“Anatolia is the name for the Asian part of Turkey,” Griffin explained. “It was once known as Asia Minor. I think the trove keeper has been dividing his time between the excavations at Catal Huyuk and Hacilar.”
“OK, slow down.” Cassie held up her hands in protest. “What does that mean?”
“Here, I’ll show you.” Griffin selected a page from among the stack he’d brought with him. Spreading it out on the coffee table, he revealed a map of Turkey.
“This is Mount Ida.” He pointed to a mountain range on the west coast of the country. “It’s very close to the ancient city of Troy. So close, in fact, that Homer mentions it in the Iliad. He describes the gods standing on Mount Ida and watching the conflict in the valley below from its slopes.” He moved his finger in a line due east of the mountains and about halfway across the country. “This is the ancient city of Catal Huyuk. It has provided invaluable information about matristic civilization in this part of the world. The same is true on a smaller scale at Hacilar.” He pointed to a spot to the southwest of Catal Huyuk.
“So why would the Anatolian trove keeper know anything at all about Mount Ida if he’s hundreds of miles away?” Cassie challenged.
“Because he’s responsible for every find that’s catalogued in the Anatolian trove all across the country. He’s also very old and has a long memory.”
“I suppose that makes sense,” Cassie conceded. “But I’m still not sure I understand what all the rush is about. So what if the Nephilim are on their way to Crete way sooner than we expected? I mean it isn’t as if they’re going to magically figure out they’re looking for the relic in the wrong country, jump on a plane, and beat us to Turkey.”
The scrivener shook his head. “I don’t credit the Nephilim with an overabundance of brains, but it would behoove us to be on our guard.”
“Behoove?” Erik echoed incredulously “Did you actually just say behoove?”
Ignoring the security coordinator, Griffin continued. “I’m merely pointing out that we can’t afford the luxury of complacency. We must still move with the utmost speed especially because of that one devilish word in the riddle.”
His listeners looked at him blankly.
He clarified the point. “When the soul of the lady rises with the sun. ‘When’ is the word that’s most worrisome.”
“Nice alliteration,” Erik joked.
Griffin sprang out of his seat unexpectedly and began to pace “Don’t you understand? We’re looking for an object that isn’t merely hidden in space. It’s also hidden in time. Some event that happens at sunrise must occur in order for us to find the relic we seek. For all I know, we’re running out of time with respect to that event if we haven’t already.”
“I see,” Faye murmured speculatively.
“All I can glean with any certainty from that line of the riddle is the direction we must be looking toward. East.” Griffin sat back down and glanced helplessly at Faye.
“You’ve just demonstrated that we know a good deal more than nothing,” she consoled. “Perhaps once you’re searching the landscape, the meaning of the line will become clear.” Turning to Maddie, she asked, “Do you think you can coordinate the trip for them on such short notice?”
The operations director frowned. “Not overnight I can’t but give me a couple of days to pull the arrangements together.” She glanced briefly at the security coordinator. “Erik’s going to need a few days to get their papers in order.”
He nodded in agreement. “The Turkish government likes to keep an eye on visitors. We’re going to be poking around places we may not be welcome or authorized to visit.” Erik looked earnestly at Cassie. “Crete was a walk in the park compared to what’s coming next. I hope you’re ready for it.”
With all the bravado she could muster, Cassie replied, “Only one way to find out.”
Chapter 7 – A Bedtime Story
Hannah Curtis sat cross-legged in the middle of a strange bed. Everything was strange. Her entire life, in fact, had taken a strange turn. She came from Missouri and was raised in a house surrounded by brothers and sisters and a mother who was always ready with a hug or a smile of encouragement. Her father had been a distant figure. He was the leader of the Missouri Nephilim and therefore a man of importance. When he came to visit, the children were expected to put on clean clothes and brush their hair thoroughly. They would line up in a row, and he would ask them if they were good children. Once they replied that they were, they would be dismissed. That was all.
She hadn’t been unhappy although it never occurred to her to ask herself what that word meant. Not that she knew what happiness was either. She just went along and did what she was told and stayed out of trouble. It was safer to avoid being noticed. That way everything proceeded more or less as it was supposed to do. As God willed it to do.
But now, she could tell the difference between happiness and unhappiness, and she didn’t much care for it. Unhappiness was an aching emptiness in the pit of her stomach. Unhappiness was being told she could never see her mother again. It was being separated from her brothers and sisters. Being moved a long distance from the only home she had ever known.
Her father had angered the diviner somehow. It was so serious a matter that all his wives and children had been reassigned to other men. Hannah’s mother had been her father’s favorite. She had pleaded to be allowed to stay with him. In order to teach her a particularly harsh lesson, the diviner separated Hannah’s mother not only from her husband but also from her own children. They were distributed among the other compounds. Hannah had been taken to Illinois. She knew which state it was from the geography map in the schoolroom. She didn’t know anybody here. Her foster mother had a dozen children of her own to look after. She seemed tense most of the time, and Hannah was afraid to ask her anything.
The girl reached into the pocket of her nightgown and drew out a small wooden doll. Her mother had pressed it into her hand when she was being taken away. “Remember me,” was all she had time to say. The doll had been one of Hannah’s earliest toys. It had sat neglected in the locker at the foot of her bed for some years after she decided that she was too old to play with dolls. She slipped it back into her pocket. It didn’t matter if she was supposed to be too old for toys. She always kept it with her now. It was all she had left.
In this strange new place, all the women spoke in whispers. They stopped speaking altogether if she happened to walk by. She pretended not to notice. All of them, men and women alike, seemed terrified of the diviner. She was scared of him too. He was old, and he scowled most of the time, and he talked directly to God. She wondered if that meant God liked him. God didn’t seem to care much for the rest of his creation, as far as she could tell. He was always punishing people who disobeyed him. Killing them in floods or banishing them from gardens. He even made his son Jesus die to make up for all the things that displeased him about human beings. She wasn’t sure she wanted to talk to God even if he wanted to talk to her. He would probably just yell at her.
She picked absentmindedly at the quilt on the bed. The fabric felt odd to her touch. As if this was a dream and she was touching a dream quilt instead of the real thing. It all felt like a very odd dream. Two days ago, the diviner had called everyone together to announce her marriage to his son Daniel. They all came crowding up to congratulate her. They all told her what a good thing it was for her. In spite of her father’s transgressions, the diviner was allowing her to marry one of his own sons, and the scion at that. They all told her how happy she must be. There was that word again. Happy? She didn’t think that she felt happy. Numb, maybe. Shocked definitely, but not happy.
The wedding had taken place just this afternoon. Again, she was singled out in front of the whole congregation. She changed her grey smock for the garb of a married woman—a shapeless grey shift and apron. Instead of wearing her hair in a long braid down her back, the braid was coiled around her head. All those things meant she wasn’t a ch
ild anymore. How did that work exactly? Changing her clothes didn’t change how she felt. She still missed her mother and her sisters and brothers. She didn’t feel very grown up, but everybody told her she would learn to be.
She got off the bed and walked over to the dresser. Picking up a hair brush, she combed out the braid and brushed her hair. She looked at her reflection and couldn’t see any difference between her married self and the way her face had always looked.
Her mind drifted off to her husband. It felt so odd to say that word. He slouched. His suit seemed two sizes too big for him, and his voice quavered when he said, “I do.” She guessed he must be about thirty. Twice her age though she supposed that wasn’t too bad. Many girls were married off to men much older than that.
She knew what was expected of her on her wedding night. Women were meant to breed heirs to the kingdom. That’s how they were allowed to enter heaven. Only if they became wives and mothers, consecrated brides, would they be worthy. She knew that was her duty, but she didn’t know why. It was God’s plan and not for her to question. Who was she, after all, to ask about such things? It had all been set down many generations ago by wise men.
She had braced herself when her husband had entered the room, but he didn’t appear as she expected. She was dressed in a cotton nightgown, but he was still wearing his black suit.
He cleared his throat and asked, “How are you?”
“I’m fine,” she replied uncertainly, balancing on one bare foot. “How are you?”
He paced around the room, pretending to examine the window shade. “Oh, I’m well. Thank you for asking.” He spun around and asked, “Do you like the room? It’s yours now.”
Taken aback, she answered, “It’s alright, I guess.”
“Good,” he seemed relieved. “That’s good.” Approaching her awkwardly, he kissed her on the forehead and patted her shoulder. “Well, good night then.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but no words emerged. She was too taken aback.
With a brief nod in her direction, he left.
She stopped brushing her hair and simply stared into the mirror, puzzling over everything. God told her it was her duty to increase his kingdom. The people around her told her she was lucky to be married to the son of the diviner. They said she should be happy. Everybody had an idea about what she was supposed to do and how she was supposed to feel about it. Everybody except her, that was. Most of the time her insides felt like an overpacked suitcase. Stuffed with all the things other people told her she should want. She wondered what she wanted for herself. The question took her completely by surprise. In all her life she had never asked herself that. It seemed like a selfish thing to want to know. Still, she wondered.
Turning away from the mirror, she walked back toward the bed. She switched off the light and crawled under the strange quilt in the strange bed still thinking about the strange man who was now her husband. What did he want from her? What did she want for herself? Maybe tomorrow she’d ask herself that question again. Maybe tomorrow she’d know the answer.
Chapter 8 – Run from Your Wife
Bright and early on the morning after his nuptials, Daniel knocked warily on his father’s office door.
“Enter!” a magisterial voice commanded from inside.
The visitor took a deep breath before entering the lion’s den, anticipating how awkward this conversation might be if he didn’t handle it just right.
His father glanced up from his paperwork. When he saw who his caller was, he actually smiled. That was a rare occurrence. Daniel wasn’t sure if he didn’t prefer the characteristic scowl after all. The smile reminded him too much of a grinning skull.
“Hello, Father.”
“Good day, my boy. Have a seat.” The smile remained. “I trust you slept well last night?”
The question hung in the air like an axe poised to fall. Daniel remembered his awkward encounter with Hannah and his hasty retreat from the very idea of consummating the marriage. He looked down at the carpet. “I, uh, that is, well… um. Yes, I did.” He allowed his father to draw the obvious though incorrect conclusion.
“I am glad to hear it! Please sit down,” he urged.
The younger man sank into the low visitor’s chair in front of the massive desk. It automatically forced him to look upward to carry on a conversation. His father always liked to keep the high ground.
Folding his hands across his papers, the old man asked, “What is it you want to discuss?”
“I’m ready to leave for Crete now.” The words came tumbling out too abruptly.
“What?” The smile finally left his father’s face. That at least was a relief.
“Yes, there have been some new developments.” He wasn’t actually lying. He did believe he might know where to find the relic his father had become obsessed with recovering. The first of five. As for the need for an immediate departure, that was motivated by more personal concerns. He didn’t require another wife making awkward sexual demands upon him. He already had three wives toward whom he felt no inclination. Daniel had performed the necessary, though distasteful, duty of providing each one with a child and had hoped the matter would end there. But that was before his father singled him out for this relic hunt.
Daniel’s entire life up until that time had been spent in pleasant anonymity. One of twenty sons of the diviner and a middle son at that. Unexceptional but for his unfortunate ability to translate ancient languages. That ability had caused him to give Abraham what he wanted—or at least the hope of obtaining what he wanted. As a consequence, Daniel had been elevated to the rank of his father’s favorite, even named as his successor—a role which his brothers envied and which he would gladly have exchanged for obscurity once more. Being the favorite meant his father had taken too keen an interest in his son’s business. Daniel had succeeded in fathering only three children, all of them disappointingly female. This was unacceptable behavior for the son of a diviner. How ironic that his father would choose to show his favor by giving Daniel a gift for which he had no earthly use—another wife. Better to leave the country and let the dust settle for a while. Perhaps if he could bring back the first relic, his father’s attention might be diverted. He paused as a more appalling thought struck him. Perhaps if he succeeded, his father would show his appreciation by giving him a fifth wife! He brushed the thought aside. He would cope with that calamity when, and if, it ever materialized.
Focusing back on the present moment, he continued his explanation. “I believe I’ve isolated the location of the relic to a specific cave on Mount Ida.”
His father nodded approvingly. “That is excellent news, my son. Excellent! I had already begun arranging your next trip, but I didn’t anticipate you would be ready to leave immediately.”
“Since I know you have a pressing need for these artifacts, I thought I should go as quickly as possible.”
The old man seemed puzzled. A rare occurrence. “But surely you want to spend at least a little more time with your new bride, don’t you?”
Daniel didn’t want to arouse suspicion. He skirted the question. “You misunderstand me, sir. While I mean to make immediate preparation, it could take a few days to assemble everything I need for the expedition.”
“Oh yes, quite right.”
Abraham’s concerns seemed alleviated. He once more incorrectly assumed his son would spend some of that time in conjugal visits. Daniel was content not to contradict him.
The old man stood up and walked to the window, his hands clasped behind his back. “I’ll get in contact with Mr. Hunt again and alert him to these new developments.”
Daniel swallowed hard at the sound of the name. Leroy Hunt. A mercenary his father had employed in the early stages of the project. A man who seemed to delight in violence. In his nightmares, Daniel still saw Hunt herding three innocent people into a cave, ready to shoot them at point blank range. He would have done so without remorse if an unexpected rockslide had
n’t buried them alive first. He shuddered at the memory.
“Father, must we involve Mr. Hunt again?” Daniel deliberately kept a detached tone. He didn’t want to sound recalcitrant.
His father turned from the window to regard him with surprise. “Do you have an objection to his participation in this great work?”
Grasping at straws, Daniel said, “But he isn’t one of us. He isn’t a Nephilim.”
Taking his son’s protest seriously, Abraham sighed. “Yes, I know Daniel. It’s unfortunate that for the type of work required, we have no one in the brotherhood who has the necessary skills.”
The necessary skills to commit murder? Daniel remained silent and let his father continue.
“I intend to correct that deficiency very soon.”
The young man wasn’t quite sure what his father meant by that cryptic statement, and Abraham didn’t elaborate.
“Mr. Hunt has shown himself to be an invaluable ally even if he is a worldly man and one of the Fallen. He is the strong right arm of the Lord.”
“As you wish, Father,” Daniel murmured. If Leroy Hunt was the price he had to pay for a temporary respite from domestic tension, then so be it. He rose to go, but the old man stopped him at the door.
Abraham placed his hand on his son’s shoulder in an awkward gesture of affection. Patting him on the back, he added, “I’m very glad you have entered so wholeheartedly into doing God’s work.”
Daniel nodded but said nothing as he closed the door behind him. Apparently, theft and murder were now a part of God’s work. It had been a long time since his heart felt whole. He doubted it ever would be again.
Chapter 9 – A Room with a View of the Past
Cassie woke from a deep, dreamless sleep to hear an insistent tapping on her hotel room door. She shook her head to clear away the cobwebs. What time was it? What day was it? The flight from Chicago to Istanbul had taken almost eleven hours. The minute she got to her hotel room, she’d thrown her duffle bag on the floor and passed out on the bed. She never slept well on airplanes. Twenty winks had apparently turned into sixty.
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