Chapter 21: "Because she was right"

Solomon Zond flicked from paper to paper. The table before him was smaller than the ones back home, but he needed something to occupy his mind while the jet crossed the watery expanse of the Atlantic ocean. He couldn't sleep: his mind was turning somersaults! The analysis of the box had led them to Wissembourg. The decoding of its contents had led them to the abbey and its ramparts. There hadn't been time to analyse what Maggie and Juliet found at the abbey and they hadn't even got as far as telling the rest of the team about what Vincent and Nikko found underground as they tried to rescue Cal and Juliet. Now there was another possible lead and an almost certainly immediate threat towards it! He ran a hand through his hair and turned to the decoded runes Cal and Juliet had completed before leaving New York. The tablet wasn't a part of the Ring. Solomon was sure of that. It was linked though. It had to be: they had found it hidden with the Horus wheel. Yet the words that had been in the coded futhark on the tablet itself made no sense. If it was a riddle, it was one he just didn't have the available brain power right now to work out. It was the name on the tablet, alongside that riddle, that had led them to look for a route underground, by one way or another, and, thanks to his son's sharp eyes, revealed to them their next clue. Maybe even, he dared to hope, the next piece of the Ring.

Hope was something that had been fading in Solomon Zond's heart and mind. For the past two years they seemed to have hit more walls and dead ends than he could ever remember, and when they did find something linked to the Ring of Truth, there was always some disaster looming. He knew their work was dangerous. He knew his team understood the risks they were taking simply by associating with him. They knew them and they still chose to be a part of his team. Nevertheless, every time a tunnel caved in, or Dorna caught up with them, or they got caught in a blizzard or sandstorm or, most memorably of the past two years, tornado: every time, he felt the weight of blame and guilt settle on his shoulders like a noose around his neck.

A hand landed on Solomon's shoulder, something that shouldn't have made him jump quite so much as it did considering there were only the six of them on the jet and their pilot.

"You should be sleeping: it's been a long day," Maggie murmured. "Keep on like this and you'll be no use to us when we get home."

"I tried that," sighed Solomon, edging along the seat to let Maggie sit beside him. "Didn't work. Thought I might as well take a look at what we've got so far."

"And what have we got?" Maggie enquired, taking the seat offered and casting an expert eye over the scattered paraphernalia on the relatively small table. "Anything new jump out at you from between the lines?"

Solomon sighed and shook his head. "We have a wheel with an ancient Egyptian symbol – hidden at the top of a pyramid, I grant you, but after Antarctica I'm not gonna be making any assumptions there – a tablet with a Proto-Germanic inscription, in a coded passage that translates to either the world's most irritating riddle or utter nonsense, a box with a church Latin prayer for protection that doesn't seem to be referring to the tablet in said box, and a Middle-Eastern parchment that we haven't even started properly deciphering yet! What lines? We don't have lines, we have unrelated random scribbles! We only know they're important random scribbles because now we have Dorna back on our case!"

"Okay, firstly," said Maggie, placing a calming hand on Solomon's shoulder, "we don't know that Dorna is back on our case, if they ever even left it, and secondly: we have way more reason than that for thinking these pieces are important! We know the Horus Wheel is a part of the Ring: it's too similar to Nikko's description and the Wheel of Dharma to be anything else. If that is a part of the ring, then it follows the tablet, which was found with it, has to be linked. It tells a part of the story, doesn't it? Same goes for the box it was in. So the only item we have that we don't know the details of yet is that parchment. We know the script was similar to the one found on the Elm Island tablet, but not the same: in fact, we think it's Nabatean. We know that Dorna were spotted in the vicinity. Other than that, we know nothing. We don't know that the parchment is linked to the ring, or if it is what Dorna were looking for. We definitely don't know that Anthony is Dorna! What's more: we have a plan now. And, whether Anthony Blake is or is not connected to them, he doesn't know we suspect him, so he's a lot less likely to see that plan coming than our usual brand of bad guy."

"But if he is," Solomon countered. "If it is…"

"Then he's probably working on ways to win Juliet back as we speak! That building makes Fort Knox look like that museum in Glasgow when we're away. Nobody in their right minds would try to break in then, when they could manage it with a little more risk and a lot less difficulty when we're there."

Solomon sighed, raking both hands through his hair.

"There's nothing you can do here, Solomon," murmured his oldest friend. "If Haley were here, you know what she'd say."

He nodded. "Sleep now, worry later. That was almost her mantra, until Nikko was born."

"Then, if I recall, it was almost yours."

Solomon let out a dry laugh. "Just 'cause I said it, doesn't mean I felt it."

"Then why'd you say it?"

"Because she needed to hear it," he shrugged. "Because she was right, whether we felt it or not."

Maggie let the silence settle around that thought. Below her hand, she felt Solomon draw in a deep breath and let it out in a sigh.

"Okay," he said. "Okay, I get it. I'll go. I'm not promising anything, but I'll try."

XXXX

6 ½ Months Ago – 7 days after the fall.

By the time Cal and Juliet reached Grgis, the sun was heading for the horizon. They had crossed the countryside, avoiding roads, to make the journey shorter, but it had still been slow progress. Before them, the small, scattered town clung to its main roads like dew to a spider's web, the tall tower of its central mosque a landmark for miles around. It was a Friday, and the call to prayer rang out across the rooftops and surrounding landscape. A dip in the farmland sunk down beside them, the relic of a not so distant past.

"Let's camp here," suggested Juliet, a hand reaching out to rest on Cal's arm. "We won't find anyone to take us on to Jasim or Damascus today anyway."

Calvin nodded. "I'll take the first watch." He half scrambled, half jumped down into the crater and turned to hold out a hand to Juliet. She waved it away.

"There's no need," Juliet frowned, picking her way down into the depression. "Dorna can't possibly know where we headed after that tunnel, if they even found it!"

"Yet!" Cal added. Juliet's foot slid on some loose soil and the next moment Cal was looking down at her in his arms again. A hand on either arm, he moved her away. He turned to where he had dropped his pack. When he spoke again, the edges were gone from his voice, but somewhere in there, new walls were building. "Look, Juliet, we don't know what they know or where they're at just now, so it can't hurt to play it safe, at least for the time being."

"Fine," she sighed, shifting the pack from her back to the ground and trying to focus on unpacking the necessities. Somehow the world seemed colder, as if the only source of warmth had just set her aside and walked away. Juliet shivered. "Just promise me you'll wake me for my turn."

XXXX

"Is it my turn?" Juliet mumbled, dredging her consciousness from the muddy depths of a dream.

"Not this time," murmured Cal, his lip curling in a smile. His hand still rested on the shoulder he had shaken. "We're heading in to land. Time to buckle up."

"Oh," sighed Juliet, yawning. She sat up. "Already?"

Cal moved into the now vacant seat beside her. "Time flies when you're wiped out."

Juliet clicked the seatbelt into place and rested her head on Calvin's shoulder. "I remember. You know, when I started this job I never in a million years thought I'd end up sleeping half the places I have!"

Calvin interlaced his fingers with hers and laughed. "What? You mean like in the back of an ancient pickup truck with no suspension and a lingering smell of goats?"

"Hey, goats are incredibly useful and intelligent animals," Juliet teased, closing her fingers around his hand and nudging him with her elbow. "It's not their fault they can be a little, well, pungent."

"Yeah, and after two hours in that truck they weren't the only ones!" Cal laughed. He raised Juliet's hand to his lips and kissed it. When he spoke again, his voice was soft and serious. "You sure about this?"

"It's the best plan we've got," she replied, sitting up as the plane banked to face the runway. "Doesn't mean I like it, or I won't jump at the chance of a better alternative. Just means we don't have one right now."

"I know, but I know you…"

"I'm okay with it," Juliet interrupted him, running her thumb over the back of his hand. "I've done what I needed to do. I am where I want to be. And believe me: there's no place I'd rather be."

"Really? No place? Than in a plane?" Cal queried, a grin trying to force its way onto his face. "'Cause I can think of a few."

"That a fact, huh?" Juliet laughed in mock dismay. "And do I get to feature in any of them?"

Calvin leant over and pressed his lips to her forehead. He lowered his lips to her ear and his voice to a whisper. "Every single one."

XXXX

Vincent was the first to re-enter the Veritas building. It was his own little ritual. Every time they returned he, and only he, did a full sweep of the building before anyone else entered. He would check his systems, his traps, his checkpoints, and then, if everything was safe, he would call the others in and report any findings. He could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times someone, Dorna or otherwise, had tried to break in to the building. Only once, while they were absent, had anyone succeeded. That had been Dorna, he was certain.

He crouched to examine and remove a nigh invisible tripwire hidden in the woodwork moulding of a doorframe. It wasn't a solid wire, of course: nothing so banal. Instead it was the latest in laser light gates, with a few modifications of his own, disguised as a screw in the wooden frame. He studied the painted wood, looking for signs of tampering, and pressed the button that switched the laser off and removed the trap. When he straightened, he turned to the shadow that had been following him.

"You walk like a tap dancer on a tin roof," he told the young man behind him. "A wise man once said you should 'walk as if you are kissing the Earth with your feet'. He was not wrong."

"As if I'm what now?" Nikko blinked, an eyebrow raising. "Dude, where do you get these analogies?"

"He wrote many books," mused Vincent, turning back to his surveying. "I will lend you some if you promise to read them without breaking their spines, folding down page corners, or getting crumbs in them."

"I'm good, thanks," nodded Nikko. "I'll stick to graphic novels and weird history."

"No matter how 'good' one is, one must always strive to be 'better'," Vincent smiled. He turned into the last part of his survey. It was the fourth floor. "I will take it from here, Nikko. Please return and tell your father it is safe to start bringing everything inside."

"Hey, I thought we agreed you were gonna show me how you did this stuff!" Nikko complained. "Part of my training, and all that."

"The fourth floor system is separate to the others. You have seen enough to attempt the challenge I have in mind."

Without waiting for a reply, Vincent turned to the stairs up to the fourth floor. It would be interesting to see if the boy could get past his safeguards, he thought. Especially now that this new ability had surfaced. Control was still a problem though. The boy's mind was a whirlwind of ideas and memories, research and suppositions. Until he could learn to quiet that mind, he would never have full control of his powers. Without that control in place, it would be unwise in the extreme to grant him access to the fourth floor, especially without his father's permission.