Ancient Echoes (31 page)

She eased herself away. He let her go. “Wait here,” he said.
“I’ll scout around.”

“No.” Charlotte grabbed his arm. “I’m going with you.”

His anger flared at her constant willingness to put herself in
danger. “Listen, I could scout a hell of a lot faster without a citified Fed
tagging along worrying me.”

Her cheeks burned at the words, even as she realized the
wisdom of his words. “I’m sorry I’m such a bother. Go.
And
good riddance!”

As quickly as it came, his fury vanished, replaced by regret
at his harsh tone. He gave her a jaunty grin. “Wish me luck?”

“Humph.” She folded her arms and settled back further in the
brush to wait.

Jake took three steps, and stopped as two men stepped out
from behind a hillside, their rifles aimed at him and Charlotte.

THEIR CAPTORS LED Jake and
Charlotte to the community house where they faced Thaddeus Kohler. Four men
stood behind him. Melisse, Rachel, and Brandi stopped placing clean dishes,
forks, and platters of food onto the table to stare at the two strangers.

“Who are you?” Kohler asked.

“Jake Sullivan, Sheriff of Lemhi County,” Jake said. He
gestured toward the women. “I've been trying to find those students and their
professor.”

“And her?”
Kohler’s gaze drifted
over Charlotte with curiosity, from her straight blond hair, along her thin,
angular body, now held stiffly rigid, to her heavy-soled boots.

“She's my deputy,” Jake said. He moved closer to her,
clearly protective. “Charlotte Reed.”

Kohler’s gaze moved between Jake and Charlotte. “I see.” He
continued. “Who are the others?”

“What others?” Jake asked innocently.

“We are not fools, Sheriff Sullivan,” Kohler said. “The two
men who travel with
you,
and the men following you.”

Jake and Charlotte glanced at each other. “Following us?”

Kohler gave them an icy smile. “We suspected you did not
know.”

“You’re right,” Jake said, his jaw tight. “There’s a reward
for rescuing the students. Some damn fools might want it for themselves.” He
gazed hard at Charlotte. “Are they Feds?
Friends of yours?”

“Don’t be silly,” she said with a sneer.

“Where are the rest of the students and their professor?”
Jake asked Kohler.

“I am the one who asks questions here, Sheriff,” Kohler
said. “But there is no reason to keep from you that Lionel Rempart and Vince
Norton are quartered in the stable.”

Jake did a quick count in his head. He already knew the fate
of Ted and Brian. That left Devlin Farrell unaccounted for. He faced the women.
“Are you all right?”

“We’re well enough,” Melisse said. “Except that we don’t
know how to return home. Apparently, neither do
they
.”

At Melisse’s words, a chilling thought came to Jake. He
faced Kohler. “You still haven’t told me who you are.”

“My name is Thaddeus Kohler.”

Jake recognized the name of the paramilitary team leader who
disappeared some thirteen years earlier. But as he looked over these men, a
couple of them looked too young to have been here that many years. “How long
have you been here?”

“Thirteen years,” Kohler replied.

At Charlotte’s sharp intake of breath, Jake met her eye.
She, too, understood who these men were.

“What is this place?” Charlotte asked.

 “I wish I could explain it.” Kohler shook his head.
“But I cannot.”

“We’d like our guns back,” Jake said. “We need to be able to
protect ourselves.”

“You will, as soon as we’re sure we can trust you.”

Jake braced himself, his eyes narrow slits as he coldly
regarded Kohler.

Kohler's face grew taut. “Tieg, show the sheriff to the
stable. The female ‘deputy’ will remain with the women.” He waited as all the
men left, and turned to follow them out when Charlotte stopped him.

She handed him her last pack of cigarettes. “I’m sure some
of your men will enjoy these. There’s no reason for us not to be friends, you
know.”

Kohler took one out and smelled it, then broke off the
filter. Charlotte stuck a match and lit it for him.

“I want you to know,” she said, “that if you have any
information about what’s going on here, and if it’s in any way connected to the
Egyptian hieroglyphics on the pillars, I may be able to help. But I’ll need
more information.
A starting point.”

“Egyptian what?” he asked.

“Writing.”

He nodded. “We didn’t know. The symbols were strange to us.
None of us has ever seen Egyptian writing.”

“I see,” she said, but nevertheless, his words surprised
her.

 His haughty presence seemed to bristle as if he
recognized her surprise at his lack of knowledge, but when his eyes met hers,
her breath caught. She hadn’t seen such emptiness since the day she caught a glimpse
of herself in a mirror shortly after Dennis’ death.

“I’ll think about that ‘starting point’ you mentioned.” With
that, he left.

Charlotte considered herself a good judge of character. As
much as she wanted to trust Thaddeus Kohler, she could not.

New York City

JIANJUN GOT ON the Acela Express in
Washington D.C., and three hours later stood outside Penn Station. His worry
about Michael grew, and if this silence continued, he might have to go to Idaho
himself. He knew nothing about the place, and wondered if people there still
considered chop suey to be Chinese food.

New York City was a welcome detour.

He took a cab to an Upper East Side address, and exited it
in front of a tall, narrow limestone building. He walked up the steps and rang
the bell. A woman dressed in black gave him a haughty once-over. He introduced
himself as Michael Rempart’s assistant, and asked to speak to Mr. Phaylor. If
Calvin Phaylor was as interested in alchemy and events in Idaho as Jianjun
believed, using Michael Rempart’s name would open the door for him.

The housekeeper left him waiting in the entry. It must have
been beautiful once, with black and white marble tiles on the floor, elaborate
raised-plaster designs on the walls, and a wide carpeted staircase up to the
living quarters. But the carpet was frayed, and the walls in need of fresh
paint. Dim lights and lack of furniture left the room devoid of warmth.
Shutters barred the outside from view.

The housekeeper returned and offered Jianjun a choice between
the stairs or a small elevator in a back corner. He took the stairs. The
housekeeper heaved a sigh and slowly climbed up behind him.

On the second floor of the home, she showed Jianjun to a
large living area and left him alone. The room was even less well lit than the
foyer, and furnished in dark Victorian antiques covered in green and black
velvet. Heavy damask drapery framed the windows. Jianjun nervously sat on the
edge of the sofa. The place was right out of the Addams Family, with the
housekeeper a female version of Lurch.

Ten minutes passed before the double doors opened again. A
male nurse pushed Calvin Phaylor’s wheelchair, an oxygen tank attached to it.
The once strong founder of PLP appeared rail thin, his skin tight over a six
foot tall frame. His white hair was baby fine, long, and fly-away. The nurse
stopped the chair a few feet from Jianjun,
then
quietly slipped out of the room.

Jianjun jumped to his feet, bowed, and introduced himself.

Watery blue-gray eyes fixed on him. Phaylor flicked his
fingers impatiently toward the sofa. “Yes, I know who you are. Sit! Sit! Is
Michael Rempart in Idaho? Have you talked to him?” Phaylor asked, then reached
for the oxygen mask and breathed deeply, as if those few words had cost him.

Jianjun sat as told,
then
answered
the question. “Dr. Rempart is there, but I haven’t heard from him recently.”

Phaylor’s lips tightened. “What do you want from me?”

“Any help you can give. I know you’ve looked into what went
on in Idaho centuries ago, and what is out there now.”

Phaylor frowned and Jianjun knew he was going to lie. “I’m
not sure—”

“
The Book of Abraham the Jew
,” Jianjun said quickly.
“Alchemy.”

He had Phaylor’s full attention. “I see.” He wheeled himself
to the bar. “Move this crap off me,” he ordered, pointing at his oxygen tank.
“I want a smoke and a drink.”

Jianjun took the tank from the chair, closed the feed valve,
and carried it to the far side of the room. He hoped the tank was well sealed.

Phaylor poured them each a single malt Scotch. Jianjun
rarely drank any alcohol other than beer, but took it nonetheless. Phaylor told
him to carry his drink as he rolled toward the elevator. They rode up to a roof
deck facing the East River.

Phaylor removed a cigar and matches from his shirt pocket.
He seemed to enjoy the feel of the brisk wind against his grainy skin. He lit
the cigar, clearly relishing the taste. Jianjun placed the drinks on a patio
table, and sat.

“Alchemy is just a dream, you know,” Phaylor said, keeping
his gaze fixed on the impressive skyline even as his voice took on a wistful
quality.

“Having spent time with Dr. Rempart, I believe there may be
more to it,” Jianjun said.
“Much more.”

Phaylor attempted to laugh, but instead wheezed. “In that
case, I must congratulate Dr. Rempart. Few young computer whizzes like you have
any tolerance for the paranormal.”

Jianjun simply nodded, wondering how Phaylor knew about his
computer skills.

Phaylor continued. “I have learned a lot about alchemy,
including how to interpret
The Book of Abraham the Jew.
If you’ve found
me, I’m sure you know that the board took my company from me, and put that
interloper, Jennifer Vandenburg, in my place. She’s not a bad person, but she
shouldn’t run anything more complicated than a McDonald’s franchise.”

“I see,” Jianjun murmured.

“No, lad, I’m not sure that you do. I’ve lost everything
because I believed I could find something that would be of value to mankind. I
have no family.
Never married, no kids.
My company was
my life, and now it’s gone.” He eyed Jianjun a moment. “I know what a brilliant
archeologist Michael Rempart is, all the treasures he has found. If he is
seriously searching for
The Book of Abraham the Jew
I am more than
willing to assist. I have books, records, which may help.”

“Yes, my boss is very serious about finding the book, as
well as locating his brother, Lionel Rempart.”

“Lionel,” Phaylor frowned. “That’s right. I almost forgot
about him. Tell me, does Michael Rempart know much about his family’s history?”

“His family's history?”
The strange
question surprised Jianjun. “Not that I’ve heard. Why? What do you know about
it?”

“Nothing of importance.”
Phaylor’s
eyes narrowed before he forced his mouth into a smile. “Why don’t you stay here
while you’re in New York? This house has several guest bedrooms. Olga can
freshen one up for you, and I’ll send books and manuscripts on alchemy for you
to read. You’ll find them fascinating.”

Jianjun doubted it. Despite feeling nervous about staying
here, it made sense to do so. “Thank you. I would like that.
Very
much.
Yes. Thank you.”

Jianjun wheeled him to the elevator. Olga waited with his
oxygen tank when the elevator doors opened on the third floor of the mansion.
She frowned at the smell of tobacco and scotch. As Jianjun watched Phaylor
instruct his housekeeper on the guest accommodations, he wondered if he’d
regret accepting Phaylor’s offer to stay.

MICHAEL AND QUADE looked down from
the cliff top where they hid. There had been no signal from Jake or Charlotte.

 “Let’s circle the compound,” Michael said. “There’s
something about it I just don’t like.”

To stay out of sight, they made a wide arc through brush and
pine forests until eventually they reached the compound’s west side. There,
they noticed an area where the ground had been trampled.

“The beasts?”
Quade asked, walking
toward the low-lying scrub where broken stalks lay flat on the ground.

Michael stooped low, peering at the dirt. “Not unless
they’re wearing shoes. It must have been men from the compound. Let’s see where
they went.”

They continued on slowly, carefully. None of the landmarks
they had used earlier remained visible to them, and they felt disoriented.

In the distance, they saw a large object on the ground. It
looked like some sort of animal. Michael half expected it to wake up and run or
attack. When it didn’t, they moved closer for a better look.

Blood covered the ground. The creature lay face down and
looked more like a bear than anything else, but not quite. It had been stabbed
multiple times.

Michael turned it over.

The monster had a long snout with enormous fangs, and white
skin under a brownish-gray coat. As he looked closer, he saw a symbol made up
of bluish-red vein-like lines just above the stomach—the same
triangle-vee-circle symbol he had seen in Lady Hsieh’s tomb.

And now it marked this creature.

“What in the world?” Michael exclaimed.

“It’s a chimera,” Quade said, his soft hands clasped as if
in prayer as he stood over it. “It’s an animal made of components of other
animals, possibly including humans. Some people believe that when the alchemist
moves beyond gold to being god-like, in other words, moves from creating the
perfect metal that will not decompose, to the perfect man who will not die,
their earliest attempts often do not work. There are various names for the
beasts that result—some are called chimeras, which are more animal-like, and
homunculi, which are more human.”