“What I don’t know is what it means. Why the centaur?”
Caleb took a moment to respond. “The battle symbolized nature versus civilization. Lapithe and Centaures were twin sons of the god Apollo. Centaures was born deformed and later mated with mares, creating half-human, half-horse hybrids. This scene shows a legendary battle between the brothers’ descendents, all started over some alcohol abuse at a wedding.”
“Why would that have anything to do with the Books of Thoth, and those keys?”
“I don’t know, but it might fit — in the sense of reconciling man’s nature, both sides of what we’re seeking here: the raw physicality of what we’ve become versus our psychic potential. This scene represents the conflict and the overthrow of one by the other.”
“Whatever, but we still need to know where the key is. Maybe Orlando can figure it out.”
“He’d better draw fast.”
“Why?”
“I don’t think I’m alone in here.”
Caleb had been kneeling in front of the marble carving of the classic Greek scene, the battle of the Centaurs and the Lapiths, when he heard something. Two heavy scansions and a thick rope set off the ancient artwork from the walkway, but Caleb had stepped over it to scrutinize the carvings more intently. Pulling his fingers away from the most prominent centaur, he snapped the phone shut and backed away toward the northeast corner of the room.
He had heard a step, a scuff, someone trying to be stealthy. He ducked around a corner, into another room with a red coat of arms hanging on the wall and a glass case full of spearheads, axes and maces discovered in a Phoenician wreck. There was one exit straight ahead, which he kept an eye on as he opened the phone and called Agent Wagner.
“Renée here,” she answered. “What did you find?”
Whispering, he said, “Not sure yet, but — are any of your people inside?”
“No, why?”
A shadow flitted across the light in the doorway. “Have them look in on my location. I think I’m being tracked. Someone’s here.”
Caleb backed further into the shadows while keeping a clear view of the corridor.
“Nothing, Caleb. My snipers aren’t seeing a thing, and I’m tracking you with the GPS signal on your phone. We can see you in that room through the western window.
“There’s someone in the hallway behind me.”
“Impossible.”
“Maybe someone hid during the evacuation, or there’s a secret passage or something. Someone waiting for me. Maybe it’s him.” Or worse, Caleb thought. It’s Nina, and I’m as good as dead.
“Okay, listen Caleb. If you think you can chance it, run through the other door and keep running. It’s a long hallway, but with a lot of windows, and—”
Another sound, and a silhouette filled the doorway.
Caleb hoped Renée knew what she was doing. He snapped the phone shut, ducked his head and started to run for the door — just as a dark figure eased into the room before him.
Caleb froze, raising his hands, still holding the cell phone. Completely covered in black like a ninja, the intruder glided toward him. It said something incomprehensible from under a black facemask and then did a strange thing. It stopped, and bowed.
Caleb didn’t know how to react. Should he run, laugh or return his bow? Instead, he shifted a foot to his right, concealing the scansion behind his back.
When the stranger’s head raised, his gloved hands rose, and were now holding long curved daggers.
Caleb reached behind him, gripping the cool metal. “Wait, let’s talk a sec.”
The attacker leapt. Caleb ducked and spun around, hauling the heavy scansion up with him and taking his unaware foe in the chest.
A dagger dropped as he grunted, fell, but then sprang right back up. Only two feet away, the dagger beckoned within Caleb’s reach as he let go of the scansion, but he had already made his move toward the door and the long passage.
He ducked and lunged forward, just as something clanged off the granite wall where his head had just been. Then he was sprinting, weaving slightly side to side. Panting, passing each window and getting a glimpse of the towers and walls, the trees, the hills.
Come on, somebody take a shot.
The footsteps behind him were gaining. Maybe preparing another knife for the back of his head. Caleb crossed in front of another window, the last one before the next doorway and a steep winding staircase inside the German tower.
He lunged like an Olympic sprinter at the finish line just as he heard the distant pop and, as he skidded into the tower, angling for the stairs, he heard a grunt and a flopping sound.
Behind him, his pursuer was down, his mask half-blown off, brains and bits of skull obscuring what was left of his face.
Caleb turned, biting his hand and wheezing for breath. He reached for the cell phone, flicked it open. “Good shot,” he said when he finally found his breath. “Thanks.”
“That’s it. We’re getting you out of there. Sit tight, there may be more.”
He glanced out the windows where he half-expected to see the Sultan and half the Moslem army massed at the front gate. “I’ll be back in the Centaur room. Give me cover and another ten minutes.”
“It’s not safe, we have to—”
He hung up, then was about to redial Phoebe when he saw something on the assassin’s neck, above the collar and the torn mask: a gold tattoo that looked like a trident, except with nine flowing things attached to the staff. Frowning, Caleb stared at the configuration for a moment before positioning his phone, pressing the camera function, lining up the shot and taking a picture.
He stood up, then called Phoebe as he stepped over the body and headed back down the hallway. “Sis?”
“Yeah, you okay? Feared we lost you there.”
“I’ll be better if you tell me you’ve got something.”
“About the centaurs? Hang on.”
He kept walking, past the windows where now he saw agents converging, running over the ramparts, seeking out hiding places, working their way toward him.
“Big brother?”
“Yeah?” He entered the room and stepped back to the bas-relief of the Centauromachy.
“Orlando’s just coming out of it, and — what? Ah, all right, here.”
“Hey, boss. You there?”
“Yeah, Orlando, but as I said before, I’m not your boss.”
“You pay me for this gig, so that makes you a boss in my book.”
“Then I’m going to fire you if you don’t tell me what you saw.”
“Okay, do you see the main centaur, the big one raising his arms?”
“Yep.”
“Is the head still intact?”
“Yes, but not all of the body. Rear legs are broken off.”
“Not a problem. I think you’re good to go. See his right horn?”
“Yes.” Caleb moved in closer and stared. It was slightly larger than the left, about the width of two fingers, and maybe six inches in length. But it was a little darker, greener than its mate, as if the sculptor had used a different material, something only noticeable up close. “Wait, this frieze was originally on the second tier, rather high up if I recall. Even if visitors came to admire it, they’d need a ladder to see the discoloration.”
Orlando coughed. “You need to trust me here.”
“Go on.”
“Twist the horn clockwise; it should release.”
Footsteps approached, agents with submachine guns drawn, coming from both entrances. Caleb moved quickly, turning the horn, which at first refused to budge. But then it gave, turned and screwed off. Caleb turned it upside down, looked into the hollow space inside. He held the phone between his ear and his shoulder, then tapped the horn against his palm.