The Oracle

by D. J. Niko

  She slipped the habit over her head, then allowed him to help her with the hood garment. She pulled it down over her eyes to disguise her feminine features.

  “All the doors are unlocked. Take the back trail down the mountain. The moon will guide your steps.”

  She nodded. “I will not forget this.”

  His chestnut eyes were clouded with tears. “May the holy mother keep you.”

  Aristea put up a hand. He lifted his hand to hers until the tips of their fingers touched. In another time, another life, she could have loved him.

  She pulled her hand away and hastened out of the room. She wiped a tear with her palm and launched down the corridor of her deliverance.

  Thirty-seven

  “Wake up.”

  A foot struck Daniel’s hip, shaking him out of a fitful slumber. He had no idea what time it was, whether it was day or night. He rubbed his eyes and turned to face a dirty-blond thirtysomething with intense blue eyes peering through round tortoise glasses.

  “Congratulations. You are being moved to the presidential suite.” An ironic tone colored his Jersey accent.

  Daniel sat up. “And you are?”

  He clasped his hands in front of his crotch. “I’m Tom. I’ll be your tour guide.”

  Daniel took stock of the dubious company. He seemed more likely to quote from Chaucer than to kick ass. “Whatever you say, man. Lead the way.”

  Tom opened the door and waved Daniel through with an open palm. “Please. After you.”

  Daniel launched down the dimly lit corridor. The clicking of Tom’s hard-soled loafers on wood mirrored the pace of his own steps, reminding Daniel his escort was only a heartbeat behind him.

  “Turn right.”

  Daniel turned onto an equally shadowy but even longer hallway. How big was this basement? He made a mental breadcrumb trail as they turned again and again, weaving through the labyrinthine network beneath the house. Whoever built this had money to spend—and something to hide.

  “Here we are.” Tom stopped and pushed a door open.

  Daniel entered first. The room was octagonal with contemporary art hanging on all sides. In the middle sat a black leather sofa and a pair of white Barcelona chairs illuminated by a sunbeam. His gaze followed the beam up to a pyramid-shaped skylight. Seeing the outside for the first time in days, he was overcome by a sense of optimism.

  “I hope you will be comfortable here.” Tom’s arrogant voice grated at Daniel’s nerves. He couldn’t wait to be rid of the guy. “In a few hours, the colonel will decide what to do with you.”

  “Colonel, huh? When did he serve?”

  “I regret I cannot answer your questions.” Tom turned on his heel and walked to the door. He hesitated, then turned around. “Oh, and do try to behave.” He pointed to another shiny black orb before walking out and double-bolting the door behind him.

  Alone again, Daniel stood in the middle of the room beneath the shaft of light. The warmth on his face bolstered him. He felt a hungry longing to reach for the light, devour it.

  He looked up. Through the prism of the pyramid, he saw distorted images of the landscape above. It was dense with pine trees, the kind with long, slender needles and the silver-green hue of moss: the evergreens of an arid land. From the bough nearest the skylight hung a cluster of pinecones, distinctively elongated and teardrop-shaped, tightly closed, and green as spring.

  Aleppo pines, the same variety that grew in the mountains of central Greece. That small snapshot through a three-by-three skylight was enough to give him a sense of place. He was convinced he had been brought back to Greece, stashed somewhere in the highlands. And she was out there, too.

  Sarah. He closed his eyes and searched his memory. The photo of her, curled up inside a rocky warren, still disconcerted him—but it also gave him a clue. The characteristics of the rock were telling: a rough gray limestone eroded to reveal the reddish hue of the stone below. It was the unmistakable lithic composition of Mount Parnassus and the same stone the sanctuary of Delphi was built of.

  Daniel felt the sharp stab of guilt over abandoning her with no apology, no explanation. How could he have let things get that far? Why did he not level with her from the start? He cursed his pride that prevented him from reaching out for her help. Now, it seemed, his missteps over the past three months would cost him dearly. Even if they did survive this, which looked less likely by the minute, the cord that bound them might be irreparably severed.

  He peered up at the skylight again. It looked like some sort of Plexiglas, too strong to breach. His gaze traveled to the base of the structure, which was concealed by a rounded, bulging crown molding. He found the shape odd and wondered if the molding was more than decorative.

  He glanced around the room for anything that would give credence to his suspicions. He tried the light switches—there was one for each wall—in various combinations, but they corresponded only to the lights above the art. He scanned the wood floor for any planks that might be removable, but nothing was obvious. He walked to the center of the room and sat on the sofa.

  He looked closely at the tufting of the Barcelona chairs. All the buttons were the same—except for one.

  Adrenaline surged through his body. He cast a furtive glance at the black orb at the corner of the ceiling. They were watching.

  He sank into the glove leather and waited. Night could not fall soon enough.

  Thirty-eight

  Sarah reached inside the small pocket sewn into her trousers and pulled out the amulet she’d collected in Thebes. She fitted the two severed pieces together to form the ancient mystical symbol of the tetractys: dots arranged in four rows—four, then three, then two, then one—to form a triangle representing the perfect number, ten, the number of the universe.

  “You’re a Pythagorean, aren’t you?” she asked.

  Isidor did not answer. His gaze, now darkened, was fixed on the second amulet. “How did you come to have this?”

  “It was outside the Thebes museum on the night of the break-in. Perhaps you can tell me who this belonged to.”

  “One of my brothers. He was posing as a guard at the museum. His mission was to protect the key to Trophonius’ cave. That night . . . it was no break-in.”

  She tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

  “He had finished his shift and left for the night, but he’d forgotten something and went back. He texted me a photo of someone sneaking out of the museum with a long object wrapped in cloth. I heard nothing more from him. He must have confronted the perpetrator and—” He sighed and looked away.

  That explained why the amulet was lying outside. There must have been a struggle that culminated in murder. The body was likely dragged inside—hence the bloody footprints pointing into the building—and the scene was made to look like a heist to throw the cops off the scent.

  Sarah had known Evan was in bed with the enemy but didn’t fathom he could go that far. The revelation made her shiver. “What about his phone? Surely it contained evidence that pointed to you.”

  “No phone number is registered to me. It would take the police a long time and much effort to trace his texts to real people. They’d never go to the trouble.” He stared at her for a long moment. “What are you thinking?”

  She was thinking the trace wasn’t impossible but didn’t voice her concerns. “I just find it remarkable your friend put his life on the line to protect a secret.”

  “Our oath is unto death.”

  Sarah knew this was true of disciples of the philosopher’s famously secretive cult. What she didn’t understand was why a neo-Pythagorean would be associated with an organization whose currency was stolen goods, human hostages, and wanton extermination. Though she’d never come across anyone who belonged to the cult, she’d heard the stories. Pythagoreans were supposedly enlightened beings who practiced asceticism and valued logic and reason above all else. Their religion was based on universal truths derived from number theories, and their ultimate goal was harmony
of self and cosmos.

  She wondered if Isidor was the authentic article or was posing to siphon information from her. The only way to know was to test him. “Tell me something, Isidor. Who is Delphinios? Why is he reenacting the oracle?”

  He rubbed his short black beard and drew a deep breath. “He is a wealthy man, an American. He once had ties to the US government. He was very powerful, but then . . .” His jaw tightened. “Look, it’s a complicated story.”

  “I’m good at complicated.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted. He paused, obviously careful about what he said. “He has an agenda. This authentic re-creation of the oracle is his way of gathering sensitive information and using it for his own means. The supplicants are high-ranking government officials from other nations who have been handpicked and invited here, supposedly to hear a prophecy.

  “Only the prophecy is all smoke and mirrors. The classified information is passed from one source to another through the oracle—which means it cannot be traced to any official or covert source. If it wasn’t so sinister, it would be genius.”

  Sarah felt a chill deep in her core. In her mind, Delphinios was simply a madman with a fetishistic pathos for antiquity who would stop at nothing to gather the treasures required to play out his fantasy. This was a twist she had not foreseen.

  Questions rushed to the forefront of her mind, each vying for pole position. The most persistent had to do with the child priestess. “Does the Pythia deliver this information?”

  “No. Her job is to inhale the vapors so she can fall into a believable trance and utter incomprehensible gibberish.”

  Sarah was sickened by that revelation. The girl’s exploitation was a whole other issue, one she didn’t plan to let go. “Then it comes from—”

  “The high priest. I pretend to translate her utterances. But I have a prepared script. Delphinios tells me what to say.”

  “And this is something your religion condones?”

  “Considering what’s at stake, yes. I’m here to gather intelligence on behalf of the brotherhood. What Delphinios plans to use for destruction, we plan to use for good.”

  “I don’t understand. What destruction? What are these grand plans of his?”

  He shook his head. “I can’t say. I can only tell you that if he succeeds, the entire world will be thrown into turmoil. It will be disaster on a grand scale. That’s why he can never get a hold of the last piece of the puzzle—the omphalos stone.” Isidor grasped her wrists and drew her closer. “We’re out of time, Sarah. If you know where it is, I beg you to tell me.”

  “You first: what is inscribed on that stone?”

  “Do not ask this of me. I cannot turn my back on my oath.”

  She didn’t flinch. “I have sworn an oath, too, Isidor: to protect the treasures of antiquity and preserve them for the benefit of mankind, now and in the future. We could be locked in a showdown of wills forever—or we could agree to cooperate.”

  He let go of her wrists. “It’s a lost Pythagorean formula. That’s all I can say.”

  The encounter at the Aesepus Bridge was vivid in Sarah’s mind. She could still feel the relief on the stone: the two eagles holding a laurel branch in their beaks perched above a net of interconnected geometric shapes. She hadn’t recognized a mathematical formula. But then, she imagined, antiquity’s greatest mystic wouldn’t have made it that easy.

  A low rumble, like distant thunder, sounded. Isidor placed a hand on the cave wall, his fingers vibrating. “It’s coming.”

  Before she had a chance to question it, the ground beneath them shook. It lasted only seconds, but she’d been in earthquakes before—though being trapped beneath the Earth’s surface added a new twist—and knew the pattern.

  Another rumble came, this time louder. Hairline cracks formed in the stone.

  Isidor snapped his head toward her. “We’ve got to get out of here.” The ground moved again. “Now.”

  He grabbed her wrist and pulled her out of the chamber just as pieces of stone dislodged and came raining down. In his haste, he hadn’t bothered to take the lantern, so they ran through the dark tunnel, where visibility

  was nil.

  As the limestone around them quaked, Sarah felt as if the walls were closing in on her. She lost her footing, and her shoulder scraped against the craggy stone. She felt an initial sharp sting, but the sensation was dulled by the adrenaline rushing through her body.

  A major tremor knocked them off their feet. Bigger chunks of stone fell from the ceiling. She crouched instinctively and lifted her arms over her head.

  “Get up,” Isidor yelled, hoisting her upright.

  Stumbling, they ran as the tunnel disintegrated into a rock shower. She heard a dull thud, followed by a grunt, and suspected Isidor had been hurt by the onslaught of debris. Injury or no, he ran as fast as the shaking ground allowed.

  He turned left, then stopped abruptly. “The exit is closed.”

  Sarah reached in front of her and felt a pile of fallen rocks. She turned toward him. Though she couldn’t see his face, she heard his panicked breaths. She grasped his arms. “Listen to me, Isidor. When Plutarch wrote of this tunnel, he mentioned two exits. Where is the other?”

  “Another exit . . . I . . . I don’t know.”

  “I do.” A tiny voice came from behind them.

  “Phoebe.” Isidor’s voice suggested agitation. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  “I’ve come to help you.” Phoebe’s voice was delicate but calm. “This way.”

  Sarah followed the swish of fabric down another passage. The girl was light on her feet, producing no sound of footfall. It was almost as if they were following a ghost.

  The tremors quieted.

  “In here.” Her voice issued from the left now, perhaps from another chamber. “You must climb.”

  Phoebe led them, single file, up a series of steps carved into the rock like a ladder. The three stayed close to one another—so close Sarah could smell sandalwood and frankincense every time Phoebe swung her head. When they could climb no more, Phoebe spoke over her shoulder. “Wait.”

  A moment later, the ceiling cracked open and a shaft of gold pierced the blackness.

  Sarah squinted. When her eyes adjusted, she saw the lower part of Phoebe’s slender form slip through the crack and disappear. She tried to follow suit, but her shoulders were too broad to fit through the opening.

  “Let me help.” Isidor stood next to her on one of the stone rungs, and she saw the blood smeared across his face and matted on his cropped black beard. The top of his white gown was splattered with red.

  He grunted as he pushed the stone out of the way, creating a wider opening. He spotted Sarah as she lifted herself out of the cave. Finally on terra firma, her knees collapsed and she slumped to her side, gulping the fresh air.

  Isidor kneeled next to Sarah and put a trembling hand on her shoulder. “This was not a random earthquake. It’s part of his plan.”

  She sat up. The two-inch-long gash on his forehead still wept, but she sensed that wasn’t why he appeared so shaken. “Are you saying the tremor was controlled?”

  He nodded. “He is behind it. He needs but one thing to destroy us all—the formula inscribed on the stone.” He leaned in. “If you tell him where it is, you will hasten the endgame.”

  She pulled away. “And if I don’t, he’ll kill Daniel.”

  “I will be completely transparent: the formula determines the precise depth at which catastrophic seismicity occurs. Pythagoras had spent years trying to figure out what brought about the Minoan Eruption and the massive earthquake that preceded it. At the twilight of his life, he solved the problem and handed the formula to the priestess at Delphi—his teacher. The knowledge was meant to keep a disaster of that scale from happening again.” In his deep brown eyes was a profound sadness. “But it could also be used to trigger such a disaster. Delphinios already has the tectonic weapon; he just needs to know where to point it. If a megathrust earthquake wiped
out the Minoans, it can certainly devastate the Americans.”

  He stood and offered her a hand. “I know I am asking you to make the ultimate sacrifice, but consider how much is at stake.”

  Sarah let him help her up. She wanted to regard Isidor as an ally, but in this elaborate web of deception, she trusted only herself. “My mind is made up. Regardless of the stakes, I won’t put his life on the line. I will do this my way.”

  “I pray you will be successful, for all our sakes.” He gazed at Phoebe, who was sitting on a rock nearby. The girl’s hair, a long swathe of golden brown curls, tangled and coated with the Earth’s dust, billowed in a rogue gust. He turned back to Sarah. “Now, go. I will tell Delphinios you escaped.”

  Isidor walked to Phoebe and helped her to her feet. As they both walked toward the woods, Phoebe turned to Sarah. The breeze tousled the girl’s hair, revealing a tiny face as pale as chalk and hazel eyes tarnished with an anguish no child should know.

  Sarah’s mission had just gotten more complicated.

  Thirty-nine

  Daniel had waited for hours, his gaze fixed on the pyramid-shaped skylight, his only window to the outside world. He had watched the light turn from bright and clear to the burnished gold of halcyon afternoons. Now, as dusk cast long shadows on the mountain peaks, the pine branches looked like old men’s fingers clawing at an unattainable heaven.

  The day had been uneventful until the tremor. It did not last long—maybe fifteen minutes, tops—but it was violent enough to shake the pinecones from the Aleppos. He watched them fall onto the Plexiglas skylight and could tell from the steady drop pattern that it was not a typical earthquake. There was no warning by way of a foreshock and no real aftershock; just a main shock that produced even vibrations.

  In his prison room, the walls had rattled and lights had flickered on and off. Nothing fell; nothing cracked. The place was a fortress.

  It had been a few hours since the last tremor, which was good news. The more time that went by, the less the chance of an aftershock—though in a seismic region like Greece, nothing was predictable, much less guaranteed.