I tried changing directions and remained on the bottom but it was no use. Hansen's hand wrapped around my ankle and tugged. In water, my weight was cut in half. I was drug back and could feel another hand clenching my shirt. I kicked my leg free and popped up out of the water. I then reached back and swung the hardest punch I could muster while standing in five feet of rushing fluid. The punch I threw was straight on, just like how the instructor had taught us in the survival course, and it connected with the bridge of Hansen's nose. I felt something give and break, like a stick from a branch, under my index and middle finger knuckles. Surprisingly the punch didn't hurt my wrist.
There was no scream of pain from Hansen, just a gasp of air as he reached up for his face. After that, I didn't wait around to see what he would do next.
I dove down and began swimming my ass off. I probably went another ten feet before I felt another hand wrap around my ankle. This time, however, they grabbed both feet. The force that tugged at me was ferociously strong. I tried to spin around but only made it half way. I saw that there were two men holding me and a third man quickly splashing over. I kicked and flailed until there was nothing left to do. The third man joined the other two and he pinned my arms behind me. My face routinely went below water level, taking in gallons, as I struggled to get free.
I was drowning.
The three men threw me on to the grass lining the river. I was too tired, and busy coughing up water, to resist any further. One of them bound my hands behind my back while another waited until I was done spitting up water before injecting my neck with some kind of sleep agent. It didn't take long to feel the effects. Before I knew it, I was sound asleep.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Rebecca was trembling after reading the account, which was uncomfortably close to the attack she survived the night before. Her mind wandered back to her flat, to Jerry's headless body laying on the floor. She decided it was time to take another break from reading.
The StreamWay steadily hummed along through Sector 29, on its way to Sector 30 and then finally to the Southern Point. Rebecca had grown hungry and snacked on some of the food in her bag. She had also grown very tired and was feeling a nonstop aching sensation in all her limbs. Both legs had fallen asleep and tingled with pins and needles. The air temperature was beginning to decrease. Because that time of year, Sector 27 rarely dropped below fifty degrees and Rebecca didn't think to pack for the colder climate, which was increasingly affecting her. With a little more room, she could have pulled on her Ministry uniform over her workout clothes, but the task was impossible in such a cramped space. So instead she blanketed her upper body with some of the spare clothes in her bag and draped the remaining ones over her legs. It was the best she could do. She then went back to the translation in order to take her mind off the growing discomfort. Reading always helped.
William wrote that he couldn't remember being captured by the men dressed in black; the drugs they injected into his neck had incapacitated him for an unknown amount of time. When he finally awoke, he was in a blind daze. William realized that he was no longer at the bank of the Bosnian river:
*******
All I could distinguish were mumbled voices. A tornado siren was blaring in my ears. My eyes throbbed. I was laying on something cold and rock hard. The place reeked of mildew.
The mumbles became more audible, but I couldn't make out what they were saying. Sounds of footsteps echoed around the room. Everything was black: my vision was still cloudy from the drugs they injected into my neck. My body was fighting the numbed sensation. I tried to lift my head, but my muscles were still very tired. My attempts at talking were nothing more than groans.
Then I felt something grope my arms, pulling me upward and sitting me against a wall.
"Are you okay?" echoed a voice in my head.
I went to talk but ended up licking my lips instead. My eyes were still sealed shut. I felt a pair of hands touch my head and straighten it out against the wall. "Just take a moment and gather yourself," said the voice.
"I'm . . . so tired," was what I could muster.
"It's because of the anesthesia they gave you. It will wear off in a moment. Can you tell me your name?"
For the first time, I was able to slightly lift my eyelids. All I could see in the glimpse was a figure hunched over me. "William . . . Coulee."
"Well William, you're in quite a pickle."
I laid against the cold wall for another ten or fifteen minutes during which I slowly regained my senses. The room shifted from a dark blur to the inner dwelling of a stone basement. The man in front of me was nothing I had expected. He had blond wavy hair, mussed, a thin chiseled face and a pair of round glasses. He was stringy in build and looked to be in his early to mid-forties. He saw me watching him and said: "My name is Bertók . . . Bertók Horvath."
I had recalled Mr. Vermil mentioning a Bertók at his house, the Dracula expert.
"So you've heard of me," the man said and then knelt down.
I began to rub the back of my throbbing head. "Yeah, sure."
He rose and walked over to a table that had several plastic cups on it and brought one back. I took the cup with shaky hands and began to drink. The water was cool and refreshing despite its smoggy appearance. "How long have you been here?"
"A few days or so . . . I think. It's hard to tell down here, with no sunlight. His beasts approached me outside my place of business and forced me into a car. One of them injected my neck with an anesthesia and the next thing I knew, I was here, much like you."
My conversation with Mr. Vermil slowly came back to me. "Have you seen Dr. Theoman? Is he alive?"
"He's alive alright. This is his doing."
I couldn't believe my ears. "What?" I sat up a bit more. "He's behind this? It was his men who brought you here?"
Bertók nodded. "You can only imagine how pleasantly surprised I was to see my old friend standing in here when I awoke, only to then discover that he was intending to hold me prisoner."
"Why? What the hell is going on?" I said, "Dr. Theoman faked his own murder? And then brought you here?"
"I can't understand it either." He sat down onto the ground next to me and then asked: "What's your profession, William?"
"I'm a journalist with Time magazine. Benjamin Vermil had assigned me to investigate Dr. Theoman's murder."
"Ben sent you here?" he said with surprise.
I nodded and then tried to remember what happened to my camera. That's when I realized that I had lost everything during the attack.
"What's wrong?" Bertók asked.
I heaved a sigh and gave him a brief summary of my career with Time magazine, including my time in Iraq. I left out my relationship with you, Rebecca; I thought it prudent to keep that information quiet. I told him everything that had transpired since my arrival in Bosnia: the cover up at the hill, the man-made chambers inside, the paintings and writings on the walls, the defacing of the ancient art and of course the sarcophagus and the ring. I then told him how I ended up there. "They have everything," I said.
Bertók seemed more puzzled than distraught. "I don't understand—why would they do that? An entire lost civilization's only known mark on Earth is being destroyed. I can't believe this is true."
"Believe it," I said while slowly standing, bracing myself on the wall. "I saw it with my own eyes. I documented it with my camera. There are crews hacking their way through the pyramid at this very minute. Men with large jackhammers and metal chisels are scraping any sign of intelligence out of the structure. They're working as if their single intention is to erase whatever was written and painted there."
Confusion was draped all over Bertók's face. "But . . . why would Dr. Theoman do something like that. I've never heard of such an act. Why would he want to destroy history? The whole point to his work is to bring light to the lost memories of history," Bertók argued.
I couldn't come up with any good reason other than: "Unless he doesn't want to bring light to the lost me
mories." But that still didn't answer much; it didn't answer why Bertók was there. "Have they asked you any questions?"
Bertók shrugged and said: "No, actually. Charles hasn't inquired about a thing."
I found that troubling. It didn't make sense. "I'm sorry to say this, but then why keep you around? Why are we both here? As I understand it, Bertók, you are an expert on Dracula—or so Benjamin Vermil thinks."
Bertók nodded and quickly said: "Yes and no. I'm an expert on the region and I do have a deep understanding of his past, but I don't see why Charles would need me, or why he would feel it necessary to kidnap me."
"This all has something to do with the Book of Thoth."
"The book of what?" Bertók removed his glasses and wiped the lenses on his spotty button up shirt. "I know nothing about this book. I've never heard of it."
That was a problem. It was obvious that Bertók had a purpose, but what? I then thought about the last chamber in the hill—the ring and the body. The place was clearly important. "Caroline Thatcher said that the hill was considered sacred by the local Bosnians, that the Hrvatinic family was instrumental in having the Visoki fortress built." Then, suddenly, a thought to check my pants pocket came to me. I patted my front right pocket and felt a solid circle inside. It was the ring. They hadn't taken it after all. I reached in and pulled it out. I presented the ring to Bertók. "Here. Does this mean anything to you? This was the ring I found."
"You still have it." He examined the ring and suddenly an excitement filled his eyes. Obviously something clicked within him and he stood bolt upright and said: "The Order of the Dragon!"
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The StreamWay began to slow once again. According to Rebecca's tally, they should be at the last stop before the Southern Point.
Handlers opened the compartment and jostled some of the luggage close-by, incidentally letting in a swift burst of cold air. Rebecca slumped down in the bags to hide her presence. It took everything in her to stay quiet and out of sight as the men moved bags and cases all around. New bags were placed inside and then the handlers moved on to the next compartment, leaving hers open. Rebecca peered around the large bag hiding her and looked longingly out into the station.
After ten minutes, or so, the door was finally shut. Rebecca stood up in order to stretch her legs. The stretching took away some of the aching in her joints. The StreamWay jolted and started cruising again, causing her to fall onto the bag behind. After mumbling a curse or two, she slid down into her previous sitting position and picked up the d-reader. The Southern Point wasn't much further now, maybe three or four hours. Rebecca wanted to finish as much of the translation as possible before having to make her escape. She picked up where she left off and read about the Order of the Dragon:
*******
"They were an elite secret society that was formed by the Holy Roman Emperor in 1408." Bertók took the ring from me and examined it closer. "Little is known about their activities, but one of the few things we do know is that the ouroboros was used as their mark. Each member bore one of these"—Bertók held up the ring—"on his uniform, signifying that he was a member." He then looked wildly at me before saying: "The Hrvatinics were members!"
I asked: "Why was the Order formed?"
"When the Holy Roman Emperor conquered the Bosnians, he suddenly came into great power—a great treasure. It was the gain of this treasure that led to the forming of the Order of the Dragon. Supposedly initial members were hand-picked by him and were given an ouroboros emblem to wear on their chests. On the backside of the emblem was a twelve-character code that was scrambled and unreadable. Each member was charged with protecting their emblem with their lives and in return was paid handsomely. The Holy Roman Emperor—alone—held the key to understanding the code. When he was ready to pass it on, he would decide a benefactor. This person would call the original members together and one-by-one copy down the characters on the back of their emblems in secrecy. He would then use the key to know where the treasure was hidden until the time came to pass on the secret to another. This brotherhood, the Holy Roman Emperor had created, ensured that the treasure he acquired remained hidden and protected. No other member would give away his stipend in order to learn of another's code, and no one would dare betray the Emperor. They knew that doing so would cause the treasure to be lost forever. Each member—thus—became a dragon for the Holy Roman Emperor."
"Why dragons?" I asked.
Bertók shrugged. "Any guess is good. It was around that time that the tale of Saint George became popular. He was a knight who supposedly slew a dragon and bound its head with its tail and formed an ouroboros circle. This dragon circle became very famous and was depicted by many artists of the medieval era. But as for why the Holy Roman Emperor had adopted this iconic symbol for his new order, I can't say for sure."
I thought back to the countless children's stories told to me when I was young. All of the dragons in those stories had one thing in common: "Dragons were known for protecting treasure." It became stunningly clear: "The Order of the Dragon was created to protect the Emperor's precious treasure—whatever was originally buried inside the hill. Sigismund created dragons to protect his treasure."
"But why dragons?" Bertók argued. "What do you think led specifically to dragons?"
"The ring of course."
*******
Rebecca thought about the Ministry Seal. Does it have anything to do with hiding a treasure, she wondered.
*******
"But it looks more like a snake," Bertók stated.
"Well, yeah. Most people associate dragons with large winged creatures that fly through the air and breathe fire, but those dragons are European dragons, a medieval creation." My childhood obsession with dragons washed over me. "Dragons existed long before they had wings and breathed fire. Dragons have been around since the creation of civilization. In ancient Greek they were first mentioned in Homer's Illiad. The word dragon is derived from the Greek word drakon or drakontos, meaning: a serpent of huge size. The word snake in many languages is synonymous with the word dragon. From Ancient Egypt to India to China, dragons were known as serpents of huge size.
"Think about it," I said, "Dragon lore, particularly medieval dragon lore, has them dwelling in caves inside of mountains. If you recall what I said Dr. Thatcher told me about the Hrvatinic family protecting the sacred hill in Visoko and building the fortification on its summit—Pod Gradom, Under the Hill." I recalled that Iah thought that the Ring of Solomon originated in Ancient Egypt, which would then make sense as to why the ring looked more like a serpent than a typical dragon. I then thought about the skeleton in the hidden chamber. "So it's possible that a member of the Order was buried inside the hill."
Bertók nodded cautiously and said: "Based upon your assumptions: yes, that's very possible."
"Okay; so it is hypothetically possible that the hill once contained the Book of Thoth and was moved by the Order for future safe keeping."
"Again, I don't know anything about it," Bertók stated. "There's no record of any book being at the center of the order, just the ouroboros."
I then recalled what Iah had said about magical rings and how they were passed on to new members who gained the necessary wisdom. Could it be that the ouroboros was the ring used to represent the Order of Thoth? If so: was there any mentioning of a ring being passed on by the Holy Roman Emperor? I asked Bertók the question and his response was quite curious.
"Actually, William, now that you mentioned it, there is a story about a ring being passed on. It's known as the Corvinus Legend."
"Tell it."
"The legend, as told in the sixteenth century, states that the Holy Roman Emperor had an illegitimate son. After the death of his wife, the Emperor met a virgin noblewoman and fell in love. In the morning, the Emperor gave a royal ring to the lady and made her swear that she would keep it safe. In return for her duty, the Emperor promised her that he would take care of their son and when the boy was old enough he
would get the honor of wearing the ring just as he had."
"Jesus," I said excitedly. "There's the lost connection!"
Bertók looked puzzled and said: "Excuse me?"
"The legend. It explains how the ring secretly transferred from the Emperor. Don't you see? The Book of Thoth was secretly passed from the Emperor to this woman."
"Erzsébet Morzsinai," Bertók said. "But I don't understand. The story merely refers to the passing of his royal seed. It mentions nothing—"
"Was this woman's son ever recognized as the Emperor's successor?" I asked quickly.
"Well . . . no. The story didn't come to light until many years after the Emperor had died."
"Bertók, don't you think that if the Holy Roman Emperor had fathered a male child he would have proclaimed the boy to be his successor?"
"Well yes. The Emperor had a terrible time producing a son. It was believed that he died without a successor."
"Even more to my point! The Emperor fathered a son but kept it secret. He passed his ring, in secret, to a woman."
"What's your point?"
"My point is that the Emperor, for whatever reason, felt it necessary to pass the Book of Thoth to this woman. The ring mentioned is the same ring in the Testament of Solomon—the same ring that represented the Order of Thoth."
Bertók looked confused.
I realized he had not heard Iah's explanation of the Magical Circle's orders and their rings. "Never mind that, what I'm saying is that the Holy Roman Emperor was given the book from the Hrvatinic family and then passed it to this woman. The book is the treasure."
"But why would he do that?" Bertók asked curiously. "Why wouldn't he pass it on to another in the Order of the Dragon?"
"That's a good question," I admitted.
Bertók's face lit up suddenly. "He did, he did pass it on! I had never connected this before."
"Connected what?"
Bertók adjusted his glasses and then said: "Dracula."
The Sinner King: Book of Fire Page 24