The Immortality Curse: A Matt Kearns Novel 3

by Greig Beck

  “Obviously a mistake,” Matt said. “So, who was this guy and who were the killers?” He tapped the picture of the old man on his knees.

  She smiled and leaned her chin on one hand. “My turn.” She pointed at the picture of the scroll. “How many people could read, write, or even understand that language – Chaldaic?”

  “So, you know what it is?” Matt asked.

  “Yes, but that’s about it. Even our Hebrew scholars struggled with it.” She angled her head. “So, how many?”

  “In the USA and Canada?” Matt thought about it. “One, two; more in Israel.”

  “Looks more Sumerian.” Samuel finally spoke.

  “You know Sumerian?” Matt’s brows went up.

  The big man shook his head. “I can recognize cuneiform and have seen examples of Mesopotamian Sumerian.”

  “Better than most.” Matt conceded, reevaluating the young man. “And you’re partially right; Chaldaic does use cuneiform. And the age is about the same – the Sumerians were using this type of writing style first developed in 3500 BCE in the city of Uruk.”

  He turned the screen a little more toward the pair. “But this style might be even older than that. Biblical Hebrew is the archaic form of the Hebrew language, a Canaanite Semitic language spoken by the first Israelites. But this is what’s termed Paleo-Hebrew that even predates biblical Hebrew.”

  Matt looked down again at the old words. “This language was probably first written down nearly 6000 years ago. I can read it, and I could probably write it, but I’d make mistakes, whereas this example on the scroll here is flawless.” He pushed the hair back from his forehead. “The strange thing is, the scroll looks like it was written quickly, confidently, and by someone who used this language a lot.” He sat back. “And there is no one I know of anywhere that does that – at least not for 5000 years, give or take a century.” He grinned. “And definitely not in Canada.”

  “Ah.” She waggled a finger at him. “But do you know how big Canada is, Professor? I’ll tell you – just under four million square miles. And only recently, the Geological Survey of Canada estimated that Canada still contained nearly a million square miles of unexplored territory.” She rested her hands on the table. “You could hide a city up there if you wanted to.”

  Matt snorted. “Not with satellite scanning anymore.”

  She leaned forward. “Thousands of people go missing up there every year, Professor. I wouldn’t put all my faith in something that obviously has a lot of blind spots.”

  Matt lifted his coffee, sipping it, but not enjoying the now lukewarm liquid.

  “What did it say… the translation?” Rachel asked, still watching his face.

  “It’s a myth, a very old and persistent one.” Matt looked back at the scroll.

  “Go on.” Rachel said. “Read it to us.”

  He sighed. “It’s one of the first references to the Fountain of Youth.” Matt backed up to the image of the scroll. “Some of the wording is a little difficult, and I’m going to make some guesstimates here and there, okay?”

  Both agents sat waiting so he began.

  “Those that drink from the Ark’s wellspring will be absolved from death for as long as they drink its life.”

  Matt waited, watching them. Both Rachel and Samuel didn’t flinch, and that made Matt think that they knew more than they were letting on. He shrugged. “It’s like a hundred other myths and legends. This one just happens to refer to the Wellspring of Noah, better known as the Fountain of Youth.” He turned the picture around pointing to some symbols on the scroll. “It even has a real whisper of authenticity to it by the inclusion of the old boy’s signature – Noach – the ancient biblical name for Noah.”

  “Never heard that legend before.” Samuel said deadpan. “What’s Noah doing in the Fountain of Youth business?”

  Matt laughed. “It’s not a well known association, but one of the stories goes that the receding waters from the great flood were trapped in a pool. You drank from it, you lived forever. Bottom line, you find the Ark, you find the wellspring, and visa versa.”

  Once again both agents didn’t bat an eyelid. Matt scoffed. “C’mon guys, it’s just a myth.”

  Rachel studied him. “Eleanor van Helling, do you know who she is, Professor?”

  “Sure, she’s some rich woman up in New York that’s got to be about 100 now, right?”

  Rachel smiled. “That about covers it. A rich, old, well-connected woman, whose husband, Clarence van Helling, went looking for the Fountain of Youth around 70 years ago. He never came home.”

  She opened a flat case she had by her side and withdrew her own folder. In it were several photographs, some black and white. She laid them down in front of Matt. They showed a young man in old-fashioned clothing, looking dashing and confident.

  “That’s him right there, Clarence van Helling, taken in his New York apartment in 1940.” She turned to the next picture. It showed the same young man, in color, and taken more recently. She tapped the picture. “That’s him again, taken less than a week ago. His wife has already identified him.”

  Matt looked from one picture to the other – the guy was identical. “Maybe.” The next two pictures were fastened together with a paper clip. He looked at the top one. It showed a cadaverous old man, who was little more than a skeleton with dried skin pulled over protruding bones. He wore the exact same clothing of the young guy, except now it sagged on his sunken frame.

  “And we also think that’s him. Same guy, Professor.” Her eyes bored into him.

  Matt pulled the paper clip free of the last picture, and slid it around to the top – it showed a pile of scorched human bones, the head removed.

  “Shit.”

  “That’s him again – decapitated – prior to death.” She folded her hands.

  Matt sat staring down at the table, his mind working. “Why?” he asked softly.

  “Why indeed.” Rachel sat back. “Why behead Clarence? Why did he seem to be a young man, then aged rapidly? Why kill two entire families? Why destroy the scroll that Clarence was desperate to give them? The scroll that you now tell us refers to the Fountain of Youth. So many strange questions with so few answers, hmm, Professor?”

  Matt shook his head. “No way.”

  She went on. “And why do I get the feeling that there’s something that someone is determined to keep secret? Something so fantastic that anyone and anything that got in the way had to be totally obliterated.”

  *

  Rachel studied Matt’s face as he looked again at the images of Clarence van Helling. His long swept-back hair certainly suited his beach-bum image. But she also saw intelligence behind his eyes, and she knew his reputation as one of the world’s leading specialists in ancient languages was well earned.

  In addition, the closed military file on the man included reference to missions where he’d helped a branch of the Special Forces that were redacted from the reports. But what was in there was an acknowledgment that the man had seen things that would drive most people insane and survived, if only a little damaged. Bottom line, if you wanted someone to do weird, he was your guy.

  She leaned her elbows on the table. “Clarence van Helling was 30 when he set off on his adventure, leaving his beautiful, young wife, Eleanor, at home.” She shrugged. “It was what you did when you were a young, moneyed gadabout just before we entered the war.”

  “I guess you had to do something to keep yourself amused before they invented selfies, Facebook and Twitter, right?” Matt gave her a lopsided grin.

  “We don’t use social media in the FBI.” Rachel tilted her chin. “Risk of compromise.”

  Matt looked mock-serious. “Well, there goes your friend request.” His eyes moved between images of young Clarence and old Clarence.

  “‘Tell her I found it’, van Helling said. But found what exactly – the Ark, wellspring?” Matt looked up at Rachel, who just shrugged. He stared back at Clarence again. “I’ve read every biblical text there is,
and there is nothing, nowhere, no time, that gives a hint to where the wellspring is. Even the location of the Ark is heavily disputed.”

  Rachel saw that Matt was becoming hooked. “Apparently a mystery worth killing for, Professor.”

  “Matt, please.”

  She nodded. “Rachel.”

  “Sam,” the big man said.

  Matt looked down at the image of the bones. “Very interesting.”

  “His wife spent years looking for him, but his trail went cold, and now…” Rachel motioned to the image. “… here was poor Clarence right back on our doorstep.” She looked deep into Matt’s eyes. “We need to know how all this happened, and importantly, who killed our citizens – men, women and children – in cold blood.”

  Matt nodded slowly, but then frowned. “If it’s possible proof of eternal life, then what I don’t understand is, what triggered its finality. Why did he suddenly start aging again?”

  “I wondered that myself.” Rachel shuffled through some of her own pictures, until she came across another of Clarence approaching at a distance – there was something in his hand. She pulled out a magnifying glass and handed it to Matt. “We enlarged this and cleaned it up; looks like it could be a bottle of sorts. Too small for water; he might have been drinking something.”

  “Those that drink from the Ark’s wellspring will be absolved from death for as long as they drink its life.” Matt turned about, and then leaned his head back and laughed. “The Elixir of Life.” He clapped. “I don’t believe it; who’s putting you up to this? Is it that big oaf, Sam Reid?”

  Rachel folded her arms and waited for him to finish.

  Matt chortled for a moment more, until her implacable expression obviously told him there was no joke. He sighed and then peered at his coffee cup. “And just for the record, I don’t do foreign expeditions anymore.”

  Samuel shrugged. “That’s fine, and that’s not why we’re here. Clarence’s wife, Mrs. van Helling, is an important woman and has lost a man she loved deeply, and, for what it’s worth, she has been searching for her husband for nearly three-quarters of a century. She needs closure.”

  “Closure? From me?” He snorted. “Hey, time heals all wounds, and not sure what I can do after 70-something years.”

  “Probably nothing.” Rachel said. “But apparently she has more information and artifacts, and it has been suggested that an expert such as you might shed some light on their relevance. She knows of you and in fact asked for you by name. Seems she won’t show this collection or reveal her information to anyone else.”

  Matt pulled in a cheek. “In New York, huh?”

  Samuel opened his arms wide. “I hope that’s not too foreign for you.”

  Rachel smiled. “And she’ll pay all expenses, and a generous consulting fee for your time. There is no downside here, Matt. And I suspect on top of all that, it’d be very interesting for someone like yourself.” She leaned forward, seeing in his face she had him. “And you are, aren’t you, Matthew? Interested, I mean?”

  “Well, maybe a little. But, I’ll need to talk to my faculty at…”

  “Harvard, yes, we know. But for your edification, Mrs. van Helling donated $10 million to your university last year. I think the faculty might just find it in their hearts to cut you some slack if you said you were going to consult with her.”

  “In an ocean of myth, there is always a drop of truth.” Matt looked from Rachel to Samuel, before exhaling slowly. “Down the rabbit hole I go again.”

  “Good man.” Samuel said. “I’m sure Mrs. van Helling will be pleased.”

  “Matt folded his arms. “What additional material does she have?”

  Rachel smiled. “Well, I guess we’ll all find out soon enough.”

  “We?” Matt cocked an eyebrow.

  “Sure, how could I resist not finding out as well?” Rachel stood. “So I wrangled an invite on your coattails.”

  Chapter 3

  Vatican City, Apostolic Palace, Borgia Tower subbasement

  “They failed.” Lucius’s words were barely above a murmur, but in the heavy stone room they were clear. He rested his hands on the altar, and stared up at the ancient wooden rood that was made up of a pair of crossed keys.

  “Impossible.” Drusus got to his feet from his prayers. “Brothers Konig and Montague would not have ascended in the fire unless they had completed their mission. We’ve never failed in a thousand years.”

  “Nevertheless, they failed.” Lucius crossed himself at the altar and then turned to look at his second-in-command, and the sole occupant of the prayer room. “The FBI recovered a phone and footage of Clarence van Helling.”

  Drusus bared his teeth for a moment, taking it in. “It matters not. No one will believe what they saw is real. And even if it does get out, we can discredit it.”

  Lucius shook his head. “It’s already out. The FBI have now brought in a language expert.” He stared down at the cobbled floor. “Like a small stone dropped into a pond, the ripples begin to flow outward. It only requires one person to believe it, and then…” He let the words trail away and lifted his eyes, holding Drusus’ gaze. “We can’t let that happen.”

  Drusus bowed his head. “What do you instruct?”

  “Assemble the Borgia. We need to be discreet, but thorough, this time. This entire mess must be cleaned up.”

  Chapter 4

  Matt was picked up at the airport in a long black Chevrolet Suburban and saw that Rachel and Samuel were already seated in the back. For a field agent she was dressed elegantly, and much more expensively attired than Matt was in his chinos and T-shirt with cord sports jacket over the top. Samuel just wore the standard issue dark-blue suit, his arms and chest straining against the material.

  “Guess which one of us is not from New York?” Matt grinned.

  “Well, you are meeting one of the wealthiest women in North America, but I’m sure she’ll find you charming.” She smiled. “Shabby, but charming.”

  Driving from the airport to the city, Matt and the two agents chatted easily, and he couldn’t help liking their relaxed manner. He was impressed with Rachel’s depth of knowledge about everything from antiquities to old episodes of Seinfeld. Even the block-like Samuel displayed a sense of humor and level of banter that had him in stitches.

  They entered Manhattan, and Matt never failed to be amazed at the height and size of the buildings. Constructing the pyramids, the Great Wall, Rome’s Coliseum and this great city, mankind seemed to want to to touch the sky. Like the Tower of Babel, Matt thought, and that didn’t end so well.

  The other thing that struck Matt was the divide between the urban and the wild, or at least semi-wild if you saw Central Park as if it were a forest. Their car was now slugging it out on 59th and travelling beside the park. On one side there were skyscrapers, and on the other a scene of country idyll with old sandstone, huge boughs of emerald green, and rich, thick grass. It made him want to wind down the window and inhale deeply, but he knew he’d probably just get a face full of exhaust.

  “Here we are.” Rachel said.

  They pulled in, then stopped and Matt looked up at the huge edifice looming up beside them.

  “Been to the Ritz before?” Samuel asked, smiling.

  “Pfft, are you kidding?” Matt grinned. “It’s like my home away from home.”

  The Ritz Carlton reminded Matt of the wealth that was packed tightly into just a few city blocks. On the street, the powder-blue runway carpet and brass luggage trolleys stood idle, waiting. On each side of the double doors two affable-looking gentlemen wore long black coats and half top hats.

  “Okay, Professor, this is our stop.” Rachel pushed on the car door.

  “What about Samuel?” Matt thumbed at the big agent.

  “Not this time; Agent Anderson and I are working closely together on this one, but today only you and I will be going up to see Mrs. van Helling.” Rachel paused in the car with hand on handle. “We’re lucky, as she rarely sees anyone these days.
Her minder told us that too many people crowd her.”

  Matt nodded. “Not surprising at her age, I guess.”

  One of the top-hat men came forward to open the door, and Rachel climbed out. She nodded to him, smiled, and then turned to Matt as he followed her out.

  “Well, Matthew, tip the man.” She winked and headed up the few steps.

  Matt felt around in his pocket. Shit, how much do you tip? He wondered. He pulled out some notes, found a ten and held it out.

  “Thank you, sir.” He touched his hat, and the money disappeared without even a glance. The concierge then held the door open for him, beaming.

  Probably, should have given him a five, Matt thought.

  Inside, the air-conditioned air smelled of polished wood, fresh flowers and expensive perfume. If opulence was the first impression they were shooting for, it worked on Matt. There were ornate columns, huge urns overflowing with tropical flower arrangements that could have hidden a tiger within their miniature jungles, and circles of leather armchairs like small atolls in an ocean of marble flooring.

  “I could grow to like this.” Matt said inhaling the scents again.

  Rachel avoided the main check-in desk, instead heading straight for an impeccably dressed man almost lost in among the highly polished wood paneling, and standing at a single wooden lectern.

  He looked up as they approached, his expression imperious. She smiled confidently.

  “Mrs. van Helling’s floor; we’re expected – the Kearns’ party.”

  He nodded, and lifted a phone to his ear. He whispered a few words, and then replaced the phone, his demeanor little improved. “Very good, Ms. Bromilow, Professor Kearns.” He took them to what looked like a single large panel of walnut set in a huge column of concrete, and inserted a key. It was a door that shushed open. Inside was a gleaming white and chrome elevator, with only a few numbers – the penthouse collection.