The Thieves of Darkness (45 page)

“Kangchenjunga makes perfect sense. One of the first persons to try to scale it was an Englishman by the name of Aleister Crowley, a man enamored of the occult. Some thought he was the author of the satanic bible, but that is pure fable. He was a member of Golden Dawn and was enraptured with myths and the mystical. No one was quite sure why he chose that mountain, but his guides spoke of his searching for signs of unknown civilizations along the way. Four people died during the trek and they never made it to the peak. As Crowley’s life unfolded and the
world learned more of Aleister Crowley, many concluded he was looking for Shambhala.

“During the thirties, Heinrich Himmler and Rudolf Hess led German expeditions in search of Shambhala, scouring the mountains of Tibet, Nepal, and India in hopes of finding the wealth and knowledge that would bring about the rule of the Third Reich.”

“You can’t possibly think a place like that exists,” Busch said.

“The translation of the map is very clear,” Simon said. “It may not be Shambhala as man has imagined in his books and fairy tales, but there is
something
there.”

“All right,” Michael said, cutting short Simon’s dire speech. “So even if this place exists, if it is filled with gold, or jewels, or repositories of knowledge, then why the rod? What does it do? Its value may be high, but its worth would be dwarfed if what you describe actually exists—unless it has some purpose.”

“How can you buy into this?” Busch said to Michael before turning to Simon. “No offense.”

“Do you doubt it out of skepticism or do you doubt it out of fear?” Simon shook his head in annoyance. “All myths can trace back to some truth, no matter how minute. How is it that so many cultures have the same myths, the same uniting themes? Simon paused. “Is it because they have some basis in fact? Gods and demons, the great flood, heaven and hell, angels and beasts, earthly paradise, life after death. Every culture possesses similar tales about these things. Gives you pause, if you have half a brain to think about it—”

“The rod!” Michael interjected, defusing the argument before it twisted into a maelstrom. He shot a glance at Busch, who rolled his eyes and took a seat.

Simon calmed himself and turned back to Michael. “Each culture contains what is known as an axis mundi, a link between two realms such as heaven and earth. Sometimes it would be a mountain, such as Mount Sinai, where God spoke to Moses and gave him the Ten Commandments, or the Mount of Olives, where the Bible speaks of Jesus rising to Heaven, or a man-made thing such as a pagoda, church
steeple, obelisk, or minaret. The American Indian has the totem pole, Egyptians have the pyramids, the Norse had the tree Yggdrasil. All places or things that would act as a conduit between man on earth and his god above.

“An axis mundi is sometimes considered the center of being, the navel of Mother Earth, thought to be where the four points of the compass meet. And at that point there is rumored to be vast knowledge and wealth beyond imagination.

“KC told you about the rod of Asclepius and the Caduceus. Their central staffs are considered axis mundi, while the serpents are the guardians of the knowledge that passes through that link between heaven and earth.

“The sultan’s rod is such an object, said to open a passage to heaven … or hell, but only if it is at the appropriate location. That location is where Piri Reis’s chart is pointing. Whatever the name may be, wherever the chart points to is where the rod came from.

“I believe this place, this Shambhala, lies atop a keep, a temple where Kemal Reis and his men hid away the treasure. I believe it is a place of darkness and that the rod is needed to open its entrance. I believe what is at the end of this chart is a manifestation of heaven and hell on earth, and the sultan’s rod is the axis mundi that links them, that opens them up.”

Busch rolled his eyes, shaking his head, growing fidgety in his chair.

“Look, I’m not telling you what is at the end of this map,” Simon said, seeing Busch’s skepticism. “Be it boogeyman or monk, Devil or God, it is all speculation. But something is there beyond the gold and treasures that Kemal Reis returned.” Simon held up the large photo of the map and underscored the English translation. “It says here that all but six of his men died up there, and only one survived to deliver the rod, letters, and the original chart to Piri. And what is very important to understand is that both Piri and Kemal were men of the sea, men who charted reefs and rocks to be avoided at all cost, to protect all who
sailed so they might live to see a new dawn. This chart here”—Simon stabbed his finger at the picture—“depicted not a destination, but a place to be avoided at all costs.

“Kemal was warning his nephew, imploring him to hide the rod away and avoid Kanchenjunga. He was warning of the danger of opening this hidden world in the mountains to protect not only his nephew but everyone from what lay within.

“Make no mistake, Kemal Reis was a corsair, a pirate, an admiral, a man who instilled fear, who didn’t cower in the face of danger. If Shambhala is heaven on earth then what lies beneath is nothing short of hell on earth, and if it were to be opened…”

Simon’s words hung in the air as the hospital room grew silent. Echoes of nurses’ voices and moving gurneys reverberated in the outer halls as Michael’s and Busch’s minds drifted about, absorbing Simon’s story.

“Michael,” Simon said, a tinge of foreboding in his voice, “Venue is a violent man, on the brink of insanity. He has three obsessions: wealth, power, and knowledge of the mysteries of the beyond. He’s a fallen priest excommunicated from the Church not only for murder but for seeking out the devil, for seeking out alternative gods, for dabbling in mysticism. He went on to amass a fortune applying the lessons of his criminal past to the business world; he achieved tremendous power, rendering himself untouchable by the corrupt politicians and world’s police, whom he expertly manipulated via money and blackmail.

“But his fortunes have turned; his empire has all but crumbled around him. The Church has found him and is looking to expose him, to hold him accountable for the murders of the seven priests who had him excommunicated from the Church. Where Venue was once invincible, shielded by his money, that protection has evaporated.

“So he has redoubled his efforts to find the location contained in Piri Reis’s chart. Where it was once an avocation for Venue, a secondary quest intended to resolve the unanswered questions of his younger seminary years, it has now become his only hope for saving his world.

“If he reaches this so-called Shambhala, I fear he will find not only fortune but a darkness that he will use against those who cast him out: his sworn enemy, the Church.”

Michael and Busch remained silent as Simon’s tale soaked in. Michael understood Simon’s fears and concerns, he understood his wanting to protect the Church, but Michael was not truly convinced of the threat. What his mind was focused on, what really caused the fear to build in him, was the thought of KC’s fate as she was being dragged around the world.

“Michael, there is something you need to know about Venue. While I was being held by Iblis, during a lucid moment, I overheard him tell Cindy a secret that made the truth of the map pale by comparison in her eyes.” Simon paused. “Venue is KC and Cindy’s father.”

Michael felt his insides contract, his world turned upside-down as his mind overflowed with confusion. He could feel Busch’s “I told you so” eyes looking his way.

“And she knows this?” Michael finally said in anger.

Simon shook his head. “No, she has no idea. I had no idea. But it makes sense when you look at all the pieces. Iblis is the factor that ties it all together. He was not only KC’s teacher, sent by her father when she was young, but also their protector, who would silence anyone who posed a threat to the girls.”

“She never knew?” Busch asked as the seriousness of the revelation sank in.

“I imagine she is about to find out. Think what this will do to her. Remember, Venue already sent her to her death, knowing she is his daughter. I can’t imagine what she will do when she learns the truth, that he is the man her mother taught her to hate, the man she thought she saw buried when she was a child.”

“Simon, where are they flying to?” Michael asked, his voice urgent, thick with fury.

“Darjeeling, India. Then they’ll grab either a helicopter or an off-road vehicle to travel the twenty-five miles to the mountain.”

Michael looked at Busch. He didn’t need to say a word.

“Shit,” Busch said. “I’ll call ahead, get the plane ready. Just stick another pin in my world map.”

“I’m going with you,” Simon said from his hospital bed, though he knew it wasn’t possible with his condition.

“I wish you could,” Michael said.

“Yeah,” Busch added. “Then at least I’d have someone to drink with.”

“Michael,” Simon said. “Under no circumstance is the world below Shambhala to be opened. I fear it contains madness, evil of the darkest nature. In the hands of someone like Venue or Iblis…”

Simon didn’t need to finish; Michael fully understood his warning.

Michael and Busch were in the front of the limo two miles from Ataturk Airport. They had come straight from the hospital, bypassing the hotel, as they had nothing of real value there. Michael’s gear was either in the trunk of the car or stowed away on the jet. Busch had already made the call; the jet would be prepped and ready for departure in less than an hour.

Busch was driving as Michael placed the GPS monitor into a cradle on the car’s dash. The screen depicted a wide map stretching from eastern Turkey to India with two small red dots floating over the Caspian Sea.

“Michael, there is no question that there are two signals on that plane heading to India. But if they have the original chart and the rod, what is it that you had me lock away in the safe on your father’s jet?”

“It’s—”

Michael’s cell phone rang. He looked down, saw it was KC, and flipped it open. “Thank God.” Michael exhaled in relief. “Where are you?”

“God has nothing to do with this.” The man’s voice was deep and rich, a slight English accent polishing his words. “I understand you love my daughter.”

Michael’s senses ignited as he listened to Philippe Venue.

“If for some reason I do not get to my destination, if I do not achieve my goal, I will kill her. It’s my prerogative as her father. So don’t bother coming after her or me. Don’t you be listening to that fool of a priest. If you try to stop me, I’ll have Iblis here flay the skin from her bones. And it is such nice skin.”

And the phone went dead.

B
USCH SPED INTO
the hangar. The jetway door was already open, the Boeing Business Jet waiting for its passengers, its engines idling. Michael and Busch grabbed the bags from the trunk and ran up the gangway, closing the door behind them.

Michael headed straight for the safe under the bar. He spun the wheel and opened it to find the object of his interest. He pulled out the leather tube, untied the top, flipped open the interior metal hasp, and opened it.

Michael pulled out the sultan’s rod, examining it, ensuring that it had not somehow magically disappeared. Authenticating it, he quickly slipped it back into its case and placed it back in the safe.

“Does KC know she has a fake one?” Busch said.

“She has no idea.”

“That’s some trust you’ve got going there between the two of you.”

“You know me, I’m a bit of a control freak when it comes to these things. I was afraid for her when it was in her possession.”

“Well, now that it’s not, I think she is in far more danger. When they get where they’re going they are going to figure it out. As soon as they try to use it—”

“Enough. I realize what I’ve done.”

But Michael was not about to reveal that his deception was motivated by what he felt when he handled the rod. It was an overwhelming effect; it went beyond nausea, dizziness, and illness. It was as if it infected him with despair, robbing him of hope. It was an effect that he would protect KC from at all costs.

Michael had initially intended to make one replica, one doppelganger to fool Iblis, but after feeling the effect, he changed his plans.

He had left the comfort of KC’s arms, leaving her sleeping in the safe house nearly eighteen hours earlier. It was just after midnight when he arrived in the private hangar at Ataturk Airport and headed straight for the workbench. The night guard was happy to vacate with one hundred euros in his pocket and a case of raki in the trunk of his car. Michael explained that he needed use of the lathe and press to repair some climbing equipment, but Michael didn’t need to worry, the guard had no interest in the rich American’s pastimes. He was already planning his night of drunken merriment with his three brothers.

Stephen Kelley’s jet had sat behind Michael, filling three-quarters of the cavernous space. It had arrived back in the early evening, having taken its deceptive jaunt around the Mediterranean, with its pilot hunkered down in a nearby hotel awaiting instructions on when they would be leaving.

Four boxes of acrylic molding compound sat on the workbench in the rear of the hangar. Busch had picked it up earlier in the day from an art supply house and delivered it to the hangar along with some wood, quick-set resin, and various other supplies on Michael’s shopping list.

Michael constructed the mold box out of plywood; it was simply a three-foot-by-two-foot-by-one-foot-deep hinged case, its seams joined with compound binding glue to provide an air- and water-tight seal.

Michael mixed the acrylic molding compound and poured it into the box, filling it halfway.

He opened the leather tube and pulled out the bejeweled rod. He laid it upon the table and photographed it from every angle, turning it about as he worked, paying particular attention to the dual snake heads.

Suddenly, Michael began to feel nauseated, dizzy. He felt no reason to continue, and pessimism infused his heart, a feeling that he was doomed to fail. It was a feeling such as he had never known, as if everyone he loved was about to die, leaving him alone for all eternity, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.