Beyond Eden

by Sherer, B. K. ; Linnea, Sharon

  “OK, she’s got my attention,” Jaime said.

  Yani took the pages and slid them into his satchel. “Now all we’ve got to do is find Ms. Sunmark to find out to which ‘work’ she alluded. Did you have any luck with contact information?”

  Jaime shook her head. “No. They said they tried to contact her several months ago, but none of her numbers were current. However… as I was leaving, a young nurses’ aide suggested I might be able to contact her through her fiancé, a guy named Constantine. His number.” She handed it over to Yani. “Do you want me to call?”

  He sat a moment, contemplating, then said, “Yes, but we don’t want to let him know someone’s looking for him. Let’s find out where he is. That might get us close to her.”

  “How do we discover where he is without letting him know someone’s looking for him?”

  “All cell phones these days also serve as GPSs. Which is how the cops can find you if you can leave your cell on in the backseat of a car if you’re being kidnapped. What I need you to do is to make a call from a University of Athens number and keep him on the line long enough for me to get a read on his location. How’s your conversational Greek?”

  “What should I say?”

  “What’s an innocuous reason to call from the university? We don’t want him to think Britta’s colleagues are either angry or hunting her down.”

  “That’s simple,” she said. “Alumni organization.”

  “That would work. There’s one lone receptionist in the building today. You go in and think of some way to have her let you use the phone, and I’ll distract her long enough that she can’t hear what you’re saying. I’ll have my handheld on, and will give you a signal when I’ve found him. Do whatever you need to keep him on the line till then.”

  “Got it,” she said. She’d put on her flustered-American persona and headed inside.

  “I’m so sorry,” Jaime said in a flustered voice to the pretty girl with the nose ring. “I’m… American. My… cell… phone… doesn’t… work.” She spoke each word slowly and shook her useless phone. “I’m supposed to meet a friend. Can I use your phone?” This last was accompanied by hand gestures pointing to the phone at the front desk of the Facility of Biology.

  The girl shook her head and gave a slight shrug: Sorry.

  “Please,” Jaime wheedled, sounding slightly spacey and very desperate. “I’ll do anything. I’m a half an hour late, and I got lost, and I don’t know what to do. I don’t know where to go. It’s an emergency! Please. Anything. I’ll give you five euros.… .” She started digging in her purse.

  The girl, who had seemed rather bemused by the whole performance, finally spoke in English. “Oh, all right. Keep your money. But I’m not supposed to let anyone use the phone. Be quick.”

  “Oh, thank you. Thank you! I really appreciate it!” Jaime dug through her purse for the small piece of paper with Constantine’s phone number as the girl handed her the receiver from the other side of the desk. As she did, Yani strolled through the front door.

  “Hello, Nikki,” he said in fluent Greek. “Professor Beis told me you’d be here. Could I have a word with you, please?”

  The girl looked at him, rose nervously, and followed him across the entrance hall.

  Constantine answered on the fourth ring and had done everything in his power to rid himself of the irksome clerk from the UoA, but he’d had the manners not to hang up on her until Yani gave her the high sign, at which point she’d said in Greek, “So the address we have here for Ms. Sunmark is no longer good. OK, thank you.” She hung up.

  She waved a cheery “thank you!” to the nose ring girl and headed out of the building and back around the corner to her bike. She put on her helmet and started the bike, traveling slowly, waiting to hear from Yani.

  “Good work.” His voice rang suddenly inside her helmet, and she nearly crashed into a waste can. “My hunch was confirmed. Ms. Sunmark’s fiancé is currently on the island of Patmos—as is the headquarters of FIA, to whom she applied for a research grant. Her actions, and the proximity of the island, make me think we should head on over and take a look.”

  “Patmos? Isn’t that the island where the Apostle John was supposed to have had the vision that became the Book of Revelation?”

  “Can’t put anything past you,” he said, and she wanted to smack him. Which felt good. She smiled to herself. “Meet me back at the safe house, and let’s get going,” he said. And she headed out.

  February 25, 2006, 5:12 p.m.

  Research laboratory, somewhere dark

  * * *

  No correlation!

  No common factor in mtDNA of the five subjects.

  The scientist had run the analysis again, with the same results. Staring at the computer screen wouldn’t help.

  Don’t panic, she told herself. Think. What factors would lead to these results? Either the hypothesis is in error, the test procedures are faulty, or the subject pool was tainted. She didn’t even consider the first choice; too much depended on that being correct. And her methods were beyond reproach. So suppose, just for a moment, that there was something wrong with the subject pool.

  She opened her computer files and stared at the five folders representing her test subjects. “One of these things is not like the others.… ,” She began to sing to herself, remembering the song from an American children’s show. What would happen if she reran comparisons, each time leaving out one subject? What if one specimen was in the pool by mistake? That could possibly be the error. It might take a while but could be worth it.

  She knew she was taking a risk. If she tried it and it didn’t work, she’d be out of time. Yet she could think of nothing else to try, no other variable to account for.

  “OK,” she said, and sighed. “Let’s see who was kidnapped by mistake.”

  February 25, 2006, 5:11 p.m.

  Petra Hotel

  Fishing village of Grikos, Patmos

  * * *

  Geri stepped out of the car in front of her hotel and breathed deeply of the air of Patmos. She had been pleasantly surprised that the trip from the harbor at Skala had taken only five minutes. She knew, in the back of her mind, that the entire island was only eight miles long, but it was all so mystical to her that she hadn’t settled into reality yet.

  The island was open for tourist trade from mid-April through October, and it was only because colleagues of Nestor’s knew the Stergiou family, who owned the Petra Hotel, that he and Geri had been welcomed so warmly and given a large suite overlooking the Aegean during off-season.

  At first Geri had been disappointed that Nestor had sent her to check in while he stayed on board the yacht and did some work from his office. Yet at the same time this felt right. This was her trip; they’d come here of her volition. Finally, there was something she was bringing to the table. She’d long been aware of, and even had participated in, Nestor’s meetings with the Immortalists, although she’d felt very hesitant about it. But what if this was both what the Immortalists were looking for and what God had intended? Still, she had common sense, and she wanted to check the whole thing out and get the lay of the land before she brought it to Nestor’s attention. It was fitting she begin this quest on her own.

  A handsome youth had taken her bags to her suite, a Stergiou relative, she assumed. She’d followed him inside, through the beige and browns of the lobby, which was decorated with mostly religious paintings and sculptures and with arches dotted with candles. It felt tranquil and spiritual and… right. As they reached her rooms, the young man said, “Someone is waiting to meet with you. He is outside on the restaurant terrace.”

  Geri’s pulse quickened. Why did she feel like a young girl on her first date? It was a strange feeling, and a lovely one. She looked around the room quickly, appreciating the earth tones of beige, brown, and gold—and the door that led to a private terrace overlooking the Aegean, the incredible, sapphire Aegean. She glanced in the mirror in the marble bathroom and was content that she lo
oked as she had 20 minutes earlier on the yacht. She asked the young man just to set down her bags. She could unpack later. She followed him back through the quiet walkways of the hotel.

  He pointed her through open doors to the back patio. She looked out, past a wall made of local stone, to a shorter, thin wall that separated the terrace from the calm sea. And there, standing with his back to her, was a man in a blue monk’s robe. She knew it was him.

  How could a Greek Orthodox monk so enthrall a Southern Baptist girl?

  She clutched the Bible that she’d picked up from her carry-bag.

  As if he knew she was there, he turned around.

  He was sturdy. Handsome, definitely, but not uncomfortably so for a monk. His dark hair was not covered. The most noticeable thing was his dark beard, which had grown long enough to reach the front of his robe. Underneath, his jaw was square. He looked kind and down-to-earth. Then he saw her, looked directly into her eyes, and opened his arms in an expansive gesture.

  “Welcome to Patmos,” he said. “I don’t yet know why, but I know it is God’s will that you are here.”

  And she exhaled, delighted that somehow he knew it, too.

  February 25, 2006, 5:12 p.m.

  Somewhere dark

  * * *

  “She’s yours,” said Lab Coat Guy, and he plunked the toddler down onto the floor of Daniel’s cell-room. “You take care of her, or I throw her out in the snow.” He dropped a plastic bag of diapers, with just a couple left at the bottom, onto the floor, as well as two filled baby bottles.

  “That’s not much,” was Daniel’s first comment.

  “You won’t need much,” grunted the man.

  That was the end of the conversation. The door banged shut and was double-locked from the outside.

  “Wait,” Daniel said. “What’s her name?”

  But it was too late to be heard.

  The toddler sat where she’d been planted, looking every bit as stunned by this development as Daniel.

  He got up and went over to where she sat, staring up at him. She was still wearing the flowered shirt, with little red pants. They weren’t very thick; in fact, they looked like pajamas. Her hair was jet-black, and her eyes were large and intelligent. She looked Chinese or maybe Korean? He wasn’t very conversant with racial differences. She was Asian; he could tell that, anyway.

  He pointed to himself. “Daniel,” he said.

  She stared.

  “Daniel,” he repeated. He pointed at her.

  “Nayal,” she said, pointing to herself.

  “Nayal?” he asked.

  She pointed at herself and said again, “Nayal.”

  He was excited that she’d told him her name, until she pointed at him and also said, “Nayal.” Daniel.

  He sighed and tried another direction. “Daniel,” he said, pointing at himself. “Baby,” he said, pointing at her.

  “Bai,” she said. Then she shrugged and pulled herself up to look around the room.

  He got up to follow her. He had never really been around babies before and only knew that you couldn’t let them swallow quarters. Not that he had any.

  She wanted to get up on the bed. She tried a couple of times, but the mattress was too high for her to swing her chubby little thigh up. She lifted her arms straight up and just stood, waiting. Daniel looked at her for a moment before realizing she wanted him to lift her up. So he did.

  As he did, he felt a small bump under her shirt at the elbow and lifted up her sleeve. She also had a small wad of cotton held in place by a Band-Aid. So the vampires wanted her, too. Why? Was the blood in her little body somehow similar to the blood in his?

  She was looking at him expectantly. He pointed to her bandage. “Ow,” he said.

  “Ow,” she said. Then she stood up.

  He glanced back over to where the guard had dropped two diapers and two bottles. What had he said? “You won’t need much”? What did that mean? Were they going to be sent home? Or… something else?

  The little girl held her hand out, and when he extended his own, she grasped two fingers in an iron grip and began to bounce on the bed.

  Daniel sighed. This was a new development. A new development indeed.

  February 25, 2006, 5:26 p.m.

  Fishing village of Grikos, Patmos

  * * *

  “Tell me something of your journey, how you came to be here,” said Brother Timothy as they walked the narrow streets of Patmos. Geri was caught off guard, delighted by his quiet interest, which felt very genuine—but everything about this island was enchanting. The evening sky was tinged with a curious combination of orange and pink. She wore a knee-length black sweater jacket over a linen pantsuit, as she’d been told she would need to dress modestly for the monks. That was fine with her. Dressing modestly was her natural choice. She’d had to work hard to learn how to fit in at Nestor’s cocktail soirees over the years.

  She’d expected Brother Timothy to launch into whatever incredible news was known as “the Patmos Project,” but she could tell he was a quiet man, a contemplative man, and he wanted first to talk about that which was most important in life, the spiritual path that had brought them both to this place, to this moment.

  She loved that it was winter season; the streets were quiet, if not completely deserted. The sea that had formed and informed the island was choppy and restless and the wind was chilly, but both gave her the feeling of privilege—that she was at a special place at a special time.

  She found it easy to talk to Brother Timothy. Geri’s least favorite thing about being Mrs. Allende was that she had to be provocative in her dress and circumspect in her conversation. Now that the requirements were flipped, she felt free, truly able to be herself.

  She talked of growing up in a small Texas town, about saving all the money she’d made working at the Dunkin’ Donuts. How, after college graduation, her wanderlust had taken her to Europe with a backpack. When she ran out of money, she’d come back through New York City and stayed in the apartment of two college classmates who were going on vacation and needed a dog sitter.

  How every morning she’d treated herself to an inexpensive breakfast at the diner on the corner, had gotten to know the waiters and recognized her fellow customers. How the last week she was dog sitting, one man who always ate breakfast at the corner booth by the plate glass window had asked if she would join him at his table. She’d enjoyed his company and had accepted his invitation to dinner.

  His name was Nestor Allende. She’d even imposed on her returned friends and stayed with them for a couple of weeks so she could continue to see Nestor. They’d had such a good time—until the first time he’d invited her back to his apartment.

  Geri had been unnerved, not because his behavior had been forward but because his apartment was a penthouse overlooking Central Park that took up the whole floor of the building. It had servants’ quarters and servants—a maid, a chef, a driver. Geri had panicked.

  The next day, she’d fled back to Texas.

  Brother Timothy laughed softly at that, appreciating how overwhelmed she’d been by Nestor’s world.

  But it hadn’t taken Nestor long to find her. He had worked hard to allay her fears and had very effectively played on her wish to see the world. He had also spoken fervently of his spiritual journey and his desire to have an authentically spiritual wife. He talked of his calling to change the world and his need to have a partner to help him.

  Nestor Allende was a hard man to resist.

  They’d been married in the mega-church her parents attended near their home in Texas. It had been a huge, splashy wedding, even by Texas standards. Then, for all Nestor’s promises, they were usually traveling or in some foreign country on Sundays. Geri went several years without attending church at all.

  Until both of her parents died in the same year. She had sent money so that her sister had been able to afford the best care for them, but Geri was crushed that she hadn’t been able to be around very often. She hadn’t been
there when either of them had passed.

  Nestor made large contributions in both their names to the American Cancer Society, but Geri put her foot down. She wanted a home base and a home church and a home. It was one thing to see the world; it was something else to never take off her traveling shoes.

  Nestor had agreed and had even given her a list of his holdings and the locations in which he could be persuaded to build a headquarters for Allende International. She’d chosen Phoenix, Arizona. True to his word, that city became the new headquarters for his business interests.

  Nestor still traveled almost constantly, but now Geri had a mansion to call home. Soon she had a church home as well. It was another mega-church, but this one was great because the pastor, Roy Raeburn, and his wife, Reese, took such a personal interest in the members of their congregation.

  In Geri, at any rate.

  Geri paused, for the first time realizing how winded she was, walking up the steep cobblestone cutbacks that formed the Patmos streets leading up toward the imposing building that was the monastery on the hill.

  “Are we going to the Monastery of St. John today? Now?” she asked as she paused to get her breath. She noticed that the tall monk next to her was not winded in the least. But then, he must be used to the climb.

  He smiled. “No. In the morning. But I did want you to see the island, to see the view, to feel the power.”

  She turned and looked up toward the tiers of square white houses behind which the fortress sat, daring time to challenge it. She heard no car motors, no radios blasting music, nothing to give her a clue that this was 2006, not 1006 or even 6. That was part of what made Patmos timeless.

  “There is somewhere else I want you to see, however. If you’re up to continuing our walk.”

  Geri stole a look at her watch. It was only 6:30! And she was not meeting Nestor for dinner until 8:00 p.m. “I’m fine,” she said.