Lisa Emmer Historical Thrillers Vol. 1-2 (Lisa Emmer Historical Thriller Series)

by Rob Swigart

  “You could say that,” Lisa said. “What did you want to tell us?”

  Constantine stopped for a moment, suddenly somber. “Something’s going to happen,” he said.

  “We know that,” Steve told him.

  “No, it’s something huge, some kind of coordinated cyber attack, I think. I just snooped around the edges, but even so I’m afraid they may have detected me. Whoever they were, they’re very cautious, an incredible amount of security, but I do know it’s connected to Ophis Sophia. ‘World-changing’ was a phrase I came across. That’s all I can say. Now I won’t talk about it again, I can’t, I’m really afraid of them, but I had to warn you.” He plunged ahead with a dismissive wave of his hand, his rapid steps jagged, almost manic.

  They hiked through a low saddle and across another ravine. A single light twinkled in the darkness ahead. “The Skiti,” Constantine told them. “Brother Basil waits for us. Please put on your robes and hats. Lisa, push your hair up into the hat and try to look like a boy. Basil is nearsighted and hopefully won’t notice. And do something about your voice if you have to speak. Whisper, or something.”

  They crossed a small meadow toward a faint silhouette waiting at the corner of the house. Constantine put his finger against his nose and winked. “It’s his time for sleep, but he loves a conspiracy. Monks can be such rascals.”

  Brother Basil was short, round, hatless, and bald. His tattered robe was covered with dust. His beard, like his clothing, was unkempt and ripe with the detritus of many meals, and his eyes were grotesquely large behind thick lenses. He grunted when they appeared and, pressing a finger to his lips, led them inside.

  The skiti was more sprawling house with many additions from many centuries than religious building. They tiptoed through a kitchen, and downstairs to a large, empty space. On the far side were several doors. Basil opened one and stepped back. Several small blue telltales blinked in the darkness. Constantine snapped on the lights.

  The blue lights belonged to an elaborate temperature control and security system. The room was lined with beautiful oak cabinets with shallow drawers. “Documents,” Constantine said softly. “A thousand years worth.”

  “What are we looking for?” Lisa put a rasp into her whisper, but Basil appeared indifferent to what they were saying, and she realized he was very likely both illiterate and indifferent to her gender.

  “Second drawer, 1069-1099.”

  She slid it open. It contained three side-by-side glass boxes filled with protective envelopes, each envelope scrupulously labeled in an ornate handwriting. The boxes were labeled, in Greek, Correspondence, Deeds and Declarations, and Miscellaneous. She looked at Constantine. “Which?”

  “Miscellaneous. Miraculous Child. You’ll see.”

  She found it quickly. Inside were four closely written pages in archaic Greek. She spread them on an examination shelf.

  Steve leaned over her shoulder. “What is it?”

  “A summary, like a Gnostic teaching. Not about Jesus, though. Mmm, here’s a strange word, Moussatouros, a Greek transliteration of Muššatur. ‘A child will be born.’ Yes, definitely, ‘will be born.’ Then, ‘Divine Mother will return the cosmos to chaos, whence to be remade.’” She looked at Steve, eyes burning.

  Constantine hovered nearby. “See,” he said, fingertip over the page. “The drawing.”

  A simple cartoon of a bearded man holding a knife hovered behind the mother and child. His other hand held a shepherd’s crook. He stared directly at the reader.

  “Moses?” Steve guessed.

  “Not with the knife. God commanded Abraham to sacrifice his beloved son Isaak and he didn’t hesitate.” She skimmed through. “It might be a summary of the tablet. The omens are there, and Ophis Sophia, see? The parchment has the right feel of antiquity, Hellenistic, perhaps second century BC. It had already been floating around a thousand years before landing here.” She touched the page. “Paper and writing could be Eastern Turkey, Edessa or Harran? This document inspired the original painting. Look at the composition.”

  “The mother and child are posed the same, but aren’t there lots like this?”

  “Let your eyes go out of focus. See the contours. Overlay Bruno’s copy. You’ll see.”

  “They do match,” he agreed. “But the miniature had some vague mountains or something behind them.”

  “Bruno changed the original so a distant Pythia, me, would look for the original. That’s enough reason. In the end, the copy sent us here.” She bent closer. “His expression is Ibrahim’s, the way he looked at me in the viper room and later at Alamut, the stare of a man who would sacrifice someone close to him without hesitation. True believers, Steve, without pity or compassion. They would restore original chaos, the flux out of which everything came. From it they believe they will emerge triumphant. There’s a pattern: three sacrifices of Mankind; three sacrifices of a child. Abraham agreed to sacrifice his most beloved child and became the father of monotheism. Isaak was the first unfinished sacrifice. Two millennia later, God sacrificed His only beloved son to finish the job.

  “But another two millennia later there’s to be a third, a child in Spain, to complete the cycle of three and destroy the world. End times. Events are rushing toward it. It’s nearly here. You were right, Constantine, I did need to touch this.” When she picked up the drawing, the page fluttered. “I feel the writer’s hand moving, tracing this woman’s open, wide face, the child’s face hidden, the old bearded man with a curved knife. I feel it. But is this child also a sacrifice? If so, what kind?”

  She dropped the sheet of parchment on the shelf and looked away. She was pale. Recurrent sorrow bloomed deep inside.

  She straightened. Her mission was to protect. “Take good pictures,” she told Steve. “We’ll find the original painting, and when Usem translates the tablet, you’ll see this document is a summary.”

  “You really think so?” Constantine asked. “That seems impossible. So much time between them, so many different civilizations, empires, languages….”

  She wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. “Oh, there will be differences. People are fallible, and time leaches the immediacy out of events. But those changes will be small and unimportant, I promise you. This is a summary of the tablet, handed down through centuries.”

  Steve took his pictures, restored the document to the glass case, and closed the drawer. “We can go now. Constantine. Treadwell will be waiting for you. Don’t go back. Come with us.”

  Sorrow tempered the monk’s fear. “I cannot.”

  The firmness of his tone sent a chill through Lisa. What, she wondered, was concealed under his sudden determination?

  “Don’t worry,” he added softly. “It’s my destiny.”

  Brother Basil had been growing increasingly nervous as the minutes passed. “Come,” he rasped. “It’ll be dawn soon. You have to leave.”

  Outside, they returned robes and hats to Constantine and wished him luck. He stopped them as they turned to go. “One other thing.”

  Lisa turned. “Yes.”

  “I need to remind you Ophis Sophia is going to do something that requires mathematicians.”

  “Mathematicians?” Steve repeated.

  The monk nodded. “Mathematicians. I think they mean computer scientists, hackers. I found subtle solicitations on the dark net, mostly in China, Russia, Eastern Europe, for people with special skills willing to take strong action, people governments don’t know about. I can’t say exactly what, but Ophis Sophia’s plotting something big.”

  Lisa touched his arm, “Thank you, Constantine, this is helpful. Truly.” She flashed him a warm smile. She turned and nodded to Steve.

  Constantine watched them disappear into the woods.

  The moon had descended behind the Holy Mountain and the baleful blue glare of Lamaštu, the first omen, dominated the night sky.

  Monday: Lex and Constantine

  Constantine lingered near St. Nektarios, delaying his return to the mo
nastery. When light seeped into the eastern sky he could wait no longer. He set off with a confident stride at first. The closer he got to the monastery, though, the more his anxiety increased, and his steps grew more hesitant.

  The sun was blazing above the horizon, setting the pines alight and hurtling shafts of blinding gold through the forest, when he spotted the domes of the church through the trees. His steps faltered and he stopped short of the complex. Somewhere in that dense cluster of buildings Lex was waiting.

  He sat with his back against the rough bark of a pine. The air this early was still and fresh. Small insect life flickered in the underbrush. Birds trilled simple messages back and forth. A strange, detached contentment overtook him. To his mild surprise he discovered he had no desire to be sitting in front of a screen watching numbers rise and fall. He inhaled deeply the scents of resin and dry earth. A sprig of pine dangled before his eyes, and he studied with wonder the tapered length of the needles, their deep resonant green, the puffs of brown at the base of each individual spear. There were seven in each cluster, each cluster a model of perfection. A spider web lit up in all its glory, white threads winding round and round to the dark spot at the center. Spider eyes locked with his and he smiled. God’s earth.

  Gradually the sun heated the ground, dust tickled his nose, his back began to itch, his legs to tighten, and he stood with a deep sigh. He made his way along the path beside the buildings to the plaza. The bells of First Hour began ringing and reflexively Constantine murmured the prayer from Psalm 5: “Order my steps in Your word and so shall no wickedness have dominion over me.”

  He waited in the center of the plaza facing the church. Behind him the land fell to the sea. He heard a distant helicopter beating toward Salonika, and then the sound was gone, along with Lisa and Steve. He was alone. “Deliver me from all wrongful dealings of men, and so I shall keep Your commandments,” he murmured. A guilty shiver ran through him, for in truth his only faith was in numbers, and they often disappointed.

  A figure he had not noticed before arose from the shadows of the church porch and walked down the steps toward him. Lex’s large, energetic form was dressed in black. A black watch cap concealed most of his hair, but the neat blond beard under the cold blue eyes looked like a trap for sunlight. He offered his hand, and Constantine struggled not to flinch at its calloused touch. “Shall we take a walk, Constantine?” the American asked mildly.

  The question had only one answer. They strolled together like old friends, Lex’s palm resting gently against Constantine’s back. A few hundred meters down the road Lex guided him into the woods, and after a short walk they came to a spring trickling down a large boulder to a tiny pool at the base. The rivulet draining it soon dissipated in the growing heat. On the far side the open door of a small hermit shack invited them in.

  “This will do,” Lex said pleasantly.

  The cabin was barely large enough for two chairs, a small table, and a cot. The table held a kerosene lamp and a shallow washbowl.

  Constantine sat down and folded his hands. Lex took the other chair.

  “You know why we’ve come here.”

  “You’ve come to kill me,” Constantine replied.

  Lex laughed. “Nothing so simple as that.”

  The monk arched his brows. “Simple? You must appreciate that from my point of view there’s nothing simple about it.”

  Lex leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. “One Sunday, when I was young, I mean really young, maybe five years old, my father took me to mass. I’m sure it was the first time. I don’t remember my mother being there; perhaps she was sick that day. She was often sick those years, often unhappy. I didn’t understand it then, of course. I must have thought it was my fault.”

  Constantine waited in silence.

  Lex continued, “So, my father took me to mass, and on the way he told me I was going to meet God. Today, he said. Today you will meet God. I asked him who God was, and he told me God was the Father of the universe. ‘But you’re my father,’ I said. You see how naive I was? My father laughed. That’s it. He laughed.”

  “You had a father,” Constantine said mildly.

  “Yes.” Lex laughed again. “I had a father. And there in that tall, gray, sweet-smelling hall with the hollow feeling of vast stone spaces, he was so powerful, so awesome, that I knew he had been speaking of himself on the way there, that he was the Father of everything. I watched him greet the priest at the door. He shook hands with other men and tipped his hat to their wives; he always wore a snap-brim hat to mass, holding it in his hands while inside. He had all the majesty and magic there was. Father of the universe!” Lex leaned forward and stared earnestly into Constantine’s face. “Not once did he look at me, never presented me to those men, those women. He spread his power around, slapping backs, punching arms, laughing. I was there beside him, and he had no idea. He had forgotten me. I was expecting to meet God. I wasn’t disappointed; I was outraged. My father had been God all along, and the church was there solely to worship him. Oh, I was so young, and so very angry.”

  “Mmm.” The monk’s eyes were lowered. The table was metal, corroded and pitted far past its usefulness, yet here it was, supporting a lamp and a bowl. Some things abide.

  Lex said, “I’ve never taken anything on faith since that day.”

  “Ophis Sophia,” Constantine mumbled. His hands were clasped together and he saw the knuckles were white. He let them relax.

  Lex spoke calmly. “Ophis Sophia, yes. Ophis Sophia possesses the most ancient wisdom. Not God the Father, never, but a truth far older, a truth that will scourge and save the world. Obstacles will be destroyed, removed, or converted.” He rapped once on the table. “You, Brother Constantine, are an obstacle. What do you think? Shall I destroy you, remove you, or….”

  Constantine looked up. “They’re going to Urfa.”

  Lex started. “What?”

  His lips twitched. “They’re looking for something in Urfa. Lisa Emmer and the Canadian.”

  Lex was puzzled. “Why do you tell me this?”

  The monk’s efforts to suppress a smile gave him a doleful expression. What a terrible hypocrite he was! Yet this was necessary. He sent a silent apology to Lisa and Steve. “You told me to monitor them, but they suddenly showed up here. There wasn’t much I could do under the circumstances.”

  His eyes were pleading with the American. He tugged on the skin under his eye with his forefinger and said, incongruously, “I hear things.”

  Lex stared at him fixedly.

  “Seriously. I hear things. I heard something about a child in Spain.”

  “In Spain, really?”

  “Yes. Is that interesting to you?” Constantine was too eager, he knew that, but his life was drifting away and he was growing desperate.

  Lex hid his excitement and swept this revelation away with a casual hand. It was a tidbit for the Teacher, nothing more. “Not very,” he said aloud.

  “They’re on their way to Urfa. It was supposed to be a secret, but I heard.”

  “Mmm.” Lex seemed mollified, but urgency propelled him on. “Well, you see, they found us because of you. So you told them where we were.” Even to himself he sounded aggrieved and petulant.

  Constantine shook his head. “No, no. They asked for information. I had to give them something or they would know I was working for you. So I gave them a little, not much. If they found you, that means they’re clever. It had nothing to do with me.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  Constantine made a pathetic show of shrugging.

  Lex leaned forward and tapped the back of Constantine’s hand. “I warned you.”

  The monk nodded. “You did, and I took your warning seriously; I told you about the child. I told you where they were going.” He changed the subject. “How did you know about this shack?”

  Lex snorted, almost a laugh. “Google Earth.”

  “Ah, of course. There are no secrets left in the world. Now you’re
going to kill me?”

  Lex leaned back with a sigh. “Much as I would like to, this struggle is larger than both of us, and you may yet prove useful.” He stood and looked out the open door. The pine needles stirred by the slightest breeze shimmered in sunlight. He seemed entranced.

  He turned and looked thoughtfully at the monk. “Of course, I can’t just let you go unpunished. It wouldn’t be right. You betrayed us. You betrayed my Teacher. The world is going to change, my friend, and you can’t stop what’s coming.”

  “I…”

  “Your friends. Quite resourceful people, surprising, even. But they cannot stop what’s coming, either.” He took a step toward the monk.

  “Lex, please, I’ve done things for them for years, little things, small tasks. I couldn’t just stop, they would have known.”

  “No, of course not,” Lex said sympathetically. He walked behind Constantine and rested his hands on the sitting man’s shoulders. “Of course you couldn’t. You don’t have to defend yourself: this isn’t that kind of meeting. You aren’t on trial.” His voice was calm and low. It grew more intimate when he leaned down and whispered into Constantine’s ear. “You’ll understand, one day.”

  “I’ve lived a good life,” Constantine said pensively. He was resigned. “A moral life. I’ve tried to love God. It’s not been easy, Lex. He never speaks to me, never comforts me. I don’t understand that, His silence.” He looked up, appealing for an answer.

  “Perhaps I can explain,” Lex said, squeezing Constantine’s shoulders in a friendly way. “Secrets come in whispers, the whispers are the voice of the serpent. Some say the serpent deceives, lies, seduces, and perverts. This is not true, Lex. The serpent gives wisdom.” He lifted his hands from the monk’s shoulders. “But secrets are not for everyone. They are not for betrayers, and you, Constantine, are a betrayer. It saddens me greatly to say this, but you must never hear another secret.”