Author's Note: To my guest reviewer and my first in another language: Merci! Merci beaucoup! Mon français n'est pas bon, mais j'espère que vous continuez à lire et à apprécier cette histoire.
Chapter 29: "What changed this morning?"
Just over 6 months ago, 8 days after the fall
Calvin stood in the centre of the park, turning slowly. From her vantage point, seated on one of the multicoloured benches that lined the pathways, Juliet could see the trees, the apartment blocks, and the sprawling heights of Mount Qasioun rising behind him. Antennae sprung from its relatively flat top and tiny white boxes marked the far-off houses that clung to the mountain's vertiginous slopes, piled up and daring gravity to just try and tear them down. As mesmerising as the view was, her eyes kept straying back to the lean figure a few metres away, examining the various views. If they would only just stray to his face it wouldn't be so bad!
Juliet shut her eyes and turned her face to the warm sun, trying to think through what she knew of Ibrahim. Of course, most of what she knew was what Cal had told her, or what Maggie had told her of Ibrahim and Cal. Apparently practical jokes had been the order of the day when they had worked together, and Maggie had been able to fill her in on several of the occasions when each had tried to out-prank the other before she and Cal had left Jerusalem. Juliet smiled at the memory of one such story, imagining the scene filled with the laughter and smiles of a less serious time. How long had it been since she'd seen Cal laugh: really laugh, not the half-sarcastic chuckle he used now? How long since she'd seen him smile?
A memory flickered through her mind like a black fish in a dark pond, drawing her mind's eye to it just as surely. Suddenly, she knew exactly the last time she had seen him smile. Suddenly, she was back there, with stars twinkling overhead, the air around them sparkling in clouds of gold. The memory hung there in her mind as immovable as the stars above: the memory of his smile, his touch, of feeling like she was, for once, exactly where she was supposed to be.
"That's it!" Cal's voice cut through Juliet's daydream like the last alarm that means you're going to be late for work.
Juliet looked round, hoping the slight warmth of the winter sun would help cover any blush that had crept across her features. Cal was standing with his back to her, his hands held up in front of him to form a frame. As she watched, he extended a hand backwards over his shoulder, pointing. Juliet hurried to his side.
"That's it," Calvin repeated, turning to follow the line of his outstretched arm. "There. One of the top two floors, I'm certain."
"Now all we need to do is get in there," nodded Juliet. This time, when Cal began to walk away, she was ready for him. She caught his hand in hers. "Calmly, Calvin," she chided, falling into step beside him. "Dorna may not be the only people watching the place. It's not like Ibrahim's death wasn't suspicious."
Hand in hand, they strolled through the park and across the road to the apartment block. Catching the door as it swung closed after another occupant or their acquaintance left, Cal waved Juliet inside and followed her. The stairs were their only option and, by the time they reached the first of the possibilities, Juliet was glad she had made improving her fitness one of her New Year's Resolutions. They found Ibrahim's name on a door half way along the corridor. If Dorna or anyone else had been there, it would take Vincent to spot it.
Juliet closed the door behind them, slipping her lock-picks back into their place in her backpack. Cal was already picking his way through the room, studying as much of the furnishings as he could without touching them. Juliet pulled on her cotton gloves and began a more careful examination.
The room wasn't as beautifully decorated as their rooms at the hotel, but shadows of the designs lingered in an ornament here, a rug there, a mirror, a bookcase. Juliet ran her fingers down the side of a heavy, dark wooden frame encasing a photograph of a very muddy, but very happy, Calvin and Ibrahim. Between them they held an equally muddy rectangle of what appeared to be wood.
"Guatemala, two thousand," murmured Cal behind her. "That was our first big find. The fifth Mayan Codex. The one the world never saw, but we did. It went straight to our benefactor after we'd finished with it. You'd think there would be damage to it, buried in all that mud where we found it, but there wasn't. The wood there splits right down the middle and comes off completely! It had its own case! Maybe once upon a time they all did and they just weren't in them when they got lost, but this one was. It had pages of bark folded in between two panels of seasoned wood like a concertina, then the whole thing was placed sidelong into a wooden box that fitted together as perfectly as the stones in a pyramid! He must have had this frame and its case made to match the Mayan one."
"You should keep it," smiled Juliet, watching his face come alive again at the recollection of the moment. "The local police will have finished with this place and Maggie told me he didn't have any family here."
A lopsided smile found its way onto Calvin's lips. He picked up the picture and held it by his face. "I guess at least I can prove I have a claim to ownership." He slid the two halves of the case closed over the photograph and put it in his backpack. His hand came out holding his cotton gloves. "I'll take the bedroom and bathroom. You take the kitchen and in here."
The four-room apartment was simple enough to search, but the sun had set before they were ready to admit defeat and leave. By the time they got back to the hotel, they were yawning. As much as she had got used to having Cal nearby every night since they had left Jerusalem, which was the best part of two weeks now she thought about it, Juliet could not deny the thought of a soft mattress and plump pillow was far more enchanting than cold stone and a rolled up spare blanket. She said goodnight, closed her door, and kicked off her boots. She was asleep before her head touched the pillow.
XXXX
Anthony looked at his watch. He had spent the entire morning sitting in the corner of the coffee shop, working on his laptop, consuming cup after cup of coffee. Breakfast had been hours ago now and his stomach grumbled its complaints every time a nearby customer sat down with food. His eyes returned to the street. He couldn't have missed her. She was one of the most regular and organised people he knew. either she wasn't heading in to work today at all, or she had never left. He knew the group had returned, early, from France, but there had been no sign of them jetting off somewhere else. He also knew that, should she choose to use it, Juliet had a room kept ready for her in the Veritas building. Her last words to him, however, gnawed at his mind and turned his thoughts sour. Would it be her room she had chosen? It was a perk extended to all employees of the foundation in case they, for one reason or another, had to remain on site overnight.
Blake swallowed down the last of his coffee, grimacing at the realisation it had gone cold. Work or no work, she had to eat, didn't she? He closed the laptop and replaced it in his briefcase. That, then, was his new plan. If she was there, he would see her, even if it meant hammering on the door until that great oaf of a security guard threw him out. He would call her, aloud and on her phone, until she spoke to him. He would beg her to have lunch with him, to talk things through. He would throw himself at her feet, figuratively at least, begging her to take him back. Nobody could love her like he did! They belonged together! They needed each other! All he needed was her! And through her, he would find a way to introduce the tiny gadget his benefactors had sent him to the Veritas security systems.
XXXX
It was heading for lunchtime when the Zonds descended from the top floor to the first, drawn by the news that Vincent had returned. Together they arrived in the main lab, where the rest of the team had already gathered.
"What have we got?" Solomon asked, looking from one face to another in turn.
"I got nothing," shrugged Maggie. "Any blood relations of Haley's are either long gone or completely off the grid. I can't find any financial or other links that might suggest family friends or godparents."
"The transcription's finished," breathed Calvin, leaning back in his chair, "but there's still a way to go on the translation."
"What we do have so far, though," continued Juliet, scanning down her notes, "agrees with Haley's account in general terms, but some of the specifics are different."
Solomon nodded and looked to his friend and bodyguard. "Vincent?"
No knowing smile lifted the edges of Vincent's lips. His eyes were steady and severe, and they held Solomon's as surely as an anchor. "We need to talk."
Solomon nodded. "My office then." He turned briefly to the rest of his team. "Keep going with that translation. We'll need it."
"Professor Zond!" Juliet called, catching Solomon as he turned away. "I think I should move on to, or, well, back to, our original plan. The translation's a one man job really: Cal doesn't need me. Maggie can compare the two versions of the legend just as easily as I can. If I leave now I might be able to accidentally, on purpose, bump into Tony where he often goes for lunch. There's a few places to try though."
Solomon considered this, noted that Calvin was studiously avoiding his eye, and nodded. "Okay, go for it, but don't do anything stupid: you don't need to take any unnecessary risks here. Keep me informed. Let me know if you're gonna be gone the rest of the day."
Juliet nodded and Solomon pretended he didn't hear the sigh from Calvin. He turned back to the door and headed out.
Vincent turned to follow him then paused. "Nikko," he said, looking back over his shoulder, "would you join us, please."
XXXX
Just over 6 months ago, 9 days after the fall
Juliet awoke to the sounds of music and chatter coming from the courtyard below. The smell of coffee and food sent a message via her nose directly to her stomach and somehow the rest of her, without any recognisable input from her brain, sat up. The light was not as bright as yesterday, but it still stung for a moment. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and got up. Twenty minutes later, dragged on by the siren smell of coffee, Juliet found herself washed and dressed and waiting for breakfast in the courtyard.
The food was excellent, just as the mouth-watering aromas had advertised, and Juliet was sitting, sipping her second coffee of the morning, before any thought of Calvin intruded on her mind. Weeks spent in the close confines of the many digs they had worked on had given Juliet an intricate knowledge of all her colleagues' morning habits. Professor Zond was a night owl, always the last to leave the work table. Maggie and Vincent were morning people, Vincent annoyingly so: at least Maggie didn't dish out gnomic wisdom when you yawned, or grin when she thought you weren't looking! She was the periodic insomniac who slept better at work than in her own apartment, usually. Nikko was a law unto himself, as unpredictable as an earthquake and just as loud if he was on the floor above you. Calvin was… Well, Calvin was more or less what Juliet judged 'normal' – a word the very definition of 'one size fits nobody'! He usually woke around the same time as she did, or slightly earlier, but he slept like a log until then, whether on a five star hotel bed, the jet, the ground, or a ridiculously small camp cot with his feet hanging off the end. It was one thing she had always envied about him. She checked her watch.
Maybe she was worrying over nothing. He slept late some times, after all, and he might be on his way down any minute. She waited a minute. She took another swig of coffee. When was the last time he had slept this late, Juliet wondered? When had she last had to try to wake him up, at least when they weren't having to make a sharp exit in the middle of the night? She cast her mind back. A pattern began to emerge. Cal didn't cope well with losing people. Not people who were important to him anyway.
Like old flames.
Best friends.
Juliet downed the rest of the coffee and stood up. Surely he wouldn't? Not here, with one artefact in their care, another missing and Dorna lurking in the shadows? She pushed in her chair and headed for his room. Two doors down from hers, wasn't it?
She found the room and hammered on the door with the heel of her hand. There was no hungover complaint groaned from the other side of the door. No sounds of movement either. Not even any snoring! He couldn't have gone out early without her, could he? He wouldn't. Would he? She counted her options. With no key, she could try to pick the lock, but his room, like hers, overlooked the courtyard and she would be seen by someone. She could try the Nikko approach, but the windowsills here were not quite as wide as they were in Paris and didn't extend to the next room, let alone two rooms down. That left her with hammering on the door louder, which was painful; walking away and waiting for him to turn up, which was unthinkable; or enlisting the help of the manager, which was at least the socially acceptable option. If he wouldn't help, she could work out a way to steal his keys later. She gave the door one last, rueful thump, then walked away. Just like Arnie, though, she'd be back.
XXXX
Solomon Zond sat silent and still, his eyes focussed on a far corner of the room.
"So all this time, you've been working for the same guy my Dad works for, not for my Dad?" Nikko summarised. "And what: does that mean you get paid twice? Does he do this to all the archaeologists he employs? Or does he just not trust us?"
"It's not about trust, Nikko," breathed Vincent, still watching Solomon. "It's about safety. Our employer only employs one archaeological team in this way: us. He has made and continues to make a sizeable investment in your father and his team. I am merely additional protection for that investment."
"But what you're telling me is," said Solomon slowly, drawing out every word and every pause, "that the investment our benefactor has made in us is not because of my archaeological talent, but because of my name. My ancestry. Nikko's ancestry. Something it seems he knows a hell of a lot more about than me, by the sound of it!" Solomon had risen with his words and voice, and now he stood facing the man he thought had been his closest friend. "Do you report back to him on everything or is it just the artefacts? Does he know? Did you tell him about Nikko?"
Vincent bowed his head a little, but held his friend's gaze. "My mission was to protect you and Nikko from harm and report back to our benefactor on all progress with things he would not hear from you. Yes, he knows about Nikko. He was expecting this. He simply expected it in you, not your son."
"He what?" Solomon and Nikko chorused, their voices as alike as their temperaments.
"Our benefactor is the keeper of much ancient knowledge and secrets. Secrets he has not, and most likely will not, share with me," replied Vincent, watching father and son gently settle. "Not least among these is the source of this knowledge. There are things I know about him but am forbidden to speak of. Up until this morning, that included the complete nature of my mission here."
"What changed this morning?" Solomon demanded, though in his heart he already knew the answer.
Vincent sighed and, for once, his countenance seemed to slip into one of sorrow, perhaps even regret. "This morning," he said, "I told him about Haley's legend."
