Edge of Dawn

by Melinda Snodgrass

  Weber was suddenly there, catching him around the waist, keeping him on his feet. Richard groped for Weber’s shoulder, clung for a moment, then straightened. Eddie and Chen had recognized the hilt. Eddie gripped Richard’s arm hard enough to make him wince.

  “He was a paladin!”

  “Yes,” Richard said.

  “Paladin, what does that mean?” Marangoz asked.

  Richard shot Cross a look. The Old One looked back blandly, and Richard realized Kenntnis and Cross had been advising Atatürk in the late 1920s and early ’30s. A period when there had been no paladin, no one to carry the sword.

  “Mr. Kenntnis needs people in the field. A paladin leads those efforts,” Richard said. He stepped in close to Cross and said quietly, “What became of him?”

  “Couldn’t say. Before my time. Well, I was around, but just barely. Nose in the trough, lapping it up. Despite their engineering accomplishments, the Romans were real brutal motherfuckers. It was a movable feast following their legions.”

  Kenntnis was behind the gawking crowd. The two soldiers Marangoz had brought for security were looking from Kenntnis to the mosaic and back again and talking rapidly in Turkish among themselves. Richard pushed through them all and went up to Kenntnis. He gently touched the alien’s sleeve.

  “Sir, I’d like to show you something.” There was no response. Richard took Kenntnis’s hand and led him through the crowd. He pointed at the mosaic. For a long moment nothing happened, then the silver lights flared in Kenntnis’s eyes bright enough to illuminate the floor, and then for a fraction of a second the room was filled with blinding light as if the world’s largest flashbulb had just gone off. Everyone shouted in alarm and stumbled back. Ranjan lost his footing and fell off the walkway. Richard blinked away the halos of the afterimage. Ranjan was trying to climb off the glass and back onto the walkway. Fortunately, the glass was thick enough to bear his weight. Trout had pulled out a calculator, and the stubby fingers were flying across the small keys. Weber had Mosi wrapped in his arms.

  Richard cautiously approached Kenntnis, who was once again standing with that faraway look. “Okay. Well. That got a reaction. Not exactly what I was expecting.”

  “What were you expecting?” Weber asked.

  “I don’t know. A miracle?” He gave a twisted smile.

  “Oh, you don’t want one of those,” Cross said. “That would be bad. That would mean magic was at work. And we got no way to shut it down.”

  * * *

  Anxiety had his belly in an uproar as Grenier stepped out of the office and checked on the threshold when he saw Jeannette at her desk. “Why are you still here?”

  The woman looked up at him, her expression cold and distant. “I had work I needed to finish.”

  “Well, go home. It’s seven o’clock.”

  “I know Mr. Gold is on his way. I can stay—”

  “No!” Grenier forced a smile and moderated his tone. “Really not necessary. I know I came on a bit tough in the beginning, but I really do value your knowledge and insights, Jeannette.”

  The tone that had always worked on the older ladies in his congregation wasn’t cutting it with the executive assistant. Her upper lip curled, and she swept him with a cold glance. She stood, gathered up her things, and said in a tone so neutral that it was in itself an insult, “Thank you.” She walked to the elevator.

  Yes, he thought, she’ll have to be fired once I’m past tonight. Grenier waited to make certain she didn’t return for some reason, nervously checking his watch. He was running out of time. He tried to jog to the conference room but was soon winded, and the jiggling of his gut was uncomfortable. He walked to the cabinet at the far end of the room, opened the lower section, knelt down with a grunt, and pulled out a large and elaborate first aid kit. Flipping open the snaps, he pushed back the top and surveyed the contents. The portable defibrillator was in the center slot.

  He pulled it out, returned the case to the cabinet and hurried to the office. The granite desk didn’t have a front so he couldn’t hide the defibrillator underneath. He looked around frantically and finally settled on just tucking it in the trash can beneath his desk. He went to the bookcase and took down the cut-crystal decanter containing single-malt scotch and two cut-crystal highball glasses. He arranged everything on the desk and poured two fingers of scotch into his glass. He left the decanter unstoppered. It had to look as if he was just finishing pouring when Gold entered.

  And what if he doesn’t want a drink?

  Unwelcome thought, that. Grenier pushed it aside and fingered the vial in his coat pocket. Somehow he had to get Gold to ingest the gamma hydroxybutyrate, known on the street as EZ Lay or Liquid Ecstasy. At higher dosages it caused unconsciousness. He hoped he had bought enough.

  Grenier’s frenzied preparations had kept him from having to actually contemplate what he was about to do. Now in the few moments he had, he sank down in the chair and replayed the conversation with Alexander Titchen. The billionaire’s nasal voice with its syrupy Louisiana accent had held a gloating tone, making Grenier wish he had been less condescending to the man back in the day. Titchen had clearly enjoyed lording it over Grenier, laying out the conditions for Grenier’s return.

  “You need to prove your sincerity, Mark.”

  “I already told you the sword was lost. Richard is vulnerable. You can take him down now.”

  “It was a nice start, but we need a bit more. We’d like y’all to remove the Lumina officers. Clear the way for our people.”

  “Remove?”

  “Don’t be dense, Mark.”

  “You mean kill…? I’m a fat fifty-four-year-old man!” he had objected.

  “But cunning. You were always real cunning. Get back to us when you’re done.”

  “They’re scattered all over the world. I can’t get at them, and if I travel there and then they die…” He had known he was whining but had been unable to stop.

  “Well, now, that’s a fair point. I’ll tell you what. Kill one of them, and we’ll handle the rest. We just want you to have some skin in this game.”

  Kill one of them. Could he do it? Grenier had done hideous and frightful things. He had ordered people killed, he’d ordered Richard beaten, he had even personally tortured the young man, but he had never killed anyone. Well, not with his own hands. But he had to if he was going to have any hope of surviving. He had picked Gold because he knew he could get the lawyer to come, and he figured the portly fifty-something lawyer would be an easier mark than the spare and fit Kenzo or the equally fit Dagmar.

  Don’t think about the end result. Just think about the process.

  He heard the elevator arriving. Grenier surged to his feet, pulled out the vial, and tipped the GHB into the glass. Vial back into his pocket. He missed and it fell to the floor. No time to bend down. Actually couldn’t bend over the bulge of his belly. Really no time to kneel. It was small, Gold probably wouldn’t notice. He snatched up the decanter and splashed in scotch just as Gold bustled through the office door.

  “You said there was a problem. What’s happened?” the lawyer demanded.

  “There’s been a hacking attempt against our company computers. I think someone inside has been providing information to that kid that Richard fired.” Grenier smoothly handed Gold the glass while he was talking. The lawyer automatically took it.

  “Jesus. Any idea who?”

  “I have my suspicions.” Grenier picked up his own glass and clinked it against Gold’s. He took a sip and mentally held his breath, waiting, hoping, watching.

  Gold followed suit, and Grenier’s gut felt suddenly loose with relief. Grenier waved Gold into the high-backed chair across the desk from him and took another encouraging sip from his glass. Gold took another sip.

  “Well,” Gold nudged, “who is it?”

  “I suspect my assistant.”

  Gold gulped down a large swallow of scotch. “Jeannette? I find that hard to believe.”

  “She’s become very attach
ed to Richard. As women often do,” Grenier said. “I think she feels more loyalty to him now than to Lumina.” Grenier drew out the words, taking his time, letting the seconds crawl by.

  “She won’t be easy to replace,” Gold said, and took another swallow of scotch. “As I recall, Kenntnis hired her when she was in her twenties.”

  “If we fire her, I expect we will lose Joseph too,” Grenier said. “And that’s worrisome. He knows this building, its weak points. They might get up to something. In fact, he’s been very insubordinate.”

  Gold took another drink. There was only a small amount of scotch left in his glass.

  “There’s clearly another floor below the pool level,” Grenier continued. “Joseph claims the only key to send the elevator down to that level is with Richard, there isn’t a duplicate. I don’t believe him. Do you know what’s at the lowest level?”

  The lawyer shook his head. “Not a clue.” The words were slurred. Gold frowned down into his glass. “I don’t feel…” His eyes widened, and he looked up at Grenier with dawning understanding and sudden fear. “Wha … Wha…” He slumped, and the glass fell out of his hand, the last of the scotch wetting the Oriental rug. Grenier cursed. He hadn’t anticipated that any would spill. He would have to blot it before the EMTs arrived.

  Moving as swiftly as possible, Grenier pulled the portable defibrillator out of the trash can. Gold wasn’t completely unconscious. His mouth worked, and a bit of drool ran down his chin. His eyes were filled with fear and desperation as he stared up at Grenier.

  “I’m sorry,” Grenier said softly as he unbuttoned the lawyer’s shirt. “You seem like a decent enough man, but you’ve never seen what I’ve seen. You don’t know them and fear them as I do. And you can’t keep me safe.” He was relieved to see that the man didn’t wear an undershirt. That made it easier.

  He applied gel to the paddles and laid one in the center of Gold’s chest. The other he slipped onto Gold’s back just to the left of his spine at shoulder-blade level. There was a whine as the charge built. Gold’s eyes closed as the drug overcame him and he slipped into unconsciousness. Grenier triggered the defibrillator, sending the charge through the lawyer’s body. The current hit the healthy heart and threw it into defib. Grenier stepped back and watched Gold groan and struggle to breathe as his heart failed. Grenier had stood at the bedside of dying parishioners. He knew what death looked like. He had just never before been its midwife.

  He examined his emotions. Waited for the moment of guilt or horror. And felt only a weary emptiness. He noticed his hands were steady as he repacked the defibrillator in the first aid kit in the conference room. Back in his office, he picked up the vial and placed it carefully in his pocket. He took a washcloth from the bathroom, wet it, and wiped away the traces of gel on the man’s chest and back. Grenier decided to leave the glass, which had fallen from Gold’s hand, and even the wet place on the carpet. It was a heart attack. No one would question that, and it added to the sense that the lawyer had been suddenly struck down by a massive coronary. No one was going to blot up the spilled liquor and test it.

  Closing his eyes, Grenier summoned the grief, fear, and sadness. He felt his breath grow short and the sting of tears in his eyes. He picked up the phone. Dialed.

  “Nine one one. What is your emergency?”

  It was showtime.

  Chapter

  EIGHTEEN

  BY the time the second long helicopter ride was over, all Richard wanted was a hot shower and a chance to collapse on any kind of bed. Actually, he would have settled for space on a floor. He was paying for the almost sleepless night and the shock over what he had seen at Hierapolis. At the airport, there were cars waiting, ready to drive them through the maddening traffic of Ankara. The city was situated in a valley surrounded by almost vegetation-free brown hills and high ridges. Modern buildings occupied the valley, while the barren hills were covered with squatters’ houses built out of scrap wood, concrete blocks, and tin. On the highest two ridges loomed walled fortresses built from red stone.

  Their cavalcade turned onto a large boulevard, and after a sharp right turn they drove up a steep hill. Flower beds filled with red and white flowers forming the Turkish flag dotted the thick green grass. A checkpoint manned by heavily armed soldiers lay ahead. They were waved through. Apparently they were expected. The road dead-ended in a circular cul-de-sac. The cars were parked, the engines shut off. The Lumina refugees climbed out.

  Weber surveyed the view from the hilltop and looked toward the massive stone buildings that loomed off to their right. “Impressive, but I’d rather have checked into a hotel and gone sightseeing later,” he said quietly to Richard.

  “Since we’re fugitives, I think we should probably be grateful and go along with anything our hosts want us to do.”

  “Within reason,” Weber replied.

  General Marangoz gestured toward a long walkway formed by bricks with grass growing between the stones. “The Road of Lions,” he said proudly. The entrance to this walkway was flanked by stone buildings with statues out front. One showed a group of three women in traditional Turkish garb; the other grouping was a soldier, a peasant, and man in a suit holding a book. They were stylized and reminded Richard of Fascist art. Dr. Trout gave voice to his thought.

  “Very Stalinistic,” he grunted.

  Chen, studying a placard, said, “Considering when they were sculpted, I’m not surprised.”

  They headed down the walkway between stylized statues of crouching lions. There were very reminiscent of Assyrian art. The walkway ultimately debouched into a ceremonial stone-flagged plaza. The gigantic space could probably have accommodated more than ten thousand people. On this late September afternoon, there were only a handful of tourists and a number of heavily armed soldiers marching with slow goose steps through the plaza. At various points, soldiers stood stiffly erect and unmoving before sentry stands. Underfoot, multicolored travertine pieces formed elaborate patterns that made Richard think of the Oriental rug back in his office in Albuquerque.

  Straight ahead and up an impressive stone staircase was a colossal square building surrounded by massive colonnades, the Atatürk Mausoleum. Opposite the building was another colonnade through which they could see the skyscrapers of modern Ankara. The other sides of the plaza were delineated by buildings constructed from the same stone and marked by colonnades.

  “Damn,” Eddie muttered as he joined Richard. “All this to bury one guy?”

  “He was their George Washington. The father of his country,” Cross said.

  “Yeah, but damn.”

  Marangoz pointed at the massive building. “The Hall of Honor. There is a symbolic sarcophagus inside, but Atatürk’s actual tomb is beneath the building. Come, my comrades are eager to meet you, and you must wish to rest after the journey. I must also report on what happened at Pamukkale.”

  Instead of returning to the cars, Marangoz led them into a building on their right. Richard was startled to find himself in a museum gift shop. Any item that could possibly hold an image of the founder of modern Turkey was for sale. Kemal Mustafa’s intense blue-eyed gaze stared at Richard from mugs and rugs and key chains and refrigerator magnets, even ashtrays. Three young women, their faces framed by head scarves, stood behind various counters ready to assist any customers. Marangoz nodded at the eldest and led them through a doorway and down a set of stairs.

  “The museum commemorates Atatürk’s life and legacy. Perhaps you will tour it after the mausoleum has closed,” Marangoz said to Richard.

  “I look forward to that,” Richard said.

  They moved through several rooms filled with portraits of Mustafa Kemal and portraits after he became Atatürk, and depictions of famous battles. They entered a room filled with furniture and a set of evening clothes laid out on a bed as if waiting for the imminent arrival of the man himself. There were numerous black-and-white photos of Atatürk at various public events. Richard’s attention was caught by faces in a crowd at a
school dedication. Both Kenntnis and Cross were there. Well to the back and tucked in among others, but it was indisputably them. The date on the photo was 1936.

  There was a small door off to one side. Marangoz unlocked it and gestured them inside. They found themselves in a mechanical room filled with the hum from the heating and cooling units and the faint smell of machine oil. Marangoz approached an open area on one wall and pressed several stones in a particular order. A portion of the wall swung open. They quickly stepped through to find a pair of soldiers, one male and one female, at stiff attention on either side of the wall panel. Directly in front of them stood two older men who, judging by their uniforms, were also generals. The soldiers snapped off salutes to Marangoz and pushed closed the wall.

  Marangoz made the introductions. “Mr. Oort, please meet General Hasak Çelik, and General Karamat Sözer. We three are the coterie that at present leads Işık.”

  Richard shook hands with the men. Çelik was white-haired, and his face was a net of wrinkles. Sözer seemed to fall in age somewhere between Marangoz and Çelik. “Thank you for offering us refuge,” Richard said. “May I introduce my companions. Doctors Tanaka, Ranjan, Trout, and Chen, part of my scientific team. Brook Kna—” He remembered and held back the Armenian name at the last second. Brook looked relieved and grateful. “And Jerry, my pilots. Damon Weber, head of overseas security, my ward Mosi Tsosie.”

  “It is our pleasure,” Çelik said, but he sounded distracted, and both he and Sözer were staring only at Kenntnis and Cross.

  “You’re obviously familiar with Kenntnis and Cross,” Richard said dryly. We might as well not even be present, he thought. And maybe that’s a good thing. If they knew just how useless I am. He shook off the bleak thought and said, “Generals, perhaps if we could retire to someplace more private?”