"How did the Basques get it?" Pierce asked.
"It was stolen from Plato along with the third dialogue and the final pages of the second one. Both were taken north, to the Basque region. Fitting, I think, since in their folklore the Basques are called descendants of Atlanteans."
"The scroll is probably a fake," Elise muttered.
Andrews shrugged. "Think what you like. It doesn't matter. Besides, in a way you are right."
He admitted that Plato didn't write his dialogue on the silver scroll. It was inscribed by someone else, the one who had stolen it from the philosopher. At the beginning of the scroll, the anonymous thief—a dissident priest—confessed his crime and explained it. Plato was betraying secret teachings, making too many of the mysteries public. The skull dialogue, called Solon, which was related to two earlier ones, Timaeus and Critias, was stolen to protect the knowledge. The skull was taken as punishment.
"I'm sure you know, Dr. Simms, that Critias ends in the middle of a sentence, which has puzzled scholars for centuries. The thief admits on the scroll that when he stole Solon, he also took the ending of Critias. He may actually have done so accidentally."
"What's the scroll say about the reunion of the skulls? That you're not going to age? Is that it?" Pierce was incredulous. "How could you believe that?"
Andrews closed his eyes, took in a deep breath. It was like a prelude to prayer. He explained that both the scroll and the Mayan legend proclaimed that the reunion of the skulls would impel the world into an era when mankind would again be ruled by immortals.
"You see, the god-men are returning. Plato wrote that the reunion will mark the time of the New Man. I call it the New Enlightenment, as you know." He stopped, leaned toward them. " 'He awakens the old gods within him. And he becomes one with them.'
He sounded like an evangelist. "So what's the lure of immortality?" Elise's voice reeked sarcasm.
Andrews didn't hesitate to answer. "For a man who possesses abundant power and wealth, what greater interest is there than to stop the aging process, to extend life indefinitely?"
"You're misinterpreting the dialogue," Elise said. "You're deceiving yourself, just like you deceived my father."
Andrews's smile was laced with hubris. "Oh, really, Dr. Simms? And just how am I deceiving myself? Please tell me about it."
"The old gods were actually initiates, advanced men and women. Plato, or whoever wrote the dialogue, knew that. They only seemed immortal because the average man lacked their knowledge and understanding."
'The betrayer struggles to the end, and opens the way for the New Man' " Andrews said. "You are following Plato so faithfully." He nodded to K.J. and glanced toward the bar. Then, turning back to Pierce and Elise, he told them that they would now have the privilege of witnessing the reunion of the crystal skulls.
"A fitting last memory, don't you think? Myth and reality, life and death intermingling, and from it will rise the new legion."
K.J. walked around the bar and brought out a suitcase, the same one they had seen in the videotape of Mahoney's murder. Andrews motioned for him to set it at his feet. "Elise, please do me the honor of handing me the partner."
"Fuck you. Pick it up yourself."
Simms took her by the arm and started to pull her forward. "Let go of me, you bastard," she shouted, trying to twist away.
Pierce lunged forward and punched Simms in the gut. Simms grunted, dropped Elise's arm, and slammed his fist into Pierce's jaw.
His head snapped back against the couch and everything went black. When Pierce opened his eyes, he was dazed and wasn't sure whether he was conscious or dreaming. He saw Elise bend over, and for a moment she was a priestess lifting a sacred chalice. He saw her passing a crystal skull to the high priest.
As he held the two skulls, the priest stared ahead and recited some ancient rite in a sort of dreamy tone.
"The king sees the stone, the first treasure of Atlantis, but makes his claim good only after the long struggle. Soon thereafter the allies of the betrayer lead the way to the second stone. The same as the first, it is veiled from sight under the watery altar. So captured, the First Matter and the Second Matter are now before him, and the Great Work begins under the sign of Libra. The dominion of death is over, the feathered dragon shuns the light, and the king reigns immortal."
For an instant, Pierce focused on Andrews's face. It was a moment of clarity. He no longer saw the suave, elegant man he knew. Instead, he glimpsed the dark, necromantic eyes of the aged sorcerer from the realms of hypnotic vision, the Old One—the Smoking Mirror.
Chapter 36
"Now, the remainder of the night is reserved for what I'll politely call an exhibition of your mortality," Andrews said as he led the way onto the deck. The skulls had been carefully packed in an aluminum case with a foam-cushioned interior and ballasts on either end, and Andrews carried his precious cargo himself.
"If they try anything, shoot them in the legs." His tone was as cold as the Arctic. Still woozy from Steve's knockout punch, Pierce wobbled unsteadily behind Elise and inhaled the night air to clear his head. Simms stalked from the rear, fingering his Mach 10, followed by K.J. toting video equipment in a backpack.
Andrews opened a door below the bridge, flipped on a light switch, and stepped aside. "The lady first."
When she didn't move, Simms pushed Pierce, who bumped into her. The muzzle of the Mach 10 pressed against his back and Pierce followed her down a half-dozen steps. A rush of heat and diesel fumes pressed against him; no plush interior here, just a bare steel frame. They were apparently in a storage room near the engine.
"Visitors to see you," Andrews called after them.
For a moment, Pierce didn't know what Andrews meant. Then he heard Elise gasp and saw Marisol Puente, hands tied to an overhead beam, a gag stuffed in her mouth, her feet barely brushing the floor.
"Doesn't she look nice? I find her very seductive all tied up like that." Andrews's voice seemed to fill the room. "She's been that way for three, almost four hours now. The beginning of her penance for betraying me."
Elise hurried over to the woman, pulling the gag from her mouth.
"You can untie her. It doesn't matter now. Just pull on the dangling rope and she'll come undone."
Pierce helped Elise lower Marisol to the floor. Her eyes were wide with terror, her lips parched. He heard a murmur from across the room, turned and saw Morris Carver bound and gagged on the floor.
"Another surprise," Andrews said. "I've left a bottle of water in the corner. Go ahead and revive them. I want all of you to be aware of what's going to happen next."
Elise picked up the bottle, took off the top, smelled it. She splashed water on Marisol's face, then held the bottle to the woman's lips. Pierce, meanwhile, untied Carver, and Elise gave him water.
Andrews rapped on the wall. "Now listen closely, friends. Just down the hall, locked in a storage room, are ninety pounds of dynamite. As soon as you hear the engine of the powerboat fire, you'll know I'm activating a remote timing device. You'll have twenty minutes to contemplate your deaths. Then you'll be blown to chunk-sized pieces of shark meat."
"You can't get away with this, Andrews!" Carver rasped. "You'll be arrested for murder as soon as you go back to shore."
"I don't think so, Detective. I've been preparing for this day for some time. I've known that once I had the skulls, my life would transform. That's what Noster Mundus is all about—transformation of the individual and society. I won't be as visible as I am now. Not for some time. But I will reemerge stronger than ever. Far stronger. You can count on that."
"You're fucked, Ray," Pierce blustered.
Andrews laughed. "No, you are."
Simms stuck his head in the doorway and leveled the machine pistol at Pierce. "I'll take care of that bastard right now, Ray."
Andrews glanced sharply at Simms. "We'll do it my way. I want him to think about his death." He grinned at Pierce; his gritted teeth flashed white, like pearls. "Just think of y
ourself as being trapped in your last elevator, Nicholas. This one won't go up or down, just apart."
"The bomb might not detonate, Ray," Simms argued. "I say finish them off now."
Andrews swung around and fixed his eyes on Simms. "You will never address me by that name again. And the bomb will explode. Enough talk. Now it's time to finish our chores and be on our way." He took one more look back. "Adios, mis amigos."
"Wait," Pierce said, his mind racing, seeking some excuse to keep Andrews here, to buy them more time.
"Nicholas, Nicholas. Please don't make this unpleasant. I gave you your insurance clients, and I took them away when you betrayed my trust. I gave you another chance with this case, and you blew it again. Now I'm taking your life. It's as simple as that. Besides, you don't remember, but I've got an old bone to pick with you from that time we were stuck in the elevator."
"I know. I hit you. I remember. It felt good. Real good, Ray."
Andrews's dark eyes seemed to bore a hole through him, but Pierce didn't care anymore. He smiled and watched as Andrews turned and the steel door slammed shut with a ringing finality.
"Carbon!" Marisol shouted. "I never should have talked to you!"
Pierce looked over at her. "I'm sorry. I don't know how they found you."
"It's too late for apologies, idiota," she scoffed, but her voice broke and she covered her face with her hands and began to weep.
Pierce vaulted up the stairs and grabbed hold of the knob. Rattled it. He raced down the stairs and across the compartment from wall to wall. No doors, no windows, no way out. He felt like a rat trapped in a maze, with dead ends in every direction.
"It's no use, Pierce." Carver shook his head and leaned against the wall. "You heard him. It'll all be over in a few minutes."
"Jesus," Elise whispered, running her hands over her arms again and again, faster and faster. "We've got to do something. We can't just—just sit here."
"We pray," said Marisol. "There is nothing left. Pray to the Lord, our savior."
"You do that." Pierce shoved his hand into the loose-fitting pants Steve had given him. He felt the amulet. Shit.
What good was it? It was like Marisol's prayers. Something to cling to for hope, but there was nothing to cling to anymore.
He pulled out the amulet, and was about to hurl it against the door when he heard a popping sound. Then another, and another. Three muffled pops, then a fourth, like the backfire of a car in the distance.
"What was that?" Elise asked.
"I don't know. Probably the powerboat starting up." He listened, heard the roar of the Cigarette's outboard engine. "They're leaving."
He glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes. The sound of the boat's engine rose to a high whine, then slowly faded. He saw Carver watching him, his arms crossed over his chest, his back against the wall. Elise sat down next to Marisol, who was muttering prayers under her breath.
"Sit down, Nick. There's nothing to do. We've lost the skulls. We're locked in a room next to enough explosives to tear the ship to shreds." Her eyes filled with tears. "I've lost my father." Her voice trailed off, and she buried her head in her arms.
Reluctantly, he lowered himself to the floor next to her, reached for her hand. "I wish it could have been different, Elise."
She was quiet for a moment, then squeezed his hand. "I know. So do I."
"Pray for your soul," Marisol said.
He looked at Marisol—and did a double take as he realized she was sitting on a door in the floor. "Hey, move! Get up! It's a door."
She moved aside, and Pierce saw a padlock. He jerked at it, kicked it. Useless.
"Nick, it just leads to the engine room." Elise's eyes were red, but she looked drained of emotion "That's not going to get us out of here. We're not getting out." Then, more softly: "Not that way."
Seventeen minutes. The hot air and fumes nauseated him. His body was bathed in sweat. Not that way.
He closed his eyes and a surge of anger that seemed to start at his feet and rise up his body ripped through him like an electric current. He ran up the steps and battered the door with his hands and feet, like a kid having a tantrum. He started to reach for the handle, but lost his strength. His body felt limp, and he backed down the stairs and sat down in the middle of the floor. It must be the fumes, he thought, and closed his eyes.
Images, words, sensations, reeled through his head. He saw the stripper with the cowboy hat tottering on her head; Gibby wheeling into his office; Fuego at jai alai; Fuego's funeral; Elise at the Jack of Clubs; Elise tumbling into bed with him; Redington in his office, the glass skull on his desk; Andrews holding up the two crystal skulls. The images blurred and melded together.
He felt the familiar chill needling his lower back as he saw himself shoved into the elevator with Carver. He squeezed his head, fought off the panic that pressed against him, clogged his throat. He slid his hands down his face, opened his eyes. The elevator's stuck. The walls are shrinking. He felt as if he were spinning, tumbling to hell. Out of control. He was losing it. You will die insane, a voice said. Andrews's voice.
No! I control the elevator.
He forced himself to look up at the door. Now it was an elevator door. Move the numbers. But there were no numbers above the door. Just a word: ESCAPE.
From death? From life? Was he already dead? Maybe it was over . . . and he didn't even know it.
Get out of the elevator. Escape.
I'm trapped, stuck. I can get out.
Escape. He said it over and over. A chant, a mantra. Still nothing happened. Something was wrong. Escape, but how? Open, he ordered. Open up. But the elevator doors remained sealed.
He heard a scratching noise. It didn't fit, didn't make sense. He tried to blot it out.
He heard it again, louder this time.
What was it?
He rubbed his eyes, blinked, looked around. He was still inside the hot room with the others. Nothing had changed.
"I thought I heard something." It was Carver's voice, but it sounded as if it were inside his head.
Pierce stood up as he heard the sound again. It was like sandpaper being rubbed against a wall. Where was it coming from?
He vaulted up the stairs to the door. He started to grasp the handle and realized he still was holding the amulet. He jammed it back in his pocket, grasped the handle, closed his eyes, squeezed it. Prayed it would open, muttered his mantra: Open, escape.
The scratching noise abraded his nerves. He turned the knob. It didn't move.
He let it go, opened his eyes, and stared at his watch. Twelve minutes. Almost halfway through hell.
He heard a sound, but now it was like a rattle. Was he delirious, imagining it? He looked at the doorknob. Concentrated on it. Open. Escape.
It was moving, vibrating. He was sure of it. Open. Escape. Open. Damn it.
He grabbed it, squeezed. This time he felt it move in his hand. Move on its own. Open. Escape. It moved again, and his heart leaped. He heard a click. Slowly he turned the knob. It kept turning. He sucked in his breath, then pulled with all his strength.
The door swung inward; a body toppled forward into his arms and he nearly tumbled down the stairs. Carver moved to his side and together they pushed the man onto the deck. Pierce's hand came away bloody.
"Oh, Christ," Elise said from behind him, and Pierce realized it was Simms. He emitted low, broken groans; he was saying something. His groans became words: "Raff, raff, raff."
Marisol moved out onto the deck. "What's he saying?" Pierce motioned for her to be quiet.
"Raff," Simms gasped.
"Raff. . . Raft! He said raft!" Carver exclaimed. Pierce leaned forward. "Where is it?"
Simms was sitting up with the help of Pierce on one side and Carver on the other. He pointed toward the bow. Pierce glanced at Elise. " Find it. Hurry!"
Her eyes were hard, unforgiving, as she stared at the man who was once her husband. "Leave him, Nick. We can't do anything for him."
She swept
past them; Marisol hugged her heels. Their footfalls echoed along the deck. Pierce looked at Carver. "He opened the door."
"And he's going to be my number one witness if he lives," Carver said.
They lugged him forward. He was badly hurt, but he was still moving his legs; somehow he was walking. The warm night swam around Pierce, and he drew in deep lungsful of air as he moved across the deck. Then his foot struck something and he crashed to the deck under Steve's weight.
He looked around and saw he'd tripped on another body. He looked into the man's eyes. They were glassy, vacuous. He saw two more bodies. "Christ, they killed the crew."
The popping sounds were gunfire. Simms shot the crew for Andrews, Pierce guessed, then K.J. shot Simms. And he knew why. Simms was too defiant, a potential threat to Andrews.
"Nick, help us. There's no time." It was Elise.
Simms was on his hands and knees, crawling over bodies toward the raft. A bib of blood spread over the back of his shirt.
"Go on," Carver said. "I'll get him."
Pierce hurried to the bow, where Elise and Marisol were struggling to get the self-inflating raft over a low rail. He lifted and shoved, and it skidded over the side.
"Jump! There's no time!" Elise screamed.
The raft landed upright and bobbed in the sea. Marisol leaped, landed in the raft on her hands and knees. Elise followed her, hitting the water next to the raft. Pierce was about to hurl himself over the railing when he saw Simms's bloody hand on it. Carver was trying to get him over the side, and Pierce ran over to help.
They lifted him by the shoulders to the top of the rail, grabbed his legs, and pushed. The burly man plunged headfirst toward the water and the raft. He smacked against the edge of it, landing just inches from Elise. The raft stood on end, flipping Marisol into the water.
Pierce vaulted the railing. As he fell, he glimpsed the moon low on the horizon, its milky illumination shattering against the choppy seas. He was like the moon, hanging in midair. Then there was only the dark, the sting of the salt water, and his body plunging. He popped to the surface, treaded water, turning in circles.
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