The Secret of the Ancient Alchemist

by Yasmin Esack

  He turned to Mandy. “Hey?”

  “You’re okay, Josh? You seem so lost.” Mandy was very fond of Marin.

  “My mind was far away. How’s Christina doing?”

  “She’s doing fine.”

  “That’s great.”

  “You must come and listen to her perform. She keeps asking for you.”

  “I will and soon.” Marin grabbed a bag and started heading out.

  “Wait!” Mandy called out after him.

  “Yeah?”

  “You forgot your change.”

  “Thanks.” Marin managed a smile as he walked away again.

  Chapter 87

  The walk back to his apartment was a slow one for him. He gazed at the multitude of high-rise buildings and car-sales lots thinking. The native of Florida never felt lonely in New York even though he didn’t date much. He didn’t like casual relationships that went nowhere.

  He hadn’t yet met anyone special and decided to wait until the right one came along. He wasn’t about one-night stands and didn’t like complications of any kind especially personal ones. He took solace in his work as well as the concert halls and art galleries spread about the city. At his young age, he always felt confident. His bright smile left an indelible mark on all those who met him but his attractiveness lay in his calm demeanour and caring spirit that shined right through his large brown eyes. Now, Marin felt as if his life was an ugly blur in a sea of great uncertainty. The vial of painkillers he had bought fell on the ground as he opened his door and headed to the kitchen to put items away. Having finished, he lifted his head and looked at his three-bedroom flat, glad at least his weekly clean-up was over and done with. A simple man, his humble abode lacked the trimmings of an upscale townhouse and his morning view was nothing more than a parking lot. Needing coffee, he poured a cup of the Brazilian blend he liked. With weary steps, he headed to his armchair and plunked himself down, placing his feet up. He thought of calling Pearce but decided against it. Pearce would need more time to find Olsen’s data, he reckoned. Marin couldn’t believe he wasn’t actually thinking about it. He finished his coffee and, checking the time on his clock, decided to head back to work. It was on Fordham Road in the Bronx that he halted his steps at the sound of a shrill voice.

  “Hallelujah! Glory be, the date is near,” a woman cried raising her hands to the sky.

  He soon caught a glimpse of the TV screen the woman was looking at as she placed her hands down. He had never seen Arthur Bentley. What little he knew of him came from chatting with Pearce. Now, there he was with his arms akimbo, standing at a podium in Paris heralding a Lord of the Dawn. An image of Orion circled his head. The stars did nothing to hide his determined, effusive stance. His dark eyes bored deep into the hearts and souls of many with their message of salvation.

  Marin continued along the dusty streets pushing back his hair that blew with a gust of wind. Back in his office, the Geographical Alarm System, the GAS, was already beeping. A warning beep from an undersea fault in the Pacific had stopped when he turned to stare at the broad flickering bands on his Anza network. Damn these tremors.

  Marin hadn’t forgotten the 5.8 quake that had struck Virginia years ago. The earthquake had sent shockwaves to Quebec City. It was all part of the strange pattern of seismic swarms throughout the world but more so in the Caribbean and Pacific plates. He rubbed the tiredness from his eyes and sat.

  “The magnitude for Southern California is 4.3 today,” his assistant’s voice sounded behind him.

  “What area, Thompson?”

  “Los Angeles. We also have a magnitude of 6.9 for Sikkim, India, 7.3 in the Fiji region, 6.8 near Fox Islands, and, a 2.1 for Vanuatu that just came in.”

  Marin stretched for his ringing phone.

  “Look, the magnitude was three point two,” he said responding to a caller enquiring about the tremor that had shook New York City at 2AM. “Be calm and no, we don’t expect another.”

  As Marin placed the phone down, it rang. He grabbed it.

  “The Brooklyn Bridge?” he frowned this time. “No, it’s fine.”

  “You’re sure?” The voice asked. “Isn’t it true New York City has a whole lot of seismic problems no one wants to acknowledge?”

  “Hell.” The word slipped out in frustration but he knew the man was right. New York’s seismic risks were only determined a short time ago. The greatest was the nuclear plant at Indian Point, built by mistake on two active fault lines. It sat on the Hudson River bank twenty-four miles north of New York City. “Hey, don’t worry. Be cool. We’ve got it under wraps,” he said hanging up. He looked at Ted Thompson whose eyes were glued to a monitor. The man seemed livid with fear. “What the hell’s wrong now, Ted?”

  “The sensors at Buchanan are showing activity, Marin. Indian Point looks bad.”

  The ground below the reactor was shaking when Marin pressed a knob on a warning system. Cell phones rang in every direction for fifty miles. Television stations flashed messages. Red Alert was in force. He rushed to the GPS, his Global Positioning Satellite to track events.

  “How much warning time has gone?” he asked.

  “Four seconds.” Thompson was checking a timer.

  “What’s the seismic reading?”

  “4.5.”

  “That can’t break the reactor.”

  “The intensity is falling,” Thompson yelled.

  “Falling? What the hell is it now?”

  “2.6.”

  The shaking stopped and Marin wiped the sweat off his face. He walked away from his instruments feeling drained. At least my sensors didn’t miss this one, he thought. His phone rang again. He picked it up and held it a distance from his ear in response to static on the line. He caught a mix of voices in the background.

  “Hello. Hello, who is this?” he shouted.

  Soon, the line cleared.

  “Dr. Marin, please look outside your window.” A male voice spoke.

  “Who are you?”

  “Jack Demster. Please, board the craft.”

  “Craft? What craft?”

  There was no answer. The line went dead.

  Ignoring the call, he sank in a chair and placed his feet on his desk thinking of what he could do.

  “Damn you, Olsen, how the hell could you die and leave us?” he said.

  Tears came to his eyes as he recalled the tall Dane with the wide grin. He thought of the seismic reversals the man had spoken so much about but there was no significant reduction in seismic activity anywhere. Marin soon lifted his head to find Thompson standing over to him.

  “There’s a stratellite outside, Marin.”

  “A what?”

  “A low flying spaceship.”

  “Get outta here!”

  “Have a look yourself.”

  Marin walked to a window and stared out. “What the hell?”

  “This way, Sir,” the stratellite pilot directed Marin as he approached.

  The stratellite was a solar-powered telecom airship that was designed to capture information from around the globe. While satellites were lodged miles into the stratosphere, the stratellite cruised at twenty-five thousand feet. Many were designed to be remotely operated but the one Marin sat in wasn’t. The jump seat was just wide enough for his size. He gazed around. The stratellite was packed with high-speed voice and video equipment.

  With its propulsion system, the airship lifted vertically and zoomed away. As Marin stared in awe at the intricate networking devices he’d never seen before, he suddenly remembered something.

  “Hey, where are we going?” he asked.

  “To the White House.”

  Chapter 88

  In her modest Queens apartment, Mandy plucked a CD from a drawer. Love songs were Santiago’s favourite she knew. She slid it into an old Samsung player and listened as the mandolin strings of the Godfather theme poured into the air. This was going to be an evening with the man who kept her up at nights. It was sleeplessness that came from desire. Mandy neve
r imagined someone like him would ever notice her.

  It was a long time she thought, too long since she felt love. She needed to forget the boredom of everyday survival and enjoy those moments of happiness life so graciously provided. She was romantic deep down, believing that love could conquer all. It was the nectar of life, an elixir for all of life’s pains.

  And, Mandy La Croix knew them well.

  She looked at the clock on the wall again and began tidying the simple room, placing plates on the table. She checked the oven and switched it off. She looked around the room and did a scan, waving her hand in the air.

  “Well, I can’t make everything perfect, can I?” she said. “Christina,” she called now, “it’s time for your homework.”

  “In a minute,” she heard.

  “Now! You spend too much time on the piano. Come off it and do your homework.”

  “Alejandro’s father is coming over, isn’t he?” the little girl said with a glint in her eyes.

  “None of that cheek, Miss!”

  “Why d’you hide things from me?” she asked now.

  “I swear you’re impossible.”

  “Mama?” she called again.

  “Yes?”

  “Are we going to die like Daddy?”

  “No, Christina, you’re not.” She kissed her young daughter lightly on her forehead.

  “Are you sure, Mama?”

  “Yes, my sweet.”

  Life in Queens was simple for her and her daughter since her husband died. Francis La Croix was not a rich man. He was an artist with little money to spare but he paid his bills. He was often difficult to understand. His long hair, strange garb and cap attracted stares. Many said he was Rembrandt reincarnated. But, she loved him, even with his strange moods. He adored Christina and his eyes would light up when she was around and she knew Christina missed him deeply.

  Mandy patted her hair and straightened her blouse at the sound of the doorbell. Mayor Ferelli stood smiling at the door.

  “These are for you.”

  “Flowers, thank you. Please, come in.”

  Feelings of elation rang through for Mandy as she stared at Santiago’s gentle eyes and stunning grey hair. Mayor Ferelli was an upbeat neatly packed fifty-three year old. The cologne he wore ignited her senses but not near enough as the warm kiss and strong arms that embraced her slim shoulders as he entered.

  “Spoke to Carl Reinholdt yesterday,” he began slightly anxious and a spot confused about his romantic inclinations towards her. He wasn’t a smooth operator when it came to matters of love. “We’re ready with the new conservatory. It’ll be a special place for Alejandro and Christina.”

  “For them?”

  “Of course, and we’re expanding the New York Center for the Arts.”

  “That’s great. I do hope there’ll be a place for Francis’s work.”

  “We’re redesigning the city to one that will be famous for science, technology, music and art.”

  Unexpectedly it happened and not how she thought it would be. He placed his arms around her and kissed her neck lightly. Her lavender scent excited him.

  “Mandy listen,” he said gently. “I like you.”

  She looked up and felt the crush of his lips against hers, his hands firm against the silkiness of her blouse. It was a very deep kiss, something they both needed and something that sealed their bond of genuine love forever.

  She straightened up and tore herself away from his arms.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing. Food’s getting cold, that’s all. Let’s eat.”

  “This looks wonderful,” Santiago said, looking at the display of dishes on the laminated table.

  “I hope you like it. Bon Appétit.”

  Mandy beamed. She felt reassured and protected when Santiago Ferelli was around. He was miles ahead of others, strong and full of character. The feeling she had was a good one and one that made her forget her loss and loneliness.

  “We have to begin to prepare for the opening night, Mandy.”

  “Opening night? What d’you mean?”

  “We’re opening the conservatory. Reinholdt insists on performances from Christina and Alejandro. Alejandro is there now practicing.”

  “Really?”

  “I can’t describe to you in words the design of the interior. It is unparalleled in history, like nothing anyone has ever seen, Greek gardens and baths, marble halls with statues crafted by the Italian masters.”

  “Santiago, you excite me much!” Mandy laughed at the obvious exaggerations.

  “We can transform this city into one that is greater than Constantine. Our science centres will no longer be drab, unfriendly but alive with great scholars.” He stopped and looked at her. “I’ve arranged for an art dealer to see your husband’s work.”

  “You have?”

  “Monsieur Antoine La Rue of Garnier Art Works is interested. Where do you keep them?”

  “In the spare room. Are you ready to have a look at the paintings now or later?”

  “No, now.” He glanced at his Rolex and lifted his manly frame. “Meal was delicious, thank you, but I don’t have much time and I still have more places to go. My job never stops, I’m afraid.”

  “Okay, back in a flash.”

  He looked up from the sofa as she returned carrying the heavy painting in her hands. “Here, let me help you with that.”

  “It’s okay,” she said placing it gently on the couch. “This one’s my favourite. I’m going to let you unveil it. Are you sure you’re ready?”

  “Yes.”

  The remarkable colour of Christina’s hair and the glint in her eyes caught him first. La Croix had captured the child’s expression perfectly and Santiago knew he could never erase it from his mind. It was that of a child who knew she was different and so did La Croix.

  “Mandy, I had no idea.”

  “I think it is wonderful. Don’t you?”

  “It’s a masterpiece.”

  Santiago stood spellbound forgetting all that he had pending. The painting was more than beauty. It was compelling.

  “I must call the art dealer again,” he said dialling. “Monsieur De La Rue? It’s Santiago Ferelli. How are you? You must come to number 314 Orchid Boulevard, Queens. I’m waiting.” He hung up. “Can I see another?”

  “Sure, this way.”

  Santiago followed her through the narrow hallway. He squeezed through piles of canvasses Mandy kept as reminders of her life with a man she never really knew. She opened the door to La Croix’s studio. It was the first time since his passing she could muster the courage to do that. The stench of acrylic paint filled the air. Easels and brushes dried with paint lay across the floor.

  “I have to say La Croix was an unusual man. I can feel his spirit. It’s as though he’s still here,” Santiago remarked.

  “I have said many times Francis was not a normal person. He was passionate about life and, to be honest, he shut me out of his.”

  “Must’ve been tough?”

  “It was. I want to thank you for caring so much.”

  As Mandy turned to open a drawer, she stopped. “Are you alright, Santiago?”

  “Just a little dizzy, that’s all.”

  “Let’s get out of here. You should sit.”

  It wasn’t long before she handed him a cup of hot tea. “It’s all the tremors, isn’t it?”

  “So much is happening in this city, I wish they would go away.”

  “It’s occurring all over the world.”

  “I know.”

  “Have you spoken to Josh?”

  Santiago sighed. “Right now, we need a miracle.”

  Mandy paused for a moment of thought.

  “What are you thinking?” Santiago wondered.

  “I’m thinking about Francis. He would often say strange things.”

  “Like?”

  “He spoke a lot about a new dawn.”

  Santiago placed his teacup down. “He did?”

/>   “He even drew it in a painting.”

  The mayor’s face tightened as he got up. “Where’s the painting?” he shouted. “Where’s The Dawning?”

  Mandy felt a huge jolt of shock. A woman wise to the way of men, she began to explore the reason behind Santiago’s interest in her. It shattered her to think it was nothing more than a painting. Tears filled her eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” Santiago quickly blurted. “Forgive me, my dear.”

  “I don’t have the painting anyway. I’ve never seen it. Francis gave it to Julius Olsen.” There was a heavy rap on the door. “That must be Mr. De La Rue,” she said, getting up.

  Outside, Carl Reinholdt stood sweating. “Look, I need to talk to both of you now.”

  Twenty minutes later, Santiago walked hurriedly along Greenwich Street searching for his son, Alejandro. He didn’t get beyond the steps of the newly constructed conservatory when a tremor came.

  “Dear God help us,” he pleaded.

  Beneath Ferelli’s feet, the pavement was cracking and ahead, buildings shook. People ran from offices, subway stations and just about everywhere looking for open ground. Red Alert flashed on neon signs. Paper, boxes and attaché cases were strewn on the streets, abandoned by many in a rush for cover. From where he stood, Santiago could see the magnificence of New York’s new conservatory. Its tall and imposing columns stood firm as did its delicate chandelier. Alejandro Ferelli’s version of the Hallelujah Chorus poured out from the hall as if seeking mercy from the heavens.

  Now, a crashing sound came through the air. The splinters of the shattered chandelier flew everywhere. The tremor shook the conservatory and sent patrons, musicians and the crème de la crème of New York City scampering in all directions. Screams of horror pierced the air and cars screeched to a halt to avoid crowds on the streets. Ambulances and fire tenders tried hard to get through the mayhem. Some people were succumbing to heart attacks.

  Then, the lights went out. Santiago dialled Marin’s number.