The Angel of Eden (5 page)

T
he family asked for some privacy and we were glad to oblige. Bennet and I retreated to a small sitting room, a book-lined study with a cheery fire burning in the grate. Hot coffee had been set out. “What do you take in it?” she asked. “No, let me guess— just black, right?”

“You hardly need to interview me. You seem to know all my deepest secrets already.”

“How'd your date go last night?” She fluttered her eyelashes and crossed her legs. She was wearing another miniskirt, this one a flouncy affair in plaid, its hem startlingly edged in lace. Bennet did have shapely legs.

“Splendid, thanks.”

“What did you think of the channeling?”

“I hate to see susceptible people taken advantage of by a charlatan. Although he may have done Gina a favor with what he claims the husband said.” Strauss's words had seemed harsh, but
perhaps they'd help Gina let go of a destructive grief that was probably affecting her whole family.

“A charlatan?” Strauss's voice sailed into the room somewhere behind me. I turned around to see him coming through the doorway.

I shrugged. “I'm a skeptic. Nice to finally meet you.”

He helped himself to a coffee and fixed me with his blue-eyed stare. “Perhaps when we're finished talking, Mr. Madison, you'll allow that human perception just skims the surface. There is much in this world unknown to us by any rational measure.”

“It'll be a waste of your time trying to persuade me.”

“We'll see.”

“Well, you'll have to allow that I've been patient. Now, I want to know what this article Bennet's supposed to be writing is all about.”

“It would be easier for me to show you.” He set his coffee down and walked to the far end of the couch, picked up an aluminum case from the floor, pushed aside the cups and set the case on the coffee table. He punched in a code. Inside, nestled in a soft black mold, were three bubble-wrapped objects. He unpeeled the wrap on two of them and placed them carefully on the table.

“Have a close look. I'm sure they'll appear familiar to you.”

He'd revealed two Mesopotamian seals, small stone cylinders that, when rolled onto clay, would produce images to denote ownership. In some cases they were also used as magic amulets worn about the neck, which may have explained why Strauss had them. At first glance they appeared to be originals, but without an expert opinion it was impossible to tell. I asked if I could pick one of them up.

“By all means,” Strauss said.

I got a tissue from a box on the mantel and held the first seal gingerly, revolving it to see the complete image.

Adam and Eve Temptation Seal

It depicted what some believed to be the Sumerian Adam and Eve seated before the tree of knowledge. “This is a famous seal,” I said. “But it must be a reproduction.”

Strauss smiled. “It's no reproduction. And it was fashioned at least 5500 years ago, possibly more.”

I raised my eyebrows and picked up the second seal. It showed a hybrid bird–human figure before a stylized plant, an image similar to one I knew belonged in the British Museum. “And this?”

“It's been authenticated too.”

I shook my head. “I'm afraid you've been duped, Mr. Strauss. These are both well-known seals from a much later period. If memory serves correctly, dating to between 2100 and 2200
B.C
. The originals are priceless artifacts presently held in museums. Who authenticated them?”

He named Tricia Ross, a University of Pennsylvania professor and one of the foremost experts in the field. Hearing her name surprised me; she'd been a good friend of Samuel's. I didn't know what to think. I suppose it was possible for more than one seal of a similar design to exist.

Strauss waved his hand. “Don't worry about authenticity for now.” He bent over, unwrapped the larger object, and set it down on the coffee table.

Ubaid-Era Statue

I had to stifle a gasp. The terra-cotta figure stood about six inches high; its style, decoration, and posture, along with its elongated head, suggested it came from the Ubaid period in preliterate Mesopotamia. That could place it anywhere from 3500 to 6500
B.C
. Actual elongated human skulls had been found all over the world, some dating back forty-five thousand years. The process was called cranial deformation—the deliberate wrapping of an infant's skull to create a permanently lengthened head in adulthood. Experts presumed the skulls were from high-status individuals—royalty or priests. I'd never heard of any elongated skulls being found among Mesopotamian ruins, but the statue Strauss had placed before me suggested that ancient Mesopotamians may have carried out this practice as well.

“Where did these come from? Were they all found together? And when?”

Strauss crossed his legs and settled in his chair. “Well, that's quite a tale.”

“Seeing as you're claiming these seals vastly predate any other cylinder seals held in the British Museum—or anywhere else on the globe—yes, I'd say that
was
quite a tale.”

I'd assumed Bennet had already heard Strauss's story, yet she listened eagerly when he spoke.

“When I was in my thirties,” he began, flexing his long, slim fingers, “these old hands were much more dextrous and I was considered one of the greatest magicians on the continent. A young man approached me, begging to be taken on as my apprentice. He was badly dressed, a poor farm boy from a rural area near Batavia, upstate. His parents, he told me, were German immigrants; he was fluent in the language. His name was George Helmstetter. Naturally, I refused him. The magical crafts are highly secret and one risks having them revealed, or worse, stolen, by trusting the wrong people. Not dissuaded, Helmstetter then asked if he could at least demonstrate some of his own magical effects.

“I acquiesced and recognized his astonishing talent right away. Of course I know all the tricks of the trade. But Helmstetter had an ability to make birds and other objects vanish in such a way that I had no idea how he'd pulled it off. I thought I might even learn from him, although of course I didn't tell him that. I was perplexed. How could someone so young with no professional profile manage those illusions? He astounded me. I should have known he was no rube.

“It made sense for him to seek me out. Alone, even with such spectacular talent, he'd have a long, arduous journey to prove himself. Working with me would vault him into the limelight. At the time, I thought only of my own interests: that he'd prove a great addition to my show as the opening act. I agreed to take him on. In short, we made a deal. I would promote him, make him famous, provided he rewarded my trust by agreeing to stay with my show
exclusively. We worked together for several years. He fell in love with my assistant and they married.”

Strauss paused. His dark brows drew down and when he looked at me again his expression had changed. “Helmstetter had an engaging personality; he was a born entertainer. But he'd fall into black moods, mistreat his wife when he thought he hadn't achieved enough. He had an outsized ambition and wanted to be wealthy. Under my tutelage, he delved into the esoteric world. As you saw tonight, my practice leans heavily on mentalism and spiritual endeavors. I began to realize it was this specialty that had attracted him to me. But the more he learned about that world, the more unpredictable and temperamental he became. One day, thirty-five years ago, he simply vanished. I never heard from him again.”

I stretched my legs out and drained my coffee cup. “An interesting story, but I can't imagine how it relates to those artifacts.”

“Patience. I'm coming to that. George did not leave empty handed. He raided my safe, taking ten thousand dollars in cash along with a precious book, a 1792 German edition of
The Steganographia,
by a Renaissance scholar named Trithemius.” Strauss's eyes blazed. “He betrayed me.”

“I'm sorry to hear it.” I knew of Trithemius and though I'd never seen a copy, or known one to come up for auction, I was familiar with
The Steganographia
, one of the first texts of cryptography disguised as a book of angel magic—the title came from Greek and Latin roots and meant “hidden writing.”

Strauss leaned forward, his hands curled into fists. “I want you to find Helmstetter and retrieve my book.”

Eight

T
hat was the last thing I expected to hear. “Are you serious? Your assistant disappeared thirty-five years ago. I'm sure his trail has gone cold. And anyway, missing persons are hardly my forte.”

“Yes, but ancient Near East artifacts
are
your specialty. And if you trace the origin of these objects, you'll pick up Helmstetter's trail.” He glared at me so forcefully it felt like a blow. “Does my former assistant's name not ring a bell?”

“Not at all. Why should it?”

“But you've heard of Faust, no doubt.”

“Of course,” I said, puzzled about what all this was leading to. “Helmstetter was one of Faust's names. Faust was a real person, you know, not just a character made famous by Marlowe and Goethe. The actual historical individual took up an assumed name: Georgios Faustus Helmstetter. He was a scholar, alchemist, and magician who lived in fifteenth-century Germany. My Helmstetter claimed to be a direct descendant. After he fled I traced his family
history. He'd told the truth about his genealogy. He
was
descended from the real Faust's family.”

“Since he disappeared so long ago, what makes you think he's still alive?”

“I have no proof, only instinct, and my instincts have never failed me.”

Except those instincts didn't warn you about trusting your apprentice.

Strauss leaned back and crossed his legs. “Naturally I searched for him high and low—in North America and Europe. I hired private investigators, checked in with his parents and associates, ran newspaper ads. Yet I failed to pick up even a scent.”

“You said he had a wife. What about her?”

“I was coming to that. She ceased working for me shortly after their marriage. When Helmstetter took off, he left her behind. Broken-hearted, she grew bitter. Refused to even speak his name. She remarried. She passed away last October.”

He motioned toward the case. “Her will instructed her executor to send me those objects as a way of paying me back for Helmstetter's theft. It was most generous of her.”

“Well, if they do turn out to be authentic, which I doubt, they're worth vastly more than the money and book combined. Consider yourself compensated.”

A flash of irritation crossed Strauss's face. “Their financial value is of no interest to me,” he snapped.

“Did you learn how they came into her possession?”

“All I know is that almost a year after he disappeared she received a package from Helmstetter containing the objects. It included a short, undated letter in which he begged her forgiveness and hoped the valuables would provide her with some financial security. She kept them all those years, unsure of their authenticity
or provenance but unwilling to give them up. In the letter to her, underneath his signature, Helmstetter wrote some kind of code expressed in a series of numbers.”