Thieves Like Us 01 - Thieves Like Us

by Stephen Cole

  Con’s flirtatious smile cooled a little. ‘It’s not all play here, Jonah. Coldhardt wants you trained up. I’ll meet you in the gym at seven tonight for a proper workout.’

  With that she strutted slowly away from the poolside.

  ‘Jonah!’ Patch moaned. ‘What d’you go and do that for?’

  ‘To save you from going blind?’

  Motti laughed. Encouraged, Jonah sat on a chair between the two. He felt the familiar urge to try and impress, to fling himself at them puppy-dog fashion in the hope of affection and acceptance – and as usual, heard the cynical voice in his head that told him he hadn’t a hope.

  I don’t need this, he told himself.

  Tye’s voice in his head: ‘Liar.’

  He noticed her looking his way for a few moments before she returned to her exercises, making slow, circling movements with both arms.

  ‘Con’s a bit of an ice queen, isn’t she?’ Jonah observed. ‘Or is she secretly warm and cuddly underneath?’

  ‘She’s been through some tough times,’ said Patch.

  ‘Yeah, right. Haven’t we all?’

  Motti turned another page. ‘Her parents were killed in front of her when she was eight,’ he said casually. ‘Family outing. They hit a truck, their car musta rolled over ten times. Con was smashed up in the back, pretty bad. Had to watch the medics cut Mommy and Daddy from the wreckage before they could even get to her –’

  ‘OK, OK, I take it all back!’ Jonah held up his hands. ‘God, that really is tough.’

  ‘You could say that,’ Motti agreed.

  ‘It’s why she won’t ride in the back seat,’ added Patch.

  Jonah grimaced. ‘I’m surprised she’ll get in a car at all.’

  ‘Took her a long time,’ Tye remarked. ‘But she knew she was useless to Coldhardt if she couldn’t travel, so she gave herself some hypnotherapy.’

  ‘Mesmerism therapy, you mean.’ Motti winked at her. ‘Sounds cooler.’

  Jonah half-smiled. ‘So Con was the last person Coldhardt recruited before me, right?’

  ‘Must be nine months ago, now,’ said Patch. ‘We needed her for that crypt job in Lima.’

  ‘She kept half the shanty town off our backs while we got hold of that crystal,’ said Motti, his admiration plain. ‘There is nothing to see here,’ he mimicked crudely. ‘Nothing to see.’

  Patch chuckled. ‘Yeah, we’re just nicking the object you’ve been worshipping for hundreds of years!’

  Jonah laughed along with them, though he didn’t find it so funny. ‘So I’m guessing Motti, you found the place, and Patch, you got them inside –’

  ‘Place was crawling with traps,’ Patch shuddered. ‘There were these big swords, right, rigged to spring out of the walls …’

  ‘Nice. What about you, Tye? What was your job?’

  ‘I took the curse off the crystal,’ she said simply.

  Jonah raised his eyebrows. ‘Curse?’

  ‘Tye’s the voodoo lady,’ Motti murmured.

  ‘You’re joking.’

  Motti turned another page. ‘Some things you don’t joke about.’

  ‘Then I had to smuggle the thing out to Coldhardt’s buyer in Colombia,’ Tye went on. ‘Solo – while these assholes went off on a Caribbean cruise.’

  ‘You did tell us it would be safer if you worked alone,’ Patch reminded her.

  ‘Safer for you lot!’ Tye retorted. ‘It was after that little experience that Coldhardt agreed to get the plane.’

  ‘He could afford it after a sale like that,’ Motti remarked. ‘A cool million in one hit.’

  Jonah whistled. ‘Coldhardt sells these relics to the highest bidder?’

  ‘Unless he’s specially hired for an assignment like this one,’ said Tye. ‘He works out what – and who – he needs to get the job done, and just gets on with it.’

  ‘And the first kid he recruited was Motti.’

  ‘This time around,’ Motti agreed.

  A cloud drifted over the sun. The pool’s clear water lost its glitter for a few seconds.

  Jonah frowned. ‘So there were other Coldhardt’s children before you? What happened to them?’

  Motti shrugged. ‘Had enough and moved on, I guess.’

  ‘Or maybe one day their luck ran out,’ said Jonah, ‘and something happened to them.’

  Motti put down his magazine crossly. ‘Yeah, something happened to them all right – they got rich enough to retire, so they split. Nothing lasts for ever. Coldhardt woulda known ’em well enough by then to let ’em go without any comeback.’

  ‘Yeah, that makes sense,’ said Patch, nodding vigorously. ‘I bet they all set themselves up in some luxury home somewhere. Coldhardt probably helped ’em invest the cash so they could live off the interest.’

  ‘Yeah, that sounds like a nice, likely happy ever after,’ said Jonah, making no attempt to hide the sarcasm in his voice. ‘Does he send them Christmas cards each year too?’

  ‘Aw, who cares what happened in the past?’ Motti argued. ‘Right now, it’s the present – and life is sweet. Gotta enjoy it while you can.’

  Jonah was about to argue that history often repeats itself, but he bit his tongue. He was trying to fit in here, not piss everyone off. From the worried look on Patch’s face, he had already put a dampener on things. Why did he spend so long looking on the black side? He thought of the losers and no-hopes he’d been stuck with inside, what they would be doing in the YOI right now. And then he looked again at the clear blue pool, the pristine gardens, Tye in her swimsuit …

  Maybe Motti had the right idea.

  ‘Come on, Patch,’ he said. ‘Race you six lengths in the pool.’

  ‘I’ll slaughter ya!’ Patch beamed and launched himself into the pool, splashing Tye. She splashed him back, kicking up her legs at him.

  ‘Mind your arm, Tye!’ Jonah called.

  ‘It’s cool, I’ll stop ’em fighting,’ Motti announced. ‘Incoming!’ He cannonballed into the water, creating a miniature tidal wave. The three of them squealed and shouted. The water churned like it was full of piranhas.

  Jonah grinned and jumped in beside Tye, joining her in her splash-struggle against Patch and Motti. Their laughter and splutters echoed around the silent courtyard under the sun.

  And even through the taste of chlorine, Jonah found that life had never tasted so sweet.

  It was the next afternoon before he saw Coldhardt again.

  Jonah found the time passed quickly, enjoying his new-found social life. He’d had a good workout with Con in the gym. Not only did she look great in a leotard, but she was a good and patient teacher. She really made you feel you could do it – Jonah came away from the two-hour session with a couple of quite slick moves under his belt.

  He’d wanted to say to her, ‘I’m so sorry about your parents.’ But even in his head, the words sounded hollow, beyond inadequate. He’d never known a proper mum and dad, but to have had them and then lose them both …

  Jonah wondered how much money it must take before Con felt better.

  After a sauna and shower he was ready to chill with Motti and Patch in the castello’s hangout. They held a pinball tournament, which Tye crashed for a while, until she’d soundly trounced all three of them. Then he and Motti joined Con in sampling some of the local wines, bluffing that he could taste the differences between them. It didn’t really matter – they all tasted good with the fantastic pizza Coldhardt had ordered in from the local trattoria. He slept well that night – no sleeping pills required.

  For most of the day he’d been net-surfing in his room. He’d scoured a dozen sites and hacked into a few more trying to learn more about early Greek and Spartan ciphers, but had learned little he didn’t already know. And as his mind wandered, he found himself imagining who might have stayed in this beautiful room before him, and what had happened to make them leave.

  Give it a rest, he told himself. What was the use of obsessing over it?

  The doorbell roused him fr
om his thoughts, and he pounced on the distraction. It was Con, soberly dressed in black trousers and a high-necked top.

  ‘Coldhardt’s called a meeting,’ she announced with a smile. ‘I will escort you, yes?’

  ‘It would be a pleasure,’ said Jonah, though he felt his insides twitch and tickle in grim anticipation. It was a kind of stage fright, he supposed. Would Coldhardt expect him to crack the lekythos cipher on the spot?

  Con led him through the old, impressive passageways of the castello. She had to stand in front of a retinal scanner to activate the hidden lift. As in Geneva, a section of floor sank smoothly down into the hidden depths before discharging its passengers into a brightly lit antechamber.

  This version of the hub was smaller but otherwise nearly identical. Coldhardt sat at his desk, just as he had the last time Jonah had seen him. He smiled in greeting, but the gesture stopped short of his eyes. Con fared little better, despite the major-league dental dazzle in her boss’s direction.

  Tye, Motti and Patch were already seated. Jonah was glad to see the skin round Patch’s good eye was now a lighter shade of purple and Motti’s nose was less swollen – he wore a new pair of glasses, identical to the old. Tye waved her stiff arm and flexed her fingers in what might have been greeting, or might have been physio – he wasn’t sure which. But she looked a lot more relaxed. Twenty-four hours’ rest seemed to have done all of them some good.

  ‘Welcome, Jonah,’ said Coldhardt. ‘You enjoyed your first field trip, I hope?’ That roguish touch of Irish in his accent made the enquiry slightly mocking.

  ‘It was an experience,’ Jonah answered, evenly. For a fleeting moment, he felt like a fly caught in the dead centre of some immense web.

  ‘Sit down. Look at the screens.’ There were only four of them on the walls of this junior hub, each of them plain blue, devoid of signal. Coldhardt sat at the head of the table and tapped a remote. The screen top left kicked into sudden life. It showed an obscure arrangement of yellow points scattered over black.

  ‘I recognise that pattern,’ said Con. ‘It is the same as the ink spots on the note I found in the Egyptian’s room, no?’

  ‘The dead Egyptian’s room,’ Patch added, in case they needed clarification.

  ‘The resemblance is striking isn’t it?’ To reinforce the point, Coldhardt put an image of the ink spots on the screen top right. ‘The points of light represent a constellation that sprawls across 948 square degrees of sky – a part of which falls within the plane of the zodiac between Scorpio and Sagittarius.’

  Con looked at Tye. ‘It’s the constellation of Ophiuchus. Like Demnos said.’

  Coldhardt nodded. ‘Yes, Ophiuchus. The only human being in history to be granted a place among the stars.’

  ‘So that chick who trounced Tye in the museum,’ said Motti, ‘she was, what, a stargazer with attitude?’

  ‘From the serpent tattoo Tye described and her attire, I would say the female belonged to the Cult of Ophiuchus. An ancient secret society supposed to have died out centuries ago.’ He smiled, his rich voice shot through with a measure of ice. ‘Like the man himself, blessed with a long, long life.’

  ‘So what – these people are his fan club?’ said Jonah uneasily. ‘They hold Ophiuchus conventions and stuff?’

  ‘They practise his teachings,’ said Coldhardt. ‘Follow the ancient texts. It was long believed that his acolytes could recite every prescription by rote. One reason for the cult’s believed extinction was that from the Middle Ages onwards, certain unscrupulous types tortured many of the cultists to death in their efforts to extract the recipe for Amrita. None of them gave away so much as a syllable.’

  ‘Devoted,’ said Tye.

  ‘Idiots,’ Con muttered.

  ‘Fanatics,’ Coldhardt corrected them both. ‘But it seems they were not destroyed by this persecution. Merely driven underground.’

  ‘So why come sniffing around the surface now?’ Patch asked.

  Motti cracked him on the head with a pencil. ‘Because shit is going down,’ he said simply.

  ‘Your birthday is on December 2nd, Jonah.’ Coldhardt was looking at him expectantly. ‘Is that not so?’

  ‘Yeah. What’re you gonna get me?’

  ‘Remind me, that would make you in astrological terms …?’

  ‘You want me to say the obvious, that I’m a Sagittarius,’ said Jonah. ‘So I’m guessing that I’m really an Ophiuchan, right?’

  If Coldhardt was impressed, he didn’t show it. ‘Quite correct. From November 30th until December 17th the sun passes through Ophiuchus. There are thousands born under the Ophiuchan star sign, if they only knew it.’

  ‘So why does everyone make out there are only twelve zodiac signs?’ asked Tye.

  ‘Twelve months of the year,’ Con suggested. ‘It’s neater.’

  ‘There’s more to it than that.’ There was a wintry gleam in Coldhardt’s eyes. ‘The origins of astrology can be traced back to 3000 BC. As an art it was pioneered by the Chaldeans of Babylonia, but the ancient Etruscans, Egyptians, Hindus, the Chinese – they all held that the movements of the heavens affected not only their crops and the seasons, but the fates of all humankind.’

  ‘Like believing comets were bad omens,’ said Tye.

  Coldhardt nodded. ‘In the fourth century BC the science of astrology was practised in Ancient Greece. And around that time, a presence of evil was linked to the constellation of Ophiuchus. A kind of hysteria appears to have set in – and soon, no mage would cast horoscopes for that sign.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Jonah simply.

  ‘The documentation is frustratingly sparse,’ Coldhardt admitted. ‘It seems that even the act of writing about this evil was considered enough to bring a curse upon the author. However …’ He paused, his expression growing more severe, his voice dying to a theatrical whisper. ‘Some imply that Ophiuchus’s long life eventually corrupted him. That his thirst for knowledge led to his possession by unspeakable forces and a terrible fate. That since he refused to travel to the dead land … its dreadful denizens travelled to him.’

  ‘Just stories,’ Con argued, looking round at the others for support, and finding only grave faces.

  ‘And yet despite this evil about him,’ said Tye, ‘these acolytes, they still guard his powers, his prescriptions?’

  Coldhardt nodded. ‘So it would seem. The few who are left, anyway.’

  ‘So just what was in that vase?’ asked Jonah, a now-familiar tingle travelling along his spine. ‘A secret they were willing to kill for?’

  ‘Not enough of the black powder was recovered to be analysed properly,’ said Coldhardt. ‘All I’ve been able to ascertain is that it was organic in nature. Such a complete cellular degeneration is highly unusual. However, there –’

  ‘What about the pottery fragments that Patch –?’

  ‘Do not interrupt me, Jonah.’

  Jonah instantly opened his mouth to apologise, but there was something in the old man’s eyes … some dark strength there that Jonah couldn’t fathom. His mouth dried. The room fell crypt-silent.

  For a moment, those eyes seemed almost inhuman.

  Then the moment passed, as Coldhardt spoke more softly: ‘I will come to the fragments in due course.’

  ‘Of course,’ Jonah said. ‘I – I’m sorry.’

  ‘Now, as I was saying. There may yet be a result forthcoming on the substance that was stored and sealed within the lekythos all those centuries ago …’ Coldhardt smiled wanly. ‘From Samraj Vasavi.’

  Con frowned. ‘Her? How can she help us?’

  ‘Those people who stole the funeral vase ahead of you all … the registration plate of their car in Cairo, as recorded by Jonah, was naturally a false one.’ Coldhardt smiled, his earlier outburst apparently forgotten. ‘However, by allying myself to certain … agencies, I was able to track down the manufacturer and fitter of that fraudulent plate. The car in question was a black Chrysler – registered to Serpens Biotech.’

  ‘Samr
aj’s multinational,’ breathed Tye.

  A third screen flicked into life, this time showing a large, white concrete edifice against a deep blue sky. ‘This morning, that Chrysler was seen parked outside this Serpens facility in Jordan.’

  ‘So is that where Samraj is based right now,’ Tye wondered, ‘or is she home in her mansion in Florence?’

  ‘I really couldn’t tell you,’ said Coldhardt, matter-of-factly.

  There was a pause. Then Jonah noticed Tye look down at the table, as if troubled.

  ‘What’s an acolyte of some ancient sect doing running errands for the head of a big genetics firm?’ asked Motti. ‘Makes no sense.’

  ‘Or if you look at it the other way round,’ Con argued, ‘why does Samraj’s high-tech multinational company need the help of an ancient, superstitious sect?’

  Coldhardt nodded. ‘Strange behaviour on both sides, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Only one of those guys we came up against had the tattoo,’ Patch pointed out. ‘Maybe she’s retired from the cult.’

  ‘Membership of the cult is for life,’ said Coldhardt. ‘Long life. Jonah, those pottery fragments you mentioned earlier – the others tell me you think it’s a cipher.’

  Jonah shrugged. ‘It’s like nothing I’ve come across, but yeah. I do.’

  ‘Perhaps you could set up a likely program to crack the code? Regretfully, we have less computing power here than in Geneva, but while the solution is slowly assembled … I have another use for you.’

  Jonah raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘Indeed. We’re pleased with your progress. You’re being kept on.’

  ‘That’s generous of you. Cheers.’

  ‘It’s my hope that as you learn to drop your guard a little, you’ll be able to curb your facetious tongue.’ Coldhardt smiled again. ‘As for my generosity … you’ll find an indication of it in your room here.’

  At once Jonah was buzzing with curiosity. But he played it cool. ‘This “other use” for me you mentioned …’

  ‘Our employer, Mr Demnos, is most upset that we were – shall we say – beaten to the punch in gaining possession of the complete lekythos. Yes, we have a part of the lekythos cipher, but the other part must surely now be in Samraj’s possession.’