“It shall be done.”
“Then,” Qaitbey adds, smoothing his horse’s mane, “kill the men who build it, and swear yourself to secrecy.”
After a moment of silence, he consents. “Understood, My Lord. I so swear.”
“Thank you.” Qaitbey makes his voice heard above the rising winds. “What is down there must not be found, not by the likes of unworthy ones such as us.”
“My Lord,” he bows.
“Others will find it, infidels to whom the symbols mean something. And may they be cursed by what lies within.”
The wind dies and the crumbled remains of the Pharos quiver in silence, anticipating the hammers and chisels that will come and shape the blocks and pillars into a new form, a dwarfish, stunted relic of its former glory.
When Caleb opened his eyes Nina was breathing heavily, staring back at him. Her breasts still tight against his chest. She exhaled and lifted herself slowly off of him.
With a sigh he fell backward onto the rug, the muscles in his arms like wet rags. “What did you see?”
“A man in black,” she whispered, hugging her knees to her chest, as if suddenly feeling exposed, “on a horse, watching while hundreds of men and animals worked at building that fort — that place we were at last week.”
“Qaitbey,” Caleb said. “What else? Did you see a door?”
She nodded, wide-eyed. “I saw the switch, I know where they put it.”
“It’s still there,” they both whispered at the same time.
“Why didn’t anyone else see it?” Nina wondered. “No one else on the team?”
“Not sure. I don’t think Waxman asked the right questions. He had them probing the harbor, not the fort.” Caleb looked up. “They’ve been looking in the wrong place.”
14
One hundred feet below the streets of Alexandria, beneath a dilapidated warehouse in the eastern section of the city and down a long corridor littered with construction materials, tools and concrete girders, with hallways that led into unfinished storerooms and antechambers, a polished set of steel doors parted slowly — too slowly for Nolan Gregory. He was late. The others were here already, impatient and, most likely, scared.
He squeezed into the dusty chamber lit by a succession of floodlights connected by yellow extension cords to a generator below the floor. Forty feet overhead, the domed ceiling caught the shadows of the occupants at the central table. Nolan eyed them as he strode into the room, and he imagined them taking on their celestial counterparts in the freshly painted cobalt blue dome, soon to hold a host of stars and zodiac imagery. He buttoned his gray sports coat and quickly took his place at the head of the long mahogany table. Fifteen others sat around it, drinking tea and whispering among themselves.
“Keepers.” Nolan’s voice was soft and controlled, as if humbled from recent setbacks. “Thank you all for coming.”
“Is this wise?” asked a gray-haired woman at the opposite end of the table. “All of us in one spot?”
“No,” Nolan said, looking over his dull-eyed counterparts, “it definitely is not. But we have no choice.”
“We heard,” said a younger man on his right, “about Ullman and Miles.”
“Horrible,” said the man to his left, who was perspiring despite the cool air filtering through ducts along the floor. His gray suit coat hung on the chair at his back.
Nolan hung his head. “Yes, we’ll mourn their loss. But now we must consider succession.”
“But their successors are not ready,” said the older woman, slapping her hand on the table. “It’s too soon, and they were too young, not prepared properly.”
A younger woman, with short hair and sad brown eyes, stared up at the unfinished ceiling. “Who else is ready?”
“Mine are,” said Nolan. “And if there are no objections—”
“Why does he get two?” asked the young woman.
“Because,” the older woman replied, making a face, “Nolan can’t decide which child he loves more.”
Nolan Gregory shrugged. “They each have valuable strengths. I’m only volunteering them because I see no alternatives. It was unfortunate that our fallen colleagues were not prepared, but I am.”
The first man who spoke leaned across the table and pointed to Nolan. “Then that will leave us one short if you are next to die.”
“I’m aware of the math,” Nolan said with an exasperated sigh. His attention roamed about the room, noting the alcoves built into the rounded walls and the hundreds of empty shelves; and for just a moment he set his imagination free, allowing it to fill them. He completed the vault, applied the finishing touches and imagined it full. Whole.
Soon, he thought. Soon.
“This is our most desperate moment,” he said. “This new enemy threatens everything. We can survive without our full number for a time, but I maintain that what we have before us at this moment is an opportunity. With my successors in place, we may have a chance to get to the Renegade, to find the key, and claim our legacy.”
“Assuming,” the old woman said, hunched over, “we aren’t all killed first.”
Nolan crossed his hands in front of his face, simultaneously rubbing both temples. “My other reason for calling this meeting was for our protection.” He looked up. “We’re safe here, and here we’ll stay.”
The older man straightened up. “For how long? I have commitments—”
“—which will have to wait,” Nolan said. “We stay here until the threat has passed, which I promise you will be soon.”
“How do you know?” asked the young woman, her face flushing.
Nolan stared at her. He knew she and Ullman had been more than just colleagues. “I know, because our enemies are on the wrong track.”
“What do you mean?”
“They’ve been misled,” replied Nolan. “Misled about the codes. Someone — I don’t know who — first told them the wrong sequence, and based on the recovered recordings from Ullman’s body, he was able to think fast, and managed to strengthen the initial lie.”
The old woman frowned. “But then, who started it?”
Nolan shook his head. That is the real question. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “However our enemies know about the door and the sequence, they have it wrong; and in their blind impatience, they will surely try it.”
Smiles broke out around the room as the Keepers glanced at one another.
Nolan Gregory nodded and sat down with a heavy sigh. “Now, we only need to sit tight, and wait. Wait,” he repeated, “for the Pharos to protect itself.” And then we can get back on track.
He again stared over the incomplete shelves and the empty walls, and he listened to the echo of his voice as it traveled outside the room, down the desolate corridors and chambers of this venerable vault. Now I have ensured it: my successors will be the ones to find the key, and they will bring the treasure here, to its new home.
15
She waited in the hotel lobby café behind a wilting palm tree and a mosaic-tiled fountain. The others were still upstairs, those that were going on the descent, preparing. But Nina was already packed and ready. Now she wanted a minute alone with Waxman, and after calling up to his room five minutes before, he was on his way.
Of course, the merry widow had been with him up there. Always with him, Nina thought, stewing that she had to wait for her assignments until he had a chance to sneak around and come to her room in the middle of the night. He always stayed longer than necessary, which was fine by her. Waxman was powerful, and a skilled lover. Two qualities she desired in a man. But this time she only needed a minute.