity at the dawn of civilisation with her bloodlust and violent rages. She trembled because she knew once she stepped through the double oak doors, there would be no return to the simple life she had left behind in Luxor.
Sienna stared
at the painting and wondered how a goddess could look so terrifying, her blood-stained sword in one hand and a severed human head in the other, and yet so majestic. Sekhmet’s green eyes blazed and her features reminded Sienna of a powerful lioness that would kill at the slightest provocation. The two priests who had guided Sienna to the cavern opened the huge oak doors and stood aside.
Sienna walked through the doorway with trepidation and into the dim passage beyond. It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the gloom. As the passageway sloped downwards, the temperature dropped several degrees and Sienna had to walk carefully on the slippery sandstone floor. After several minutes of walking, the passageway widened and Sienna found herself in the temple’s antechamber. At the back of the cave-like room, a shrivelled creature that looked like an abandoned corpse sat on a low stool surrounded by furs and animal skins. A few strands of long grey hair clung to her thin scalp and her rheumy eyes stared at Sienna. The creature stretched out a skinny claw and beckoned Sienna to come closer.
‘Kneel before me child, so I can see you better,’ the toothless old crone said in a husky voice.
Sienna hesitated, but approached and knelt on the furs at the woman’s gnarled feet, noticing a smell of decay masked by the sweet aroma of frankincense. Sienna flinched as the woman ran her bony fingers down Sienna’s immaculately painted face and clutched at the gossamer-thin cotton of her simple white gown.
‘Extraordinary,’ croaked the ancient oracle. ‘So beautiful, and yet so similar in appearance to the image of our goddess.’
‘I’m frightened, my lady.’
‘I will take good care of you, my dear. You have received the calling and great responsibilities await you. The future of our religion and the destiny of the world is in your hands now.’
‘But I’m a good Muslim, my lady. And I don’t trust the priests. They look at me like hungry jackals around a helpless lamb.’
The hag cackled and gripped Sienna’s arm. Her touch was cold and leathery. ‘It is true you cannot trust the priests. They have corrupted our religion in the name of greed and power.’
‘Then why don’t you fight them? You have the power of the Oracle and your goddess cannot be summoned unless it is through your invocations.’
‘Sekhmet is your goddess now, my child,’ said the Oracle. She ran her skeletal fingers through Sienna’s lustrous black hair. ‘I cannot fight the priests because I am old and infirm. In the little time I have left, my duty is to pass the secrets of the Oracle to you. Then the fight against the priests will be yours.’
‘I don’t think I can fight them, my lady.’
The old woman gripped Sienna’s hand with surprising strength. ‘I once knelt before the old oracle as a frightened child too. I did not possess even half the spiritual qualities or the natural gifts you have. It is time for you to become a woman and lead the fight against those who would usurp our religion and do harm to the earth.’
A tear rolled down Sienna’s cheek, smudging her elaborate Egyptian make-up. The Oracle took Sienna’s shoulders and pulled her close to her shrivelled bosom.
‘It is now time for you to meet the goddess. She will be terrifying to behold and will reach deep into your soul and your mind. But do not be afraid, for I am here to protect you.’
Sienna felt the temperature drop as a freezing mist rolled through the inner sanctum. Her eyes widened with terror as a dark shadow loomed over them.
CHAPTER 2
Luangwa Valley, Zambia, Twenty years later
‘There’s no better place than this desolate African wilderness to send a man to an early grave, Chuck. Ain’t nobody gonna find his stinkin’ carcass till it’s been picked over by vultures and hyenas for months. Just give me the word and I swear he’s a goner.’
‘Easy, Dan. For some reason I can’t fathom, Rex Daingerfield’s got a soft spot for this kid and he wants the negotiation done by the book.’
The two American oilmen squinted into the blazing African sun as they searched the sky for the approaching Gulfstream G550. They felt the oppressive humidity weigh on their shoulders like a heavy blanket, and dark patches of sweat stained the armpits of their khaki shirts. Emblazoned on their shirt sleeves was the howling timber wolf logo of the Daingerfield Oil Company.
Nearby, Thornicroft giraffe grazed on the succulent leaves of acacia trees that flanked the grass runway. Their heads turned on their long necks towards the sound of the approaching corporate jet, and they cantered to the safety of the thick bush, long legs ambling with graceful precision.
‘So why the hell did this head office desk jockey call a halt to our drilling activity just as we were about to frack?’ said Dan Elrod, the taller of the two Americans. ‘The delay cost me a fifty-grand production bonus and my crew are mutinous.’
Chuck Crawford removed his Ray-Ban sunglasses and cleaned the lenses on his shirt before turning to his colleague. ‘Sam Jardine’s a hot-shot negotiator and he persuaded Rex Daingerfield that he could talk crazy Chief Kincofu into signing the drilling permit when no-one else could. I’ll deal with him in the usual way when the contract’s signed.’
Elrod chuckled as he scratched at his greying beard. The Texan chief engineer knew his boss had a track record of destroying the careers and reputations of all head office managers who stood in the way of his production targets with ruthless efficiency.
Crawford, Daingerfield’s global operations manager, had been sent to rescue the disastrous Luangwa Valley fracking well, which had been beset by quality control problems. His features were weather-worn but handsome, and his powerful physique was toned by decades of hauling heavy drilling equipment around the oil rigs of the world. He had a reputation for hard work and straight talking, and was Daingerfield’s go-to man in times of crisis. He had spent twenty years as a wildcatter drilling for oil and gas in the shale rocks of North Dakota before rising through the ranks of his new employer.
‘So how come this guy Sam Jardine has the authority to stop the frack in the first place?’ asked Elrod. ‘He don’t know jack shit about the oil industry.’ He swatted an inch-long tsetse fly that had landed on his ankle. ‘Goddam evil critters’ got a bite like a mule!’ The dead tsetse crackled like a dried twig as he squashed it between his forefinger and thumb.
Crawford watched as the white Gulfstream executed a perfect landing on the short, grass runway. As the plane taxied to a halt, the whining pitch of the twin engines dropped in tone and then silence returned to the African bush.
‘By Zambian tradition, the tribal chief still has to ratify the exploration permit, even though the government’s already sanctioned the project. Jardine said it might cause legal problems down the track if we don’t strike a deal with the chief.’
‘So who screwed up?’ The lanky chief engineer slapped his limbs in frustration as three more tsetse flies landed on his legs. ‘We’ve already drilled the test well and there’s fifty million bucks’ worth of drilling equipment, chemicals and pipeline in Lusaka ready for the frack.’
‘Chief Kincofu’s son Martin Kincofu is a lawyer and is threatening legal action unless local tradition is respected. Turns out young Kincofu is an environmentalist.’
Dan Elrod spat his chewing gum into the dirt by the wheels of the battered old LandCruiser to display his disgust at the environmentalist lobby. ‘Goddamn greenies,’ he muttered.
‘Chief Kincofu’s son is claiming the Luangwa Valley ecosystem is too sensitive to support the drilling of eighty gas wells.’
‘Bullshit!’ said Elrod. ‘This place is perfect for fracking. Ain’t no humans for hundreds of miles. Just a few scrawny hogs and apes.’
The two men watched as Sam Jardine emerged from the Gulfstream, blinked in the harsh African sun and pulled a pair of Aviator sunglasses from the top pocket of his jacket.
‘This kid looks like he ain’t never set foot outside of the office. I’ll give him two days in the African bush before he starts crying for his silk pyjamas,’ said Elrod, placing another stick of gum in his mou
th.
Crawford raised his binoculars and studied the lean six-foot frame of Sam Jardine as he walked down the steps of the jet. The negotiator looked much younger than Crawford had expected, with thick, sandy-coloured hair and craggy Viking features. Mid-thirties, Crawford reckoned. Sam broke into an easy smile when he spotted the two Americans, then looked around the airstrip with an air of innocence that belied his reputation as a tough negotiator.
‘Did they send us the right guy?’ said Crawford. He put down his binoculars and jumped into the LandCruiser. ‘I guess we’ll have to work with what we’ve got. Okay Dan, let’s collect him and take him to the camp.’
* * *
‘This whole place stinks of methane gas,’ Sam complained to the operations manager and his chief engineer as they drove into the Luangwa bush camp. ‘Is the well leaking?’
‘With all due respect, sir, this is a fracking site,’ Crawford explained to Jardine as he parked the LandCruiser in front of one of the whitewashed chalets that ringed the main lodge of Zambia’s foremost national park. ‘You would expect to detect a trace of methane in the air.’
‘This is a wildlife park, not a fracking site, Mr Crawford. It’s home to the most valuable concentration of wildlife in Africa. The Zambian government has allowed us to drill for gas on condition we do not disturb the fragile ecosystem. The success of our negotiations depends on us remembering those principles.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Crawford replied.
Elrod was not so diplomatic. ‘How long you been in the oil industry, boy? This ain’t the freakin’ Chelsea flower show, you know.’
Sam ignored Elrod, opened the rear door of the LandCruiser and stepped out to view the long bend of the Luangwa River. It was late in the season and the river had shrunk to a quarter of its usual volume. A bull hippopotamus grunted its distinctive challenge to the arriving humans. Sam watched as a family of vervet monkeys screamed from the branches of an overhanging acacia tree.
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