The Arkana Mysteries Boxed Set

by N. S. Wikarski

  Hunt got out and stretched his limbs. His eyes traveled up the hilly cobblestone street. Laundry was strung overhead from one building to the next. Women in headscarves called out of open windows to children playing ball below. “Nice,” he said sarcastically. “It’s got what you call local color.”

  Daniel watched as the driver dragged their luggage toward the dark entry of a three-flight walk-up. There was an iron grille over the door. All the street-level windows were covered by metal bars as well.

  “We’re staying here?” he asked in disbelief.

  “Is OK!” the driver protested. “Is all OK! You follow.”

  Daniel and Hunt exchanged a puzzled look.

  The mercenary shrugged philosophically. “Better do what the man says.”

  The stairs were ancient, rickety and dark. As they trailed their guide ever upward, Daniel could detect the odors of highly-spiced food emanating from several apartments along the way. The clash of aromas made him slightly nauseous.

  On the third-floor landing, the driver paused to catch his breath. “We go inside here,” he panted, fitting a key into the door at the top of the stairs.

  He ushered them proudly into a studio apartment with a small galley kitchen, a pullout sleeper couch and an open balcony overlooking the street. Immediately upon entering, the driver turned on the stereo which seemed to contain another cat in a tuba only this time both were encased in a bass drum. The speakers took up an entire corner of the room.

  Daniel’s head began to pound in time to the music. “Brother Ilhami!” He had to shout to get the man’s attention. “Would you mind turning down the music?”

  Their host looked at him blankly for a second as if the concept was entirely alien to his experience. “What you say?”

  “The music!” Daniel shouted a little louder. “I’m sorry. I have a headache.”

  The Turk finally nodded and smiled. “You wait. I fix.” He unceremoniously pulled the plug to the stereo system out of the wall. “Is better, yes?” he asked hopefully.

  “Yes,” Daniel exhaled thankfully. “Much better. Thank you.”

  Hunt stood watching the interaction, his hands in his jacket pockets and an amused grin on his face. “You sure do love your music, Brother Hammy,” he observed.

  “In Turkey, we say music is life!” the man replied.

  “I expect it’s gonna be the death of Brother Dan’l here.” Hunt smirked. “Ain’t that so, Brother Dan’l?”

  The scion rubbed his brow bone and gave no answer.

  “Here. You sleep here.” Ilhami gestured to the foldout couch.

  “Like fun, I’m bunkin’ with you,” Leroy muttered to Daniel under his breath. “We’ll flip for it.”

  “You may have the couch, Mr. Hunt,” Daniel answered wearily. “I’ll take the floor.”

  “Well, all right then.” The mercenary nodded his approval. “This is shapin’ up better than I expected.”

  “You like something to drink?” Ilhami asked, looking from one face to another.

  “That all depends,” Hunt replied warily. “You got anything with a kick to it?”

  The Turk smiled broadly. “Oh yes, I have raki. Very good. First rate.”

  The mercenary’s face lit up. “Now you’re talkin’. I do believe I’ll have me a sip.”

  Daniel recognized the name of the beverage because Hunt had sampled some of Turkey’s national drink on the plane on the way over. According to him, it tasted much like the ouzo to which he’d become addicted when they were in Greece.

  Brother Ilhami looked quizzically at Daniel. “You like some too?”

  The scion shook his head. The motion made his temples throb. “Nothing for me, thank you.”

  Their host bustled into the kitchenette.

  Hunt leaned closer and asked in a whisper, “You sure he’s one of yours?”

  Daniel was as baffled as his companion. Unlike every other member of the Nephilim that the scion had ever known, Ilhami didn’t wear the black suit and white shirt of the order. He was dressed in blue jeans and a striped polo shirt that bulged over his considerable paunch. While some order members wore beards, Ilhami sported a bushy black moustache and two days worth of razor stubble. His entire appearance was scruffy and unkempt. When the man first approached Daniel at the airport, he couldn’t believe the rotund little Turk was an emissary of the brotherhood.

  The scion replied to Hunt’s question in a low voice. “I was told he was a recent convert. The Nephilim have had difficulty establishing a presence in this country because of the large Muslim population. The nearest compound is in Armenia. It’s obvious to me that no one in authority is nearby to regulate this man’s behavior.”

  “Gone native, has he? Well, this ought to be interestin’.” Hunt was all smiles as Ilhami returned with two glasses half full of a milky white substance.

  Daniel noticed the second glass which he assumed was for Ilhami. “You also drink spirits?” he asked, slightly askance.

  Their guide looked at him uncomprehendingly. “No spirits. Just raki. I like raki. Is good.”

  Hunt chuckled and slapped him on the back. “Well, well, Brother Hammy. I never thought I’d live to say this about any of you Nephilim, but I’m takin’ a shine to you.”

  “We sit outside,” Ilhami suggested. “Is hot in here.”

  This was one idea which Daniel supported enthusiastically. The tiny apartment was stifling on this summer evening, and the ceiling fan did little more than waft hot air into their faces. The French doors that opened onto the balcony offered the only relief.

  They moved out into the open air and sat on folding chairs. There was barely enough room for the three of them on the tiny ledge that hung suspended above the sidewalk. Hunt’s knees bumped against the wrought-iron railing.

  The activity in the street below had subsided by now. The sun had set, and there wasn’t a single parking space left. Cars were packed end to end as tight as sardines in a tin. Daniel concluded that it must be supper time since all the running children and shouting parents had withdrawn inside. The open windows in every tenement, however, effectively blurred the distinction between indoors and outdoors. Even though the music in Ilhami’s apartment had been silenced, Daniel could hear the shrill wailing and head-pounding percussion of other stereos coming at him from several points in the neighborhood. Then there were the voices raised over dinner tables everywhere. Excited chattering female voices, fussy crying children. Authoritative male voices shouting to make themselves heard over the din. So many lives unconsciously exposed to his scrutiny. Nobody here seemed to care about privacy very much. They all seemed to revel in the communal racket.

  Daniel thought of dinner time back home at the compound. A bell summoned everyone to assemble in an orderly fashion, and they all ate in a subdued manner. Conversations, such as they were, would be conducted in whispers. After curfew, the corridors were vacant and silent. To Daniel, Istanbul seemed like a roaring beast that never slept. He contemplated it with a mixture of fascination and fear. This city of the Fallen was disorderly and loud and teeming with life. The Nephilim compound, on the other hand, exhibited the perfect stillness of death.

  “So how come you joined up with the Nephilim, Brother Hammy?”

  Daniel cut his contemplation short when he realized Hunt was quizzing Ilhami about his origins.

  The plump Turk took another swig from his tumbler before replying. “A man come to my door. He say I belong with Nephilim. He promise me many wives.”

  “Oh ho,” Leroy said knowingly. “You like havin’ lots of female companionship, do you?”

  Ilhami nodded vigorously. “Koran say four.” The Turk held up the requisite number of digits for emphasis. “No more.” He frowned. “I no like.”

  Hunt finished the contents of his glass and held it out for a refill.

  Ilhami wordlessly took the glass back to the kitchen along with his own.

  When he returned with two bri
mming tumblers, he picked up the thread of the conversation. “Is like this raki. Koran say no, Ilhami, you no drink. But Nephilim man, he say OK. So I go with him.”

  Hunt chuckled. Directing his next comment to the scion, he said, “That’s some recruiter you got in these parts, Brother Dan’l.”

  Daniel knew his face registered shock, but he tried to cover it. “I think perhaps something may have gotten lost in translation.”

  Brother Ilhami looked from one to the other suspiciously. “You say is no good to drink?”

  Realizing that Ilhami was their lone contact in this part of Turkey, Daniel tried to repair the damage as quickly as possible. “No, not at all. Uh… don’t worry about it. It isn’t a problem.”

  “Boy, you slapped on the brakes so fast, I’m a mite surprised you didn’t give yourself whiplash,” Hunt murmured dryly.

  “What you say?” Ilhami squinted at the mercenary.

  Hunt patted him on the back. “Don’t you worry your head over it, Brother Hammy. We got bigger fish to fry. Right, Brother Dan’l?”

  He turned pointedly to the scion who stammered, “Uh… uh… yes. A… hem. Quite right.”

  The two men looked at Daniel expectantly. He sat up and focused on the matter at hand. “Yes, well, I think we need to discuss our strategy. I would like to visit any mosques, churches or shrines on the eastern side of Mount Ida. Are you familiar with the area?”

  The question was directed at the Turk who gazed back at him with a puzzled expression.

  Daniel clarified. “The mountain you call Kazdagi. Do you know it?”

  At the mention of the name, Ilhami’s face brightened. “Oh, yes. I know.”

  “Are you familiar with the terrain on the eastern side? The side where the sun rises?”

  “Yes, yes. I show you. All churches. All mosques. I drive you there. I be very good guide. First rate.”

  “If y’all are drivin’ like you did today, Brother Hammy,” Hunt added, “I’d be much obliged if you’d pack me a couple bottles of raki to take along on the trip.”

  “And perhaps some aspirin?” Daniel added weakly, rubbing his forehead.

  Chapter 32 – S-Bomb

  It had been a hectic week. Faye parked her station wagon in the driveway and got out. She’d had to make several trips to the vault to arrange matters for the team in Turkey. Many of those tasks might have been accomplished at home by phone if not for her house guest. Much as she enjoyed visits from Zachary, she felt some measure of relief at the thought that he would be leaving in a few days. His departure would make matters simpler in case any last-minute glitches occurred during the substitution of the false artifact.

  She let herself into the house, but everything was silent. “Zach?” she called out tentatively. No answer.

  She found him outside in the vegetable garden pulling weeds. She’d kept him busy with outdoor chores during his entire stay. That was partly because her yard needed tending and partly to tire him out enough to prevent him from getting into trouble. So far, the strategy seemed to have worked. By the end of each day, he was too exhausted to be inquisitive. In fact, he hadn’t even asked her about the neighborhood watch business at all. Faye chalked it up to the short attention span of most teenagers.

  “Hello, my dear,” she greeted him with a smile. “I see you’re hard at work. Can I fix you a snack?”

  He stopped weeding and sat back on his heels, narrowing his eyes against the glare of the sun as he looked up at her. “I’d rather talk than eat if it’s all the same to you.”

  “About what, dear?” she murmured absently, still thinking about her team overseas.

  His voice was tense. “Who’s Sybil?”

  There it was. The moment she’d been dreading ever since he’d arrived. On some level, she’d rather expected it. It was bound to have happened sooner or later, and she’d always thought he might be the one.

  “Sybil who?” she countered weakly, trying to buy time. His abrupt question had knocked her off balance, and she needed to sit down. Faye tottered over to a stone bench in front of her oldest rugosa.

  Zach followed and sat down beside her, sliding to the far end of the bench as he did so. “I found a letter…” he trailed off and his eyes darted away.

  “Found?” she inquired softly.

  “OK, I didn’t exactly ‘find’ it,” he admitted. His fingers made air quotes around the word “find.” She noticed how dirty his fingernails were from digging in the earth. He glanced back at her again. “I was snooping, alright? I know I had no business going through your things, but there’s a lot of strange stuff going on around here, and I needed some answers.”

  “You might have just asked.”

  “Like you’d tell me,” Zachary snorted. “I had to have some proof first that I wasn’t crazy or paranoid.”

  “So, you read the letter?”

  “Yeah, I read it, and it changed everything.” He paused and sat silent for a full minute, distractedly picking dirt from under his fingernails. “Who are you?” he finally asked.

  “You know me, Zach.”

  “I thought I did, but you’ve got a lot of layers. You’re like a lasagna.”

  They both laughed. It seemed to break the tension.

  “That may be an apt analogy,” Faye agreed. “You’re already familiar with the cheese topping. That layer would be your Gamma.”

  He grinned. “Cheesy, huh?”

  Her smile faded. “I’m afraid the other layers are hidden for a reason.”

  He sat forward and stared at her intently. “Why don’t you trust me?”

  The old woman sighed. “Because, my dear boy, you’re fifteen.”

  “I’m almost sixteen,” he countered.

  “You are still very young.”

  “Fine!” He folded his arms defiantly across his chest. “Just when will I be old enough to be let in on the secret?”

  She gave him a searching look. “It isn’t a single secret, Zach. It’s an entire world of secrets. You asked me who Sybil was and I’ll tell you this much. She’s the tip of an iceberg. A small chunk of a much larger mass that remains invisible to the casual observer. To tell you any more about her would put other people’s lives at risk. I can’t confide too much information in you too soon.”

  He brightened as a new thought struck him. “You didn’t say never. That means someday you’ll tell me?”

  She smoothed the creases in her skirt and turned the question over in her mind before replying. “I rather think I will.”

  “Yes!” Zach punched the air triumphantly.

  Faye fixed him with a bright stare. “I wonder if you appreciate your singular position, Zachary.”

  That brought him up short. He peered at her uncertainly. “What do you mean, Gamma?”

  “Nobody else in the family has ever shown the slightest interest in the secret layers of my life.”

  He registered surprise. “Really? Nobody?”

  She shook her head. “Absolutely nobody.”

  “But how’s that even possible?” he cried. “I mean somebody had to ask questions. Sometime.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Would you consider curiosity to be a dominant trait in your family?”

  He laughed ruefully. “Not hardly. I come from a long line of zombies.”

  “That lack of inquisitiveness goes back much farther than you imagine,” she observed. “I suppose it began with my dear departed husband. He was the salt of the earth. Unfailingly kind but rooted as firmly in the ground as an oak tree. Not the least bit curious about anything unusual. He preferred to see what was directly in front of him and no more. At the time, his inattentiveness suited my purposes quite well. But after he was gone I thought perhaps someone in the family might show some curiosity. Might have the necessary spark to take a leap into the unknown. It became a test of sorts. I presented the opportunity for generation after generation to ask the right questions, but nobody ever did. Until you. You’re
really quite distinctive in the bloodline, Zach. An eccentric. A rebel. Inquisitive enough to want to get to the bottom of things. Most people sleepwalk through their lives. It takes an eccentric to see the world a little differently. It takes a rebel to question the facile explanations that authority figures so often give. In short, it takes someone like you. The more I think about it, the more I believe you’ll be an asset to our organization. Yes indeed. You’ll make a fine tyro.”

  “Huh?” His face was a blank.

  Her mind was made up. She already began planning. “We’ll go at it in stages. When I feel you’re ready, your training will begin.”

  “Training? Tyro?” he echoed. “What am I getting myself into?”

  “A whole new way of looking at the world. You said you wanted your life to make a difference, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, but it all sounds kind of scary.” His voice held a worried note.

  “It’s no use developing cold feet now, young man.” She laughed. “You were in such a fret to get some answers. As the saying goes, ‘Be careful what you wish for.’”

  Chapter 33 – Mercenary Considerations

  Orvis aka Chopper Bowdeen was trying to suppress a yawn as he sat on a dais behind the bearded fossil at the podium. He was waiting to be introduced to the fifty greenhorns sitting in the audience gawking up at him. Every last one of them was wearing a black suit and tie with a white shirt. Their mouths were all gaping open in the same surprised O. They looked like a school of guppies.

  Bowdeen knew the reason for their wonder. They’d probably never seen anybody like him in their lives before. He was career paramilitary in a room full of nerdy little bible-thumpers. Maybe he scared them a bit. He wore his hair in a severe buzz cut and maintained his barrel-chested physique by bench pressing a few hundred pounds every day. But that wasn’t what they were staring at. A deep scar that cut across the lower half of his face had lifted the right corner of his mouth into a permanent sneer. It put some people off. Given his line of work, he considered that an advantage.