The Oracle Code (26 page)

47

Museum of the University of Athens

Plaka, Athens

Hellenic Republic (Greece)

February 21, 2013

Across the street from the museum, on a building rooftop two blocks away, Linko watched Lourds escort Anna Cherkshan to a waiting taxi. They talked briefly and Linko hoped they would leave together. Things would be simpler if his two targets stayed with each other.

That wasn’t meant to be though. Lourds put the young woman into the car and stepped back. A moment later, the taxi drove away.

Linko kept his binoculars trained on the American professor. Now that he’d found the man, he was determined not to lose him again. Anna Cherkshan’s death was just waiting to happen. It was only a matter of time.

Linko had wanted to take his chances with capturing Lourds, but Nevsky had forbidden that as well. Whatever the American professor was looking for, Nevsky wanted the man to find it and Linko to take it from him immediately afterward.

He let out a breath and sighed in frustration as Lourds re-entered the museum.

***

“Hello, Thomas. Hello, Adonis.” Professor Ian Westmoore waved at them through the satellite link to Berlin. Westmoore was in his seventies, a rotund man with a long, white beard and hair swept back from his high forehead. His glasses magnified his eyes and made them look too large for his face.

“Hello, Ian.” Lourds smiled at the man. The British professor was a favorite of his, and he had curmudgeonly down pat when it came to dealing with students.

“So, you want to know about death societies in Ancient Greece?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you have come to the right man. I just attended a seminar on the death cults of the Celtic Priests. They sacrificed to the gods, and often their victims were young nobles. It didn’t make them very popular with the ruling class, as you can imagine.”

Marias laughed. “I suppose not.”

“So, what can I help you with?”

Lourds leaned forward to speak into the microphone. “We’re working with a document regarding Alexander the Great.”

Westmoore nodded. “A good subject. Plenty of meat there for a scholar to feed on, but you’re going to have to find a whole new wrinkle to interest the pedagogical crowd.”

“I think we have something. Have you ever heard of a legend or story about Alexander receiving weapons from Hades?”

“The god of the underworld?”

“Yes.”

Westmoore seemed puzzled and interested at the same time. “Never. This is something new. What do you have?”

“A scroll by Callisthenes—”

“The original or one of his replacements, or Callisthenes after his death was faked?” Westmoore smiled. “You realize you have your choice there.”

“We do realize that, but we’re confident that we have one from the original. The scroll says that Aristotle took Alexander to the Oracle of Delphi, then to visit Hades to get the weapons.”

Westmoore scratched his beard thoughtfully. “In those days, you could offer a tribute to Hades anywhere, but there’s only one temple where someone could have gotten anything from Hades. You have discovered there was only one temple, correct? That no one else dared build a temple to Hades?”

Lourds nodded. “We have.”

“There is a scroll I have read, researched, and done papers on that talks about the temple of Hades. Unfortunately, I can’t definitely say whether it was written as truth or fabrication. So many things about the Greek myths have gotten all tangled up as the Greeks told the stories, then the Romans after them. Let me send you a copy when we finish talking.”

“Thank you.”

“But you’ll have to let me know how this quest of yours turns out.”

“Happily.”

Westmoore grimaced. “I don’t think it’ll end all that happily. I think you’re wasting your time, but if someone’s funding your research, you should waste as much of it as possible.” He waved a hand in dismissal. “The death cult of Hades supposedly guarded the opening that led down into Hades itself.”

“I’ve never heard that.”

“Of course you have. Heracles found a way into Hades to capture Cerberus, remember? That was his twelfth and final Labor. Theseus and Pirithous went there as well, to capture Persephone to be the wife of the latter. Heracles journeyed there to save Theseus later. Theseus and Pirithous were both minor gods, though they lived in the mortal world, but Heracles was half mortal. There had to be a non-mystical way for him to travel.”

Lourds turned that over in his mind and swapped looks with Marias.
An actual gateway to Hades?
The idea boggled the mind. And yet...there was fascination there as well.

“So somewhere in Elis, near the temple of Hades, is the entrance to the underworld?”

“According to this scroll and the accompanying map, yes. The death cult that worshipped Hades at Elis was known as the gatekeepers. They were devoted to keeping out all who did not belong to Hades. Until the proper time, of course. One has to assume they made way for the departed.”

Lourds took notes.

“I’ll tell you something else, Thomas.”

“What’s that?”

“If Alexander did indeed have weapons that were given to him by Hades, then the god of the underworld would have brought them back to his domain.”

“Why do you say that?”

Westmoore pulled one of his long ears. “Remember the story of Demeter and Persephone? How she was stolen away by Hades and taken to his realm?”

“Yes.”

“She ate
four or six pomegranate seeds.
Seeds. And she had to live a third of her life in Hades as a result.” Westmoore raised an eyebrow. “Hades was a jealous god, no question about it. Alexander’s weapons, if they were given by Hades, would have been worth a lot more than a pomegranate seed.” He thought for a moment. “Makes you think a little more about why Alexander died at such a young age, doesn’t it? And why his great friend Hephaestion died so young too?” The old professor chuckled. “Maybe Hades was just reaping what he had sown as well.”

***

High TV Television Station

Plaka, Athens

Hellenic Republic (Greece)

“Are you going to be all right, Ms. Cherkshan?”

Seated in the chair in the television studio, Anna nodded at the assistant, instantly regretting it as her head spun. “I’m fine.”

The young man gave her a thumbs-up and hurried away, already talking on the headset he wore.

Anna was not fine, though, and she knew it. She had a fever that felt like it was burning her up from the inside. Her shoulder, the one the woman had scratched at the airport, burned and itched at the same time. She wanted to scratch it, but every time she touched it, pain exploded and filled her whole chest, making it hard to breathe. It was, in fact, getting harder to breathe anyway. She just couldn’t seem to get enough air into her lungs.

Convincing the news producer—and his bosses—at the television station had been easier than she’d thought. Especially after she had shown them the papers Spaso had downloaded. They made a convincing argument, even though they were all she had.

Security around the station had been doubled since the story was going out live.

The fact that she was doing the delivery herself was a blessing and a curse. She liked the thought of being in front of the camera again. She’d loved working in the news station at university, but it was too much of a production. Print journalism afforded her more of a chance to be herself and say the things she wanted to say.

“Are you ready, Ms. Cherkshan?” The director’s voice came to her through the earbud she wore.

Anna was scared. As much as she didn’t want to be, she was absolutely terrified. But she held it in and made herself be on point. And when the news anchor turned to her, she kept the fear in check and made her voice strong.

“Good evening. My name is Anna Cherkshan. I am a Russian citizen, and I am here tonight to expose the truth of what President Nevsky has done to the Ukrainian people and how he plans to incite terrorist attacks in your country.”

A hush fell over the studio. Most of the people working the broadcast didn’t know what she was there to present. There had been some press releases hurriedly done, some promo spots on earlier programs, but no one had wanted to let the cat out of the bag.

Mostly because no one wanted the television station to become an instant target for terrorists—or the Russian police.

She spoke calmly, her head pounding, and revealed all that she had discovered. The station had given her five minutes to elaborate on her story, and she had written it concisely and crisply to make the most of her time.

“President Nevsky has lied to the Russian people. He has undermined the Ukrainian government so his military generals could step in and take over. Now he begins to do that to you. Beginning with terrorist organizations like 17N...” Despite the pain and nausea she felt, she persevered, never missing a beat, never once losing strength in her voice, though it felt like every word she said emptied her lungs.

She saw herself on one of the monitors in front. She had been self-conscious of it in the beginning. Speaking in front of one was more distracting than she remembered.

When the nosebleed started, it was even more distracting. She mopped the blood from her face and continued. The blood became a rush, then a torrent, and her head ached more fiercely, and her senses flew. It was all she could do to keep talking and remain seated.

Some of the support staff rushed toward her. She waved them off, determined to finish. Something was wrong, and in her heart, she knew she was dying. She could feel that nothingness waiting for her, sucking her down with every passing second.

“Now that you have heard my story, you must finish what I have started. President Mikhail Nevsky is a monster. He must be stopped—” She coughed and a bubble of blood burst in the back of her throat, filling her mouth with the salty taste of iron. “And...Father...I love you. Embrace the new Russia. Do not fear it. Do not let it fall.”

Unable to hold herself up, Anna fell. She was no longer there when she hit the ground.

48

Museum of the University of Athens

Plaka, Athens

Hellenic Republic (Greece)

February 21, 2013

“Thomas.”

It took Lourds a moment to recognize Layla’s voice. He pulled the phone closer to his ear and checked the time. It was 6:47 p.m. “Layla? Is something wrong?”

“Have you seen the news?”

“No. Adonis and I have been steadily working on solving the riddle of this scroll. Every time I think we almost have it, we reach an impasse.”

“Anna Cherkshan is dead.”

The news hit Lourds like a tsunami of cold water. All his attention was suddenly focused on the phone. “Are you sure? She was here only a few hours ago.” He brought up Marias’s computer and clicked on a local news site.

“Anna died at a local television station.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Was she all right when you saw her?”

“Yes. Other than a headache. She thought she was fatigued.”

“It was more than fatigue. She had a nosebleed. It was horrible.”

Lourds found the news about Anna then. There was a print story as well as video clips.

RUSSIAN JOURNALIST DEAD

ANNA CHERKSHAN CLAIMS RUSSIAN PRESIDENT NEVSKY ARRANGED UKRAINIAN DOWNFALL

“Have they said what killed her?” Lourds clicked on one of the video clips and watched Anna’s impassioned plea for an investigation into President Nevsky. He watched the trickle of blood from her nostrils turn into a crimson rush that drenched her blouse. He closed his eyes, no longer able to look.

“No. No one is saying anything.” Layla sounded terribly upset. “God forgive me, but after what happened to her, I got so worried about you. Then, when I could not get in touch with you...” Her voice choked.

“I’m sorry, Layla. Truly I am. But we’re all fine here.”

“You will not continue to be fine if you pursue this. You know that.”

Lourds clicked off the computer, unable to watch any more, not wanting to know any more. “Layla, I have to follow up on this. Adonis and I almost have the answer.”

“It will get you killed. Just like it got Anna killed.”

“We don’t even know if her death was anything more than a terrible accident at this point.”

“She was a healthy young woman.”

“That could have been the result of an embolism. There doesn’t have to be anything nefarious about her death.”

“There is. I feel it. And you should feel it too.”

Lourds silently admitted to himself that maybe he did. “Layla, even if I tried to walk away from this thing, Nevsky—or whoever’s after Alexander’s tomb—will just come after me. I’m not going to be safe until I find it.” He paused, and a horrible thought crossed his mind. “You’re not going to be safe either. They know you and I are involved.”

“I will be fine. I am protected.”

“Except that Captain Fitrat is here.”

“That way I know that you are protected. As much as you can be. What bothers me most is that I cannot be there with you.”

“Don’t try to come. It’s too dangerous.”

“I will not. I cannot. I have too much going on here. I am being buried by the work I have to do. And I feel so badly that I cannot be there with you.”

“I’ll be fine. I promise.” Lourds hoped he wasn’t lying through his teeth, and he grieved terribly for Anna.

***

General Anton Cherkshan Residence

Patriarshiye Ponds

Moscow, Russian Federation

February 21, 2013

One short flight from Kiev to Moscow and the drive from the airport, two hours and twenty-three minutes after hearing about his daughter’s death, Cherkshan stood in front of the door to his house. He hesitated there, standing in the white, swirling snow gathered on his stoop. He wanted to go in, but it hurt him to think of what he was going to find.

Katrina had called once, to make sure that he had heard about Anna, and to verify that what she had heard on the Internet news was true. Then she had broken down crying and hung up the phone.

Cherkshan had tried to call his wife back, but it had been useless. She had not accepted his calls. He had known she would accept nothing less than him being there. He had sent men, but she had turned them away.

Nevsky had accepted Cherkshan’s call, proffered condolences, and grudgingly allowed his general’s flight home to be with his grieving wife. Through all of that, Cherkshan had gotten the opinion that Nevsky would hold this abandonment of his post in Kiev against him.

He didn’t know how he felt about that.

Before he could decide what to do, the door opened, and there stood Katrina. She looked as hard and as cold as the Russian winter, and he knew that a part of her blamed him for their daughter’s death, even though she did not mean to.

“You should come in. You are going to freeze.”

Cherkshan nodded, unable to speak past the lump in his throat. He kicked the snow off his boots and walked into the house.

“Come into the kitchen. I have fixed you some dinner. I knew you would not eat.”

Cherkshan did not feel like eating. He wanted to hold his wife, but he knew she would not allow that. Not yet. Not until she had off of her mind whatever she was holding back.

So he went into the kitchen and sat at the table. She brought food and put it before him. Like a machine, he ate. When he finished, Katrina took the dishes, washed them, and put them away.

He looked at her. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Can you bring back my daughter? Can you bring back my Anna?”

He shook his head, having no words to give her.

She left him, going back to the bedroom, and he knew not to follow. Instead, he went to his study and he waited. At this point there was nothing for him to do.

Three hours later, he got a phone call from Emil, who also expressed his condolences.

“Thank you.”

Emil hesitated. “I have a Greek policeman on the line, General. He says that it is important to talk to you.”

“Put him through.”

There was a series of clicks, and Cherkshan knew he and the policeman were not alone on the line.

“General Cherkshan, I am told you speak English.”

“I do.”

“Good, because I speak no Russian.”

“And I speak no Greek.”

“I have some questions about your daughter.”

Cherkshan thought for a moment, then realized that whoever was listening in on his phone call would already know about Anna. They would know more, in fact, than he did.

“All right.”

“I am Hermes Asimakopoulos, a police detective. I am afraid I am calling with some bad news about your daughter.”

“You are too late, Detective. I have already heard the news.”

“I am sorry for your loss, General. But there are some questions I must ask.”

“Proceed.”

“When was the last time you saw your daughter?”

Cherkshan felt angry, and it almost got the better of him. “Do not waste your time or mine. Get to the important questions.”

“What would those be?”

“What killed my daughter?”

“Why do you think something killed your daughter?”

“Because a police detective would not call me otherwise. The embassy people would handle this.”

“You’re right, General. My apologies. Your daughter died from radiation poisoning. It was all through her system. Due to the nature of your daughter’s interview on—”

Cherkshan broke the phone connection and leaned back in his chair. He was startled to find Katrina standing in his doorway with her arms folded.

Her voice, when she spoke, was cold and brittle. “What killed our daughter?”

“Radiation poisoning.”

“You and I both know she has not been around radiation.”

Cherkshan nodded.

“Someone killed our daughter, Anton.” Katrina stared at him. “In all the time that we have been married, I have never asked you about the things you have done. But I will speak of them now. You have killed men, my husband. To save your life and for your country. I know this is true.”

“Yes.”

“Promise me this: promise me that the people responsible for our daughter’s death will die.”

Cherkshan took in a breath and let it out. Katrina did not know how much she was asking. But it did not matter. She had asked. He nodded. “It will be done.”

***

Dressed in old clothes, Cherkshan stood inside a bodega four kilometers from his home. He had slipped out of his house using a subterranean tunnel he had built into his neighbor’s yard. There was a good chance that the FSB didn’t know about the tunnel, and he was very careful about his departure. The heavy snow made it easier to disappear.

Along the walk to the bodega, he had checked behind him several times. No one had followed him. When he had reached the bodega, he had used the payphone to make one call.

The man at the other end had picked up and said hello.

The general had named another place, but the man at the other end of the connection had known he had meant to meet at the bodega and to be careful about coming.

Forty-two minutes later, Dmitry Dolgov entered the bodega. He looked older than Cherkshan remembered, but he still had the roving eyes with steel in his gaze. He gave no indication that he recognized Cherkshan as he walked to the counter and purchased a paper and a hot tea.

The paper meant that he had not been followed. If he had purchased gum or candy, he had a tail.

After his transaction had been completed, Dmitry left the bodega. A few minutes after that, Cherkshan left as well. He stepped out into the cold and walked a block to the east. Dmitry waited in the shadows at the corner.

“My condolences on your loss, General.”

“Thank you, Dmitry, but you do not have to rely on titles here. You and I, we are old friends.”

“True.” Dmitry sipped his tea as they walked and watched for tails.

“My daughter was murdered.”

Dmitry said nothing.

“It was done by a sociopathic dog who works for the FSB. One of my own.” Cherkshan passed over a photograph of Colonel Sergay Linko. “He poisoned my daughter with radiation.”

“I am truly sorry, Anton. That is a bad way to go.”

“There are no good ways.”

“No, but there are some that are worse than others.” Dmitry put the photograph inside his coat. “I know this man. He has a reputation even among the SVR.”

“He is in Greece. Following Professor Lourds on a treasure hunt that the president believes in.”

“You do not?”

“I do not care. I want Linko dead. I am asking you to do this thing for me because too many people are watching me and because you have a history with Lourds.”

“After everything he has been through, Lourds may not trust me.”

“Then do not let him see you.”

“What about Lourds?”

“He is not my enemy.”

“And the treasure?”

“I do not care about it.”

Dmitry nodded. “As you wish.”

“Dmitry, I know this thing I ask is a lot, but I made a promise to Katrina that our daughter’s murderer will pay for his crimes.”

“You do not need to worry about it. We look out for each other, my friend. It is what good Russians do.”

“I fought with my daughter all the time, Dmitry. She had visions of what Russia would be like if it followed along the lines of freedom. I would not listen.”

“You and I argued with our fathers as well. Only not as loudly or as bravely as these young people do. This is a natural thing.”

“Perhaps, but perhaps I should have been listening more.”

Dmitry held up the paper. It was a copy of
The Moscow Times.
“Your daughter left many articles behind. I have read them. She was thoughtful and insightful. She has left a legacy. You can still read them. You can still hear her voice.”

Cherkshan took a deep breath and knotted all his pain into a ball in his stomach. It was what he had learned to do.

“When do you want this person dealt with?”

“Soon.”

“I will leave straightaway.”

“Do you know where Lourds is?”

“Better. I know his girlfriend. She liked me. Perhaps she can tell me. If not, I will follow Linko. Whether Linko comes to me while I sit on Lourds, or I track Linko as he follows Lourds, it doesn’t matter to me. Either way, I will have him.”

They stopped at the next street corner. Dmitry leaned into Cherkshan and hugged him fiercely. Then, without another word, they went their separate ways.