The Song of Eleusis

by Phil Swann

  When Ben saw the commando enter the room, a rush of adrenalin went through him, thinking Pryce had indeed come to the rescue. He quickly realized how wrong he was when he saw the man clutching Ellie by the back of her neck. He pushed her to the floor in front of Ben.

  “Well done, Andrew,” Buchanan said. “Any problems?”

  “No, sir,” Andrew answered, taking off his assault helmet. “All went as planned.”

  “Good.”

  Ben helped Ellie up from the floor. She was gasping for air.

  “You see what I mean, Lambros? Predictable, predictable, predictable.”

  Everything inside of Ben wanted to pound Buchanan’s head into the marble floor. “The building’s surrounded, Buchanan. There’s no way you’re getting out of here alive. You must know that.” He looked at Sheila and Andrew. “You’ll all be killed. They’ll be coming through these doors any second and shoot you on sight.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so, Lambros.” Buchanan said, handing the gun back to Sheila. “I don’t think they’ll be coming in here at all. In fact, my guess would be right about now they’ve got their hands quite full out there.” Buchanan looked at Andrew and Sheila. “Go downstairs, tell the hierophant we’re almost ready to begin.”

  »»•««

  “Use our guys, Nashville PD, Park Rangers, hell, round up anybody in a fucking uniform. Just evacuate this park. Move, people!”

  Grey’s team scattered, and Bob Greenfield stepped up next to him. “What do you need?”

  “Contact the chief of police. Get the bomb squad out here and tell him to block off all street access around the park.”

  The ringing of a cell phone brought everybody to a stop. Grey and Bob Greenfield looked at each other. Grey reached down and withdrew a cell phone from the pocket of the overcoat Sarah Lambros was wearing.

  “Hello,” Grey said.

  “This would be Special Agent Grey Pryce, I presume?”

  “It is. And this is?”

  “We both know you know the answer to that question, Agent Pryce. Please, let’s not waste time with meaningless chatter. It would not be in anybody’s interest.”

  “Okay, Buchanan. What do you want?”

  “That’s better. Agent Pryce, allow me to apprise you of your situation. Yes, that is a bomb strapped to the former first lady’s chest. There’s enough C4 on her bosom to leave a sizable crater in this park. Be assured should you or your crack team of bomb squad wizards try to defuse it, it will be detonated. Notice the cameras atop this beautiful building? I’m watching. By the way, nice tie, Christmas gift? Here are some more fun facts: should you try to infiltrate the Parthenon, know the bronze double-doors on either side of this structure are six and a half feet wide, twenty-four feet tall, a foot thick, and weigh seven and a half tons each. I tell you this, Agent Pryce, so you know that blowing them open without me knowing about it would be impossible. Also, I’m sure you’re about to be shown blueprints to this place. You’ll no doubt notice an entrance on the east side of the building that goes directly into the art gallery. You’re going to be tempted to use it. Don’t. I have cameras located there as well and will absolutely see should you or any of your cowboys come within twenty yards of it. Are we clear so far?”

  “Yes, I’m not getting in. So how do we resolve this, Buchanan?”

  “Great question. For now, I want to be left alone. I’ll contact you in a little while with my demands. In the meantime, feel free to occupy yourself by studying the explosive attached to Ms. Lambros’ torso. But word to the wise, I wouldn’t be messing with it if I were you. It’s quite…unstable. Stay tuned.” He hung up.

  Grey lowered the phone and looked at Sarah Lambros lying on the ground. She was unconscious, obviously drugged. He supposed that was a good thing, There was less of a chance of her detonating the explosive with a sudden movement.

  “What’s the play?” Greenfield asked.

  Grey looked up. “We shut down the park.”

  “Already done. Bomb squad is en route.”

  “Make sure they understand they can look but not touch—not yet at least. He thinks I have the layout of this place, let’s make sure I do.”

  “He’s watching us right now,” Greenfield said, scanning the Parthenon.

  Grey nodded. “How? Get the location of every camera he’s got on us—make, model, and how they work. Any sign of Ben and Dr. Scotes?”

  “No,” Greenfield answered. “But we found Ms. Whitt and Mr. MacDougall. They’re on their way to Vanderbilt Hospital. But no Lambros or Dr. Scotes.”

  “He’s got them. Damn it! We played right into his hands.”

  “Sir,” a police officer said, handing Grey a piece of paper.

  Grey took the paper and read it. “Holy Christ!”

  “What is it?” Greenfield asked.

  “Earl Buchanan’s real name.”

  “And?”

  Grey rubbed his eyes. “If we don’t get in there, Ben Lambros is a dead man.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  The official history of the twenty-eight-story skyscraper located at 315 Deaderick Street is as follows: in 1971, the fossilized remains of a saber-toothed tiger were discovered during excavation of the land. Archaeologists descended on the site, but it wasn’t until 1977 that their results were published in the Journal of the Tennessee Academy of Sciences. This article constitutes the only scientific publication on the site.

  Because of its historical relevance, First American Bank agreed to engineer around the cave, vaulting over the space using steel and concrete, and preserving it in an artificial cavern beneath the lowest level of the parking garage. An access hatch was installed to provide for easy entry in the future. Newspaper articles from the 1970s implied there was clear interest among the archaeological community in conducting further excavations. None has ever been mounted.

  In 1974, construction was completed and the building was named First American Center. The name soon changed when First American National Bank merged with AmSouth Bank. After this merger, a major renovation of the building’s ground floor and subterranean parking structure took place. Over the years, the name of the building changed several times as financial institutions merged or were acquired.

  Today, Regions Bank maintains a display in the first floor lobby that includes bones from the saber-toothed cat and other faunal material discovered in 1971. A replica of the animal’s skull serves as the display’s centerpiece. The cat’s upper canine that led to the site’s discovery in 1971 is not on display and is no longer in the bank’s collection. Conventional wisdom among bank management is that the fossil is now in the possession of the Smithsonian. However, the institution has no record of any such artifact.

  »»•««

  No one thought it unusual when black Town Cars began arriving in droves. Luxury vehicles transporting corporate bigwigs to and from the popular financial building was commonplace. Still, in the interest of security, the arrivals were spaced at varying intervals. In total, fifteen drop-offs were made over a two-hour period. The elevator on the bottom floor of the underground parking garage appeared to only go in one direction, up. However, for certain guests, with the turn of a special key and entering the correct sequence of floor numbers, the elevator would descend. The single-car monorail system was constructed in the 1970s when the tunnel was extended a mile and a half east from Twenty-Fifth Avenue to under the newly acquired 315 Deaderick Street building. The original tunnel was dug when the temporary Parthenon of 1897—built solely for the Tennessee Centennial Exposition—was rebuilt and made permanent in the 1920s. The necessity for the tunnel was due to local Jim Crow laws that made Centennial Park a Whites Only area, forbidding people of color from entering. Due to the international makeup of the two families, this posed a problem. Thus, the tunnel was constructed for easy and anonymous access in and out of the Parthenon.

  »»•««

  She towered forty-two-feet high and was gilt with more than eight pounds of gold leaf. Cuirassed and
helmeted, she brandished a spear and hoisted an elaborately adorned battle shield on her left arm. In her right palm, she held a six-foot statue of Nike, as if to say to the world, “Victory is mine.” At the base, by her side, a colossal golden serpent posed gallantly. She was Athena, goddess of wisdom, courage, inspiration, mathematics, art, law, justice, and warfare, and her imposing presence filled the room Buchanan marched Ben and Ellie into.

  “Keep an eye on our friends outside,” Buchanan said, handing Leggett the iPad. “And get those two behind the statue. Sheila and Andrew will be up momentarily.”

  Buchanan disappeared behind a column as Leggett led Ben and Ellie through the majestic rectangular room known as the naos. Considerably larger than the treasury room, the naos, as well as housing Athena, boasted a two-story colonnade that encompassed its north, south, and west sides; its easterly side was framed by another set of immense bronze double-doors. Along the wall, inside the twin row of Doric columns, reproductions of statues known as the Elgin Marbles sat in quiet repose.

  Ben and Ellie came around the giant square base supporting the statue of Athena and saw three wooden chairs: one left of the goddess, two on the right.

  “Sit,” Leggett ordered Ellie, pointing to the single chair. “Over there, Lambros.”

  Ben and Ellie did as instructed and took their respective seats. Suddenly, Ben noticed Ellie’s eyes fill with tears. He turned and saw Sheila and Andrew come in, both wearing hooded black robes, Timon Baros sandwiched between them. The old man moved slowly, his eyes focused on the floor. His steps were calculated, as if he had to think each time he put one foot in front of the other. He didn’t look up, so no acknowledgment of Ben’s and Ellie’s presence was given, but he was alive, and for that Ellie was immeasurably relieved.

  Sheila put her hand on Timon’s shoulder and pushed him into the chair next to Ben.

  Ben looked at Timon. The old man was pale, his eyes dark and fallen. Ben pushed his leg into Timon’s to see if he would respond. He didn’t.

  Buchanan reappeared from around the base of the statue. He was carrying something draped in a silver cloth. He stopped in front of Ben and Timon and removed the cloth.

  Ellie let out a long breath and closed her eyes. It seemed like a thousand years ago she had pulled it from the ground in Nigeria.

  “I hope you’re not expecting me to play that,” Ben said. “I don’t play the lyre.”

  “Oh, this isn’t for you—it’s for him.” Buchanan handed the ancient instrument to Timon. “After all, it is yours, isn’t it, Dadouchos?”

  Timon said nothing as he took the instrument from Buchanan. He looked at Ben, and for the first time glanced at Ellie. If he was surprised to see his granddaughter, he didn’t show it. In fact, he made no expression whatsoever.

  “But you do know how to play this,” Sheila said, handing Ben a guitar. “Don’t looked so surprised, Pooky Bear. What’s that you always told me? Don’t go anywhere without a guitar. It’s the Nashville way.”

  Ben took the guitar without responding. He made sure his face gave nothing away, but his insides were in knots. If Agent Pryce didn’t get to them quickly…he didn’t want to think about what was going to happen.

  Buchanan got down in Ben’s face. “On my order, you will both start playing.”

  “And if I don’t?” Ben replied.

  Buchanan smiled and stood back up. “Sheila, show Lambros your special skill.”

  Sheila went over to Ellie, grabbed her by the hair and pulled back her head. She removed a large knife with a ten-inch blade from her pocket and placed it on Ellie’s neck. “She won’t scream because I’ll cut the vocal cords first. You’ve seen my work, I’m very good at this.”

  Ellie squeezed the side of the chair but refused to make a sound.

  Ben glared at Buchanan. “You’re a psychopath. Let her go.”

  Buchanan nodded to Sheila, who released Ellie. “I think we understand each other, Lambros. Remember, on my order, you two will start playing the song.”

  Andrew said, “Maybe they should play it for us now. Just to make sure.”

  “There’s no time, they’re coming up.” Buchanan looked at Ben and put his finger to his lips. “Not a word or you’re dead.” Buchanan pulled the hood over his head and disappeared around the statue, leaving Sheila, Andrew, and Leggett standing guard.

  A moment later, Ben heard soft murmuring as people filled the room. He couldn’t tell how many people because Athena restricted his view. He looked at Ellie. As if reading his mind, she looked back and shook her head. Ben suspected this was by design; they weren’t meant to see who was in the room. Or was it the other way around?

  A hush fell over the chamber when someone started speaking. Ben couldn’t make out what was being said, but he could tell it was a woman’s voice. Then without warning, she began singing. Alone at first, and then little by little more voices joined in until the hall was filled with a chorus singing an odd and repetitive melody in unison.

  Ben was trying to make out the words when a tall figure in a hooded white robe came around the side of the statue. The faceless person said nothing, standing motionless on the corner of the statue’s base, visible to everyone on both sides.

  Buchanan appeared off to the side and pointed. “Now. Play now.”

  Timon lifted the lyre into his arms and began plucking out an atonal melody on the strings. As he played, he looked at Ben. For the first time since sitting down, the old man’s face surrendered an expression, fear. When he turned his gaze to his granddaughter, Ben saw a tear rolling down his cheek. Timon looked back at Ben, his eyes pleading for him to begin playing with him. But what the hell was he supposed to play? The music Timon was making made no sense. It had no meter. No key signature. It was so disjointed Ben couldn’t imagine how he could even make something up that reasonably sounded like it went with the bizarre melody. It was as if the man was just plucking random strings at will. As the voices in the naos grew louder, the words utterly unrecognizable, Ben squeezed the neck of the guitar. What was he going to do? Maybe he could use the guitar as a weapon? Perhaps he could get to Sheila, or Marci, or whatever-the-hell her name was, before she could get the knife to Ellie’s—

  Sheila took out the knife again and put it to Ellie’s throat.

  Damn it, Tom, why didn’t you just tell me where the song was? Why did you— Ben’s thoughts suddenly froze. With sweat pouring down his face, he looked at the guitar and then back at Sheila and her knife. “What’s that you always told me? Don’t go anywhere without a guitar. It’s the Nashville way.”

  A chill went down the back of Ben’s neck. He looked at the guitar again and then back at Sheila. “Don’t go anywhere without a guitar. It’s the Nashville way.”

  He looked at Timon and the lyre. He listened to the strange music filling the room. He glanced at Buchanan and then quickly back at Sheila.

  “It’s the Nashville way.”

  “It’s the Nashville way.”

  Suddenly, complete understanding washed over him. If it was any other time, under any other circumstances, he’s sure he would have burst into tears. Tom, could you have been that smart? Could it really be that simple?

  Ben saw Buchanan start moving toward him, but Ben quickly raised his hands as if to say he surrendered. Buchanan stopped.

  “Timon,” Ben said, interrupting the man’s playing, “could you start again?”

  Timon stopped playing and looked into Ben’s eyes.

  Ben returned the look with a small smile. “Please, from the beginning. Trust me.”

  Timon Baros nodded.

  “I’ll count us in.” Ben positioned his left hand on the neck of the guitar and took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and began. “One, and two, and three, and four, and…”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  It took Ben a couple of times around the sixteen-bar pattern to truly understand it. By the end of the first pass, he knew he needed to simplify his finger picking. By the middle of the second pass, he tw
eaked his chord voicings. By the third time around, at bar eight, he had it. Suddenly, the irrational notes, the random rhythms, the alien structure of Timon’s melody all made sense. The noise magically became a song, as intricate as a Bach fugue, as beautiful as a Chopin nocturne. Ben stopped thinking about the notes he was playing and just played. He didn’t notice when everyone stopped singing and began listening. Later, those in attendance would report the experience as being ethereal; some would even say mystical. But either way, there was no doubt to everyone in the Parthenon that for the first time in nearly two thousand years, they were hearing the “Song of Eleusis.”

  Timon ended first with Ben concluding a bar later with a three-note arpeggio. There was complete silence in the naos. Then, without warning, a thunderous roar erupted throughout the chamber. Clapping and cheers of exaltation reverberated off the concrete walls. Timon looked at Ben and smiled. Ben returned the smile and put his hand on the old man’s shoulder. He glanced over at Ellie, who let out a long breath.

  Ben saw that Sheila had moved back to where Andrew and Leggett were standing. All three were transfixed on a camera Andrew was holding. Ben understood immediately; Andrew had recorded the entire performance. Now they have it. What’s next? Ben wondered. He didn’t have to wait long to find out.

  Buchanan stepped close to the man in the white robe and whispered into his ear. The white robed figure turned, faced the throng in front of Athena, and raised his arms into the air. In one voice, all the people shouted, “Blessed are the loved!” The man lowered his arms, descended the base of the statue, and disappeared behind a column.

  Even though no one spoke, Ben could tell people were leaving the chamber—and leaving quickly. What was Buchanan thinking? Surely Agent Pryce had the Parthenon surrounded. How were these people getting out of here without Pryce and crew swooping down on them?

  Buchanan pulled back his hood. “My apologies, Lambros. I didn’t think you could do it.” He took the lyre from Timon’s arms. “But you did. I am genuinely impressed.”