The Stone of Secrets

by K. L. Nelson

  Nikolai drove the van carrying the professor. He drove outside the city along a gently curving highway into the German countryside. Twenty nine kilometers outside of town, he took a small winding road that led back toward the sea. Nikolai was disgusted at driving this cumbersome, top-heavy van on the immaculate pavement that curved up the slope. He would much prefer his fine sport sedan. He loved the way it held the road. He enjoyed having a well-tuned chassis underneath him, rather than the crude lumbering behemoth he was driving.

  Another fourteen kilometers led him to the only residence on the road, a large villa atop a high cliff overlooking the Baltic Sea. The massive stone structure was built in the Italian Renaissance style, rather than a Gothic design like so many other exclusive homes in this part of Europe. Such a warm décor seemed out of place jutting against the icy gale that sometimes blasted in from the Baltic. But that is precisely what the original builders intended when it was constructed centuries before. It made relocating from the Mediterranean that much more tolerable.

  The massive iron gate retracted automatically when it sensed the van coming up the drive. Nikolai drove into the compound and backed up to the loading dock behind the manor. He let the men in back handle the details while he entered the house to speak with the director. Making his way to the large solid oak door at the end of the hall, he reached for the brass handle with trepidation. Hesitating only slightly, he pushed open the heavy door and entered the room. Hector, one of The Pact’s top operatives, was standing off to the side of the large, opulently decorated room. Opposite the door was a large solid mahogany desk that Nikolai had stood in front of many times. Behind the desk was the director’s leather chair. It was turned away facing the picture window overlooking the Baltic Sea. With the chair turned away, Nikolai couldn’t see the director. But he knew he was there.

  Nikolai glanced at Hector and boldly stepped forward. Hector avoided eye contact. It was a bad sign. Nikolai brushed this off and forced himself to speak confidently.

  “I have brought you the professor as promised, Director Giorgio. I have succeeded as I knew I would.”

  There was a long pause before the director spoke. Nikolai found it more difficult to maintain composure with each passing second. His heart pounded in his chest.

  “Well done Nikolai,” the director finally said, still facing the window. Nikolai felt his tension ease slightly as the director continued. “You have brought me what was mine, what I should have had last summer. For your success today, you will not suffer any torture for your failures of the past eleven months.”

  The director spun his chair around, pointed his silenced handgun at Nikolai’s forehead and pulled the trigger.

  Hector flinched as Nikolai fell to the floor.

  “Congratulations, Hector,” the director said as Nikolai’s blood stained the wool carpet. “I trust that as his replacement, you will not take a year to do a week’s work.”

  In death, Nikolai’s face was frozen in a look of sheer terror. The look was still there the day of his funeral. The undertaker could have closed his eyes and given him a more natural look, but Director Giorgio Sorosa would not have it. With the hole in his head, the expression was a not-so-subtle reminder to all the members of the family who viewed his open casket. Pact operatives do not fail.

  ***

  Skye found herself in a strange place, but somehow she knew she’d been here before. At the crest of a hill in the middle of a vast wasteland stood a beautiful throne. She looked as far as she could in every direction for signs of civilization, but there was only desert. Suddenly water began flowing from beneath the throne. She stood aside to avoid getting her feet wet as the water ran down the hillside. Descending the hill, she found that the trickle soon became a stream. Further down, the stream became a river. Trees began growing along the banks of the river where nothing had grown before. Soon she was walking in a lush forest. Skye wandered among the trees for a long time. Despair overcame her as she realized how hopelessly lost she was. At least on the hilltop, she could see a great distance. But in the dense forest, it seemed the farther she went the more disoriented she became.

  In the midst of struggling to find her way, she saw an old woman sitting beside the river. “See the house,” the woman said looking up. Skye turned and lifted her eyes to see a large white house not far away. Suddenly the woman was standing beside her. She put her hand on Skye’s shoulder and said, “The generations must be set right. I cannot do my work, because you have not done your part.”

  Skye could see people inside the house. She turned to ask the woman what it meant. What was her part? But she was gone. “No!” she shouted. “What is my part?” But it was all slipping away. There was nothing she could do.

  Very gradually, Skye regained consciousness. Those nearby heard her ask over and over in desperation, “What is my part?” But as she awoke, Skye realized she had a new set of problems that were considerably more serious than the interpretation of the dream.

  For one, she felt like her stomach had been put through a meat grinder. She had been writhing in pain on the bed even before she awoke. It was the worst pain she’d ever felt.

  For another, it was not the bed she went to sleep in the night before. Her arms were bound to the hard surface she lay on. Emmett was nowhere to be found, and there were several people she did not know in the strange room with her. The pain in her stomach only aggravated the horror of realizing she’d been abducted. Why had they not killed her? Perhaps she would be tortured. She looked at the men in the room. They were just staring at her. “What do you want with me?” she asked hysterically, almost choking on her own vomit. “Where is Emmett?” The men just stood there surrounding the gurney and stared. Skye would have almost preferred torture to the silent staring.

  A woman came into the room. “Alright that’s enough for tonight, you brigands! All of you, out!” She pushed the men out of the room and closed the door. Then she turned to Skye. “I am sorry about those loons. They have the bedside manners of a hyena. How are you feeling?”

  Skye looked at the woman in disbelief. Her stomach was still wrenching inside. She was convulsing and she felt like throwing up. With all her might, she pushed her pain aside and looked at the woman with fire in her eyes. “Who are you and where have you taken me?”

  “My name is Myna,” she replied. “I’m sorry about the cuffs. They’re for your own protection. I know you must have a lot of questions. My job is to get you cleaned up and feeling well so you can talk to the director. He will have all the information you require.”

  Myna looked to be in her forties. She was stoutly built and not particularly bright. Skye sensed that it would be useless to try and get any information from her. She focused all her energy on calming herself, taking slow deep breaths. After some time, she gained enough composure to speak calmly. “Myna dear,” she called softly, “I want to tell you how I am feeling.”

  Myna drew near. “Yes?” she asked.

  Skye spoke even more softly to draw her in closer. “I know you said these cuffs are for my own protection. But right now, they are saving your life.”

  Skye swiftly brought her leg up and landed her foot squarely into the woman’s eye, sending her into the wall. She fell to the floor unconscious.

  In moments the men were back in the room to restrain Skye. Attacking Myna earned Skye two more restraints, one across her knees and one over her ankles. Now she could hardly move.

  It was well worth it.

  The night was long and hellish for Skye. Try as she might, she couldn’t stop thinking about Emmett and what his fate might be. She fell in and out of consciousness through the night. At one point she turned her thoughts to the dream. It was the only way she could keep her sanity. The dream was so clear, but the meaning of it was shrouded in imagery. What did it mean; the throne, the water, the house? Why did the trees spring up out of nowhere? Who was the old woman and what did she mean about the generations? Why was she waiting for Skye to do her part?

&
nbsp; In the morning, the pain had subsided and Skye could think more clearly. Her mind raced about Emmett. She wondered what they had done with him, if there was anything she could do to help him. She had to get out of this place. The first chance she got, she would fight her way to a door or window and make a run for the trees. Then she would somehow find Emmett. She couldn’t accept that he was dead. For now, she would assume he was alive and plan accordingly. If the unthinkable had happened, she would deal with that when she had to.

  Her plan needed some details ironed out, but it was a start.

  Sometime after sunrise a man came in and wheeled Skye out of the room and down the hall on the gurney. Up two floors in an elevator and down another hall was a large wooden door. It didn’t look like a place where torturous death would be administered. It seemed more like somewhere she would finally get some answers.

  The man opened the door and pushed Skye into the room.

  “Leave us Hector,” said the old man seated at the desk.

  “But Mr. Sorosa…”

  “I don’t think the professor is going anywhere,” the director interrupted. “She is quite well restrained. I will be fine.”

  Hector left the room and closed the door behind him. The old man worked quietly at his desk for several minutes without speaking. He was an impeccably dressed but ugly old man, heavy set with a broad disfigured face. He spoke in a low, raspy voice.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” Skye quipped.

  The director put his pen down and sighed. “Do you know how hard it is to find a good seamstress?” he asked. “Myna was the best at what she did. Now she can’t seem to remember her name, let alone tailor a shirt.”

  “Perhaps next time you won’t send a seamstress to do an assassin’s job.”

  “My dear,” the director replied, “if I wanted you dead you’d be in the ground.”

  “What exactly do you want then, Mr.…?”

  “Please, call me Giorgio. I can’t bear talking to you all bound up like that. It must be terribly uncomfortable.”

  Skye did want desperately to move her legs.

  “My dear, what do you say we begin to trust one another? Would you like to be free? I would like you not to attack me. Do we have an understanding?”

  Skye looked at the weapon on the desk. “It looks like you have a little insurance policy for our agreement anyway, doesn’t it?”

  “Very good,” the director replied with a smile. “You understand the position of things.” He came to Skye and unstrapped her restraints. Skye sat up and rubbed her sore legs. Being able to move gave her new life. “Come sit,” the director invited. “Have some fruit. You must be hungry.”

  Skye looked at the bowl of fruit on the shelf, but hesitated.

  “Oh come now,” the director said, “I have no reason to poison you. Eat the fruit.” She picked up a pear and took a bite. It was more than delicious, it was rejuvenating. She felt her energy returning even as she ate.

  “Please forgive our harsh measures. I have no interest in causing you to suffer. I merely had to find a way to get through to you, get you to listen. Please sit down.”

  Skye looked incredulously at him. “You just wanted me to listen? You kidnapped me. You’re not exactly helping your cause. What makes you think after all you’ve done I will have any interest in what you have to say?”

  “That is precisely why the extreme measures were necessary.” The director returned to his chair behind the desk and continued. “The question you should be asking is not what do I want, but what do you want. Do you really know what you want Professor Skye McAlister? For instance, maybe you’d like to kill me, get back to your friend. But is that really the best thing for you? How could you possibly judge without even knowing who you are?”

  “Stop playing games,” Skye said. “If there’s one thing I can’t stand it’s someone who is so afraid of the truth he beats around the bush.”

  “I am a man of many faults, but fear of truth is not one of them,” the director replied. “Some truths must be said in the proper way in order for the right people to believe them. If I told you the truth up front without the needed preparation, you would not accept it. The fact is, professor, you do not know who you are. If you did, things would be very different for you.”

  “Is this about the Marnoch Stone? I decoded it you know. The U.S. government knows all about your crimes.”

  “Yes, yes. And you put a bump in our road. It was all very upsetting. We lost one battle to the United States government. But that is so very insignificant in the grand scheme of things. I brought you here so you could understand a much bigger plan, and your key position within that plan.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “What would you say if I told you your name is not Skye McAlister?”

  “You’re crazy,” Skye replied.

  “I would expect such a response. And yet, I know it is true. I was there when you were given your real name, Bodicca Delgado Sorosa. You see professor, I am your father.”

  Skye felt the blood rush to her face as she fought the urge to spring at him. If she wanted to kill him before, now she was almost overcome with the desire. Never before had she felt such hatred.

  “What proof do you have?” she asked in disdain.

  “The mark you have on your left shoulder has been there since birth.”

  “Anyone could have known that.”

  “Would you believe a DNA test? I have the technicians here now. It can be done in a matter of minutes.”

  “Don’t bother. It doesn’t matter. Even if it’s true, you evidently gave up the right to be my father when I was an infant. Even if we have the same DNA, that doesn’t mean you’re my father.”

  “Yes, I did give you up for adoption. That is an interesting story, the details of which you will find most disturbing. But it will have to wait for another time. You will be relieved when I tell you my purpose is not to have you as a daughter. I have no interest in that. But you must understand who you are because of events that are unfolding in the world. The next phase of the earth’s history will be a period of tremendous change. The balance of power is shifting, professor. It is shifting toward you.”

  “What are you talking about?” Skye asked incredulously. The man was looking more insane all the time.

  “You think the United States government has stopped The Pact? You have no idea how formidable we are. Professor, this is a global organization. We have hundreds of thousands of members in almost every single nation on the planet. Our wealth is unknowable. It is greater than several national economies put together. We have been growing, in secrecy, for over a thousand years. We have stayed cohesive for centuries because our method works. The setback we experienced when the United States raided our operation was just a minor hiccup in a major evolution. Understand, professor, that this has been gaining momentum for more than a millennium. It cannot be stopped.”

  “And what does all this have to do with me?” Skye asked.

  “I am old. The doctors tell me my condition will soon kill me. It is time for me to pass the baton to the next High Regent. It is the way of our people. And you, professor, are the heiress.”

  “The heiress,” Skye repeated cynically.

  “Actually, the correct title is Empress Matriarch.”

  Skye laughed out loud. “I see. Well, I’m sorry you went through all this trouble but I don’t want to play with your toys. Just let me sign the papers relinquishing my empress-ship and I’ll be on my way.”

  The director smiled. “As you might expect my dear, I’m afraid it’s not quite that simple. You said you deciphered the code on the stone. Did you read the prophecy?”

  “Yes…”

  “Did anything sound familiar to you?”

  “I don’t follow.”

  “Come now professor! What did the prophecy say?”

  “It spoke of a traitor from within, someone who would betray the brotherhood.”

  “Yes. Not only be
tray, but destroy. Does it not say that? This traitor will bring The Pact to a disastrous end.”

  He walked to a podium across the room where a large book lay open. “This is a text of the original prophecy. I prefer to read in the original tongue, but I will provide a translation for you. Let’s review, shall we?”

  Suma tundinirea bifottin ti cambridonu

  “The last days of The Pact are thus…”

  Bondridona chu bonsidenria pollun di tonuma

  “War shall come to the brotherhood that troubled the nations.”

  Dona tun dracthani ruesillanda don tinia

  “The heiress shall arise from within and oppose the sinful.”

  Bidi nephtolia ansu donitineah nod suma

  “She who prevailed as a child is victorious in the end.”

  Skye interrupted, “Look, I know what you’re getting at, but you’re forgetting one thing. I am not from within. I don’t have anything to do with The Pact, nor do I want to.”

  “Your DNA would say otherwise. You are more integrated than you think. I may have given you up as a child, but I have been watching you your whole life. Who do you think financed your education? Like it or not, you are the next in line to rule our organization, the largest syndicate in the history of the world.” The director looked at Skye with resolution and spoke with conviction, “You are the Empress Matriarch!”

  Skye thought of the many times in her life when she felt someone watching her. She finally understood why she felt that way. If anything, she was even more creeped out now that she knew. Her mind raced as she reviewed the elements of the prophecy. Never had she considered she was the fulfillment. Why would she? But the director had opened that preposterous idea to her mind. She hated that it actually did make sense.

  “So you paid for college. You were grooming me for this, looking forward to the day when you would abduct me and force me to be the queen of your secret crime family. As charming as that is, I have news for you. I will never become like you. You disgust me. If you kept me captive here until you died I would spend that time getting to know you, not so I would remember you, but so I could make absolutely sure none of your traits would live on in me after you died. That is assuming I am really your biological offspring as you claim, which is highly suspect.”