February 26, 2006, 10:59 a.m.
Tranholmen Island
Stockholm, Sweden
* * *
This time, when the knocking started, Jimi was ready. He dove for his table and grabbed the pencil and paper he had been using to play word games. Trying to keep track of all the letters was hard, but he had developed a shorthand to help catch most of the message. He would simply write 5 when he heard five short knocks. Underline the number and it indicated long knocks. So, 13 was one long knock followed by three short. Then he would look back using a little cheat sheet he’d devised and see that 13 was the code for m. This way he seemed to catch enough of the letters to get the gist.
This was the third message today. As Jimi scribbled his code notes, the knocking paused. Then another set started, but this time it was not as strong, in a different rhythm, as if coming from another source. As if… someone else was knocking?
Jimi tried to read his hurried scribbles. “Name… Inaba?” What kind of name was that? He didn’t even know if it was a man’s name or a woman’s.
He tried to keep up with the distant conversation, which now went back and forth between Daniel and this Inaba person. Jimi sighed as he looked back to see the holes in his message. Whenever they would repeat a phrase, he would try to fill in the missing letters. Finally, the conversation was beginning to take shape.
Escape … tonight … baby … medical … Daniel was saying. What? Was the baby ill? Was that why the sudden push for escape tonight? Or was that just part of the plan?
Jimi himself had sensed a change in the attitude of the guards. They seemed more relaxed, upbeat, acting like his old officemates did on Friday afternoons. The demeanor meant “the job’s almost done.” And that lady scientist, she had turned really cold. It was as if she couldn’t bear to look at him. This was not good. He couldn’t agree more with the kid’s assessment: It was time to get out, NOW.
But how would they escape their rooms? The rooms where they were held weren’t traditional jail cells with key locks and high security. But his door had a bolt lock with a knob on the hall side of the door. It was enough to keep him captive, because there was no way from his side to unlock it.
Could the kid have figured something out?
Jimi climbed on his bed and started tapping his own message.
What can I do?
The answer came back. Don’t sleep. Be ready.
February 26, 2006, 10:59 a.m.
FIA office
Skala, Patmos
* * *
Witgard Villella noticed that his keys were jangling as he let himself back into his office. There was no place he could be today that calmed him. He thought he was past being nervous. About anything. But the cost of this current project—not the material expense but the risk of bringing in the subjects and keeping them—was astronomical. He was not in the business of brokering kidnapping.
Mostly, he was not in the business of getting caught having done so.
It would ruin everything.
How had he let himself be talked into this?
How had he gone from being a funder of promising research to wanting human beings dead—quickly?
His foot drummed the floor quickly under his desk. Was that a noise in the back office? No, of course not. He was being hyper-sensitive.
Witgard decided he could risk one call on his cell. Who was tracing his cell? Nobody. He was raising his blood pressure for no reason. No reason at all.
The rings sounded tinny. Finally a female voice picked up.
“I just wanted to make sure Mother was coming. We miss her and we’re so glad she can come a day early,” he said.
“Mother’s on the way. Don’t call again,” came the gruff reply. And the call went dead.
He sat, again drumming his pencil, not even aware that the beat he was unconsciously playing was from a song by the Black Eyed Peas—or that Yani sat in a small office behind him, humming the melody under his breath.
February 26, 2006, 11:11 a.m.
Monastery of St. John
Chora, Patmos
* * *
Once in New York, Geri had attended a star show at the planetarium. Through use of projectors on a domed ceiling, it had transported the attendees off of planet Earth, out through the solar system, the universe, and the galaxy. While all the patrons had been overcome by awe at the unending vastness of space, Geri had found herself inexplicably terrified. As Earth disappeared into a phalanx of heavenly bodies, Geri lost her moorings and felt lost and untethered, adrift in an endless sea of stars. Nothing familiar, no touchstones, absolutely no way to orient herself or point the way home. If the planetarium doors hadn’t been secured shut, she would have bolted.
She felt that same detachment as she followed Brother Timothy through the dark maze of hallways carved from the rock underneath the monastery. If Timothy disappeared, she would be alone, shut into total darkness, no clue as to how to go backward or ahead. She was adrift. She would be engulfed by the never-ending darkness, lost forever in the labyrinthine bowels of the earth.
She was again terrified.
She understood now the extreme act of will that faith required. If she did not trust in Brother Timothy, she would be lost. If she did not trust in God, she would be lost in a sea of vast expanse—both outer space and inner space. She understood now that the greatest expanse of infinity existed within her own mind.
She made a sound, and the monk turned back to her, lifting his brightly burning torch ever higher so she could see her sure footing. His robed arm grasped hers near the elbow.
“This is where it becomes clear,” he said, and she knew immediately what he meant.
Either you believed, or you did not.
You were guided by an inner compass, or you were lost.
“Come,” he said, and they moved together into the darkness ahead.
February 26, 2006, 11:11 a.m.
Monastery of St. John
Chora, Patmos
* * *
The Sunday bells tolled triumphantly overhead as Jaime pressed herself against the rock wall of the lower level. After a moment, her pupils adjusted and the light filtering in from the opening above the staircase allowed her to get her bearings.
As Geri and the monk had discussed, she was indeed in the laundry. Industrial-sized machines stood against one wall, and a long wooden table sat in the middle of the stone floor, with wire baskets underneath for sorting the laundry.
Against the wall running perpendicular from the back stairs was the laundry trough with the old pipe and constantly running stream.
There was only one door in the laundry, and it seemed Geri and Brother Timothy had reentered this room before they vanished again. From their discussion and the loudness of the water, it seemed the two of them had been standing near that trough when Jaime had heard a scraping sound and they had exited the room.
Jaime instinctually put her hands under the water to feel the icy flow. Were there stairs somehow under or behind the trough? And, if so, how were they accessed?
She traced the top of the stone trough with her hands but felt nothing. Then she got down on her hands and knees and did the same around the bottom of the trough. This time she found the wooden pedal. She couldn’t move it with her hand, but when she stood up and added her body weight to pressure from her feet, it obligingly swung away from the wall.
Below her was pitch-black.
She took a moment to go back to the door to the hallway and open it. There were iron brackets on the wall, but apparently Constantine/Timothy had taken the only torch.
Across the room, she heard the stone trough beginning to roll back into place. Without further thought she ran toward it, put a foot down to find where the ladder rung was, and swung down onto it as quickly as she could.
The heavy stone nearly scraped her head before she ducked out of the way.
Then it was shut, and she was suspended on the rung of an ancient wooden ladder in the pitch-dark.
> And she again waited to catch her breath.
February 26, 2006, 11:22 a.m.
Main lodge, Golden Hill Ski Resort
Klosters, Switzerland
* * *
Patsy Covington wiped a drop of hot chocolate from Bartlett’s lip and smiled at the boy. “Mommy’s going to the upper lodge, but only for one night. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.
The boy was playing with a small metal airplane that Meghan’s new beau had given him and hardly noticed what Patsy said. Portia heard her, though, and snapped to attention. “Back tomorrow, promise, Mommy?”
“Of course, baby.”
“Don’t get hurt on the big mountain!”
“I’ll be careful,” she said.
“Love you, Mommy,” Portia said sincerely, her small hands enveloping Patsy’s larger one.
“Love you, too.”
“Can we go swimming?” Portia said, turning to Meghan. The resort had an Olympic-sized indoor pool.
“Finish your lunch, darling,” said Meghan, smiling at her.
Patsy turned from the table, her overnight bag slung jauntily over one shoulder.
She headed for the small luxury bus to the upper lodge, where she would check in, leave some toiletries, and muss the bed before leaving in a rental car that sat waiting for her. She would meet a private plane in Germany and fly to Sweden, where the final stages of the project would be completed. With the luck that came from careful planning, she’d be back to check out from the upper lodge in the morning and rejoin her children for lunch at the Main Lodge before heading back for the States.
Patsy was just as glad that Witgard was moving the schedule up a day.
As much as he’d paid, she still wanted to get the job done, the evidence disposed of, and the book closed.
Patsy loved closure. She settled back into the wide, comfortable seat for the short ride. And she wondered if the five kidnappees—and three guards—had any idea that they were breathing the air of their final day on earth.
February 26, 2006, 11:41 a.m.
Beneath the Monastery of St. John
Chora, Patmos
* * *
Jaime listened to the sporadic conversation between Geri and Brother Timothy as they continued their journey through the labyrinth under the monastery. It was being picked up by her handheld and broadcast to a wireless earpiece. Jaime had it tethered to one of her belt loops on a cord long enough that she could use the handheld itself as a flashlight; the beam it emitted, although powerful, was very small and focused and illuminated only one step at a time.
There were no wall brackets now, no torches placed on the walls in centuries gone by. It was nerve-racking, this walk through the earth in the dark. A few minutes before, she had come to what seemed a dead end, and only through sheer determination had she been able to back-track to find the continuation of the passage. The door itself was flush with the rock wall and had no handle, so it opened only at a touch at the right point.
Could it possibly be that the kidnapped kids were here somewhere? You could effectively lose someone here for a very long time.
Now she came to what looked to be another dead end. The wall in front of her was rocky but without an opening. The small beam of light went up and down the abrupt end of the passageway without finding anything. Now what?
It was chilly. Jaime took a step backward and shone the beam on the wall to the right. Nothing.
Another step back. Nothing.
One more. And there, again, was the smallest hairline crack. She ran her fingers up and down, standing on tiptoe to find the correct outline. She pushed firmly where the doorknob could be expected. Nothing. She shone the light again, up and down. She found only one small carving, of a heart, on the far side of the door.
A heart. Hmm. Playing her gut impulse, she shoved the center of the door—where the “heart” of the door would be, or opposite the “heart” of the person who stood at the door—and it pushed open. She put one foot forward and saw that the door was going to close behind her.
With an intake of breath, she stepped back.
Why should it bother her that it would close behind her? Certainly she wasn’t planning to come back this same way—at least, not alone.
She muttered something unpleasant about the pirates and brigands who were allegedly responsible for the mazelike pathways of the monastery, and the need that the builders had felt to leave false passages that went nowhere. With that, she had a sharp intake of breath. What if this door was one of those passages? What if it led nowhere and the door was irrevocably closed behind you? No one would find you, ever—or, at least, not for a very, very long time.
She didn’t want to become another one of the lost.
She paused a moment to collect her nerve. Maybe she was just spooking herself.
She went back to the ending of the passageway and slowly came back, looking on the left side. There was nothing. She made her way back to the door on the right side, and there was nothing opposite it on the left.
All right then.
But something persuaded her to take one more step backward, then two. And there, on the left side, was the dim outline of another door.
Here there was a α, an alpha. The beginning. She expelled a long breath and pushed on this one—again, at heart level.
It, too, swung open.
“God help me,” she breathed.
She walked through.
The door slammed shut behind her. She turned back and pushed, hard. Nothing.
She continued forward, the only way she could go.
February 26, 2006, 11:49 a.m.
Beneath the Monastery of St. John
Chora, Patmos
* * *
Geri was exhausted. Just plain tired. How long were they going to keep walking? It seemed like they’d walked for miles, but their progress had been halting and slow, so they might not have traveled as far as it seemed they had.
As if reading her thoughts, Brother Timothy turned around and smiled at her in the torchlight. “Take courage,” he said.
“Could we just stand for a minute?” she asked.
He nodded. “But not for long. We’re almost there.”
As they stood silently, hands intertwined, she noticed two things: the sound of rushing water and a faint breeze. They must truly be almost there.
“Let’s go,” she said, and there was renewed vigor in her tone.
The monk turned in the passageway and led her forward. The path ended its slope a couple of minutes later. Geri was surprised at how much easier it felt to walk on level ground.
The sound of the water became louder and louder and her step brisker. She saw a rectangle of light at the end of a passage, and it was all she could do to keep herself from running toward it.
When they got there, she found it was a hard right angle, and as she turned into the final passage, she cried out with delight. “Is that… ?”
“Yes,” was Timothy’s simple answer.
Geri clapped her hands like a young girl and ran forward toward the final opening. The tunnel ended abruptly and she suddenly stood, mouth agape, hands pressed together over her heart. Before her was a large cavern—a huge cavern. She dropped her head back and looked up—and up—and could hardly see the top. It was flooded with light, although she could not immediately locate the source; whether it was sunlight filtering in through cracks in the rock or human-made illumination, it didn’t matter. For right in front of her, running briskly through the floor of the cave, was a river. A beautiful, clear river.
It spilled in a glorious waterfall from the side of the cave where she stood.
“Is this it?” she whispered.
“Indeed it is,” replied the monk, also in a hushed tone. “The river of life, spoken of by John. It was a river he knew well.”
She ran forward and knelt by its side.
“Careful,” the monk said, coming to put a hand on her shoulder.
“Of course.” She backed away.
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“I mean, think carefully before you commit yourself to these waters. I cannot guarantee that if you drink from it, you will live forever, but I do guarantee that should you do so, your life will be forever changed.”
She looked up at him now, studied his youthful face and black beard. “Have you drunk from it?”
“Yes,” he said. “And it has changed me in many ways. I feel as though I’ve become guardian of its power. Perhaps you have been brought here to help me.”
Geri turned away from him, and stared, transfixed, at the quickly running water. Above the falls was a magnificent carving in the rock. The lamb, on a throne, a cross behind his back, with a banner flying from the cross.
Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb.
“So this is truly it.”
After a moment, she realized Brother Timothy was standing behind her. She looked up at him and he offered her a small carved wooden cup. “It is made from an olive tree in Jerusalem,” he said. “It seemed fitting.”
She thought she would jump at the chance when the moment came, but she was suddenly afraid of the power the water represented. “Will you drink with me?” she asked.
“If you wish.”
She nodded. He knelt down beside her. The breeze now blew through her hair. She took off the scarf that held it in place. His lips moved as if in prayer, and then he leaned down and dipped a cup into the stream. He brought it up, very full, smiled, and poured more than half of it into the first cup, which he extended to her.
Geri accepted it.
“In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti,” he said. He crossed himself and drank the water from his cup.
Beyond Eden Page 17