Chapter 22: "How are you related to me?"
The wee small hours of the morning did little to quell the bustle of the New York city streets. The traffic was quieter, and there was a difference in the feel of the marginally thinner crowd traversing the streets, but the trip from the jet to the Veritas Foundation building had still felt far longer than it actually was. By the time Nikko returned to report his and Vincent's findings to Solomon, the Professor was the only one of the four left in the car not gently nodding. Together, they roused the others and began the unloading of the vehicle. Bags and cases piled up in the hall, then were ferried up from there to various rooms. Jetlagged bodies soon began piling up in the lounge. When Vincent joined them, only Solomon was still standing, though Maggie, Cal and Juliet were all making valiant attempts to stay awake and Nikko had found a book to read.
"Everything is as it should be," assured Vincent. "I will remain on guard, however, and put a few safeguards back in place. I will remove them again in the morning, but it would not be wise to attempt to leave the building without checking with me first. As we all have sleeping quarters here, I would strongly suggest we all make use of those for tonight at least, especially Juliet."
"Okay, let's get some sleep, everyone," nodded Solomon. He caught Vincent's eye and headed off in the direction of the kitchen. Vincent dutifully followed him.
"Never have I ever been so glad to have a bedroom right above my lab!" Maggie groaned, dragging herself to her feet and out of the room.
"I never did understand exactly how that game worked," chattered Nikko.
"I'll buy you a book of drinking game rules for your twenty first," promised Cal, in that vague fog of weariness that makes everything sound like sarcasm.
"I'd be okay with that," grinned Nikko. "You know, as…"
"Good night, Nikko," smiled Juliet. She and Cal headed to the door hand in hand. A grin split Nikko's face.
"Shut up, Nikko," Calvin echoed in the same sing-song tones Juliet had used.
XXXX
Sunday morning dawned bright and early, the sun blazing down from a cloudless sky. The light and heat did little to disturb the occupants of the Veritas building, however, and it was well into mid-morning before anyone found their way down to the kitchen for breakfast. The waiting coffee was freshly brewed. Maggie hunted down Vincent in his office.
"Do you have cameras in our bedrooms?"
"Certainly not," replied Vincent, "that would be a terrible invasion of privacy. The corridors on the other hand…"
"Uh-huh," mused Maggie. She raised the mug in her hand. "Thanks for the coffee."
"You are most welcome, Maggie," Vincent rose, picking up his phone. "Solomon will be joining you shortly. If he is looking for me, please tell him I am removing our additional security measures. I will join you in the common rooms when I'm done."
Solomon was in fact already in the kitchen, hunting for cereal, when Maggie returned.
"Sleep well?" Maggie enquired, opening a cupboard, removing a box of cereal and handing it to the still decaffeinated Solomon.
"Thanks," he nodded, taking the box and pouring the cereal into his waiting bowl. "That obvious?"
"Little bit," shrugged Maggie. "It is your kitchen."
"I guess that's fair," he yawned back, successfully hunting down milk and adding it to his cereal. Maggie handed him a mug of coffee and followed him to the table. He nodded his thanks and sat down opposite her. "I was even tempted to sneak down and take a look at that parchment myself."
"Now that wouldn't be fair," Maggie chided.
Solomon half shrugged, half nodded. "I said I was tempted, I didn't say I actually did it!"
"I'm guessing that's our first point of business for the day."
"Yes, and no," replied Solomon, bobbing his head from side to side. "I want Calvin and Juliet to get that parchment translated ASAP, but I also want us all to see what Nikko and Vincent brought up from the earthworks yesterday. If we can open it, that might change our priorities a little."
"Change what priorities now?" Nikko asked, wandering into the room and following his nose straight to the coffee. He joined his father and Maggie at the table, coffee in one hand, cereal box in the other, then sat down and started munching the cereal straight out of the box.
"Bowl?" Solomon sighed, waving his spoon in the general direction of said crockery.
"Nah, I'm good," grinned his son. Solomon mustered up a weary glare. Nikko rolled his eyes and rotated off his chair to go grab the necessary additions.
"We were talking about priorities for today," said Solomon, watching his precocious progeny pour milk, then cereal into his waiting bowl. "How are you related to me?"
"Says the guy who puts pineapple on pizza," retorted Nikko around a mouthful of breakfast. "So, what's up first then? Syrian scroll or buried box?"
"Box first. I want Cal and Juliet to take a look and see if they find anything like the last one. After that, I want them working on their parchment and we can work on the box and its contents."
"You know, I was kinda hoping I could team up with those two this morning. Brush up on my translation skills and all that," wheedled Nikko, looking up over his coffee mug at his father.
"Not a chance," scoffed Solomon. "First: it's their find, not yours. Second… Well…"
"Second: they could do with a bit of space today," offered Maggie. "Once Tony knows Juliet's back, she and Calvin will have to start putting on a show for whoever's watching. Let them have today to themselves."
It was heading for noon and the air conditioning was working overtime when the whole group finally gathered in the linguistics lab. Solomon stood at one end with a dark, purple-black metal box, slightly larger than the wooden one found in Alaska. A glint of gold inlay winked across the table as the light caught it. There were no gems: just inlaid lines of gold picking out the decorative shapes of lotuses on either side of a small collection of hieroglyphs. Five symbols clustered together, starting with what looked like a pyramid with a smaller pyramid inside it. Next to it was an ankh, then a snake over a semi-circle and a straight line. Solomon picked up the box and held it up for Maggie to scan the symbols. He was wearing gloves.
"Di ankh djet," read Juliet. "Given life eternal."
"Ancient Egyptian black copper most likely," nodded Solomon, "hence the gloves. We haven't tested it yet, but it is something we need to do as one of the ingredients in Egyptian black copper may have been arsenic."
"What do you think 'life eternal' means?" Calvin frowned, scrutinising the box from the opposite end of the table. "We're not going to open that thing and get eaten alive by a swarm of scarabs that have been locked up since the Middle Kingdom, are we?"
"That only happens in movies," murmured Vincent, quietly reassuring nobody.
"There are other symbols on the other sides," said Solomon, resuming his lecture. "We need to get them translated and get this thing open."
"Maybe it's a cat," Nikko offered. Everyone looked at him. "What? They loved cats in Ancient Egypt and cats loved boxes." He shrugged. "If it fits…"
"It doesn't," retorted Solomon. "The only cat boxes I know of in Ancient Egypt were very definitely cat shaped. Cat mummy shaped, to be more precise."
"On the other hand, it is another link between the Wissembourg tablet and the Horus wheel," Maggie pointed out. "Maybe even the link we've been looking for."
Solomon shook his head. "I doubt the contents of this box will answer all our questions, but I'm sure it'll answer some of them. If we can figure out how to open it, that is."
"The Wissembourg box had a button disguised as a part of the box itself," offered Juliet. She looked from the box up to its image on the plasma screen. "In that case it was a knot in the wood, but in this one maybe it's a part of one of the glyphs."
Calvin, silent since his scarabs comment, stared at the box, watching the professor turn it over and round in his hands. Solomon caught his expression and paused. "What're you thinking, Cal."
"Hmm?" Cal looked up with a start, called back to the present by the sound of his name. "Oh, uh, nothing important. Probably not important, anyway. Just something the other box reminded me of."
"Which is?" Maggie pressed.
"Oh, um, well, when we found the parchment in Syria, the room we found it in was hidden, right?"
"I remember," nodded Solomon. "It came up when you got back to Jerusalem with the parchment. What about it?"
"It used the same sort of disguise for the button to get into the room. I mean there were a whole bunch of hidden buttons and levers and stuff, but the button to open the door in the first place, and the button on the Wissembourg box were both painted to hide them in the background of the picture."
"Yeah, but the catacombs in Syria were built eight hundred years and more after the Wissembourg box," countered Juliet.
"Am I the only person finding it ironic the box we keep calling the Wissembourg box is the one we didn't find in Wissembourg?" Nikko cut in.
"Yes," chorused five voices.
"It is not strange for ideas and techniques to be passed on through the ages," observed Vincent. "We may seek for what was lost, but all that we use to do this is built upon knowledge that was retained and passed on."
"Either way, we now have two puzzles to figure out," nodded Solomon. He looked to Cal and Juliet at the far end of the table. "You two: use the scans to translate the hieroglyphs round the sides of this thing first, then work through that parchment. I want to see that translation yesterday! Maggie: I want to know just what recipe of black copper we're dealing with here. Vincent, Nikko: find me a way into this thing."
"And you will be?" Nikko breezed as the others headed away.
"I'll be hitting the books," replied his father. A grin broke out across Solomon Zond's face. "Unless, of course, you want to swap."
Nikko pulled on a pair of gloves, waggling his fingers into place and letting the nitrile snap against his wrist. He grinned. "Magical metal mystery box for me, please."
Solomon handed the box to Vincent and laughed. "Get him out of here before someone nominates him for an Oscar or something!"
XXXX
Anthony Blake was not a particularly religious man, but Sunday was his day of rest regardless. He jogged through the leafy shade of Central Park, the pitter-patter of Dizzy Gillespie playing through his headphones. This was his time to relax. To lose himself in the music and the trees. The music stopped. So did Anthony. He checked his headphones, but they were still connected. It was the iPod itself that was dead. He checked his phone: that was dead too. The thought crossed his mind that he might just be about to join them.
"Don't worry," said a voice in the shrubbery. Somehow the way they said it managed to negate any shred of comfort the phrase was designed to convey. "Just one of our little toys. It makes sure we have your full attention and nobody can interrupt or listen in to our little chat. Just plug them into their chargers when you get home and they'll be fine."
"Who are you?" Anthony asked, straightening and turning to face the source of the sound. His eyes searched the vegetation for this new acquaintance in vain. When the voice spoke again it was behind him.
"I am exactly who you think I am," it said, almost lazily. "I am a representative of the organisation you have spent the last six months achieving absolutely nothing for."
"So now you're here to kill me?" Anthony asked, turning to follow the voice.
This time the voice laughed. Not merrily or darkly, just the kind of slight laugh an adult uses when a young child says something incredibly naïve. The comparison was not lost on Anthony.
"No, Mister Blake, I am not here to kill you. Not today, anyway. If I were, you and I would not be having this pleasant, friendly little chat, I assure you. No, I am here to deliver your instructions."
"What instructions?" Anthony shrugged. "I told you yesterday: Juliet dumped me. It's over."
"Why so defeatist, Mister Blake?" Once again, the voice sounded out from a different direction. "Faint heart never won fair lady, you know. Besides: your little gamble may just have paid off. We acquired a lot of data from that little tour you took of your beloved's workplace. We have been analysing it and extrapolating from it where necessary and I believe we now have a workable plan."
Something small and dark flew out of the bushes and landed at Anthony's feet. He bent down to examine it. It was a USB thumb drive. He picked it up.
"It may have escaped your notice," said the voice, in the most weary and withering of tones, "but Professor Zond and his little band of acolytes have returned early from their trip. Remarkably early. So early, in fact, they must have been planning their return either before or not long after your conversation with Doctor Droil. You may find your battle with the young Doctor Banks is not quite over. If Doctor Droil contacts you, you are to attempt to re-engage her attentions. We do not believe this will be difficult. Do not, however, mistake attentions for affections. On the flash drive in your hand you will find detailed plans for the retrieval of an artefact of particular importance to us, along with a description of the artefact in question. There are a number of other items listed also. You will study the plans and memorise all pertinent information. When we next contact you it will be to order the execution of those plans. Your primary target is the artefact. If you come across any of the other items listed, and are able to remove them safely, take them, but do not deviate from the primary target in order to find them. Get the artefact and get out. Delivery of the artefact is also detailed on the drive."
"Then I'm done, right?" Anthony nodded. "I get you this thing. You pay me. We go our own separate ways. Done and dusted, yeah?"
"Once we have the artefact, our employment of you will be terminated as agreed, yes," replied the voice. "Best head home now, Mister Blake: you have some considerable homework to be getting on with."
Anthony didn't hear the speaker leave. There was no flitting shadow disappearing into the greenery. Nevertheless, he felt the shadows empty and knew the interview was ended. Terminated. It was never his favourite word, even before movies gave it a whole other level of meaning. The way his employer used it made him think the mystery guy had seen those movies too.