Keeper of the Black Stones (20 page)

“I know about the stones, sir. I know that Doc's used them to go to Medieval England. What I don't know is why. That's what I'm here to find out.”

That got Fleming's attention, and I sat back myself, satisfied. His expression of serene condescension turned to shock, then to crafty denial.

“I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, son,” he replied quietly.

I paused. I'd expected denial, but I hadn't exactly come up with a plan to deal with it. My confidence waivered, and the silence drew out.

“Oh come on!” Paul muttered, surprising everyone in the room. He glanced at me, raised his eyebrows, and nodded toward Fleming. “Tell him, Jay,” he murmured. “We don't have time, right?”

I nodded, speaking quickly at Paul's goading. “Paul's right. I've only got a few hours to figure out what's going on, and that's it. I need to know what I'm looking at. Specifically.”

Fleming held his hands up. “Boys, perhaps you'd better–”

Paul cut in before he could finish. “Listen, buddy, perhaps
you'd
better,” he snapped. “My friend here heard the conversation between you and Doc the other night. He heard everything! We know about the stone, and we know what it does. We know about your nut job son, and his war with Doc.” He paused and glanced at me, questioning. I shrugged back, willing to let him do the dirty work, and he continued. “I think you believe in your son more than you believe in Doc, and that it's put him in terrible danger. You may not care about saving him, but we do. We need to know what you know. Now.”

Fleming shook his head and looked angrily from Paul to me. “I'm afraid you misunderstood our conversation, son.” His voice shook with emotion, and his cheeks turned a bright red. This man didn't like being questioned, and he was losing his temper.

Paul laughed. “Misunderstood? Really? Is that why armed men just happened to run us down and blow up Reis' car and half of Jason's driveway?
Or why they broke into their house last week? Why exactly did you hire Reis Slayton to protect Jason, Mr. Fleming? Afraid he was getting bullied in school? Come on! What's going on here?”

Instead of answering, Fleming turned to gaze at me for a moment, then moved his eyes to Reis. Reis took a deep breath, nodded, and spoke.

“The boy's right. I don't like being screwed around with, Mr. Fleming, no matter how much I'm making. You obviously know a lot more than you're letting on. I suggest you tell us what we're dealing with.”

Fleming shook his head and stood abruptly. “Boys, Mr. Slayton, I'm afraid I have other business to attend to this morning. This conversation is over. I assume you can show yourselves out?”

Suddenly a soft, husky voice joined the conversation from the other side of the room. “If you don't tell them, John, I will. They certainly have a right to know.”

Fleming's face went from red to a ghastly pale color, and his jaw dropped open. Reis, Paul, and I turned our heads in unison to see a tall, dark-haired girl standing, hip cocked and confident, next to a previously concealed door behind the bar. The girl had the darkest eyes I'd ever seen, with olive skin, long, straight black hair, and features as sharp and angular as a hawk's. She was beautiful, but unspeakably frightening. She studied each of us unapologetically, her eyes moving from Reis to Paul and me, her expression burning coldly as though we were her next prey. Raising her eyebrows at what she saw, she settled back onto the desk, and began tossing a green apple from hand to hand.

I gulped, unnerved by this girl's cool arrogance, and tried to collect my thoughts. Paul stared. John Fleming coughed in embarrassment and closed his eyes.

“Gentlemen, this is my granddaughter, Tatiana. Tatiana, this is–”

The girl named Tatiana interrupted her grandfather in an even, bored voice. “I heard the introductions, John.”

Fleming's mouth turned down, and his face grew two shades darker. “Tatiana, I believe I've asked you not to listen to–or interrupt–my private meetings. This kind of behavior is completely unacceptable, and if it continues–”

She interrupted again before he could complete his threat. “What's unacceptable,
John
, is that you keep these nice people waiting for their answers. Now, as I said, let them in on your little secret, or I will. When it comes to the subject of Nicholas Fleming, I have every right. And you know it.” She turned to look at me and bit slowly into her apple, narrowing her eyes. “I believe they were asking about Dr. Evans' whereabouts.”

Fleming coughed again, and narrowed his eyes. “It seems, gentlemen, that I have little choice. I am, however, unsure where to start–”

This time it was Reis who interrupted. “Why not the beginning?” He glanced at me, and at the large grandfather clock on the wall. “And keep it short.”

Fleming nodded his head and paused for a moment before speaking. “Several years ago, my son became involved with treasure speculation.”

“What's that?” Paul asked.

A ghost of a smile passed over Fleming's face. “To be blunt Paul, it's an excuse for wealthy people to spend millions of dollars on treasure hunts, pretending that they're doing it in the name of history and science. The expedition that discovered the Titanic, located the Bismarck, and stumbled onto King Tut's tomb … all of those adventures costs untold millions of dollars. My son wanted to be one of those treasure hunters, and he turned to me for support.” Fleming paused. “I gave my son what he asked for, and sent him on his way.”

“Get on with the explanation,” Reis growled. “We're not here to explore your relationship with your son.”

Fleming nodded, beaten into submission. “Yes, yes. Several years ago,
my son came across a stone identical to the one your grandfather has in his possession. This stone was in Romania, buried under a 1200-year-old Greek temple. He found the stone interesting, but had no use for it at the time, and put it in a storage facility. Two years later, he found another stone in the Sudan, virtually identical to the first. Same markings, same polish and color, same ... sense of power.”

I squirmed in my seat, already impatient with the story. Fleming was evidently used to people hanging on his every word, and enjoyed drawing it out, giving the play-by-play version. I needed to know what had happened, but I could see the clock ticking on the other side of the room, and had a running countdown in my head. The stone opened again at noon today. I still didn't know what I was dealing with–or have a plan for moving forward–and this old man was going to take the rest of the morning answering a simple question.

“For nearly a year, my son and his colleague studied the stones, concentrating on the symbols they contained. They tried to interpret the language of the symbols, and find the tools used to inscribe them, to no avail. Seven months ago, another stone was discovered, this time in our own backyard in Plainfield, New Hampshire. Again, same markings, color…” Fleming let out a deep sigh before continuing. “I purchased the stone from a local developer for a moderate sum and brought it to Dartmouth for my son to study.” He paused, rubbing his temples, and I lost my patience.

“Enough of the history lesson! Will you cut to the chase, already?” I snapped. I wanted answers, and this guy was babbling like I had all the time in the world. “I need answers, and I don't have all the time in the world!”

“Hear, hear,” Tatiana agreed from the desk.

Fleming held one hand up. “I'm getting there, son. Nicholas was convinced that the stones were significant, most likely the greatest find of our time. But he couldn't unravel their secrets. After several months of study, he decided that the symbols were mathematical rather than linguistic, and that we needed the help of a physicist or mathematician.” He looked directly at me. “When I brought your grandfather to see the stones, everything changed.”

14

I
straightened up. Now we were talking. If Fleming was going to describe Doc's involvement with the stones, maybe I'd finally get some useful information.

The old man took a moment, walked to the bar, and poured himself a glass of what appeared to be scotch. He took a long swig and closed his eyes, as if the discussion was more than he could stand.

“I'd offer you some, but I don't believe that would be appropriate,” he said with a smile. “Where was I?”

I didn't think scotch was appropriate for anyone at 9:30 in the morning, but I let it go. “You said things changed when my grandfather came around. And you were going to tell us why. Quickly.”

Fleming nodded. “Oh yes, I should say that it all changed. Up until that point, no one had been able to read the symbols. We'd had specialists, linguists, archeologists…” He sipped from his glass, then sat back and sighed.

“Your grandfather, on the other hand, understood the symbols the moment he laid eyes on them. He said that they … spoke to him.”

The hair along my neck and arms sprang up at his words. This, then, was where it had all started. Doc had known that quickly. What had the stone said to him? And where had it led?

“What happened then?” I asked breathlessly.

“We were, of course, in shock when he told us what he thought the stones had said to him. He was talking about the ability to travel through
time. We couldn't believe it, but how could we discount what he said he'd seen?” He took another long, slow sip of scotch. “So we decided to test it.”

I gasped. “You sent someone back?”

“Not at all. Your grandfather devised a simple–and harmless–test. We placed a digital clock on the stone, complete with the day, month, and year, along with two high-speed digital cameras, programmed to monitor the clock. Then we waited. For nearly two days, we left the clock sitting, and changed the digital cameras every other hour. The clock didn't move, and we thought that our initial theory was wrong. Then your grandfather noticed something.”

“The time on the clock had changed,” I guessed.

Fleming nodded. “Not in the hour, or the minute, or even the second, but in the days. Nearly a month had elapsed on the clock, and we hadn't even seen it leave.”

Reis grunted in response, and I nodded. That was on par with what I'd read in Doc's journal. The time conversion didn't match–time moved more quickly in the past than it did here in the … present. “And then?”

“You must understand; at this point, only four of us knew what happened to the clock–myself, my son, his assistant, and, of course, your grandfather.”

“And my grandfather and your son disagreed about what to do,” I guessed again, speaking softly. The pieces were beginning to fall into place.

“Exactly. My son wanted to make the discovery public. After all, what's the point of being a treasure hunter if you don't get to reveal your discoveries to the world?”

“And Doc, on the other hand…”

“Your grandfather was more cautious. We didn't know how the stones worked, where they would lead us, or how the time difference happened. We didn't know what effects traveling would have on the human body. If someone
did
manage to go back safely, and enter a separate timeline, how
were they to get back? He thought there were too many questions still unanswered. He thought that revealing the stones would be too dangerous, at that point.”

“That wasn't all he was afraid of, was it?” I asked, thinking of what I'd read in the journal.

Fleming looked at me for a moment, then bowed his head once. “Your grandfather understood something that I did not. He saw that my son would try to use the stones for his own purposes. He saw that my son wanted power in any form.”

“What exactly does that mean?” Paul asked.

“My son saw opportunities for change. He saw a chance to travel into and through history to amend it. To right wrongs, and change the balance.”

“Is that so bad?” This came from Paul as well.