From the Ashes (4 page)

Reluctantly, Wayne took the hand of the imposing personality before him, struggling to keep his stoic resolve in place.

“Agent Wilkins,” the Colonel said, looking firmly at Wayne as he shook his hand, “welcome to the Division.”

Blue Mountains National Park, Australia
March 2011
Friday

Michael’s phone call was late.

Jonathan Rickner sat on the dusty ridge, gazing out at the thunderheads rolling across the valley, drenching the rocky landscape of orange and green in darkness, threatening rain that seemed reluctant to come. The previously picturesque view of the Australian wilderness had been transformed – the brightness of day seized by premature night, twisted into a dreamscape of encroaching darkness and shifting shadows.

Fitting,
Jon thought. Still, his elder brother surely had good reason to be late. This evening –
Thursday
evening in Washington, across the International Date Line – was a big moment in Michael’s life, and he couldn’t be expected to put everything on hold just to make a phone call.

Yet here Jon was, waiting, sitting on the outcropping of rock he’d chosen for three reasons. First, it afforded a magnificent view of the valley. Second, it was one of the few areas within close proximity to his campsite that his cell phone got a signal. Despite the phone’s international SIM card, the reception out here was far spottier than it was back at Oxford. But then, that was to be expected, especially as it aligned with reason number three – the main reason – he’d chosen this spot to wait for Michael’s call: it was isolated. Jon could be alone with his thoughts, the vista of light and shadow, and his non-ringing phone.

He scratched absentmindedly at the three-days’ growth on his jaw – when camping with the boys, beard-growing was kind of par for the course. His eyes, normally a deep sapphire blue but prone to change colors depending on his mood, were currently on the gray side of the spectrum. He didn’t know if he was ready for this. No, strike that – he simply
wasn’t
ready. Michael was his brother, his best friend, his... He couldn’t really put the connection they shared into words. Twenty-four years of life together, traveling around the world together with their archeologist parents, exploring, sharing, learning, dreaming together. Despite their differences, despite Jon’s desire in recent years to get out from under his older brother’s impressive shadow, theirs was an uncommon bond, a bond that had grown in depth and breadth for all of their lives.

Until now.

Jon didn’t have a problem with Mara. Quite to the contrary, he liked her very much. She and Michael made a good match. He, like Jon, had a brilliant mind and was intensely curious about... everything, but he was prone to monomania, especially when it came to whatever historical or archaeological mystery had seized his attention at the time. Mara adored his genius and patiently helped him to keep the rest of his life on track while his primary focus was elsewhere. She was also very bright, and, though their fields of interest differed, they challenged and spurred one another on to bigger and better things.

The truth was, they made a great couple. And that made it even harder for Jon.

He took a deep breath. Blew it out in a sigh. He raised his eyes heavenward, but no answers presented themselves. Angry black storm clouds rumbled across the sky, turning day into night and blotting out the sun like a fire blanket. In a few hours, the sun would be setting on Friday here; the first appearance of Friday’s sun for Michael in Washington would still be hours behind that. Was there a metaphor there? Perhaps. An answer? No.

All Jon’s life, Michael Rickner had been his rock, his best friend, and so much more. And vice versa.

The one constant in his life was about to do the unthinkable. Change.

What happens when your anchor abandons your ship?
he mused.
At best, you drift at sea, never attaining that stability of being able to stay where you want again. At worst, you drift into a jetty and sink.

He didn’t hear the phone until a few seconds into the ring-tone. He knew who it was without even looking at the screen. Deep breath. He answered with a grunt.

“Sorry, bro.” Michael’s words came quickly, betraying his excitement. “Did I wake you up?”

“No, no.” Remain nonchalant. Don’t sound needy. Nobody wants that.

“So, you want the long version or the short?”

“Both.” Neither.

“Short version: she said yes!”

“Of course she did, bud. No surprise about that.” None whatsoever.

Michael proceeded to tell Jon the long version – the beautiful, Hollywood-perfect engagement story where everything magically went right. Jon half-expected a downtown chorus line or random fireworks exploding overhead to come into the story at some point. He clenched his jaw as he listened, joy and betrayal, excitement and loneliness, clashing in his brain.

A rustling in the brush to his right caused Jon to turn around. A familiar form came into sight. Crap. Sam had found him. Had to finish this call off soon.

“I’m really happy for you, Michael.” Lie. Well, half-lie.

“Thanks. You okay? You sound-”

“Tired.” Nip it. “Just tired.”

“Sorry. Hey, I wanted to tell you, too, my dissertation is really taking off.”

Jon sat up. Sam was no longer an issue. “How so?”

“Hot lead. Hot
topic.”

“What did you end up changing your topic to?”

“You still coming out next month? I’ll tell you all about the research then.”

“Of course I’m coming. Why’s it gotta wait until then, though?”

Atense silence on the other end. “Jon, I... I think I’ve stumbled onto something big. When I say ‘hot topic,’ I mean ‘earth-shattering.’ ‘History-rewriting.’ ‘Instant career-making.’”

“And you’re afraid that rival historians around the world are listening in even now with their sophisticated cell network monitoring systems that just about everybody in academia has these days?”

“Not academia, Jon. Bigger than that.”

Jon scoffed, half-smiling. “Oh geez. You’re a big dork, you know that?”

Silence.

Jon swallowed. “Wait, you’re being serious?”

“When you come out here, Jon. All will be divulged. Of this you have my word.”

“Alright, Mr. Dramatic, I’ll hold you to that. And it had better live up to what you’re hyping it up to be.”

“It will, Jon. And so much more.”

Jon raised his eyebrows. The wonder child had done it again. He stymied his jealousy for the time being, instead choosing to focus on the excitement of discovery that seemed to be rekindled. An excitement that the two brothers had shared many times over the years. Maybe the good old days weren’t quite gone after all.

Michael cited the lateness of the hour, and they said their goodbyes. Jon held the disconnected phone in his lap as he stared at the landscape again. A flash of cloud-to-cloud lightning in the distance provided some illumination to the landscape of shadow.
Light in the midst of the dark,
Jon mused.

“No matter how bad things get,” he said aloud.

“They can always get worse?” came the voice at his side.

Jon started, turning his head toward the figure that was looking down at him with a curious expression. “Geez, Sam. You scared the crap out of me.”

“Sorry.” Sam dropped to one knee next to Jon. “So Michael and Mara?”

“Yeah. Engaged.”

“Cool. They’re good for each other.”

Jon bit his lip. It was true. But all he could muster in agreement was a terse little grunt.

“Oh, boy,” Sam huffed good-naturedly. “What’s going on? Jealous?”

Jon grimaced at the valley before him. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Look, Paul and I found some real cuties a couple of campsites over. Sorority sisters or something. Let’s go meet-”

“It’s not that, Sam.”

“‘Not that’?” Sam cleared his throat. “Geez, you ain’t goin’ gay on us, are you, bro?”

Jon finally turned to face his friend, a steely glint in his eyes. “
No
, Sam. It’s Michael. I’m...” The glint faded as his eyes drifted toward the ground. “I guess I’m jealous of Mara. Maybe a little afraid of losing my big brother.”

Sam raised his eyebrows, and breathed in through barely parted lips. “Oh.”

Jon nodded his head slightly, grimacing at the dirt. “Oh.”

Neither of them spoke for a long moment. In the distance, Jon could see the clouds begin to let loose their cargo, sheets of much-needed rain falling to nourish the parched earth. Change, Jon reflected, was an integral part of nature, of life. If there were no rainy days, there would be no plant life; no plant life, no animal life. And so on. Death and rebirth, sun and rain, the inevitable cycles that kept the world alive and beautiful. But then, like flash floods and hurricanes, not
all
change was good.

“Paul’s grilling some burgers. That’s why I came to find you. We invited the sorority girls over. Four of them, three of us. Good odds, good food, good times, you know?”

“I’ll be there in a minute. Thanks.”

Sam stood, dusted off his knee, and clapped Jon on the shoulder with a meaty hand. “Take your time, man. And don’t worry too much, okay? Michael’s still Michael. No matter what happens, he’s still gonna be your brother, you know?”

Jon looked up at Sam with a weak attempt at a smile. “Yeah. I know. Thanks.”

Sam made his way back through the woods, leaving Jon alone on the ridge with his thoughts, his now-silent cell phone, and his view of the gathering storm. The lightning was growing nearer, but the gray curtains of rain remained at a distance, a dreary backdrop to the scene. Lightning flashes would fill the valley intermittently, but, Jon could see, the contours of the terrain shielded pockets of ground from direct lighting altogether. Places where neither the bright of day nor the flash of a thunderhead could ever penetrate the darkness. Places where sunny days and happily-ever-afters didn’t exist.

But perhaps Sam was right. Of course Michael was still going to be Michael. People didn’t just change who they were because they got hitched. Well, maybe some people did, but surely not Michael.

Not Michael.

Washington, D.C.

Michael Rickner awoke with a start. Eyes wide open, seeing nothing but darkness. Ears straining for unknown sounds that would not betray themselves. He sat bolt upright, the bed-springs creaking beneath him, and he turned his head from side to side as he took in the scene, trying to orient himself.

He was still in his bedroom, in his bed, under the covers. Ambient light from street lamps toward the front of his apartment building spilled through the window blinds and into the room – a dim, soft light, slatted with the blinds’ shadow, giving the room an ethereal, ghostly glow. He held his breath as he listened for whatever sound might have pulled him so abruptly from his slumber. A dog, probably a Chihuahua or another small breed, yipped in the distance. The slow, steady drip of the toilet filling, a sound that Michael had become so accustomed to that he automatically tuned it out – except for now, when he was endeavoring to hear any and every sound, no matter how small or ordinary. A police siren – no, make that two sirens – wailed in some nearby part of the city, just reaching his ears. And... nothing else. Yip, drip, wail, and nothing else but silence. All mundane, far too ordinary to disturb his sleep. But something had.

What had he been dreaming before he had awoken? A nightmare or some particularly exciting dream that had been the impetus for his sudden awakening? Perhaps it was merely something in the dream world that had disturbed his slumber? No, he would have remembered that dream, or the last part of it at least, upon returning to his conscious mind. But he remembered nothing of his dreams tonight.

He yawned, an open-jawed eye-scruncher of a yawn. He
had
to get some more sleep. Tomorrow – or rather, today – could be the pivotal moment in his dissertation research, and indeed in his entire academic career. A day that so much hinged upon was not one to go into sleep-deprived. He would be pushing it as it was, but every minute of rest counted tonight.

He reached over to his nightstand and fumbled for his phone, his eyes still trying hard to focus. Laying hands upon it, he pressed a button to bring up the backlighting.
1:47.
He’d only been asleep two hours? It felt like it had been much longer, probably because he was so fatigued from the stress and excitement of the day before, full of thoughts and emotions that his mind needed to convert into long-term memory. He definitely wanted the previous day’s events – his engagement to the love of his life – filed permanently in his long-term memory: an afternoon never to be forgotten.

As he set the phone back on the nightstand, its light still providing additional illumination, every muscle in Michael’s body suddenly tensed. He could not explain why, for no audio, visual, or other sensory stimulus seemed to have caused it.

His mind immediately flashed back to a moonless night, years ago, in the bush country of Mali. He and Jon were sleeping in one tent, their father and mother in another. Both Jon and Michael had awoken at the same moment. A preternatural tingle of fear, inexplicable at the time or afterward had yanked them from their sleep and permeated both of their bodies. They had sat up and looked at one another, the darkness obscuring their faces but able to see each other, nonetheless. They listened, hearing nothing but the natural sounds of night: wind whispering through the tall grass, jackals snarling at the edges of their territory, owls hooting and calling as they hunted their nocturnal prey. Nothing out of the ordinary, but the two brothers felt strangely convinced that
something
was out there,
something
had awoken them, even if not by normal sensory means. And, upon scrambling from their tents, carbines in hand, they had found their intuition to be correct – within five minutes’ time a small war party of tribal natives had descended on their camp, and only their rifle fire, quickly joined by that of their now-awake parents, had driven the tribesmen away in search of easier prey.

What he sensed that night in Mali was death approaching. He hadn’t felt that way before or since – until now. And that frightened him tremendously.