Leroy scratched his head. This problem was taking a powerful lot of concentration but he figured it might be worth a brain cramp to climb aboard this particular train of thought. Mr. Big had gone to a heap of trouble to send Leroy everyplace but northern Illinois. Maybe it wasn’t simply to keep the cowboy away from Hannah. Who knew what else might be going on in that old farmhouse out in the middle of nowhere?
The cowboy printed out the address and directions to the place. He yawned and thought about hitting the hay. Not quite yet. He had to plan out his next move and it was important for him to play it just right so as not to alert his quarry. Bright and early next morning, he’d call Metcalf on his bugged phone to tell him Minneapolis had been a wash. Of course, the stooge in the Twin Cities had given him a bum address to follow up in Buffalo. He’d tell the old man that he’d jump right on that lead. Once he was sure Mr. Big had got the message, Leroy figured he’d be watched til he drove to the airport. He’d park his truck in the long-term lot, enter the terminal and wait a couple of hours. Once he was sure nobody was on his tail, he’d change clothes, go to a rental agency and get a ride. Then he’d check out this farmhouse and see who lived there and what they might be up to.
He considered what to do if he found little Hannah. The gal still posed a threat to him. If he brought her back to Abe safe and sound, there was no telling if she’d keep her mouth shut. If Abe or one of his stooges pushed her hard enough, she might blab about who helped her to escape in the first place. She’d point the finger straight at Daniel and Leroy’s chances of grabbing all the doodads would go up in smoke. No, there was only one way this missing person’s search was going to end. If Leroy found little Hannah at that farmhouse in the sticks, she wouldn’t make it back to the preacher alive.
Chapter 8—Vanishing Point
Chopper Bowdeen walked out to claim his rental car in the lot at the Melbourne Airport. He stopped himself. Force of habit had almost made him climb into the left front seat. Belatedly reminding himself of the right-side steering wheel, he walked to the other side of the car and climbed in. He also made a mental note to remember to drive on the left side of the road. It had been a while since he’d had to do that. Today he was heading to the end of the line, figuratively speaking. This would be his last training gig for the Nephilim. He’d worked his way through all the compounds in Europe, Asia, Africa, and the Americas. Now he was in Australia driving to the only foothold the brotherhood had been able to establish in the land down under.
The mercenary knew Australia well so he’d opted to chauffeur himself to the compound, even renting a convertible in order to savor the sunshine which was sadly lacking back home. As he motored out of the metro area and into the countryside, he rubbed a trickle of sweat off his neck. While it was still the blustery tail end of winter in the States, March in Australia meant the end of summer and the beginning of autumn.
He took a brief moment to savor the feeling of fresh air on his skin, knowing the oppressive atmosphere that waited for him at the compound. It was situated in the Yarra Valley—a shrewd choice for a cult as secretive as the Nephilim. Even though the valley was only a short distance from the city of Melbourne, it was agricultural—mainly planted in vineyards. Despite its popularity as a tourist destination, the valley was sparsely populated so that a cinderblock fortress tucked away on a private road wouldn’t attract too much notice.
Chopper headed toward his destination with a mixture of relief and paranoia. On the one hand, he would be glad to be finished with the cult once and for all. On the other hand, he couldn’t help wondering whether the Diviner could afford to let him walk away alive. He was one of the “Fallen” as the Nephilim liked to call everybody who wasn’t them. Nobody from the outside world knew as much about the brotherhood’s operation as he did. He’d seen the inside of every compound, trained every marksmen and supervised the set-up of every surveillance camera around the globe. As a mercenary, it was his business to do his job and keep his mouth shut about the people he worked for. He hoped Metcalf would remember that when the time came to part ways.
During Chopper’s employment with the Nephilim, he’d tried ten ways from Sunday to find out what they were really up to. He needed to know if his neck was in the noose but nobody could offer any useful information. His old pal Leroy didn’t sense any danger and he’d been on the Nephilim’s payroll even longer than Chopper. Then again, Leroy was an idiot when it came to seeing the big picture if it didn’t affect him personally. The cowboy also had some private angle that involved a big payoff so maybe he had an incentive to hang on.
Joshua, Metcalf’s spymaster son, hadn’t been of much use either in getting to the bottom of things. Bowdeen had put a flea in the kid’s ear about a secret lab near the main compound. Despite digging for months, Joshua hadn’t been able to find out squat about what was going on there.
Chopper knew there was more to Metcalf’s plans than merely beefing up security at the satellite compounds. As far as the mercenary could tell, the Diviner was preparing for war. Against whom he didn’t know but he sure as hell didn’t want to be around when it happened.
He only had one card left to play. Joshua was due to arrive in about a month. Before Chopper left Australia, he intended to worm out as much intel as he could from the kid. What he heard would be the deciding factor in whether he caught a plane back to the states to collect his final paycheck or slipped away and vanished himself off the Nephilim’s radar for good. He’d prefer to disappear on his own terms if it came to that. He had a feeling that the disappearing act Metcalf had in mind for him might be a lot more painful.
Chapter 9—Jaded Travelers
Griffin looked anxiously at his watch. “I fear we’ll be dreadfully late.” He quickened his pace.
Cassie could barely keep up with his long stride given her fatigue from the grueling trip they’d just completed. The distance from Chicago to eastern China was 6,500 miles as the crow flies. The Pythia doubted that any crow in its right mind would have attempted the journey in thirteen hours. That was how long their nonstop flight from the Windy City to Beijing had taken. Afterward they’d boarded another plane for the hour and a half flight to Shenyang, the capital of Liaoning Province in northeastern China.
Liaoning skirted a region which bore the romantic name of Inner Mongolia. To Cassie, the phrase “Inner Mongolia” had always connoted the end of the world. Now that she’d personally traveled to Kathmandu and come within spitting distance of the equally exotic Timbuktu, Inner Mongolia didn’t seem all that out-of-the-way anymore.
Feeling chilled, the Pythia wrapped her scarf more tightly around her neck. The temperature was about forty degrees and windy. Turning to Griffin, she asked, “Is it my imagination or is the weather here exactly the same as Chicago?”
Never breaking stride, the Scrivener replied, “It should be. We’re at approximately the same latitude here as back in the Midwest which means a similar type of spring weather.”
“I think we should have started our search in Cambodia where it’s warm,” Cassie muttered. She struggled to catch her breath while attempting to put on a burst of speed. “Are we there yet?”
They were en route to meet the Hongshan trove-keeper at the Provincial Museum. Maddie had wisely booked them into a hotel which was walking distance from their rendezvous point. However, the Chatelaine hadn’t factored in Cassie’s disorientation from the thirteen-hour time difference which made even a three-block walk to Government Square an ordeal.
“We’ll be there in a moment.” Griffin pointed directly ahead. “That’s the museum across the street.”
They paused at the curb for a red light. Cassie studied their destination—a massive concrete affair with angled corners and overhanging exposed steel beams surrounding a central glass-clad atrium. The patch of grass and small shrubs bordering the structure did nothing to soften its antiseptic appearance.
It occurred to the Pythia that the design seemed consistent with the city’s architecture as a whole
. The impression she’d formed of Shenyang was of a bustling megalopolis complete with steel and glass skyscrapers, expressways, traffic lights, and eight million people going about their daily routines in the same way as any urban American. The street signs even bore English captions below the Chinese characters. Cassie thought wistfully of rickshaws and junks—those picture postcard symbols of the colorful Far East but none were to be found hereabouts. Griffin had already told her that Shenyang was China’s industrial capital. It had been Chairman Mao’s model city of the future, complete with futuristic problems like smog thanks to its steel mills and coal-burning stoves. For decades, the air quality had been so bad that residents sometimes needed to wear face masks. Recognizing the necessity to go green, Shenyang had cleaned up its act about five years earlier by relocating its heavy industry to the outskirts and planting numerous parks within the city limits.
The light changed at last and the duo hurried across the street and through the doors of the museum.
“Ah, there he is.” The Scrivener rushed eagerly toward an elderly man standing in the middle of the entrance hall.
Considering his wizened appearance and the grey streaks in his thinning hair, the trove-keeper appeared to be in his late-sixties. The man advanced a few paces to clasp the Scrivener’s outstretched hand. Griffin seemed to tower over him, emphasizing the disparity in their heights. Cassie judged their guide to be no more than five foot four.
“Zhang Jun, it’s good to see you again.” Griffin pumped his hand enthusiastically. “It’s been a long time since you attended a meeting of the Concordance.”
In a barely discernible accent, the old man joked, “It’s a long trip to Chicago. I would need a good reason to fly that far.” He enunciated every word precisely as if he’d taken time to consider the meaning of each. Giving Cassie a welcoming smile, he reached forward to take her hand. “I’m very pleased to meet the new Pythia at last.”
“Considering the miles I’ve logged since I started this job, I think the new has worn off,” Cassie demurred. “It’s very nice to meet you too, Mr. Jun.”
In a low voice, Griffin said, “Jun is his first name. In this part of the world, surnames precede given names.”
“Oh...” Cassie flushed at the realization of her gaffe.
The trove-keeper waved his hand dismissively. “Please, call me Jun. It’s what my friends call me and I’d like us to be friends.” His eyes twinkled warmly behind horn-rimmed glasses.
“Absolutely.” Cassie bobbed her head in agreement, relieved that he wasn’t offended.
“Allow me to introduce my granddaughter, Zhang Rou.” The trove-keeper turned from side to side as if he’d lost something. “Where did she go?”
A teenage girl hovered behind him. She was about Cassie’s height with straight black hair cut into a short bob. Her jacket collar was zipped up so high that it covered her mouth. She darted an apprehensive glance at the two newcomers.
Jun reached for the girl’s arm and guided her forward. “Rou is a tyro at the Hongshan trove but her parents urged me to bring her on this field trip. They have great hopes she will follow in their footsteps someday and become a scout for the Arkana.”
Zhang Rou blinked at the visitors. She reminded Cassie of a turtle ready to pull its head inside its shell at the first sign of trouble.
“Do you speak English?” Cassie asked cautiously.
The girl remained silent.
Zhang Jun smiled pointedly at his granddaughter. “She speaks English much better than she thinks she does. I keep telling her she is too self-conscious about her accent.”
“Don’t worry about that,” the Pythia reassured her. “Whether your accent is good or bad at least you can speak a second language. I can’t speak Mandarin at all.” She held out her hand to Rou. “It’s very nice to meet you.”
Rou stepped forward unwillingly. A muffled “Hello” emerged from her collar as she shook hands with Cassie and Griffin in turn. Apparently uncomfortable as the focus of everyone’s attention, she immediately slipped back behind her grandfather.
Cassie deliberately shifted her attention away to ease Rou’s discomfort. Her eyes swept the interior of the museum. “I expected we would meet you at a dig site,” she remarked to Jun. “Not in the middle of a museum.”
“Oh, there’s nothing much to see at the site these days,” Jun countered. “It’s a three-hour drive to Chaoyang and another hour to the site but digging has been suspended for a while. All the artifacts that have been found to-date are housed right here in this museum. Before the Iron Age and the Bronze Age, China had something called the ‘Jade Age’. You’ll soon see why.” He motioned them toward an exhibit room on the first floor. The English lettering below the Chinese characters announced that they were entering the “Dawn Of Chinese Culture” gallery.
Once they all filed into the exhibit, Jun explained, “Everything you see here originated with the Hongshan Culture. The artifacts have been found at numerous dig sites clustered around Chifeng and Chaoyang. The Hongshan were neolithic agriculturalists who thrived between 4700 and 2900 BCE. They fabricated stone tools and plows and lived in simple villages but their ceremonial sites were much more elaborate. The largest temple complex we’ve discovered is called Niuheliang. It’s fifty square kilometers around.”
“What’s that in miles?” Cassie murmured to Griffin.
“About nineteen,” he whispered back helpfully.
Jun was still talking. “Excavations there have uncovered pottery, statues, jade carvings, and finely-crafted jewelry. There are also standing stones with carvings to mark astronomical events.”
“Griffin and I have become experts on star-mapping the hard way.” Cassie smiled ruefully. “Calendar stones in Turkey, more calendar stones in Africa, solar observatories in India. The list goes on.”
“Then you can appreciate the level of astronomical sophistication the Hongshan possessed.” Jun walked toward an aerial photograph on the wall of the exhibit room. The others followed.
He pointed to an image that looked like a long rectangular strip of furrowed earth on top of a hillside. Sprouting from the sides of the rectangle were asymmetrical lobes. “This is the dig site of the goddess temple.”
“Why is it called that?” Cassie asked.
“Because numerous votive figurines were discovered inside—all of them female.”
Jun turned toward a glass case on his right. “Here’s an example.”
They all studied a nude figure of a kneeling woman made from polished jade.
“Of course, this is a small specimen,” Jun said. “Inside the temple itself were many oversized pottery figures of females, some of them three times life-size. Archaeologists assumed the statues were of the divinities which the Hongshan worshipped. The most striking image of a goddess is right here.” He walked a few feet further down the gallery and paused before a life-size clay head of a woman.
“This was found in the underground temple. The body had been broken apart but the head is still intact. It would have originally been painted red. Dated to 3000 BCE, it is the oldest known goddess figure ever discovered in China.”
Cassie felt herself mesmerized by the face. The eyes were inlaid with two large globes of greenish jade. The full lips were curved into a Mona Lisa smile. The deity’s features conveyed strength, unlike the prettified sculptures of overlord goddesses. The Hongshan goddess was mysterious and a trifle scary while being vaguely benevolent at the same time.
Griffin broke into her thoughts. “Doesn’t all this remind you of something?”
She stared at him uncomprehendingly.
“Oversized female divinities. Underground temples. The lobed shape of the structure itself,” he prompted.
Her eyes widened in recognition. “Malta. This is like the temples we found on Malta.”
“Oh yes, it’s quite possible,” Jun chimed in.
Cassie whirled to look at him. “You mean Niuheliang was built by some Maltese goddess-worshippers?”
The trove-keeper chuckled. “No, but the two cultures were roughly contemporary. Each flourished around 3000 BCE.”
“But Malta is thousands of miles away,” the Pythia objected.
“You’d be surprised how far-ranging the trade routes were back then.”
Griffin spoke. “Mainstream historians have fostered the belief that Stone Age cultures sprang up in isolation from one another. The kinds of trade goods that have been found in Turkey and in the Americas, originating from thousands of miles away, contradict conventional theories of an insular Neolithic world.”
“Certainly, we have evidence that the Hongshan traded with nomads from the steppes.” Jun gestured for the group to follow him past several more glass cases.
Rou stuck to him as persistently as a shadow and just as silently.
He paused before a case of Hongshan jewelry. “You see. Copper rings.”
“Is that unusual?” Cassie asked warily.
“Indeed it is.” Jun chuckled. “The Hongshan did not produce these rings. At that point in time, the nearest copper-working people would have been the Afanasevo culture—Caucasian steppe nomads who ranged across central Asia.”
“You mean overlords?” Cassie felt shocked. “They came this far east?”
“Most assuredly, though distinct proof of their presence is to be found centuries later and many miles away. Since the Hongshan Culture bears no other marks of overlord coercion, the Afanasevo may have merely traded with the inhabitants of this region. Copper rings aren’t the only evidence of outside influence. Look at these.” He gestured toward a case which contained small pieces of turquoise jewelry. “Though some turquoise has been found in Liaoning, it was more typically sourced from central Asia. That’s the same area where the Afanasevo originated just as the Hongshan culture reached its peak. The Hongshan sites also disclose black-on-red painted pottery which was imported as well.”
Secrets Of The Serpent's Heart (The Arkana Archaeology Mystery Series Book 6) Page 5