Chase Baker and the Da Vinci Divinity (A Chase Baker Thriller Series Book 6) (21 page)

Then, a noise.

Something slapping the stone. A
footstep maybe. Followed by several footsteps and then many footsteps.

I stand up.

Da Vinci does the same. But in the
time it takes him to get to his feet, he is the young da Vinci again. He pulls
his sword, and I pull my .45. Together we turn for the entrance to the chamber.
It’s then, I feel something far too familiar. A pistol barrel pressed against
the back of my neck.

They must have planned it this way. Mahaz’s men would create a
racket outside the chamber while the injured Iranian thug would hide himself
among the shadows, only to spring himself when the time was right.

The three soldiers take their
positions against the wall of the circular chamber, AK47s aimed at da Vinci and
myself.

“Drop your weapons,” Mahaz insists.

I glance down at the bleeding stub
where his hand once existed.

“How’s that wound treating you,
Mahaz?” I say. “The gangrene kicked in yet?”

He slaps the back of my skull with
the barrel on his semi-automatic. Once again, I see stars while the pain shoots
from the back of my head to the frontal lobes and back again. What’s another
blow to the head gonna matter at this point? Chase the punch drunk.

I shift myself two steps to the
side, so I can collect everyone inside my periphery. The soldier, the giant
Mahaz, and da Vinci.

“You, too,” Mahaz says to the
master. “The sword.”

Da Vinci drops it.

“That weapon you hold in your hand,”
the master says. “I invented it.”

Mahaz laughs, his stub bobbing up
and down.

“You’re just a crazy old man,” he
says. “And Mr. Baker is buying your nonsense … how you say? Hook, line, and
heavyweight sinker. But, you did lead us here. The cave of the all-knowing.”

“What can you possibly want with
this place?” da Vinci says. “You have no army of your own. No country.”

“Do you know how much interested
parties would be willing to pay for the precise location of this hole in the
ground?”

“Billions, I bet,” I interject. “Nice
thinking, Mahaz. Jeez, guess I gotta hand it to ya.” Then, smiling. “Oops,
sorry.”

Once more, he spanks me on the side
of the head with the pistol. At this point, I don’t even feel it.

Da Vinci nods.

“Well, then,” he says. “I can see
that myself and Mr. Baker here are utterly defeated. But, let me ask you
something, sir. If it’s the cave of knowledge you seek, don’t you wish to try
it out first? Just to make sure this is the one true cave that possesses the ability
to see into the past and the future? What if, in the end, this is simply a cave
and nothing more? What if, in the end, I am an imposter … a crazy man, like
you say … a crazy man playing out a silly charade?”

Mahaz glances at his three
soldiers. Each of them shoot him a look like,
da Vinci’s got a point
.
The big, mustached man pushes me aside with his one good hand, approaches the
circular pool.

“Show me something, crazy man,” he
insists. “Show me the future. Or better yet, show me
my
future.”

Da Vinci goes to the pool, extends
his long, index finger, dips it into the still clear water. The water
illuminates the same way it did when I first entered the room. A full color
picture emerges upon its surface. A moving picture. We see a city. A modern
city. There are minarets and domed mosques making up the background while
modern concrete buildings line both sides of a street filled with angry,
screaming people. The crowd is rioting, burning both the American and the
Israeli flags—the red, white, and blue and the baby blue and white going up in
smoke. Seated on a thrown atop a platform is the Ayatollah Khomeini, the scowl-faced,
white-bearded, black-robed supreme leader with both his hands raised above his
shoulders as if blessing his angry followers. The noise from the mob fills the
chamber and it causes Mahaz to grin from ear to ear, despite a severe wound
that is still hemorrhaging, and no doubt throbbing with pain.

“You see, gentlemen,” Mahaz says, “the
future of the world belongs to Iran’s Shiite population … It belongs to Sharia
Law. It belongs to Jihad!”

But then the image begins to fade.

The rioting crowd disappears and
the water’s surface turns to blackness while another image begins to emerge. The
image takes on the shape of a gray head with black, almost opaque, ovular eyes,
a tiny nose and little lips. The creature is taking shape inside the pool,
becoming three dimensional as it begins to rise from the water. It rises up and
up, a man-sized creature from out of this world created by the water.

A terrified Mahaz screams.

He raises his weapon against the
creature, but he’s too slow, too injured. The gray/black alien-like being
thrusts out its hand, grabs the Iranian thug by the neck, lifting him off the
stone chamber surface, squeezing his throat until his head and skin fill with
red blood like a balloon with water.

The three soldiers plant a bead
with their automatic rifles and fire. But the bullets have little or no effect.
The being raises his free hand, extends his index finger in the direction of
the three. A burst of three separate laser-bolts of white lightening shooting
forth, striking them in their faces, melting the skin from the flesh, then
flesh from the bone. A beat later, Mahaz’s head bursts in a gush of red
spatter.

The beast then drops the dead body
into the pool where it disappears entirely, as if it never existed in the first
place. He steps out, goes to the three soldiers, picks each of them up as
though their dead weight were truly feather-light, and drops them into the
pool, too, where not even their memories can exist.

The beast then steps back into the
pool, but before vanishing into the water he turns to da Vinci while holding
out the same hand that killed Mahaz. Da Vinci takes the hand in his. Together,
silently, the two beings proceed to communicate with one another. A few beats
later, the beast locks his eyes with me. The energy from his stare makes me dizzy,
but I find that I am not afraid. Perhaps he can’t communicate directly with me,
but I am sure he means me no harm. His arms then positioned at his sides as
though standing at attention, the being slowly descends into the pool until he
is entirely out of sight.

It takes a few long moments, but,
eventually, I shift my focus back to da Vinci who turns to face me. This time,
his face is neither young nor old. Nor does it contain a gray beard. It is,
instead, gray skinned, bulbous, thin-lipped, the nose tiny, the eyes big, black,
and ovular. It’s difficult to tell, but I swear he is smiling at me.

“You never were da Vinci, after
all,” I say.

He speaks to me, but not with his
mouth. Instead, he is able to speak directly inside my head.

He says, “I knew it would be easier
for you this way. Easier to accept if I became Leonardo.”

With that, the chamber in the Cave
of the All-Knowing goes black and, once more, I feel myself falling sweetly.

I wake to sound of my name being shouted out. The voice echoes
across the lake and against the hills that surround this valley. I lift my head
from the ground and immediately feel the sting from the lump on the back of my skull,
the result of falling backward directly on top of an exposed rock.

Looking up, I shake away the
cobwebs and make out Deputy Inspector Millen.

I sit up, slowly, achingly.

“‘Bout time the cavalry showed up,”
I say.

He turns, issues a hand signal for
his crew to stand down. He then takes a knee, resting his gloved hand on my
thigh.

“You hurt?”

“I don’t think so.” My eyes are
glued not on him but on the cave opening that is once more covered over by a stream-fed
lake.

“We found Soleimani and Putin at
the bottom of the hill in that wrecked Land Rover, and most of their men on
top. You waged one hell of battle.”

“And Andrea? You found her, too, I
assume?”

He nods, lips pressed tightly
together.

“She was a double agent,” I say. “Sad
but true.”

“I suspected as much,” he says. “Some
signs were there. Doesn’t matter now, does it?”

“I was just beginning to like her.
Hell, maybe even love her.”

“Tell me,” he says, his gaze
shifting out toward the lake, “did you find what
you
were after?”

My eyes still locked on the lake,
its peacefulness and stillness.

“I thought finding the cave is what
you were after? The reason you are paying me?”

“That’s just a job description. What
I’m wondering is if you found any answers to your questions.”

I shift my gaze back to him. “How
did you know I had questions?”

He cocks his head. “Just a hunch.
You don’t risk your life to take on a job searching for a mythical cave said to
possess all the answers unless you have a few questions of your own.”

Nodding. “I see your point. But
aren’t you going to ask me if I found the precise location of the cave?”

He smiles. “Well, did you?”

“I’m not sure,” I say. “What
happened in this place seems like one big dream. A dream within a dream, and
another dream within that one, if that makes any sense.” Exhaling. Then, “But
if you’d really like to know where the cave is, you’re looking at it.”

“It’s a lake, Chase,” he says. “You
know, for fishing, swimming, sailing … “

“It’s what’s under the lake that
counts.”

He bites down on his lip.

“Guess it’s time to send in the
divers,” he says. Then, helping me up onto my feet. “You’ve done God and
country a great service, Mr. Baker. How will we ever repay you?”

“Just pull out your wallet, Deputy
Inspector Millen, and start counting.”

“How about you send me a bill
first.” He laughs, slaps me on the shoulder, and turns to go to his men.

Before following him, I take one
last look at the lake. I see a bird flying over it. A hawk. The hawk
approaches, lands on a thick tree branch that hangs over the water’s edge. Its
black eyes reflect the fading afternoon sunlight. After a couple of beats, it
lets loose with a caw before flapping its wings and taking flight once more,
its path directly overhead as it makes its climb up toward the hilltop.

Turning, I notice the chest pocket
on my jacket is not only unbuttoned, but something’s been placed in there. The
pocket directly over my heart. Reaching in, I pull out a slip of paper—the same
antiquated paper the monk had been using for his notes. And it’s been folded down
its center. I open it to reveal a sketch drawn above words written in mirror
writing.

.uoy ot pu si erutuf ehT

I step back down to the lake, turn
the note over so that the words are reflected in the still, glass like surface.

The future is up to you.

I peer down at the words and the
image drawn so precisely above it. It’s my daughter, Ava. Her hair is long,
dark, and parted in the middle. It hangs down both sides of her smooth, olive-colored
face like a veil. Her eyes are brown and deep and channel directly to her sweet
soul, her cheeks round, her lips full, one corner of her mouth raised up
slightly like she’s just about to open up with a full smile. She’s wearing a
long-sleeved dress and her hands are folded, the right over the left and
resting comfortably on the arm of the chair in which she is seated.

Behind her, on her right-hand side,
is a landscape of great beauty. There’s a steep hillside with a stream emerging
from it. The stream empties into a small lake.

That’s when it hits me.

Opening my satchel, I retrieve the
da Vinci art book and the picture of the
Mona Lisa
which has been
stuffed back inside of it. I pull the picture back out, gaze not upon Mona Lisa’s
famous face, but, instead, at the painting’s background … the full color
depiction of the steep hill and the lake below it. Shifting my position so that
I face the hillside with the lake on my direct left, I hold up the painting
with my right hand so that I’m able to compare the real-life, real-time landscape
to that which Leonardo da Vinci painted more than 600 years ago.