Chapter 4:
The Rattle of Sabers

TWO WEEKS LATER...

The world was changing.

The metamorphosis had begun less than twenty years earlier after the guns had fallen silent with the survivors taking stock of their losses and burying their dead. In the aftermath of the carnage, there was little to do but feel horror at what was wrought during the previous four years. When it began, it was all so simple. Pride and nationalism drove men who believed the old traditions were inviolate, that it would follow them into the new century. Yet the new millennium was like none that had come before it.

The 20th century was born in the machinery of industry where craft was discarded for mechanisation. Man no longer created, he mass-produced.

And he did this no better when it came to weapons of war. Stockpiling became the order of the day and with each country's growing arsenal, came the proportional rise of arrogance at their invincibility. Borders became lined with guns, voices barked at each other from across wire fences and the familiar rattle of sabres was heard from high offices. Those wanting to fight the Great War only needed an excuse and it came in the form of the assassination of an Archduke in Sarajevo.

Tipping the first domino, the assassination began the chain reaction that ultimately led to four years of carnage across Europe, seeding the nascent stirrings of America's international role in the world and toppling once and for all, the sick man of Europe, the Ottoman Empire. Germany was crushed underfoot for being the primary antagonist in the war, its people humiliated and made to pay for a war everyone had a part in. Moderate voices warned restraint by the victorious Allied forces in their dealings with the defeated German state but the shock of a war where the casualties numbered in the millions, left little room for compassion.

Julia Annabelle Pemberton was raised by one of these voices.

His name was Sean Boswell and when he married her mother Eleanor, Julia was nine years old. It would be years before Julia would discover why her mother fled America to the arms of their English family in Hertfordshire but once arrived, they discarded her father Donald Avery's name for the sake of their continued survival. Eleanor, ever independent, a trait she instilled in her daughter, remained at Hertfordshire briefly before making her way to London where they lived modestly on what Donald left them following his death.

Eleanor met Sean Boswell shortly after she began work as a typist at a shipping company situated in Vauxhall. Wheel-chair bound after an injury in the service, Sean was kind, charming and had great stories to tell. Unlike most men of his time, he respected his new wife's ability to fend for herself and her young daughter by not objecting to her continued desire to work. In fact, he rather encouraged it.

Julia adored him.

The family lived in the Boswell family home where Sean had lived alone with his Siamese manservant Narong. Sean who had more or less given up on having children loved Julia equally and they shared a close relationship from the moment she entered his life. He told her stories of the world and the people beyond England and encouraged her to always look outside the norm to find her answers.

"Being a woman should be no reason to give yourself limits," he often said and Julia took that simple order as gospel.

Throughout her childhood, Sean treated her like the son he always wanted but Julia took no offence in this because his love for her was real. Besides in comparison to her friends, who were expected to do nothing with their lives except become mothers and wives, Julia considered herself fortunate her father, and to her, Sean was her father, instilled in her greater ambitions outside those traditional roles.

During their hunting trips, he taught her how to shoot. Having been one of the best snipers in the service it was a skill he was happy to pass down to her, though at the time, she did not understand why. He encouraged her to learn languages and by the time Julia was sixteen, she was fluent in French, German, Spanish, Italian and Arabic. He encouraged her to read, usually about history and geography, telling her the key to understanding people and their reactions was learning about where they came from and how they lived.

At the age of nine, Sean encouraged her to join Narong when the manservant performed his morning exercises. Julia never minded because the Siamese man's movements were graceful and beautiful. She practised with him for an hour every morning before school and then again before tea. It was almost two years later, she learned these exercises were for a traditional form of fighting in Narong's native country called Muay Boran. By the time she went away to boarding school, Julia knew how to protect herself against attackers.

Julia was often puzzled why Eleanor never objected to these rather unladylike pursuits until Sean explained how her biological father, Donald Avery, had been murdered by an apocalyptic cult that even now sought to find her and her mother. The Children of Erran had plans for Julia Pemberton and aware he could not protect her all the time, Sean, with Eleanor's permission, made certain Julia could do it herself. So far, her greatest protection had been her anonymity but someday that could change and he did not wish her to be vulnerable simply because she was a woman.

Following the outbreak of the Great War, Julia learned both her parents were not in fact employees of Messrs Rasen, Falcon Limited, a fairly ordinary shipping company in Vauxhall but rather the Foreign Branch of the Secret Service Bureau or the SIS as it was better known. Sean had served with Mansfield Cumming in Military Intelligence and was one of its most senior members. Eleanor had met Sean when she worked as Cumming's secretary and had served the Crown in the intelligence community ever since.

Almost all of the friends visiting their Kensington home, including Albert Lansing whose body she would view years later, were apart of the service. It seemed almost natural Julia would become one of them when she was old enough. Despite societal views of women at the time, the truth was, the SIS valued its female operatives because they were able to infiltrate places men were incapable of going. By the time she was a fully fledged operative, Julia had seen almost as much combat as any soldier in the war before and the one to come.

For years after the armistice, Sean had decried the heavy-handed approach the Allies were taking with the Germans, claiming that people under the boot resorted to extremism to survive and he was right. The continued persecution of a once proud German nation had driven its disillusioned and humiliated citizens into the open arms of Adolf Hitler. Intelligence agencies across the world watched in growing alarm as Germany improved its fortunes and once again, the rattling of sabres could be heard.

War was coming. It was inevitable.

However, unlike the last war, the weapons of this one, would be vastly different and make the carnage in the trenches of Europe seem almost trivial. Hitler wanted weapons that would more than just win, he wanted the power to conquer the world.

HASSAN TOWER, RABAT

She stared at it for a long time, trying to imagine how it could do what it was designed for. It was no larger than her palm, crafted with the meandering design favoured by the ancient Greeks into a circlet of aging bronze. It was pressed into the wall of the temple, one of a dozen such artifacts adorning the incomplete shrine once meant to be a monument to the empire that built it. The ambitions of the tower were never realised and though the precious items collected to decorate it still remained in place, the structure itself was never completed.

Julia Pemberton eyed the object again as she stood alone in the Mausoleum where the artifact was found. At this time of the day, which was almost evening, the tourists had bled away, with only the guards left behind waiting for the last of the visitors to depart so they could close the doors. In the background, she could hear Riley talking to the guards protecting this chamber, engaging him in conversation about the history of the tower, leaving her free to do what was necessary.

She had entered the place wearing the traditional garb of an Arabian woman, her copper coloured hair concealed beneath a headdress while her petite shape was similarly covered in robes. The only thing that gave her away were her emerald coloured eyes but the only way to hide them was to wear sunglasses which would defeat the purpose. In any case, no one questioned her when she arrived at the Tower and made her way into the mausoleum where Mohammad the Fifth was entombed. It was a splendid chamber paved with black marble, gilded gold walls and glazed zellige tiles that made it look like an exercise in opulence, a fitting resting place for a descendant of the Great Prophet.

Glancing about furtively, Julia stepped up to the wall where the artifact, referred to by Albert Lansing as the Circlet of Almathea, was used as a minor piece in a wall sculpture the ancient Moslems crafted to display their mastery over pagan religions. Julia could see the Circlet stood out among the other pieces whose origins she guessed were from the ancient civilisations of Asia Minor. Riley continued his chatter with the guards, giving Julia the opening she needed as she retrieved a flat headed screwdriver from her robes and proceeded to prise the thing from the sandstone wall.

It came away from the rock easily, snapping off once she applied a little pressure. Before it could fall against the hard, marble floor, possibly creating enough noise to attract the attention of the guards, Julia caught it with one hand and quickly hid it back in the folds of her robe. Discarding the screwdriver behind one of the statues standing guard over the white, marble coffin in the centre of the room, Julia departed with an almost casual air. As she walked through the doorway and nodded slightly at the guards in respect, she showed no sign of having committed the crime whose punishment would most likely mean the loss of a hand.

Riley did not pay attention to her departure, continuing to speak a little longer.

The Circlet was small enough for its absence to not be immediately noticed so Julia figured she had a little time as she strolled out of their sight. As she stepped into the stairwell, the rays of the setting sun had turned the space into a rainbow of colours thanks to the stained glass on the arched windows. It wouldn't be long before it was dark and even Riley's conversational distraction would run its course when the guards ushered him out. If they chose to make a survey of the mausoleum walls before they closed up for the night, they might discover her act of thievery.

Julia intended to be out of the Tower before that happened.

Hurrying down the steps, she discarded the costume she was wearing and revealed beneath them, the perfect picture of an English woman travelling abroad, bearing little resemblance to the Arabian female who entered the place. As she emerged into the open air, she heard footsteps behind her and felt her stomach tense. Clutching her purse, which incidentally contained her gun, she snapped it open and slid her fingers past the clasp to make contact with the stainless steel finish.

"Do you have it, Miss?" Francis Riley asked quietly as he came up alongside her and they continued walking briskly to the exit.

"Mr Riley," she gave him a little smile. "Did you ever doubt it?"

"Of course not," he grinned as they approached the sentries at the main gates, wearing their impressive looking uniforms and red felt fezzes. "Just didn't want all that success to go to your head."

Julia uttered a laugh as they passed by the oblivious guards, casting a glance over her shoulder just long enough to see the tower standing proudly against the sapphire sky. She wished she had a chance to visit the place like a tourist. It was really quite breathtaking. Facing front again, she saw the empty dirt parking lot where their car, a black Wosely Wasp waited patiently for them.

"Where to now MIss?" Riley asked, wishing to get out of this hot, arid climate and head somewhere cold and rainy.

"America," she said firmly. "We have the Circlet, but it's only the beginning of this little hunt. According to Lansing, there are inscriptions on it that might lead to the whereabouts of the item Hitler is after. "

"We don't even know what the 'item' is," Riley pointed out as they climbed into the car.

"True," she nodded, "but I think its time we enlist the assistance of someone who can help us find out."

As one who was constantly opposed to change, for he preferred it when things remained in stasis once they reached a state of perfection, Ezra Standish had to confess he rather liked the improvements instituted at Palomas since it came under new management.

Roberto's feisty daughter, Inez had swept in from their native Val Verde where she had lived most of her life until her inheritance brought her to Albuquerque. Since taking stewardship over the bar, she'd made subtle changes Ezra would have baulked at if suggested to him first. Fortunately, or rather, unfortunately, depending on one's perspective, Inez had controlling interest in Paloma's management and was able to make her improvements without his permission.

Which was just as well because the changes had boosted clientele. Not only because the woman behind the bar was one of the most beautiful Ezra had ever seen, but also because she brought some life and colour to an establishment that had become somewhat stagnant after years under the same hand. The changes were not sweeping, but enough to bring in new customers who previously considered the place a watering hole for old men.

Pleasant aromas wafted from the kitchen, dusted out of apathy, with a new cook who presented Mexican as well as contemporary fare, while in the background, a four-piece jazz band played a few sets, sometimes with Inez joining them and on other occasions, on her own. Whatever the combination, the addition proved popular and while their favourite haunt was a little livelier than usual, Ezra had to admit, Palomas suddenly became a fun place to be, especially when it attracted women to the place.

Enjoying his glass of cognac, Ezra glanced across the floor at the small space reserved for dancers and saw JD engaged in the lindy with one of the young women who now came to the place to listen to the music. Nathan, on the other hand, was leaning against the bar, talking to one of Inez's barmaids, a pretty Spanish young lady named Maria. He raised his glass, waving over Josiah Sanchez to their usual table when he saw the hulking man enter the establishment. The man's brow was furrowed as if he was unhappy but surveying the room for a few seconds, bled away whatever unpleasantness he had encountered.

As Josiah weaved through the crowd, he glanced at the bar where Buck Wilmington was following Inez across the floor, no doubt making another futile attempt to score a date with the woman. Since her arrival, Inez had fast become Buck's holy grail and his pursuit of her after her numerous rejections made Ezra wondered whether his determination to win her hand was motivated by more than just his usual womanising impulses.

"He at it again?" Josiah asked when he reached the table.

"I am afraid so," Ezra replied, allowing the instrumental rendition of Shoo Shoo Baby to soak into his psyche. "I think Mr Wilmington has more than met his match."

As Josiah watch Inez completely ignore Buck while she served a customer his drink before returning to the counter, the older man wondered if Buck knew the Sisyphean trial he was embarking on with this relentless pursuit. "I think she may be a little more than that."

Ezra allowed a dimpled grin to spread across his face before he regarded Josiah. "And you Sir? You arrived with a decidedly dark cloud hanging over your head."

"Oh," Josiah bristled, remembering his irritation of the incident now that Ezra reminded him of it again. "Just some crazy dame almost running me off the road."

Ezra sat up straighter at that statement. "Run you off the road? Pray tell what happened?"

"Nothing too serious," Josiah assured him. "Woman drove her car like she was racing for the Indy 500. Almost ran me off the road on the way here. Worst yet, she had a child in the car, I'm sure."

"Women are not their best in automobiles," Ezra remarked, aware he was being somewhat chauvinistic, but he stood by his comment. "I hope she did not harm your vehicle."

"No," Josiah said flagging a waitress to get him his usual. "But she's lucky we didn't exchange words or I would have impressed upon her that the maker will eventually gather us to his bosom, there's no need for her to rush her journey there or take a child with her."

"I'm sure she would have taken that advice in the spirit it was given," Ezra held a perfect poker face at that comment.

"I'm sure," Josiah was aware that it would not have been. "Where are Chris and Vin?" His quick study of the floor earlier had told him their number was missing their leader and their sharpshooter.

"I believe Mr Larabee is meeting the Professor about a potential new venture and Mr Tanner was collecting Miss Styles from the train station."

"That's right," Josiah nodded. "He did mention she was on break from school."

"Yes, I also believe she intends to pursue a medical internship in the area during this visit." Ezra pointed out, having heard the discussion the last time Alex was in town. "Hopefully with the Professor's endorsement and her father's standing in the community, the position will not be difficult to secure."

"Hello Josiah," Inez greeted, arriving at the table with Buck following her like a puppy, while she carried the tray that held Josiah's mug of beer.

"Hello Inez," Josiah greeted, tipping his hat at her, in politeness.

The lady flashed him a radiant smile, always grateful for the courtesies he saw fit to bestow upon her whenever she encountered him. After a day on her feet, serving customers, such consideration went a long way to securing her affection. Besides, Josiah and his friend were favourite customers of her father's, and when Roberto had talked about her taking over the bar someday, he made sure she knew which ones to pay special consideration to.

"Here you go Senor," she lowered the frosty mug on the table.

"Hey Josiah," Buck greeted quickly before returning to his efforts to secure Inez's company this evening. "Come on Inez, I promise you, you'll love what I got planned. I'll take you up in the Millie. We'll fly to the coast for a little dinner, be back by dawn after dancing under the stars by the beach."

Ezra and Josiah exchanged a glance, knowing full well Chris would turn positively apoplectic if he thought Buck was wasting fuel on such a frivolous journey. There was still a Depression on and the cost of fueling the Millie was not insignificant. However, neither man voiced this comment since they were both fairly certain Buck would never have the chance to go on such a date.

"Buck," Inez glared at him with impatience. "I am too busy for this today! We have a full house and I do not have time for your usual..." her words drifted off as her gaze shifted to the entrance of the tavern.

The three men's eyes followed the direction of Inez's pointed stare and realised she was looking at a woman in her mid-forties, sporting a head of dark gold that hung around her in wild, crazy curls. She wore her age well, dressed in a pair of dark, wide-legged slacks, a crisp white shirt and a lavender cardigan. However, as fetching as she appeared, it was the boy standing next to her that was of most interest to them and to Inez.

He could not have been any more than seven, with dusky skin and familiar eyes. He was wearing the uniform of a Menaul School student, one of the few interracial educational facilities in town. The boy was sporting a black eye and a split lip, both of which had been tended to. As the woman surveyed the room and sighted Inez, she began ushering the boy forward while Inez closed the distance to meet her.

"Who is that?" Buck had to ask as he watched Inez stomp away.

"BERNARDO ROBERTO RECILLOS! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

With a sanguine smile, Ezra answered. "Her son."