The Atlantis Keystone (30 page)

▪ ▪ ▪

Emma found herself a desk. Except for one person, an older woman who seemed to be revising for a late afternoon guided tour, she was alone. She turned on the desk light with an excited grin, placing her notebook and the photo in front of her. As she grasped her pen she pondered whether this would be the day when she succeeded in deciphering Linear A. She was sure it would at least give her something; some new angle or connection to work with. She desperately needed progress for the sake of her dissertation. The revelation of a revolutionary ancient secret in the text of the photo was of course out of the question since the Linear A text could not be understood.

She more or less knew the familiar side of the tablet by heart but felt that it would be sensible to take it down on a piece of paper. The photograph was taken close up but because it was blurry she struggled to read it and had to strain her eyes to make out what the symbols were trying to convey. She quickly realised that it was an impossible task. Even though she had the entire Linear A side, she only had half of the diagonally inscribed Egyptian side. As far as she could tell it wasn’t possible to match the correct texts. She stared at the symbols for a while, hoping that a solution would jump out and present itself. It didn’t. She was so angry with Paul. If he had the last piece of the tablet, why didn’t he just give it to her? The answer was obvious. He didn’t want her to decipher Linear A before he did. He really was a criminal after all; a deceitful man with no regard for other people. All he cared about was his own fame and his own skin. How could she have been infatuated with him for so long, even several years? How could she not have seen how selfish he was and how strangely he had behaved? She thought back at his words to her: ‘we could never be together… you have a gift with languages’. Yes, a gift that he was intimidated by. Perhaps it was for the best… In a fit of hatred towards him she stood up and packed her things. She toyed with the thought of calling the police to tell them about the photo and Paul’s clues but she couldn’t do it…

E
rik had a spell of bad luck. It started to rain as he said goodbye to Emma outside the British Museum. The rain got progressively harder as he started to walk towards Tottenham Court Road in search of an open café with a speedy internet connection. Half way there he decided to catch a lift with one of the quirky roofed bicycle taxis which reminded him of his honeymoon in Thailand. Following a somewhat nerve-racking ride with an evidently suicidal Rastafarian he suddenly realised, after his chauffeur had left, that his rucksack was missing. Despite shouting and running after the man on the bicycle there was simply too much hustle and bustle to catch his attention. The colourful roof soon disappeared round the corner and was then nowhere to be seen. There was nothing to be done – he had lost his bag. The only thing of value in the bag was his grandmother’s bible, which he for some reason had taken from the Torpa library shelf before departing for England. Other than that, all it contained was some toiletries and clothes. Still, the loss of his grandmother’s bible was devastating. He had been entrusted with it but had failed even in this simple task. Distraught and disappointed with his own gullibility, he sat down on the street corner, leaning his head in his hands just as a classic red bus tore past throwing up one of the many newly formed puddles nearby, drowning him in polluted street-water. His normally blond hair had taken a more subtle mousy brown tone and his face was streaked with mud. His mood wasn’t lifted when he looked up and realised he was sitting in the middle of the London red-light district, which by day was no more than a tourist hang-out but at that time in the afternoon started to show traces of the hubbub to come. He was just about to get up when a miracle happened. His rucksack appeared out of nowhere to land in his lap! He turned around just in time.

The taxi rider man was ringing his bell, waiving at him, shouting in his distinctive West Indian accent: “I think you forgot something!”

“Thank you!” was all Erik could shout back before the bike whizzed round another corner out of sight. Erik was left waiving a grateful hand at nobody in particular, shocked into stunned silence with a silly grin on his face. To his relief everything was still in the bag just as he had left it, including the old bible. It occurred to him how ridiculous he must appear, drenched to his skin, covered in mud but still with a huge smile on his face. At that embarrassing but yet happy moment he heard a familiar voice.

“I leave you for half an hour and you end up begging on street corners!” Emma laughed. He laughed as well. “It was pure luck I found you!” Her hair was wet and messy and she was out of breath from the walk there. She reached out her hand to help him up. It was warm. “You’re all dirty and wet. What on earth have you been up to?” she asked. Before he could answer, their eyes met. Erik noticed that her cheeks were red and her green eye seemed even greener than normal, just like Anna’s sometimes had done when she was happy, angry or generally upset about something. The look she gave him was full of something which he could easily have mistaken for… affection. This took him by surprise. She came nearer and put her arms around him, standing on her toes to reach around his neck. The street was still bustling with people. This didn’t prevent Emma from holding him and putting her head on his chest. He could feel the warmth of her body next to his through their clothes as he held her tightly. He was in a state of disbelief, not wanting to ruin the moment by moving or speaking. They remained motionless in an embrace for what must have been several minutes, with people constantly rushing past, until Emma looked up at him and their lips met. They kissed, tenderly initially but after a few seconds more violently. The sensation was overwhelming. He had been dreaming of that moment for some time. Now that it had come, it felt more right than he had ever dared to hope. It was as if the people around them had disappeared and they were all alone in the middle of nowhere. In his mind they were back at Torpa, standing next to the lake in the woods after their swim in August. He could virtually hear the seagulls and the wind rustling in the trees. Water was dripping down his naked body after the swim. He touched her hair, ran a finger down her neck and then down to her waist. The material of her jacket was thick and coarse. This brought him back to reality. Brutally, the noise of the busy London street returned, as if someone had pressed a button. He opened his eyes. They stopped kissing and Emma looked at him. Her eyes radiated tenderness.

“This is no place to have a first kiss, is it?” They both looked around and smiled. They were surrounded by a strange mixture of tourists, business people, homeless people and families, all hustling for space on the pavement. She took his hand and they started to walk down the street with no particular destination in mind.

A surge of happiness filled his chest. He didn’t care about the rain or the crowded street, or the fact that he might get fired if he didn’t show up for work soon. All that mattered was the two of them, walking hand in hand down a busy London street on a rainy afternoon. He almost felt as if Anna had come back and he visualised a shorter version of her walking next to him.

Emma broke the silence again: “What about Cadiz? Shall we go there to check out whether Paul meant anything by the book title, to continue to follow Paul’s trail? It would be a shame to stop now that we’ve made such good progress.” She looked at him with sheepish eyes. “What if he’s hidden the other side of the tablet there…”

That was a possibility which Erik hadn’t thought of but he nevertheless felt that a trip to Cadiz would be a complete waste of their time. “I need to get back to work and you need to write your dissertation. I doubt whether Paul’s hidden the tablet in Cadiz. In order to smuggle it out of Sweden he would have had to drive. He wouldn’t have had time to do that…” He scratched his head and continued. “…Unless he hired someone to do it for him of course. But why hide it in Cadiz of all places. It wouldn’t make sense.”

“I agree. It would be a bit weird. But what about Paul himself? Perhaps he wants us to find him there?”

“I doubt it. If he wanted us to find him he could’ve just told us where he was.”

“I suppose you’re right… Travelling to Cadiz may not help us with the last piece of the jigsaw; to find the missing Egyptian hieroglyphic side…”

E
rik had another vivid dream. He saw the body of a person, hanging lifeless from a rope tied to a branch of a tree. The process of decomposition hadn’t started properly. The hair and face were unmistakable. It was Paul. He was dead; neck broken by the impact of the rope. His eyes had been picked out, leaving two bloodcurdling black holes… He woke up in his bed at Torpa. It was Saturday and a lovely spring morning, although it was somewhat ruined by the sickening feeling the dream had given him. The dream reflected a fear he had about Paul; that he had committed suicide, not necessarily by hanging but perhaps drowning or whatever. Paul lived for his career. If he got caught and convicted he risked losing his position at Oxford and his reputation would be ruined. He would lose everything he had ever worked for. If he was guilty of the break-in and of indirectly having caused the death of Erik’s grandmother, then he would have had at least one reason to take his own life. It was two months since Paul’s unexplained disappearance from Beirut. Much had happened in that time. The police were still treating him as a suspect, convinced by the contract burglar’s story, that Paul had been his employer. But the official police search for Paul seemed to have been scaled down. As the police officer had said, they suspected that he was dead but no body had been found. This didn’t mean that Paul was out of the woods. There was no doubt that if he showed up, he would get arrested and it would then be up to him to prove his innocence. Following the discovery of the unopened chest, his motive for the break-in had been put into question. If he had hired the burglar with the intention of finding the tablet, it would have made no sense not to open it to discover if the tablet was indeed hidden inside. If arrested, that could form the basis for Paul’s defence. The only evidence to bring Paul down would be the testimony of a convicted criminal no doubt with a track record as black as soot and a history tangled with lies and corruption. His chances of success were better than even. But the fact that he appeared to possess the tablet itself put all that into question, if it was revealed to the police.

Erik had come back to Torpa the night before, after having spent several weeks in his flat in central Gothenburg back at work. His parents were in Stockholm and he had the house to himself. He didn’t feel lonely in spite of the secluded setting of the house and the lack of company. For now, the calm of the Torpa estate and surroundings was enough for him. He was not intending to contact any of his friends or visit anyone but instead he was looking forward to a weekend of quiet contemplation and exercise, something which he had been deprived of during weeks of late evenings at work and lunches with clients.

He missed Emma a lot. They had spoken on the phone a number of times but it wasn’t enough. It had been a whole week since their last call. He couldn’t wait to speak to her, or better still to see her. Unfortunately there were no plans for either of them to travel over as yet. He had decided to leave Emma alone to get on with her work. Back in Sweden he had buried himself in his work, getting into the swing again, trying to repair the damage which a few weeks of absence had caused the relationship with his boss. He wasn’t helped by the fact that he had not been able to sleep very well. He was plagued by a feeling that he had missed something important. Sometimes he had even woken up on the floor after having fallen out of bed and once he had woken up in the empty bathtub. He was worried about Paul. He had been away for a long time without calling or otherwise letting them know where he was or what he was doing. It was strange and Emma was concerned as well but according to her it was not wholly unusual for him. He had done it before; disappeared without keeping in touch. He needed to think over everything that had happened, figure out what to do next, decide whether this was the time to continue the search for Paul and the perpetrator or just forget about the whole thing. He also had a bad conscience. He had not been to Anna’s grave since his return to Sweden. He decided that the graveyard would be his first excursion for the day.

After a quick breakfast he put on his tracksuit and trainers and went outside, walking the path in the direction of the graveyard not very far from their house. Because the weather looked promising, wonderfully spring-like with a pale blue sky, a warming sun and little wind, he decided to take a walk first, thinking that walking would kill two birds in one stone. It enabled him to think straight, contemplate his situation and get some exercise. He was breathing in the fresh air and enjoying the bird song as he was striding along the path through the forest. When he reached the secluded graveyard he first thought it was empty but then he noticed someone, a woman, standing next to one of the graves, bending down to place flowers in a vase. As he came nearer he saw who it was. It was Britt-Marie next to the grave of his grandmother. It was clear that she had only just got there. She kneeled next to the stone and seemed to be starting to pray. Her eyes were closed and she didn’t notice Erik approaching. He waited for her to finish before going up to make himself known, keeping the distance, not to disturb her. He could hear her saying something but could not hear what. As she eventually opened her eyes and released her hands, he walked over.

“Britt-Marie, so nice to see you!”

She was startled by his voice and stood up in haste. “Oh my god, you really scared me there!” As she looked at him he noticed that a tear made its way down her cheek. He had not appreciated that she was still mourning the death of his grandmother, having almost forgotten that she had spent most of her life serving her and her family. The old woman’s death had clearly changed Britt-Marie’s life overnight, making her redundant in a way.