Panacea (42 page)

“Not on your life,” Laura said. She turned to Rick as the old man tottered away toward the abbey's left flank. “Well, what do you think?”

“I think we just struck the mother lode of panacean lore. That old dude has answered a lot of questions. But can we trust him?”

“What do you mean?”

“Something off kilter about him. I wish I could say just what. And I don't like him going off by himself.”

Laura smiled. “Why don't you peek around the corner and see if he's really relieving himself.”

“Don't think it hasn't occurred to me.”

But he'd take a pass on that. Instead he pointed to the abbey. “‘The house of the fallen godmen.'” Then to the lake. “‘The tomb of the fallen star.'”

“Right. But Auburon sleeps ‘twixt' … somewhere between … where would that be?”

Rick knew the poem by heart by now. “…
mocking his oppressors … He sleeps in the Wound … Midmoon from the godmen gate … Where five men stand above his door.
” He looked around. “The ‘godmen gate' could be the front door to the abbey. But what's ‘midmoon' from that?”

“A half moon? “Laura said.

“Yes! A hundred-eighty degrees.”

He hurried along the abbey's right flank to its rear wall—a blank stone expanse with a cross carved into the block. Not even an arch. He was hoping to find some sort of statue or monument—any sort of structure. But all he found was brush.

“Check the ground for a trapdoor or something,” he said, parting the brush.

“You don't think they'd make it easy to find, do you?”

“Or look for remnants of statues—namely the ‘five men' who ‘stand above his door.' Auburon should be beneath.”

“Nothing but dirt and rock here,” Laura said.

Yeah, she was right. Damn it.

He stepped to the water's edge where they'd seen Leander fishing.

“Wait. ‘Auburon lies drowning.'” He pointed toward the water. “He's down there.”

“But no statues of five men. How about carved into the bank?”

Rick leaned over for a look. “Nothing but blank rock.”

“‘Five men stand above his door,'” Laura said. “What if that means five man-lengths? People didn't grow much above five feet back then. Could he be in some sort of crypt down there … twenty-five feet down?”

“Damn right, he could.
‘Martyred and imprisoned … Yet mocking his oppressors
.
'
It all fits. His first disciple, Paschal, was in charge of the quarrying. They placed him right under the abbey where he could thumb his nose at them for eternity.”

“It fits, but is it true?”

He began shucking his jacket. “Only one way to find out.”

“You're not thinking…”

“Unless you can come up with a better way, this is the best I've got.”

“We should have brought some scuba gear.”

“No one wishes that more than yours truly.” He wasn't concerned about free diving two dozen feet. The SEALs had put him through a lot worse. The temperature could be trouble because Rick knew, just
knew
that water was going to be cold. Too cold and his muscles would seize up. “My kingdom for a drysuit.”

“Maybe I should get Leander…”

“Let him empty his bladder in peace. It takes old guys a while.”

As he stripped down to his cotton boxer briefs, he heard Laura groan behind him. Her voice had a husky sound.

“There are some things one cannot unsee.”

He laughed. “Don't tell me I have skid marks!”

“Just get this over with.”

He grabbed the Maglite Mini from his jacket pocket. The water looked clear and the high sun would add a lot of light near the surface, but he might need it twenty-five feet down. Not waterproof, just water resistant, but he figured it would last longer down there than his breath.

He picked up his hunting knife.

“Are you expecting to run into a shark?” Laura said.

“Never know. Maybe a kraken.”

Nah … he dropped it.

“Be careful,” Laura said.

He looked back and saw her concerned expression. She cared? Nice to know.

“See you in a couple of minutes.”

He looked down at the still surface of the water, maybe five feet below. If Laura's calculation was right, he'd find something twenty feet or so below the surface. He filled his lungs to capacity then slowly released the breath four times. Taking a final deep breath, he turned on his Mag and dove in headfirst.

He'd been mentally prepared for the cold but the shock nearly drove the breath from him. This couldn't be just mountain runoff. Had to be a cold spring at work here.

He kicked straight down, stroking with one arm and aiming the flashlight with the other. He saw the opening almost immediately: a black square, three feet on a side, cut into the rocky wall of the upwelling. Definitely not natural.

He hesitated only a second before gliding into it, Mag thrust before him. He expected to find a coffin or some skeletal remains, but the passage made a sharp upward turn. He followed it. He doubted he could turn in the confines of the passage, so getting out would take longer than going in. He decided to allow himself a dozen or so more feet before he started backing out.

The flash beam—don't fail me now—reflected against something ahead. The end of the passage? He stroked on, wondering at the purpose of the passage, when he suddenly broke the surface into air.

Air?

Yeah. No light, but air—stale and musty. He pulled himself out of the water. Not exactly warm here, but positively balmy compared to the lake. He spent a moment shaking off the water and rubbing his skin to warm it. He figured he was under the abbey. Which would put him '
Twixt the house of the fallen godmen … And the tomb of the fallen star … That slew summer.

He flashed his Mag beam around. So where was Auburon sleeping?

He had barely begun his search when he heard a deep scraping sound above him.

 

4

As he stared at the monitor, Nelson willed his blurred vision to clear, but with only minimal success. He sat in a darkened room—the low light helped his headache—in the rear of the Ballainvilliers farmhouse with Bradsher and two of the local field agents.

“What am I looking at?”

“Per Agent Bradsher's instructions,” said an operative he knew only as Henry, “the drone team drove into the hills this morning and set up near the designated coordinates. The hover drone reached those coordinates just as you walked in.”

“Ah, yes,” Nelson said, recognizing the Abbey in the center of the wide view of the lake.

He felt a twinge of vertigo as the camera panned around.

“There's the helicopter they arrived in,” Henry said. “I'm going to follow the shoreline.”

Nelson was pleased to note that none of the Serpent's plants grew along the shore. The Brotherhood had been efficient and effective in eradicating them from the locale.

“There's some sort of ruin on the island. It looks religious, what with the crosses and all. Are you two familiar with the location?”

“Vaguely,” said Bradsher.

Henry was not of the Brotherhood and the less he knew the better.

“Tell me again why we're watching these two?”

Nelson didn't feel up to it so he nodded to Bradsher.

“That's on a need-to-know basis,” Bradsher said. “But I can tell you that she's a medical doctor who has been hired by a very rich man with an anti-American agenda.”

“We talking Soros-type money here?” Henry said.

Bradsher kept his eyes on the monitor screen. “You didn't hear that from me.”

“Well, as long as this is budgeted through your account and not mine, I don't need to know. The two Interpol guys running the drone won't even ask. They love playing with it.”

“There's the doctor,” Bradsher said as the view swung around to the rear of the Abbey. “But where's…?”

Henry said, “She's staring at the water and appears to be standing beside a pile of clothes. Could her companion have gone for a swim?”

“It certainly appears so,” Nelson said.

He glanced at Bradsher who looked equally baffled.

“Oh, wait,” said Henry. “Here comes someone.”

Nelson leaned closer. A bearded old man was walking up behind Dr. Fanning. That certainly wasn't Hayden. Nelson had never seen him before.

“Who in God's name is he?”

 

5

“Where is your friend?”

Laura jumped at the sound of Leander's squeaky voice. She'd been so intent on watching the surface of the lake for Rick's return that she'd forgotten about him.

She pointed to the water. “He's looking for Auburon's tomb.”

The old man's already high-pitched voice jumped an octave. “In the lake?”

“Well, we figured that particular spot is ‘midmoon from the godmen gate,' so he dove in to see.”

“But the water is so cold. Such impulsive behavior. He should have spoken to me first.”

“There's nothing there?”

Leander stepped to the edge and stroked his scraggly beard as he peered at the water. “How long has he been down?”

Laura wished she'd looked at her watch before he dove in. “Two minutes, maybe?”

“Well, then, let us hope he has found it.”

Laura grabbed his arm, thin and bony through the fabric of his shirt. “Found what?”

“The passage to Auburon's tomb.”

“What are you talking about?”

He turned and motioned to her to follow. “Come. And you should bring his clothes. If he is alive, he will be cold.”

“
If
he's alive?” she said around a stab of panic. “What do you mean?” Laura picked up Rick's clothes and hurried after Leander as he began walking toward the front of the abbey. “Wait-wait-wait! What do you mean?”

“The water is cold and the passage is narrow. He is your lover?”

“No. No way. He's just helping me search.”

“You care for him.” Leander was not asking a question.

Laura thought about that. She guessed she did care about him. Else why this anxious squeezing in her chest? He'd started out aloof and annoying, but he'd proved reliable and good company, despite his weird take on the world.

“It's a professional relationship but he's become a … a friend.”

“He is a good swimmer?”

“I don't know.” She couldn't resist. “He says he swims like a SEAL.”

“‘Like a seal.' An odd choice. Most people would say ‘fish.'”

“Nope. Like a SEAL.”

She prayed he'd been telling the truth about that.

She followed Leander through the front door of the abbey. Just across the threshold he stopped and picked up a very modern oil lamp.

“You've come prepared,” she said.

“I have explored this place many times.”

As he pulled out a little butane lighter to fire up the lantern, Laura considered her position of being alone in a dark, deserted abbey in the middle of a lake with a strange old man who just happened to be waiting on shore when they arrived. In a sci-fi movie he'd turn out to be Auburon himself, resurrected by the panacea. Or in a B-grade thriller he'd turn out to be the leader of 536 and would either attack her or imprison her.

She looked at Leander's bony limbs and bent back and figured she could handle him. And anyway, this wasn't a movie.

Still, she'd be careful not to let him get behind her.

Then she had another thought. “Can I see your back?”

“You are looking at it now, I believe.”

“No, I meant the skin on your back.”

He glanced at her. “You think I carry the panacean tattoo?”

“I don't know what I think right now.”

“The tattoo … is that how you found the abbey?”

“We were looking for the Wound. Can I see?”

He turned his back to her. “Suit yourself.”

Laura lifted the back of his sweater to reveal unmarred skin, as smooth and white as a baby's behind.

“Satisfied?” Leander said.

“I'm satisfied you're not with the panaceans. Can you roll up your sleeves?”

He complied: no tattoos.

But who
was
he with, if anybody? He was like a tour guide. He came on like a local codger who liked to fish and tell stories about the history of the area's private landmark, and maybe that was all he was. But Rick had said something about Leander was “off kilter” and Laura was getting a feeling too that maybe he was more than he pretended to be.

Which meant she was starting to think like Rick, and maybe that was not such a good thing.

Which was why she made him lead the way down the abbey's central hallway. Open doorways, their doors long gone, lined the passage, leading into small rooms—cubicles really. Each had a single window that opened through the right or left flank of the building. Daylight filtering from the rooms lit the hallway, but still left it gloomy.

“Here,” Leander said, stopping before the only darkened doorway. “You are strong?”

“I guess so … relatively.”

She worked out, did the weight circuit at the local gym when she could get there. She didn't carry a lot of muscle, but what she had was toned.

“Good,” he said. “I am not.”

The door opened onto a narrow stone stairway. He held the lamp high with one hand and steadied himself against the wall with the other. No handrail here.

“Where are we going?”

“Down. To find your friend.”

The steps ended in a small, stone-walled room.

“This used to be their larder,” he said. “Cool all year-round.”

“But—”

“See this tilted stone?” he said, moving to the corner. “We must lift it.”