Edge of Dawn

by Melinda Snodgrass

  He shot his sleeves, straightened the pocket handkerchief, and stepped out of the office.

  He went up to the cockpit, where Jerry was on the radio with the tower while Brook manned the controls. A voice on the radio: “Say again?”

  “This is N zero zero four three nine GA, registered to Lumina Enterprises.”

  “State your position, aircraft type, and souls on board.”

  “Nancy zero zero four three nine Gold Apple is a G650 out of Rochester, New York, en route Ankara, eleven on board. Currently twenty miles out from Istanbul Atatürk Airport. We have an engine light.”

  There was a long silence, then the voice, “State your passengers by name, please.”

  Jerry shot Richard a look. Richard nodded his assent. “We have Mr. Kenntnis, Mr. Oort, Mr. Cross, Dr.—”

  “That’s sufficient, GA, you are positively identified. Be advised there is a military helicopter to your west. You are cleared to land on runway…”

  Richard left to be sure that Mosi was securely buckled up and belted himself in.

  As the wheels kissed the runway, Richard saw the military helicopter out his window. It also seemed to be landing, and quite near to them. “The welcome wagon,” he muttered to Weber, seated at his side.

  “Let’s hope they’re actually … uh … welcoming.”

  They taxied to a stop just outside a private hangar. By the time they had the doors open and the steps down, a man dressed in military uniform, liberally decorated with braid, pins, and badges, was already waiting on the tarmac. From the top step, Richard surveyed him. He looked to be in his late thirties with dark hair tinged faintly with red. Richard said over his shoulder, “Lot of cabbage on that coat.”

  “Somehow I don’t think he’s a first lieutenant,” Weber muttered back.

  Richard pulled himself to his full height, lifted his chin, and descended the stairs. He extended his hand. “Richard Oort, my security chief, Damon Weber.”

  “General Zafer Marangoz,” said the man. “Welcome.”

  The handshakes concluded, Marangoz asked, “You have Mr. Kenntnis?”

  “Yes. He’s still aboard. Unfortunately he’s … unwell. I take it you’re … ah … a representative of the organization we were told to approach?”

  “Yes, I am with the Işık. Light,” Marangoz added helpfully at Richard’s expression.

  “Ah,” Richard said. “Look, General Marangoz, there’s no graceful way to say this. We’re in trouble. We’re on the run and need a place to go to ground. Can you help us?”

  “We know of your troubles. There was a move to have you arrested.” He held up a reassuring hand at Richard’s expression. “We have handled that. The military still has certain prerogatives in this country. It is probably best you stay in Istanbul tonight while we make arrangements for your travel to Ankara. Cars will be arriving shortly.” Marangoz paused, then added in tones of awe, “May I see Mr. Kenntnis?”

  “Yes, of course, come aboard.”

  They reentered the plane. Marangoz gave Mosi a curious but kindly glance, then froze when he saw Kenntnis. “Unchanged,” he whispered.

  “Excuse me?” Richard asked.

  “There are photos of him with Kemal. He is unchanged.”

  “Yes, well, it’s rather hard to explain,” Richard began.

  The young general gave him a blazing smile. “Do not worry, Mr. Oort, we, more than others, understand he is something more than human. You see, there is a mosaic of him in a villa in Hierapolis, a Roman city next to the modern city of Pamukkale. Perhaps we will stop there en route to Ankara. It is worth seeing.”

  Richard gazed at Kenntnis. “Yeah,” he said slowly. “I’d very much like to see that.” He wondered if Kenntnis saw an early image of himself, if it would stir some memory or reaction. It was worth the chance.

  There was the sound of car engines outside. “Come, let us be away,” Marangoz said.

  Brook and Jerry caught them. “What do we do with the plane?” Brook asked.

  “I can’t afford to refuel it and send you back.”

  “Who said anything about wanting to go back?” Jerry asked. “I’m sticking with you.” Brook nodded.

  “Okay, then. Lock it and leave it.”

  There was bustle and confusion as they prepared to debark. Richard found Brook at his side. “Um … my name. It’s Knadjian.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “That’s Armenian.”

  “Ah … oh,” Richard added as the very unpleasant history between Turkey and Armenia came forcibly to mind. “Is this going to be a problem?”

  “Not unless they make it one. It’s probably a good thing my grandfather isn’t here. He wouldn’t be polite.”

  “How about you?”

  “I’ve never been to Armenia. I’ve been inoculated.” He paused for a moment. “And isn’t that an example of what we’re fighting against anyway?”

  “Yeah, I guess that’s true.” Richard added in an undertone just to himself, “I just wish I felt like we were winning.”

  * * *

  It was an unconscionably early hour when Grenier’s phone rang. He heaved himself to the side of the bed, groping for the receiver, and knocked it to the floor. Cursing, he rolled out of bed and tried to bend down for the fallen phone. His distended belly made that impossible, and he had to drop to his knees to be able to pick it up. He fumbled with the buttons but got back the buzz of a disconnected line. Grunting with effort, he used the edge of the mattress to return to his feet and checked the time: 3:40 A.M. Then he noticed the red light flashing on the phone, indicating a message.

  It was Kenzo, and even with only two words—Call me—he sounded extremely put out. Grenier called him. “Should you be calling me at home?” Grenier asked when the CFO answered.

  “It doesn’t matter now. Richard is out as head of Lumina. He has taken actions that Gold and I believe to be actionable if not criminal.” Anger crackled around the words. “In the meantime, we wish you to take over management of the building and personnel in New Mexico.”

  “What’s happened? What has he done?”

  “There is no need for you to know the details.” The tone was arrogant and dismissive.

  “To borrow a phrase of Richard’s, I refuse to be treated like a mushroom.” Grenier broke the connection.

  Smiling, Grenier walked to the kitchen, pulled out a carton of milk, and took a long drink. He mentally kept count. At about the two-minute mark, the phone rang again.

  “You hung up on me.”

  “Yes. I will not assume responsibility without authority.”

  “And I will only accord you the responsibility appropriate to your level of authority. Accept or don’t, but those are the terms.”

  It wasn’t in Grenier’s best interests to alienate the CFO. He changed tacks. Suffusing his voice with sympathy, Grenier said, “Richard must have humiliated you rather profoundly for you to be this angry. I’ve never before heard you lose control. It’s not your style.”

  A sigh gusted across the phone line. “Forgive me, it has been a trying period. I spent part of yesterday and most of the night locked in a storeroom.”

  “Good God!”

  “Richard seems to have been planning this for some time. He’s transferred all the subsidiary companies into a new sole proprietorship he created. He didn’t attempt to move Lumina. We would have been alerted to that.”

  “My understanding is that Lumina subsidizes most of those companies,” Grenier said.

  “Quite true. He will find himself financially underwater in short order, but meanwhile we have lost control of the feeder companies actually doing R&D work.” Kenzo paused, then grudgingly continued. “I never thought Oort was terribly bright. What I hadn’t realized is that he’s cunning.”

  Oddly, the criticism rankled. “Oh, he’s bright.” Grenier almost went on to say, “He played me brilliantly,” but in the last second he realized such a reminder of his perfidy and his past was perhaps not the wisest move. “
It’s Richard’s insecurities that make him seem vapid.”

  “So you’ll take over governance of the main headquarters?” Kenzo asked, returning to the pressing issue.

  “Yes, but you’ll need to inform key personnel. They won’t take my say-so,” Grenier warned Kenzo.

  “It will be handled,” Kenzo said.

  “Quickly?”

  “Immediately.”

  “How are you going to proceed?”

  “We’re filing suit against Richard, both civilly and criminally, but he’s taken the plane and is on his way to Ankara. We’ve contacted law enforcement in Ankara. They’ll be waiting when they touch down. And there is an extradition treaty between the U.S. and Turkey. On a more mundane level, we’re withdrawing the offer to purchase Gaia. We simply can’t afford it until we get our financial house in order. We’ll be in touch. Call me with any problems,” Kenzo concluded, and the connection was broken.

  Tapping a finger against his front teeth, Grenier considered, then dialed Richard’s cell number. “This number is no longer in service,” the robot woman informed him. Grenier had a sudden image of an expensive iPhone in a garbage can somewhere in Rochester. He should have expected this. Richard was a policeman. He knew that phones could be used to trace and to locate.

  He tried to go back to sleep, but after an hour of tossing and turning, he rose, showered, dressed, and made waffles from scratch, liberally mounding them with blueberries and whipped cream. It was still only six o’clock. He paced, checked the clock. There would be no one at Lumina beyond security and the chef, Franz, until eight, and they needed to get the word. By seven, he couldn’t contain his tension and anxiety. He drove to the Range Cafe, where he treated himself to a second breakfast of eggs con queso. The cheese and green chili sat heavy in his gut, so he ate some oatmeal as a stomach settler.

  By then two hours had passed, and he felt he could safely assume that word had been given to the Lumina staff. He was certain of it when he entered the lobby and Paulette glared at him. Joseph opened the door to the security office and stared at him with the expression of a man contemplating dog shit on his shoe. Joseph shut the door without uttering a word. Grenier moved to the elevator.

  In his office, he gathered up his files and the few personal items that adorned his desk—the crystal paperweight, a pair of antique bookends in the form of an old man seated in an armchair with a book on his knee that supported his reference books.

  Grenier still persisted in using a dead tree dictionary and thesaurus over going online. There was just something about the feel and smell of actual books. Some of that was personal preference, some dictated by his role as televangelist. Fundamentalism feared change and advancement and celebrated a golden age embodied by the past, so he had continually attacked technological advancement and atheist science on his show. At its base, though, there was a very mundane reason why he chose paper books over electronic readers—magic played holy hell with high-tech items, so there wasn’t much point keeping them around if you were a sorcerer.

  He lifted the stack of books, then decided it was beneath his dignity to lug them. He would send someone to pick them up. When he stepped off the elevator on the sixth floor, Jeannette’s expression was stiff, frozen. “Mr. Grenier,” she said formally, but her eyes revealed her despair, resentment, and contempt for him. Grenier decided in that moment whom he would assign as pack mule.

  “Jeannette, please go down to my office and bring up my books. And I’d like Chinese for lunch. Bring me a menu from Chow’s. In fact, I’d like you to start a menu book for the office.” Issuing orders to the haughty personal assistant felt very good.

  She ducked her head and momentarily pressed her lips together. “Very good, Mr. Grenier. Are you planning on firing Franz?”

  “No, and while I enjoy haute cuisine, I have an eclectic palate, and I want variety.”

  He went into the office. The faint scent of Richard’s aftershave, Stefano Ricci Classic, still lingered in the room. He moved to the piano, folded back the lid, and gently touched a key. Where are you? he wondered.

  He moved to the broad granite desk, placed his paperweight and the bookends, then took the chair. Because of Richard’s rather diminutive height, it was set too high, and his stomach pressed against the edge of the desk. He grabbed the handle and lowered the chair, adjusted the back, laced his fingers on his belly, and surveyed the room. Contentment washed through him.

  Chapter

  FIFTEEN

  THEY were taken to a hotel in the old city. It was a four-story sandstone building that wore its age like a dowager wears jewels and dignity. There was no elevator, just worn stone stairs. The mullioned windows held thick glass, and magnificent carpets covered the floors. On one wood-paneled wall there was a fireplace with a hood of beaten copper and set all around with magnificent painted tiles in shades of blue and green like peacock tails. The desk clerk, a young woman whose head scarf was a frame for the perfect oval of her face and her pale green eyes, greeted them and handed out keys. “There will be tea in the breakfast room on the upper floor. Once you are refreshed, please come and be welcome.”

  Richard counted keys and realized there wasn’t one for Mosi. “My ward will also need a room. Next to mine,” Richard said. More than ever Richard wished he had a woman in the party. He hated to leave the child alone, but his sister’s warning hung ominously in his mind. “And Mr. Kenntnis will share a room with me.”

  “Hey, Mr. Oort, can Mr. Kenntnis bunk in with me?” Ron Trout asked abruptly. “I’ve been monitoring something, and I’d like to keep watching it.”

  “Uh … sure.” He turned to the receptionist. “Then I guess we don’t need another room.”

  Only Richard, Mosi, Weber, and the two pilots actually had luggage. The four scientists, Cross, and Kenntnis went right to the breakfast room, while a couple of young men in bellmen’s uniforms carried the bags up to the rooms. Weber quickly intervened before one of the men could pick up his big duffel bag o’ guns as he called it. They didn’t need that problem in addition to all their other problems.

  Richard noted that Mosi’s brows were drawn tight together. He fell into step with her as they went up the final flight of stairs to the topmost floor. “How are you doing, kiddo?” Richard asked softly. “I know things have been kinda crazy for the past week.”

  Mosi looked up at him. “Where are we?”

  He started to reach for his phone, then realized it was in a Dumpster outside the bank in Rochester, and the burner phone he had bought didn’t have Internet access. “There’s a computer in the lobby. After we have some tea I’ll get online and show you. We’re in a very large country called Turkey that is the crossroads between Europe and Asia.”

  “Okay.” She paused, then glanced up at him. “We’re a long way from home, aren’t we?”

  “Yes. Yes, we are.” He risked it. He put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her briefly against his side. He was gratified when her arm slipped around his waist and hugged him back.

  “It is bad for Navajo people to travel beyond the edges of the four sacred mountains without protection.” She had once again taken on the cadence of a different person. Someone older and rigid.

  “Who told you that?” Richard asked.

  “Grandfather. We didn’t go to a singer and get me special turquoise to protect me.”

  “Weber and I can do that.”

  “You’re not a mountain.”

  “No, I’m a man. That’s more useful than a mountain … or turquoise.”

  Her nose wrinkled and she twisted her mouth a bit, then a small smile broke out. “I think my daddy would think that too. Sometimes he got mad at Grandfather over the old ways. Grandfather didn’t want Abel to have a computer.” Her expression became bleak. “But he was right about that, wasn’t he? So maybe he was right about the turquoise too?”

  Richard caught her hands. “No, Mosi, rocks and mountains don’t have minds. They can’t think or do things. Men did things to those
computers so they became like windows, and it will be people who stop them. We’ll talk more about this later, okay?”

  She nodded and ran away up the stairs. Richard followed, suddenly a lot more worried about cultural differences and how what Mosi would learn at Lumina would challenge her beliefs.

  The breakfast room was basically a sunroom with windows on three sides. Richard looked out at the graceful minarets and the dome of the famous Blue Mosque. Beyond it bulked Hagia Sophia. Through another window, sunlight danced on the rich blue of the Bosphorus. Richard noted the small mosque nestled right next to the hotel. He thought he’d better warn Mosi about the adhān, which would likely ring through their rooms at various times of day. A plate of cookies and baklava, already seriously depleted, was set out on a table, and the receptionist was pouring a pale golden tea into clear glasses. Richard accepted his and took a sip. It was apple flavored and delicious.

  Mosi sniffed hers suspiciously, then tried a sip, and gave him another brief smile. “It’s good.”

  “Yes, it is.” Richard thanked the young woman, then turned back to Mosi. “Why don’t you try one of those pastries? The one with the honey on it. You’ll like it.” She went off to the table, and the scientists made room for her. Richard noticed that she chose to sit next to Kenntnis.

  He moved to a window and stared out over the city. Weber and Cross joined him. “So what now, boss?” the homeless god asked.

  “We wait for our general to turn back up, and head for Ankara tomorrow. I want you to do some recon. Since we filed a flight plan, they know where we are. See if there’s activity near to us.”

  “I’m thinking we better pull watches,” Weber said.

  “Agreed. Brook and Jerry can help. They’re both ex-military.”

  “That’ll make the night a bit easier.”

  Richard looked at Cross. “Without the sword, we’re depending on you for protection. Guns can handle human followers, but if something else shows up…” Richard’s voice trailed away.