The Lost Sisterhood (49 page)

“That’s the thing,” I said. “I’m not even sure they
are
interested in it, or why they would be. There’s no message in it—no treasure map, if you will. It’s clear that Reznik is looking for revenge. What al-Aqrab wants with the Amazons I honestly don’t know, but I am quite sure he
has been using me to try and find them. As for the Amazons”—I glanced at my hostess, suspecting she still didn’t believe these mythical women were walking among us—”they are doing everything they can to stop me.”

Dr. Jäger broke into a smile. “But here you are.”

All around me, the animals were watching intently from their perch on the walls, as if wondering what I would do next. “Yes,” I said, as much to them as to my hostess. “But this is the end of the trail; it runs right into that bog. The
Historia Amazonum
says a small group of Amazons went north, and maybe it’s true. Maybe they lived on here in Germany for another thousand years, forged new bracelets out of iron, and fought against the Romans the way they had fought against the Greeks. But how will we ever know?”

Dr. Jäger reached over and gave my hand a squeeze. “Return to Oxford and try to forget all these terrible things. I am glad you came today. You have done more than any grandmother could hope for. With this journey, I am confident you have finally given her peace, just as you, yourself, will now be at peace. Go home, my dear, go home.”

The absurdity of her advice left me speechless. It was as if she hadn’t understood what I had told her … as if she thought my fear of being hunted down was completely unfounded. However, it was getting late, and I didn’t feel like reiterating my worries about Reznik and al-Aqrab to someone who clearly didn’t care after all.

Before leaving, I asked Dr. Jäger if I could use her bathroom, and as I washed my hands I couldn’t help peeking into the medicine cabinet. On the shelves I spied all the usual creams and pills … and then a lineup of phenol, diethyl ether, and morphine … plus two mugs full of surgical instruments.

It was so surreal, I almost started laughing. What on earth did a sweet, elderly woman need all this doctor’s equipment for? Wounded pets? Hunting accidents? Illegitimate medical procedures? My laughing impulse quickly turned to unease. Diethyl ether was an old-fashioned anesthetic, used to induce unconsciousness. But on whom? Nosy guests? I left the bathroom with my pulse pounding in my ears.

In my hurry to return to the living room I mistook the doors in the
tiny corridor and accidentally entered a crepuscular cubbyhole of an office. A single lamp stood precariously on the edge of a small desk covered in sliding stacks of paper, its green glass shade casting an eerie, supernatural shimmer upon the jam-packed bookcases lining the walls.

But the most unsettling thing about the room was not the ghostly light, or the fact that there were no windows—no, it was the look of the bookshelves. For there were no books on them, just brochures. Completely identical white brochures piled on top of one another as densely as possible … some even spilling out of open cardboard boxes on the floor.

I couldn’t help it. I had to take a closer look.

Stepping over to an open box, I bent down to examine the front cover of the brochure lying on top. It was an auction catalog with a Greek vase on the cover, fresh from the printer. The layout was beyond boring, and yet it stirred a memory. Had I not, quite recently, spotted precisely the same sort of catalog on Katherine Kent’s desk? The only reason why I remembered it so well was that she had whisked it into a drawer with inexplicable urgency.

In a flash I was back in Mr. Telemakhos’s basement, hearing him saying, with spirited defiance, “Some say they never use telephones or email when they communicate with one another … that they use a medium that can’t be traced—maybe a printed pamphlet of sorts.”

Unable to resist, I picked up the catalog and started leafing through it, hurriedly scanning the pages for Amazon writing. But all I found were narrow columns with numbered entries and the occasional black-and-white photographs of antique vases, paintings, and other objects for sale. Except …

Stepping closer to the desk lamp, I scrutinized the picture of an Oriental rug, looking for any sign of writing or code. Was it my imagination, or had an almost microscopic paragraph written in Granny’s Amazon alphabet been transposed onto the photograph, to blend in perfectly with the pattern of the rug? A paragraph so itsy-bitsy you would need a magnifying glass to read it?

In my excitement, I nearly forgot that I was trespassing. Not until I
heard a floorboard creaking did I quickly put down the catalog and spin around to leave the room.

And found Dr. Jäger standing right behind me, her kind face distorted with fury and suspicion.

“I’m so sorry!” I exclaimed. “I have a dreadful sense of direction. But what a marvelous collection of journals.” I forced out what I hoped was a disarming smile. “German archaeology, I presume. Are you an editor?”

“Yes,” she said eventually, her features softening a bit. “I am the editor in chief. A thankless job. But someone has to do it.” Putting a gentle hand on my elbow, she escorted me back into the living room. “Would you like another cup of coffee? Or tea perhaps?”

“It’s getting late. I really ought to—”

“I insist!” She practically pushed me back into the chair I had sat in before. “It is a cold evening out; you need something warm.” With a smile that was almost as friendly as before, Dr. Jäger disappeared into the kitchen, and I heard her putting on a kettle.

Looking down, I saw my ritzy new handbag sitting on the floor right beside the chair. It was precisely where I had left it, but in my heightened state of anxiety it now struck me as being suspiciously erect. Had my hostess done a quick search through its contents, I wondered, and made sure to puff it up again afterward?

Checking the bag with trembling fingers I confirmed that everything was still there: Granny’s notebook, the
Historia Amazonum,
and all my remaining money, wound with a tight rubber band.

I barely knew what to do. Part of me wanted desperately to get up and leave, but as always, my curiosity was so great it temporarily drowned out my better sense. Had I accidentally laid eyes on one of the secret Amazon pamphlets Mr. Telemakhos had talked about?

A sound from the kitchen pulled me back to the moment. Or perhaps I should say it was the sudden absence of noise that alerted me to a furtive broken mumble betraying a secret phone conversation.

This time I didn’t even think about it; my body rose from the chair all by itself. Swarmed by worrisome images—Dr. Jäger’s incensed expression,
the surgical equipment, the hundreds if not thousands of auction catalogs—I fled across the floor as silently as I could, my panic increasing with every step. My hostess was clearly determined to keep me in her house for a while longer … but why? And why the secret phone call? Whatever lay behind her odd behavior, it boded no good for me, I was sure of it.

Grabbing my wet jacket on the way, I burst outside without even pausing to close the door behind me. And then I ran, as fast as I could, back down the path toward my car.

By now the forest was almost completely dark and even foggier than it had been at the time of my arrival, and when I finally heard Dr. Jäger yelling after me from the house, I knew she could not possibly see me anymore. “Diana!” she cried, her voice shrill with anger. “Come back here! I command you!”

But of course I kept running. Even though I could barely see five feet ahead, I knew all I had to do was follow the path and keep going downhill. And so I continued down, down, down through the misty darkness, splashing right through mud and freezing puddles while trying to steer clear of low-hanging branches.

I was so sure I remembered the way that it came as a shock to me when the path suddenly split into two. Stumped, I ran back and forth a few times, trying to determine which of the two new paths was the least wrong one. They both appeared to be going upward, back into the forest, albeit in two completely different directions. All I could see of their further course was a gauzy gray film covering pitch-black nothing, and neither felt right to me.

It was then, as I stood there uncertainly, I heard a sound that sent a gust of dread through my entire body. It was a long howl followed by barking—perhaps not quite the sound a wolf would make, but close enough. And in the silence following the last bark I heard something else—a familiar sound that, under the circumstances, was extremely unsettling.

It was the heavy, rhythmical thudding of galloping horses.

While the Romans were struggling against the elements, the barbarians suddenly surrounded them on all sides at once, stealing through the densest thickets, as they were familiar with the paths.

—C
ASSIUS DIO,
Roman History

T
HE FOREST WAS FULL OF DEMONS: HOWLING, HISSING, INVISIBLE DE
mons with the legs of horses and a frightening ability to weave in and out of the fabric of reality. It sounded as if now they were here, then over there … and for a few utterly confusing minutes, nowhere at all.

But in that brief quiet, I picked up deep human voices tangled with confusion, bouncing back and forth between the trees in a language I could not just then make out—a language that seemed to dissolve in the fog and reach me only in fragments. Then came gunshots, ten at least, in rapid succession … followed by the most harrowing scream I had ever heard.

Perhaps because I was so terrified, it took a while for the sounds to make sense. If I were to trust my ears, there were men, dogs, horses, and the chilling death cries of a wild beast I could not name. The only logical explanation, I decided, as I stood there hiding behind a massive tree trunk just off the path, was that it was hunting season, and that all the demonic screeching and hissing were the natural sounds of fleeing prey.

Desperate to get out of the forest before I was overrun by frightened animals, or even worse, by their pursuers, I dived into the nearest
thicket and began clawing my way downward through the undergrowth, in what I hoped was the direction of my car. Perhaps it would have been more logical to head the other way, in order to make myself known to the hunters and maybe even ask for directions, but something about these men’s ferocity—their growling voices and violent manner of riding—told me I was better off if they didn’t realize I was there.

Crawling through the brambles, I was soon drenched by the rain-soaked foliage. My teeth chattering with cold, I found myself pleading with the forest to forgive my intrusion and let me go … but it kept gripping me with clingy grasses and vicious thorns, doing its best to prevent my escape.

Because the thicket was so dense and I was preoccupied with avoiding the vengeful brambles, I did not even register the approaching horses until I heard a loud snort right behind me.

The sound so unnerved me I instinctively dropped to the ground, forcing myself not to move. And then came the voices, not the deep male voices I had heard before, but rather a crisp exchange in German between two women.

“Where is she?” said one.

“I thought I saw her,” replied the other, “but now I’m not sure.”

There was another snort, a sneered sentence I didn’t understand … and the women were off again, galloping back into the forest, urging on their horses with guttural commands.

So shaken I could barely coordinate my limbs, I scrambled on all fours as quickly as I could, then got to my feet briefly, in order to get away faster … only to step right into nothing and tumble down a slope several meters before sliding headlong into shrubbery sprouting from a mud puddle.

Gasping with shock, I extracted myself from the slimy bush and wiped the mud from my face. Amazingly, my new handbag still hung across my shoulders, and although it was as soaked as I, at least it was there.

Huddled on my knees, I tried to make out my surroundings. Once my eyes became sufficiently accustomed to the dark I saw a faint light ahead. It turned out to be the illuminated sign marking the entrance to
the museum parking lot across the highway. I had quite literally fallen out of the woods and into a fallow field, no more than a few hundred meters from the driveway of the abandoned farm.

By the time I finally got my rental car started, heater going full blast, I was so weak from cold and exhaustion I could barely sit up straight. Backing out the gravel driveway, it took all my focus to steer the vehicle around another car that had been parked there sometime since my arrival.

A dark blue Mercedes. The same Mercedes I had noticed before in downtown Bramsche, when I had left the hotel earlier that afternoon. Now I saw that it had Geneva plates.

Within a few heartbeats my fury had outrun my fear. Whoever these people were, they would follow me no more. Almost intoxicated with anger, I pulled over and attacked the first-aid kit in the backseat, looking for something useful. There were no knives, of course, and nothing else that might help me slash the tires. But there were bandages and adhesive Band-Aids … enough to make two tight balls that fitted perfectly in the Mercedes’s tailpipes.

“If it’s an old car, don’t waste your time,” had been Granny’s advice when she told me how to do it. “It only works if there’s no leak in the system.”

When I drove away at last, it was all I could do to bend my cold fingers around the gearshift and press my numb toes against the gas pedal. But a sense of defiant accomplishment soon began to warm me from the inside out. Something evil had happened in that forest, but
I
had survived. There had been men and women with horses and guns, but none of them had been able to catch me. And now I had won myself a little extra time—at least I hoped so.

B
ACK AT THE HOTEL,
I stepped right into a hot shower with all my clothes on. Peeling off the muddy layers one by one, I thought through my options. It didn’t take long, since there was only one thing to do: leave immediately.

If there had been a small part of me dreaming of a joyful reunion
with Granny at the end of all my tribulations, or at least a friendly encounter with people who had known her, the events of this afternoon had thoroughly cured me. Assuming Dr. Jäger had mobilized the women hunting me in the forest, then I had to conclude these present-day Amazons—for it was hard to call them anything else—were as threatening to me as Reznik.

Wrapped in a towel, I tore around the room for a few minutes, gathering up my things. There was no time to check whether Granny’s notebook or the
Historia Amazonum
had survived the mudslide unscathed—what I needed was to find my map of Germany. Where the hell was it?

Three quick knocks interrupted my frantic search.

Petrified, I stared at the door, half-expecting it to burst open. But instead, I saw something sliding in underneath and realized it was a piece of paper.

Inching closer, I stretched to read the message scribbled on it: “You’re in danger. I can help. Nick.”

A quick glance through the peephole confirmed that it really was him outside my door, unshaven and frowning with impatience.

For a few breathless seconds, my mind was awash with indecision. I had stolen a top-secret envelope from this man, together with a priceless manuscript, and I knew I should be afraid of him—knew he must be livid. And yet the sight of him set off a completely unexpected sense of relief and, dastardly hiding behind the relief, an overwhelming, incandescent joy that made it impossible for me to dismiss him.

My heart beating wildly from the suddenness of it all, I reached out and opened the door. Only then, as he entered my room, did it occur to me I was wearing nothing but a towel and that it might be wise of me to find some means of self-defense, just in case.

Nick scanned the room suspiciously before turning to me. His eyes darkened as he took in my sparsely wrapped form and, I am sure, the emotions still at odds in my face. Then, as if realizing I was waiting for him to speak, he said, somewhat stupidly, “I am here to save you.”

“Actually—” I closed the door behind him. “You’re slowing me down.”

I am not sure who started it. Nick certainly didn’t mean to, nor did I … but suddenly we were in each other’s arms, closing the torturous, soul-destroying gap between Istanbul and Bramsche.

It was frightening how quickly everything else—even all my doubts and deceptions—faded away to nothing as soon as his mouth was against mine. Groaning, it seemed, at his own weakness, Nick kissed me with frenetic abandon, as if I were the only other human being in a world of brutes and he had spent his whole life searching for me.

“Welcome to Germany,” I whispered after a while, in a vain attempt at catching my breath. Even through his sweater, I could feel the warmth and energy radiating from his body, and the thought of letting go was extremely unappealing. “Feel free to stay, but I’m afraid I have to leave.”

“Not so fast, Goddess,” muttered Nick against my ear. “This time we leave together.” But the way he held me trapped between himself and the wall suggested he was in no hurry to make tracks.

“You’re a bad man.” I ran my hands through his hair, still unable to fathom it was truly him—that he had come this far to get me back. “I should have left hours ago … and never let you find me.”

“Oh, I would have found you anywhere.”

I tried to look him in the eye. “What does al-Aqrab want from me?”

Nick leaned in to kiss me again. “He doesn’t know I’m here.”

I gasped when I felt his hand underneath the towel, indulging in my nakedness. It was shocking to discover that while there was still a distinct jackal’s voice in my head warning me to stay in control and demand an explanation, there was also a rogue, fatalistic part of me that wanted nothing more than to let Nick right in, all seventeen versions of him. “Aren’t you afraid,” I whispered, “of being skewered by my Amazon sisters?”

“Yes.” He began kissing my naked shoulder, all the way to the angle of my neck, drawing from me an involuntary accompaniment of treacherous little sighs. “But you’re worth it.”

Just then, the room phone rang.

“Damn!” I pushed him away. “See who’s outside.”

While Nick looked out through the closed curtains, I picked up the receiver with a brisk “Hello?”

There was no response, and the line went dead.

“What do you see?” I asked Nick. “A blue Mercedes?”

“Not sure,” he replied, peeking out still. “A dark Audi just pulled in.”

“How about this,” I said, as I raced around the room, throwing on random pieces of clothing. Much as it pained me to even contemplate, I thought of one possible strategy of retreat. “What about we leave the
Historia Amazonum
right here, on the bed?”

Nick shook his head and came over to help me gather up my things. “Reznik doesn’t give a shit about the manuscript. That was just bait to catch the Amazons who killed his son. Now he thinks you’re one of them.”

“How on earth,” I yelled from the bathroom, quickly scraping together my newly purchased—and rather pricey—toiletries, “can he think I’m an Amazon?”

“Because Reznik is a paranoid son of a bitch,” Nick yelled back, “who takes X-rays of his guests without their knowledge. He is looking for hidden weapons, of course, but jackal bracelets happen to show up, too.”

Moments later we were rushing down the quiet hallway, headed for the emergency exit. But just as Nick reached out for the white metal door, it was torn open from the other side, and two women emerged.

Since they were dressed in jogging suits and had towels over their shoulders, my first thought was that they were simply hotel guests returning from the exercise room. But no sooner had I nodded a friendly greeting than one of them punched Nick right in the stomach and brought his face down hard on her knee.

I was so shocked at this explosion of brutality, it took me a moment to comprehend what was happening. Despite a bleeding nose, Nick fought back admirably, dealing his attackers a few solid blows they were clearly not expecting … but then a third woman appeared.

I had just managed to lift a heavy painting from the wall with the intent of using it as a weapon, when I caught sight of other people approaching from the far end of the corridor.

Only then did it occur to me to yell for help, but it was already too late. The two men coming toward us were reaching into their jackets, and I could see in their faces we were precisely what they were after.

Crying out in fear, I managed to alert the three women to the danger, and they immediately dropped Nick and darted down the hallway to intercept the men before bullets started flying.

“Come on!” I urged Nick, pulling at his arm. “This is our chance.”

Picking up whatever bags were within reach I scrambled down the emergency staircase ahead of him. Seconds later we erupted through the back door to find ourselves in the hotel garden.

“This way,” said Nick, and in the darkness all I could see was his silhouette as he ran in front of me through the dewy grass. Ducking under an electric fence, we continued across a bumpy, sodden field full of silent sheep until reaching a small gravel road and a car parked in the lee of a toolshed.

“No!” I said, when he opened the passenger door for me. “I drive. You just focus on your nose.”

We didn’t exchange another word until we were on the autobahn. I was too busy making sure no one was following, and Nick had put back the seat as far as it would go in an attempt at stopping his nosebleed.

“Is it broken?” I asked eventually.

Nick groaned. “It takes a lot more to break this schnozzle. What the hell happened back there?”

“I’ve asked myself the same question twice today,” I said. “I think we’ve gotten trapped in crossfire. Some of Reznik’s goons from Geneva have been trailing me in a Mercedes, and I’m quite sure those three lovely ladies were Amazons. What do you think?”

Nick made a pained sound that might have been intended as a chuckle. “Well, you did warn me not to piss off your Amazon sisters. Here.” Opening the middle console, he took something out and handed it to me. “This is your new passport. We’ll have to play dead for a
while. Your name is Artemis Panagopoulos. I thought we should be Greek. You can do the talking. I’ll just be your doting husband. How about a beach hut on a nice little faraway island, compliments of the boss?”

It was all I could do to focus on the road when really, I wanted to take Nick by the collar and shake him. “I thought you had quit your job! You said al-Aqrab doesn’t know where you are—”

“He doesn’t. But I’m still working for him.” Nick looked at me uncertainly. “If it’s any consolation, I almost got fired for stealing the
Historia Amazonum.
”