The Mountain Mother Cipher (The Arkana Archaeology Mystery Series Book 2)

by N. S. Wikarski

  He exited the workroom and looked down the rest of the hall. His room was at the far end but he decided he would skip it. If she had anything to hide, she wouldn’t have given him the one room in the house where she had concealed something. No, there was really only one logical place where she might hide something out of the ordinary. Her bedroom.

  He sighed and moved toward the closed door across from where he stood. He turned the knob and furtively peered around the corner of the door. He laughed at his own hesitation. “Dude, get a grip!” he told himself. It wasn’t like the place was going to be booby-trapped. He stepped inside. Morning sunlight flooded through the window. In spite of her hurried departure, she had made the bed neatly. The chenille bedspread didn’t have a single rumple or a crease. You could have bounced a dime off it.

  Something was wrong, said the little voice in his head. He stood still in the middle of the room, just absorbing the atmosphere for a few minutes. At first he couldn’t pinpoint what was bothering him but the feeling had been growing ever since he finished searching the living room. Maybe it wasn’t so much about what was in this room as what wasn’t in it. He looked at the large mirror hanging over the double dresser. Didn’t little old ladies love to tuck pictures of their grandkids into the sides of their mirrors? Didn’t they love to plaster the walls of their houses with photos of drooling babies? Wasn’t that in fact the trademark of grandmas everywhere? So where were they?

  Zach thought back to all the rooms he’d searched. There wasn’t a single photo album, scrapbook or portrait anywhere. This room, this whole house in fact, was almost impersonal. No mementos of her past. Didn’t grannies all live in the past? Especially one as ancient as Gamma? What possible future could she have? It was all past for her but where was it?

  He thought he might be on to something. Maybe he wasn’t simply crazy or insanely suspicious. Emboldened by the idea, he felt ready to tackle the hardest part of this search. Her clothes. At least that was personal. He checked the closet first. Nothing but flowery house dresses which was practically Gamma’s daily uniform. No secret panel in the closet wall. He moved on to the dresser. He’d deliberately left that for last. First he glanced out the window again. He had to wrap this up soon because if she walked in now, he really couldn’t explain what he was doing in here. He started with the bottom drawers. Lots of sweaters. Did she even own a pair of slacks? He doubted it. Probably before her time. He finally came to the top dresser drawer. The one he dreaded. Her drawers drawer. He turned his head aside, as he slid it open. The idea of old lady undies creeped him out. A wry thought occurred to him. His grandfather used to call them foundation garments. Maybe that would make it easier. Not panties and bras—foundation garments—like something you’d use to build a skyscraper. Still, even with the new terminology, the thought of rooting around inside the drawer made him feel like a real pervert. Stories he’d seen in the news about weirdos who liked to cross-dress flashed through his mind. He suppressed them.

  He kept his eyes half shut as his fingers worked their way from the front of the drawer to the back. His eyes flew wide open when his hands touched something tucked into the very back corner of the drawer. It was a piece of paper, creased up and folded many times.

  He drew it out carefully, replacing all the foundation garments he’d disturbed in his search. Then he sat down in the middle of the carpet and unfolded the sheet of paper. It was a letter. He began to read:

  My Dear Little Sis,

  I’m sitting here writing this and hoping that you never have to read it. The only reason you would come across this letter is if I’m gone. Maybe the danger will pass and I can destroy this. Maybe not.

  There are times when my work can be risky. This is one of those times. I’ve come across a find that has immense value to the people I work with but it looks like somebody else wants this find too. Somebody who would be willing to kill for it. For the past week, I’ve gotten the feeling I’m being followed. It might be my imagination. In case it isn’t and in case something happens to me, I want you to call the number I wrote on the back of this sheet. Ask to speak to Faye. Give her the packet. She can explain everything.

  There’s so much I want to say, but there isn’t enough time, and maybe it only comes down to this. I love you and everything I did, even when you didn’t understand it, was to keep you safe. No matter what you might have thought, I was always looking out for you.

  Love,

  Sybil

  Zach looked up from the sheet. He could feel the blood draining out of his face. That must be what shock felt like. A cold, numb sensation. He stared back down at the page. One line leaped out at him. “Ask to speak to Faye. She can explain everything.” He didn’t know who the letter had been written to but whoever it was had been directed to find Faye. She supposedly could explain everything. Everything about this so-called find that somebody might have gotten killed over. His Gamma could explain a thing like that?

  He laughed to himself bitterly as a new thought struck him. He’d often said “Gamma, you’re something else.” For the first time, he realized the irony of that simple phrase. She really was something else. Something other than a grandmother. Something other than a harmless little old lady. But what?

  He folded the letter and returned it to its hiding place at the back of the dresser drawer. He needed time to process all of this. Time to let it sink in. He wasn’t going to confront her right away. First he needed to think. Then he would ask. He was already dead certain he wasn’t going to like the answer.

  Chapter 31 – A Little Night Music

  The driver slapped on the brakes and jerked the steering wheel sideways. Two of the car’s tires hopped the curb as he took a sharp corner. Daniel slid across the slippery back seat and slammed into Hunt’s shoulder. The latter shrugged him off with ill-disguised contempt.

  The driver yelled curses out the window in Turkish at a passing vehicle which he had nearly sideswiped.

  Daniel was grateful he didn’t understand what was said but was sure it somehow involved the unnatural use of a camel. “Brother Ilhami, perhaps we should slow down,” he suggested tentatively.

  “No, no!” The driver was vehement. “Is OK. Is all OK. We be there soon!”

  He maneuvered the subcompact through the labyrinthine streets of a shabby Istanbul neighborhood. Loud music blared from the car’s stereo. Daniel had never heard its like before. A quavering wail with heavy brass accompaniment. It sounded like nothing so much as a cat being stuffed inside a tuba. When he thought his eardrums could stand the assault no more, the racket ceased. The driver switched off the radio, eased into a very tight parking space, and turned off the engine. Daniel’s ears continued to ring.

  “We are here,” the driver announced happily. He slid his bulky form out from under the steering column and bustled around to the back of the car to unload suitcases from the trunk.

  Hunt got out and stretched his limbs. His eyes traveled up the hilly cobblestone street. Laundry was strung overhead from one building to the next. Women in headscarves called out of open windows to children playing ball below. “Nice,” he said sarcastically. “It’s got what you call local color.”

  Daniel watched as the driver dragged their luggage toward the dark entry of a three-flight walk-up. There was an iron grille over the door. All the street-level windows were covered by metal bars as well.

  “We’re staying here?” he asked in disbelief.

  “Is OK!” the driver protested. “Is all OK! You follow.”

  Daniel and Hunt exchanged a puzzled look.

  The mercenary shrugged philosophically. “Better do what the man says.”

  The stairs were ancient, rickety and dark. As they trailed their guide ever upward, Daniel could detect the odors of highly-spiced food emanating from several apartments along the way. The clash of aromas made him slightly nauseous.

  On the third floor landing, the driver paused to catch his breath. “We go inside here,” he panted, fitting a key into the do
or at the top of the stairs.

  He ushered them proudly into a studio apartment with a small galley kitchen, a pullout sleeper couch and an open balcony overlooking the street. Immediately upon entering, the driver turned on the stereo which seemed to contain another cat in a tuba only this time both were encased in a bass drum. The speakers took up an entire corner of the room.

  Daniel’s head began to pound in time to the music. “Brother Ilhami!” He had to shout to get the man’s attention. “Would you mind turning down the music?”

  Their host looked at him blankly for a second as if the concept was entirely alien to his experience. “What you say?”

  “The music!” Daniel shouted a little louder. “I’m sorry. I have a headache.”

  The Turk finally nodded and smiled. “You wait. I fix.” He unceremoniously pulled the plug to the stereo system out of the wall. “Is better, yes?” he asked hopefully.

  “Yes,” Daniel exhaled thankfully. “Much better. Thank you.”

  Hunt stood watching the interaction, his hands in his jacket pockets and an amused grin on his face. “You sure do love your music, Brother Hammy,” he observed.

  “In Turkey we say music is life!” the man replied.

  “I expect it’s gonna be the death of Brother Dan’l here.” Hunt smirked. “Ain’t that so, Brother Dan’l?”

  The Scion rubbed his brow bone and gave no answer.

  “Here. You sleep here.” Ilhami gestured to the foldout couch.

  “Like fun I’m bunkin’ with you,” Leroy muttered to Daniel under his breath. “We’ll flip for it.”

  “You may have the couch, Mr. Hunt,” Daniel answered wearily. “I’ll take the floor.”

  “Well, all right then.” The mercenary nodded his approval. “This is shapin’ up better than I expected.”

  “You like something to drink?” Ilhami asked, looking from one face to another.

  “That all depends,” Hunt replied warily. “You got anything with a kick to it?”

  The Turk smiled broadly. “Oh yes, I have raki. Very good. First rate.”

  The mercenary’s face lit up. “Now you’re talkin’. I do believe I’ll have me a sip.”

  Daniel recognized the name of the beverage because Hunt had sampled some of Turkey’s national drink on the plane on the way over. According to him, it tasted much like the ouzo to which he’d become addicted when they were in Greece.

  Brother Ilhami looked quizzically at Daniel. “You like some too?”

  The Scion shook his head. The motion made his temples throb. “Nothing for me, thank you.”

  Their host bustled into the kitchenette.

  Hunt leaned closer and asked in a whisper, “You sure he’s one of yours?”

  Daniel was as baffled as his companion. Unlike every other member of the Nephilim that the Scion had ever known, Ilhami didn’t wear the black suit and white shirt of the order. He was dressed in blue jeans and a striped polo shirt that bulged over his considerable paunch. While some order members wore beards, Ilhami sported a bushy black moustache and two days worth of razor stubble. His entire appearance was scruffy and unkempt. When the man first approached Daniel at the airport, he couldn’t believe the rotund little Turk was an emissary of the brotherhood.

  The Scion replied to Hunt’s question in a low voice. “I was told he was a recent convert. The Nephilim have had difficulty establishing a presence in this country because of the large Muslim population. The nearest compound is in Armenia. It’s obvious to me that no one in authority is nearby to regulate this man’s behavior.”

  “Gone native, has he? Well, this ought to be interestin’.” Hunt was all smiles as Ilhami returned with two glasses half full of a milky white substance.

  Daniel noticed the second glass which he assumed was for Ilhami. “You also drink spirits?” he asked, slightly askance.

  Their guide looked at him uncomprehendingly. “No spirits. Just raki. I like raki. Is good.”

  Hunt chuckled and slapped him on the back. “Well, well, Brother Hammy. I never thought I’d live to say this about any of you Nephilim but I’m takin’ a shine to you.”

  “We sit outside,” Ilhami suggested. “Is hot in here.”

  This was one idea which Daniel supported enthusiastically. The tiny apartment was stifling on this summer evening and the ceiling fan did little more than waft hot air into their faces. The French doors that opened onto the balcony offered the only relief.

  They moved out into the open air and sat on folding chairs. There was barely enough room for the three of them on the tiny ledge that hung suspended above the sidewalk. Hunt’s knees bumped against the wrought-iron railing.

  The activity in the street below had subsided by now. The sun had set and there wasn’t a single parking space left. Cars were packed end to end as tight as sardines in a tin. Daniel concluded that it must be supper time since all the running children and shouting parents had withdrawn inside. The open windows in every tenement, however, effectively blurred the distinction between indoors and outdoors. Even though the music in Ilhami’s apartment had been silenced, Daniel could hear the shrill wailing and head-pounding percussion of other stereos coming at him from several points in the neighborhood. Then there were the voices raised over dinner tables everywhere. Excited chattering female voices, fussy crying children. Authoritative male voices shouting to make themselves heard over the din. So many lives unconsciously exposed to his scrutiny. Nobody here seemed to care about privacy very much. They all seemed to revel in the communal racket.

  Daniel thought of dinner time back home at the compound. A bell summoned everyone to assemble in an orderly fashion and they all ate in a subdued manner. Conversations, such as they were, would be conducted in whispers. After curfew the corridors were vacant and silent. To Daniel, Istanbul seemed like a roaring beast that never slept. He contemplated it with a mixture of fascination and fear. This city of the Fallen was disorderly and loud and teeming with life. The Nephilim compound, on the other hand, exhibited the perfect stillness of death.

  “So how come you joined up with the Nephilim, Brother Hammy?”

  Daniel cut his contemplation short when he realized Hunt was quizzing Ilhami about his origins.

  The plump Turk took another swig from his tumbler before replying. “A man come to my door. He say I belong with Nephilim. He promise me many wives.”

  “Oh ho,” Leroy said knowingly. “You like havin’ lots of female companionship, do you?”

  Ilhami nodded vigorously. “Koran say four.” The Turk held up the requisite number of digits for emphasis. “No more.” He frowned. “I no like.”

  Hunt finished the contents of his glass and held it out for a refill.

  Ilhami wordlessly took the glass back to the kitchen along with his own.

  When he returned with two brimming tumblers, he picked up the thread of the conversation. “Is like this raki. Koran say no, Ilhami, you no drink. But Nephilim man, he say OK. So I go with him.”

  Hunt chuckled. Directing his next comment to the Scion, he said, “That’s some recruiter you got in these parts, Brother Dan’l.”

  Daniel knew his face registered shock but he tried to cover it. “I think perhaps something may have gotten lost in translation.”

  Brother Ilhami looked from one to the other suspiciously. “You say is no good to drink?”

  Realizing that Ilhami was their lone contact in this part of Turkey, Daniel tried to repair the damage as quickly as possible. “No, not at all. Uh…don’t worry about it. It isn’t a problem.”

  “Boy, you slapped on the brakes so fast, I’m a mite surprised you didn’t give yourself whiplash,” Hunt murmured dryly.

  “What you say?” Ilhami squinted at the mercenary.

  Hunt patted him on the back. “Don’t you worry your head over it, Brother Hammy. We got bigger fish to fry. Right, Brother Dan’l?”

  He turned pointedly to the Scion who stammered, “Uh…uh…yes. A…hem. Quite right.”

  The
two men looked at Daniel expectantly. He sat up and focused on the matter at hand. “Yes, well, I think we need to discuss our strategy. I would like to visit any mosques, churches or shrines on the eastern side of Mount Ida. Are you familiar with the area?”

  The question was directed at the Turk who gazed back at him with a puzzled expression.

  Daniel clarified. “The mountain you call Kazdagi. Do you know it?”

  At the mention of the name, Ilhami’s face brightened. “Oh, yes. I know.”

  “Are you familiar with the terrain on the eastern side? The side where the sun rises?”

  “Yes, yes. I show you. All churches. All mosques. I drive you there. I be very good guide. First rate.”

  “If y’all are drivin’ like you did today, Brother Hammy,” Hunt added, “I’d be much obliged if you’d pack me a couple bottles of raki to take along on the trip.”

  “And perhaps some aspirin?” Daniel added weakly, rubbing his forehead.

  Chapter 32 – S-Bomb

  It had been a hectic week. Faye parked her station wagon in the driveway and got out. She’d had to make several trips to the vault to arrange matters for the team in Turkey. Many of those tasks might have been accomplished at home by phone if not for her house guest. Much as she enjoyed visits from Zachary, she felt some measure of relief at the thought that he would be leaving in a few days. His departure would make matters simpler in case any last minute glitches occurred during the substitution of the false artifact.

  She let herself into the house but everything was silent. “Zach?” she called out tentatively. No answer.

  She found him outside in the vegetable garden pulling weeds. She’d kept him busy with outdoor chores during his entire stay. That was partly because her yard needed tending and partly to tire him out enough to prevent him from getting into trouble. So far the strategy seemed to have worked. By the end of each day he was too exhausted to be inquisitive. In fact, he hadn’t even asked her about the Neighborhood Watch business at all. Faye chalked it up to the short attention span of most teenagers.