by J. F. Penn
Jake sat down opposite her, considering what she said.
“No, I don’t see. I’m beginning to doubt this whole Carl Jung connection, even with the painting. We’ve risked enough, Morgan. I’m not wasting time looking somewhere that might be wrong at this late stage. We should explore other options.”
Morgan would not be dissuaded.
“But I’ve been to the university hall where they held their meetings. There was a centennial celebration of the visit in 2009 which I spoke at. There’s a bust of Freud, pictures of the men together and most importantly, the twin image to this mandala.” She held up the one that had represented the maze they had navigated at the wadi. “One of Jung’s drawings was made into a framed image and put into the drawing room where they taught and discussed. It was an amazing time for them all, a life changing event for those men. Jung must have considered it pivotal to his career, so he put the stone there for safe keeping away from the prying eyes in Europe.”
Jake was studying the timeline of Jung’s life that she had sketched out and laid on the table.
“But the timelines are confused. How did the image and note get left at the wadi when the North Africa trip in 1920 was after Clark University in 1909? Jung didn’t have the stone with him at Clark.”
Morgan pointed down at the timeline.
“But look, Jung did return to America in 1924 and must have worked with some of his disciples to hide it then. He clearly wanted it hidden, but he left clues in locations that only his true disciples would understand. If he held the stone and knew the myth, he would have loved the role of the Keeper. He always believed in gnosis, a spiritual knowledge known only to the enlightened few, and he certainly kept secrets.”
“So it’s Massachusetts, then, you’re sure?” Jake said. “Because we’ve been wrong before and there are only forty-eight hours until Pentecost dawns in America. This is our last chance to get the final stone.”
Morgan closed her eyes for a second and when she opened them again, they were cobalt blue steel, the violet slash a deeper shade.
“Yes, I believe that this is what Jung meant. I’m getting this last stone, and then I’ll bargain them all for Faye and Gemma. I just want this to be over.”
Jake nodded, then moved to the cockpit to direct their journey towards America, to Massachusetts.
May 26
Clark University, Worcester, Massachusetts, USA
May 26, 10.02am
They arrived at the airport near Worcester having slept fitfully on the way over the Atlantic. Morgan drowned her nightmares in several cups of coffee and made a final study of the University plans. Jake organized the small group, Jared and one other man, Morrison, would accompany them, their cover as visiting professors with a hastily constructed back story. Morgan didn’t think they looked much like academics, but no one paid them much attention as they arrived at the imposing main entrance.
The red brick façade rose above them, four stories with large windows looking out over spring green lawns. Morgan glanced up at the clock, the Stars and Stripes flapping above it in the breeze. Her body screamed with jet lag. They had covered so many time zones in the last few days, she felt like her soul was still in transit from the desert wadi, and it would be some time before she was a whole person again.
They passed a statue of Sigmund Freud, sitting on a stone bench, book in one hand and cane in the other, a commemoration of the 1909 visit. Morgan ran her hand over the cool smoothness of the statue’s head, his austere face giving her pause. What if this was the wrong place? They no longer had enough time to make a mistake. She shook her head to clear the lingering doubt and they progressed into the University.
A meeting had been arranged at short notice citing investigation into Jung’s history, so they were escorted straight to the suite of rooms where the professor had lectured over one hundred years ago. It was a place to start at least. Jared and Morrison remained outside to watch the doors while Morgan and Jake went into the main dark wood paneled room. Deep red wing back armchairs sat around a fireplace that clearly hadn’t been used in a while. A square table centered the room on a circular rug of Turkish origin.
“It’s just like all the offices at Oxford,” Morgan said. “Great universities are the same the world over. Look, there’s the picture.”
Morgan went to the mandala that hung on the far wall, next to the famous picture of the psychologists. It was the same as the one she now unpacked from her backpack, red lines tracing towards the center.
“There’s one difference between the two mandala. Do you see it?”
Jake looked closer. “Here, the wasp drawn on the corner.”
Morgan traced the tiny intricate image with her fingertip.
“It’s strange because Jung didn’t use wasps much in his paintings and imagery. It seems out of place.”
She paused, deep in thought and then said with surprise. “Oh, the wasp symbol. It must be Wolfgang Pauli!”
“Wasn’t Pauli a physicist?” Jake said. “What’s he got to do with this?”
“Yes, Wolfgang Pauli was an Austrian physicist who won the Nobel Prize for his discovery of the exclusion principle, a key part of quantum physics. The man was brilliant but deeply troubled and there was a strange myth that surrounded him called the Pauli Effect. It seemed his presence changed matter and made things happen, like experimental equipment breaking as he walked past, but his creativity in science was phenomenal.”
“Do you think this Pauli effect had something to do with the stone’s power?” Jake asked.
“I’m not sure, but he certainly worked closely with Jung. Pauli had a breakdown and Jung interpreted his dreams. They also worked together on ideas about the paranormal and synchronicity so it’s possible he knew about the Pentecost stone and even experienced its power. Maybe he was the one who hid it here.”
Her eyes shone with the light of discovery and for a moment Morgan forgot the awful circumstances of why they were there, but then her eyes darkened again.
“Pauli feared wasps. He had nightmares about them and they appeared in the archetypal dreams that Jung interpreted. It’s a symbol of what he was ultimately scared of, a weapon of some kind, a destruction of all that’s good.”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “You think the Pentecost stone might be this weapon?”
“Maybe. We need to find it. Look harder.”
They searched the room carefully, looking for some indication of where the stone might be hidden. Jake lifted the mandala picture off the wall but the back was blank. They felt the walls around the pictures but nothing stood out.
Morgan turned around in the center of the room,
“What are we missing?”
Then she saw it. The room was square, with the round rug in the center, with a square table in the center of that again.
“Look, this whole room is a mandala, the circle in the square. The center is where truth lies. Help me move the table.”
They managed to drag the heavy mahogany engraved table to one side, then pulled back the circular rug. Underneath was a trapdoor in the stone floor with some kind of key mechanism. Jake tugged at it, trying to pull it open, while Morgan studied the markings etched in the top. It was engraved as a mandala, with twelve engraved stones spiraling into the center where a groove was hollowed out with a copper ring for lifting.
Morgan looked up at Jake with hope in her eyes.
“This has to be it.”
As she bent down to pull the ring, the noise of a scuffle and gunfire came from outside the door. They pulled their guns as the door burst open and six men rushed in, weapons trained on the pair. They were outnumbered.
“No need for any unpleasantness. You,” he gestured to Jake, “move away from the trapdoor.”
The man who spoke was tall with a rangy athleticism and a shock of grey-silver hair. He wore a black military style jumpsuit with sleeves rolled up. No academic posturing for this team. Morgan could see the pale horse tattoo on his forearm.
&nb
sp; “Down on your knees.” He pointed with his gun. “You won’t be going on this part of the journey. Thanatos wants all the stones and it looks like the good Doctor will be finding the next one for us.”
As Jake moved he caught Morgan’s eye and nodded slightly, feinting away from her. Morgan hurled herself to the floor, commando rolling towards him. Shots rang out. Jake used the distraction to dive onto the man. Morgan drew her gun but too late. A bullet glanced her shoulder and spun her to the floor where she lay bleeding and weaponless. Jake managed to get in a punch before he was pulled off the man by two others. The leader slammed the butt of his gun into Jake’s temple, pistol whipping him to the floor where he lay on the edge of consciousness. Morgan knew their last stand had been useless and now she was alone. The leader walked over to Morgan, leaning over her panting form.
“You just made it harder on yourself.”
He put his boot onto her shoulder and leaned into the wound. She moaned, almost passing out from the pain, breathing faster as she tried to stay conscious. The silver haired man picked up Morgan’s backpack and checked inside for the precious cargo. With a smug grin, he slung it over his shoulder. “We’ll be taking the stones from here. Thanks for looking after them for us.”
Morgan rolled to her knees, clutching her wounded shoulder. “But what about the stones Everett has?”
“We’ll be getting those too before we return to Europe. The twelve will be together again, but in the hands of true believers, not filth like Everett. He’ll pay for crossing Thanatos.”
“And my sister and niece?” She dared hope they would be spared.
“I don’t have any orders for them,” he said. “Clearly they’re not important.”
They are to me, Morgan thought, breathing a sigh of relief, despite the pain of her throbbing shoulder. It wasn’t over yet. The stones were never the important thing for her; it was always about her family.
“Enough talking. Let’s get the stone and get out of here.” He indicated Jake’s prone body to the other men. “Tie him up and leave him in the corner. We’re keeping him for interrogation later. He has valuable information about the other ARKANE projects and they’ll trade handsomely to get him back. This one’s coming with us.”
He knelt and pulled up the trapdoor. It creaked on aged hinges to reveal a staircase spiraling down into the darkness. The men put on headlamps and dragged Morgan down into it. Her last glance above ground was at Jake, tied and unconscious by the door, blood trickling down his pale face to pool in the carpet beneath him.
The first man forced Morgan ahead of him. She stumbled in the dark, a cry of pain escaping her lips.
“Why do you need me, anyway? You can find the final stone yourself now.”
“We heard about the traps in Tunisia, so we may need you to interpret any symbols along the way.”
“Then what?”
He laughed, pushing her faster down the stairs. “Oh, don’t you worry about that. There are plans for you as well as Timber.”
They finally reached a small circular chamber at the bottom of the staircase. Again, there were three doors, a choice, just as in North Africa. But this time there was nothing carved on these doors, they were just plain wood. Morgan felt apprehensive about the choice. She had made a mistake in Tunisia and it had cost a life. There was too much at stake, so she was desperate to get it right.
“Which door?” the leader said. All eyes were on Morgan. She hesitated.
“Your friend Jake could have a bullet in the back of his head with one word into this radio,” he threatened.
Morgan awkwardly pulled out the mandala picture she had taken from the room upstairs. When she studied it more closely she could see it was slightly different from the original, with layers of information not present on the first version of the image. The mandala curled in on itself, the lines of the spiral colored like a map, with breaks that could indicate choices in the maze. If she followed the openings to the centre, perhaps it would lead them to the stone. The wasp sat in the bottom right of the picture, a beautifully painted tiny nightmare from the mind of Wolfgang Pauli. Her mind raced as she clung to her knowledge of Jung, the doubts swirling about her. But there were no other clues.
“It’s the middle one,” she said, looking up from the mandala.
“If you’re lying to us ...”
“Look,” Morgan snapped. “I want to get the stone and save my family so let’s just get this over with. Quit hassling me.”
He raised his hands in mock surrender, and nodded to one of the men.
“You heard the lady. Open it.”
The door swung open easily to reveal a twisting corridor.
“OK, double time.”
The group moved swiftly down the corridor into the blackness. It seemed to go on a long way. Morgan wondered where it would end up and what was above ground here. Why was the stone hidden in this way? Why was Pauli’s nightmare pointing them in this direction?
The passage ended in a final door, with the sound of a buzzing hum behind it. An image of the twelve stones was carved into the door with wasps flying around them, weaving a complicated pattern. Stylized flames were engraved at the bottom of the door, reaching up towards the stones.
“This has to be the place,” she said, examining the imagery.
“What’s that noise?” One of the men said. “It sounds like a generator.”
“I think I know what it might be,” Morgan pointed to the wasps on the mandala painting and the door. Pauli’s weapon was protected by his own nightmare.
“A few wasps won’t stop us getting the Pentecost stone,” the leader said, “but to be on the safe side, you and I will wait here.”
The leader motioned for the other men to go inside. They pulled open the door and entered in formation, guns held high as they walked into the buzzing room. Morgan caught a quick glimpse inside before the heavy door swung itself shut behind them. She saw a plinth in the middle of the room lit from a skylight above. There were dark shapes hanging from the ceiling and a floor that seemed to be crawling with insects.
It was quiet for a few seconds. Then the buzzing grew louder and the sound of gunfire and shouting came from inside. It quickly turned to screaming. The leader grabbed Morgan, and held his gun to her head.
“What’s in there?” he shouted as the screaming slowly died, and the buzzing calmed again to a gentle hum. Now there were just the two of them in the corridor, gun held to her head and the man’s hand shaking. Morgan’s shoulder throbbed with the bullet wound but she felt a strange sense of calm descend as she contemplated what waited beyond the door.
“Maybe they bred an unusual strain of wasps to protect the stone. There are killer wasps in Africa, larger and more vicious than we have here, and guns would have little effect. One of Jung’s disciples was a genetic engineer; perhaps they have a hybrid wasp of sorts protecting his secret.”
The man pushed her towards the door, gun still pointed at her head. “Well, we have to get that stone, so it looks like you’re going in next.”
Morgan took a deep breath and thought through her knowledge of Jung and Pauli. There must be a way to get the stone out, because all these devices were meant to allow the true disciple through unharmed. It was only a trap for those who didn’t have the right knowledge, the true gnosis. The corridor was a feature in Pauli’s dreams, and so was the wasp, but there was something she was missing.
She focused on the circle around the wasp in the carving on the door, racking her brain for the right information. Maybe it represented a way to contain the wasps, or surround the seeker with protection, so the stone could be reached. The mandala seemed to indicate the door itself was a key of some kind. Inspired, she felt around the door frame. On the right hand side was a slight opening: she reached inside and found a key.
Pulling it out, she showed the leader.
“The door wasn’t locked. Why the key?” he said.
“The Keepers surely designed some fail safe. Perhaps this activat
es it somehow.”
“Great theory, crazy woman, but I’m not going in there. You go in, get the stone and I’ll be waiting here. If you don’t come out, then, hey, it’s all over anyway.”
Morgan swallowed. She didn’t like wasps, but then who did? It was a rational human fear. They weren’t the stuff of her nightmares but the screams of the dying men who had entered before her still echoed round her head. A trickle of sweat ran down her back as she clenched her fists in determination. She had to face this fear head on because her own life was at stake now, and if she died, Faye and Gemma didn’t stand a chance. She took a deep breath, gently pushed open the door, and slid into the room.
Inside, the buzzing noise filled her head and Morgan gasped as she saw what the room held. Wasps’ nests draped from the ceiling and dripped down around the walls, hanging almost to the floor. Above them was a distant skylight and she realized this place must be under the botanical gardens where they could feed, even as they protected their secret. The air was thick with flying insects although many lay dead on the floor with the bodies of the soldiers.
The men had been stung to death, the reaction to the sting bloating the bodies already. It must be potent venom or the volume of stings that killed them with anaphylactic shock. Wasps still crawled over the bodies, crowding on any exposed skin. Morgan could see one of the men’s faces frozen in a drawn-out scream as a wasp emerged from his swollen mouth. She shuddered, trying not to imagine the pain of his death but she noticed that the wasps were bigger than normal, with longer stings and the sheer number of them was astonishing.
The buzzing increased at her entrance but the wasps kept their distance for now and Morgan wondered what made them attack. Her eyes darted around the room. She felt the door on her back realizing that there was nowhere to go except forwards into the room. She could see the stone plinth in the middle, similar to the one from the wadi in Tunisia. There was a box on top of it. The Pentecost stone must be in there, but how to get to it?