Sanskrit Cipher: A Marina Alexander Adventure

by C. M. Gleason

  “Have a seat anywhere, father,” Pam told him. She hadn’t set foot inside a church for twenty years, but she still had a healthy respect for the clergy.

  Then he spoke, confirming Pam’s suspicion that he was foreign. There was a hint of an accent in his words; not that she could tell from where. But with him being a priest and all…maybe Italy. Or South America. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

  There was something about the way he scanned the place, the way he held himself as if at attention—or ready to spring into action—as he looked around.

  She narrowed her eyes speculatively.

  What was he looking for? Some kid to baptize or something?

  He just didn’t seem like a priest.

  “We just had a lady die back there,” she replied, thumbing in the direction of the restrooms. “In the jo—in the bathroom.”

  “A woman died? How terrible. Is she still back there?” Father What-a-Waste turned smoothly and, to her surprise, began to fasten his white tab collar tightly around his throat.

  “Yes, she’s back there with the police. What are you doing?” she asked as he started toward the scene.

  “I’m going to anoint her,” he replied with a sad smile, and pulled a small brass container from his pocket. “Extreme Unction.”

  What?

  That was when she noticed the bracelet-like tattoo across the back of his wrist, right where his hand met his arm. It was four letters with a small cross at the beginning and ending: + I E N S +

  What the heck sort of priest was this guy, with ink on his hand? Maybe he’d been in prison.

  A felon-turned-priest.

  Pam shook her head and went back to refill Biggie Jones’s coffee.

  She sure as hell saw it all, working midnights in a late-night diner.

  Twenty-Four

  An undisclosed location

  Roman looked around the room at the members of the Naslegi—the governing body of the Skaladeskas.

  They were seated around an elongated triangular table. At the point—the head—of the table sat the clear crystal globe containing the essence of Gaia. It was larger than a man’s head. Inside the precious sphere, energy glowed, churned, and swirled in all shades of blue, green, purple, gold, and orange, reminding everyone in the chamber that Gaia lived and breathed among them at all times.

  And that they were charged and obligated to protect her.

  As Roman met the eyes of each one present, he was reminded of those who weren’t present.

  His father, of course, who’d long retired from the meetings and relied on Roman—as well as his own intuition and guidance from teachers, spirit animals, and guides—to be apprised of what was happening.

  Rue Varden, who had been permanently in the Out-World for over ten years but was no less important a contributor to those who governed the decisions made in honor of Gaia and their responsibility to her. Although he rarely could attend council meetings, Varden was responsible for the single most important initiative of the Skaladeskas: keeping Marina Alexander safe. Included in that was reporting back on any relevant activities…including relationships that could result in a child.

  Knowing of any offspring or progeny was of paramount importance to Roman and the rest of his people, since Marina carried the weight of their progeny on her slender shoulders. Roman had no other children, and Viktor, his brother—who everyone believed was Marina’s father—had not procreated either.

  The other most obvious missing attendee was Hedron Burik, Roman’s personal nemesis and rival. It was the absence of Hedron—and a development related to it—that had prompted this meeting.

  “Let us all remember our Mother before we begin,” Roman said. He placed his hands over the smooth, warm globe and led the group in the words from the sacred writings.

  Once the room subsided into silence, Roman immediately began to speak. “As you are all aware, a former member of the Naslegi continues to no longer be with us. I have word on the status of Hedron Burik, and it is worrisome.

  “As some of you are aware, when Mariska came to us in the Amazon needing treatment for the cuprobeous virus, we treated her and her companion, the entomologist Eli Sanchez. During their time here, Hedron attempted to injure and even kill the Heir of Gaia: the daughter of my twin brother Viktor, the granddaughter of our esteemed Lev, Son of Gaia.”

  It was a constant source of pain to Roman that he could not, at least yet, publicly acknowledge Marina’s true parentage. Someday, perhaps, once Lev had gone, he could do so. But until then, his father must remain ignorant of how he and Viktor had traded places during their time living in the Out-World.

  Roman went on. “When confronted by me shortly after those events, Hedron attempted to explain away his actions as accidental. But there could have been no accident relative to the fact that he attempted to lock Mariska and the entomologist—while unprotected—in the chamber with the lethal copper beetles…and then, when they found their escape, he chased them down carrying firearms and attempted to assassinate them.

  “You all are aware of my feelings related to firearms,” he added, scanning the chamber with a serious look. “We are a peace-loving people and take up arms only in the name of Gaia: to defend and to protect Her.” His expression turned grave. “And as Mariska Aleksandrov could never be a threat to our Mother, there would never be a need to harm her.”

  There were nods and rumbles of agreement from around the table. Several of the attendees displayed clear shock in their reactions. For many of the twelve-member council, this was the first time they were hearing about the truth of what happened during Marina’s “escape” from the Skaladeska stronghold in the Amazon jungle—and Hedron’s involvement in it.

  “Additionally, I come before you today to advise you of even more troubling news that has come from the Out-World. As you are aware, we are continually developing and implementing tactics and offensives on those Out-Worlders who lack respect for our Mother, and who continue to rape and pillage Her. As you may know, we were in the process of testing the Volvoticus bacterium, which was discovered—regrettably—by a team of microbiologists whose liaison with the Skaladeskas was Hedron. Thus, he is fully aware of the capabilities of this particular bacterium, and we must assume he will employ its usefulness as he conducts his own sort of warfare in the Out-World.”

  “What is his intent, now that he lives in the Out-World?” asked Clarista.

  Roman shook his head. “I cannot say for certain—which is the cause of my concern—but I suspect that he will at least attempt to finish what he started in the Amazon: to destroy Mariska Aleksandrov—and in doing so, to destroy us and our hereditary line to Gaia.”

  A sharp intake of breath from Clarista and more shocked, concerned expressions rippling around the table bolstered Roman’s confidence.

  “But to what end? Why would he harm Gaia in that way?” asked Ballio.

  “Perhaps he intends to install his own family line in place, rather than that of Lev’s, who we all know is Gaia’s true son.” Roman paused to allow those words to sit and settle over the group. Then, after feeling that his point had been made sufficiently, he went on.

  “Today, I stand before you members of the Naslegi, prepared to take the full responsibility for this upon my shoulders. It was I who made the decision to cast out Hedron, along with his sister Nila—who was also my life mate, as you are aware—and the small cadre of family members who supported him. In total, fewer than a dozen of our tribe has exiled with him. However, in so doing—by imposing such a sentence on Hedron Burik—I have irrevocably endangered us and our objectives. For he took with him not only knowledge of the bacterium but possibly a sample of it as well, along with many of our future initiatives. Additionally, he seems to have removed several pieces of literature from Ivan’s library.”

  More exclamations and wide eyes—as was to be expected. Protecting and keeping the Lost Library of Ivan the Terrible, as it was known in the Out-World to the few who were aware of its exist
ence, was the other sacred duty of the Skaladeskas.

  It was also the lure by which Roman intended to bring Mariska fully into the fold of their tribe—to her vocation and calling.

  “What pieces have gone?” asked Ballio.

  “An Atlantean piece, a selection of Buddhist writings in Sanskrit, and original maps from Marco Polo—these are the pieces that have been identified as missing. There may be more,” Roman confessed. “As you are all aware, the cataloguing of the library has been a painstaking and incomplete process over the centuries, considering the lack of expertise in our fold.”

  This was true—the fundamental responsibility that had been placed on the Skaladeskas was to protect the library, not necessarily to study or catalogue it. When the library was brought by Leonid Aleksandrov to the desolate mountains of Taymyria where the small tribe lived, more than four hundred and sixty years ago, Leonid had begun the process of organizing it. But over the centuries, there were few members of the Skaladeskas who had the ability to read, study, and translate the wildly varied collection of documents, and the cataloguing process had slowed considerably.

  “Why did he take those particular pieces?” asked Yumeva.

  “We can only conjecture on Hedron’s intentions. It may have been simply that he took what was easiest to remove, protect, and carry. Dannen Fridkov has been charged with the responsibility of tracking down Hedron and relieving him of the documents as expediently as possible.”

  “Do we know where Hedron is?”

  “At last report from Fridkov, Hedron was located in the Midwest United States.” Roman looked around at the members of his trusted council. “Once again, we can only conjecture what he is doing in that area—since Mariska lives in the American state of Michigan, which is considered part of that region.” He spread his hands and shook his head, fear stabbing his belly. “We can only hope that Mariska will remain safe from Hedron Burik and his determination for revenge.”

  Twenty-Five

  Vatican City

  July 10, midday

  Villiani’s mobile rang. When he saw the number, he snatched for the phone so quickly that he fumbled it off his desk. He scrambled for the device as it fell in his lap then careened to the floor…and he finally snatched it up, answering the call just before the buzzing stopped.

  “Rastinoff. What have you to report?” he said, trying not to sound desperate or breathless. He’d hardly slept since he learned of the situation, spending an inordinate amount of time on his knees in the chapel. “Have you been able to contain the problem?”

  “Yes, Your Eminence. But there have been some unexpected developments.”

  “Tell me. I want all of the specifics.” Villiani picked up the crucifix from his desk and curled his fingers around it like a lifeline. The secret was still safe.

  “All data from Ladakh—from the location in question—has been removed and deleted from the girl’s system, and the hardware was blown up with a car bomb.”

  “Any casualties?” Villiani whispered, gripping the crucifix tighter.

  “A girl. But the contact who most worries me has thus far evaded us. Name of Elijah Sanchez. He’s the mentor of the girl who was in Ladakh, and she sent her notes and other communications to him. We intercepted it, but he is still at large. We’ve lost track of him—only temporarily.”

  “Find him.”

  “Of course. During our work, we’ve learned that another entity has knowledge of the—matter. And possesses a specimen. Unrelated to the girl who was in India.”

  “What? What are you talking about?” A cold sweat broke out over Villiani, instantly soaking his shirt beneath the armpits and at the small of his back. “Someone else knows? Someone else has a specimen? Who?”

  “An old package found in an attic included some information from the last century—it was only by chance that we discovered about it when we gained access to Sanchez’s computer. No one would have thought anything of it if we hadn’t already been working to contain it.”

  Villiani licked his dry lips. “But we drew attention to this—this attic package?” He closed his eyes. God help me. “And now?”

  “That avenue has been—shall we say—dead-ended. Permanently. Only Sanchez remains, and he is on the run. We’ll find him.”

  “And silence him. And you must destroy any evidence.”

  “Of course.” Rastinoff stopped suddenly, as if catching himself before continuing, then went on. “It appears, Your Eminence, that you are not the only one eager to quash all evidence of the—matter at hand.”

  “What is this?” Villiani straightened up in his seat. His stomach pitched violently. No. “What do you mean?”

  “Evidently, we are not the only party interested in obliterating this matter. We’ve nearly crossed paths with another individual who seems to have the same goal in kind—but without the same permanence. If you understand what I mean to say.”

  Villiani nodded, though the other man couldn’t see the affirmation. “Someone else. What do you know about this other party?” His insides recoiled, turning cold and icy.

  If someone else at the Holy See knew about this…if the others knew that he, Villiani, had made his own arrangements to shut it down…

  Then he could be ruined.

  “What do you know about this other party?” he said more urgently. But his bowels were shifting horrifically and his stomach churned with violence.

  He already knew the answer.

  Leo Colón.

  They’d sent Leo Colón.

  And if the Holy See found out Villiani had superseded them—had kept them in the dark and sent Rastinoff…

  Dear God.

  Twenty-Six

  Chicago, Illinois

  July 10, before dawn

  At last.

  Eli had to create a makeshift ento lab, but he wasn’t going to wait a minute longer to get a good, close look at this beautiful little Apis bee.

  “Let’s see just what we have here,” he murmured as he gently unrolled her onto a clean white paper.

  He was in his hotel room just outside of Chicago, only minutes from the FBI Field Office, where he was going directly tomorrow morning—or rather, later this morning, for it was nearly two o’clock by now.

  He paused once again to send up a heartfelt prayer for Jill Fetzer’s soul. There was no doubt in his mind that someone had killed her and stolen the purse that he or she believed contained the bee.

  Whoever it was must have arrived shortly after Jill was seated, maybe observing her for a time. Then they took the opportunity to attack and kill her in the restroom. Based on his own experience, Eli guessed that it was a man and that he’d used a syringe of sufentanil…while the man who’d most recently attacked Eli—and didn’t kill him—was still back in Champaign. Jill’s killer must have been the one lurking about her townhouse. He might have overheard her, or even followed her to the diner.

  Thank God for the gravelly-voiced waitress, who clearly noticed everything—or just about everything—that went on in her diner.

  If she hadn’t mentioned the cardboard box, Eli would have assumed Jill had the bee in her purse or coat, and that it was lost to him. But the cardboard box had been on the floor under the table—possibly knocked off when the murderer snatched Jill’s coat and took off. Eli wished he’d had the opportunity to ask any of the other diners whether they saw someone come in and then leave quickly, but the police were already involved and Eli wanted to get the hell out of there before he got caught up in the investigation and delayed.

  Or, worse, lost possession of the small cardboard box.

  He justified this decision in two ways: first, he needed to get the bee to safety and to find out what was so special about it, and second, he was going to tell Agent Darrow everything as soon as he could talk to her. Hopefully tomorrow morning.

  He hadn’t wanted to take the risk of the authorities relieving him of possession of the bee as evidence in a murder investigation.

  Not after all of this.


  Not when he’d caught just a glimpse of the little beauty in her tiny glass case, right before he floored Juanita and zoomed out of the parking lot. He’d had to open it, had to look inside just to make sure she was there. And what he glimpsed in that all-too-brief moment had been enough to set his heart racing. The Apis had been small, unusually small, and her coloring…bands of dark, chocolate brown, and pinkish-gold! He’d never seen anything like it.

  He made certain no one was following him—but who would be now? His assailant was back in Champaign, and Eli was confident he had not been followed—besides, the attacker had already retrieved what he wanted: Eli’s gym bag with Patty’s data in it. And Jill’s killer had already absconded with what he believed was his loot.

  With this in mind, Eli had made a quick stop at a Walmart to get a few things for his makeshift lab: a stack of plain printer paper, a ruler and measuring tape, two flashlights, and some tweezers that would have to double as forceps. A tiny, sharp pair of scissors he found in the housewares section would also be useful, as well as a cheap headlamp that would leave his hands free—and he’d snagged a magnifying glass from the craft section. But best of all, in the toy department, he found a pretty decent kid’s microscope that would at least give him a start on the exam.

  Now, he spread everything out on the table in his hotel kitchenette and began to work. The headlamp was surprisingly bright and sturdy, and when he brought over the desk lamp to the table and turned on the two flashlights, he had more than sufficient illumination.

  He started by simply examining the Apis with a magnifying glass. He couldn’t believe she hadn’t been destroyed by dermestid beetles—which could eat through cork and loved to dine on other insects. She was completely intact.

  “She’s rather small for a honeybee—which I guess isn’t too surprising, her existing at a high elevation. I would guess she uses pollen for nutrition as much as honey, as food sources would be limited in the mountains,” he murmured to himself…then stopped, took up his mobile phone, and opened the voice memo app. He could dictate and write up the notes later. He repeated his initial thoughts than went on.