Beyond Eden

by Sherer, B. K. ; Linnea, Sharon

  But wait—how was there such light in a cavern? It made no sense.

  Jaime looked to her right down the hallway and saw another doorway. It, too, was arched, and the door itself was made of wood. The hinges were black iron.

  It was now or never.

  She walked quietly down the hallway and stood at the door, her ear pressed against it. The noise of the waterfall was suddenly much louder, and she realized the plate glass in the window must be soundproofed as well as one-way.

  She heard nothing besides the rushing water.

  Jaime pushed down on the old-fashioned door lock and pulled the door back toward her, opening it an inch, just enough to look out.

  The roar of the water was now overpowering. The walkway outside the door was a light-sand-colored earth, packed firm. There was, however, a wall approximately three feet high that ran along the edge of the walkway. It was made of the same porous material as the rest of the cave. From below, it likely blended in with the wall behind, and an observer would probably not notice that it shielded a small walkway.

  At the end of the walkway was what appeared to be a natural opening in the cave wall.

  Jaime got down on her hands and knees to crawl along the passage. At one point she peered over, half-expecting to see Geri or Brother Timothy somewhere on the flat bank of the river of life. And yet… the dramatic scene Jaime had most recently overheard through her earpiece had not included running water.

  How odd.

  Jaime reached the opening in the cave wall and stood tall. She was in an alcove, a natural smaller cave within the cave. She used the mirror function of her handheld to look around the corner.

  No people.

  But the interior of this cave had been turned into high-tech office space.

  Electric lights illuminated the space, which was done in white tile. Before her, there were two doors. One was heavy metal, and the other was a heavy metal with a keypad lock beside it.

  Much to Jaime’s surprise, this second door currently sat cracked open.

  What to do?

  Chances were, there were people inside. Locked doors didn’t usually sit open unless someone was either beyond them or nearby.

  And yet… Jaime certainly hadn’t killed herself getting here not to find out what was going on.

  Jaime crept ahead, her senses on high alert. She heard nothing besides the waterfall behind her. She got to the open door and listened—again, nothing. She flattened herself against the wall between the two doors and peered into the open room.

  It seemed to be uninhabited. Jaime slipped inside.

  Against the wall to her immediate left was a console of some kind. It had a flat computer screen, a keyboard, and lots of interesting buttons and levers. Certainly worth exploring. Back behind it was a small snack area—a small white rectangular table, a small refrigerator, a water cooler, a microwave.

  And along the entire wall to her right were filing cabinets. Good old-fashioned metal three-drawer filing cabinets.

  They weren’t locked.

  That meant either the material they contained wasn’t very important, or their owners were fairly certain no one unauthorized would be standing where she stood, perusing the contents.

  But peruse them she did, senses still on alert. The file cabinet farthest back actually had a label that read: Current Projects.

  No kidding.

  She pulled the long drawer open. The files were alphabetical.

  Jaime thumbed quickly toward the back. And there, honest-to-God, was a fat file marked: Britta Sunmark.

  Jaime took it out and rifled through quickly. Ms. Sunmark’s whole proposal was there, filled out in English. Jaime didn’t take time to read it, instead scanning what seemed to be the pertinent pages quickly into her handheld. She did see the name “Jorgen Edders” several times.

  She also saw that the project had been named the Edders Sequence Protocol.

  The most current information that she sought didn’t seem to be in the Sunmark file. Jaime instead turned to the file drawer next to it, also marked: Current Projects, this one containing files A–M.

  And there, so very helpfully, was one marked: The Edders Sequence Protocol.

  This one had budget figures and architectural drawings and dates. It also had an address on an island in Sweden. Jaime scanned in the pages as quickly as she could turn them.

  She was still looking through the folder when she heard someone coming. She barely had time to bang the file drawer shut and sit down at the snack table when the door opened.

  And framed in the doorway was Constantine/Brother Timothy.

  It had been hammered into her—first line of defense: talk.

  “Hello,” she said. “Oh, Brother Timothy, I have never been gladder to see anyone in my life!”

  The monk moved quickly past his surprise at seeing her there to a look of concern for her obvious distress.

  “I’m sorry, I was trying to catch up with Geri, but I got lost, so lost—”

  As she had stood up, he put a compassionate hand on her shoulder, moved past her, and beckoned her to sit back down. “Let me get you a drink. You must be so tired!” said the monk. “Tell me what happened!”

  She watched him move back toward the water cooler.

  Which was why she had her back to the door and didn’t see the second person, who came up silently behind her. In fact, she didn’t know he was there at all until he put the porous white mask over her mouth and nose, and held it in place while she breathed in two shallow breaths and collapsed onto the white tile of the floor.

  February 26, 2006, 1:26 p.m.

  FIA office

  Skala, Patmos

  * * *

  Why did things always happen this way?

  The best possible news and the worst possible news always at the same time. Hand in hand. Twins.

  Witgard had allowed himself a time of exultation over Dr. Sunmark’s victory. He had allowed himself a quiet triumph to know that the Good Mother was on her way and the damning evidence would soon vanish. Everything was going right! Everything was happening just as he’d hoped!

  Then, the phone call from the damn monk. And nothing was right anymore.

  “What do you mean, there’s an intruder?” Witgard screamed into the phone.

  “It’s a woman, a priest of some sort that Geri Allende knows. She said she followed Geri down into the cave by mistake.” The monk knew that was impossible. Bogus. “What do I do?”

  “Where is she now?”

  “She’s here. She’s passed out. Phil used one of the masks, so she won’t be out long. But I have to be with Geri when she wakes up. What do I do?”

  He sounded not panicked, exactly, but whiny. Like this wasn’t in his script.

  It sure as hell wasn’t, thought Witgard.

  “I’m coming,” he said. He had to find out who this intruder was, what she knew, and how to deal with the situation. It was something he’d have to handle himself.

  “What do I do?” Constantine asked again.

  “I said I’m coming.”

  “But I have to leave, and Phil doesn’t want to have to handle this, even with the guard downstairs. Everything’s working out, isn’t it?” It sounded like Brother Timothy was reassuring himself. “Even this phase of Britta’s project wraps in two days, I know. Just tell me how to handle this.”

  “Britta’s project wraps tomorrow,” said Witgard, and immediately chided himself for giving out more information than the man needed. “The guard doesn’t need to be in on this. You and Phil handle it. Shoot her with some Versed, and put her in the Cave. I’ll be there long before she comes to her senses.”

  “The Versed? But I’ve never used it. That’s not my job.”

  “How much of an idiot are you?” snapped Witgard. “The successful outcome of this project hangs on your ability to follow simple instructions. I’m on my way.”

  Witgard was so agitated, it never occurred to him that someone might be following him as he left F
IA headquarters… which he never again would assume was deserted on Sundays.

  February 26, 2006, 1:32 p.m.

  Beneath the Monastery of St. John

  Chora, Patmos

  * * *

  “Damn, damn, damn, damn,” Constantine muttered under his breath. His hands were shaking as he dialed the codes needed to make an international call from his cell phone.

  “What?” said the feminine voice on the other end.

  “Britta, it’s me. I just talked to Witgard.”

  “I know, I know.” She sounded harried. “He’s not giving me any more time, even though I’ve found the strand I was looking for.”

  “It’s worse than that. He’s moved it up a day.”

  “No!”

  “Witgard said so, just now. Didn’t give me specifics, but it sounded like he meant it. Thought you’d want to know.”

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  Constantine was amazed that she took the time to be concerned about him, given the fact that her whole life’s work was hanging in the balance.

  “I guess. There’s an intruder in the cave. I’ve got to see to her. But I thought you’d want to know.”

  “I did. Why, after all this time, he couldn’t just—”

  “I know. I know.”

  Constantine considered asking Britta for instructions on how to inject the Versed, but he already felt like the fact she was a scientist put her three levels above him. “Gotta go. See you soon, my love, I promise,” he said, trying for some kind of positive ending to the conversation.

  There was a pause, and when Britta spoke, it was in a gentler voice. “Hey.”

  “Yes?”

  “Thanks.”

  He almost smiled as he hung up.

  Phil was still there, still in his Apostle John garb. “Do you know where the Versed is?” Constantine asked, although it was always a third man, Alec, who administered it, and the script that required it was one they rarely used.

  “Fridge.”

  “Can you get it ready while I see to her?” Constantine asked. “Do you know how to give the shot?”

  “I’ve seen Alec do it, but…” Phil shrugged. “I can fill the hypodermic, though, sure.”

  The woman seemed out, didn’t respond when Constantine took off her sweater and pushed up the sleeve of her shirt.

  Phil handed him the needle. Constantine offered him the chance to do it one more time, but he shook his head.

  No point standing on ceremony. Constantine had to get moving. He only had another 20 minutes for certain before the window of time when Geri might come to. He jabbed the needle into her upper arm and pressed the plunger down until all the liquid was administered.

  Then he withdrew it, put it on the ground, and took the Band-Aid Phil handed him.

  “Only thing,” said Phil, cleaning up after him, not looking Constantine in the eye. “Only thing is, I think it’s supposed to be given intravenously.”

  “So you’re a lotta help all of a sudden!” said the man in the seminarian’s robe angrily. “You couldn’t have mentioned this before I gave it to her?” He looked carefully at the woman, even pried open an eyelid. “She seems out. I’ll help you carry her in, but you need to set her up. I’m gone.”

  “Yeah, OK,” said the man dressed as John, and between them they easily picked Jaime up and carried her into the next room.

  February 26, 2006, 1:45 p.m.

  The hermitage

  Eastern coast, Patmos

  * * *

  When she awoke, it took Geri a full minute to come to her senses. Her mind was full of images so brilliant and so real that everything else seemed gray in comparison. She wasn’t groggy, and she didn’t have a headache. She was simply opening her eyes somewhere completely different from where she’d last been, which was odd and disorienting.

  It slowly occurred to her—her surroundings didn’t just seem gray; they were gray. She was in a cave—a small one, about seven feet by six feet. All there was in this cave was the soft mat on which she lay, a couple of hand-woven blankets, a small wooden chair, and a carafe of water.

  Sitting on the ground next to her was Brother Timothy. She saw him and smiled.

  The monk poured a small stream of water from the carafe onto a piece of fabric he had and laid it gently on her forehead.

  “Are you all right?” he asked. “You passed out at the river, and seemed to be having an… experience… of some kind.”

  “Yes,” said Geri. “I did.”

  “Here. Sit up a little. Take a sip of water.”

  Geri’s throat and lips were dry, almost parched. She sat up on one elbow and accepted the small stoneware cup gratefully, drank it down, and asked for a refill.

  Then she lay down again and closed her eyes. “What is this place?” she asked.

  “It’s a hermitage. A small living space for monks called to spend time alone with God.”

  They sat companionably for a few more minutes. “Do you want to tell me what happened?” Brother Timothy asked. “Please don’t feel compelled. Only if it’s right.”

  “I had a vision,” she said quietly. “I believe God spoke to me.” Geri opened her eyes and looked at the monk. “Has that ever happened to you?”

  He spoke as softly as she. “I believe so.”

  “If this is John’s river of life, the one around which God’s future will be fulfilled, the one that will wipe mourning and death away forever… what is it you need me to do?” Geri asked. She hadn’t moved.

  Brother Timothy sat silent until she sat up again and looked at him. “I don’t know,” he said simply. “What did God ask of you?”

  “He said I have been given resources,” she said, “and I suppose that is true. If this is the river of life, what do we do? What must be done?”

  “I hardly know where to begin. If these are the waters, available to all… well, they must be made much more accessible. As you know, God’s spirit does not choose only the fittest and strongest. In fact, often the opposite. But provisions must also be made for the monks of the monastery… they are called here for a purpose. The people of Patmos must also be provided for. They must be ready, and their island must be ready… if it is to become the spiritual center of a new beginning, a new beginning for the people of the earth.”

  “And how much would all of this cost?”

  “I don’t know. There would need to be an airport here, and pilgrimage hostels, and security… it would cost quite a bit even to begin to make a plan! It would involve engineers and holy people working together. God help me, I wouldn’t know how to start.”

  “I’m supposing a financial foundation would be helpful for all of this,” said Geri simply.

  “Well, yes, but…”

  “But nothing. That’s the easy part.”

  Geri was sitting up now, rubbing her arms to warm them up in the damp air of the cave.

  True, her husband was very particular about the proven scientific merit of projects he funded. He would find her tale of caves and heavenly cities and talks with angels and long-dead apostles preposterous at best.

  And yet.

  There was always more than one way to skin a cat.

  They were supposed to be on holiday. But Nestor was spending all day working on his yacht… well, technically, it was her yacht. The Gerianne wasn’t only named for her; it was actually purchased in her name for tax reasons she didn’t quite comprehend. But she wasn’t interested in the yacht today; it only served as a backdrop.

  “Where are we, Brother Timothy? Can you help me get to the harbor at Skala? I need to speak to my husband.”

  “That is one thing I can accomplish, and quite easily, too. Do you feel well enough to ride on the back of a scooter?”

  Geri stood confidently, the promise of a glorious future dancing circles around her. She’d already decided she didn’t want her name splashed over anything. She wanted to be a silent participant, a humble benefactor. After all, God had brought the money to her, f
or such a time as this.

  She took Brother Timothy’s hand and stood up, ready to go out and get it.

  February 26, 2006, 1:52 p.m.

  Beneath the Monastery of St. John

  Chora, Patmos

  * * *

  Jaime’s first coherent thought was that she needed to get a supply of T-shirts that read: You Knock Me Out, to hand out to the brotherhood of people who seemed intent on rendering her unconscious. It was becoming a popular sport. A white supremacist she could understand. But a monk? That was a new one.

  She kept her eyes closed while she collected her wits. She didn’t have a headache, which was both unexpected and appreciated. Her right upper arm still ached from where the alleged monk had shoved the hypodermic needle into her.

  Whatever mask the unseen man had put over her face had only served to make her disoriented. She didn’t think she’d ever fully lost consciousness, although she’d known she was too woozy to make an effective escape attempt. So she’d faked unconsciousness to see what information she might glean or when she might be lucid enough to make a run for it.

  She’d heard the call Brother Timothy had made to Britta Sunmark. It now seemed completely likely that he was the same man the young woman at the care facility had identified as Constantine, Britta’s fiancé.

  For what good that did Jaime.

  And whatever the Versed was supposed to do, she was fairly certain that getting an intramuscular dose of an amount meant to be delivered intravenously had spared her the worst effects.

  The Versed, combined with whatever inhalant was on the mask, had made her woozy for a while; she didn’t know how long. She didn’t really recall being moved or ending up where she was now.

  Jaime decided it was time to try to discover just where she was and what she could do about it. What was her guess? Another part of the cave. A cell, perhaps.