Time Trove

W.G. Griffiths

Publisher Page

an imprint of Headline Books, Inc.

Terra Alta, WV

Time Trove

by W.G. Griffiths copyright ©2019 W.G. Griffiths All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents, except where noted otherwise, are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any other resemblance to actual people, places or events is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any other form or for any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any information storage system, without written permission from Publisher Page.

To order additional copies of this book or for book publishing information, or to contact the author: Headline Books, Inc. P.O. Box 52 Terra Alta, WV 26764 www.headlinebooks.com Tel: 304-789-3001 Email: mybook@headlinebooks.com Publisher Page is an imprint of Headline Books ISBN 13: 9781946664587 Library of Congress Control Number: 2019900905 P R I N T E D I N T H E U N I T E D S TAT E S O F A M E R IC A

Dedicated to Stephen Griffiths In Memory of Craig Griffiths

Acknowledgments I would like to thank Renegade Writer team members, Cory Adams and Kaitlyn Smith for joining me on the research trail to Russia and the Russian Academy of Science, to film the interviews and everything else related to this book. I would also like to thank them and my daughter, Summer, for continuing with me out to sea in the testing of specific underwater equipment used in the story. I thank Kenzie Keys, my parents William and Dorothy, my kids and friends who still read books for all their support and honest comments. I thank Masha Akutina for her astonishing help in connecting me with the Russian science team and a sincere thanks to the team itself, led by Svetlana Yashina, for welcoming me in and sharing their time and miraculous experiences with us. I thank curator, author and famous grandson, Shawn Hemingway and the Metropolitan Museum of Art for all the support, encouragement and open doors for research. And of course, to my publisher, Cathy Teets and Headline Books for all the support, time and hard work in editing and everything else it takes to put the actual pages into the readers’ hands.

Prologue Hakeem Salim heard thunder. He looked up and saw nothing but then felt a mild rumble and some loose pebbles rolled lightly off a rock. After a long moment, his attention went back to the sheep.

Sheep die easily. Without fangs, claws, speed, or intelligence, they need constant surveillance. Without a shepherd, their only defense is death. A predator can manage but one sheep at a time, giving the flock a chance to run.

Hakeem had spent more than half of his twenty-two years shepherding the family flock. Ninety-seven sheep at present. His dog, Caleb, was a perfect companion. A team for years, each knew the other’s thoughts. Caleb, a skinny black-and-white mutt with a pointy nose, would tirelessly run random circles around the sheep, while Hakeem kept a slow, steady pace forward, throwing sticks and stones.

The sheep’s search for another patch of grass was neverending. The stubby Afghani terrain offered little nourishment but plenty of rocks and sticks to throw ahead of wandering sheep. A rock or stick strategically placed would always send a sheep running back to the safety of the fold. Hakeem would do this as long as they were moving and often considered how Allah had done the same to him to keep him from dangers he could not foresee—lots of time to consider such things.

Thunder.

Hakeem paused. Listened. A gentle breeze feathered his cheeks and cooled his sweaty face. He scanned the horizon and 5

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saw a clear desert sky, as it had been for weeks. Caleb stood still as stone, his ears forward and nose high. There, again, louder, closer. Pebbles danced as the ground trembled under his feet.

Hakeem hurried ahead of the flock to look over the hill crest.

His eyes bulged. Tiny flags on antennas, the sun’s glare flashing off windshields. Grilles and tires rose through thermal heat waves, all speeding in his direction. A plume of smoke rose directly in front of a small group of racing vehicles; more thunder followed.

Another explosion and one of the racing tan vehicles flipped, losing debris and passengers as it tumbled.

The sheep froze in place, all staring straight ahead with Caleb.

Fear quickly coursed through Hakeem’s veins. Bombs and trucks would be on them in a moment with no regard for their safety.

Run. His first impulse was to sprint in the opposite direction, back the way they had come. No, they would be overtaken, shot down, run over. To the right, wide-open plains with no place to hide and to the left, a wide crevice with jagged stone walls emptying into a large valley. He whistled for Caleb and bolted into the ravine.

A loud explosion made the ground shake. Rockets were crashing ahead of their targets. His eyes darted about for cover.

Nothing. He looked behind and saw Caleb running to him and the sheep bleating and stampeding through thick clouds of dust.

Dirt and pebbles were falling from the sky, sweeping the ground.

The swoosh of a missile was followed instantly by a deafening blast high on the wall of the ravine. Hakeem fell to his knees. He covered his head and curled his body as rocks rained painfully on his back. Caleb yelped and snuggled tightly against him, trembling. The sheep huddled against the wall to his right, crying nervously to him for direction and protection. He cupped his arm around his dog and told him he was a good boy and everything would be all right and then he scurried on his hands and knees to the flock. Several thunderous impacts on the other side of the wall shook the earth behind them. They couldn’t stay here. The valley below was their only chance.

“Caleb, come,” he ordered and then took off down the ravine toward the valley. Hakeem heard another swoosh and explosion 6

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and suddenly airborne, he was unable to discern down from up.

He hit sand on the opposite slope and couldn’t move. He slowly lifted his head. Blood dripped from his brow and curled around his eye. Through a swirling cloud of dust, he saw his sheep scattered about, many very still. Caleb crawled next to him, whimpering.

Hot wind cleared away the cloud and some of his sheep gathered in the middle of the ravine, confused, bleating. Beyond the sheep, he could see where the missile had cracked open a crevasse into the base of the hill. A jagged crater surrounded by sharp boulders.

Immediate shelter from the constant bombardment. He blinked and tried to clean his eyes with a dirty hand. Now the hand had blood on it as well. He rolled down the sand and hobbled across the ravine. Caleb followed. More explosions above. He stumbled, caught his footing and hurried around a sharp boulder. Another swoosh and he quickly looked up. A missile zipped past. He didn’t see the impact, but the detonation almost took him off his feet. He dashed for the crevasse and was surprised to find how deep it was. In fact, the new crack in the hill had a hole in it, with broken brick around its edges. Did the missile find a tomb?

Humans had walked this country for thousands and thousands of years.

Ancient tombs were common and it was impossible to know when you were walking over one. Natural as sand. Harmless. But to Hakeem, scary as the death it contained. Caleb poked him in the leg with his nose and Hakeem jumped.

“Don’t do that!” he said and then exhaled and looked into the hole. He heard another whoosh and heard an impact on the wall about fifty feet away but no blast. It just rested there, a thin white tube with fins. A dud or just a delay? More bombs and rockets hit lower in the ravine. No time to peek into holes. He kicked at the broken brick edge until the hole was big enough and then climbed into hollow darkness. Caleb quickly followed.

Hakeem tumbled onto a stone floor. The only light came from the hole behind him. His eyes adjusted slowly. A room of some kind, as big as his parents’ mud home. The ceiling was too high to reach. The perimeter was dark, but he didn’t see any skeletons or coffins. Just a room but not entirely empty. He squinted. A couple 7

Time Trove

of big rocks at the other end took shape as he moved toward them. One was rectangular, about the size and height of a small bed. The other stood tall behind it and round, like a column.

The room shook. The bombing outside continued, but the sound was muffled. Dirt and pieces of ceiling fell. Caleb would be better off outside, he thought. No question, they’d both be better off in the valley below the ravine. But he couldn’t still his curiosity. He walked cautiously to the two stones; his eyes were well adjusted now. He stood over the first stone and then smoothed his hand across the surface. Flat like a table. An altar?

He looked at the tall column-like stone behind it. Different in color, darker than anything else around. He walked around the flat stone for a closer look. His eyes widened as he drew close to the surface of the stone. It was carved.

“Words,” he whispered, as if someone else would hear.

Etchings. Unbelievably fine and clear. His fingers moved slowly down ancient characters. He was not familiar with these words.

Not Arabic. Not Islamic. What did it say? At the top of the stone were characters with other characters connected under them, like a hierarchy or chain of command or…ancestry? Below, the text was dense but clear.

The government would destroy such writings. They were always destroying old writings in fear of new ideas that would make one think. He puzzled over the color and texture of the stone itself. Very different, he thought, being strangely drawn to it. What kind of stone was this? Not usual for this area; that was for certain. And how old? It occurred to him he might be the first person to see it in thousands of years.

Sheep? He remembered his flock.

Another missile hit and the room rocked. Hakeem struggled for balance and fell. The stone wavered. Hakeem tried to find his footing while reaching to stabilize the pillar. Too heavy. He let go as it fell against the wall behind it, breaking the top into several pieces.

“Idiots!” he shouted, glaring at the light coming in through the wall. He bent down and picked up a small piece the size of his palm. He put it in his pocket and then picked up another the size of a large book, with both hands.

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More thunder. A section of the ceiling caved in and the light from the hole dimmed as he again fell to the floor. Caleb ran to the hole and looked back. The dog knew it was time to leave or be buried alive. Hakeem sprang to his feet and ran for the hole as the ancient room of worship rumbled and collapsed around him.

He looked back and saw the altar disappear. Gone. Buried. The floor heaved and as he fell, the stone jumped from his grasp and slid across the floor.

“Agh,” he cried and bolted to his feet in a sprint. He snatched the stone from the floor and held it tight as he dove through the hole into the light. Hakeem tried to stand and run, but the hillside slid behind him and caught his legs from behind before his feet could leave the ground, as if hands had reached out of the earth and grabbed his ankles. He fell forward and whacked the ground with a loud grunt. The stone tablet had cracked and split in half, right down the middle.

He struggled to get free, twisting, pulling and felt a searing pain in his knee. The earth continued to mount up, higher, over his thighs and back until it reached his armpits. When it stopped, he was pinned and could hardly breathe.

Caleb came to his face and licked it and started to dig but then stopped and turned his head. Hakeem strained his neck and eyes to see.

Trucks.

The vehicles that were being fired upon turned into the ravine for protection and were headed toward him. He could see the men inside, but they didn’t look like soldiers. His cousin was in the military. He was familiar with the uniform. These men were dressed more like he was. Government trucks but not government soldiers. Who were they? Asad al Adala? Even he had heard of the Lions of Justice, but he had never personally seen them. Being a shepherd, he hadn’t seen much and that was how he liked it. Would they help him or harm him? From what he had heard, they were capable of both and he wasn’t in a hurry to find out firsthand.

The trucks hugged the opposite wall. Shells and rockets were flying over but unable to find their mark. The trucks slowed to a crawl and then stopped. Caleb growled.

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“Shhhhh,” he whispered. With no place for him to hide, the best he could hope for was to be considered a waste of their time.

“Caleb, go,” he whispered. The dog was confused and stayed.

One man jumped out of a truck and grabbed a wandering lamb. Hakeem wanted to speak but didn’t.

“Look!” he heard someone say. He raised his eyes and saw a few looking at him. Maybe they would leave him alone because he was not in a protected area like they were. That hope was immediately dashed when two of them left the truck and hurried toward him with guns in hand, staying low. Hakeem was suddenly terrified. He let go of the ancient stone. Maybe they would not notice it.

“Get back here,” someone yelled.

The two men continued. They stopped a few feet from him.

Hakeem strained his neck to see above their boots.

“Shepherd. What happened to you?” one said with a voice that sounded concerned.

“Leave him,” someone else at the truck yelled.

“He’s alive.”

“Then shoot him!” someone else yelled. “You’ll get killed.”

Caleb snarled viciously.

“Caleb…no! Lie down!” Hakeem ordered, fearing his friend would be shot.

Caleb obeyed but snarled quietly at his master’s side.

“Can you please help me?” Hakeem said. “The bombs caused a landslide and I could not get away. I will be in your debt.”

One of the men bent down. “Take my hand. We’ll try to pull you out.”

Hakeem reached out with both hands. The two men grabbed him tightly and pulled with grunts and groans. No good. The hillside held him fast.

“Get a shovel,” one said to the other. Another explosion caused both to cover their heads and then one ran back to the truck. The other started digging by hand and then stopped. Hakeem saw the man’s hand pick up the ancient stone pieces.

“What is this, shepherd?”

“I don’t know.”

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“Where did you find it?” he said. His fingers smoothed lightly across the ancient characters.

“Here. I found it here.”

“Here?” he said incredulously.

“Yes.” “You lie.”

“No.” He frowned and examined the stones closely. “This may be very valuable. Do you know what it says, shepherd?”

“I…I don’t know.”

“You found it here?” he said and looked around. “On the dirt?”

Hakeem didn’t want to answer. He was the only one who knew where the rest of the pillar was and he would keep it that way. “You can have it. Please help me get out,” he said and immediately a bomb hit the ravine wall, causing more debris to fall. The man tucked the ancient stones in his loose jacket and left. He met the other man with the shovel halfway, turned him around and together they ran back to the truck. The vehicles started moving again. A gunshot was fired, exploding the sand next to Hakeem’s face.

“Aghhhh,” he screamed. “Please, no!”

Another shot rang. His face suddenly felt very different. A strange sound entered his ears, like waves on the seashore. The sound of bombs slowly disappeared. His head became very heavy. He wanted to sleep. Quiet. Darkness.

11

1 Tracy Star heard the cricket-like tweet on her cell-phone radio. Her legal name was Tatiana Shinsky, but that was from another time and another country, before Key West and her new lucrative partnership with Jack on the other end of the radio.

“Yeah,” she said, walking eastbound on Highway One, with a tiny red backpack high enough to tuck under her blond ponytail and show off her strategically worn mini jean shorts with Au Jus embroidered on a rear pocket.

“Red Mustang,” Jack said.

A few cars passed, one tooting, faces plastered on the window as it went by. She never waved or even smiled. She only glanced back until she said “Got it” into the radio and then turned it off, slipped it into her pack and put out her left thumb.

The red Mustang roared by, but then the brake lights brightened as she knew they would. The car backed up and the dark tinted passenger window lowered. Tracy stepped up and leaned over, her braless white beater revealing to the driver he had made the right decision.

He slid his sunglasses onto his short auburn hair. “Need a lift?” he said. His sleeveless, tribal-tattooed muscular arm revealed he was an athlete.

“Thank you so much,” she said sweetly, her natural Russian accent helping the words sound more genuine. “I thought no one would stop. The sun is brutal today,” she said and heard a highperformance approaching. She looked over the Mustang’s roof and saw a beautiful silver Porsche roar by. If only it had come 12

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by a few seconds sooner! She returned her attention back to the driver.

“Damn, that was a 918 Spyder,” the driver said, motioning with his thumb, but his attention was clearly back on her, exactly where she thought it would be.

“Is that good?” Tracy said as she glanced at a beverage in the cup holder. Water. Perfect. Half the time it was coffee, usually lukewarm and too sweet. Soda was the worst. But water was her favorite and the condensation told her it was fresh and cold. This was going to be easy.

“Huh, oh, you might say that. So where are you going?”

“A few miles up to a deer refuge.”

“Deer refuge?” he said with surprise but then shrugged.

“Climb in.”

Tracy slipped off her pack, settled into her seat and felt his focus go right through her sheer top.

“I’m Jason,” he said and then pulled casually onto the road in no hurry.

“Very nice to meet you. I’m Tracy. What brings you to Key West?”

“Actually, I was in Orlando, competing in a UFC tournament.

I had some time set apart to check out Key West and recuperate a bit before heading back home.”

“Wow, you’re a UFC fighter?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said proudly.

“How did you do?”

“I won.”

“Really? Congratulations!” Tracy said admirably.

“Thanks.”

“Jason, may I ask you a huge favor?”

“Of course.”

“My mouth is so dry. Do you have anything to drink?”

Jason looked at her. “I’m sorry, no, but you can have my water,” he said, motioning to the bottle in the console.

“Your water?” she asked, innocently.

“Sure, or we can stop and get you something, I don’t mind.”

“Thank you, that’s very sweet but there’s nothing really ahead of us.”

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“Then I’ll just turn around. We aren’t far from the town.”

“Don’t be crazy, Jason. That’s very generous of you, but maybe I can just wet my lips with some of yours?”

“Your li... sure, help yourself,” he said, looking at her mouth.

Tracy smiled. “I owe you big-time,” she said and took a long drain of the cold water, careful to spill some down her chin. As his eyes followed the drips that blotted into the tips of her shirt, she expertly slid her right thumb over the bottle top and pushed in a pill that dissolved in seconds. “Here, take some before I drink it all,” she said and glanced at her wristwatch.

“That’s okay; finish it,” he said.

“No, you,” she said. “I like to share,” she continued, her magnetic blue eyes unblinking.

Jason smiled and said, “I do have more in the—” “We might want that later,” she interrupted and then laughed.

Jason reflexively laughed with her and his eyes gleamed as he drank every drop.

“So what are you doing at the deer refuge?”

“Camping. I like to go there sometimes to be alone with my thoughts.”

“Really? Alone?”

“Yes. I have a tent and a kayak. What else does a girl need?” she said with a wink.

Jason appeared speechless. The Mustang gained speed and trees thickened on either side of the road as they entered the national forest.

“A little further up on the left is a dirt road. That’s it. Thank you so much for the ride. It was too short.”

Jason nodded, his smile fading. He slowed as she pointed to a small opening in the trees. “How far in are you?”

“All the way to the water.”

“Oh right, you said you had a kayak.”

“Yes, a two-seater.”

“A two…”

“Uh, huh, would you like to see it…and my tent?”

Jason turned into the dirt road and followed it slowly through grass, shallow holes and branches until they came upon a small 14

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opening by the water. A green octagonal tent was set up with a red kayak next to it.

“Come on,” Tracy said and bounded from her seat.

Jason stepped out and looked around but then quickly settled his gaze back on Tracy.

“This is my tent and this is my boat,” she said and tossed her pack into the kayak.

“Very nice,” he said and slowly walked toward her.

“I love it here and I love that you were so kind to bring me all the way.”

“No problem. Glad to help.”

“Would you come with me for a little paddle?” she said and pulled a rope handle on the nose of the kayak.

“Now?” he said and then frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose.

She glanced at her wristwatch again. “Yes, yes. And then if you’re tired, we can nap in the tent when we get back.”

“Nap? Let’s nap first and then kayak?” he said and then rubbed his eyes.

“No, no, Jason. Kayak first. Paddle and then nap,” she said, purposely keeping her words simple. “Paddle and then nap,” she repeated, like a hypnotherapist.

Jason nodded and walked in her general direction, his heels scuffing. She needed to hurry to keep it easy; some had less tolerance to the drug, making it really work. He took the rope handle at the rear of the boat and followed as she literally pulled him to the shoreline. He stepped into the salt water without regard for his new sneakers. She helped him settle into the front seat and exhaled in relief. The hard part was over. She took a paddle and got into her seat behind him.

“We’re going for a kayak ride,” he said slowly, childlike.

“Yes, we are. And we’re having lots of fun.”

“Where’s my paddle?”

“You can’t hold a paddle now, Jason. Your arms are like rubber.”

“I’m rubber,” he mumbled.

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After a few minutes of paddling, Tracy found the radiophone in her pack and notified Jack of her status. Soon a large white sport-fishing boat with a flying bridge cruised into the cove and coasted to her side. She maneuvered to the rear and two muscular men plucked Jason from his seat with a strap she helped secure under his armpits. His arms and head hung limp like a waterlogged lifeless rag doll. Lifeless, except for his eyes that stared into hers. She looked away and was handed back his car keys and a yellow envelope with $10,000 for the second time this week. She had no idea where they would take him or what they would do or why. Back at the camp, Jack was waiting to take the red Mustang somewhere for more cash.

16

2 Samantha Conway raised her shiny knife into a sunbeam crossing the table and reflected bright light into his eyes.

John Decker, agent for the U.S. Defense Intelligence Agency, squinted, grabbed his own knife and met hers in the butter dish.

Afghanistan’s only bar was known as much for its bread as its beer and the day had been long, hot and dry.

Decker looked at Sam with mock intensity. “Well, make your move,” the DIA agent said to her. Decker had not always been so playful with Sam, or with anyone for that matter. They had first met in Sam’s office on the third floor of the New York Metropolitan Museum. Sam had earned a global reputation as a treasure hunting archeologist and ancient-writing expert and the US defense had needed her help. A reconnaissance drone had discovered an anomaly on a mountainside, which subsequent ground troops discovered to be suffocated insurgents half buried in dead flies leading out from a cave. Inside was an artifact with an undecipherable language. The US government sent Decker to Sam with the artifact, looking for answers. Little did he know the piece of stone would change his life forever.

Sam dug into the butter and spread a healthy amount on a fresh tear of warm bread. She bit in, washed it down with a healthy pull of cold Heather Ale and closed her eyes in ecstasy.

The Irish Club was located on a secluded side street in central Kabul and concealed by a nondescript outer concrete wall, with no sign out front and not even a number on the door. A fully stocked Irish pub serving cold beer in the heart of Afghanistan’s 17

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ultra-Islamic capital was unthinkable, at least for Afghans. The bar was officially licensed by the state to sell alcohol but only to foreigners.

The steak for two was thick and juicy. They attacked it hungrily and spoke with moans.

“What makes you so certain he’ll be back here so soon?”

Decker asked.

“Oh, he will,” Sam said emphatically.

“I don’t find him that predictable.”

“That’s because you’re not a treasure hunter,” Sam said with a smile.

“I wouldn’t exactly call Tarik a treasure,” he said, referring to the consensus number-one wanted terrorist in the world.

“No, but Methuselah’s Pillar definitely is. And we are in the area he found a piece of it. Our paths will cross. Then you can do your thing.”

“Sounds too logical.”

“Totally. The pillar is like love.”

Decker raised a brow. “Love?”

“Yes. Once you’ve tasted of it, you want more and if you lose it, you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to find it again.”

Decker rolled his eyes.

“Besides, if the pillar is actually made from the tree I think it was, the draw would be irresistible…and deadly. Hey, maybe that’s really why I’m here and I don’t know it.”

Decker drank some ale. “Mythological tree,” he said as if she needed reminding.

Sam stabbed another slice. “Eventually, everything becomes myth.”

“I suppose,” he said and then dabbed his bread in steak juice.

“Ever been in love, Deck?”

Decker appeared surprised by the question. “That’s classified.”

Sam was about to say something but looked up to see the owner, Sean McQuade, walking toward them.

“Excuse me, Doctor Conway. There is a man outside who wants to see you,” McQuade said with a thick Irish accent. “He says it’s very important.”

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“You have fans in Kabul?” Decker said, sarcastically.

“Actually, he said that you want to see him,” McQuade said.

“I want to see him?” Sam said incredulously.

“Yes, that’s what he said. He’s Afghan, so he only comes in here if Samantha Conway invites him in. But even then, he can’t drink.”

Decker shrugged and played with his steak knife.

“He’s a bit nervous but unarmed,” McQuade said.

Sam was always cautious about meeting strangers but saw no concern in McQuade’s eyes and Decker nonchalantly buttered another piece of bread. “Send him in, I guess,” she said.

A moment later, McQuade returned with a medium-height young man in worn clothes, sandals that had walked more soil than cement and shouldering a handmade lambskin satchel. He had a prominent scar that ran from his cheekbone across to his left ear. McQuade pulled a seat for him and the young man took a brief glance around the room and then sat down.

“Doctor Conway?” he said in a quiet voice, with beads of sweat on his forehead.

“Yes,” she said.

The man looked at Decker and then back to Sam. “What I have to say is only for you.”

“It’s all right,” she said. “Captain Decker is my…trusted friend.”

The man paused but then looked about and reached into his satchel. Decker moved his hand against the steak knife, but Sam gave him a discouraging look. The man pulled out a closed fist and then opened it before her. A flat stone the size of a matchbook. Inscribed on its face were a few small ancient characters Sam had become extremely familiar with in the past months. Her eyes grew wide. She reached and said, “May I?” He paused again with a glance in Decker’s direction and then nodded. “Yes…but only you.”

Sam’s pulse rose as she felt it between her fingers. This was new, not a part of the larger piece from the cave.

“More myth, Deck,” she said.

Decker said nothing, ate nothing, drank nothing. He just stared. His frozen expression, unblinking cold blue eyes and tight 19

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jaw might give nothing away to the casual observer at the next table, but Sam could hear his thoughts as if they were her own and in truth, much of them were her own. If this same meeting with this young Afghani had taken place last year at this time, Decker’s coiled-spring tenseness would be relaxed. Maybe not as relaxed as most but relative for the DIA’s best field agent. The chip in her hand was surely calling up recent memories of death and confusion of the like even he had never experienced before they met.

What she held was a piece of legend. As told, Methuselah, the oldest human in biblical record, had received a pillar from his seven-times-great-grandfather, Adam. The pillar was densely etched with information. The information eventually found its way to Moses and she and Decker had just spent the last few months tracking Tarik, who had deciphered a piece of the pillar revealing the recipe to the angel of death, the last plague Moses loosed on Pharaoh that killed all Egypt’s firstborn.

“Where did you get this?” she said.

The man leaned toward her and said quietly, “In the mountains.”

“Just this,” she said, slightly lifting the chip.

He shook his head. “The rest is buried.”

“The rest? There’s more?”

He nodded.

“A pillar?”

He seemed to think for a moment. “Yes.” “Where?”

“Buried.”

“Yes, but where?”

The man paused to take a brief look around the room. He shook his head and said, “I cannot tell you here.”

Sam nodded. “I understand. Can you bring us to it?”

He nodded.

“How far is it?”

“Two days’ walk.”

Sam anxiously agreed. “We’re ready when you are.”

“I will wait outside,” the man said and started to leave.

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“No, wait,” Sam said. “You can’t leave our sight. Let’s go to our vehicle, where we can talk more in private.”

The man turned. “Your vehicle?”

“Yes,” Sam said. “It’s right outside.”

The man hesitated.

“You will be safe with us.”

He nodded slowly.

Sam got up and Decker motioned to the waiter.

“Who are you?” Sam finally said.

He leaned toward her. “Hakeem Salim,” he whispered.

21

3 Sam opened the passenger door of Decker’s borrowed Humvee for Hakeem. The Afghani shepherd paused and glanced around.

“It’s okay,” Sam said. “We can stay here or leave if you like.”

Hakeem exhaled and climbed inside, with Decker already in the driver’s seat. “Let’s leave,” Hakeem said nervously.

“You got it,” Sam said and then hopped into the back and sat on the edge of the rear bucket seat behind Decker. Hakeem scanned the area again through the front windshield as Decker started the engine and slowly pulled away.

“Would you like a cold water?” Sam asked as they turned the corner.

Hakeem turned to face them. “Yes, please,” he said.

“Deck?”

“No, thanks.”

Sam opened a small cooler and found two small plastic Evian water bottles wet with condensation. She handed him one and opened her own, anxious to hear everything. Hakeem took a sip and exhaled, his eyes moving but less as they continued onward.

Sam took a sip of cold water and said, “You can relax with us.

We will keep you safe.”

“I never feel safe anymore,” he said. “The Taliban has eyes everywhere, Tarik has eyes everywhere and both want this,” he said, holding the ancient chip pinched between his fingers.

Sam nodded. The Taliban would destroy any artifact they found and Tarik, the number-one most wanted terrorist on the 22

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list of half the world, knew the value and power of the information on the pillar firsthand. “But they don’t know you have it, or they would have forced it from you.”

“But they connect you with it and now I am with you.”

“But they don’t know that,” Sam said.

Hakeem looked at her but said nothing.

“Well, you’re safe with us,” she said.

No reply.

Sam frowned. “How did you find the pillar?”

Hakeem looked at Decker and then back at Sam. “Please, Hakeem,” Sam said, her voice soft but firm. “We’re alone. We’ve trusted you and now you need to show us the same trust.”

Hakeem nodded and spoke in a low voice. Sam leaned closer.

“Last year, north of here, I was deep in the mountains with my flock…and heard thunder in the distance. A beautiful clear sky, so what could it be? I climbed higher to see over the ridge. Two military groups coming in my direction. One chasing the other,” he said, motioning with his hands. “Shooting rockets. Explosions came closer and closer to us. I tried to lead my flock away, but the bombs were coming very fast. The only place to run was down into a ravine. I whistled to my dog, Caleb and picked up stones to throw at my sheep to get their attention, but they were already looking at me, confused from loud noises. We started down the ravine, but there was an explosion and then I was on the ground somewhere else. I could not hear any more. Caleb came next to me, shaking. Some of my sheep were dead over here and over there,” he said, pointing. “Then there was another explosion on the wall of the ravine. The rocket made a big hole and I thought I should hide in it. I crawled with Caleb and rolled into the hole, but it was deeper than I thought because the missile opened a hole to a cave. I crawled into the cave opening for safety but found it was big inside. A big room.”

Sam and Decker shared a look at each other and then back at Hakeem as the shepherd went on to describe the interior of what sounded like an ancient sanctuary that had been buried and lost in time. Sam’s grip on the water tightened as he spoke.

23

Time Trove

“At first,” Hakeem continued, “it was very dark, but my eyes adjusted to the light and I saw a stone table in the middle.”

A sacrificial altar, Sam thought.

“And further back behind the table was a lone stone column with writing etched from top to bottom.”

“Methuselah’s Pillar,” Sam said reflexively.

“More explosions. The room started to quake and pieces of the ceiling fell. I did not know if I should stay and be buried and leave and be blown apart. The ground shook and stone pillar rocked and toppled. When it hit the ground, it broke at my feet. I picked up a small piece and felt the writing in my fingers.

Another blast sent smoke through the entrance hole. The walls cracked and I knew I would be trapped, so I grabbed a piece of the pillar and ran for the hole I came in through. As I climbed out, my feet were trapped by sliding dirt that quickly rose to my waist. Half buried, I could not move.”

“You still had the stone?” Decker said.

“Yes, both the small and the large, though the large had cracked through. Soon the militants came and saw me helpless.

They took the stone and shot me,” Hakeem said, touching the deep scar that ran across the side of his head. “They left me for dead and when I regained consciousness, Caleb helped dig me out.”

“Good dog, Caleb,” Sam said.

“And that’s the small piece of stone they didn’t take from you?” Decker said.

Hakeem nodded and handed it to Decker, a show of trust Sam knew he would appreciate, though he would never say so.

He turned it over a couple of times and looked at it closely as if he was thinking of eating it but then handed it back and said, “Okay, so what’s the plan?”

Sam turned and looked into the back of the Humvee. “I suppose we are sitting in the perfect machine for this operation if nobody cared what we were doing.”

Decker nodded. “Yes and it would work well for transporting the crown jewels from Buckingham Palace if no one cared.”

24

W.G. Griffiths

“And Methuselah’s Pillar is worth a lot more than the crown jewels. We have to do this without being seen by virtually anyone.

And that would include the Taliban and Tarik.”

“And us,” Decker said.

“Us?” Sam said.

Decker nodded. “A casual lone drive into the northern hills would quickly catch the attention of our drones. Day and night, they would watch every move we make with great interest. At best, we would be protected from insurgents but then arrested with everything confiscated. We would do better with a helicopter.”

“Oh, that would attract less attention,” Sam said sarcastically.

“That’s the point. We would have to make our mission official.”

“It can’t be official,” Sam said. “It’s illegal to dig for artifacts without the government’s permission. And they would never give it. To announce our discovery and our intentions would likely mean the destruction of the artifact in this country. Anything prior to Mohammad is considered pagan and this predates Islam by many thousands of years.”

Decker looked to the ceiling. “And after what happened last year with just a piece of this thing, our side might want to destroy it also…maybe it should be left alone.”

Sam turned at Decker in disbelief. “Walk away from the greatest discovery in human history?”

“It wasn’t so great when Tarik used it on us and came within inches of killing all the firstborn in Jerusalem,” he said. “Who knows what other recipes it has?”

“Exactly,” Sam said. “Who knows. That’s why we have to get it.”

Hakeem had been quiet and listening. “I have had some time to consider an alternative way,” he said.

25

4 Jason opened his eyes slowly but then awoke with a start in a completely unfamiliar environment of white walls and bright lights. He was dressed only in a yellow hospital gown and when he tried to move, he was further alarmed to find his hands and feet tied. Then he saw a clear intravenous tube tapped into his left arm and his penis felt uncomfortable. Another tube was exiting his gown and disappeared over the edge of the bed.

“What the…!” he said.

What happened? How did he get here? Where was here? Had he been in an accident? He didn’t feel injured, but why were all these tubes attached to him and why was he strapped to the bed?

The last thing he remembered was…shit, he couldn’t remember.

He tried to calm himself by doing a few quick observations. He was breathing, heavily from fear but breathing. No pain except for his penis. What did that mean? His vision was fine and he could hear his straps when he yanked on them, so his hearing was also good. No other sounds, though. No voices.

Think, think.

He had gone to Orlando for the UFC tournament. After the tournament was over, he went to Key West to recuperate. He was on his way to Miami to catch a flight back to New York and… shit, the flight! What time was it now? What day was it now? How long had he been asleep? Wait, there was a girl. A hitchhiker. He brought her into the woods, to her camp. What happened then? He couldn’t remember. Did something happen there? Why couldn’t he remember?

26

W.G. Griffiths

“Hello!” he yelled. “Can anyone hear me?”

He strained against the straps. His muscles worked, just not strong enough to affect his bonds.

Suddenly, the door opened and a petite black woman in mint-yellow scrubs entered, pushing a stainless-steel cart. Thank God, he thought. A nurse or something. He was in good hands.

“Good morning,” she said in a Caribbean accent, without eye contact, as she rolled the tray next to him.

It’s morning, he thought. “What happened?” he asked.

“Everything is fine. I’m just here to gather some standard information,” she said as she methodically applied a bloodpressure cuff to his right arm.

“Why? Why am I here? Where am I?” “The doctors will be in to answer your questions. I’m just here to gather some information.”

“Doctors? Why do I need doctors?”

“You can ask the doctors when they get here.”

“But why can’t you tell me?”

“The doctors will talk to you when they get here.”

“Where is here?”

“The doctors will—” “Yeah, I know; tell me when they get here.”

“Yes,” she said, busy working.

Jason watched in disbelief as she calmly went about her business and jotted data onto a clipboard. “I don’t understand.

Any nurse in any hospital can tell any patient what damned hospital he’s in,” he said anger building with every word.

“I’m not a nurse.”

Jason frowned. “Then what are you?”

“I’m just here to gather some basic information,” she said with a hint of melody as if she had said it hundreds of times.

“Why am I strapped in?”

She ignored him and removed the cuff. “One forty-five over eighty-seven. A bit high. Try to relax.”

“Relax! Tell me where I am and I’ll relax,” he shouted.

“Make a fist,” she said and strapped a rubber tourniquet around his right bicep.

27

Time Trove

“What are you doing?”

“I have to take blood samples.”

“No!” he shouted. “I refuse.”

“If you make a fist, it will be easier for me to find your vein,” she said and then swabbed his arm and aimed a large needle.

Jason jerked away from her. “You’re not taking my blood. I want answers.”

She straightened and looked him in the eye for the first time since she had walked into the room. “Would you rather we give you something to make you more cooperative?”

Jason paused as he took in her unblinking eyes. She wasn’t a nurse, he wasn’t a patient and this wasn’t a hospital. The needle she held was going into his arm one way or another and his instincts suddenly told him she had lots of experience dealing with hostility and winning. He made a fist and felt the needle plunge into his vein. Without another word, blood was taken and labeled, urine was taken from a bag that hung on the side of the narrow bed, the cart and clipboard were filled with findings and she vanished behind the self-closing door with a clack. If he could believe what little he was told, she had been there to gather some information and the doctors would be in to answer his questions, hopefully soon.

Suddenly, he heard a long scream, distant and brief. A woman’s scream. Pain. He knew from his fighting what pain sounded like. That was a pain scream. “Aghhhh,” he screamed as he strained against the restraints with all his might. “Let me out of here!”

28

5 Sam lifted her lambskin and drank. Water ran down her chin. There would have been no spillage with a bottle or canteen, but they were going for authenticity, so she lowered the leather container and wiped her chin with the back of her hand. The mountain trek on horseback had been hot and long, but the cool water seemed to reach into every limb in her body. Water, some trail mix consisting of raisins, salted nuts, M&M’s, dates and pitted carob pods and the hope of securing the most fantastic archaeological discovery in human history was more than enough to keep her from thinking how sore her butt and legs were.

Was Hakeem a genius or insane? And if the latter, then so was she for agreeing to his radical plan. When she first heard his idea in the back seat of the Humvee, of the three of them shepherding a large flock of sheep through the rugged Afghani mountain terrain to the buried treasure for all the world to see, it seemed positively brilliant. They would be invisibly visible. The American drones, the Taliban, ISIS and Tarik’s rebels would see sheep. Lots of sheep, a few horses, some shepherds and a dog.

Sheep in Afghanistan are just slightly more visible than rocks. On the other hand, they had no protection. The notion of traveling through the open plains and valleys without any weapons or defense at the speed of hungry sheep struck Decker as ludicrous.

But Sam was going with or without Decker and he knew it, so without further futile arguing, he joined them.

29

Time Trove

Hakeem turned and pointed to a flat niche at the bottom of a steep mountain wall. “In there,” he said and continued. Most of his flock sensed his change in direction and immediately adjusted, like a giant white sheet tied to his waist.

Decker’s gaze climbed the stone wall behind Hakeem’s camp selection.

“Problem?” Sam asked from ten feet to his right.

“That depends,” he said, his eyes busily scanning the rocks near and far, as they had been all day.

“On what?”

“On how closely we are being watched.”

“Are you that sure we are being watched?”

“Yes.” “I’ve seen nothing,” Sam said.

“But?” “But I do feel it.”

“What you feel is real,” Decker said. “These hills have many eyes. And most of them belong to Tarik. It’s just a matter of them buying the three shepherds on horseback leading a flock bit.”

“Well, we have traveled a long way today and no one has been interested enough to stop us.”

“True but may be interested enough to follow. They know we’re here but not who we are or where we’re going.”

“Only one man knows that,” Sam said, with a glance in Hakeem’s direction.

“We’ve placed a lot in his hands,” Decker grumbled.

“And he will place a lot in ours.”

“Let’s not get too far ahead of ourselves,” Decker said. “And when…or if, he does, what are you going to do with it?”

“I don’t know exactly. The Afghani government will destroy it and the museum will likely refuse it,” Sam said.

“Refuse it?” Decker said incredulously. “I thought this is the world’s most priceless whatever. I don’t get it.”

Sam shrugged. “In the old days, they welcomed archaeological discoveries with open arms, but today the Metropolitan Museum has different policies in place. Tons of political pressure that never existed before. We can find, but we can’t just take. Permissions 30

W.G. Griffiths

must be granted from the country of origin and if any grant is given, it’s usually as a loan. But here, there will be no such grant.

If it predates Islam, it doesn’t exist.”

“So basically, we’re going to steal it.”

“Basically.”

“Does Hakeem know this?” Decker said.

Sam shrugged. “He’s Kuchis. He knows firsthand about the crazy policies within these borders. About seventy percent of the sheep and goat meat in Afghanistan come from the Kuchi. But they only make up five percent of the population. The governments want to settle the nomadic populations to keep track of them, but then they are going to have to start importing meat from other places. But three decades of war has forced thousands of Kuchi shepherds to abandon the life they love. Everyone but we didn’t talk about the museum.”

Decker had no reply.

The three shepherds dismounted, pulled off the saddles and secured the reins loosely to them. Decker pulled a black canvas tent from his saddle pack and set it up with Sam’s help and then they settled into the niche and started a fire, purposely not trying to hide as light faded and darkness swept over rugged hills.

Hakeem balanced a brass kettle of tea on some coals. Smoke rose into a crisp display of stars that rendered both infinite depth and finite humidity to their position. Sam sat legs crossed between Hakeem and Decker on a gray woolen blanket she would later roll into. Her face and knees warmed comfortably to the heat of the flame as her back cooled. The sheep nestled around them and peacefully closed their furry eyes. Even Decker appeared at ease, though with him perception was never a good indicator of reality.

Hakeem poured tea and handed Sam and Decker steaming tin cups. Sam received hers with both hands. Hot, but the heat felt good in her palms.

“Hmm, this is delicious,” she said. “Very aromatic. What’s in it?”

“My own recipe,” Hakeem said with a smile. “All Afghan tea has cardamom, but the milk I use makes it special,” he said and motioned to the sheep.

31

Time Trove

Decker sipped contently. “Shepherd’s tea,” he said.

“To the sheep,” Sam said and lifted her cup. As if on cue, a sheep bleated. *** Three of Tarik’s soldiers sat at rest on the hillside, two enjoying hot tea, while the third kept close watch on the distant campfire with powerful binoculars.

32

6 Jason continued to strain against his own flesh and bone to free his left hand from the tight strap around his wrist. The effort left him teary, very sore and scared. Suddenly, the door opened and two men in white lab coats entered, one bald with glasses and the other with a clipboard and short dark hair, asphalt thick.

“Good afternoon,” said the bald one. “I’m Dr. Bruce Meltzer and this is Dr. Daniel Ackerman.”

It’s afternoon, Jason thought. “Is someone going to tell me what’s going on here?”

“Conscious and alert,” said Ackerman, scribbling on the clipboard. “Says here your name is Jason Stills and you’re a UFC fighter from New York. “ “How did you know all that?”

“Your wallet,” Ackerman said, reading something. “Fighting in that octagon cage takes guts.”

Jason just stared, more frightened than outraged. “Why am I here?”

“You were probably picked up by a beautiful hitchhiker with a perfect ass named Tracy,” said Ackerman. “Who can blame you.”

Jason frowned. “How did…”

Ackerman shrugged. “It’s how most people get here.”

“What!”

“Are you any good?” Meltzer said.

“Good?”

“At fighting?” Ackerman said.

33

Time Trove

“Fighting? Uh, yeah, why?”

The doctors looked at each other.

“Dyson,” Ackerman said.

Meltzer nodded. “I agree. Dyson.”

“Dyson?” Jason said.

“Eric Dyson. He’s in charge here. Ex-Australian special forces. You’re probably going to fight him,” Ackerman said. “If you can get past him, you can try to swim to the boat and keep your protein.”

Meltzer gave Ackerman a look.

Ackerman rolled his eyes. “I wasn’t going to tell him.”

“Just don’t,” Meltzer said. “Or you’ll be swimming to the boat.”

“What are you talking about? Where am I?” Meltzer leaned over him and shined a tiny light beam into his eye. “You’re on a beautiful island in the Caribbean east of the Bahamas,” he said.

“What! This isn’t even America?”

Meltzer shook his head and then pulled something pointy from his coat pocket and poked the bottom of Jason’s foot.

Ackerman scribbled.

“Ouch! Why did you do that?”

“A simple neuro test,” Meltzer said.

“For what?”

“Your brain.”

“Why are you testing my brain?”

“For ELLP quality.”

“For what?” he said and then closed his eyes. “Why am I on an island…somewhere?”

“You want the long answer or the short one?” Ackerman said.

“Any answer will do and why am I strapped to this bed?” he said, yanking his bonds.

“Security reasons.”

“Security? What am I—a prisoner?”

“No, no,” Meltzer said, focused on his clipboard. “We just can’t have everyone wandering around and leaving whenever they want.”

34

W.G. Griffiths

Jason’s eyes darted about. “Why not? What is this place?”

“A research facility,” Ackerman said, peeling and sticking something to Jason’s head.

“Hey! What happened to my hair!” Jason yelled.

“We shaved it off,” Meltzer said matter-of-factly.

“Shaved? Why?” “Brain data so your ELLPs can be properly labeled,” Ackerman said.

Jason rolled his eyes. “What are my…?”

“Extremely Long-Lived Proteins,” Meltzer said. “Beekman Labs explores every possible—” “Beekman Labs,” Jason said. “This is Beekman Labs?”

“You’ve heard of us?” Meltzer said as he wrote.

“My father’s a stockbroker. I own the stock. Beekman Bio Labs. NASDAQ, symbol BBLS. Reginald Beekman, multibillionaire. Leading researcher in the world on cellular aging and neurodegenerative diseases like Alzheimer. My dad sells tons of your stock. I know all about you guys.”

“Well, probably not all about us,” Meltzer said and the two doctors exchanged a thin smirk.

“Do you know why Beekman is ahead of the competition, Jason?” Ackerman said.

“Money?” Jason said.

Ackerman shook his head. “Because of you,” he said.

“Me?” Jason said incredulously.

“Yes, you and others like you, Jason,” Ackerman said.

Jason frowned. “Explain. And while you’re at it, when can I leave?”

“You are on a Reginald Beekman’s private research island just east of the Bahamas and you will be leaving soon enough,” Ackerman said.

“Beekman’s private island. I didn’t know about him owning a private research island. Why am I here?”

“You’re here because Mister Beekman is paying us a fortune to conduct unapproved human research to speed along the process. When you have all the money in the world, the most valuable commodity is time and Mister Beekman wants more of it, as much as he can get, at any cost.”

35

Time Trove

Jason stared blankly. “You mean I’ve been kidnapped to be a human guinea pig?”

“Well, somewhat, I suppose, but crudely put. Think of yourself as an expediter and donor,” Ackerman said.

“Donor?” Jason said.

“So to speak,” Meltzer said. “Mister Beekman calls it donation.”

Jason’s eyes stopped blinking as he felt real fear burrow into his chest. “What the hell are you talking about?” he said, his lips starting to quiver as possibilities filled his mind.

“Protein,” Ackerman said. “We are collecting ELLP.” “Protein? That doesn’t sound like much. Why do you have to go through all this to collect protein? Why not just ask, like a blood drive? I give blood twice a year.”

“How many volunteers have we received, Doctor Ackerman?”

Meltzer asked.

Ackerman paused to think and then shook his head and said, “I don’t think we’ve had any.”

“You can only donate once,” Meltzer said. “That’s why we have to take it…in the name of science, of course.”

“Most certainly,” Ackerman said.

Jason’s eyes widened. “But then what happens to me?”

“Then you can leave.”

“Just like that?”

“Yes, just like that.”

“And I’ll be okay?”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” Meltzer said.

“Most certainly,” Ackerman said and then his beeper went off. He unclipped it from his belt and read something. “Surprise, surprise,” he said. “Dyson wants you.”

“He must have already heard you are a fighter. He’s drooling,” Meltzer said.

“You mean if I kick his ass, I get to leave?” Jason said.

The doctors looked at each other and laughed.

36

7 Sam had never slept lighter if she slept at all and the slightest hint of dawn through the one open tent flap was enough for her to poke Decker’s arm.

“Yes?” he said, without opening his eyes.

“You’re awake?”

“No.” Sam poked him again, harder.

“What is it, Sam?” Decker said with mock patience.

“Good morning.”

Decker opened his eyes, paused and then shut them again.

“It’s still last night. The sheep will let us know when it’s really morning. Get some sleep.”

“I can’t.”

“You’re going to need it.”

“I’m wide awake.”

“Can you see stars out the opening?”

“Yes.” “Count them, carefully.”

“I did.”

“How many are there?”

“A billion.”

“You missed some. Count sheep.”

“I did.”

“Did you include the horses?”

“Of course. I don’t want to go back to sleep.”

“Then go for a hike.”

37

Time Trove

“A hike?” she said incredulously. “Why?” “To burn off energy.”

“Okay,” Sam said and threw off her blanket and exited the tent. The cold desert air washed through her clothes and over her skin. She slipped on her boots, threw some dry sticks on the smoldering coals and waited a few minutes as the small column of smoke vanished from a small but sudden combustion. The fire grew and crackled. Sam piled on more branches, warmed her hands and then stood up and started walking away.

Decker sighed from inside the tent. “Wait,” he called.

Sam turned. “What?”

“Don’t leave.”

“Why?” “You might skyline yourself.”

“Skyline?”

“Like a lone tree, if you break the plane of the ridge, your silhouette becomes an easy target.”

She paused. “But you said—” “I know what I said. I was hoping you would go back to sleep.

Obviously, I was dreaming.”

Sam smiled. “Does that mean it’s morning?”

“You’re a pain in my ass,” he said and sat up with his blanket wrapped around him.

“I didn’t come here to get a good night’s sleep. The birds are singing.”

“The birds are snoring.”

“The birds aren’t looking for Methuselah’s Pillar,” Sam said and found more sticks.

“Ugh, what did I do to deserve this?” Decker said.

“Uh, you and your CIA buddy brought a piece of the pillar to my office for me to translate,” Sam said, reminding him of the first time they met. “That was a year ago. Time really flies when you’re having fun, doesn’t it?”

“Feels like ten years, right now,” Decker said.

“Is something wrong?” Hakeem asked.

“Do you mean, is there a reason we are not sound asleep?”

Decker said.

38

W.G. Griffiths

“Sorry, Hakeem,” Sam said. “I like to get an early start.”

Hakeem frowned and glanced at his sheep and Caleb, all sleeping. *** High on a hillside, Tarik’s soldier focused his binoculars on the light in the distance. Fire and movement. He slapped the feet of his sleeping comrades. They quickly gathered their gear and weapons and stealthily followed as the shepherds broke camp. *** Higher on another hillside, someone else also saw Sam’s fire and then, with a night-vision monocular, panned across the opposite slopes to find Tarik’s soldiers stealthily on the move toward it. He looked at his watch and then turned toward a giant golden eagle tethered on a perch. “We have been waiting a long time for this day, Jecko.”

39

8 Hakeem’s lead, which had been steady and deliberate since a small meal of cheese and bread four hours ago, suddenly slowed, his eyes scanning the open plain to his left and the hilly landscape before him.

Sam, who hadn’t slowed, came to his side. “Are we getting close?”

Hakeem did not reply. He stared at the hillside and then to the left for what seemed to Sam like an eternity and then to the hillside again.

“Hakeem?”

“Everything happened fast and then I was shot.”

Sam stared at him. “But you do know where you are taking us?”

Hakeem breathed deeply. “Yes.” “Are we getting close?” Sam asked, trying to sound patient.

Hakeem turned to her. “We are here,” he said.

“Here?” Sam said incredulously.

Hakeem pointed as he explained. “I was up on that plateau when I thought I heard thunder. I looked over the top into those plains and saw one group chasing another, firing rockets that were overshooting and getting close to me. I ran down that ravine with my sheep and the missiles were exploding everywhere. One missile hit that wall and opened a hole that I dove into for shelter.

That’s when I found the room.”

Decker, who had been following up the rear, came aside her.

“Where exactly?” Sam asked.

40

W.G. Griffiths

“There,” Hakeem said, pointing upward. “Next to the boulders.”

Sam saw the group of large boulders but saw nothing next to them but more of the same hillside.

“Stop pointing,” Decker said. “A mile behind us, we have a shadow.” Sam started to turn, but Decker tugged her sleeve and said, “Don’t look.”

“Who are they?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know,” Decker said and then motioned to the boulders on the hillside before them. “The grass is spotty, but let’s move the sheep up there to graze.”

Suddenly, a large shadow washed across the stubby surface.

Hakeem’s head snapped upward, wide alarm in his black eyes.

“My God!” Sam said. “I’ve never seen one like that before.”

Even Decker’s attention was captured by a massive golden eagle gliding effortlessly not more than a hundred feet over their heads.

“He wants my sheep,” Hakeem hissed.

The giant raptor banked, gained height and distance and flew straight away from them, as if with purpose.

“I don’t think so,” Sam said, as the eagle climbed and continued away until it was just a speck in the air and then appeared to circle in one place.

Decker frowned. “It seems to have found something else.”

“Or someone else,” Sam said. “I have binoculars.”

Decker shook his head. “Shepherds don’t use binoculars. Let’s set up camp, get what we came for and get the hell out of here.”

Sam nodded. “The tent,” she said and pulled the dirty canvas roll off the mule.

Decker dismounted, found two shovels on the horse’s pack and held it out to Hakeem. “Drop this on the ground exactly where we have to dig.”

Hakeem took the shovel, rode a little and dropped the shovels at the bottom of the hillside next to the boulders and Sam offed the canvas from her shoulder with a thud on the relatively flat ground in front of the shovels. Within minutes they had the tent erected. Decker and Hakeem gathered scattered twigs and branches for Sam, who was starting a campfire in front of the 41

Time Trove

tent to replicate the previous night’s scene for whatever audience was watching. Decker then tended to the fire and rigged a pot of water above it as Sam and Hakeem entered the tent.

Hakeem watched as Sam quickly found a bone-handled knife and slit the rear of the tent from top to bottom and poked holes in both corners. She rolled the right flap back and tied it into the corner with a small twine and Hakeem proactively rolled the left. Sam took another piece of twine and tied the left flap. Before them lay the shovels. Sam stepped out the new rear entrance and grabbed a shovel.

“Okay, for now, we can toss the dirt behind the boulder and as it gets darker, we can throw some over there,” she said with a hitch of her chin. “The important thing is to keep our digging out of the view of anyone or anything that might be out front.”

Hakeem nodded and picked up a shovel.

As Sam expected, the ground was soft and sandy and easy to dig through. Decker appeared soon after digging commenced.

“Time for tea,” he said.

“You two go ahead. I’ll join you in a little while,” Sam said.

“No, come to the fire and have tea with us,” Decker said. “It’s not a request.”

Sam stopped to take in his stoic expression and then nodded, stabbed the earth with her spade and followed them through the tent to the fire. Decker handed out tin cups and filled them with his own version of steaming spiced tea. Sam settled against the boulder next to the tent where the two men joined her. She blew on the steam but wasn’t ready to touch her lips to the rim. Decker was less concerned and sipped as he peered into the darkness.

“Do you really think we’re being watched?” Sam said.

“Yes. I’m certain,” Decker said.

“But you think they will keep their distance?” Sam said and then braved a sip.

“Yes. As long as they think we will lead them to the pillar.”

“How far away are they?”

“I don’t know,” Decker said.

Hakeem looked at his dog, Caleb, resting peacefully. “They are not close and they are not moving,” he said.

42

W.G. Griffiths

After a few minutes, Decker got up to rearrange the fire. On his way back, he looked at Hakeem and said, “Get up casually and go back into the tent. I will join you soon.”

“What about me?” Sam said as Hakeem vanished into the tent.

“Wait about a half hour. The fire will dim and they will relax with our routine. Then make your way in. We have a lot of work to do,” he said and then disappeared.

Sam stared at the flickering flames, willing them to shrink.

Behind the fire the stars were crisp and the moon was a high sliver.

Shovels were quietly busy in soft sand behind her, but occasionally the scrape of steel slicing a rock caused her a concerned grimace and an imagined curse passing through Decker’s lips. Suddenly the digging stopped. Sam waited, unblinking, for the sounds to continue, but they didn’t. Unable to contain herself, she calmly rose and entered the tent and went to the rear. Her eyes widened.

Decker was holding a narrow light beam on a small open cavity at the back of their excavation.

Hakeem was smiling. “This is where I climbed out.”

43

9 Sam dropped to her knees and peered into the hole with her headlamp on. A dirty cave is what anyone else would have seen, but Sam’s gifted eyes saw much more. Hakeem’s empty description; a dark cavern, an etched stone column fallen over during the bombing, was suddenly filled with furniture. The room was spacious with piles of dirt and rubble across the entire floor like ski-mountain moguls. The ceiling was cracked with a similar surface as the floor but in reverse. A thick stone table, now piled with broken stone from the ceiling, had been an altar used for uncountable blood sacrifices. A few yards to the right of the altar, something long and round, also littered with fallen debris, was lying in her direction. She stopped breathing.

The instant Sam started into the hole she was pulled from behind.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Decker said.

Sam spun around to meet him eye to eye. “In,” she said.

Decker shook his head. “The ceiling has cracks everywhere.

It’s ready to collapse.”

Sam gave him a look and then looked at the entrance hole and then back at Decker. “What do you suggest?”

“I suggest you tell me what to get and I get it,” Decker said without a blink.

Sam snorted. “That’s your plan? What makes it any different than mine?”

“I go in.”

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“Deck, with all due respect, you won’t know what you’re looking at. I’ve been in worse places than this. We’re wasting time. Tie a rope around my waist. If there’s a cave-in, you’ll know where to find me.”

Decker narrowed his eyes as he stared into hers.

Sam sighed. “You’re better off out here than me. What am I going to do if someone shows up?”

She had him thinking and sensed weakness. “Hakeem, find us a rope.”

“Wait,” Decker said sternly. “You can’t exit the tent.” He unsnapped a braided bracelet, unraveled it into what looked like a long shoelace and turned to Sam. “Tie this to your ankle and take it real slow. I’ll be right behind you.”

Sam tied the cord and a second later was back to crawling through the entrance into the ancient sanctuary. Not the original entrance but, according to Hakeem, created by one of the offtarget missiles exploding around him and his flock a couple of years ago. The floor was several feet below her, so Decker held her ankles until her outstretched hands found the ground for support. She tucked her legs in and paused to listen on her hands and knees. Eerie silence. The only sound was her own pulse rapidly beating her eardrum. Maybe twenty or thirty feet away was Methuselah’s Pillar. She wanted to scramble over and start tossing debris off it, but Decker was right. The ancient room had been blasted into by a missile and rattled with bombs. Sam scanned the room with her headlamp. The ceiling did have cracks everywhere. She inched forward and Decker climbed into the hole behind her. The rubble on the floor was loose and sharp under her hands. After a few yards, the ground rose and the ceiling above it had no corresponding depression. She began moving rocks away, placing them gently aside.

“What do I do?” Decker asked, from her side.

With each rock, Sam expected to see a piece of the legendary artifact. “Thought you were supposed to hold the line?”

“Hakeem has it. How can I help speed this up?”

“Carefully pick the rocks from this raised area and place them over here,” she said, putting one down. “Examine it before 45

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you place it to make sure it’s rubble, not artifact. It will probably be a shade or two lighter and weigh more. It will feel like stone, but it’s actually petrified wood.”

Decker nodded as if he understood.

“Slow down,” Sam said almost immediately.

“We are digging, are we not?”

“Yes, but think panning for gold. We don’t want to throw out any valuable nuggets with the worthless pebbles.”

Decker exhaled, but a few moments later said, “Sam?” “What?”

“Is this nugget or pebble?”

Sam paused to glance. “Pebble,” she said, instantly.

Decker examined it closer then shrugged and tossed it. He continued, looking, tossing, looking, tossing. “How about…”

“Nope.”

Sam picked everything up softly, blew gently and stacked her rejects distinctly while Decker tossed rhythmically, like a slow drum beat. When his pattern paused for a few beats, Sam gave him a glance. Her eyes suddenly widened and zoomed in to the rock in Decker’s hand.

“Stop, let me see that,” she said and took it from him. The color and weight difference were as she imagined but what stopped her breath from passing her lips was the etching on the side with a smooth surface. “This... is a little nugget,” she said, displaying it in his face. “Take note of the color. The rest must be here. Go slow and examine everything closely.”

“Little nugget? The donkey might have something to say about this when we load him up... assuming we get that far.”

“None of that matters. Do you have any idea how old this writing is?”

“How old?” Decker said, she sensed impatience in his tone.

“I don’t know. No one knows. Before the missile cracked open the door to this room, Methuselah’s Pillar was just thought to be legend. Nothing in the human record is older.”

“Well, let’s get it all and get out of here,” Decker said. His eyes didn’t share Sam’s enthusiasm. But why should they? He was a soldier, not an archaeologist. They were in a war zone and it was 46

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his job to get them back safely. She was dealing with fortune and glory, while Decker was dealing with life and death. Whatever he wanted to focus on Sam needed to be good with.

Sam picked up a stone, examined it and placed it in the rubble pile. She reached for the next rock but saw something in the cavity left by the previous stone. She stared, unblinking, chest tingling as she removed another stone, enlarging her view. Her hand was shaking; she tried to speak but could only swallow. The presence of historic significance bordered on holiness. Indeed, according to legend, the etching her gaze was locked on had been written by Adam from the mythological Garden of Eden on the tree of the knowledge of good and evil and given to Methuselah, who went on to live an unprecedented 960 years before drowning.

The pillar was later in the possession of Moses, who went on to deliver a nation of slaves from the hands of the most powerful army on earth, single-handed, with miracles that she believed were generated from the information etched into petrified wood beneath her quivering fingers.

Sam blinked and took a deep breath. She had to allow the reality of their tenuous situation override the reality of the mindblowing artifact if she ever expected to leave with it. “Decker.”

“What?” he said.

“I found the torso,” she said and carefully moved away more rocks.

“What!” he said and leaned to see what her headlamp was focused on. “Jesus!”

“This is it. Methuselah’s Pillar. Hakeem,” she called.

“Yes?” Hakeem said from the entrance.

“You’re beautiful. We found it. It’s here. My God, it’s right here,” she said, lips quivering, tears glazing her eyes.

Sam and Decker worked faster. When completely revealed, it was eighteen inches in diameter, ten feet in length and broken into three main pieces with a dozen or so hand-sized fragments.

Sam had Decker take a few pictures of her posing with the pillar where it lay, but he refused to have any of himself taken.

“Why not?” she asked.

“I can’t be in any pictures.”

47

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“But why?”

“I just can’t. Just leave it at that,” he said with finality.

“Okay, okay,” she said and then froze.

“What’s the matter?” Decker said.

“Did you hear anything?”

Suddenly there was a loud crack and some dirt fell from the ceiling. Decker instantly grabbed her arm and yanked her toward the entrance. Hakeem was out in a flash and reached in for Sam’s hand. In seconds, they were all outside the hole, holding their collective breaths…listening.

After a full minute, nothing.

“Okay, let’s go back in and get it,” Sam said.

“Give it another minute,” Decker said.

“That might be a minute less we have to work before it all collapses,” Sam said. “And the pillar is uncovered, which means it’s unprotected. Any damage could make already difficult translation…well…impossible,” Sam said and pulled out her knife.

“And what are you going to do with that?” Decker asked.

“Get some protection. Since I can’t go out the front of the tent for canvas or rope…” she said as she sliced the rolled-up canvas flaps off the rear of the tent. “I’ll use these to cover the pillar pieces so we can safely move them.”

Decker and Hakeem looked at each other and then turned their attention back to Sam in time to see the cord tied around her ankle follow her into the hole and vanish.

48

10 Jason sat up quickly on his bed when the door to his room opened. Two soldiers entered, pointing small machine guns at him. Following the soldiers were the so-called doctors, Ackerman and Meltzer.

“Soldiers?” Jason said. “Now what’s going on?”

“This is the big day,” Ackerman said, smiling and clearly excited. “You get to fight Dyson now.”

“What if I don’t want to?” Jason said.

“Oh, you will want to,” Meltzer said, giddy. “It’s your chance to leave with your protein intact.”

“Why are you guys so thrilled about this?” Jason said, suspiciously.

“You’re a professional fighter. We don’t get much entertainment on this island and Dyson is going to fight you and Devon to make it interesting,” Ackerman said.

“Yes,” Meltzer said. “Everyone’s money was originally on Dyson, so he told us to throw in another body. Devon was next up for extraction, so he will join you.”

“I get a partner?” Jason said incredulously.

“Yes! This is awesome,” Meltzer said. “And only one of you has to get out for Dyson to lose the bet.”

“You’re really betting on this?” Jason said.

“Of course,” Ackerman said. “Though I’m still betting on Dyson.”

49

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“I still don’t understand why the soldiers are here pointing their guns at me. I don’t remember ever seeing that at a hospital before.”

“Standard procedure,” Ackerman said. “We have our rules to follow too.”

“Standard procedure? In case what?” Jason said.

“In case you don’t comply,” Meltzer said.

“Is it standard procedure to shoot your patients when they don’t comply?” Jason said incredulously.

“Jason,” Ackerman said, consolingly. “Do you see any bodies lying around?”

“Well, no.”

“Good, because if you did, we would get in trouble for not cleaning up our own mess,” Meltzer said and both doctors laughed.

Jason frowned. This was all so confusing. But if all he had to do was beat some guy in a fight, he didn’t need a partner. Finally, a way out of the madness.

Jason followed the two doctors down a curving corridor, while the two soldiers followed him at gunpoint. Standard procedure.

At his left, he would occasionally see a spacious center courtyard.

The facility was shaped like a wheel with an open center. Halfway around the wheel, they turned right and walked through three intersections and a large steel door.

Inside the large room was a big muscular man with a shaved head, sitting on a chair and reading a magazine. Next to him was a wide window with people seated behind it. The audience?

On his other side was an open door that led to a long dock and then water and a boat moored about fifty yards out from the dock. Across the room stood another man, small, shirtless, with a native dark complexion.

“Okay, Jason, this is it,” Meltzer said, rubbing his hands together. “Good luck, my money’s riding on you. If you can get through that door, you’re free to swim to that boat out there and leave.”

Jason nodded slowly and then motioned to the other man.

“My partner?”

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“That’s correct,” Meltzer said. “Oh and please take your shirt off.”

“Why?” “You’re fighting.”

“So?” “Standard procedure,” Ackerman said.

Jason narrowed his eyes. “I think this has gone far enough.”

“Okay, no problem; we’ll just go right to the extraction room and suck out that protein and then, well, standard procedure,” Ackerman said.

Jason felt his face get hot and his teeth clench. He ripped off his shirt and threw it at Ackerman. “I don’t know when I’m going to see you two again on the outside, but when I do, I’m going to hand you some standard procedure of my own.”

Meltzer smiled. “Go get him, tiger,” he said and the two doctors vanished through the door. The soldiers backed out; their guns pointed till the door was closed. Jason saw them appear in the viewing window and gave them his middle finger.

Dyson casually dropped his magazine and stood up. He seemed to look only at Jason. Devon apparently took note of that and made a quick dash for the door. Faster than Jason could snap his finger, Dyson shot a sidekick to Devon’s ear and dispelled the theory of any tunnel vision. Devon hit the polished concrete floor face first and sprawled out like roadkill, dead still. Dyson’s eyes never came off Jason or even blinked the whole time.

Jason could play that game too. He stared into Dyson’s ice-blue eyes and moved forward, lifting his arms and fists for contact. Dyson circled right, hands at his side, as if he was walking in the park, eye contact constant. Jason had enough of the bravado, stepped in and threw a right. Cat quick, Dyson squared, blocked the right by grabbing Jason’s wrist with his left hand, reached under Jason’s armpit with his right hand and fell backward, pulling Jason on top of him, but at the last instant, the big man shifted and pulled hard with his right, smashing Jason’s face into the concrete. Jason felt as if he was punched with a cement block, but to his surprise, Dyson didn’t take advantage; instead, he bounced back up to his feet and continued to circle.

He was toying with him.

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Jason climbed back to his feet and could taste the blood in his mouth. Who was this guy? Australian special forces? He was in charge? Manager? Apparently, this fight was part of the management plan. Clearly, it entertained, boosted morale and sent a don’t-cross-me message to everyone on the island. He advanced again, arms and fists up. Dyson continued to circle, hands down, eye to eye.

Jason jabbed and Dyson ducked without blocking. He was fast and seemed to know ahead of time what was coming. This, of course, was wildly entertaining to the animated heads in the viewing window. Jason wanted to follow with a right but remembered what happened the first time he tried that. Damn, he had the feeling Dyson could put him away whenever he wanted, but, instead, the show was prolonged for the crowd’s entertainment.

Suddenly, Devon jumped up and ran out the door. Dyson didn’t even blink, as if that was also part of his well-choreographed plan. The heads in the window craned sideways to watch Devon.

Why? He sprinted down the dock and took a flying dive into the lagoon and swam as though he was being chased, but he wasn’t. Why? Suddenly, the water erupted violently and Devon was gone. The heads all chattered for a few moments but then returned their attention to inside the room. What? They expected that to happen?

Dyson, still circling, never once looked in the direction of Devon, not even when he was taken by whatever was down there. “Go ahead,” Dyson said, the only words Jason heard him speak to anyone. He was allowing him to do what Devon did. He wasn’t going to stop him. He knew the same thing would happen.

Everyone knew. Jason put his arms down. What was the point in fighting anymore?

Dyson walked back to his chair and picked up his magazine.

The audience filed out and the door opened. As expected, the soldiers stepped in, followed by the mad scientists, who handed him back his scrubs. He put them on and looked at the lagoon outside the door.

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“That’s why we took our clothes off. No floating evidence.

Clean disposal. He never existed.”

“That’s right,” Ackerman said.

“What ate him?”

“No one knows,” Meltzer said. “No one wants to find out.”

Jason nodded. “Don’t tell me,” he said. “It’s time for the extraction.”

“You’re psychic,” Ackerman said.

“You’re psycho,” Jason said.

Both doctors laughed and Jason was led to the extraction room, where he was strapped onto a steel table.

“The table is ice cold,” Jason said.

“You won’t care in a minute,” Ackerman said, a scalpel in his hand. “This will hurt,” he said and cut an incision across his forehead.

Jason screamed, remembering the other screams he heard when he first arrived. A sponge sopped up blood and a stainlesssteel mask was fitted over his face. The mask was as cold as the table. He heard a loud hum inside the mask, above his eyes.

“This will hurt much more, Jason,” Ackerman said. “But only for about five minutes. Then your ELLP will be gone and you won’t be able to think about anything anymore. Then I’ll walk you out to the dock and you’ll find out what ate Devon.”

53

11 Sam switched her headlamp off at the first hint of dawn and exited the front of the tent. She gathered some small branches and started a fire and then took some rope and canvas off the mule pack and reentered the tent. She dropped the materials on the ground next to three wrapped cylinders that were the pillar sections and another smaller roll that contained all the broken fragments of the artifact whether etched or not.

“Okay, let’s double wrap everything up,” Sam said.

“Before coffee?” Decker said as he grabbed the canvas and unrolled it.

“What do you think this is, a union shop?” Sam said and then stabbed the canvas and cut it into four strips.

“If we were union, you’d be in jail by now,” Decker said.

“Ha, you’ll be thanking me for this for the rest of your life,” Sam said as they rolled the pillar sections up like sleeping bags and tied the canvas tight.

“Assuming we get to the rest of our lives,” Decker said.

Sam brought each horse in turn to the side of the tent and held them secure as Decker and Hakeem struggled to secure the heavy pillar sections to the middle of the saddles. “We should have a wagon,” Sam said.

“That would look natural with the sheep,” Decker said sarcastically. “As it is, we have to walk them. That in itself could cause some closer looks.”

“I’m too excited to sit anyway,” Sam said. “Let’s pack the tent and go.”

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Decker pointed to the hole. “Let’s fill that in a bit before we take the tent down.”

“Of course,” Sam said. “My mind is already in a lab translating the writing.”

Suddenly Sam heard a metallic click that made Decker spin around at lightning speed.

Three dark figures stood before them with the early sunrise at their backs, the campfire reflecting on three shotgun barrels pointing at them.

“Hands on heads. Step away from the horses,” commanded the gunman closest to the fire. “Hands on heads,” he said louder.

“Do it,” Decker said, putting his hands onto his head-wrap.

“Away from the horses,” the gunman repeated, motioning with his gun barrel.

The three had moved ten feet away from the horses when the gunman said, “Stop; that’s far enough.”

The gunman stared at Sam for a long moment and finally pointed his gun at her and said, “Take off your pakol and drop it on the ground…slowly,” referring to her soft, round, brown woolen hat.

Sam looked at Decker, who said, “Do as the gentleman asks.”

“No speak,” the gunman yelled at Decker. “Take off the pakol,” he commanded Sam again.

Sam lifted the pakol off her head and a single thick, blond braid fell to rest on her back. She dropped the woolen garment onto the ground by her feet.

The gunman’s hard eyes softened and a smile became detectable under his beard. “Samantha Conway,” he said, nodding slowly with satisfaction.

“What do you want from us?” Sam said.

“Move over there, Samantha Conway,” the gunman said, motioning to the right.

“I like it here,” Sam said defiantly.

“Move,” the gunman commanded, the hardness back.

“Do it,” Decker said calmly.

The gunman narrowed his eyes at Decker but said nothing.

The other two figures were silent, but suddenly the one in the middle, wearing a black pakol, said something to the leader that 55

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made his brow raise and motioned for him to go. The middleman then walked directly to Hakeem, pointed his gun at his head and told him to lower his left hand down to his side. Hakeem followed the gunman’s order. The gunman stared at him closely and said, “Where did you get that scar on your face?”

Hakeem turned his gaze to meet the man eye to eye. “I got it right here…from a coward with a gun. Maybe it was you?”

Jesus, Sam thought as the speechless insurgent’s eyes widened.

Decker didn’t even glance in Hakeem’s direction; instead, he looked straight ahead in the direction of the other two. Sam saw something too, probably the same thing Decker was staring at, but she dared not to give it away with even the slightest change in her expression lest the vocal leader become aware of the red laser dot on his neck, just below his Adam’s apple.

Sam considered the next likely moments. The vocal leader would be instantly removed as a threat when whatever gun training its laser sight on his neck fired. At the moment, she didn’t care who the sniper was as long as his target remained the same. That would leave Decker one-on-one with the gunman next to the vocal leader. She would take those odds directly to the bank. But what about Hakeem and the insulted gunman ready to pull his own trigger?

Suddenly a large, dark image flew through their midst in a flash, a streaking shadow and vanished. Everyone startled and froze. Everyone except the vocal leader. He no longer had the red dot on his neck. In fact, where the dot had rested was now a gaping red cavity squirting blood. His knees buckled as he folded to the ground. The gunman next to him gasped, his eyes wide in shock and that very expression did not change in the slightest after Decker’s spinning knife came to a sudden stop in the middle of his forehead. The gun fell from his hands, but instead of hitting the ground, it was snatched midfall and fired with a short burst. The gunman holding the barrel to Hakeem’s face collapsed limply to the ground.

Hakeem stared at the crumbled gunman. He kicked the gun away and turned to Decker.

“I had him.”

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“Sorry,” Decker said, still holding the gun and scanning the surrounding area. “I know how you feel.”

“What the hell just happened?” Sam said.

Decker broke his scan and turned to her. “We have a friend… somewhere.”

Sam nodded. “I saw the laser dot. I was expecting a bullet… not a…whatever that was.”

Decker shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It was a golden eagle,” Hakeem said. “We hunt with them.

Our friend is a falconer.”

Decker motioned to the vocal leader, facing straight upward, his throat precisely and savagely ripped out. “I’ve never heard of a golden eagle doing this to a human.”

“Me either,” Hakeem said. “But I’ve seen them do it to wolves that approach their falconer’s flock. Silent. Fast. Deadly.”

“A falconer with a laser?” Sam said.

57

12 Reginald Beekman sat uncomfortably forward in the soft leather back seat of his Rolls-Royce Phantom as Bennet, his chauffeur, turned left, up Central Park West. “I don’t want to know and I don’t care,” Beekman said angrily, with a slurping sound produced by sucking on his own tongue. “He’s paid to manage a difficult situation and he does an amazing job. How he does it is his business. The results speak for themselves,” he said and paused to listen. “I said I don’t care about his methods. I didn’t hire Dyson for his pedigree. He keeps everyone focused. He’s the big cat in a zoo and no one dares mess with him. That’s what I need there to keep production up and research unhindered. You just tend to your scouts and forget about Dyson,” Beekman said and then ended the call. “Asshole,” he said to himself, pronounced “ash-hole” to those listening.

“Excuse me, Mister Beekman?” Bennet said.

Beekman looked up. The morning rain had become hard with the wipers on high speed. The analog dash clock claimed it was five after eleven. Time was flying by, as always. “Nothing, Bennet; I was just talking to myself. How did the Yankees do last night?” he said, showing token interest.

“They lost, Mister Beekman.”

“Ah, too bad,” he said, but his mind quickly shifted back to the island facility. The internal production and synthesis of the ELLP protein was on schedule. His business instincts told him it was time to push harder. He wanted them reaching, to meet a new tougher schedule. Operating without rules and outside 58

W.G. Griffiths

restrictions was absolute heaven. The idea to have a facility on a private island outside the reach of any government or agency, where he could do whatever he wanted, was pure genius if he did say so himself. He had no time or interest to discuss other people’s moral preconceptions. He knew what he was doing. This was the world he lived in. In this world, life comes from death, no other way. He didn’t set things up that way; it’s just the way it is. The biggest source of life, the sun, was dying to give off its light and heat. Plants and animals die so trees can grow bigger and spread life. There were no exceptions to this rule. If he had to help that process along so millions could eventually live longer, then he was a hero, period. And as the ultimate risk taker, he should reap the first fruits of his determination. No one else needed to understand.

Bennet turned into the building’s entrance and waited a few seconds for the doors to finish opening into the ceiling and floor.

He drove in and the sounds of rain ceased. Beekman waited as Bennet got out to open the door. The Rolls-Royce’s Teflon-coated umbrella, found in the door, remained in place. Beekman never exited the elite motor car in the rain.

The car’s ‘suicide’ door opened front to back and Bennet helped him to the elevator. The rain made his every move that much more painful, but not as bad as before the protein treatments. His telomeres were stable, possibly lengthening, as preliminary tests indicated on the elderly subjects at the facility.

The elevator stopped at the penthouse and the door opened to more elegance and Marlon, who took his scarf. “Welcome home, Mister Beekman.”

“Thank you, Marlon,” he said and limped over to the viewingwindow wall. Rain pelted the glass rhythmically, sweeping the glass with each gust of wind. Central Park spread out north and south with lush green trees, herded into a solitary sanctuary, surrounded by miles of towering skyscrapers. The most expensive real estate in the world spread out before him as far as his eyes could see and he could have as much of it as he wanted. He could have anything money could buy, except time. Time, the most valuable commodity and his was running out. He would trade everything, all his billions, for time.

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Dark clouds thickened and his reflection appeared in the window. The image was mercifully dim, but a sudden flash of lightning revealed the horror of what he had become, over time.

Deep shadows in wrinkled flesh exposed an old monster-like face with each streaking bolt. He turned away, shaken. He needed more ELLP. He had to reverse the inevitable. He would use all his power and money to stop the madness of his aging. He pulled out his cell phone and called his managing scout.

“Hello, Mister Beekman,” a voice said without introduction.

“I want all the numbers doubled,” Beekman said with a sucking noise.

There was a pause. “All?” “Yes, goddamn it. And I’ll pay twice as much per. I don’t care how you do it. Be creative if you have to. Your money doubles too, so don’t even ask. But if it blows up, you’re done. Understand?”

“I understand,” the voice said.

Beekman ended the call and then popped two hard cough drops and crunched them to powder.

60

13 Sam slowed as she approached what she thought was the house, but she wasn’t sure since it wasn’t the one Tyler Green lived in when they romped the neighborhood as kids. He was a real tag-along back then, not having any other friends. Bullies picked on him, being smaller and the class nerd. Back then, busy as ever exploring the town’s storm-drain systems and other places others had no interest in going, Sam welcomed his company. She had found his complaining about her young adventures humorous since he would always wind up following her anyway. The last time she had seen Tyler was over ten years ago and that was by accident in a supermarket. She didn’t even have a cell-phone number and, in fact, didn’t know if he had one.

Sam looked at the adjoining homes. They were all brick. He had told her in the supermarket that his father had died and that he had inherited the house. Tyler was an only child and had lived with his mother, Alice, when they were kids. Sam had been to the father’s house a few times, but the landscaping had changed. Ah, what the hell, she thought and parked.

Sam shut the door and pressed the auto lock, enabling the auto alarm. She stared for a long moment at the van and the distance to Tyler’s front door. She didn’t want to leave the van alone but took a deep breath and padded to the house. The doorbell button was cracked. She pushed it, but it didn’t move, solidly broken.

She glanced back at the van and then opened the storm door and knocked on an old wooden door that badly needed refinishing.

A dog barked inside. High pitched. A cocker spaniel or something, 61

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she thought. The blinds on the picture window next to her moved.

She waved at the door’s peephole. The door opened.

“Sam!” Tyler said. “It’s good to see you,” he gushed. “And a little frightening.” Tyler looked like he had aged twenty years in the last ten since she’d seen him in the supermarket.

Sam laughed. “Frightening?”

“Yes. It’s always been frightening…but good,” he said, with a big smile. “And if you’re the same Sam Conway I used to know, that’s what everyone else thinks too when they see you.”

They both laughed and after a quick glance at the van, Sam said, “How are you, Ty?” Tyler looked over her shoulder to the van and then back to her. “I don’t know. I’ve never known when you’re around.”

“Well, you’re looking good,” Sam said.

Tyler frowned. “You used to be more honest.”

Sam frowned. “Is something burning?”

Tyler’s eyes widened. “My omelet!” he said and ran across the living-room oak floor to the kitchen.

Sam looked to the van and then hurried after him.

Tyler whisked the frying off the stove and Sam turned off the flame.

“Still good. Just butter smoke,” Tyler said. “Want some?”

Sam frowned. “What kind of omelet is it?”

“Potato chip,” he said as he wiggled it onto a paper plate.

“Well, I wanted burnt home-fried potatoes but didn’t have any potatoes, so I mixed in some crushed chips. Great with ketchup and you don’t need to add salt.”

Sam nodded as she looked past him through the window to the van.

Tyler cut and stabbed a corner and held out the steamy bite for Sam to take. She looked at it for a second and then shrugged and took it in her mouth. To her surprise, it was good.

“So?” Tyler said.

“Not bad. Your creation?”

“Yep. My second one. Had my first last night for dinner. It’s good with pepper. Want some more?”

“No, I just ate,” she lied. “Some other time.”

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Tyler shrugged and stabbed more omelet. “So why are we here?” Tyler said and then stuffed his mouth.

Sam smiled. “I need some help. I thought of you.”

“Uh, oh,” Tyler mumbled and then swallowed. “Here comes the frightening part.”

“Do you live here alone?”

Tyler frowned again. “I don’t know, why?”

“You don’t know?” Sam said incredulously.

“Okay, just me and Cedar and pretty soon just me at the rate he’s going. What’s in the van?”

“What’s wrong with Cedar?” Sam said. “Where is he?”

“In the backyard. Sleeping. He’s old and failing…so the vet says,” Tyler said with a small crack in his voice.

Sam sighed. “I’m sorry. How old is he?”

“Fifteen. What’s in the van?”

Sam narrowed her eyes and took a quick glance back. “Before I tell you…”

“Oh, Jesus. I feel it coming.”

“I am looking for a very private place to do some research.

A secret place. A secure place that no one would attach to me.”

Tyler’s brows raised. “What kind of research?”

“I can’t tell you.”

Tyler motioned to the van. “It’s in the van, isn’t it? Something scary and dangerous.”

“I can’t tell you anything.”

Tyler nodded. “And you figured here would be the place, with me?”

“Sort of,” Sam said. “Your father’s old bomb shelter came to mind.”

Tyler’s eyes widened. “How did you know about…”

“You showed it to me once.”

“I did not…did I?” Tyler said, nervously.

Sam nodded.

“I can’t believe you know about it; I didn’t think anyone…”

“That’s perfect,” Sam said. “I want a place no one knows about.”

“How much of it do you need?”

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“Well, all of it.”

Tyler shook his head. “I need some of it.”

“You need…why?”

“I can’t tell you,” Tyler said.

“What!”

“You’ve got your secrets; I’ve got mine.”

“You’ve got? What? A meth lab?”

“No,” Tyler said. “Nothing like that…exactly.”

“Then what exactly?”

“What exactly do you have?” Tyler said defensively. “I know… you can’t tell me.”

“Ancient writing.”

“Ancient writing? Why do you need me for that? What’s wrong with the museum?”

Sam shook her head. “They can’t house it.”

“Can’t house it?” Tyler said doubtfully. “They can house a blue whale, but they can’t fit what’s in that van?”

“The blue whale is across the park at Natural History. But it’s not the size,” Sam said. “Museum policy forbids them from receiving stolen property from foreign countries,” Sam said, deadpan.

“Stolen?” Tyler said and then laughed. “How typical and ironic.”

“It wouldn’t matter. Even if they would house it, there’s not enough privacy for me there.”

“Why, you can’t lock your door?”

“I could, but I’m not the only one with a key. More company policy.”

“Well, you won’t have the only key here either.”

“I’m not worried about you stealing from me.”

“Well, maybe you should be,” Tyler said as if offended.

Sam smiled. “Okay, I told you my secret. What’s yours, Ty? Why is my stolen property ironic? What are you up to?”

“I didn’t agree to tell you just because you told me.”

“No, but you will.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Okay, fine, don’t.”

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“Well, if I tell you, I don’t want you to try to change my mind…because I won’t.”

“No promises. Don’t tell me.”

Tyler paused and then his eyes narrowed. “I know what you’re trying to do, Sam Conway. Reverse psychology. You really want to know, but you’re telling me not to tell you, so I will tell you. I know you better than you think.”

Sam shrugged. “Okay, then tell me.”

Tyler glanced around and then said, “Okay, come inside and I’ll tell you.”

Sam shook her head. “I can’t leave the van. There’s no one listening, Ty. Just whisper it.”

Tyler sighed. “I’m doing a Robin Hood thing,” he whispered.

“You’re robbing from the rich and giving to the poor?”

“Shhh, not so loud. But yes.”

“Okay…who’s the rich?”

“The county.”

Sam raised her brow. “The government, really. Who’s the poor?”

Tyler looked at her blankly. “Me.” Sam smiled. “Okay, I want to hear all about it,” she lied, “but first let’s unload the van. Do you have a hand truck or a wheelbarrow?”

Tyler shook his head slowly, thoughtfully.

“Your old skateboard?” Sam said.

Tyler rolled his eyes. “You really haven’t changed at all, have you?” Tyler said. “Yes, I have it.”

“Good, get it. I’ll back the truck in.”

65

14 Sam backed the van into the driveway and got out to find Tyler waiting with his skateboard in hand. She unlatched and slid open the windowless side door. Three tarp-wrapped sections of the pillar warmed in the sunlight. There was that strange feeling again that she was being watched. She paused to look around.

Saw nothing.

“What are those things?” Tyler said.

“Logs.”

Tyler nodded. “Logs?”

“Yes. Very old logs. And heavy. Let’s get them into the house.”

Sam and Tyler struggled with each section of the pillar, balancing and pushing and lifting and pulling until all three cylindrical wraps were in the living room. Tyler collapsed onto the sofa as Sam carried a fourth tarp with all the additional broken pillar pieces she found. Inside, she shut and locked the door.

“I hate to bother you, Ty, but we need to get all this into the shelter.”

“In a little while. I need to rest.”

“Rest? How long?”

“After dinner.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “You just had breakfast.”

“Tomorrow’s dinner.”

Sam sighed and grabbed Tyler’s ankle and pulled.

“Okay, okay,” he said.

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Two hours later, after numerous mini work stoppages, the remains of the ancient artifact were in the basement outside the bomb-shelter door. Sam sat on the staircase cooling her forehead with a cold, wet bottle of water. Tyler was sprawled out on the carpet on his back as if he had fallen there from five stories up.

“Come on, Ty, open the door. Let’s finish. I want to set up and get some work in.”

“Work?” Tyler said, eyes closed. “What do you call what we just did? Why is this wood so heavy? It’s like stone.”

“It’s petrified, Ty. It is stone, except it’s also wood.”

“Whatever, it’s heavy. You show up and I feel like my whole life is being turned upside down,” he said and rolled over to his knees. He reached into his pocket and pulled out some silver keys and then stood up and unlocked the doorknob on a thick steel door set into a concrete wall. He pulled and the door creaked loudly open.

“Ty; a little oil on those hinges would go a long way,” Sam said.

“Go for it; the WD-40 is in the garage,” Tyler said as he flicked a light switch and stepped over a curb to the inside.

Sam followed, eyes wide open. The room was different, smaller than she remembered, but she quickly considered she was about thirteen the last time she saw it. Tyler went directly to a deep plywood counter that ran wall to wall to wall in an L shape and started organizing what appeared to be electronic equipment. No drugs. A relief. The ceiling was low, about seven feet and the square room was about twelve feet by twelve feet.

Walls, ceiling and floor were gray concrete. On the walls were several caged lights connected with exposed conduit. Added recently, she thought. In any case, the room was well lit. A sixinch open pipe jutted into the room at eye level.

“You can have that side,” Tyler said, motioning to the adjacent counter.

Sam nodded. “I suppose that will do for a start,” she said.

“A start?” Tyler said. “Should I expect some renovating?”

Sam shook her head as she slid her palm across the counter.

“No one is to know I’m here. No one. That’s why I’m here.”

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“Well, that’s good,” Ty replied, “because my work is also secret.”

Sam turned her attention to Tyler’s twelve-foot run of cluttered counter. “Okay, Ty, what kind of work are you doing here? I mean, do I have to worry about someone raiding us?”

“Not as long as it remains a secret. Everything will be fine.”

Sam looked at him doubtfully. “Okay, explain.”

Tyler pursed his lips, took a deep breath and exhaled. “No judging me. Okay?”

“Ty, whatever you are doing, I’m not here to judge you, but I’ll naturally judge if the situation is something I can’t safely trust and work next to. So, come on…out with it already,” she said and then sat on her side of the countertop.

“Okay, okay. Have you ever gotten a traffic ticket from a camera at an intersection?”

“Yes, everyone has…I hate those things.”

“So did I, after getting a few tickets.”

“Did?” “Yes, but angry after my third one, I stared at the ticket and thought about how much money they must be making. And then I wished it was my phone number after the ‘pay this amount’ command. I fantasized about that for a little bit.”

Sam gave him a look.

“I got thinking about how many tickets go out and wondered if there was a pattern or if it was totally random.”

Sam frowned. “And?” “Turns out it’s pretty random.”

“How can you know that?” Sam said.

Tyler waved off her question. “And the ticket, while a state document, is not hard to duplicate—like money, for example.”

“Duplicate? You mean counterfeit?”

“Well, I suppose you can say counterfeit.”

“Say counterfeit then. What did you do, Ty?” “Do you know the intersection at Twenty-Five A and Glen Cove Road?”

“Yes,” Sam said.

“One of the cameras there is on a pole with an underground feed next to a storm drain. I snuck into the catch basin through 68

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the manhole cover a few nights and eventually chiseled a hole to the cable conduit. I tapped in and set up a low-voltage interceptor and transmitter that I can control from here. I get the video before the traffic-violation bureau and split off some of the recorded violations for myself.”

“For yourself?”

“Yes, it’s only one camera, but it’s a busy one.”

Sam stared at him, unblinking. “Please tell me you’re making this up.”

“Then I send the guilty motorists a duplicate—I mean, counterfeit—traffic-violation-bureau ticket with a phone number that takes their credit-card information if they call. Only about sixty-five percent call in to pay.”

“You’re making this up.”

“Nope.”

“What happens to the other thirty-five percent who don’t call?”

“Nothing. We let them go. No one is going to report a ticket they didn’t pay and if they did, there would be no record of it and they would be relieved it got lost in the system.”

“We?” “I have a partner. It’s his number and the money gets laundered through his business. He hands me cash. He needs me; I need him.”

“Who is it? What kind of business?”

Tyler shook his head. “Need-to-know basis and you don’t need to know.”

“Ty,” Sam said sternly.

“Sorry. Loose lips. Besides, it makes me impossible to trace.”

“Unless he gives you up.”

“He can’t.”

“Why?” “Sorry. Need to know. Trust me on this.”

Sam frowned but then nodded. “I’m…I’m speechless,” Sam said. “How long have you been doing this?”

“About a year.”

“And how much have you made?”

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“I only take about twenty violations a day. Seventy-five dollars times twenty vids times about sixty-five percent nets me about a grand a day when I work it. The total number of violations varies so much that the vids are never missed.”

“Or so you hope.”

Tyler shrugged. “Yes, hope.”

“So last year you made…?”

“We split about three hundred grand so far,” Tyler said with a thin smile.

Sam finally blinked. “I…I would never have guessed this was your secret business. It’s wrong on so many levels.”

“Ah, judge not,” he said, holding up a finger.

Sam was about to say something but caught herself and then looked around the room. Half of the work getting the pillar sections inside the shelter had been getting Tyler to help. He had complained with every step. If she could have physically managed it herself, she gladly would have, but the stone was simply too heavy to move alone without risking damage. She had also determined the sections were too heavy for the counter to support without heavy reinforcement. She didn’t want to think any more about where else she could move her priceless artifact.

She was physically tired but mentally excited to start work on Methuselah’s Pillar. With all the contents of her treasure inside the bomb shelter and the steel door locked, she left the shelter to get supplies, unsettled, like a mother bird leaving her eggs.

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15 Sam returned to Tyler’s house with a van full of lumber and various other supplies selected to turn her side of the shelter into a makeshift lab. Her new key to the front door was a little sticky on the first try but then turned and she pushed the door open.

“Ty,” she called. No answer. She paused but then decided she didn’t actually care if he was home or not. He wouldn’t be much help, if any and the thought of him whining and slowing her down tipped the scale for her to get right to work. She surveyed the quiet street on her way back to the van and then opened the rear doors and pulled a pair of new soft leather work gloves from the store’s doubled plastic bag that also contained a five-pound box of three-inch black screws. Gloves on, she hustled twenty ten-foot two-by-fours, one sheet of three-quarter-inch plywood, a tightly wrapped box of various battery-operated tools that included a screw gun, circular saw and flashlight and finally two clamp-mount magnifying glass lights into the house foyer. She shut the front door and peered out the front window for a full five minutes. One car had driven by in that time and nothing else. She told herself twice that her van in the driveway looked perfectly normal parked there. All quiet. All good. All normal.

Then why could she not shake the feeling she was being watched, a feeling she had had since she left Kabul? Paranoia? Probably.

Had to be. She had the most valuable artifact ever discovered.

Why shouldn’t she be a little paranoid?

Sam turned her attention back to the building materials and, fifteen minutes later, had everything stacked neatly on the 71

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concrete basement floor. Compared to the exhausting job of carrying down Methuselah’s Pillar, the two-by-fours and tools were like bringing in the mail. With her little folding knife, she opened the toolbox and set one of two fat wallet-sized batteries into a charger and the other into the circular saw. She strapped on a cloth apron, filled the pouch with a tape measure, a pencil and a handful of screws and went to work constructing a strong bench, thirty inches high, thirty-two inches deep and twelve feet long. On either end she clamped on two white bases, lamp bases, for the magnifying glass lights.

“I hope you plan on cleaning up this mess,” said a voice from behind.

Sam spun around. “Ty, you scared me. Just in time.”

“What you call ‘scared’ and what the rest of the world calls ‘scared’ are two different things,” he said and looked at his wristwatch. “Just in time for what?”

“To help me put the pillar sections of the new countertop.”

Tyler frowned as he inspected Sam’s handiwork. “You just built this?”

“No, hired a contractor.”

“Looks it.”

“It’s a simple table, Ty; anyone could do this. Come on, help me get these sections up here.”

He gave her a look. “I hope this is the last time. My back is killing me.”

Sam rolled her eyes and then one by one, with much grunting and cursing from Tyler, the three canvas-wrapped pillar sections were lifted onto the counter. Sam stepped back to take in the view.

“Can I go now?” Tyler asked.

“What?” Sam said, shaken from her trance.

“Are we done?”

“Don’t you want to see them unwrapped?”

Tyler sighed. “How long will that take?”

Sam shook her head. “Under these wraps are the oldest writings ever discovered. According to legend, Methuselah’s Pillar contains etchings from Adam’s own hand. Adam as in Adam and Eve. The Garden of Eden.”

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“You believe that?”

“I don’t believe anything and I believe everything. It’s legend.

Legend origins are tricky at best, but the power of the content is undeniable. This artifact contains mysteries older than ever thought possible and more complicated than today’s science can replicate and barely follow as they unfold. The plagues Moses unleashed on Egypt came from information on this pillar.

Translating one of the lines incorrectly and experimenting with possible procedures caused a spontaneous combustion of millions of flies within a mountain laboratory that killed hundreds of insurgents. Ancient flies. Flies that had been extinct for thousands of years suddenly exploded in a swarm so thick that no one could breathe without inhaling them. Other information contained a recipe to reproduce the angel of death, the plague that Moses released that killed firstborns.”

“I see…so, what I’m hearing is this unwrapping could take a while?” Tyler said.

Sam just looked at him. “Yes, it could take more than one minute. Go. I’ll catch you later. Thanks.”

Tyler nodded and said, “I’ll be back in a little while.”

Sam watched him leave, wondering what had happened to him in the last decade that made him care so little about everything outside his own small bubble of existence and how little he cared about even that. She shook it off and turned her attention back to the three covered towers in front of her. The time had finally come to unveil and reveal Adam’s only known recorded information to his family or, possibly, humankind.

Who he was and who this was written for and his motives were important for understanding history and fine-tuning the interpretation but played a much smaller immediate concern than the actual content itself. Adam’s real-life story might unfold in the process, but so far the information from the pillar pieces first taken from Hakeem had been much more technical than philosophical. She decided to work from left to right. With her left hand, she pinched and pulled the thick fabric and with a utility knife in her right hand, she made an incision and sliced downward. She then folded back the canvas and let it drop off 73

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behind like the hood of a sweatshirt. The unnatural light from the room illuminated the stone for the first time ever and slashed across etched characters with depth and shadows. Sam had to tell herself to breathe as she stared, stunned with honor and praying for understanding. Did she feel God’s presence, or was it simply impossible not to?

Sam exhaled and unveiled the other two sections with equal awe. She stood back and took a moment more to clear her head.

There was so much information within the three sections. There was a single combined message in the pillar as a whole and hundreds, if not thousands, of separate facts and recipes waiting to be translated. She didn’t know where to start but decided to begin with the left section. She turned on one of the magnifying glass lamps and pulled the headpiece to the ancient stone for a close look. She was immediately astonished at the fine detail under magnification. Like the piece she had originally studied at the museum’s lab under the microscope, the etchings were impossibly sharp given the probable tools used to draw them and the time that has passed, though just how much time was still a mystery. In the lab, the stone had been discovered to actually be petrified wood of unknown species. More than simply extinct, the pillar had properties and elements completely unique to itself and necessary for some of the more powerful and deadly formulas, like the one the mastermind terrorist, Tarik, used to replicate the plague Moses unleashed on Egypt three thousand years ago that killed the firstborn of every living thing within ten miles of its release. Given the source of the legend behind the pillar, Adam and his mythological origin in the biblical Garden of Eden, Sam found it difficult to keep her observations and imaginations objective. What if? What if? Could this very petrified artifact beneath her fingers be the actual tree written about? Could it be the tree of the knowledge of good and evil? The tree of life? In her research for correct translation and interpretation, there was little room for such speculation if she wanted scientific accuracy, but she simply could not keep her mind from wandering there as she zoomed in on the images before her under the revealing magnifying glass. Oddly, the pillar was written without the 74

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technological assistance of zoom lenses, yet the fine details seemed unlimited in depth. What? How? Sam moved the glass slowly as she moved across the pillar’s rich landscape, stopping occasionally to understand what the images were doing, almost alive with action and her eyes settled on one after another. She pulled back, rubbed her eyes and then went back. Her mind seemed to dream about what she was seeing, as if the closer and longer she looked, the more she saw, but not simply with her eyes but also with her brain, almost as if it engaged her subconscious. She pulled away again. She had never done drugs, much less hallucinogens, but she needed to ask herself what was happening here. She went back to the glass. The 3-D images on the stone seemed to resonate on multiple layers in her eyes, penetrating deep, saturating her brain, coloring her thoughts as though her vision was hearing sounds in the silence.

As a scientist, she couldn’t allow herself to entertain anything supernatural, but what the hell was going on here? The characters were perfectly still, literally written in stone, yet the closer she got, the more alive they appeared, as if they were speaking to her, explaining themselves.

Sam shut off the lamp and stepped away. Was there something in the air? Was Tyler goofing on her with some kind of psychedelic dust? She wouldn’t put it past him. She needed to go outside and breathe some fresh air for a while.

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16 Sam shut and locked the door to the bomb shelter even though she was just going to take a break for a few minutes. Not only was it a security procedure for the pillar but also she didn’t want a lecture from Tyler for leaving the door open. She padded up the stairs but then thought better about going out the front door and turned for the backyard. She snagged a cold bottle of spring water as she passed through the kitchen and was welcomed by sunshine and a cool breeze as she stepped out onto the rear patio. She twisted off the bottle cap, drained half the bottle and looked around the yard. The patchy crabgrass excuse for a lawn needed mowing. A dust devil appeared and twirled a few leaves around. Cedar, Tyler’s golden retriever, was lying on the cracked cement patio. Poor old guy, she thought. She remembered him as a puppy.

“Ceeedar,” she said sweetly.

His tail managed two weak wags.

Sam knelt next to him and stroked his head gently and then lightly scratched behind one ear. His eyes opened and she looked into them. She saw delight. His heart was happy and his tail managed another single wag. “You’re a good boy,” she said as her eyes glossed wet. Her tear fell on his nose. “A very good boy.” She wanted to do more, but what, she didn’t know. Age had caught him. She sighed deeply, scratching his head one more time. She had had enough fresh air.

She unlocked the shelter door and found the pillar just as she had left it. A press of the button turned the magnifying light 76

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on and she maneuvered it back to where she had left off. Tiny shadows vanished as the sharp clarity of the etched characters reappeared and came back to life. She exhaled, determined to be super objective. She was a scientist first. The pillar was not enchanted; it was simply a man’s record of what he knew to be important for certain others important to him to know.

She decided to scan faster at first for an initial overview before focusing on finer details. Some of the characters were part of a specific language and some were clearly images pulled from the prehistoric landscape. Foliage, familiar animals, unfamiliar animals, tools combined with symbols. The man was an artist.

So fine were the details that the images appear to flow, move, reveal. Was it her imagination creeping in, or was she already reading? She wanted to pull away again but didn’t. Run with it, she thought. Let it happen.

Demarcations. She saw patterns that had beginnings and ends. A similar symbol separated the patterns, like a period.

Each separate pattern seemed to say something different and she wondered if they were meant to be divided or joined to create a new relevant whole. Maybe yes? Maybe no? Maybe sometimes?

She held the reins tight on her imagination and emotion. Be objective. Nothing but the facts.

“What! What!” she said aloud as her exploring eyes froze on an animal she did recognize but didn’t expect. A woolly mammoth. There was no mistaking it. The forehead, the tusks, the fine puffy hair. This wasn’t cave art, but an etching so fine that it was practically a photo. Again, the longer she focused, the clearer it became, frighteningly so, but this time she stayed with it. Wait, it’s not just a still picture, but it’s doing something.

The mammoth is eating, pulling food from the ground. The next image was a flower. In fact, it was an enlargement of what the mammoth was eating. Pain was taken in the flower’s detail. The petals were exact. The food the mammoth was eating was critical to the translation of the message. Next to the flower was an image Sam had become familiar with when translating the original pillar pieces Decker and the DIA had confiscated from Tarik’s hidden cave lab. He had brought it to her office in the Metropolitan 77

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Museum to translate. The image was a tree. A special tree. An otherwise unknown tree. The tree that was the pillar itself. The original pillar pieces, no bigger than a phone book, were revealed to her by Decker opening a metal attaché case handcuffed to his wrist. This tree image had always referred to the pillar itself as an integral ingredient to a formula. Back then it was necessary for empowering the spontaneous explosion of the plague Moses had unleashed on Egypt that killed every firstborn. What was it doing here? she wondered. A recipe? Another recipe? Sweat beads formed on her forehead as the possibility of another such plague exploding from apparent nothingness, like the fission of atoms, filled her mind. A squiggly line character that Sam had come to know as water sat next to the tree and then finally what looked like a horizontal figure eight before an end symbol, like a period, concluding the message, or recipe.

Okay then, she thought. Simple enough. The woolly mammoth eats a flower that, combined with ground dust from the pillar and water, produced something represented by that symbol that looked like a figure eight. Everything was known, but yet everything was unknown. What would the combination of the pillar and that flower produce? More death? So far, all her experience with the pillar dust had revealed nothing but death. Why would this be different? What was the figure eight? Two circles next to each other made from one line. A continuous line. Eternity? The end of something? The eternal continuation of something? Death? Eternal death? Death was a permanent deal. However, the other recipes caused death, but there were no horizontal figure-eight symbols in the mix.

Sam stepped away from the magnifying lamp and rubbed her eyes. She pondered what she had just seen. Objective thoughts.

Just the facts. Flower, the pillar, water. Flower, the pillar, water. She had marveled at how defined the flower was. If it was mammoth food, she also had the flower’s location possibilities. Match the etching with a picture and a geographical location and she likely had one of the ingredients. The pillar. There was only one and she had it sitting right in front of her. Water. There didn’t seem to be anything but just water, but she supposed any water where the flower was would be best. Back to the figure eight.

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Wait. The legend had some interesting premises that for the moment she would entertain as facts. The pillar was given to Methuselah by Adam. Both, according to legend, lived impossibly old. Adam’s days were unknown since the record of them started after he exited the Garden of Eden, a timeless place where age had no bearing. Methuselah, according to legend, was the oldest man ever to live and he eventually died of unnatural causes; he drowned. Did the figure eight have to do with their virtual immortality? At the very least, good health? Amazing health? If there was a Garden of Eden and the pillar was from a tree, there the legend records two trees of special note. The tree of life and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. Either way, she had the pillar and would circle back to it after finding out more about the flower. She needed to get it. What kind of flower was it?

Sam opened her laptop next to the pillar and searched all known geographical habitations of the woolly mammoths. The species had been walking the earth on several continents for the last fifty-five million years and had become mostly extinct about ten thousand years ago, though some stragglers managed to survive on a few remote islands for another five thousand. The species had several types depending on location. The extra furry kind that was etched on the pillar, the wooliest of the woolly, mostly roamed the northernmost regions of Europe and Asia.

Her search shifted to Northern European and Northern Asian flower images. Excited, she did a quick scan, hoping the match to the pillar’s finely detailed flower would jump off the page. It didn’t. She went back to the top and looked more carefully, slowly, closely. Nothing close enough. She looked back at the pillar and then back again at the images. Nothing. Time to broaden the search. All of Europe. All of Asia. North America.

Sam could hardly believe after spanning the globe that she couldn’t find a cold-climate match to the flower etched in the pillar. She didn’t want to solicit outside help but now felt she had to. She took a close-up picture of the flower and uploaded it into the laptop and then attached it to an e-mail to Maria Bavyko, a botanist friend at the American Museum of Natural History.

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mammoth, she could. Sam’s cursor hovered over the “send” arrow, but she suddenly felt a caution and moved it to “cancel” and clicked. She didn’t know what could happen, but she didn’t trust the Internet with a picture of even one close-up etched character of the pillar and she didn’t want to wait until tomorrow.

She pulled out her cell phone and quickly found Maria’s number.

“Sam?” “Maria, hi. How are you?”

“Great, was just lacing up for a little run along the Hudson.

The sunset is quite spectacular right now. What’s up?”

“I need your help with something very important, but I don’t want to go over anything on the phone. Can I meet you in about an hour?”

“Tonight?”

“Yes.” “Well, I was…sure. Where?”

“Don’t eat. Do you know where Breslin’s is, next to the Ace Hotel, on twenty-ninth?”

“Yeah, behind Stumptown’s Coffee, best coffee in the city.”

“That’s right. You’re awesome. See you in an hour,” Sam said and then grabbed her laptop, shut off the lights, locked the door and took off up the stairs to the Breslin’s.

80

17 Sam nodded her thanks to the doorman as she rushed into the busy lobby of the Ace Hotel, laptop in hand. She took a sharp left and through the dark double doors of Breslin’s, fifteen minutes late. The dimly lit gastropub was still busy with a dinner crowd and Sam found Maria at the bar with a dripping glass of what looked like cold water in front of her. She paused to ask the pretty blond hostess for the booth she had reserved and then shuffled and excused her way through some spirited conversations.

“Sorry I’m late,” Sam said as she caught Maria’s eyes in the mirror.

Maria spun on her stool with a big smile. “Sam, how are you?” she said with her familiar Russian accent, brown eyes bright, long black hair in a ponytail and her right arm out for a half hug. She said she was going for a run and she certainly looked like it in a yellow sport top, spandex running pants and bright-green sneakers.

Sam half embraced with her left arm. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without your glasses. You look great.”

Maria laughed and looked at Sam, who had bolted out of Tyler’s house without changing her khaki cargo shorts, black T-shirt and hiking boots after working all day. “Thank you; you look pretty great yourself…as always,” she said with a barely perceptible glance at the laptop in Sam’s right arm. “What’s up, Sam?” Sam stepped back to meet her eye to eye. “I’m very excited and need your help.”

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Maria shrugged. “If I can, you got it.”

The hostess appeared. “Your booth is ready, Doctor Conway.”

Sam motioned toward the dining area. “We need a little privacy for this,” she said as they followed the hostess. Sam slid into the booth first and patted the seat for Maria to slide in next to her.

“Your server will be with you in a minute,” the hostess said and then vanished.

Sam moved utensils and napkins to the side and set her closed laptop on the table. “I’m going to show you a very fine etching in stone of a flower. I need to know what it is. I have searched and searched and can’t find a match. If you can get into the museum’s…” she said but stopped when a waiter appeared. A young man with a shaved head and strange tribal tattoo on his left forearm.

“Hi, my name is Josh. I’ll be your server this evening,” he said as he handed them each a folded menu. “Can I get you ladies a drink?”

Sam thought for a second and turned to Maria. “If you can help, there’s call to celebrate; if you can’t, a drink will come in handy,” she said with a smile. “I’ll have a Chopin gimlet with muddled lime and cucumber on the rocks.”

Josh nodded.

Maria laughed and raised a brow. “Cucumber?”

Sam nodded. “Tastes like summer.”

Maria shrugged. “Make that two.”

“Two Chopin gimlets with muddled lime and cucumber on the rocks, coming right up,” Josh said and then disappeared.

Sam motioned to a red curtain next to Maria. “Pull that closed so we can have privacy.”

Maria closed the curtain, while Sam opened her laptop. She clicked onto an icon and the full screen filled with the crisp picture Sam had taken of the flower etching. She turned the laptop facing Maria and pointed to the image. “I need to find this,” Sam said.

Maria put on a pair of glasses, stared for a few seconds and smiled. “Silene stenophylla.”

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Sam’s eyes popped wide and bright. “What! You know this flower. Are you certain?” she gushed.

“Quite certain. It’s from Northern Russia.”

“Yes, yes,” Sam said, “that’s where I was first looking, but I couldn’t find it.”

Maria took off her glasses and said, “Sam, why are you being so secretive? What do you need this flower for?”

Sam was about to speak when the curtain opened. She closed the laptop.

Josh set the drinks and said, “We have a couple of specials tonight.”

Sam held up a finger and looked at Maria, who was looking at the drink. “The lamb burgers are delicious and the seafood sausage is amazing.”

Maria shrugged. “Sounds great.”

Sam looked up at Josh. “Two lamb burgers and one order of seafood sausage to share.”

Josh nodded and said, “Excellent choice. How would you like the burgers?”

“Medium for me,” Sam said.

“Same,” Maria said.

Josh nodded and closed the curtain.

Sam picked up her drink and held it for Maria to clink. “To a brilliant botanist.”

“And pretty,” Maria said and then clinked Sam’s glass and took a sip. Her eyes widened. “This is amazing.”

“Tastes like summer?”

“Yes,” Maria said but then turned serious. “So, Sam, what’s this about? Why do you need this flower?”

Sam drew near and lowered her voice. “You are only the second person alive to have seen this etching. And more importantly, I am not legally allowed to be in possession of it, but I will explain that to you another time. The flower is part of an ancient recipe. I want to copy the recipe exactly and this steno-whatever is a very specific ingredient.”

“Really? That’s a little hard to believe.”

Sam frowned. “Which part?”

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“Sam,” Maria said somberly, “I have good news and bad news about your flower. What do you want first?”

Sam took a large tug on her drink. “Give me the bad.”

“There is a reason you couldn’t find Silene stenophylla in your search. The plant became extinct thirty thousand years ago. So the idea of finding a written recipe that old is pretty farfetched,” Maria said and then drained the rest of her drink and looked at her empty glass. “Hmm, I think I’ll have another one of these,” she said.

Sam just stared into space and then nodded and said, “Me too,” but didn’t move. She was suddenly numb with disappointment.

The answer was unacceptable. There must be a way. What was the ingredient in the flower that was so crucial? Maybe she could still find remnants of the flower in a frozen woolly mammoth?

“Well, aren’t you going to ask what the good news is?”

“Huh?” “The good news.”

Sam looked at her blankly. “Oh yeah. What’s the good news?”

“Svetlana Yashina.”

“Who?” “Svetlana Yashina and her little team of scientists brought it back. It was an earthshaking miracle in the flower world, not to mention the ripple effect into the world of extinct life in general.”

Sam shook her head. “Wait; it’s extinct, or it’s not extinct?”

“Well, both. Let me explain. Stanislav Gubin, the geologist on the team, found perfectly preserved seeds, about six thousand of them, in a dino-squirrel nest one hundred and twenty-five feet down in Northeastern Siberia in undisturbed, never-thawed, Late Pleistocene permafrost sediments, wrapped in woollymammoth fur. Accelerated mass spectrometry radiocarbon dating found the seeds to be about thirty-two thousand years old. The whole science world told her she wasting her time with them. The oldest seed ever germinated was two thousand years old from an Egyptian tomb.”

“I remember that,” Sam said.

“And the next oldest was just a hundred and sixty. Yashina paid no attention to what anyone said. She believed in herself and 84

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her science and went into the cellular level of the seed and with a little cloning, the seeds sprouted. In fact, at a one hundred percent success rate. Regenerated plants were brought to flowering and fruiting and they set their own viable seeds. At present, plants of stenophylla are the most ancient, viable, multicellular living organism on the planet,” Maria said, getting more excited with every word. “The first generation cultivated from seeds obtained from regenerated plants progressed through all developmental stages and had the same morphological features as the parent plants. Research showed high cryoresistance of plant tissue in permafrost, making all this possible in the first place. The natural cryopreservation of plant tissue over thousands of years demonstrates extraordinary properties in this little flower. Not to mention the permafrost as a depository for an ancient gene pool of preexisting life, which hypothetically has long since vanished from the earth’s surface, a potential source of ancient germplasm and laboratory for the study of rates of microevolution.”

Sam brought a finger to her lips. “Shhh, okay, let’s bring it down a notch. This is all wonderful to hear, but how do I get this flower?”

“Well, I would think shipping is out of the question. The plant can only survive in Northeastern Siberian climate conditions or in the simulated habitat at Yashina’s lab at the Russian Academy of Sciences in Pushchino.”

Sam frowned. “I need this flower.”

“Well, like I said, the good news is that it exists. But you’re going to have to go to Pushchino to get it and that’s if they will give it to you.”

“Pushchino? I would go to the moon for this, Maria. Can you get in contact with Yashina?”

Maria nodded. “Probably.”

“Great, when can we go?”

“We?” The curtain opened, the conversation stopped and the food was served. Sam ordered two more gimlets and then she and Maria lustfully attacked the lamb burgers and seafood sausage.

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18 Sam felt a familiar cold wetness touch her cheek. She opened the one eye that wasn’t buried in her pillow and saw black nostrils, white fangs and a pink tongue, six inches away. Her brother, Jesse’s, dog, Cutler, tail wagging, looked at her as if she should be as excited as he was to go out for his early-morning pee. Cutler was a wolf hybrid, half malamute and half timber wolf, with gorgeous bright-blue eyes and thick silver-and-black fur. But right now, he wasn’t at all cuddly or cute or gorgeous, just a cruel prank the universe had devised to steal her sleep.

“Ugh, where’s Jesse? Go get Jesse.”

Cutler’s tail wagged faster.

“You’re Jesse’s dog. Jesssseeee!”

Cutler looked in the direction of Jesse’s room and then back at her.

“Oh my God, Cutler, what time is it?” The white cube alarm clock displayed 6:34 a.m. “Come back when that six turns into a seven.”

Cutler tilted his head and his tail wagged faster from hearing his name.

Sam buried her head back into the pillow, but when she heard a little whine start, she knew her hope for thirty more minutes of sleep would be in vain. She threw off her blanket, grabbed her silk robe and tied it closed as Cutler dashed past her, nearly knocking her over in anticipation. She padded barefoot past Jesse’s door, which was closed, of course. She wanted to pound on it but didn’t. The kitchen floor was cold and Sam glanced at 86

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the coffeemaker. Cutler danced in circles by the back entry. She opened the door and Cutler’s keen eyesight locked onto a squirrel and he exploded after it, his draft flapping her loose robe. “Crazy dog, or whatever you are. Thought you had to pee.”

Sam turned and walked halfway across the kitchen and stopped. She looked again at the coffeemaker. Ten minutes later she was sitting on her bed, sipping hot coffee, when her phone lit up. Maria Bavyko. She grabbed it.

“Good morning, Maria,” Sam said.

“You’re awake?”

“Sort of…having coffee.”

“Oh good; I didn’t want to wake you but have some exciting news.”

Sam put her cup down on her night table. “Bring it.”

“Last night after I got home, I e-mailed my friend Masha Akutina, a botanist at the Russian Academy of Science. They are eight hours ahead of us, so when I woke up, a reply was already waiting.”

“And?” “And you’re in,” she said and laughed. “When Svetlana Yashina heard about you finding an ancient etching of stenophylla on petrified wood and that you wanted to meet her, she was as anxious to see you as you are to see her. I already forwarded it to you.”

Sam was suddenly awake. “When do we leave?”

“There you go with that ‘we’ again. We are right in the middle of setting up the new butterfly exhibit and—” “You have to come. I’m not talking about a vacation. A couple of days. Just this weekend. I’ll book us a flight now and we’ll come back Sunday.”

“Ha-ha, you’re a wild woman. I’ll ask the museum…”

“Wait. Remember this can’t be a business trip, or at least not one relating to me or the artifact. I need to keep it quiet.”

“Okay, Sam, but you never told me why.”

“I’m not supposed to have this artifact. It’s from Afghanistan.

They would have to grant permission to move it out of the country, but they are currently destroying all artifacts that predate Islam.

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Meanwhile, the museum can’t steal it from them, so they can’t house it or even know about me having it. So what am I supposed to do? Put it back like it doesn’t exist? The information on it is older and more powerful than anything prehistoric man has ever delivered and arguably modern man too.”

“So where are you keeping it?” Maria asked.

“Well, if I told you that…”

“You would have to kill me; I get it. It sounds like it’s better I don’t know. So moving right along, do you have a current visa for Russia?”

“As a matter of fact, I do. I went to Saint Petersburg a couple of years ago. It expires next year.”

“Okay, that’s huge. Sam, I would love to go. A meeting with Yashina and her team would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for me. Give me a little time to see what I can do at the office and I’ll get back to you one way or the other by noon.”

“Thanks, Maria, talk to you then,” she said and clicked off.

Sam swung her legs off the bed and drained the rest of her coffee. It had cooled off. She would make another later but first a hot shower. She padded into her bathroom, opened the glass shower door and turned the water on. As she waited for the water to gain temperature, she took off her robe and hung it on a chrome hook next to the door and then stepped onto an old doctor’s office scale she had bought at a yard sale, complete with sliding weights and height bar. She had never used the height bar, unconcerned her five-foot-seven frame would fluctuate, but her weight would move within a pound or two of 125. Today, 126. Breslin’s, she thought. She stepped off the scale and took a quick look at herself in the mirror, slowly turning halfway in both directions. Not much had changed there either in the last ten years, but she paused for a longer look. Got to get some gym time in, she thought. She had been so busy lately in her travels that something had to give and though she had been working hard in the field, she had lost some of the muscular definition she demanded of herself. Not something anyone else would notice, but she did. At thirty-three, she wasn’t about to concede anything to age but did remember when exercise was a less 88

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necessary ingredient. She leaned in for a closer look at her face.

She mocked several expressions and a few lines appeared by her eyes and mouth that might be a little deeper than she had remembered. Maybe the Afghan sun and wind, she thought.

The hot water felt good, massaging her neck and back and the sound was meditative. The shower had always been that, a place where she allowed herself to slow down, gather thoughts and pray. Her prayers had changed in the last year, since she first became acquainted with Methuselah’s Pillar. Living in her treasure-hunting world of exploration and discovery, she had become an expert on myths and legends, but quite recently the boundaries of ancient beliefs and modern science have overlapped unexpectedly. When a small piece of the pillar fell into the hands of Tarik, the number-one most wanted terrorist on the planet, the ancient legend of the plague that claimed the lives of Egypt’s firstborn became a present-day reality. And if that became real, what else would? What other divine intervention would be discovered in the pillar’s recipes, where faith and science seem to so easily collide and meld? When the power of the information on the Methuselah’s legendary pillar first became evident, she could not help but to consider the spiritual beliefs also connected to the artifact. Her normally brief attention-deficit prayers became longer and more focused. She began to feel like someone might be hearing her. But gradually she came to believe that if God was listening, she didn’t need to explain as much as she needed to acknowledge. Her prayers became shorter but only in length, not in faith. As her questions gave birth to more questions, her prayers eventually filtered down to two all-encompassing words…”I’m here.” Two words that identified her specific existence and location in an endless universe. She found herself thinking it, even quietly saying it aloud while driving or falling asleep and without fail in the shower. Although she sometimes wondered if this was all merely self-hypnosis, the simple words covered a lot of ground and traveled in both directions. At times her thoughts even heard “I’m here” like an incoming message, as if she was being reminded of God’s presence with her, but most of the time, it was clearly outgoing, to simply declare her 89

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own. In either case, the simple words, “I’m here,” sharpened her awareness to an ancient belief she was becoming more and more comfortable with.

Suddenly the phone rang and Sam startled. Maria, she thought. She quickly turned the water off and stepped out of the glass shower enclosure. She saw a New York City area code but didn’t recognize the following numbers. Perhaps Maria was calling from a landline from the museum, she thought.

“Hello,” Sam said.

“Hey,” said a familiar voice.

“Decker?”

“None other.”

“Where are you?”

“In the city.”

“Since when?”

“About an hour ago.”

“I didn’t know you were coming in.”

“Have you ever?”

“Actually, no.”

“Well, there you go. Is everything secure?”

“Yes. I…” “Stop. Don’t tell me over the phone. How about dinner?”

“Love to, but I’ve got a few things up in the air that have to land before I commit to a time.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“I’m going to Russia.”

“Russia?”

“Yes.” “Congratulations. You surprised me.”

“Want to come?”

“Me? Russia? You’re trying to make me laugh? Why are you going?”

“I found something on the pillar I have to chase down.”

“Really? In Russia?”

“Yes.” Decker sighed. “Pencil in dinner and call me when you know your schedule. I want to hear what kind of trouble I’m going to have to rescue you from this time.”

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Sam laughed. “Why do you always think there’s going to be trouble?”

“Doesn’t everyone involved with you think there’s trouble ahead?”

“Great, you’re beginning to sound like Tyler.”

“Who’s Tyler?”

“An old friend.”

Decker snorted. “Consider what you just said.”

“Ha-ha,” Sam said. “Talk to you later.”

91

19 Sam scrolled through flights to Moscow. The soonest, fastest, cheapest was Aeroflot Russian Airlines. There was a flight leaving JFK at 5:45 p.m. She glanced to the corner of her laptop and saw it was now 11:23 a.m. She would have to be at JFK International at least two hours early, which left no time for dinner with Decker.

Finnair had a flight leaving at 10:15 p.m. from JFK, with one stop in Helsinki with a forty-minute layover before heading to Sheremetyevo Airport, Moscow. Total trip ten hours and twenty minutes. That worked.

The cell phone buzzed. Sam glanced over. Maria Bavyko. “Hi! Can you come?” Sam said.

Maria laughed. “Yes. I told them I had a family emergency. I lied,” she said in her cute Russian accent.

“Excellent!” Sam said, pumping her fist. “Sorry you had to lie, but thank you. If they knew the truth, it would find its way back to me faster than you would believe possible and God knows what would happen next.”

“Yes, I can imagine…or maybe I better not,” she said and laughed again.

“Okay, this is the plan. I’ll send a car to pick you up at six fifteen to bring you to Breslin’s. We’ll leave from there to JFK.” “Wow, why should we be kidding around? I’ll be ready.”

“Great.”

“Where are we staying in Moscow?”

“I don’t know yet. Any suggestions?”

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“Yes. The Petroff Palace,” Maria said and spelled it out. “It’s amazing, historic, a literal palace, hundreds of years old and the Russian ruble is so weak against the dollar now that we can stay there for, well, you won’t believe how cheap.”

“Great, I’ll get right on it. See you soon,” Sam said and then went back to her laptop and booked the Finnair flights, though she guessed at the return to be three days later. She could always extend the time if needed, but this wasn’t a vacation. She then searched for the Petroff Palace. Google images of an ancient Russian palace filled the screen and Sam’s wide eyes. Originally built in 1796 for Catherine the Great. The golden age of Russia.

Later, Napoleon set up his headquarters there. There was nothing in America to compare to it. Nothing old enough or grand enough. She called. The female voice at the other end was friendly and answered in perfect English, actually with a British-Russian accent mix. Maria wasn’t exaggerating about the price. Today, the exchange rate brought it to seventy-five American dollars a night per room. She booked two rooms for four days even though she only expected to be there for three. She disconnected, stood up, walked out to her patio and called Decker.

“Hey,” Decker answered.

“It’s so beautiful out,” she said.

“Oh good, we’re having dinner,” he said.

“Good guess.”

“Hardly a guess. Logic.”

Sam raised her brow. “Okay, let’s hear it.”

“Simple. In order for you to tell me it’s a beautiful day, whatever business you had to take care of got taken care of. Business before pleasure. You took your deep breath from whatever, stepped into the sunshine and called me to tell me you’ll meet me at, uh, four.”

“Make it five. Damn, I hate that you know me so well.”

“It’s a little scary on this end too,” Decker said.

Suddenly a shadow moved slowly across the patio. Sam looked upward. Her eyes widened as the phone lowered from her ear.

“Sam?” Decker said.

Sam didn’t reply.

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“Oh, Saaam?” Decker repeated, his voice small and distant, coming from the tiny cell phone in her palm.

Sam lifted the phone back to her ear, her gaze locked on the creature circling in the sky above her. “Sorry, I’m a bit captivated by a giant, uh, eagle I guess.”

“Does it have a red tail? It’s probably a hawk.”

Sam squinted. “No. Definitely not a hawk.”

“What kind of eagle?”

“I don’t know. A giant one.”

“I got that part. Is it a bald eagle?”

“No, it’s dark brown…and it’s not bald.”

“Same size as a bald eagle?”

“At least. Bigger.”

“A golden eagle?”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“Those are mountain raptors. Must have escaped from a raptor center. What’s it doing?”

“Kind of hovering over my backyard.”

“How high?”

“Oh, how long is a football field—a hundred yards?”

No response. Sam figured he was trying to imagine a football field standing on end.

“Why do you say ‘giant’?”

“Because it is. It’s like the size of my car.”

“Your mini?”

“Yes, but this thing is anything but mini.”

“Well, without your mini flying next to it, the size might be deceiving.”

“Perhaps. But it’s really amazing. You should see it.”

Silence.

“Deck?”

“Yeah.”

“Thought I lost you.”

“I’m here, just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Your bird.”

“It’s not a bird, it’s a pterodactyl.”

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“Take a picture before it flies away and then send it to me,” Decker said.

“Okay, one second,” she said and then took a couple of quick pictures and a short video and then e-mailed them to Decker.

“You should have it.”

After a brief pause, Decker said, “Got it.”

After another pause, Sam said, “Well?”

“Looks big, all right. Thought you might be exaggerating.”

“Right? I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Never?”

“Well, certainly not on Long Island.”

“It’s not native.”

“It’s…it’s gone.”

No reply.

“It’s gone.”

“I heard you. Google raptor center; someone is missing a big bird.”

“Don’t have to; there’s one at Sagamore Hill, in Oyster Bay. Teddy Roosevelt’s old place. Just a few miles from here.”

“Well, tell them to do a roll call,” Decker said.

“I don’t have time at the moment, Deck.”

“Then don’t worry about it. It’s not your problem. Actually, it’s not anyone’s problem. A bird flew over your house. It won’t be the last.”

“Good point.”

“Don’t forget to pack a neck pillow in your carry-on. It’s a long flight.”

Sam laughed. “Thanks. Anyway, I have to get ready. You know where Breslin’s is?”

“No.” Sam gave him the address.

“See you at five,” Decker said.

Sam pressed “end” and stared into space, thinking of one thing and one thing only; the pillar. Should she bring some of the pillar’s sawdust to Russia? The recipe on the pillar had three ingredients: dust from the pillar itself, the extinct Russian flower and water. How precise and pure any of these were was unknown.

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It was entirely possible that the flower needed to be fresh and the water needed to be local. It was also quite possible that the flower could be dead and dry and the water could be from her tap. She had no way of knowing but considered the only way to find out for sure was to bring some of the pillar’s dust with her. She would make a quick stop at Tyler’s before heading into the city and drill out a hole for powder. She wondered what container she should put it in that wouldn’t draw the curiosity of the airport security.

It would have to be something she could carry onto the plane.

No way she would trust putting it in luggage that could be lost or stolen. She wanted it at her side at all times.

96

20 Sam took the valet ticket from the parking attendant, turned and walked straight into Decker, who had quietly snuck up behind her. His strong hands held her shoulders firmly.

“Fancy running into you here,” he said and then stepped back to look at her fully. “You clean up pretty well when you’re not disguised as a dirty shepherd.”

“Jesus, Deck! Someone needs to put a bell around your neck,” Sam replied.

“Did I startle you?”

“Yes, so now you should buy me a drink,” she said.

“Or maybe two, since I was planning on doing that anyway,” Decker said as they turned and fell into stride. “How did you find this place?”

“Easy. Stumptown is the best coffee in the city, the Ace Hotel lobby a cool place to drink it and Breslin’s is attached. The food is great.”

“We shall see,” Decker said as a nonuniformed doorman welcomed them into the Ace Hotel’s gracious Gothic lobby. Sam led the way to the left and through Breslin’s satin black double swinging doors. A beautiful, slender, black-haired hostess with vampire-white skin greeted and ushered them to what was quickly becoming Sam’s usual booth. Josh the waiter appeared, shaved head, big smile.

“Doctor Conway, can I start you off with a Chopin cucumber gimlet?”

Decker gave her a look.

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“Why not?” she said.

“Same for you, sir?”

Decker shook his head with a thin smile. “A beer will be fine.

Guinness.”

Josh nodded and said, “You got it,” and then he vanished.

Decker turned his attention to Sam. “Come here often?”

“I was here last night,” Sam said, eye to eye. Decker’s were steel gray tonight. They always were, but tonight she noticed with some interest. He was clean-shaven too. That was a first. His thick, black hair was recently cut and combed.

“What?” Decker said.

“What, what?”

“Did a bird shit on my forehead?”

Sam laughed and shook her head. “Nah, you just look good tonight.”

“Really? Maybe I’ve just run out of disguises.”

“Be careful; you almost smiled,” Sam said.

“Then we better get down to business.”

“And what business is that?”

“Russia,” Decker said quietly. “Why?” Sam briefly looked around and then back at Decker. “I need a flower.”

“A flower,” he repeated.

“Yes.” “That’s it?”

“Yes. Really, I’m going there to get a flower. At least I hope I can.”

“And you can’t get one here?”

“Not this one.”

“Ah,” he said, nodding as if he understood now.

Josh appeared and placed the drinks. “We have a few specials tonight.”

Sam held up her finger. “We’ll share a house salad, a seafood sausage, smashed potatoes and the steak for two, medium. And bring it all together.”

Josh gave her a thumbs-up and vanished.

Sam turned her attention back to Decker. “Deck, I found a fascinating simple recipe on the pillar. I have to put it together.”

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“Simple?” Decker said, doubtfully. “You’re going to Russia.

What’s the simple part?”

“The recipe itself is simple; of course, you need the ingredients.”

“Of course. And what is this a recipe for—a cake or something?”

“No, more like a drink, I think.”

“A drink?” Decker said, with a blank stare.

“Yes, I think maybe an energy drink.”

“Great. That’s what you need. More energy. What’s wrong with a cup of coffee?”

“Okay, I’ll explain. The missing ingredient in the pillar’s recipe is a flower that has been extinct for the last thirty thousand years. A Russian scientist, Svetlana Yashina, brought it back into existence through cloning seeds found in a squirrel’s nest one hundred and twenty-five feet deep in the Siberian permafrost.

The flowers are now blooming and seeding and thriving in her lab,” she said and then took a sip of her drink.

Decker just stared at her for a long moment and then took a swig of beer. “It’s getting simpler all the time. So if what you say is true, that places the age of the pillar at more than thirty thousand years?”

“For sure.”

Decker nodded. “Interesting. What else is in the recipe?”

“Just some water and dust from the pillar.”

“Dust from the pillar,” Decker said incredulously. “Dust from the pillar?” he repeated, louder.

“Shhh,” Sam said and looked around.

Decker closed his eyes. “Is there anything about this simple recipe that raises any red flags in your mind?”

“Like what?” Sam said, half toying with him. She so enjoyed when he acted like her late father or the big brother she never had. She had spent her entire life working without a net, or at least not one she allowed anyone to see. But there was a growing part of her that wouldn’t mind Decker stepping into that role for a little while, or at least filling out an application to be considered.

“I’m sorry, but isn’t this the same pillar dust that was required for the plagues Moses put on Egypt? The same dust required to 99

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unleash the death of the firstborn on that jumbo jet from Cairo to New York we had to board midflight? The same dust that inadvertently exploded the plague of extinct flies that killed everyone at Tarik’s secret Afghani cave complex?”

“Everyone but you,” Sam said.

“Yes, thanks for reminding me,” Decker said.

Sam slid a few inches closer and whispered, “I am very aware of our past experience with the pillar. I did the translations, remember? The powers of these recipes are beyond staggering, but that’s also the attraction.”

“Addiction,” Decker corrected.

“I wouldn’t call it that, but even if I agreed, that doesn’t change what I see in the etchings. This recipe is clearly different than the others. The others had death written all over them. This one is all about life.”

Decker put his beer on the table and turned his hand faceup.

“Look. My palms are sweating. My gut tells me you should stick to Betty Crocker for your recipes.”

“That’s condensation from your beer, Deck. Nice try. Anyway, there’s nothing to worry about. I’ll be back in a few days.”

“A few days,” Decker repeated thoughtfully and then picked up his beer and took a pull.

“Yes. Why? What are you thinking?”

“Maybe you should bring along a bodyguard.”

Sam smiled. “I would need a few bodyguards if you came. I would love your company, but my best bet is low profile. Being with an American DIA agent in Russia might lift the wrong eyebrows.”

“Since when are you worried about lifting eyebrows?”

Sam motioned toward Josh, who was approaching with their food. The sizzling thick T-bone instantly seized her attention.

The food was set in place and the burgundy curtain drawn shut.

Verbal conversation became little more than affirming moans as they cut and stabbed their way through hot, juicy slices of meat.

“By the way,” Decker said, chewing, “I called the Teddy Roosevelt Raptor Center near you.”

“Oh?” Sam said and then forked another slice and buttered it with potato. “Are they missing one of their feathered friends?”

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Decker swallowed. “Actually, no.”

Sam paused and then continued eating.

“Doctor Conway?” Josh said, from the other side of the curtain. “You have a visitor.”

“Come on in,” Sam said.

The curtain pulled open and Josh offered a stunning brunette with beaming dark-brown eyes the open bench seat opposite Sam and Decker. Her smile was wide as she set her suitcase on the floor and slid in with her carry-on bag. “Is this your private booth? I’m having déjà vu. I think my seat is still warm from last night. Ha-ha! This is so exciting,” she said, her eyes volleying between Sam and Decker.

Sam smiled. “Maria, this is my friend, Decker.”

“Hi, Decker,” she said, reaching her hand across the table.

“Are you coming to Russia too?”

“No,” Sam answered for him. “Maybe next time.”

Decker shrugged. “One never knows,” he said and then looked at Sam. “Does one?”

Sam smiled and then looked at her watch. “Time to rock and roll.” She signaled for the check, but when it came, Decker took it and refused to share any of the expense. “Next one is mine,” she said.

Decker didn’t reply but got up, grabbed Maria’s luggage and led the way out the restaurant door into the Ace Hotel’s lobby.

Maria followed and turned to Sam. “I see he’s the strong silent type,” she said admirably.

Sam nodded. “But when he wants to make his presence known, it gets known.”

“Really,” Maria said.

“Oh yeah and fast,” Sam said, following her into the Ace. The lobby was busy as usual with lots of open laptops and coffee from Stumptown’s. A casually dressed young black man with dreadlocks in a white T-shirt, faded jeans, wearing sunglasses and sitting comfortably in an overstuffed leather chair, seemed to be looking straight at her. She was used to that, especially having been interviewed on television so many times, but there was something bold pointed about his stare. He lifted his glasses to his forehead, which confirmed his locked gaze. His eyes. Sam 101

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blinked in doubt of his eye color. They were violet. Probably contact lenses, she immediately thought. She broke eye contact to watch where she was going as Maria stepped into the lobby’s vestibule to exit. Before entering she looked back at the man. He was gone. The chair was empty. She paused and quickly looked about. Gone. As if he was never there. Sam frowned and then turned on her heel to catch up.

Decker loaded Maria’s suitcase next to Sam’s in the back cargo area of Sam’s green Mini Cooper and shut the little barn door with a solid clack.

Sam was right there to give him a kiss and a long, tight hug.

“I’ll see you in a few days,” she said. “Don’t worry.”

Decker shook his head. “A few days is all you need,” he said and then looked at Maria. “Is this your first trip with her?”

“Yes,” Maria said with mock concern. “Why?” “It shows,” Decker said.

Sam folded her arms and looked at him sternly.

“How?” Maria said.

“You’re relaxed,” Decker said.

Maria laughed and ducked into the passenger seat.

Sam slipped into the driver’s seat as Decker held the door for her and said, “A flower. Sounds too easy. Keep in touch on WhatsApp.” He shut the door and left.

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21 Sam turned to Maria. “Ready?”

“Let’s go!” Maria said enthusiastically.

The traffic was good all the way to JFK Airport. Sam put her car in Park Plus, a nearby long-term parking lot and they shuttled to Finnair. The ticketing and luggage check was smooth and uneventful. The security line was mercifully short. Sam took off her sneakers, watch and jewelry, emptied her pockets and placed everything in a plastic bin with her old leather carry-on shoulder bag and then onto the conveyer belt traveling through the X-ray machine. Her bin passed through some hanging rubber flaps.

She tried to pay no attention to the examiner when suddenly the conveyer belt stopped. The seconds stretched long and finally, the examiner tapped a button and the belt continued.

A security officer with white gloves stepped up. “Please empty your bag,” he said with no expression.

Sam complied. “Okay if I put my shoes on?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said and then held up a small energy-shot bottle.

“This has to stay here,” he said and tossed it into a blue drum with other bottled liquids.

“Oh, sorry,” Sam said. “It helps with the jet lag.”

“You can get some inside, but it can’t come from the outside past here,” he said as if he had said it thousands of times.

“I understand, sorry,” Sam said and tried not to notice that he had just picked up a white plastic Johnson & Johnson bottle that she knew to contain the white powder from Methuselah’s Pillar.

“Baby powder?” he said.

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Sam shrugged. “Yes. Is that okay?”

The officer nodded but then casually said, “No baby?”

“It’s not for a baby,” Sam said. “But I suppose I could get more of that inside too?” she added.

The officer paused but then said, “No, it’s fine.”

Sam gathered her things together and caught up to Maria, who was waiting. They fell into stride.

“Baby powder?” Maria said.

Sam looked at her. “It’s something that goes with the flower,” Sam whispered.

“What is it?” Maria said.

“I’ll tell you later,” she said, “maybe.”

“Jesus,” Maria said and shook her head with a smile.

With a little time to spare, they shopped a few magazines for the flight before moving to their gate to board the Airbus 350, first class to Helsinki. The luxury cabin was huge with forty-six seats in a herringbone configuration. Sam and Maria were seated at almost right angles to each other, feet almost near enough to touch.

“Whoa!” Maria said as she found her seat. “This is so cool. By the way, are we going to Moscow or Mars?”

Sam smiled. “Moscow, with a quick stop at Mars.”

“May I help you with your bag?” A blond male flight attendant asked Sam. “No, thank you,” Sam said as she clutched her shoulder bag and sat into her white lounge seat. She reflexively unzipped the top and looked inside. She knew with a 100 percent certainty that her little white baby-powder container was there, but just seeing it made her feel good. She zipped it back up, put her arm through the strap and buckled her seat belt for takeoff. Maria was playing with the TV channels. Sam’s mind was filled with tomorrow and wanted to be rested for it. She leaned her head back into the soft white cushion and closed her eyes. I’m here, she prayed.

Sam awoke with the large first-class cabin filled with morning light and the attendants serving coffee and breakfast. Both Sam and Maria had a bakery-fresh bagel with smoked salmon, cream cheese and egg with fresh berries and yogurt. A little over an 104

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hour later, the Airbus 350 landed in Helsinki and after an hour of layover, Sam and Maria boarded an Airbus 319 for Moscow.

The sharp contrast in the plane’s size and comfort went virtually unnoticed by Sam, who could only think about her upcoming meeting with Svetlana Yashina. But that wasn’t until the next morning. She would count the minutes till then.

Moscow was quite different than Helsinki. Communist rule since 1917 had left its mark. The rental-car agent who was supposed to meet them in the main lobby had forgotten about them. Sam called. An hour later a young man, medium built with black hair, black leather jacket, black pants and black shoes, appeared and, without apology, introduced himself as Nickolas and asked them to come with him in the rental car as if it were a taxi. The signing agreement took place in the car in a dirt parking lot a half mile from the airport where he fought with a poor WiFi signal to swipe Sam’s credit card. From there they started on a forty-five-minute highway drive to the car-rental store.

“What’s with all the wires?” Sam said, gazing out the window of the passenger seat.

“What wires?”

Sam waved her hand. “The hundreds of telephone and cable wires going from near the street to the windows and roof of every building looks like they were installed with a bow and arrow,” she said incredulously. “Like they are holding the buildings down.”

Nickolas shrugged. “They are just wires,” he said as he steered around an abandoned car in the middle lane.

Sam decided to be quiet, as she observed that every car was caked with dirt. Every car. A new Porsche passed them and was too dirty for Sam to read the license plate. Nickolas slowed a little as they suddenly came upon some road construction. There had been no previous warning signs or orange cones or anything to alert drivers to slow or be cautious. And the workers simply worked, craning large concrete mediums over the busy highway with no apparent regard for the moving traffic. The traffic was doing its thing and the construction was doing its thing, both completely independent and seemingly oblivious of each other.

Sam took over the driving duties at the car-rental facility.

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the portable GPS navigation device Nickolas suction-cupped to the windshield. Upon entering the Petroff Palace, the GPS took a moment to calculate and then a woman’s voice spoke the immediate directions in Russian.

Sam looked at Maria. “Can you get her to speak English?”

Maria shook her head and shrugged. “I tried, but she is stubborn,” she said.

“Figures,” Sam said. “Okay, you’re the translator. What did she tell us to do?”

“Make a left out the driveway and go straight for two kilometers to Leningradsky Avenue and go left. We should be there in twenty minutes.”

“Welcome to Russia,” Sam said.

Ten minutes into the trip, the landscape began to change.

The closer they got to the center of Moscow, the older the buildings were and the evidence of Russia’s proud and talented ancestry became increasingly pronounced. The reckless afterthe-fact wiring of square apartment buildings with all the creative architecture of a concrete parking garage was gradually replaced with proud stone buildings with fine ornate columns and surrounds erected during past empires where workmanship was world-renowned. The Petroff Palace, in all its grandeur, was a historic site settled into the edge of a residential neighborhood that had grown around it on three sides and seemed somewhat out of place, but as when the gates opened and Sam drove into the royal courtyard to park, all she could do was stare in awe at their accommodations.

“Seventy-five bucks a night for this?” Sam said, unblinking.

“And the parking lot is almost empty,” Maria said.

A man in a red jacket appeared and a few moments later, he was carrying their bags to the entrance, where a security conveyer belt and X-ray machine, not much unlike the one at JFK International, was waiting. Another man, this one in a dark-blue jacket, sat over a monitor, eyes glued to the screen. Sam watched like a mother would her baby as her shoulder bag went through.

Apparently, they were looking for something other than baby powder and liquids.

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Sam gazed around the lobby, while Maria chatted with the young blond receptionist, as they waited for the paperwork to be printed out. Tall ceilings with wide polished marble columns, tall windows with lavish draperies, overstuffed leather seating arrangements, a bar with fine woodwork, huge old paintings.

Vast, cozy, interesting, but aside from a man in a red jacket pushing a vacuum, no people.

“And you Doctor Conway?” the receptionist asked in both a Russian and British accent.

Sam turned to her. “Excuse me?”

“She wants to know if you want a massage,” Maria said.

Sam brightened. “Really? When?”

The receptionist consulted her screen. “There is an opening in an hour from now.”

“An opening?” Sam said. She still had not seen any other guests.

“Yes, right after me.” Maria laughed.

“I should have known. Sure, that would be great before dinner.”

The receptionist smiled. “Our guests find it very relaxing after a long flight. May I also interest you in a complimentary glass of wine?”

Sam looked at Maria, smiling and said, “That would be perfect.”

A minute later another red jacket appeared, balancing a bar tray with two glasses of white wine. They gratefully received them, made a toast to extinct flowers, clinked the drinks together, took a sip of Cabernet, nodded their approval and then followed their luggage to their respective rooms.

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22 Sam tipped the attendant generously, closed the door, drained the rest of the wine and fell face first on the bed. She lay there for a moment but then decided if she didn’t get up, she would sleep right through her massage and she wanted to shower first.

She rolled onto her back and gazed around at her surroundings.

A mini version of the lobby, she thought. She unzipped her pants, undressed and went into the bathroom. In contrast to the palatial antiquity everywhere else, the bathroom was downright modern. She turned on the water and assessed herself in front of the mirror as she waited for the temperature to gain. She was content for now, but she promised herself to get to the gym when she returned to New York. In fact, she would investigate the palace gym. Steam started to fog the mirror.

Sam took a very hot shower, stepped into spandex, slippers and a T-shirt and then put her baby-powder container in the room safe before padding down to the spa for her massage.

Another surprise. The fitness area was in a different building within the same compound. Sam found stairs in the main lobby that led down to a series of tunnels constructed hundreds of years ago. She was building an appetite just getting there. Finally, the tunnel widened into an elaborate entrance to the Petroff Palace Fitness Center.

The center had a full-size swimming pool, complete gym, steam room, sauna and juice bar. A man was swimming laps and Maria was somewhere getting a massage; otherwise, the center appeared vacant.

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A frosted glass door opened and Maria stepped out in a hotel robe. She saw Sam and gave her a thumbs-up. “Amazing,” she said. “Enjoy.”

“See you in an hour for dinner,” Sam said as she entered the massage room. A middle-aged blond woman was preparing the massage table. Flickering scented candlelight, mellow flute music and a stone water feature that sounded like a bubbling brook set the tone for a dreamy pit stop she was in sore need of.

“Hello, Doctor Conway, I am Olga. I will give you a few minutes to get ready,” she said, motioning to the table and then left the room.

Sam disrobed and settled under a white towel face down on the table. She felt as if she could fall asleep in seconds. The door opened and after a few anticipated sounds of footsteps and jars moving, the towel was folded from her calves to the top of her legs and strong hands started working from her Achilles to the back of her knee. Her mind relaxed and she rested in positive thoughts of accomplishment. She was in Russia, all was well and tomorrow she would have the flower she needed to complete a recipe from the Garden of Eden. She didn’t necessarily believe the mythological paradise ever really existed, but for the moment, she would allow the fantasy to live and be amused with the thought she had no conclusive proof it didn’t. What she did know for certain was just a few days ago, she had translated from Methuselah’s Pillar etchings of a flower miraculously retrieved after thirty thousand years of extinction. Was this really happening? While her mind was smiling, she remembered the young black man with violet eyes staring at her in the Ace Hotel lobby. Weird, she thought and steered her thoughts in a different direction.

Olga had made her way up to Sam’s shoulders and apologized for working hard on some muscle knots. “I am so sorry, but they must go,” she said.

Sam imagined Olga had an elbow just below her right shoulder blade, leaning in with all her weight, twisting, digging.

The relaxation was gone and she could now hardly breathe in or out. She didn’t know how much more bliss she could endure.

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When the road-grading was finally over, Sam left the center and journeyed back through the tunnels to her room, showered again and saw a text from Maria to meet in the dining room.

The dining room turned out to be on the other side of the fitness center, so another trek through the tunnels ensued. Sam wondered if Maria had been doing this on Rollerblades. Past the fitness center, a stairway, similar to the one she entered on the other end, brought her up to the dining area. Lots of empty tables dressed in white cloth and crystal. Maria waved her over.

A bottle of wine in a silver bucket was waiting.

“Waiting long?” Sam asked as she pulled out her seat.

“No, but I’m ready for a little white Burgundy. How about you?” Maria said, lifting the bottle from the cylinder.

“Absolutely. I need to relax from getting relaxed.”

“What do you mean?”

“How was your massage?”

“Great.”

“Any knots?”

“No. What do you mean?”

“I had a few knots she needed to get out.”

Maria laughed. “Sorry to hear that. I take it she was a bit rough?”

“A jackhammer would have been a bit rough. This was more like getting trampled by a herd of elephants in slow motion.”

Maria laughed as she poured wine and then returned the bottle to the bucket. “How do you feel now?”

“Thankful that it’s over,” Sam said. They clinked glasses and Sam grimaced a little.

“What?” Maria said.

“Guess my right side had a big knot,” Sam said and smiled but made a note right then to hit the gym in the morning to work out the stiffness.

“Drink up. Wine is the best cure for that,” Maria said.

“Olga is Russian. The best cure might be vodka,” Sam said.

“By the way, what time tomorrow morning does your botanist friend Masha get here?”

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“Eight forty-five. We meet with Yashina at noon. Pushchino is a three-hour ride.”

A waiter in a red jacket appeared and both Sam and Maria ordered Caesar salads with salmon. They ate heartily but then agreed it was time to get some sleep before the big day ahead.

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23 Sam’s eyes opened to blazing sunlight pouring through her window. “Oh shit,” she said and reached for her charging phone to see how late she was. She knew Moscow was seven hours ahead of New York, but that’s why she went to bed early and set her phone alarm for six. How did this happen? Why didn’t Maria wake her? She must have overslept too. “Shit.” In dread, she looked at her phone. 5:36 a.m. What? Oh. She remembered now. “Wake up, Sam. You’re in Moscow and it’s the middle of June,” she said aloud. With a latitude similar to southern Greenland, sunrise was around three forty-five and sunset wasn’t until almost ten at night. Welcome to Russia, she thought and dropped her head back to the pillow. She tried for thirty seconds to go back to sleep, but between the strong sunlight and the excitement of the day ahead, she threw off the covers and threw on some gym clothes.

Sam waved to the receptionist and trotted down the stairway to the tunnels. Just getting to the gym was a good warm-up, she thought. She slid her room keycard in the door reader and stepped inside. Empty, the pool was like glass, with not the tiniest ripple. Through the glass door and into the well-outfitted-yetempty exercise room. Five thousand miles west, in New York, the hotels would be full and the early birds would already be burning up the calories.

She did some stretching exercises on the rubber floor for a few minutes and then did twenty minutes on the step machine before addressing her back muscles. After all, her back knots were the main reason she decided to get up early today to work out in the 112

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first place. Upper rows on a cable machine were painful to that big knotted area behind her right shoulder, but the pain dulled after a few light reps. She saw a large exercise ball and decided to do a few squats. She had mastered squats standing on a ball years ago. It helped strength and balance like nothing else, but it had been a while since she last used it in her workout. She used the handle of the cable pull machine and stepped onto the ball.

She knew from experience not to make any sudden moves but to keep her feet shoulder-width apart and slowly squat, up and down. She released her grip on the cable and held both arms out level in front of her. She counted, one, two, three, four…

“Hey, look at you,” Maria said from the entrance.

The sudden presence of anyone would have done it at that moment. Sam quickly turned her head toward Maria and lost her balance. The ball teetered just enough for Sam to topple off and land on her side on the rubber floor, her cheekbone hitting the cable machine’s metal floor brace hard. Pain shot through her eye socket and upper jaw.

“Oh my God,” Maria said and ran to her. “Are you okay?”

Sam put both palms on the floor, pressed herself to her knees, shook her head, exhaled deeply, put her hand to her cheekbone and winced. “Yeah, I’m okay,” she said and stood up.

“Let me see,” Maria said and turned Sam’s face toward hers.

Her nose scrunched. “Ouch, let’s get some ice on that.”

“I’m okay,” Sam repeated.

“Ice it for an hour, Sam.” “Let’s get some breakfast, Doc.” Sam and Maria left the fitness center, went directly to the dining room and found a sprawling breakfast buffet of fresh fruits, hot and cold cereals, smoked salmon, yogurt, cheeses, breads and various juices.

“Coffee?” asked another smiling red jacket as he motioned to a table.

“Yes, two,” Sam said as Maria gathered some ice from the buffet table into a cloth napkin.

“Here,” Maria said, handing Sam the clothed ice. “It’s getting a little puffy and red. You’re going to look like a real badass if that turns black,” she said with a wink.

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“Wonderful,” Sam said. “Just the impression I want to give.”

She brought the cloth to her face and winced in pain. I don’t believe this, she thought.

When the coffee arrived, Maria ordered an omelet while Sam helped herself to virtually everything on the buffet table. The food was delicious and they both cleaned their plates, wasting no time getting back to their rooms to get ready for Masha to take them to the Russian Academy of Science.

Back in her room, Sam took a quick look in the mirror before her shower. Like Maria had said, a little puffy but definitely taking on color. She shrugged and resigned herself to “It is what it is.”

She wasn’t here for a beauty contest and nothing was going to get in the way of the flower. Just the thought of the flower made her feel better. She took a fast shower, slipped into a sleeveless paleblue silk blouse and stone-gray suit with a pair of sensible white Italian leather sandals and headed for the lobby.

Maria, in a black suit with a white blouse, stood at the bar with a shapely blond woman in khaki slacks and a green blazer.

Maria noticed Sam, said something and the other woman turned and smiled.

“Wow,” Maria said. “Leave it to you to look stunning with a black eye. Now everyone is going to want one.”

“I can demonstrate proper form and technique on YouTube,” Sam said.

“It will go viral,” Maria said. Then, with an introductory wave, she added, “Masha Akutina, meet Dr. Samantha Conway.”

“Hello. This is indeed an honor, Doctor Conway, to meet you in person,” Masha said, in that familiar Russian-British accent.

She held out her hand.

Two hands greeted firmly. “Call me Sam, please. And it is I who am honored and indebted to you for putting this meeting together,” Sam said and meant it.

Masha took the driver’s seat of the rental and they set off for Pushchino.

“Can we get some water for the ride?” Sam asked.

“Sure,” Masha said. “There’s a pharmacy just ahead.”

“Pharmacy?” Sam asked.

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“The water in Moscow is not good to drink, not even the bottled water really,” Masha said. “Most of us buy baby water at the pharmacy.”

“Baby water?” Sam said incredulously.

Sam and Maria followed Masha into the pharmacy and to Sam’s amazement, behind glass on an eye-level shelf by the counter was a display of a dozen different baby-water bottles to choose from, all with Russian writing and infantile labels.

“Which one?” Maria asked.

“They’re all good,” Masha said.

Sam shrugged and pointed. “I’ll take this one, with the pink bow and white rabbit. In fact, I’ll take four of those,” she said.

“I want the puffy sheep one,” Maria said. “Two please.”

Masha laughed. “You ladies seem to know what you want.”

The road to Pushchino was the same as from the airport only in reverse. The grand architecture came first, followed by flats that looked more like cabled-down parking garages and then hours of fields and flat country. Random road construction would appear now and again without warning and curiously, there were occasional brush fires in fields, as if on purpose by farmers clearing sections of their pastures, but without any visible supervision. Masha simply shook her head and said she didn’t know what they were for. In any case, the traffic didn’t seem concerned about the fires or the construction, never slowing for either and likewise, the construction never seemed to slow for the traffic, each operating as if the other didn’t exist.

Off the highway and along a rolling road of thick woods and green fields, they came across a huge white stone sculpture on a shallow hillside, fifteen feet high and forty feet across, with the name of the town and the university there in Russian letters.

“Welcome to Pushchino,” Masha said as they passed the sculpture and drove up a hill. The landscape suddenly opened and cross streets appeared with traffic, sidewalks and people.

The sidewalks were all asphalt, the grass, or whatever it was, bordering the road was uncut. The Russian Academy of Science seemed to be a series of disconnected buildings, simple squares and rectangles, which told Sam most everything was post 1917.

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Masha made a call in Russian and then announced that Svetlana Yashina and her team wanted to meet them at a particular restaurant.

“A restaurant?” Sam said, surprised.

“Yes,” Masha said. “It is a combination of security precaution and good impression. The restaurant is more welcoming and in better condition than the bio building.”

“I don’t care about the condition of the place,” Sam said. “I’m here for a flower, not a building inspection.”

“I am sure when they meet you, they will be more at ease,” Masha said.

Sam sighed. “How’s my eye look?” she asked.

“Like a prizefighter,” Maria said.

“Wonderful,” Sam said, sarcastically. “That should put them right at ease.”

Masha laughed.

“I am so excited,” Maria said.

“So are they,” Masha said with a big smile.

“To see us? Why?” Sam asked.

“They do not get many visitors. And recognition for any accomplishments are just as rare,” Masha said. “And you are Americans who have traveled around the world to see their work.”

“What they did was miraculous,” Sam said.

Masha shrugged. “You can tell her that,” she said as she turned into a parking lot.

“I will,” Sam said.

The all-white stucco restaurant had a medieval flare with flags and crossed axes on the wall by the entrance. The heavy archtopped oak door hung with black iron hardware immediately set the tone for the dining area together with its dark, thick tables and walls adorned with chains, coat of arms, shields, swords and various other hand weapons.

“Are we meeting scientists or knights?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know, but I’m starting to get hungry,” Maria said.

“Let’s see a menu.”

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“From the looks of things, it might include…” Sam said but stopped as a little woman, pale, about seventy, wearing a freshly pressed yellow blouse, entered the room, followed by three others Sam recognized them from articles she had read. They were Stanislav Gubin, a tanned stocky geologist and archaeologist with a full white beard, about the same age, dressed in everything khaki; Alex (name), a young blond geologist in a gray flannel buttoned-up shirt, jeans and wearing large rectangular glasses; and Svetlana Yashina’s daughter, Alexandra, a young brunette of about thirty, wearing satin black blouse and pants. All three were carrying boxes.

“Svetlana,” Masha said with a huge smile. She took the frail woman’s hands and kissed her on both cheeks. They spoke in Russian as the lead scientist introduced her team to Masha and then all the attention literally turned to Sam as Masha said, “Doktor Svetlana Yashina, ya s udovol’stviem piznakomlyu Vas s Doctorom Samantoy Conway. And, Dr. Samantha Conway, it is my pleasure to introduce to you Dr. Svetlana Yashina.”

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24 Sam folded her hands and tried to remain calm as Yashina’s science team opened the three boxes and reached inside. The contents were carefully lifted and distributed upon two thick medieval tabletops pushed together. Several green-stemmed white flowers in glossy red pots were placed in the middle, along with two flasks with a little cloudy liquid and some green growth, some photos, a few test tubes with tiny sprouts and some covered petri dishes. Sam and Maria shared a glance; they had seen all the pictures, but in person everything was different. The empty boxes were removed to the floor and the scientists took their seats together on the opposite side of the table.

Sam looked at Yashina and said, “Wow.” There was no translation needed. They all produced thin smiles.

“I have read much about your miraculous achievement. How did you feel when you saw the first evidence of sprouting after the entire science community told you that it wouldn’t work, that you were wasting your time?” Sam said.

Masha translated Sam’s question into Russian.

The little old lady cleared her throat and spoke quietly at first, matter-of-factly, but as she continued, her voice rose and gathered emotion. Alexandra tried to calm her mother, but Yashina waved her off and then rose from her seat. She pointed to a few things on the table and then to Sam before sitting back down. The stocky Gubin reached over and patted her hands assuredly.

Maria leaned to Sam’s ear. “Don’t worry, she likes you.”

Sam looked at Masha.

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“Svetlana thanks you for your recognition. No one has ever asked how she felt about it. She never doubted for one minute that she could restore the extinct stenophylla. What others have been able to do or not do were of no consequence to her. She knew she was working with a special plant and that her method would succeed. When she first saw growth, she was delighted, of course, probably in a similar way as you have been when you have uncovered something you already knew was there.”

Sam nodded. “What makes this plant so special?”

Yashina turned to Masha for the translation and then turned her palms up and replied in Russian. Masha listened. Her brows rose and then turned to Sam and said, “This is a plant that has a lot of built-in mechanisms for survival in a harsh environment.

Most plant seeds die within just a few years, but stenophylla has the ability to either preserve or repair its own DNA. There is no other plant that can do that over a vast time like stenophylla.”

Sam frowned and nodded. A plant that has the ability to regenerate, preserve and repair itself over tens of thousands of years? What did it mean when combined with the pillar dust?

How did Adam, or whoever, know this?

Masha continued. “Her main concern was the radiation, but there is no apparent mutation.”

“Radiation?” Sam asked.

“Izlucheniye?” Masha said.

Yashina nodded. “Ramma izlucheniye,” she said.

“Gamma radiation,” Maria translated before Masha could speak. “Skol’ko?” she added and then leaned to Sam. “I asked her how much.”

“Sem’desyat grays,” Yashina said.

Maria’s eyes widened. “Seventy grays?” she repeated incredulously.

Yashina nodded. “Da.” Sam turned to Maria and said, “Is that a lot?”

“Yes,” she replied. “It means the burrows the seeds were in weren’t benign environments. The underground rocks contained naturally radioactive elements, which would have bombarded the seeds with low but accumulating doses of radiation. The ones 119

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that Yashina regenerated amassed seventy grays of radiation— that’s way more than any other plant has absorbed while still producing viable seeds. In a human that amount would cause acute radiation syndrome. No one knows what seventy grays in a seed does to a plant, much less a plant that’s been extinct for the last thirty thousand years.”

Masha translated the conversation to Yashina, who nodded and said something to Gubin. He nodded back and took the two clear three-inch petri dishes from the table and placed them and a pair of tweezers in front of Sam. Then he motioned to her and said, “Otkrytyy.”

“Open them,” Maria said.

“What are in these?” Sam asked.

Gubin spoke and Masha translated. “The one on your left contains stenophylla seeds and the one on your right contains some of the woolly-mammoth fur a prehistoric rodent wrapped them in.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “What? Really? Can I touch them?”

“They are yours, Sam. A gift. You can touch them all you want,” Maria said with a laugh.

“Use the tweezers,” Masha said brightly.

Sam looked at everyone, all motioning her on. Needing no further encouragement, she took off the left petri lid and fished around loose dirt for a seed. In the pinch of the tweezers, she brought one to eye level and examined it for all to see. The color and size of a large grape seed, she thought. She placed it back and went for the other dish. The woolly-mammoth fur was reddish brown and very thick, like dirty old fiberglass insulation. She was holding thirty-two-thousand-year-old fur a foot away from her eyes. “Amazing,” she said softly.

Svetlana motioned to one of the flowers and her daughter slid a red pot in front of Sam. Sam vanished into her own zone and zoomed in on the petals. From the beginning, when she had first learned of the miraculous revival of the stenophylla plant, she had but one haunting question. Was it true? Was this really the flower etched into Methuselah’s Pillar? The flower Adam’s hand personally engraved, possibly from the mythological Garden of Eden, entrusted 120

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to Methuselah to pass on to his family? Whatever the meaning, whatever the significance, whatever the power, was this the actual flower suddenly in her presence?

Sam reached into her sack, pulled out her laptop and opened it next to the flower. She clicked on an icon and the screen was filled with a close-up of the etching. A woolly mammoth eating flowers, an enlargement of the flower being eaten, the pillar symbol referring to the pillar itself and a water symbol.

She zoomed in on just the flower and then looked at the living stenophylla few inches to the right. Back and forth, back and forth. Maria leaned into Sam’s right shoulder and did the same.

“Unbelievable,” Maria said.

Sam got up and brought the laptop around to Yashina and waved Masha to join them. “This, Doctor Yashina, is why I’m here.”

Masha stood behind Yashina and translated Sam’s words. The rest of the team gathered around her, all peering at the screen, all wide-eyed, silent.

“So, what’s the vote?” Sam said. “Dah or net?”

Gubin was nodding. “Dah,” he said.

Alex was fixated on the screen. “Da.” Alexandra shrugged. “Da.” Yashina said a lot more, but Sam thought she heard a “da” in there.

Masha translated. “She said they are obviously the same flower, but she wants to know what she is looking at.”

Sam smiled. “She is looking at Methuselah’s Pillar, the oldest known writing on the planet. A legendary artifact given to Methuselah from Adam. There is no time attributed to it but old enough to include this,” Sam said and zoomed out to include the woolly mammoth eating the flowers.

The entire science team leaned forward. Sam knew this would rattle their concepts of human chronology. It sure did hers. There was no denying that humans and woolly mammoths walked the earth at the same time, felt the same wind, were warmed under the same sunlight, but those humans didn’t write like this. Those humans barely wrote anything and drew kindergarten-like stick figures on cave walls. It wasn’t until a couple of thousand years 121

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after the last woolly mammoth vanished that humans developed language and attached it to writing and created records to be passed on to subsequent generations to build upon. So what in God’s name was this? Petrified wood with characters finely carved when the tree or at least the wood from the tree was still green?

That alone made no sense. But for the hand of a human to etch a woolly mammoth eating a flower known to be extinct for the last thirty thousand years and so precisely that a group of scientists from opposite sides of the globe were able to unanimously agree it was a perfect match to a living flower right next to it? And to connect it all into a recipe, among hundreds of other recipes of both blessings and curses. Poor bastards, Sam thought. They were going through a little of what she went through a year ago when she first came in contact with the pillar. But this would be just the beginning, again.

“Kak eto vozmozhno?” Yashina said.

“How is this possible?” Masha interpreted.

“My most honest answer is, I don’t know,” Sam said. “But the characters you see pass down a message, a formula, which is completed with this little flower,” Sam said, pointing to the stenophylla in front of them.

Yashina frowned and spoke.

“This is a formula?” Masha said.

“Yes,” Sam said.

Yashina stared for a while and then pointed to the screen and said something.

“What does that symbol mean?” Masha said, pointing to the horizontal figure eight.

“I believe it to be a sign of good health,” Sam said. “According to biblical record, Methuselah had extraordinary good health. It’s possible this formula may have had something to do with that, judging from its origin,” Sam said. “That is what I am here to find out.”

Masha conveyed Sam’s words and the frail old lady seemed to pause in thought.

Sam then looked at Yashina, eye to eye. “I have a wonderful proposition for you.”

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25 Sam took Yashina’s hands into hers. Cold, bony and quivering.

“The engraved formula requires powder from the pillar, which I have with me. It also requires your flower and then some water.

I don’t know if proportions are important, but between the two of us, we can complete the potion. I will give you some of the powder in exchange for some of your flowers. You can do what you want with yours, study it, lock it up in a safe place; it’s up to you,” Sam said. “I will drink mine in your presence as a sort of guinea pig to make sure it’s safe. If I drop dead, well, then check it off the to-do list.”

Masha translated and Yashina’s eyes welled up. She nodded and said, “Da.” Sam was a little surprised by Yashina’s emotion. There was apparently something she didn’t know. In any case, the plan now was to go to the lab where the flowers were being grown. As the science team was gathering up their presentation and Sam was putting away her seeds and woolly-mammoth fur, Gubin said something to Masha and motioned her to Sam. “When they found the seeds in the Siberian permafrost, they also came across human remains at the same level. Completely intact, like the seeds,” Masha said.

“What!” Sam said. “Thirty-two-thousand-year-old human remains?”

“Yes. A clan. Ice mummies.”

“Jesus, did they do any forensics on them?”

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“No, they were afraid to. The frozen clan looked like they may have died of a sickness. No obvious injuries, all near each other but not close enough to gather warmth. Probably strep or the flu or something we easily deal with now, but the possibility exists that it may have been something our species hasn’t come in contact with since and they didn’t want to wake up a sleeping giant in their lab.”

Sam just stared at Masha and then turned to Gubin, who nodded in confirmation. “We will have to talk more about this later,” she said to Gubin.

“Anytime,” Gubin said.

After a short ride, they arrived at the Russian Academy of Science and Yashina led the way. The chipped stone steps to the entrance were awkwardly deep and shallow, making for long strides. Two large cement flowerpots were set on either side of the stairs but grew only sparse weeds. More uncut grass along the stairs, the edge of the building and even through the concrete made Sam wonder where their landscaper was hibernating. The building itself was commercial brick and stucco and needed a power-washing badly. The old aluminum-framed windows were stained, dirty and off level. Except for the people walking in and out, the building looked abandoned. Inside the lobby, the floor was a random-sized dark-gray slated set in cement and polished smooth and the walls were cement block painted white.

“This way,” Masha said as they followed Yashina slowly down a white hall that reminded Sam of her public high school and then turned down another, finally stopping at a powder-blue door with a Russian label at eye level. She produced a silver key, quivered while inserting it and then turned and entered.

The temperature was noticeably colder and whoever took care of everything outside Yashina’s lab was obviously not allowed in here. Ultraviolet light randomly splashed off bright white walls, rows of stainless-steel counters with racked test tubes and flasks, all neatly organized and labeled. Microscopes, monitors, thistle tubes in rubber stoppers and clear plumbing channeling liquid in arcs made the room feel like a living organism.

Yashina stopped at a waist-high, lighted viewing chamber built into the wall; opened a thick insulated glass door; and 124

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retrieved one of many red-potted stenophylla flowers, identical to the one at the restaurant. She turned, set it on a counter and said something in Russian.

“How many do you want? We have many,” Masha said.

“Let’s start with this one,” Sam said and reached into her pack and put a bottle of baby water and the white baby-powder container on the counter next to the flower. “There were no mixing instructions on the pillar, so I’m going to proceed as if the amounts don’t matter.”

“All we’re missing is a baby,” Maria said.

Sam didn’t respond as she unscrewed the water-bottle cap and drank a quarter of the pint bottle and put it back down on the table. She then gently tugged the flower from the red pot by the stem and brushed the dirt off the tiny roots. She didn’t know what part of the flower was important, so she lowered the entire plant—stem, flower and roots—into the water bottle. She then took the cap off the baby-powder container and poured in about a teaspoon of powder from the pillar. Never taking her eye off the bottle and its green and white contents, she screwed the cap back on, gave it a good shake, set it back on the counter and took the cap off. At first, nothing happened, but then…

“It’s changing color,” Maria said.

Sam nodded. “And that’s not all,” she said as bubbles started coming off the plant, increasing, as if the entire plant was made of Alka-Seltzer. “It’s dissolving.”

Yashina said something.

“I have never seen this before,” Masha said.

A few minutes later, the plant was gone and the water was a clear amber.

“Now what?” Maria said.

Sam looked up, exhaled and said, “I wonder how it tastes.”

“Taste?” Maria said incredulously.

Masha translated. Yashina’s brow raised.

Sam didn’t want to show any reluctance after so much enthusiastic anticipation, but her inner caution lights were blinking. Images of Decker’s piercing frown, decomposition of flesh from the other recipes involving the pillar dust as an 125

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ingredient. No. This was different. She knew this was different.

Her initial instincts had always been her best guide and she didn’t come this far to retreat from them now. She boldly reached for the baby-water bottle with her right hand and her fingers trembled as they circled the smooth plastic container. She lifted it near to her nose and sniffed lightly. Almost odorless, a slight fragrance, nothing unpleasant, reminded her of chamomile tea.

She tilted the bottle and spilled a little of the amber liquid onto her left index finger. She let it sit there, waiting, for maybe a tingle or some burning. Nothing. She looked around at the other unblinking eyes in the room, smiled, stared back at her wet finger and touched it to her lips. There was a friendly hint of sweetness.

“Talk about dipping your toe in the water,” she said.

Maria and Masha gave thin smiles, but Yashina’s expression was stone serious.

Sam waited for a moment, searching her senses for anything, but there was nothing, neither good nor bad. She almost felt silly with precaution and wet her finger again, a little more liberally and this time she sucked on it. Definitely sweet and a little aromatic. Not bad, pleasant actually. Maybe taste was what it was all about. The root beer of the prehistoric world. “It’s actually tasty,” she said. “A little like sassafras.” In fact, she wanted more.

“Maybe you’ve discovered the next Coca-Cola,” Maria said.

Sam smiled, nervously. The trepidation had not vanished but was fading by the minute. “Maybe, but with the pillar and an extinct flower found only in Svetlana’s lab as the two main ingredients, I don’t think we would be able to produce much,” she said. She then stared back at the bottle with a measure of brave determination, brought it to her lips and sipped. The flavor was immediate and filled her mouth like a dental wash. Cleansing, she thought and then, defiantly, she took a good swig and swirled it around like a fine wine and swallowed.

Sam looked up and all eyes were wide.

“Well?” Maria said.

“It’s delicious,” Sam said. “Very refreshing. No wonder the recipe was etched in stone. Garden of Eden punch.”

Maria extended her hand. “Can I have a taste?”

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Sam pulled back. “Not just yet. It seems harmless and surprisingly delicious, but let’s wait and see if it’s as safe as it seems. I’m going to take one more swig and cap it,” she said and did, a full mouthful and then, almost uncontrollably, she gulped down another. She screwed the cap on and set the bottle on the counter, suddenly surprised to see the container was almost half empty. Reckless, she thought and somewhat embarrassed in front of Yashina, a scientist who would never have jumped in without much testing and analysis. In comparison, she felt like Doctor Frankenstein.

Suddenly, Sam felt a strange warm tingling in her fingers and, a few seconds later, in her toes and on her scalp and even on her eye where she had banged it. There was no pain or itching, but soon her whole body felt like her throat when she drank seltzer. Silent fear seized her chest as she remembered the flower dissolving in the baby water and the decomposed bodies of the firstborns that had encountered the recipe from the pillar Moses had used on Egypt.

Yashina said something and Masha turned back to Sam to translate.

“Your face is flush,” were the last words Sam heard.

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26 Sam saw only white mist and heard what sounded like the hiss of her shower. Like wind on fog, the white mist cleared.

Faces stared down at her and the hiss became vocal.

“Sssssam. Don’t move. Help is on the way,” Maria said.

“Help?” Sam said, confused.

“You fainted,” Maria said. “Masha called for an ambulance and Svetlana went looking for a doctor.”

Sam needed a few seconds to understand what she had just heard. She remembered the tingling sensation, but that was gone now. “No, cancel everything. I’m fine. I don’t want anyone knowing about the drink.”

“But you fainted,” Maria said.

“I’m okay,” Sam insisted. “Please find them and cancel the emergency.”

Maria looked at her doubtfully. “I’m not leaving you.”

Sam sighed and rose to her feet slowly, hoping she was as together as she confessed to being. “Then let’s find them together.”

Yashina, Masha and a young man with wavy chestnut hair carrying a red gym bag rushed into the room. Masha trotted over ahead of the group and looked surprised to see Sam standing.

Sam held up her hands. “There is no cause for alarm. I feel fine.”

Masha slowed and looked at Maria, who simply shrugged.

The young man said something in Russian and Masha said, “He wants you to sit down in the chair.

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Sam followed instructions as Masha called the hospital to cancel the ambulance. The young man opened the gym bag and pulled out a few medical instruments to begin his examination.

Yashina was typically quiet and observant. The young man did the usual pulse, blood pressure, temperature and the otoscope ear-and-eye examination. After he seemed to have completed his checkup, he went back to her eyes with the otoscope. The pinpoint light was annoying, but Sam did her best not to blink, though now she was feeling fine. He turned to Yashina and said something and handed her the otoscope. She stepped up to Sam and peered through the lighted magnifying glass and then pulled the otoscope away and looked straight into Sam’s eyes and said something to Masha, who frowned upon hearing.

“May I see?” Maria said, motioning for the otoscope.

“Da,” the young man said and handed her the scope.

“What’s going on?” Sam asked.

“Don’t move,” Maria said and looked into her eyes with the scope. Her brow raised and then looked back and forth from one eye to the other. She lowered the scope. “How do your eyes feel?”

Sam frowned. “They feel fine. Why?” “They…look different.”

“Red, bloodshot?”

“It appears they are changing color. But not your whites and not red.”

“What?”

“Yeah, as we speak,” Maria said. “Kind of cool too.”

“Cool? What are you talking about? Where’s a mirror?” Sam said and got up.

The young man said something and Masha started to translate.

“I know what he said,” Sam interrupted. “Don’t worry; I’m fine. Is there a mirror somewhere?” she said and started walking around the counter, looking for something to see her reflection.

Maria frowned. “You know what he said?”

Sam stopped and then turned to Maria. “Uh, yes.”

“How?” Masha asked.

“I…I don’t know. I just do.”

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“Your eye looks better,” Yashina said in Russian.

“What?” Sam said.

“Your eye,” Masha said, pointing to her own cheekbone.

“Your black eye from this morning—it isn’t so…black.”

Sam reflexively felt her cheekbone.

“A mirror is over the sink,” Yashina said in Russian, pointing.

Sam turned and said, “Spasibo,” on her way to the mirror.

“What in the world is going on here?” Maria said.

Sam stepped up to the sink, looked into the mirror and froze.

She didn’t need an otoscope to see the swelling and purplish color that had surrounded the eye she had injured just hours ago was almost completely back to normal. But any thought of the rapid healing vanished as she watched her steel-blue eyes gradually changing to violet, like the western sky gradually changes to crimson during a sunset.

“They’re beautiful,” Maria said from behind.

“What? Are you crazy? It’s not my color,” Sam said incredulously.

“They’ll change back,” Maria said.

“Well, I certainly hope so,” Sam said. “I mean, who has violet…” she stopped. The young black man in the Ace Hotel lobby. He had bright, violet eyes. He stared at her and lifted his sunglasses so she could see his eyes. Who was he? Wait! What!

Was this a joke? How could he know?

“But you feel okay?” Maria said.

Sam paused to consider the question. “Yes. I think so.”

Maria nodded. “Your black eye is virtually gone, your eyes turned a gorgeous violet and you seem to have picked up the Russian language or at least some of it, after one day. When do I get to taste the punch?”

“Are you crazy? Not until we know it’s safe and right now we are far from knowing that.”

Yashina came over and caught Sam’s attention in the mirror.

The scientist’s eyes were filled with marvel and probably hope.

Age, illness and gloom had been left her little more than a fading legacy. Now, before her eyes, Sam’s wound was healing and who knows what else was happening.

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“Not yet. Let’s wait and see what happens,” Sam said as if she had read Yashina’s mind. Masha translated.

Sam slept most of the way back to Moscow. Once in the Petroff Palace, Sam begged to go to her room and bed.

Maria said, “I think you should be watched.”

“I’m really fine, just jet-lagged.”

“I took the same jet and didn’t have a three-hour nap in the car and I don’t want to sleep yet. Dinner will be in an hour.”

“Not for me. I just want to sleep,” Sam said.

Maria frowned. “No dinner?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“But in an hour…”

“I’ll be sound asleep,” Sam said.

Maria sighed. “Okay, but I’ll call you in an hour.”

“If you must.”

Maria continued to frown. “You’re scaring me.”

“I promise you I’m all right. I’m not dizzy or faint, not nauseous, not shaky, just want to take a shower and crash for a bit. Call me, I’ll be alive,” Sam said and then turned on her heel and padded to her room. She wanted to take a quick shower and sleep until she could think again. She unzipped, unbuttoned, dropped her clothes on the bathroom floor and then paused to look at herself as steam framed the edge of the mirror. Her black eye was completely gone and what used to be blue was now violet. She shook her head, unwilling to assess anything further as the steam stole what was left of her reflection and stepped into the shower. Too hot, she thought and adjusted the temperature lower and waited. The water didn’t seem to change much. She turned back on the hot water until it was completely off and waited still. Strange. Why wasn’t it cold? Something wrong with the plumbing, she thought. Whatever, she would deal with it tomorrow. She washed, dried and fell face down on her bed, naked. Her skin tingled with heat and the cool air blowing from the ceiling AC grill felt good on her bare back, like it would if she had a sunburn. But she hadn’t been in the sun. Her mind drifted to other places; on a motorcycle, the road blurring under her spinning front wheel, wind in her face, the drone of the engine, 131

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winding turns, leaning from side to side, the fiery sunset ahead, dusk, billions of stars. A minute later, or so it seemed, there was a knock at the door.

Sam rolled to a sit and padded to the door. She didn’t trust peepholes, so she latched the lock and said, “Yes?” “It’s Maria.”

Sam unlatched the door and opened it a few inches. “I’m alive but sleepwalking. What’s up?”

“I called twice and didn’t get an answer. I got worried.”

Sam frowned. “You called? When?”

“I waited an hour and then called like you said and then called again five minutes later. I’m sorry if I woke you, but I got worried.”

“Wait, how long…”

“We talked an hour and fifteen minutes ago,” Maria said.

“Wow, I don’t remember falling asleep.”

“How are you feeling?”

Sam paused and thought. “Pretty good. One second,” she said and reached into the bathroom for a white terrycloth robe.

“Come on in,” she said as she slipped on the robe and sat on the bed.

Maria sat on the edge of a tightly upholstered chair and leaned forward. “Your eyes are still violet. In fact, brighter,” she said and then frowned. “You look great.”

“I feel hot,” Sam said.

“You are hot,” Maria said, nodding.

Sam rolled her eyes. “I mean like I need to get into something cooler; this robe feels like a goose-down parka,” she said and then got up and opened her suitcase. She fished around and tossed blue lace panties and a sandy cotton romper onto the bed and then dropped the robe and wiggled into the light linens. “Ah, that’s better,” she said with a stretch and then turned to Maria, who was wide-eyed and unblinking. “How do I look? Okay?”

“I’m…speechless.”

“That bad? Anyway, I’m starving; let’s hit the dining room.”

“I thought you wanted to sleep till tomorrow. You were dead an hour ago.”

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Sam nodded thoughtfully and then shrugged and said, “I feel wide awake now and hungry. How do you feel?”

“After seeing you naked, I feel like I want to go to the gym.”

Sam laughed and said, “Yeah, right. I’ve been thinking the same thing all week. That’s why I was down there this morning, which didn’t turn out to be such a great idea.”

“Except that it’s gone,” Maria said. “It’s completely gone.”

“Maybe it wasn’t as bad as it looked.”

“It was bad.”

“Seriously, I can eat a horse. Call Masha, see if she wants to join us.”

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27 Sam came back from the buffet table with her plate piled high for the second time. She sat down and dug in. Maria and Masha, still working on their first plates, stopped eating and stared at her.

“What?” Sam said incredulously as she sliced off a healthy chunk of rare prime rib and buttered it with mashed potatoes.

Masha dabbed at her lips with a napkin and said, “A good appetite is a good sign. You had us worried. I’m surprised you bounced back from everything so quickly.”

“Oh, she’s full of surprises today,” Maria said and then stabbed again at her salad.

Sam swallowed and said, “So what’s on tonight’s agenda?”

Maria and Masha exchanged a glance and Maria said, “Tonight?”

“Yes. We should enjoy a little of Moscow before we head home,” Sam said.

Maria blinked and said, “Before you wanted to sleep all night.”

“I know, but now I feel like we should have some fun.”

Masha laughed. “That is good to hear. We can go to Gorky Park. There is always something to do there.”

“Perfect,” Sam said.

Maria shook her head, laughed and said, “Why not? If you’re up to it, let’s go.”

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was warm and a young boy played an old white accordion against a dirty gray stone wall. Sam stopped. The music was familiar, but she didn’t know it by name. She did, however, know the name of the notes he was playing and somehow knew which notes he would play next. How? she wondered. She had played piano as a child but marveled at this present recognition. She thought she had forgotten everything, but now it all seemed fresh. More than fresh. He finished the piece, a small audience applauded politely and pocket change bounced quietly in his open felt-lined case.

Apparently done for the evening, the boy unburdened his little shoulders from the padded harness and slid the instrument off to the sidewalk.

Sam turned to Maria and said, “Ask him if I could try his accordion.”

“What?”

“Tell him I’ll drop a nice tip into that case.”

“You’re serious?”

“Yes, just ask him.”

“You know how to play that thing?”

“I think so.”

“You think so?” Maria said with a quizzical look and then spoke to the boy in Russian. He readily agreed and motioned for Sam to take the instrument.

Masha laughed and said, “Is Sam always this much fun?”

“I’m beginning to wonder the same thing,” Maria said.

Sam slid on the harness and sat on the boy’s little wooden stool. The scratched instrument had seen its day. Her memory felt alive, crisp and not just photographic but colorfully videographic. She recounted the boy’s movements and sounds as her fingers relaxed onto the keys and buttons. She closed her eyes, slowly opened the diaphragm and played. She saw the boy’s hand, remembered long past piano lessons, recognized the notes by sound and felt the rhythm in perfect time. She finished and opened her eyes. Another small audience had gathered and showed their appreciation in the open case. Masha and Maria laughed and clapped. The young boy smiled widely and helped her with the accordion. Sam dropped her own token of appreciation in the case, enough to purchase a new instrument.

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“That was great,” Masha said as they entered Gorky Park’s gate. “I didn’t know you knew how to actually play.”

“Neither did she,” Maria whispered, but Sam heard her and gave her a smile.

The park was vast and robust with physical activities on wide asphalt walkways. To the right, a sandy beach on a little manmade lake with rented rowboats that reminded Sam of Central Park back in New York. They passed long lines to a rental facility for Rollerblades, bicycles, toys and games. Rows of concession stands for all types of food and drinks. The path continued to the Moscow River, where the sunset reflected off the smooth surface of a strong current that carried ferries and dinner boats back and forth. Across the river, blue lights dotted an outline of modern architecture on government buildings. Everything was clean, very clean. A crowd surrounded a drummer, who amazed with just a three-piece set. Rollerblades and bikers weaved around couples holding hands. A huge movie screen surrounded by stadium bleachers showing a sci-fi movie in Russian that Sam knew to be opening that same night in New York. A larger crowd gathered around a stage in an open square, where a band played “I Will Survive,” by Diana Ross. The singer was doing a great job and Sam skipped to the beat as they continued. As the pop music faded behind them, Sam heard something else up ahead.

“Is that Latin music?” Sam said.

Maria frowned. “I don’t hear anything.”

Masha said, “You have good ears. There’s Latin dancing ahead.”

“Really?” Maria said. “I love salsa, but I don’t hear anything, do you?”

Masha shook her head and laughed. “No, but it’s coming up.”

“Did anyone bring baby water?” Sam asked. “My mouth is so dry.”

Masha dug into her sizable handbag and handed one to Sam. “Ah, spasibo,” Sam said as she took hold of the wet plastic and then leaned back and drained it all at once, a little spilling down her cheeks and onto her blouse. She didn’t care, wiped her lips with her forearm and tossed the empty bottle ten feet into an open can. Perfect shot.

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“Score,” Maria said. “We’re feeling pretty frisky, aren’t we?”

Sam turned to her and, breaking into a serious tone, said, “I don’t know what’s going on. I’ve never felt more alive. I can actually feel the water I just drank spreading outward. I hear sounds crackling through the air from things that are usually quiet, like the footsteps of sneakers after they have passed us.

I smell foods and know exactly what’s being cooked and with what spices. Someone over there”—she motioned—”is eating parmesan on corn with butter.

Maria’s brow raised. “You’re joking.”

“Nope, as soon as the breeze shifted from southeast to north, it was there and now I’m hungry for it.”

“Wait,” Maria said, turning and frowning. “Where’s southeast?

How do you know…”

“There”—Sam pointed—”to the left of those food shacks.”

Maria followed Sam’s finger. “Which makes north?”

“That way.” Sam pointed. “Upriver. I see colorful butterflies landing on flowers on the other side of the river.”

Maria stared blankly. “When can I have a sip of that energy drink?”

Sam paused and considered the question. “Let’s wait a little longer. And I have no idea what quantity to give you. Amount might matter a lot of maybe not at all. You know what happened to me earlier. Let’s not chance repeating that with you tonight.”

Maria nodded. “Okay, makes sense. Just feel like I’m missing out.”

Sam laughed. “You are, but if it proves safe, you will catch up, I promise.”

“Sounds good,” Maria said.

“What also sounds good is that music,” Sam said.

Maria lifted her chin as if that would somehow draw the sound toward her.

“You hear it now?” Sam asked.

“Faintly.”

Sam said, “My head is going to explode. Back in New York, I was having trouble hearing you from two feet away with all the noise in Breslin’s. Now I can I hear every note from a half mile, above all the surrounding noise.”

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The busy asphalt path curved to the river, a row of restaurants with outdoor seating, a walking bridge crossing the Moscow River and then two large concrete patios, where maybe a hundred people were stepping and twirling to Latin music. People on the walking bridge, above the last restaurant, were leaning on the railing, watching and even participating in the dancing.

Sam turned to Masha. “This place is so alive.”

“Let’s join in,” Masha said.

Sam and Maria nodded and laughed and the trio took the wide stairs to the dance floor and quickly fell into the six-step beat of the salsa.

“Quick, quick, slow. Quick, quick, slow,” Masha said, leading the way.

“Got it,” Sam said.

One song led to the next and they danced and danced. Sam was learning faster than she thought possible. This had never been so easy, so natural and she felt so much energy, so alive.

She spun and twirled. The sun was setting and dusk was moving in, but her vision was still sharp. Suddenly, she saw something, mid-twirl, that grabbed her complete attention. She stopped amid all the movement around her and snapped her chin back in the direction of a man staring at her while leaning on the railing above. It was him. Him! The young black man from the Ace Hotel lobby, with the dreadlocks…and the violet eyes. What!

How! Why! He smiled, winked and then backed away from the railing. He was gone.

Sam wanted to run after him, but she didn’t. He had obviously followed her, all the way to Russia and, for that matter, probably to the Ace Hotel also and who knows where else. He had a Russian visa? She had no idea who this guy was, but his presence, even at the Ace, appeared non-threatening. And she had his violet eyes now. Why? Did he also drink the pillar’s energy punch? But how could that be possible? None of this made any sense.

“Sam? Are you all right?” Maria asked.

Sam turned. Maria and Masha were still dancing but staring at her with worried expressions.

“I’m fine. I just saw someone who looked familiar,” Sam said and joined them.

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Maria frowned. “Familiar?”

“We Russians all look alike, you know,” Masha said.

“It’s true,” Maria said with a straight face.

They all laughed and Sam said, “Let’s head on back to the Petroff Palace and have a drink. We leave tomorrow and it would be nice to celebrate our success.”

“Sounds good,” Maria said. “Do you think my drink could include a little taste of your—” “Pillar punch?” Sam interrupted.

Maria smiled. “I like that. Pillar punch. Yes, you read my mind.”

Masha laughed. “I don’t think Sam needed any heightened powers of perception to finish that sentence.”

Sam glanced up to where she had seen the young black man and then nodded. “Let’s go,” she said.

Maria’s eyes lit up.

139

28 The Petroff Palace lobby was empty as Sam led the way to the mahogany bar and sat down. A handsome blond man in a nicely tailored navy-blue suit walked speedily across the burgundy carpet and slipped behind the bar. “The bartender has left for the evening—” “But you would be honored to mix us some drinks and we would be honored to dink them,” Sam interrupted.

The man laughed pleasantly. “Thank you; I shall try my best.”

“What’s your name?” Masha asked.

Both Sam and Maria looked at her. Masha shrugged and smiled.

“Andrei.”

Masha pointed and said, “Maria, Sam, and I’m Masha.”

Andrei nodded and said, “It is my pleasure to meet you all.

What would you like to drink?”

Sam said, “Could you make us three Beluga gimlets, straight up and an empty shot glass. Do you have any fatty herring?”

Andrei looked at her woefully as he put an empty shot glass on the bar and said, “We don’t have Beluga vodka or fatty herring.”

“Russian Standard Platinum?” Sam asked.

“Of course,” he said and went to work.

“What’s the shot glass for?” Maria asked, smiling.

Sam set a small white plastic energy shot bottle on the counter.

Maria’s brow raised. “Is that what I think it is?” she asked.

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“Yes. It’s a fraction of what I took, so it should have less of a kick. I still feel great, but I don’t know how long the enhanced energy lasts; the drink is not time-tested. I would imagine it will be out of my system soon, but let’s start small; I’d rather be safe than sorry. If there’s no ill effect, there’s plenty more,” Sam said and turned to Masha. “And you are welcome to try it also.”

Masha put up her hands and shook her head, smiling. “Thank you very much, but not tonight. I have some important early meetings tomorrow and I can’t risk being too tired. I can always get some from Yashina,” she said.

Sam nodded and turned back to Maria. She was staring at the container. “Having second thoughts?” Sam asked.

Maria laughed nervously. “Can I smell it?”

Sam smiled. “Dipping your toe in the water?”

“After watching you today…absolutely,” Maria said. “On the other hand, by the time I wake up, it might be out of my system too with such a small amount.”

“Maybe,” Sam said as she unscrewed the top and poured the clean, amber-tinted elixir halfway up the shot glass.

Maria looked at both of them for advice, but none came. She took a deep breath, exhaled, brought the shot glass to her nose and closed her eyes. “Smells nice. Like aromatic flowers,” she said.

“Like chamomile and sassafras?” Sam suggested.

“Yes,” Maria said. “A little like root beer.”

Andrei placed a rock glass in front of each of them and poured the cold gimlets.

Masha thanked him.

“Looks perfect,” Sam said and raised her glass to toast. “To Adam, who was considerate enough to write down the recipe for us on the pillar and to Svetlana Yashina, who ingeniously brought back our little flower from thirty thousand years of extinction.”

Maria picked up her glass and said, “And to Sam Conway, for putting it all together.”

Masha joined in and said, “And to continued health.”

They clinked their glasses and followed Sam’s lead by draining the glasses and hitting them onto the bar top with authority.

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Maria raised her shot and said, “And speaking of continued health,” and tossed the contents into her mouth and swallowed with a loud “Ah. Damn, that’s tasty.”

“Wow,” Sam said, surprised. “You did it. Just like that.”

“Well, how could I not after watching you all day?”

“Uh, I remember some scary moments too,” Masha said.

Sam looked at Masha and then back to Maria. “Let me know if you feel anything.”

Maria shrugged. “So far, nothing. What should I be feeling?”

“I’m not sure,” Sam said. “I drank much more than you. I had half a bottle and you just took half a shot, so nothing sounds likely, which I’m kind of hoping. I can always give you more.”

Maria nodded, but then her brow raised. “I think I feel a slight tingling.”

“In your fingers?” Sam asked.

Maria nodded. “Yes and in my toes.”

“Really, I felt that too,” Sam said. “Anything else?”

“My scalp is tingling a little. I kind of feel it everywhere but very slight, pleasant.”

“How’s your throat feel?” Sam asked.

Maria paused to think. “Like I just drank seltzer.”

Sam nodded. “Light-headed at all?”

Again, Maria paused. “No. Just tingly.”

“Your face is a little flush,” Sam said. “Does it feel warm?”

“Hmm, not really.”

Andrei appeared and asked, “Another round of gimlets?”

Sam shook her head. “No, thank you.”

Masha held up a finger. “Wait, I’ll have another.”

They all chuckled and Andrei went to work.

“Your face was flushed,” Maria said to Sam. “Sam’s was more flushed,” Masha said.

“Too bad I don’t have a black eye for you to watch,” Maria said. “Yours virtually healed before our eyes. And it’s completely healed now.”

“Black eyes are not hard to get,” Sam said. “Be careful what you wish for.”

“How are my eyes?” Maria asked.

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Sam shrugged. “The same.”

“They’re not changing to violet?”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Is that what this is all about?”

“Well, yes,” Maria said and laughed. “No, seriously, are they?”

Sam shook her head. “Sorry. They’re the same beautiful dark green they’ve always been.”

Maria sighed.

Andrei returned with Masha’s gimlet.

“Well, I am getting a little sleepy,” Maria said. “That did happen to you too.”

“Yes, but that was this morning and I slept for hours. You’ve been awake all day; combined with the jet lag, you should be more than a little tired,” Sam said.

“Tomorrow’s another big day of travel,” Maria said and yawned. “Maybe we should get some sleep?”

Sam frowned. “I’d like to keep an eye on you a bit longer.”

Maria smiled. “This is role reversal. Didn’t we say something like that to you earlier?” she said and slowly stood up. “Sweet dreams, ladies. See you at breakfast.”

Sam watched Maria drag her feet across the room and disappear into the hallway toward her room. She turned to Masha. “What do you think?”

“I think gimlets are my new drink,” Masha said with a wink.

“I also think Maria will have a big breakfast.”

Sam looked back to the hallway.

143

29 Sam awoke for the second day in a row with the morning sun lighting up the room as if it was noonday. But this time she wasn’t surprised that her table clock read only 5:46 a.m. She was, however, surprised that she was suddenly very awake. She would have normally rolled over and tried to get some more sleep. In fact, after yesterday’s high energy ride, she figured to be burnt out and sleep late. Now, she didn’t want to sleep at all. Was the pillar punch still at work? No hangover? No fatigue?

Sounds. Down the hall were footsteps on the carpet, a woman’s. She immediately and involuntarily calculated weight and stride, but how did she know any of that? She heard birds, traffic and a train in the subway that was two blocks away… moving eastbound. And she was naked, on top of the covers, but not cold. She looked at the thermostat across the room. She didn’t know how she could see it so clearly, but she could. The room temperature was higher than the setting. How? She? Was she heating the room? She remembered the cold shower she had yesterday, how it didn’t feel cold. She decided to take another and swung her legs off the bed. That was easy. Easier than yesterday.

She felt strong and very clearheaded.

Sam padded to the bathroom and turned the shower on.

Before getting in, she was stopped by what she saw in the mirror.

Her body. Her still-violet eyes widened. The signs of age and neglect that sent her to the gym yesterday were…gone. She cupped her breasts to prove to herself what she was seeing in the mirror were hers. Definitely perkier than yesterday. She turned 144

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to look at her butt. Was it firmer? Wait, where was her scar? The scar on her left butt cheek she had since the age of twelve was gone. She checked her elbow for another scar. Gone. Then both knees. Gone and gone. A smile grew into a laugh. How can this be bad? She looked younger, felt younger. But scars vanishing? Scars?

How can scars vanish? She moved closer to the mirror and zeroed in on her face. Her black eye was gone with zero evidence it was ever there. Her skin was smoother, younger. Was she dreaming?

She was only thirty-three but looked twenty-five.

She turned and stepped into the shower. Once again, the handle was all the way cold, but the water felt perfect. She laughed again. This was crazy. She soaped up and marveled at the body beneath her sliding fingers. Her muscles were hard, her skin tight, not even a blemish. Where did everything go?

Suddenly, there was knocking at her door. It was barely six in the morning. Who could that be? “Just a minute,” she yelled. She shut off the shower and threw on her terrycloth robe and then opened the door.

“Maria!” Sam said.

“Tah-daaah!” Maria said, flipping her arms and palms to the ceiling as if she was unveiling herself to an audience and indeed she was; Sam. A wide smile and batting black lashes with bright violet eyes.

“Oh my God,” Sam said. “Come in here.”

Maria danced into the room and Sam shut the door.

“How did you sleep?” Sam said.

“Comatose,” Maria said, standing in one place but still dancing. “Not even a dream. But woke up like a switch was flicked on.”

“How do you feel?”

“Illegally good. Like a billion. And I got my eyes,” she said, batting her lashes again.

“I noticed,” Sam said. “We might need sunglasses.”

“I’m throwing mine out,” Maria said with a laugh. “How long will this last?”

“I don’t know. I was a little surprised to see mine were still with me. Did you take a shower yet?”

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“No, why? Do I smell?”

Sam rolled her eyes. “No. Just wondering how your water temperature is.”

“Oh well, it was fine yesterday.”

Sam nodded. “Yesterday is gone.”

“Huh?” “Nothing. You hungry?”

Maria turned serious. “I’m starving.”

“How’d I guess?”

“You?” “Actually, yes, but just curious; do you have any scars?”

Maria frowned. “Scars?”

“Yes, you know, from an injury?”

“Show and tell time, huh?” Maria said as she looked at the top of her left hand. She held it out. “I got this ice skating when I was ten. I fell and someone skated over my hand.”

Sam looked at it. A little inchworm-size scar.

“What’s wrong?” Maria asked.

Sam paused thoughtfully and then said, “Virtually nothing, it appears. Virtually nothing. Hey, let’s get some breakfast.”

The dining room was empty except for a middle-aged man in a silver business suit reading the London Times.

“Busy day,” Sam said as she went right for the lavish buffet.

When they sat down at their table to eat, their plates were filled with scrambled eggs, salmon, bacon and fried potatoes.

The waiter served them hot coffee as they ate like wolves and the plates were soon empty.

Maria looked up, her violet eyes virtually sparkling. “I could really go for some oatmeal,” she said.

“Don’t look, but the waiters are looking at us. I did the same thing yesterday at dinner. We’re shoveling in food as if we were just sprung from a concentration camp.”

“They probably think it’s because we are from America,” Maria said, jestingly.

“But you’re Russian.”

“They think I caught it from you.”

“Funny. What are we going to tell people if our eyes stay this way?” Sam asked, thinking about the young black man.

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“Do you think they will?” Maria asked, smiling.

“I don’t know.”

“Why not just tell people the truth?”

“What, that we mixed powder from an extinct tree with an extinct flower and Russian baby water?”

Maria laughed. “Yeah, why not?”

“We can’t. Not till we know more about it.”

Maria nodded. “I guess I better not throw out my sunglasses then.”

Sam nodded and sighed. “You know, I kind of like this place.

I’ll be a little sad to leave.”

“Yes, I know. Do we have time for a swim?”

Sam shrugged. “Sounds good. Our flight doesn’t leave until three thirty.”

“Great, we’ll swim and get some lunch,” Maria said.

Sam smiled and looked at the waiters. “If they let us back in.”

147

30 Sam knocked on Tyler’s door and walked in. “Honey, I’m home,” she called out. No answer. She parked her luggage in the living room, walked into the kitchen and saw Tyler sitting Indian style, head in hands, on the back lawn next to Cedar. She walked out. “Is this a private party, or can anyone join in?” she asked.

Tyler looked up. His eyes were red and wet. He looked back down.

“Oh my God, Ty, what’s the matter?” Sam said and knelt down next to him.

His mouth moved, but at first, no sound came out. “We have an appointment tomorrow morning at the v-e-t,” he said. “He’s always hated that place. But it will be, you know, his last visit.”

Sam closed her eyes and a tear squeezed out. She sighed and looked at Cedar. “Hey, buddy,” she said, patting his head. His tail twitched but failed to wag. She looked at Tyler. “Can I get you something?”

Tyler shook his head but said nothing.

“When did you eat last?”

He shrugged.

“How about an omelet?”

He shrugged again, which Sam took as a yes.

“Okay, I’m starving, so I’ll make a big one to split.”

Tyler nodded but kept staring at the lawn.

Sam went back to the kitchen and checked the fridge. Eggs, cheese and milk were in plain sight. On the door was a small bottle of marinated artichoke hearts and some cocktail olives.

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She grabbed them all and went to work. She also found some frozen string beans in the freezer and put them in a deep-frying pan. She turned on the flame and cracked six eggs into an empty plastic container, probably from a Chinese food delivery. She then chopped up olives, artichoke hearts and an onion from a hanging wire basket, added that to the container, covered it and shook it hard as if she was making a martini. She poured the thick mix onto the string beans and then laid four slices of cheese on top. She grabbed some plates from the cupboard, set them on the counter and then turned and folded the omelet. Cheese oozed and it smelled delicious. “Come and get it,” she yelled.

Tyler moped in, paused at the door to look back to Cedar and then dragged his flip-flops to the round kitchen table and fell into a seat. Sam slid a plate in front of him with a hot coffee and then did the same for herself at the seat across from him.

“Think I’ll bring a taste out to Cedar,” Sam said and sliced a corner off her omelet.

Tyler nodded without looking up. “Don’t put it in his dish; Sparky will get it.”

“Sparky?” Sam said.

“The cat from next door. He eats all the good food I put in Cedar’s dish. He can’t do anything to stop him anymore.”

Sam nodded, stepped out, let the screen door close behind her and knelt next to Cedar. She brought the small portion to his nose.

The nose moved and then the tongue. He took it. Sam glanced toward the screen door and then pulled a little plastic bottle from her and unscrewed the top. She scratched Cedar behind his ears and then gently lifted back his lip and trickled a few drops onto his teeth. She didn’t want to give him much, having no idea how it would affect a dog and in such dire condition, but if it could ease his pain, maybe his last day would be less torturous. In any case, low risk and nothing to lose. Cedar licked at the liquid on his teeth as he swallowed the omelet morsel.

“He ate it,” Sam said as she took her seat.

Tyler nodded as he cut and stabbed with his fork. “It’s delicious. Thanks,” he said and took a sip of his steamy coffee.

He looked at her and frowned. “What’s with the tinted contact lenses?”

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Sam paused chewing and then swallowed. “You like?” she said and sipped some coffee.

Tyler shrugged. “They’re different.”

Wonderful, Sam thought, sarcastically.

After eating Sam opened her luggage and retrieved a sealed gym bag containing the objects of her travels. She brought them into the basement and then into the shelter. She flicked on the lights and illuminated the canvas-covered pillars. She lifted the canvases on each just to confirm they were still there. They were.

She set the gym bag with the rare flowers and a few baby-water bottles of the precious elixir on the counter.

“What’s in there?”

Sam spun around. “Jesus, Ty, you startled me.”

“Sorry, just thought you might need some help.”

Sam exhaled. “No, I’m good. Just wanted to leave a few things from the trip,” she said and ushered him out the door and up the stairs.

“How was the trip?” Tyler asked as they walked to the kitchen door and stepped outside.

“It was pretty amazing,” Sam said casually.

“Amazing?” Tyler snorted. “In other words, you and whoever was with you were almost arrested or killed?”

Sam laughed. “No, why would you say that?”

“Because I’ve known you since we were ten.”

“Eleven.”

“Whatever. How amazing could it be if no one was chasing you…with a gun?”

“Maybe I’ve changed.”

Tyler turned and looked her in the eyes. “If you’re trying to make me laugh, do it after tomorrow. I don’t want to laugh today.”

Sam’s cell phone rang with gunshot sounds, a ringtone designated for her brother, Jesse. “Hi, Jess,” she answered.

“Everything all right?”

“D-d-don’t forget it’s Uncle E-eh-Ed’s b-birthday today. He’s one h-h-hundred.”

“Uncle Ed’s one hundred today?”

“Yes.” 150

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“Wow. Got it. I’ll go see him. Want to come?”

“N-no. B-but don’t forget.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll tell him you said hi. Love you, bye,” Sam said and hung up.

“Your uncle Ed is one hundred?” Tyler said.

“Yeah, I better go see him. He’s in the hospital. Not good. He won’t be making it to one hundred and one.”

Tyler sighed. “Time is flying by too fast,” he said and motioned to Cedar. “Just yesterday he was a puppy.”

Sam nodded and then looked at her watch.

151

31 Sam eyed the room numbers as she walked down a highgloss vinyl floor at North Shore University Hospital. Room 246.

The door was open and Uncle Ed was in plain view, propped up in bed, eyes closed, mouth open. She had never known him when he was young, but on his one-hundredth birthday, she thought he looked a hundred and twenty. Several yards further down the corridor was a nurse coral with a few staffers, busily attending computer screens and cell phones. No one as much as glanced in her direction. She turned into Uncle Ed’s room.

“Hello,” Sam said at the foot of his multifunctional bed. No reply. Above and behind him, a flat screen displayed changing red and green numbers that indicated heart rate, blood pressure and some other vitals that Sam didn’t recognize. On the floor behind the bed was a narrow oxygen tank anchoring a tube that flowed over his pillow, across his ears and lassoed his nostrils. From an IV pole on this right hung two clear bags of liquid dripping into more tubes that draped loosely to his wrists. “Hello,” she repeated a little louder, over sounds of beeps and hissing. “Uncle Ed? It’s Sammy.”

The old man’s eyelids barely opened to slits. His mouth remained open but moved slightly. How does this happen? she thought. Uncle Ed was at least able to talk in grunts with open eyes the last time she visited, some six months ago. She sighed and then looked to the door as she slipped her right hand into her pants pocket and found her little plastic five-hour-energy 152

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bottle and circled the bed to his side. She sensed he was aware of her movement but made none of his own.

Sam leaned toward his ear. “Happy birthday, Uncle Ed. Do you know how old you are today?”

The only response was a slow blink and she couldn’t determine if it meant yes or no or if he had just twitched.

“You’re one hundred years old. Isn’t that amazing?”

Uncle Ed’s eyes blinked again.

“Was that blink for me, Uncle Ed?” Uncle Ed blinked again.

“Okay then. That’s fine. I understand perfectly. I brought you a little birthday present. A little drink to wet your dry tongue.

Would you like that?”

A blink.

Sam unscrewed the plastic cap and slowly dripped the contents just inside Uncle Ed’s parched lips. The tongue moved and to Sam’s delight, his mouth closed and opened again.

“What are you doing?” came a voice from the door.

Sam quickly looked and saw a well-fed short nurse.

“Oh, hi. It’s his one-hundredth birthday today and I just gave him a tasty little drink to wet his lips,” Sam said with a smile.

“With five-hour energy?” the nurse said incredulously.

“Oh no, this isn’t actually five-hour energy. I just used it as a container for some fruit punch. It’s really harmless,” Sam said brightly. “And he seems to like it. Isn’t that right, Uncle Ed?” Uncle Ed blinked and licked his lips.

The nurse frowned and then shifted her gaze to Sam. “Are you Samantha Conway?”

“Yes,” Sam said, relieved to change the subject.

The nurse nodded. “I’ve seen you on television. At first, I thought you were a look-alike.”

“And then?”

“Edward Conway,” she said, motioning to her uncle.

Sam nodded. “And you are?”

“Ann, Ann Gonzales,” she said. “Are you sure that wasn’t fivehour energy?”

“A hundred percent.”

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Uncle Ed’s eyes opened slightly wider.

“He seems to be perking up a little,” the nurse said.

“I’m his favorite niece,” Sam said as she looked at him quizzically. “Isn’t that right, Uncle Ed?” He blinked.

Sam turned to the nurse and shrugged with a smile.

“Would you mind if I smelled the five-hour-energy bottle?”

“Smell it?”

“Yes, please. I just have to make sure. It’s for your uncle’s protection.”

Sam frowned and produced the bottle. She unscrewed the cap and held it firm. Nurse Gonzales reached for it, but Sam pulled it back. “You said smell,” she said and held it out.

The nurse leaned in and sniffed. “Root beer?”

“His favorite,” Sam said.

The nurse nodded. “It seems birthday presents get simpler as we get older.”

“Yes. What’s important is, he knows he’s loved,” Sam said as she put the little bottle away.

“I hope he knows that,” Nurse Gonzales said. “He hasn’t known really anything for some time now.”

Sam frowned and then leaned over and kissed Uncle Ed on the forehead. “Jesse couldn’t make it, but he says he loves you and happy birthday,” she said and left. She looked back before turning the corner and saw Nurse Gonzales by Uncle Ed’s door, watching her.

154

32 Sam paid her parking fee at the North Shore University Hospital garage and the toll arm lifted. She drove into bright light and reached for her sunglasses. She paused to look at her eyes in the mirror. No color change and she still felt as if her new glistening eyes belonged to someone else. This was all quite unbelievable. She hadn’t slept at all during the ten-hour flight and then dropped Maria off at the train station and then drove straight to Tyler’s, where she dropped off her Russian treasures in the bomb shelter, made them breakfast, then visited Uncle Ed and now, of all things, felt like getting some exercise under a brilliant blue sky. She was full of energy. Why? She waited at the hospital exit’s traffic light and looked at herself in the rearview mirror. “You are one crazy lady!” she said to her reflection and then playfully batted her lashes like Maria had when she stood at the hotel-room door, flashing her new violet eyes.

An engine revved behind her. A motorcycle. The light had turned green. “Oops. Sorry,” she sang and turned right onto Community Drive. A mile later, she turned right onto Northern Boulevard. The motorcycle that had revved at her also turned.

What a perfect day for a ride! she thought. The rider looked as if he was enjoying himself, casually dressed to feel the warm wind flapping through his white T-shirt and khaki cargo shorts. She imagined a big smile behind his full yellow helmet and tinted visor. She suddenly had an urge to get a motorcycle. Decker probably had one somewhere, she thought and then remembered 155

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something that made her smile. Her Rollerblades were in the back.

She traveled a few more miles and turned left into the Nassau County Museum of Art. The 150 or so acres used to be the Frick Estate, but the mansion and grounds had been donated to the county and converted into a wonderful park with giant modern art sculptures randomly placed in the grass fields. A one-mile smooth asphalt road looped up and down through the fields without any intersections. Perfect for rollerblading and with energy to burn, Sam wanted to get some wind in her own face and now. She parked and opened her rear door. She pulled out a Whole Foods’ bag that fit her rollerblades and gear better than a gym bag. She slipped into her K2 racers and Bose headphones, loaded up some music on her iPhone and dashed off. She liked blues and southern rock with a strong backbeat to sync with each forward push of the skate. She swayed on the flats and tucked for speed on the downhills. She felt so damn alive and strong.

Electric. The wind was loud as she leaned sharply into a curve.

When had she ever gone so fast with such ease? She did eight loops and, though dripping sweat, felt like could have done eight more but turned back into the parking lot. She was excited to call Decker and bring him up to speed on all that had happened since she saw him last and maybe talk him into some more outdoor fun.

Sam weaved through a few parked cars but suddenly stopped.

“What the…” Next to her car was a motorcycle. The rider leaned back on the rear-seat backrest, hands folded behind his yellow helmet, hiking boots crossed on the handlebars. He waved.

Sam pushed off and coasted to the front of the bike. She looked over the handlebars and his feet and said, “You following me for some reason?”

The biker lifted up his dark tinted visor and said, “You might say that.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “You!” The biker took off his helmet and long, brown braids fell to his shoulders. He dropped his feet to the pavement and hung his helmet on the handlebar mirror. His light violet eyes glistened 156

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like crystals. He smiled, perfect white teeth. “We need to talk,” he said.

“Talk? About what? Who are you?” Sam said.

“Easy. I come with good news, mostly. I’m your friend,” he said and extended his open palm. “You can call me Buz.” “Buz,” Sam said doubtfully and paused, unwilling to extend her own hand yet. “What’s your full name?”

He rolled his eyes. “Buz is my full name,” he said and then leaned back.

“I knew a horse named Buz. What kind of friend?”

“The very best.”

“Oh, really,” Sam said. “And how is that? And how did your eyes become violet?”

“Ah, you noticed.”

“Seriously, how?”

Buz shrugged. “The same way yours did.”

“That’s not possible. The recipe on the pillar is precise and requires ingredients only I have. I saw you before I went to Russia, before I had the flower. Your eyes were already violet.

Buz laughed. “You really have no idea what’s going on, do you, Dr. Samantha Conway?”

“Well, why don’t you fill me in, starting with how you know my name?” Sam said, folding her arms.

“Where shall we begin?” Buz said with a smile. “Of course, I knew about the famous Samantha Conway, but it wasn’t until a shepherd named Hakeem Salim handed you a piece of Methuselah’s Pillar in Kabul that you captured my attention. And when someone captures my attention—” “Wait, you know Hakeem?” Sam interrupted. “You know about the pillar? What do you know about Methuselah’s Pillar?

How could you know these things? Are you DIA? CIA?” “Whoa, whoa!” Buz laughed as he raised his hands in mock surrender. “I knew this would be fun, but you do have to calm down. More importantly, you have to stop treating people… and animals…to your new serum. You have no idea what you’re really doing.”

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“What! How do you know about that!” Sam said, her voice getting louder.

“I get around,” he said.

A shadow moved across the ground beneath them. Sam looked up in time to just catch sight of a huge bird before it passed over treetops. She looked back to Buz. “Did you see that?”

Buz smiled. “Tell me what you know about Methuselah’s Pillar.”

Sam looked up to the sky again and then back at Buz. She frowned. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious if you know what you’re working with.”

“So I take it you think you do?” Sam said, doubtfully.

“I know everything about the pillar.”

“How?” Buz waved his finger back and forth. “You’re not ready for how.”

Sam rolled her eyes.

“Doctor Conway, look…”

“Call me Sam.” Buz bowed. “Sam. At the rate you are going, our next conversation will be soon and your ability to hear will be many fold what it is now,” he said and started his bike. He pulled on his helmet and said, “Soon the pillar is not going to be safe in your friend’s bomb shelter. It must be moved.”

“But how did…?”

“And remember, hide the serum and don’t use any more of it,” he said and lowered his visor.

“Wait, Buz. I don’t understand…” she said as his wheels started to roll.

“You will,” he said and drove away.

The shadow reappeared on the pavement. Sam looked skyward. The huge bird had reappeared, flying away in the same direction as Buz. Her eyes widened as the bird flew away from her and disappeared over the distant trees. She had seen that before. But how could it be?

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33 Sam’s head was spinning and needed some sanity. She called Decker. After four rings, he answered.

“About time,” Decker said. His voice carried a familiarity that felt like home.

“Hi, Deck. Sorry I didn’t call sooner. It’s been kind of crazy.”

“What a surprise,” he said sarcastically. “You home?”

“Almost. When can we catch up? I need your voice of reason.”

“Well, that’s a first.”

“I’m dealing with a lot of firsts.”

“Talk to me.”

“Not on the phone,” she said and laughed. “There are a few things you’ll have to actually see to believe.”

Decker snorted. “With you, that would be everything.”

“Tomorrow?”

“What time?”

“Dinner?”

“Fine. Your booth at Breslin’s?”

“Perfect. I might ask Maria to join us, is that okay?”

“Maria?”

“Yes. I need to check up on her.”

Decker paused. “Sure.”

“It’s really important.”

“I’m sure it is,” Decker said. “No problem.”

Sam drove to her modest Glenwood home, where she had lived from birth with her younger brother, Jesse. Jesse had survived an auto accident a few years back but not without brain 159

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damage that left his speech impaired. With all the apparent healing capabilities of the pillar’s potion, Jesse’s condition had not escaped Sam’s circle of prime targets, but after Buz’s stern warning, did she dare make her only brother a member of her guinea-pig pen? What was the downside? Violet eyes? Was that even a negative side effect? Clearly, Maria didn’t think so.

Sam parked the Mini Cooper in her garage and walked through the kitchen and into the family room. Jesse was where he usually was, behind an old wooden desk in a cozy leather chair playing video games.

“H-hi,” he said without looking up at her, watching the screen and working his hand controls as if he was catching cockroaches with tweezers.

“Hi, Jess. How you feeling?”

“G-good. Did you s-see Uncle Ed?” “Yes. I told him you said happy birthday.”

Jesse nodded.

Sam watched him. He had thick, red hair, but she knew the scar that lay beneath. She thought about how her scars had vanished, how her black eye healed. What was Buz worried about? And who was he anyway but some young hipster? How did he know anything? How did he know so much about her and how was he following her? And that bird, was that him too? Too much.

She tried not to let her imagination get away from her.

Sam went into the kitchen and made herself a huge bowl of cornflakes and fruit. She was hungry again and eating like a horse, but, if anything, had lost a pound or two. She cleaned her cereal bowl and said good night to Jesse, who waved and went to her bedroom. A shower and bed would be perfect right now.

She stripped off her clothes and paused to look in the mirror. Her first impression was one of feminine delight, but then the objective scientist took over. She was thirty-three, but under close observation, she clearly looked twenty-five, maybe younger. Everyone had always told her she looked great, but as she became older, the compliments became more emphatic with each passing year because her body, with the proper diet and exercise she demanded of herself, was putting up a good fight 160

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against time. But time would eventually win. The battle was one everyone, even she, was destined to lose. How long was always the question. Good genes worked in her favor, but she was human. She allowed herself, in that moment, to fantasize in areas too fantastic for a scientist, but at the same time, suddenly too objective to push aside.

Methuselah, according to biblical legend, had reached the oldest age ever recorded—969 years. Of course, no one really believed that, but she wanted to put all preconceived beliefs on the shelf for a moment. After all, she was in possession of his petrified documents and she was using the actual pillar dust for a recipe that was transforming her both physically and mentally.

Being cautious not to call them facts, she considered some of the cursory myths within the legends.

Everyone along Methuselah’s family line lived for multiple life-spans of today’s standards, starting with Adam, who was surrounded by many legends, but she would just stick to his age for now. Adam’s days, 930, started to be counted after expulsion from the mythological Garden of Eden, the place where Methuselah’s Pillar was thought to have come from. Indeed, the pillar was made of petrified wood from a tree of unknown species. Sam’s study of the wood under a microscope revealed it was etched before it was petrified. That, of course, wasn’t even remotely possible, but she had absolutely no explanation, not even a highly improbable one, as to how it could appear that way.

Adam’s son, Seth, according to the Bible legend, lived for 912 years. Noah, 950. Enoch was said to have been translated without death. Extrabiblical evidence to support the long life-spans of the people in Genesis, the Bible’s first book, was found in the Sumerian King List. This list mentions a flood and gives the length of the reigns of kings before and after a flood. There were striking parallels between the Sumerian King List and Genesis, such as a flood event and a substantial decrease in the life-span of people after the flood. She wanted to refresh her memory with Genesis. Maybe there was something there that would read differently now.

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Sam stepped into the shower and again turned the water temperature all the way down. Obviously, her plumbing had the same temperature issues as the Petroff Palace. She soaped up.

Was this really her body? Was it ever this firm? This perfect?

On the way into bed, she grabbed the Bible off the shelf. She started reading from page one. “In the beginning…” she said aloud and then continued quietly. She read through each sentence slowly. It was all so familiar, but she focused on each sentence as if she were looking for lost car keys in tall grass. Sentences turned into chapters and her eyelids were finally getting heavy.

She leaned her head back into her soft pillow and the open book rested on her chest.

162

34 Ed Conway heard beeping. The beeping had been there all along, but suddenly, he became aware of it. He listened, consciously, no longer oblivious to a sound present during every second of his waning life and wondered, for the first time, what it was. He soon realized the beeping audibly reflected his own heart rate and then went on to differentiate the beeping from actual seconds and ascertained his resting heart rate was eightyfive. How did he do that? He never could before, ever, but now he could be confident he was correct.

He became aware of multiple attachments to his body. He felt them all without moving or seeing. A band at his head held a tube to his nostrils, sending oxygen into his sinuses, lungs and brain.

A clip pinched his left index finger and reported his pulse to the beeping machine and possibly somewhere else. He wondered where he was and the answer formed quickly in his mind. Odd. He had not been able to form clear answers for months or maybe years. He was in a hospital room being monitored. How long had he been like this? Time was fuzzy, but why were thoughts clearing like dawn fog in rising sunlight? Was he dying with his mind surging before shutting off completely? He hoped not.

Ed slowly opened his eyes and froze in shock. He could see.

His entire visual world, up until this point in time, had dwindled into fuzzy gray shadows of blurred moving images. He must be dreaming because he could see in dreams. No, he didn’t think this was a dream. God, let it be real, he prayed. He could see the crisp horizontal blinds, the heart-monitor screen with a line that 163

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spiked with each beat and the number eighty-five confirming his math calculations were correct. He could focus perfectly on the shiny clear tube winding and curling to his wrist. He could see with intense sharpness. He could suddenly see, hear, smell, feel and think. And he could do it with frightening ease. Why? How? What happened?

Just then he remembered something. A clue, he thought. His great-niece, Sammy, had visited him, wished him happy birthday and dripped something on his lips that made him feel tingles everywhere. When was the last time he felt anything?

So it was his birthday, but which one? He thought about how old he was. He tried to remember and it scared him he couldn’t, no idea, none. Eighty-something? He seemed to remember turning eighty. A big party. But no party this time. Not even his wife. Just Sammy. Wait. His wife. Where the hell was his wife?

Playing bridge, probably.

He heard footsteps approaching outside. They got louder and louder. Rubber soles, he thought. The footsteps passed and quieted until he couldn’t hear them anymore. He didn’t understand what was happening, but it was both frightening and exciting. The last he remembered, he needed hearing aids and even sounds he could hear with assistance weren’t clear. Now, he had zero amplification and not only heard footsteps outside but also somehow knew what sole she was wearing. And he knew it was a woman. How? Ed wanted to get out of bed. He had no doubt he was strong enough to do it, but he needed to be careful not to unplug anything, or the whole world will come running in. He started to move and cursed. They had put a damn catheter in. He sure as hell didn’t need that. There was no alarm attached there, he thought and then sat up with surprising ease, took a deep breath, exhaled and pulled it out. That felt weird but not so bad. He tossed it to the side and noticed his hands. “What the…”

His hands were red, in fact, so were his arms, feet, legs, everything. Like a sunburn. Hot to the touch and tingling. He considered ringing for a nurse, but a calm confidence told him he was all right. More than all right. This was Sammy’s doing and 164

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that young lady was special. Always had been. She knew what she was doing, he thought hopefully.

He wanted to call Sammy and ask her what in the blazes she gave him. His mind flooded with questions. What time was it? The darkness outside was a little lighter than when he first opened his eyes. The beginning of a new day. When was the last time he had that thought? He didn’t know how old he was, but he felt it was in the beginning of something new. This was wonderful.

He felt so alive and loved it, but how long would it last?

Ed didn’t understand what was happening to him, but there was one thing he understood without doubt. He was hungry. Not hungry as in “I feel like having something to eat” but ravenous as in “I’ll eat that plant and wash it down with whatever’s in that intravenous bag.” Whatever was happening to him was generating a ferocious appetite. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate anything. Was it too early to call Sammy? Ask her to bring food? *** Cedar awoke from a comatose sleep, feeling hot with pins and needles from head to tail. He smelled something very familiar, heard a crunching noise and opened his eyes. He was still lying flat out on the backyard lawn, right in front of him, enjoying his food, as always, was smelly Sparky, the neighbor’s calico fat cat.

Sparky paid him no attention, as usual, but Cedar felt a new surge of doggy backyard proprietorship and the need to enforce, Ty the eminence of his domain…now. There was no thought of the past physical limitations; only the present existed. And presently, Sparky was boldly trespassing on holy ground and Cedar was feeling indignantly righteous and very, very hungry.

At once, all four paws gripped the ground, dug in and thrust off with surprising power. Cedar was in midair before Sparky even looked up from the bowl. The pressure and puncture of Cedar’s fangs on Sparky’s back produced multiple shrieks not much unlike a danced-on rubber squeeze toy. The taste of

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Sparky’s warm blood flowing between Cedar’s teeth excited him wildly as he shook his head violently.

The back door flew open and master Tyler stood there aghast in his underwear, eyes like saucers. Cedar felt his tail happily wag and trotted over to meet his owner, carrying Sparky’s limp wet carcass. He dropped the dripping red fur at Tyler’s feet and then pranced in circles, feeling very excited and quite proud.

166

35 Sam awoke to sunshine slicing through her blinds. The antique wall clock read 7:37 a.m. She had slept for over eight hours. The skinny red second hand clicked with every second. It had moved silently before now, or at least that’s what she thought for the last three years. Her blankets were comfortable and she didn’t want to get up just yet. Relaxed, her thoughts brushed lightly on random pleasantries. She thought about having coffee just the way she liked it—cream, no sugar. She thought about wearing that one specific T-shirt that looked like all the others but wasn’t. The comfortable worn jeans that were getting tight but should fit perfectly now. The puffy white cumulous clouds floating in the blue sky. The wooden trunk under her windowsill that held her camping gear.

Sam noticed the Bible on the bed next to her and realized she had fallen asleep while reading it. She picked it up and fingered quickly through the pages to find where she left off. The first three chapters dealt with the creation of everything and fall of humankind. The next three chapters dealt with the proliferation of humankind, the specific descendants of Adam, their ages and a flood to reboot the entire failed program with Noah and whatever fit into the ark. Sam noted the absence of recorded life-spans outside Adam’s direct descendants. Clearly, this was a glaring occurrence. If humankind’s life-span had shrunk by 90 percent, why was there no mention of it, unless it hadn’t? Maybe Adam’s direct descendants’ longevity stood apart from the general population.

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Sam continued. Noah, his family and the animals left the ark and populated the earth like rabbits. Cities appeared and grew.

Humankind continued to get in trouble and lived about as long as modern humans. There were some exceptions but, again, direct descendants. She read through the story of the Tower of Babel.

The account was so absurd and unbelievable, even more than Noah’s ark. She almost closed the book. As a scientist researching legends, there was clearly meat to eat and bones to throw out.

The Tower of Babel appeared to be 90 percent bone at best, but she read it anyway. Abraham and his descendants helped her get focus back, though there were plenty of bones there too. She read through what seemed like hundreds of names, siblings, cousins, offspring, with no story attributed except the relational connection. Her reading shifted to a higher gear as she read through pages of genealogies.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed. She picked it up but didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?”

“Sam?” a male voice said. He sounded familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

“Yes, who is this?”

“It’s Uncle Ed,” the man said.

Sam’s eyes bulged, stunned. “What!” she said reflexively. “Say that again?”

“It’s Uncle Ed,” the voice repeated.

This wasn’t possible. “Uncle Ed?” she finally said, in disbelief.

Yesterday he could barely move his lips much less speak. And his voice was good, not of a man just turned one hundred.

“Yes, yes.”

“How did you get my cell-phone number?”

“I called the house and Jesse answered. He gave it to me.”

Jesse? “Oh! It’s…it’s wonderful to hear your voice,” she said and meant it, but a strange anxiety threaded its way into her chest.

“It’s even more wonderful to speak. I don’t think I’ve been able to. I don’t remember much before today,” he said with a chuckle.

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“Really? Sorry I haven’t been there much. I came by yesterday to wish you a happy birthday,” Sam said, not knowing what else to say. She wanted to see him in private.

“I remember. Thank you. What was that you gave me to drink?”

“Did you tell anyone about that?” Sam said, thinking about what Buz had warned and starting to understand why.

“No, I haven’t seen anyone yet.”

“Good; please don’t mention it to anyone.”

“No problem. What was it?”

“I can’t tell you over the phone. I’ll be in later and we’ll talk,” Sam said.

“Great. Can’t wait.”

“How else are you feeling?” Sam asked.

“Amazing; I feel like going home.”

“Home? Wait. You can’t yet. Don’t do anything till I get there.

Please,” Sam said.

“Okay, okay, honey. Don’t worry. I’ll behave any way you want. But I’d sure like to go down to the cafeteria. I’m starving.”

“Oh Jesus,” Sam said.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing, Uncle Ed. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll bring some food when I come.”

“Great; I can eat a horse. See you soon,” Ed said.

“I’ll get there ASAP,” Sam said and ended the call. She jumped out of bed and into what she called her “every days,” jeans, a white T-shirt and sneakers. Jesse was back at his usual pastime.

“You spoke to Uncle Ed?” she said as she passed through.

“Y-yes. I t-told him happy b-birthday. He-he wanted to talk to y-you.”

“I’m going to see him now,” Sam said.

“B-bring him food. He’s v-very hungry,” Jesse said.

She rolled her eyes. “Got it.”

Sam raced out of the driveway and decided to go to the shelter and drop off the little energy bottle. She didn’t want to give it to anyone else until she understood better what Buz had warned her about and she also didn’t want to have it on her in the 169

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hospital, just in case. Her tires skidded on sand as she came to a stop and she hurried inside.

“Always in a hurry,” Tyler said from somewhere as she ran down the stairs to the shelter. Ten seconds later she was running back up. She looked toward the kitchen and saw something that stopped her dead in her tracks.

“Oh my God, Ty. What have you done?” Sam said, her hand over her mouth.

“So apparently, those aren’t contact lenses you’re wearing.

Wait, that’s a double negative, or something,” Tyler said. His eyes were violet.

Suddenly, Cedar padded into the room wagging his tail, violet eyes. Sam squatted down to receive him. She grabbed behind his head and ruffled his ears. Cedar licked her face. Tears poured from her eyes.

“We had quite a memorable morning here today, Sam. You have really outdone yourself this time.”

“What happened?”

“Well, for me is, all started when I heard a cat screeching in the backyard. I jumped out of bed and ran to the door to see what all the commotion was about. You know what I saw?”

“No, what?”

“Cedar eating Sparky.”

Sam’s heart sank. “Who is Sparky?”

“The neighbor’s cat. He was apparently eating Cedar’s food and Cedar was suddenly able to do something about it.”

“My God!” Sam said, watching Cedar wag his tail.

“After that, I brought him in early for what I figured yesterday would be his last visit to the veterinarian. I knew everything had changed, but I wanted to know what was going on. The vet couldn’t believe his eyes. It didn’t take him long to decide the, uh, procedure was completely unnecessary at this time, or any time soon. But he was curious about his new eye color,” Tyler said.

“And so was I.” Sam looked up. “What did you tell him?”

“Nothing. I told him I didn’t know. Which was true.”

“But you couldn’t wait for me; you had to go find out for yourself?”

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Tyler laughed. “Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black? Yes, as soon as I saw his eyes changed to the color of your contacts, I realized those aren’t contacts,” he said, pointing at her eyes. “So I went down to the shelter to see what you brought back with you and saw some bottles that weren’t there before. So I sniffed and took a sip. All I did was take a taste what you gave Cedar.”

“And how do you feel?” Sam said.

“A little weird and very hungry. I was surprised when my eyes started changing color. How long does it last?”

Sam closed her eyes and shook her head. “I can’t believe you did this. I don’t know, Ty.” “Really, okay, whatever. I don’t care. You saved his life. And that’s all that matters,” Tyler said, tears welling up.

Sam nodded as she scratched behind Cedar’s ears. The dog nuzzled up to her as if he knew what she had done, as if he was thanking her, but that was something else that wasn’t possible.

“Has Cedar ever attacked a cat before?”

“No. I was surprised less about that, of course, but the thought did cross my mind.”

Sam frowned. “Ty, you can’t tell anyone about this,” she said emphatically.

Tyler shrugged. “Okay. Can I ask why?”

“No. I can’t tell you anything yet. Just don’t say a word about this to anyone,” Sam yelled, pointing her finger in his face.

“Okay, okay, jeez,” Tyler said, holding his hands up in surrender. “But what if—” “No buts. Anything you say will be wrong.”

Tyler sulked. “Can I ask you one thing?”

“No. What?”

“Will it kill me?”

Sam looked at him blankly for a moment and then burst out laughing and said, “Probably.”

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36 Sam was racing to North Shore Hospital and Uncle Ed, when she remembered he was hungry and wanted her to bring him food. She banked into the Whole Foods parking lot and hurried inside, wondering what to get him. He was one hundred years old. Baby food? He did say he wanted to go to the cafeteria, but that had to be dementia talking. The thought of Uncle Ed wandering around the hospital hallways asking for directions to the cafeteria, when just the day before he was unable to even speak, was frightening. But he promised he would stay put till she got there. Would he remember?

Sam scanned the salad bar and stopped on mom’s oldfashioned chicken soup. She lifted the lid and mouth-watering aroma filled the air. Perfect. She could feed him chicken soup.

She filled two medium containers, paid and was on her way, drinking from one container as she left the parking lot, steering with her knee as she shifted, every limb in action. She crushed the gas pedal at an amber traffic light and saw in her mirror that she might not have actually beaten it and then wondered if a camera somewhere would catch her and if Tyler would send her a counterfeit ticket. He was insane. And speaking of insanity, she looked again in the mirror and wondered if Buz was following her. Would she even know? How does he do it? Part of her felt stalked, but another part was grateful but with tons of questions.

She turned into the hospital parking lot, parked in the second level of the garage and scampered down the cold concrete stairway and across the road into the hospital lobby. She power walked 172

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the main hallway, passed framed pictures of top contributors and administrators and then turned the corner and glanced through the glass walls of the cafeteria. All looked normal, no crowd around a crazed one-hundred-year-old man. Thank Christ for that, she thought. She pressed the elevator button, waited two very long seconds and then took the stairs to the second floor and hurried to room 246.

Sam took a deep breath and walked in.

“Oh good! Thank God,” Uncle Ed said, his toothless words slurring. He pulled the pulse-ox gadget off his finger, yanked out his intravenous tubes, shoved off his cover and swung his legs off the bed.

Sam was stunned speechless, not believing her ears or eyes.

Yesterday he couldn’t wiggle a finger or open his eyes, which were now connecting with hers, beaming and violet.

“Whatcha got there, Sammy? I’m so hungry I could eat a horse.”

“Chicken soup?” Sam whispered, involuntarily. “I’m sure you were connected to alarms at the nurse’s station,” Sam said.

Uncle Ed didn’t seem to care and bore little resemblance to the one-hundred-year-old man she saw yesterday, shackled with tubes and harnessed to wires monitoring his vanishing vitals. He was no longer flat on his back, eyes struggling to open, mouthing words without sound, barely able to swallow the few sips of amber liquid she dripped on his cracked, parched lips. His cavernous skin had been dry, sagging and splattered with dark spots. Now, Uncle Ed was standing in front of her, straight and strong, eyes wide open, speaking clearly and reaching for food.

“They’ll just think I died.” He laughed. “They’ll finish whatever they were doing before they come,” Uncle Ed said and then took the soup container in both hands, peeled back the top and attacked it like a man she had just found starving on a deserted island. He seemed crazy but could care less. She understood.

There was something more at work than simple hunger. His body was busy, extremely busy, healing itself, regenerating. And it showed. He no longer looked one hundred, more like eighty or less.

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Clearly, this was great news. Her uncle had become healthy before her eyes, but her eyes were not the only ones who would see the transformation. A revived golden retriever was not likely to attract much attention and aside from her violet eyes, Maria, athletic and in her mid-twenties, wouldn’t appear much different, at least not physically.

Uncle Ed dropped the empty container in the wastebasket.

“I’m still hungry,” he said. “Everything tingles.”

“Does anything hurt?” Sam asked. She knew her own experience but wondered what might be different at his age.

“Nothing hurts. I feel fantastic. Hungry, but just feeling anything is wonderful. Why is this happening? How did you do this to me?”

“Just a little energy drink. I thought you could use a little pick-me-up for your birthday.”

Suddenly, the door opened and Sam turned. A plump nurse in a white uniform walked in. The same nurse as yesterday, Ann Gonzales. She was about to speak, but her eyes widened and her mouth opened without words.

Uncle Ed smiled wide and toothless at her. “I think I know what you’re going to say,” he said playfully.

Sam shook her head.

“You’re…” Gonzales said.

“Checking out? Perhaps just not the way you thought I would,” Uncle Ed said and then laughed again.

Nurse Gonzales wobbled and her eyelids fluttered. Sam reacted fast and caught the heavy woman under the arms before she went down and then dragged her to the bed. Uncle Ed helped and then arranged her on the mattress and put the pulse clip on her finger. A regular pulse beeped and a tiny red LED flashed in unison on the monitor.

“They’ll just think I came back to life…again.” He laughed.

Sam turned to Uncle Ed and said, “I’m thrilled you’re feeling so well, but now what do we do with you?”

“Uh, go to the cafeteria?” he said as if nothing else mattered.

Sam rolled her eyes. “We can’t just go to the cafeteria like this.

You’re in a bed gown and one hundred years old.”

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“Really?” Uncle Ed said.

“Yes,” she said but then paused. “You didn’t know how old you were?”

Uncle Ed frowned and scratched his cheek thoughtfully. “I guess I lost track. How did I get so old?”

“You didn’t die,” Sam said, with no time to ponder her thoughts. “I’ll be right back,” she said. “And don’t leave.” She walked normally out the door and saw what she was looking for down the hall, parked against the wall. A minute later she pushed open Uncle Ed’s door with the footrest of the wheelchair.

“What’s that for?” he said.

“When we get out of here, you can go hike Mount Washington, but until then I need you to act your age,” Sam said sternly.

“But why? I’m not allowed to feel good in a hospital?”

“Not this good, no. For starters, they’ll want to dissect you and interrogate me.”

“Okay.” Uncle Ed sulked as if he was just told to shut off his favorite cartoon and do his homework. He took a seat and Sam put a flannel sheet on his lap.

“Don’t talk until I tell you to,” Sam said and slipped on her sunglasses. She wished she had a pair for Uncle Ed, but that would draw even more attention.

Uncle Ed nodded and mock zipped his lips.

“And try not to look at anyone. Look down or away or pretend you’re asleep. Or squint.”

“Why?” “One-hundred-year-olds don’t ask why. Just trust me on this one,” Sam whispered as she casually pushed Uncle Ed down the hall and turned the corner to the elevator. While they waited, Sam noticed something else unexpected. The top of Uncle Ed’s head was covered with tiny red dots. She bent over to Uncle Ed’s ear.

“What color hair did you have…when you had hair?” Sam whispered.

“That was a long time ago,” Uncle Ed said.

“But you do remember.”

“Yes, it was red. I was a ruddy redhead.”

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Sam closed her eyes and sighed. “I think we might have to skip the cafeteria.”

“But you promised.”

“I know, but we might have a problem.”

“What?”

Sam was about to answer when she heard footsteps coming.

The elevator door opened. Sam pulled the wheelchair inside, pressed 1 and tried to will the door to close, but just as it was closing, a hand reached in and it reopened.

Uncle Ed smiled and said, “How was your nap?”

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37 Nurse Gonzales, smoldering eyes, stood in the elevator doorway with a skinny blond man, whose name tag claimed him to be Dr. Peter Korn. He seemed more interested than angry.

“Where are you taking him?” Gonzales demanded.

Sam shrugged. “The cafeteria. He’s hungry and wanted to go to,” she said.

“You can’t just—” Gonzales said but was immediately interrupted.

“I’m very glad to see you are feeling so well, Mister Conway,” Korn said and stepped into the elevator. “Do you mind if we join you?”

Sam mock smiled. “That would be so nice,” she lied.

The elevator door closed and Korn said, “What brought on this sudden appetite? You haven’t wanted solid foods for a while now.”

Uncle Ed glanced at Sam, who glared at him and then looked at Korn and just shrugged.

Korn nodded quizzically and then looked at Sam. “Mrs. Gonzales tells me you gave him something to drink yesterday.”

“Just some sassafras tea,” Sam said.

“Really,” Korn said sarcastically. “In a five-hour-energy bottle?”

“I told Mrs. Gonzales it wasn’t five-hour energy,” Sam said.

“Then sure it wasn’t,” Korn said. “Do you have any more of that, uh, sassafras tea?”

“No, sorry, but it’s easy to make,” Sam said.

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The elevator door opened and Sam pushed the wheelchair out. Korn and Gonzales followed. She turned into the glasspartitioned cafeteria, noisy with plates and conversation. She parked Uncle Ed at a corner table. Korn and Gonzales sat down at an adjoining table. Korn folded his hands on the table and stared across at Uncle Ed. Ed squinted at him as instructed and smiled.

Korn frowned. “Mister Conway, would you please smile again?”

Sam didn’t know why he asked that but suddenly had a scary thought and said, “So what would you like to eat, Uncle Ed?” “Southern fried chicken with mac-n-cheese,” he said as if he’d been dreaming of it. “And a hot dog with everything.”

Sam mock laughed. “You’re such a kidder, Uncle Ed,” she said and felt like kicking him. “I’ll try to find some soup or yogurt for you.” She kept one eye on them as she grabbed a tray and passed by steamy glass shielding some food she thought her uncle would love but, unfortunately, wasn’t going to get, thanks to their unplanned company.

When Sam returned, Korn was busy talking to Uncle Ed and Gonzales was talking to Korn. She put the tray down on the table and took a seat.

Uncle Ed pulled the tray before him. “Soup again,” he said.

Korn turned to her. “Your uncle has made a fascinating recovery. And in doing so, his eyes have somehow changed color and he even seems to be growing teeth. I’ve never seen anything like it,” he said.

“Really?” Sam said and then saw someone familiar trying to get her attention on the outside of the cafeteria. Now what?

“Well, yes, but I would like to do some tests and—” “Excuse me, Doctor. I’ll be right back,” Sam said and turned to Uncle Ed as she stood up. “And you behave yourself, mister.”

Uncle Ed just smiled and then winked as she left.

Sam thought she saw white bumps on his gums. How could she possibly explain that? She stepped into the hallway and said, “What are you doing here?”

Buz handed her a gym bag. “I’m here to rescue you…again.

Tell them I’m your boyfriend and that you had asked me to bring 178

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you your gym bag. Then get your uncle back to his room and leave it with him. He’s going to need it soon.”

“Wait! What?” Sam whispered and looked around. “You’re not my boyfriend. You’re too young for me, first of all. And what do you mean ‘Uncle Ed will need this soon’? What’s happening?

We need to talk. I need some answers.”

“Who’s the doctor?” Buz said, looking past her.

“What? Wait, there’s something you don’t already know?”

“His name,” Buz said, sternly.

“Korn. Peter Korn. Why?” “Well, Dr. Peter Korn just took some pictures of your uncle.”

“What!” Sam said. She turned and saw Korn holding up his cell phone.

“We need that phone,” Buz said.

“We what! Why? Who are you, really?” Sam said.

He stared silently at Korn and then returned his attention back to Sam and smiled. “I’m Buz. You will learn to trust me.”

“Trust you? At this rate, Buz, that might take some time.”

Buz looked her in the eye and smirked. “Time?” was all he said and then handed her the bag and left.

Sam stood there, incredulous, as she watched him disappear around the corner and then a bit longer as she tried to make sense of it. She shook her head and returned to the cafeteria, where Korn was examining the top of Uncle Ed’s head. Wonderful.

Korn smiled eerily, pulled out her seat for her and said, “Please sit. There are a few questions I’d like to go over with…”

“Sorry, my, uh, boyfriend just dropped off my gym bag and I need to hurry to an appointment. Some other time, perhaps,” Sam said to confused faces and then looked at her uncle. “I need to get you back to your room…now.”

“That’s okay, I will take him,” Nurse Gonzales said.

“Thank you, that won’t be necessary. I need to talk to my uncle for a minute in private,” she said and then walked around and maneuvered him away from the table.

“But I’m not finished with my meal,” Uncle Ed protested.

“We’ll talk about it in your room, Uncle Ed,” she said sweetly, smiled at Korn and wheeled him away. When they rolled into his room, Sam shut the door and opened the gym bag.

179

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“What’s in the bag?” Uncle Ed said. “Something to eat?”

“No, clothes,” she said, laying them out on the bed.

“For what?”

“For you, apparently,” she said and turned to him. He seemed to look younger than when she first saw him only an hour ago.

“Look, I have to go and you have to stay out of trouble. Get into bed and do nothing. You’re one hundred years old. Act your age for God’s sake. I’ll come back as soon as I can. Meanwhile, don’t allow anyone to examine you.”

“When will you be back?”

“As soon as I can. Can I trust you till tomorrow?”

“Can I order a pizza?”

“Pizza! You have no…” Sam said and then paused. “Smile,” she said.

Uncle Ed smiled.

“Shit!”

“What’s the matter?”

“Korn was right. You’re growing teeth.”

“That’s not good?”

“Not today; it’s not.”

“So I can have pizza?”

“No. I’m sorry. Jesus!” Sam said, exasperated. “You’re not a little kid; you’re not supposed to be growing new teeth. No pizza.

And no more smiling…at anyone! I’ll run down to the cafeteria and get some more food for you to hold you over and tell them to bring you lunch and dinner. But wait till they leave before you eat it. Understand?”

Uncle Ed nodded. “Okay, Sammy. Thank you for everything.

I don’t know how you did this, but thank you.”

“You’re welcome, but don’t repeat those words. I don’t want anyone knowing I did anything. Can you please do me that favor?

Can you please promise me you will keep that our secret?”

Uncle Ed nodded. “You got it, kiddo; my lips are sealed,” he said and then gave her a hug. His arms felt scary strong. Sam just stared at him for a moment and then turned and left. She took the stairs, hurried into the cafeteria, grabbed assorted snacks and ran back to the room. Uncle Ed took the bag greedily and ripped 180

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open the potato chips. He waved good-bye as he crunched and moaned in delight.

Sam left the hospital entrance and called Maria as she walked to the parking garage. The ringing went to voice mail and she left a message to meet her and Decker at Breslin’s. A few minutes later, she was on the road to Tyler’s to check on the pillar and figure out where to move it as soon as possible. She loved Tyler like a brother but didn’t trust the pillar would be safe under his roof. And the fact Buz had told her to move it nagged her as much as her new distrust in Tyler. The brief thought of Buz caused her to look in the rearview mirror. Was he following her, again? She had never known anyone like him. He was a little more than a kid, yet he could see everything coming from a mile away. He would pop up when least expected, yet his timing was uncanny.

How did he know about Uncle Ed? How did he know her uncle’s clothes sizes? Where the hell did he come from anyway? And why did he want Korn’s name?

181

38 Peter Korn stepped into the stairway, scrolled the contact list on his cell phone and stopped at Pharm Scout Thomas. The number started with star six nine, so his number would appear as unknown on the other end and never traced back to him. He was about to press it but paused and glanced around. What if someone could overhear him, even in passing? He put his phone away and walked out into the cool shadows of the parking garage. He pulled out his phone and scrolled the list again. He tapped the contact but then heard someone nearby cough and footsteps echo toward him. Suddenly, a red laser dot appeared on his phone and danced a bit. He looked up but saw only a man in a light-gray suit walk past him; his steps were the ones that were echoing. He looked back at his phone, but the red light was gone.

What was that about and where had it come from?

A car entered the tollgate and then another behind that one.

The area was getting busy. Korn thought about it and decided there would be neither echoes nor people on the top level. He took the elevator up to the fifth level, the roof. There were a dozen cars scattered about and no people. He walked to an open area by the waist-high perimeter wall closest to the garage entrance below. Once again, he took out his phone. The bright sun made it difficult to see the screen. He turned his back to the light, found his contact, attached a few pictures he took of Edward Conway to a text and pushed send. He then made the call.

“Hello,” a familiar voice said.

“Thomas?” Korn said.

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A pause. “Yes?” “Do you know who this is?” Korn said, not trusting the airways.

“Yes, Doctor. I recognize your voice.”

Korn had never seen the man and had no way of knowing if his name was really Thomas, but his money had been real enough. “I have something for you,” he said.

“Your last delivery died before we could get what we wanted,” Thomas said. “The protein is useless dead.”

“He was alive upon delivery and older than your minimum requirement. It’s not my respon—” “Yes, yes. What do you have for me now?”

“Something very special. Much more than you could have hoped for.”

“I’m listening,” Thomas said.

Korn went on to explain everything he had witnessed and knew about Edward and Samantha Conway. “I texted you pictures of him. In those pictures, he is one hundred years old and seems to be growing new teeth and hair,” he said.

“Hold on.” There was a pause. “When can we have him?”

Thomas said.

“This will go differently than the past deliveries. I can make it very easy for you, but first, we need to discuss the fee.”

“The fee? The fee has already been set.”

“Not for this; it hasn’t. This is a delivery that will end all future deliveries.”

Thomas paused. “I’m listening,” he said.

“I want two million up front.”

Thomas snorted. “That’s ten times the going rate,” he said.

Korn laughed. “There is no going rate for this. We aren’t talking about extended telomeres or stem cells or long-life proteins. This delivery should go for twenty million. More! In fact—” “Enough. If what you have told me is true, we will pay your fee. Half up front and the balance the next day.”

“All up front. I have no reason to trust you won’t vanish once you have possession.”

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Another pause. “All right. Agreed. But if the delivery is not all as advertised, we will expect immediate refunding.”

“Just make sure I’m paid up front as per our usual method.

Then I will be back in touch.”

Suddenly, Korn saw something approaching very fast in his bright south peripheral. He turned his head and, for only one second, saw the silhouette of a winged mass. “What the…” he shouted and raised his arms in protection but was instantly sideswiped and knocked to the ground against the wall, gasping in shock, but otherwise unharmed. He climbed to his feet, elbow, palm and hip hurting and scanned the north sky but saw nothing. A large brown feather lay on the concrete. He picked it up and did a quick examination when he realized he was no longer holding his phone. He spun around looking for where it may have fallen. He turned again and again but couldn’t see it anywhere. What! He checked his pockets even though he knew he hadn’t put it away. In fact, he didn’t remember ending the call.

“Shit!” he shouted as he gathered his thoughts. Did he have Pharm Scout Thomas’s number anywhere else? How would he coordinate the delivery? He spun around again as if he somehow didn’t see it or maybe it would magically appear. In dread, he looked over the concrete guardrail to the ground five stories below. If the creature knocked it from his grip, maybe it was smashed on the driveway. Nothing. “Oh my God! Where the hell is my phone?” he screamed.

Suddenly, something gained his full attention.

Samantha Conway walked across the road and into the garage with a phone to her ear.

184

39 Sam hurried up Tyler’s front walkway, key in hand and found his door unlocked. She shook her head and walked in. Cedar trotted over, tail wagging hard, dancing in circles, acting like he was three.

“That you, Sam?” came a voice from the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Sam said as she went directly down to the basement.

The shelter door was locked. “Okay, he gets to live another day,” she said quietly, unlocked it, flipped the light on and went in.

The three pillar sections were covered with canvas drop cloths, just as she had left them, as were the flowers, in a dry wooden chest. Two baby-water bottles of the premixed potion were also in the chest and seemed to be at the correct level. She locked up and went up the stairs where Cedar was bounding for her with great anticipation. Sam smiled at him and her anger calmed. She always enjoyed how dogs appeared to understand the moment.

She turned toward the kitchen and Cedar ran ahead of her.

“Your savior is here?” Tyler’s voice sang to Cedar.

Sam stepped into the kitchen and stopped, needing to let her brain register what her eyes were seeing. Tyler, sitting before a huge array of foods, was nearly unrecognizable. He was wearing a tank top and seemed to have lost twenty pounds; his flab was gone, his shoulders had defined muscles, his face was fresh and there were no bags under his new healthily bright violet eyes. He stuffed a large slice of dark cake with white icing in his mouth and followed it with soda.

“Take off your shirt,” Sam said.

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Tyler’s brow raised. “Did you just ask me to take off my shirt?”

Sam nodded. “Take it off.”

He looked at her doubtfully. “Sam, you’re like my sister.”

She rolled her eyes. “And you’re like an idiot. Now take it off.”

Tyler shrugged and took it off. “You don’t have to get violent.”

Sam stared at him in disbelief. The before and after contrast was amazing. “You look scary good.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you look too good, too young, too soon.”

“In less than two days, without exercise,” Tyler said proudly.

“That’s the problem. Put your shirt back on.”

Tyler frowned and then shrugged and obeyed. “How long will this stuff last?” he said and then had another slice of cake.

“I don’t know. Hungry?” Sam said, motioning to the tabletop.

“Starving,” he said and then held out another cake slice for her. “Try this; it’s fantastic.”

Sam took it from him. “Why not.”

Tyler laughed. “Exactly. The more I eat, the better I look and feel,” he said and then grabbed a half-eaten turkey drumstick.

“It’s not the food that’s doing it, Ty,” Sam said.

“You don’t think I know that. Your little health drink is ridiculous. It saved Cedar’s life and transformed me into someone I never was. You can make millions.”

“It’s not for sale,” Sam said, loud and stern.

“Okay, cool your jets. I was just saying. Eat your cake.”

“I can’t remember the last time I had cake,” she said and took a bite. “Not bad.”

“Of course, it’s not bad,” Tyler said with his mouth full. “It’s made from carrots. It’s healthy cake.”

“Right. And as if you care,” Sam said.

“Should I?” Sam looked at him and frowned. “I don’t know. Just don’t—” “Tell anyone,” Tyler interrupted. “I think you may have mentioned that.”

“And keep the front door locked.”

“You know, this was a safe neighborhood before you arrived, but I’m sure you’ve heard that before.”

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“Once or twice,” Sam said, with a thin smile.

Tyler’s phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. He reached over and picked it up. He stared at the number for a moment; a seriousness washed across his face. He rejected the call and looked back at her with what she suspected was a false smile.

“Problem?” she asked.

“Oh no, just business. I’ll call him back in a little bit. We have some…details to go over.”

“Scam details?” Sam said, doubtfully.

“Very funny.”

“It’s not meant to be.”

Tyler pointed at her with the turkey leg. “I learned everything I know from you.”

“When we were twelve?”

“You were never twelve. I was twelve and you corrupted me.”

Sam shook her head and looked at her watch. “I’ve got to go.

Lock the door and behave yourself,” she said and then turned on her heel.

“I won’t do anything you wouldn’t do,” he said with a mockinnocent smile.

Sam looked back at him. “Don’t test me, Tyler.”

“Yes, Mom,” he said and then gulped down loudly whatever was in his glass and stood up. “You need to relax a little more, Sam,” he said, walking her toward the door.

“Good-bye, Cedar,” she said. He seemed to understand what she said.

Tyler followed her out the door. “When will you be back?”

“I don’t know. Soon. Why?” “Just wondering when I’ll get scolded again.”

“Now. Put your sunglasses on when you’re outside. Especially when you’re meeting someone who knows you.”

“Should I put them on Cedar too?”

Sam looked at Cedar inside the open door. She sighed and said, “He knows not to come out in the front.”

“He’s smart,” Tyler said.

“Let’s hope it’s contagious,” Sam said as she got into her Mini Cooper and drove off. Tyler waved, wiggling his fingers.

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Sam had only gone one block when her phone rang.

Restricted. “Hello?” she said.

“Go to the park,” said a familiar voice. “It’s begun.”

“What’s begun?” Sam said. “Are you following me?”

The line was dead.

188

40 Sam throttled through an amber light and turned into the Nassau County Museum of Art entrance. She passed a jogger and a biker along the rolling roadway before banking into the parking lot. She saw Buz’s bike tucked into the far back corner with his yellow helmet balanced on the mirror. Where was Buz? She parked next to the bike and got out. She noticed something inscribed on the back of the helmet. She took a closer look. Her eyes widened as she recognized the characters to be similar to those on the pillar. But how could…

“Sam,” Buz called from behind her.

She spun around and saw Buz emerging from the trees. “Oh! There you are.”

Buz shrugged. “Sorry, but when nature calls,” he said. “Some things never change.”

“What’s going on? This sounded important,” Sam said.

“Watch those exhaust pipes; they’re hot,” Buz pointed out.

Sam frowned and stepped away from his bike. “Thanks, but can we zoom out to the bigger picture? Please clue me in on all that’s going on here.”

“The bigger picture?” Buz chuckled.

“Yes, please.”

Buzz nodded. “To use a recent cliché, I have good news and bad news.”

“Recent?”

“Recent to me.”

“Really? What rock have you been hiding under?”

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“Pick one; I’ve hidden under them all.”

“No, seriously, where exactly are you from?”

“Okay, we will detour a bit, though I suppose it’s a good place to start. Where do you think I’m from?”

“My first thought was Jamaica because you always seem laid back and you look Jamaican, but the accent doesn’t fit.”

“My accent, yes; after all this time, I still have the accent.”

“All this time? An accent could last a lifetime.”

Buz chuckled lightly. “I suppose so. What does mine tell you, Doctor Conway?”

Sam frowned. “I’ve been wondering about that since our first conversation.”

“And?” “I don’t know. But definitely not Jamaican.”

“You are correct, but you must at least guess?”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Why?” “It will help with your big picture.”

“Give me a hint.”

“Let’s just say I’m from what you now call the Middle East?”

Sam sighed. “Now call the Middle East? You’re a strange guy, Buz. Be more specific; I still don’t recognize it.”

“Okay, fine, a little area between Damascus and Niniva in what was eventually called Mesopotamia.”

“Eventually?” Sam laughed. “You’re from Syria? You’re an escapee from a Syrian insane asylum.”

Buz smiled. “You could say that. But it’s a bit more complicated.

Keep guessing; you’re headed in the right direction.”

“Buz, look, I know the Middle East. Your accent is not Syrian.

Fast-forward. Where the hell are you from?”

“So impatient.”

“I’m running out of time,” Sam said and looked at her watch.

“Believe me, Doctor Conway, you have more time than you think.”

“Enough with the riddles, Buz. Tell me, or I’m leaving.”

“Fine, let’s just say I’m Buz from Uz.” “Catchy. And I give you credit for accuracy. No one knows where Uz was, but Northern Syria is a good guess.”

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“It wasn’t a guess. I know exactly where Uz was.”

“Then you’re the only one,” Sam said. “What else do you know that no one else does?”

“We all have our secrets, Doctor Conway.”

“You seem to have a few more than most, Buz. By the way, what’s that inscription on your helmet? It seems to be written in the same language I found on the pillar.”

“It’s a name,” Buz said.

“A name?”

“Yes. My mother’s.”

“Really. You have your mother’s name on your helmet written in the oldest language known to man. Sweet, but why that language and how are you familiar with it, since I’ve only seen it on the pillar and the pillar has been buried for centuries?”

“Millennia,” Buz said.

“Millen…and how would you know that?”

“It’s a beautiful day. Let’s go for a walk,” Buz said and started walking.

“A walk?” Sam said and followed by his side.

“Yes. As I said, we have good news and bad news to cover.”

“Oh yeah, the recent cliché.”

“What do you want first?”

“How bad is the bad news?”

“Very bad.”

“Really. How good is the good news?”

“Very good.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Sam said, playing along. “In that case, let’s have the bad news first.”

“Well, for starters, we have to move Methuselah’s Pillar to a much more secure place and immediately. Korn followed you to Tyler’s.”

“Korn!” Sam said incredulously. “How do you know that?”

“Because I followed him.”

“You…why?”

“Because he’s talking to the wrong people about you and your uncle. He also sent them pictures of him.”

Sam scrunched her face in disbelief. “And how do you know that? This morning you didn’t even know him.”

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“Well, now I have his phone,” he said and pulled it from his pocket.

“That’s Korn’s?”

“Yes.” “How the hell did you get his phone?”

“I took it from him while he was talking to someone who will probably be looking for you and your uncle.”

“You took it from him while he had it in his hand? You grabbed it from him? How?” Buz paused and nodded in thought and then raised his hand in the air and made a few finger movements that looked like sign language. Suddenly there was a noise that made Sam turn and look up. A giant bird took off from a high treetop and then flew to another tall tree and perched.

Sam just stared at it and then spun her gaze to Buz. “That’s your bird?” she said, unblinking.

“There is no ownership involved.”

Sam shook her head. “Don’t get technical. It knows you. It just did something you told it to do with your fingers. You’ve obviously trained it. Highly trained it,” Sam said.

“We have known each other for a long time.”

“Does it have violet eyes too?”

Buz smiled. “Very astute. His name is Jecko.”

“Jecko?”

“Yes.” Sam looked up at the tree and then back at Buz. “It…I mean, Jecko…looks like an eagle I saw in Afghanistan.”

“You don’t say,” Buz said.

“You were there?”

“Perhaps.”

“You had Jecko tear that soldier’s throat out?”

“You seemed to need some assistance at the time.”

“So you and Jecko saved our lives?”

“Perhaps.”

“What are you—some kind of wandering Good Samaritan?”

Buz snorted. “The Samaritans weren’t good.”

“It’s an expression.”

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“An inaccurate one.”

“Wait,” Sam said and then shook her head. “Don’t change the subject. You were following me?”

“I was following Hakeem to the pillar. Then I was following the pillar.”

“Then why save us?”

“Curiosity.”

Sam just stared at him for a moment. “And you had Jecko just swoop down and take Korn’s phone right out of his hand.”

Buz smiled. “Pretty much. He didn’t take it well.”

Sam tried to keep a straight face but laughed. “Damn, I wish I saw that.”

“Maybe we can do it again sometime,” Buz said and winked.

“Wait, where’s Korn now? Is he still following me?”

“Uh, no.”

“How do you know?”

“I had him delayed when you left.”

“You…how?”

“He was driving a convertible. It was easy.”

Sam thought for a second and then said, “Jecko?”

“Oh, don’t worry. Nothing like the soldier. I might need him later.”

Sam paused and then squinted. “Who are you…really?”

“I am Buz.” “From Uz?” “That’s right.”

“Why do you keep saying that?”

“Because it’s true.”

“Do you expect me to believe that?”

Buz smiled and shook his head. “No.” “Then why tell me?”

“You asked.”

“And you always tell the truth.”

“No.” Sam closed her eyes and exhaled. “Uz was swallowed up by Mesopotamia, like, four thousand years ago.”

“I think I mentioned that.”

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“I thought you were joking.”

“Well, I guess that’s better than thinking I’m insane.”

“If you’re not joking, then I think you are insane,” Sam said.

“You’re not the first.”

“I’m sure. Okay, are we done with the bad news?”

“We’ve just started.”

“Great. What else?”

194

41 Sam wondered if she was dreaming. While Buz was busy explaining the incredible but delusional “bigger picture,” she was distracted by a rush of heightened sensations. She felt robustly alive, keenly aware of everything around her. She had no alternative explanation for this, other than the one Buz was trying to pass off as reality, but at the moment, the inner explosion of her enhanced vitality was much louder than his epic fantasies.

Maybe Buz was just used to it all, but her senses were amped up to levels she had clearly not adapted to yet. Everything ordinary was now super extraordinary. The past few days had been so crazy with Tyler, Uncle Ed, Buz and even Cedar that she barely had time to observe her own new developments. While hearing Buz, like background music, her mind was busy collecting all the individual smells, sights and sounds around her. Grass had been freshly cut yesterday. She just knew it by smell. A squirrel was warning another squirrel about Jecko in the tree. This was not just a possibility but a hard fact, as if she understood the squirrel’s language. A praying mantis was frenzy feeding on a screaming cicada, its favorite meal. She felt a seventy-seven-degree breeze wash across her face. There were fifty-eight windows on the side of that passing airliner.

Almost a week had passed since she first swallowed the ingredients as instructed on Methuselah’s Pillar. Her appetite had stabilized. She was still eating more than usual, but the desperation had subsided.

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“You are quite rare, Sam,” Buz said. “And I’ve known more people than you can imagine. You were able to translate the pillar and find the sacred flower. Even I have never seen a live one.”

“Well, of course not,” Sam said. “Silene stenophylla has been extinct for thirty thousand years.”

Buz nodded and was about to say something but paused, pensive.

“Which begs the question,” Sam said. “How did you receive yours?”

“The ingredients were passed down in my family. I was one of the last to receive the mix before the flower urn was empty.”

“And when was that?” Sam asked.

“When I was an infant.”

“In Uz?” Sam said as if humoring a mental patient.

Buz smiled. “Yes.” “But the pillar was still available?”

“Yes.” “Four thousand years ago?”

“Roughly.”

“I see. So, uh, why are you still alive?”

Buz shrugged. “Because I haven’t been killed yet.”

“Killed. So you’re saying you can die, just not of natural causes?”

“Correct,” Buz said, mock clapping.

“You don’t get sick or old?”

“No. Anyone who drinks the potion perpetually rejuvenates.

You are experiencing that right now. And by tomorrow your uncle will be a young man again.”

“By tomorrow?” Sam said, nonchalantly.

“Yes. The complete rejuvenation takes about two days and continues indefinitely. Tomorrow he will look twenty-five and feel better than he ever could.”

Sam’s brow raised. “And if he doesn’t look twenty-five?”

“Then you will know I am a lunatic. But he will.”

“That could present a problem,” she said calmly, playing along.

“Oh, it will, but it will also present a new and wonderful life if he learns how to live it.”

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“Learns?”

“Yes. If he’s not properly guided, he will have huge problems and so will we.”

“We? How many others are there, like you I mean?”

“Well, until last week, two. Me and Jecko.”

Sam looked up. Jecko was well hidden, but she saw him.

There was no viable explanation for him either, other than the impossible one she was listening to. “What happened to the others?”

“They died.”

“Killed?”

“Well, yes.”

“How?” “Things happen. Methuselah drowned, for example, but most died by the sword.”

“Wait!” Sam said, her hands up in mock surrender.

“What?”

“You knew Methuselah?” Sam said incredulously. His imagination was certainly entertaining, she thought.

Buz shook his head. “No. He died before I was born. He was my eleven times great-grandfather.”

“You don’t say,” Sam said. She checked her watch, wondering how much more time she could give to this walk around the park before she had to run for her dinner date with Decker and Maria.

“The pillar had been passed down to him from Adam.”

“Yes, I know. According to legend, Adam recorded information on a pillar and…” Sam was saying.

Buz laughed. “Yes, of course, of course, according to legend.”

“Sometimes legends are all we have to go on.”

“All you have,” Buz said.

“And what do you have? Oh, I forgot, memory,” Sam said.

Buz sighed. “Yes,” he said with a slow nod. He seemed to drift in thought. “And memories will haunt, especially the good ones, because the ones you had them with are gone. They cannot share them with you anymore.”

Sam looked at him sympathetically. “Can I ask you a personal question?” she said.

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“You can always ask.”

“Is your mother part of that memory?”

“Of course. Why do you ask about her?”

“You have her name on your helmet.”

“Ah yes! Well, lots of people have a mom tattoo. I can’t have a tattoo. Oh and neither can you.”

“What? Why not?”

“They will disappear in two days. Your body will address the ink as a foreign body, like a germ and eliminate it.”

“That’s not true. I have a four-leaf clover tattoo on my ankle.”

Buz smiled. “You’re sure about that, right?”

Sam stopped and looked at her ankle. She frowned and knelt down on one knee to get a closer look. “It’s gone,” she said, her expression blank.

“What a surprise,” Buz mocked.

Sam stood up. “This is getting weird,” she said.

“Does that mean you’re starting to believe me?”

“I believe you.”

He laughed. “So I’m a harmless crazy guy?”

“I never said you were harmless. What was your mother’s name?”

“Milcah,” Buz said.

Sam frowned. “That sound’s familiar. And your father?”

“Nahor.”

Sam looked at him blankly. “How many siblings did you have?”

“I was one of eight.”

“Eight? And your uncle was…”

Buz smiled. “Yes. You’re well versed, Doctor Conway.”

“Maybe we both are,” Sam said as she felt her position weaken.

She pulled out her phone and tapped the Google app. She typed “Genesis Buz.” A verse number appeared Genesis 22:20–21. She tapped it. A moment later her screen filled. She read it aloud.

“Now it came about after these things, that it was told Abraham, saying…”

“Milcah…” Buzz interrupted, “also has borne children to your brother Nahor; Uz his firstborn and Buz, his brother.”

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Sam looked up at him. “You know the verse.”

“I know all the verses.”

She looked back down and searched his name again. “You counseled Job?” “Elihu did, but I told him what to say.”

“Wait; another Buz appears in First Chronicles.”

“Why another?” Buz said.

“Because it’s like a thousand years later,” Sam said.

“And?” “But that’s…”

“Impossible?”

Sam looked down and read some more. “And Buzi…”

“Was a grandson.”

“The father of Ezekiel the prophet?”

Buz shrugged. “If you live long enough, you get to see everything.”

“That’s a modern saying,” Sam said.

“Is it?”

“Where else are you in here?”

“Under Buz?” “Why, are you under any other names?”

Buz raised his brow. “I think we’ve covered enough Bible trivia for one day.”

“I want to know more,” Sam said.

“Stick around. You’ll get to know everything, but I can promise you won’t like half of what you learn.”

Sam’s phone vibrated. She looked at the number and then looked up at Buz. “It’s Uncle Ed; he left a voicemail,” she said and then looked at her “read voicemail” feature. “Help.”

Buz nodded knowingly. “I’ll go. It’s best you don’t go there anymore. I know what he needs.”

“How do you know what he needs? I have to go,” Sam said and started back.

Buz caught up to her. “You have to trust me, Sam. I have experience with this. Go do your thing and leave Uncle Ed to me. He’ll be safe at my place.”

“Your place! And where might that be?”

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“I have a boat, currently in a slip at LaMotta’s Marina in Port Washington.”

“You’re joking. You live on a boat?”

“Yes. Actually, a few of them scattered around. When you don’t age, owning a house becomes tricky. Changing boats and marinas every decade or so has worked for me in recent times.

Low profiles are necessary for peace and freedom, which is obviously something we will have to talk about concerning yours,” he said and then strapped on his helmet.

“Wait, what’s your boat’s name?” Sam said.

“Bathsheba,” Buz said and then started his engine and sped off.

Sam watched him leave the parking lot and accelerate away.

“Bathsheba?” she said to herself, still wondering if she was dreaming.

200

42 Sam walked into Breslin’s dim light, adjusted her light-blue tinted sunglasses, paid no attention to all the eyes on her and found Decker already seated in her reserved booth. He stood up to greet her and almost smiled. She spread her arms out wide and walked into his. They pecked cheeks and squeezed a little tighter and longer than usual before letting go. They slid into the booth on opposite sides.

“It’s good to see you,” Decker said. “You look really beautiful.”

She wondered if he had ever said that before. “Thanks, Deck, it’s great to see you too. I have so much to tell you.”

“What’s with the glasses?”

“You like?” she said with a bright smile.

“Uh, yeah, nice.”

“So what have you been up to since I last saw you?” Sam said.

Decker shrugged. “Same ole,” he said. “How about you?”

“Same ole,” she said, smiling.

“Which means the civilized world as we know it is in some kind of new and unknown danger that I will probably have to save it from.”

“Sometimes your jokes are more appropriate than you think.”

“I wasn’t joking,” Decker said.

Josh the waiter appeared. “Hi, folks. Can I get you started with something to drink?”

“Perfect timing,” Decker said. “I’ll have whatever she orders, but make mine a double.”

Sam looked at him. “No beer?”

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“I’m feeling…”

“Adventurous?”

“No, nervous.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, that’ll be the day. Chopin cucumber gimlets,” Sam said. “Easy on the Rose’s sweet lime and heavy on the muddled cucumber, straight up and make his a double.” Sam suddenly noticed a beautiful woman with rose-tinted sunglasses enter the room. “Make that three, Josh,” she said. “Our friend just arrived.”

Josh turned his head toward the door and paused and then nodded and disappeared.

Every head turned in Maria’s direction. Linen white bellbottoms with a lavender crochet top, all fitting and flowing naturally with her long, wavy hair. Even Sam stared as she strode toward them.

“Hi, guys,” Maria said as she slid in next to Sam. “Did I miss anything?”

“Not from where I’m sitting,” Decker said.

Sam chuckled and shook her head. “So much for being nervous,” she said.

“You’re nervous, Deck,” Maria said.

“Very,” Decker said calmly.

Sam ignored him and turned back to Maria. “You look fabulous,” she said. “Maybe we should pull the curtain so we can talk in private and let the rest of the place go back to their meals.”

Maria laughed. “Oh my God, Sam, I can’t believe this,” she said. “Some really weird things have happened, but I’ve never felt so, so…”

“Alive?” Sam said.

Maria’s face washed serious. “Yes. And I don’t want this to go away…ever.”

“Yeah, funny you should say that, but that’s one of the reasons I wanted you to join us.”

“Why? Is something wrong?” Maria asked.

Decker smiled and said, “I got fifty bucks that say yes. Any takers?”

“Ha-ha,” Sam mocked. “But this time you won’t believe what I have to tell you.”

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“Oh, that will be different. Make it a hundred,” Decker said.

“Will I believe you?” Maria said.

Sam shook her head. “I don’t even believe me. But we both know we’re experiencing something extraordinary.”

Maria nodded knowingly.

Decker frowned.

“But what do you do when logic crashes head-on with illogic?”

“You have a drink,” Decker said and as if on cue, Josh appeared with a tray of brimful martini glasses.

Maria laughed. “How did you know?”

“Maybe your rosy glasses gave him away,” Decker said as Josh very carefully placed the gimlets on the table.

“And this one is yours,” Josh said to Decker. “Would you like to order your dinners now, or do you need a few minutes?” he asked.

“We’ll start with three orders of seafood sausage,” Sam said.

“Yummy,” Maria said.

“You got it,” Josh said with a thumbs-up and then pulled the privacy curtain close at Sam’s request.

Decker raised his glass. “Here’s to the extraordinary experience. May it stay on your side of the table.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Maria said and they all carefully tapped rims and drank.

Decker put his down and raised his brow. “Smooth,” he whispered.

“You wanted a double,” Sam pointed out.

“Glad I did. I like it,” Decker said, nodding.

“Okay, I’m dying to hear what I won’t believe,” Maria said.

Sam nodded and turned to Maria. “That cherry-blossom tattoo on the back of your left shoulder.”

Maria’s eyes widened. “Is gone! I know. That’s one of the weird things I was talking about. I loved that tattoo. I’m going to have to get another now.”

Sam shook her head. “Don’t bother; that one will vanish too.

Mine disappeared too. We can’t have them anymore,” she said.

“For how long?”

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“As long as we live, which may turn out to be a bit longer than—” “Whoa, just a minute,” Decker interrupted. “This pillar cocktail you mixed up removed your tattoos? How?” Sam shrugged. “It healed them.”

“What do you mean ‘it healed them’?” Decker said.

“The potion ignites permanent complete cellular regeneration and our bodies now see the ink as a foreign intruder that needs to be promptly disposed of,” Sam said.

“Bullshit,” Decker said. “Who told you that?”

Sam exhaled. “Buz.” “Buz?” Decker said. “Who the hell is Buz?” “It’s a long story!”

“Well, I have all the time in the world,” Decker said.

“I can probably arrange that for you,” Sam said. “Though Buz doesn’t think that’s a good idea.”

Decker’s brow raised and then he looked to his seat on either side. “Will I need seat belts for this?”

“Never mind,” Sam said. “I’ll come back to that later.”

“Do you know what she’s talking about?” Decker asked Maria.

“I don’t think so,” Maria replied.

Sam took a good sip and put down her drink. “Okay, Deck, do you remember the bird who attacked the soldier who was about to shoot you?”

“How could I forget?”

“Remember the red laser dot on the soldier’s neck?”

“You know I do.”

“The bird is a golden eagle and his name is Jecko. Buz put the laser dot on the soldier’s Adam’s apple and Jecko promptly removed the man’s neck. Buz was following Hakeem at a distance to find the pillar. He said he saved us out of curiosity, but I think he figured he would have an easier time keeping track of us than Tarik; plus we carried it out. He continued following me to New York and even to Russia. He seems to pop up everywhere, but it’s all pillar related.”

“That’s incredible,” Maria said.

“More than you can believe,” Sam said. “The pillar’s potion has had astonishing effects.”

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“And how,” Maria said.

“Yes, but some of the benefits reach much deeper than you can imagine.”

Sam’s phone vibrated. A text came in, but Sam ignored it and responded to Maria’s comment. “Yes, but you are in your mid-twenties. We haven’t talked, but if you’re like me, you have experienced a super enhancement of all your senses, a huge appetite, high energy and a physical toning and tightening without exercise, though you were in great shape to begin with.

Because it made me feel so good, I gave a little of it to my friend Tyler’s dog, Cedar. Cedar was old and in very bad shape and had a vet appointment the next day to get put down. Tyler was a wreck over it. The next day, Cedar was feeling so much better that he attacked and killed Sparky, the neighbor’s cat.”

“He killed a cat?” Maria said.

“Sparky was eating his food.”

“Oh,” Maria said.

“Oh?” Decker repeated. “He went from being bad enough to get put down to attacking and killing a cat?”

“Yes,” Sam said. “Tyler brought him to the vet anyway and the vet, stunned, told Tyler to take him home. Cedar is now running around like he’s three.”

“Like he’s three?” Decker said.

“Yeah, it made me cry,” Sam said.

Decker said, “Then what happened?”

“What makes you think there’s more?”

“With you, there’s always more,” Decker said.

“You sound like Tyler,” Sam said.

“Oh? What does Tyler think?” Decker said.

Sam hesitated. “That’s another story.”

“I rest my case,” Decker said.

“Let’s just say, he cried too,” Sam said and then her phone lit up. A text from Buz was downloading. She watched an image grow on the little screen. “Oh my God,” she said in disbelief.

“What? What’s wrong?” Maria asked.

205

43 Sam lay her phone on the table for all to see.

Decker leaned closer and then shrugged. “A selfie of two guys on a boat. Who are they?”

“They are Buz and my Uncle Ed,” Sam said. “And they are both smiling. At least Uncle Ed is safe and happy. A relief.”

“Who’s who?” Decker said.

Sam gave him a look. “One guess.”

“That’s Buz?” Maria said.

“The one and only,” Sam said. “Well, until last week, that is.”

“Huh?” Maria said.

“Nothing,” Sam said.

“He’s cute,” Maria said. “What does he do for a living?”

Sam laughed. “Buz? I’m not sure, but I think by now he’s retired.”

“By now?” Maria said. “How old is he?”

“Let’s just say, he’s older than he looks,” Sam said.

“Really,” Maria said, nodding. “Can you send me that pic?”

Sam smiled. “Why not?”

“Obviously, the other guy’s your uncle?” Maria said and winked at Decker.

“Yes.” “Wait, is this is a recent picture?” Maria said.

“Just minutes old,” Sam said, sipping her gimlet.

Maria frowned.

“Actually, Ed is my father’s uncle.”

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“No way. He’s your great-uncle?” Maria said incredulously.

“He looks too young.”

“He didn’t yesterday,” Sam said.

Maria’s gaze slowly turned to Sam. “Don’t tell me you…” she said.

Decker frowned and sat back. “Another normal day at the office of Samantha Conway. Let’s hear it. What did you do?”

“Okay,” Sam said. “Here’s the blow-by-blow. A couple of days ago, I visited Uncle Ed in the hospital. It was his birthday. He wasn’t doing so well. He couldn’t speak. He could barely open his eyes. He was all hooked up to monitors and tubes. I dripped some of the pillar punch on his lips and he slowly licked it up.

This morning I got a call from him. It was the first time he spoke in months. I couldn’t believe it. His voice was clear and strong and his words were intelligent.”

“What did he say?” Maria asked.

Sam smiled. “He said he was hungry. He wanted me to bring him some food.”

Maria laughed. “Right. Of course. I was starving the day after.

Why is that?”

“Because every cell is regenerating, rejuvenating and optimizing at a super accelerated rate. I can’t even take a hot shower. Cold water feels good,” Sam said.

“Yes! I know! I forgot to tell you about that,” Maria said.

Decker drained his gimlet and pointed at her phone. “What’s with the eyes?” he said, frowning. “Why do both these guys have violet eyes?”

Sam and Maria looked at each other and then at Decker.

“I don’t know,” Sam said. “But soon after taking the potion, the recipient’s eye color starts to change as the body regenerates.

That’s why I thought it would be a good idea to wear shades,” she said. She and Maria then looked at each other, nodded, took off their sunglasses and turned to Decker.

Decker’s expression went blank as if he had turned into a wax statue.

Sam and Maria laughed.

Sam said, “I know it’s not funny, but I have been wondering for days what your reaction would be.”

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The curtain drew back. Josh announced the arrival of the seafood sausage as he placed them on the table and then asked if anyone wanted more drinks.

Decker said, “Yes and keep mine a double.”

Josh nodded and turned to Sam and Maria. “And the ladies?”

“Yes, please,” Sam said.

Josh did a double take and said, “Great eyes. Where’d you get them?”

“Eyes-R-Us.com,” Maria said.

“Cool. I’ll be back in a minute with your drinks. Enjoy,” Josh said while pulling the curtain closed.

Sam flipped her palms up and said, “It’s all true. And there’s more. But it gets even more unbelievable.”

Decker tapped his finger by Sam’s phone. “Let’s get back to Uncle Ed.” Sam restored the pic and enlarged it so only Uncle Ed’s face was visible.

Decker and Maria stared at it.

Decker finally raised his gaze to Sam. “What birthday were you visiting him for?”

“His one-hundredth,” Sam said with a slow nod.

“He looks thirty,” Maria said.

“According to Buz, by tomorrow, physiologically, he will be like twenty-five again.”

Maria looked up at Sam. “And us?”

Sam shrugged. “According to Buz. Same deal. Only we aren’t rewinding from one hundred.”

“For how long?” Maria said. “How long before your uncle goes back to being one hundred?”

“According to Buz, he won’t. He can be killed, but he won’t get older than twenty-five.”

“Ever?” Maria said.

“Ever,” Sam said.

Maria stared into space. “And us?”

Sam just nodded.

“You’re right. I don’t believe it,” Maria said. “It’s so fantastic that it’s scary.”

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“The more I think about it, the heavier it feels,” Maria said.

“Everything’s according to Buz,” Decker said. “I’m afraid to ask, but what makes Buz such an authority on this?”

Sam looked at Decker and sighed. “Something else you won’t believe. As I said, I don’t believe it. But then I look at Uncle Ed and…”

“Humor me,” Decker said.

Sam looked Decker in the eye. He was asking, but there was no chance, regardless of what her answer was, that he would absorb it. Then she looked at Maria. Her eyes were asking the same question, but having experienced the potion firsthand, she deserved and, like herself, probably needed the answer. Sam nodded and picked up her phone. She searched Buz’s name and since it was a recent search, Genesis 22:21 took the top line. She tapped it and when the verse appeared, she lay the phone back on the table. Decker and Maria both leaned over and read it.

Maria finally said, “I don’t understand. He named himself after this guy?”

Decker smiled cynically and sat back. “I think I might know this lady a little bit better than you, Maria. She’s not saying he named himself after this guy. She’s saying he is this guy. Isn’t that right, Doctor Conway?”

“Wait! What!” Maria said.

Sam shrugged. “I hate to admit it, but he’s right.”

“But…” Maria started to say but then frowned and looked at them both. “Okay, good one, guys. Who’s more gullible than I am? You did have me going.”

Decker put his hands up. “Don’t include me in this. If this is a prank, it’s all hers. But my money says she isn’t joking.”

Sam said nothing.

Maria said, “But that would make him, like…”

“Like four thousand years old,” Sam said.

The curtain opened and Josh began to set their drinks down.

“Wow, you guys haven’t touched your sausages. Is everything all right?”

“Couldn’t be better,” Sam said. She picked up her knife and fork and sliced into her sausage.

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“Awesome,” Josh said and then placed the drinks and pulled the curtain.

Maria followed Sam’s lead and soon they were in ecstasy after each savory bite, while Decker inhaled his in silence.

Sam opened her little purse with a beaded hummingbird on it, fished out a five-hour-energy bottle and placed it on the table in front of Decker.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“It’s the potion,” Sam said. “Apparently, you just need a sip.”

“You’re offering it to me?” Decker said and started on his new gimlet.

“Of course, now that I know it’s safe,” Sam said. “But you’re the last one who will get it.”

Decker smiled and shook his head. “No, no.”

“What?” Sam said.

“Hearing the words ‘it’s safe’ coming out from your mouth makes it some kind of oxymoron or something,” Decker said.

Maria laughed.

“Ha-ha,” Sam said. “The side effects are minimal, but the benefits are—well if you can believe it—virtual immortality.”

“That still hasn’t sunken in yet,” Maria said.

“Me either,” Sam said.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” Decker said.

Was he serious? “You’re joking, right?”

Decker shook his head.

Sam turned to Maria, who said nothing but looked confused and then turned back to Decker. “I don’t understand,” she said.

“Are you afraid? I’ve never seen you afraid of anything.”

“That’s not it,” Decker said.

“The eyes?” Maria said. “Your eyes are already very blue. A shade or two is all they would change.”

“It’s not the eyes. Though in my line of work, you don’t want to stand out,” Decker said.

“What then?” Sam said.

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44 “We’re supposed to die,” Decker said. “Life comes from death.

Everything dies to bring life. The sun, a match, a lightbulb, your sausage. Our final contribution to life is death,” he said.

Sam rolled her eyes. “Don’t worry, Confucius; you will die,” Sam said. “It’s just a matter of when.”

“Yeah, just not of natural causes,” Decker said. “I’ll have to be killed or commit suicide.”

“What else is new?” Sam argued. “You’re a field-op DIA agent. It’s a miracle you’ve made it this far.”

“Forget about me. What if everyone drank this?” Decker said.

“That would be wonderful,” Maria said.

Decker shook his head. “At first maybe, but then the earth would overpopulate until mass executions would be necessary to survive,” he said.

Sam sighed. “Ever consider stand-up?”

“Death would eventually win. Killing would be part of every life,” Decker said. “In fact, any form of life that becomes immortal destroys the planet for everything else. You want to know what’s immortal? Cancer. It won’t die of natural causes.”

“Jesus, Deck, you’re way overthinking this,” Sam said. “That scenario would never happen. At least not from this potion.

There is not enough to go around. In fact, you would be the last to get it.”

“I said no,” Decker said and pushed the little bottle back to Sam. 211

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Sam could feel anger rising through her. “And what am I supposed to do—watch you grow old and die?” Sam immediately regretted those words came out.

Decker looked surprised. “Well, I guess that’s something you’ll have to get used to.”

Maria frowned. “Now there’s a sobering thought,” she said and then sipped her drink.

Decker looked at Maria and nodded. “And if you do find someone you think you want to immortalize, consider if your feelings change, which they will when you’ve created someone you won’t be able to get rid of.”

Sam painfully watched Maria absorb Decker’s words. “Are you done with the dark side?” Sam said to him.

“For now, but there’s plenty more. And I want you to promise me something right now.”

“And what’s that?” Sam said angrily.

Decker leveled his index finger between her eyes. “That you will never slip me a Mickey.”

“A what?” Maria said.

Sam turned to Maria and said, “An old saying. Mickey Finn was a bartender who would drip knockout drops into customer’s drinks and later rob them.”

“Exactly,” Decker said. “I want you to promise me you will never do anything like that. You won’t give it to me without my knowledge.”

“I would never do that,” Sam said.

Decker’s brow raised. “You already did it with your uncle and Tyler’s dog.”

“I didn’t know what it really was when I gave it to them,” Sam said.

“And that changes everything?” Decker said. “You wouldn’t have helped them if you knew?”

Sam said nothing.

“I know you better than you know yourself,” Decker said.

“Promise me.”

“Why should I?” “Because if you don’t, you’ll never see me again, because I won’t trust you.”

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Sam could feel her eyes welling up. What the hell was happening to her? “Fine,” she said.

“Say it,” Decker insisted.

“You’ve had too much to drink. Ask me another time.”

“No. Now,” Decker said.

Sam looked at him defiantly. “I will never slip you a Mickey,” she said.

Decker glanced at Maria and then back to Sam. “Or have anyone else do it either.”

“You’re an idiot,” Sam said.

“For sure, but say it,” Decker said.

“I do my own dirty work. I’ll never ask anyone else to give you any of the pillar’s potion.”

Maria motioned to quiet down the conversation.

Sam squinted and whispered through gritted teeth, “Do I need to write that on a napkin for you and sign it?”

Decker drilled right back into her with his own fiery glare.

“Just make sure you don’t forget it,” he said.

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45 “Damn him!” Sam yelled and punched the steering wheel with both her palms twice as she drove home, on the Long Island Expressway. If only someone would cut her off so she could run them off the road. Was rage another side effect of the potion, or was this just her this time? No doubt, her feelings for Decker had grown since they first met in her office when, as a DIA agent, he first showed her the piece of the Methuselah’s Pillar and asked her what it was and if she could somehow translate it. So much had happened since then and so much of it together, with him. It all seemed like one hundred years ago. She just figured whatever she wanted, he would want too. Especially this. He had risen to every occasion when it came to the impossible. He had never shied away from death. But life? Was he afraid to live? Was he looking forward to death? What sense did that make? Whatever, she simply didn’t anticipate Decker’s refusal. He would be surprised and cynical, but he would take it if for no other reason, to prove she was wrong. They would experience something new and wonderful together. But no. Idiot.

Was she taking his rejection too personally? Maybe he just needed a little time to think about it. She hadn’t spoken about it to anyone, but she also noted a boost in her libido. What wasn’t amped? Would she have heightened sexual cravings and then super PMS too? Please no, she prayed.

Sam got off at exit 39, but waiting at the light, she decided to go right instead of left to make a quick check on Tyler. It was just after eleven, but Tyler didn’t seem to know what a regular hour 214

W.G. Griffiths

was. She imagined him either working on his so-called business or playing with Cedar. She wondered if she should tell him the latest, that he was immortal. The thought of it made her smile for the first time since leaving Breslin’s. How would he take it? She laughed. Of course, he wouldn’t believe her at first. She decided to wait. Tyler was such a handful. Too bad wisdom was not an instant side effect. Watching over him and trying to keep him in line over the next few hundred years wasn’t something she would think about right now. Later for that. Play it by ear, she thought as she pulled into Tyler’s driveway. The lights were on, so at least she wouldn’t be waking him up.

The front door was locked. He remembered. Give the man a gold star. She opened the door and entered. “Honey, I’m home,” she called, waiting for Cedar to run around a corner and jump on her. Maybe they were in the backyard, but a few steps in that direction showed there was no light on outside. Odd, but Tyler could be very odd. Maybe they were in the bomb shelter. She opened the basement door and went down.

The shelter door was half open and there wasn’t any light on.

Dark. The thought of scolding Tyler was quickly overruled with a fear that something was wrong. No Tyler, no Cedar. She pushed open the shelter door and flipped the light on…

Sam gasped. Her mind had trouble registering what her eyes were seeing. Her mouth moved, but there was no air to get out any words. Her knees became weak and she leaned into the doorjamb with a thud after the blinking failed to change the view.

The room was empty. Nothing. The pillar was gone, as if it had never been there. Tyler’s electronic equipment was also gone. How was this possible? What actually happened? Nothing made sense. She needed to speak to Tyler. She quickly found her phone, tapped in his number and “Ty” appeared on her screen.

She heard it ring in her ear and heard a tune play upstairs. Her eyes bulged and she ran up the stairs. She followed the sound to the kitchen. Tyler’s cell phone was on the counter. The voice-mail announcement came through her phone, a female voice reciting his number and telling her he was unavailable. But if he called his account from another phone, he could hear a message, she thought. She waited for the beep.

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“Ty, are you all right? Is Cedar all right? Where are you and where is the pillar?” she said and immediately wanted to hear the answer. The female voice told her to press one if she was satisfied with her message. She pressed one to send and instantly realized her mistake. Was there a way to stop her message? No. “Stupid,” she said aloud, angry she mentioned the pillar in a message anyone with his password could hear. She wasn’t thinking clearly.

She dialed Decker.

“Hey, sorry I…” was all she let him say.

“I need your help,” Sam said.

“What’s the matter?” he said.

“I stopped at Tyler’s. He’s gone and so is the pillar.”

“What?”

“You heard me. Cedar’s gone too.”

“Cedar? The dog?”

“Yes, which makes me think he’s not planning on coming back.”

“Did you try to call him?”

“Yes, but he forgot his phone. It’s here.”

“Maybe he didn’t want his location traced through the phone.”

Sam closed her eyes. “That’s right. Damn. What do I do? I can’t think straight,” she said and then remembered how much Decker had to drink. “Can you?”

“Better than you, it would seem.”

“Okay, so tell me what you think.”

“How well do you really know him?”

“I’ve known him since I was ten.”

“He’s not ten anymore. How well do you know him now?”

“I thought I knew him very well.”

“Did he know about the potion?”

Sam sighed. “Yes. It healed his dog and…” she said and paused.

“And?” “And he also took it and drank some.”

“You gave it to Tyler?”

“No, he saw what it did to Cedar and stole some for himself.

I was pretty mad at him for not asking me.”

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“Maybe he thought you would say no.”

“I would have. But I think he only tasted it out of curiosity.

It only takes a sip. He didn’t know that. He also doesn’t know it makes you live longer or about Uncle Ed or Buz.” “Does he know how to make it?”

“Maybe, I don’t know.”

“Would he have stolen it for money?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think he would, but he’s become a bit shady since we were ten.”

“How so?”

“Did I tell you how he makes a living?”

“No.” “He counterfeits.”

“What?”

“Yeah. But not money, per se. He taps into a local red-light traffic camera and sends violators counterfeit tickets. They pay him the fines.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me?”

“Nope. He feels the government owes him.”

“Why?” “I don’t know.”

“Huh. That’s pretty clever. The tickets would be very easy to counterfeit and no one would think of checking them.”

“He’s been making money hand over fist.”

“I bet.”

“And all of his electronic hardware he uses to do it is also gone.”

“Really? Then I would say he’s gone.”

“If he was intent on selling the potion, why would he take the electronic equipment?”

“Good question. Traffic fines would amount to nothing compared to what he could get for your magic potion.”

Sam paused to think about it. “This is a nightmare,” she said.

“I think you should leave there.”

“Why?” “Just in case.”

“In case what?”

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“In case someone stops by and wants to know where Tyler is and what you’re doing there. You don’t need to be there now. I can meet you there tomorrow. Get some rest.”

Sam frowned. “I’m not tired, but you’re right. I don’t want to explain anything here to anyone tonight.”

Suddenly, Tyler’s phone rang. Sam looked at the screen.

“Tyler’s phone is ringing. I don’t know the number,” she said.

“Should I answer it?”

“Why not?” Decker said. “It might be Tyler calling for his messages.”

Sam pressed “answer.” “Hello?”

Breathing. Silence.

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46 Sam slipped under her sheet and shut off the light, but her mind could not rest. How would she tell Buz that Tyler took the pillar and that they were both gone? He had told her to find a safer place for it. If he was who he said he was, he had been waiting for the pillar to show up for thousands of years and now it’s missing in action. She was like his dream come true and biggest nightmare all at the same time. Tyler had everything, the pillar, the flower and the ready-mixed potion. God knows what trouble he could cause. And for what? Money? She thought she knew him better. And what other mysteries, blessings and curses were etched into the pillar, waiting to be unlocked?

Sam tossed, turned and eventually drifted from conscious to subconscious. Faces appeared one by one, each speaking in turn.

Buz said, “Why didn’t you listen to me?”

Decker said, “Don’t come near me with that stuff, ever.”

Maria said, “I will see everyone die?”

Tyler said, “I’m sorry; I’m so sorry.”

Uncle Ed said, “What have you done?”

Doctor Korn said, “What once was yours will soon be mine.”

Hakeem Salim said, “You lost the pillar?”

Jesse said, “Please don’t forget me.”

Her father said, “Hang in there, kiddo. You can accomplish anything you put your mind to.”

Sam heard an engine in the distance slowly getting louder, closer, then further, quieter. The landscaper. She opened her eyes.

She was on her belly, one leg off the bed, sheet on the floor. She rolled over. Her room was filled with sunlight from the southern 219

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window facing the county ball field. The wall clock was at 9:07 a.m. Late. Her mind quickly filled with questions. Time to get up and figure out just what in hell was going on.

Sam sprang to her feet and went for the shower. Lukewarm water was the most comfortable today. What did that mean?

Was her body leveling out? Was everything new? She had no way of knowing about her cells rejuvenating, but she was definitely hungrier than before. She dried off, turned the TV on and Channel 12 told her it was going to be a hot one. She put on khaki shorts and a white T-shirt and then headed for the kitchen.

A quick bite and then to dissect Tyler’s phone.

On her way through the living room to the kitchen, she stopped and looked at Jesse’s desk. Where was Jesse? He was an early bird and it was almost ten. She anxiously changed course for his bedroom to make sure he was all right. She pushed open his door and felt a sigh of relief leave her as she saw him in bed, his head buried under the pillow.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” she said.

Jesse said nothing.

“Jesseeee,” Sam sang. “How about some bacon and eggs?”

“Uhhhh, I’m so tired,” Jesse said, facedown. “Can I get homefried potatoes and toast with that?”

“Sure,” Sam said and frowned. Something was strange. “Why are you so tired?”

“What do you mean ‘why’? You, that’s why,” he said.

“Me?” “Yeah, you and Tyler,” Jesse said.

“Tyler?” Sam said, shocked. “What about Tyler?”

“Why are you so loud? I helped him move all those heavy stones last night. Why me?”

“You moved them?” Sam said loudly. “Where?”

“Where? I know every inch. Up the stairs, into the van, out of the van and back down the stairs. My hands are blistered. See?” he said as he stuck his right hand out from under the sheet.

Sam looked at his hand. It looked fine, but she couldn’t think about her brother’s hand. “Down what stairs? Where are the stones, Jesse?”

“I told you. Down the stairs,” Jesse said.

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“Here?”

“Yeah, where else? In Dad’s old office.”

Sam ran for the basement, flew down the stairs and threw open her late father’s office door. In the middle of the floor, haphazardly placed, was Methuselah’s Pillar with the potion bottles next to it. She stared at it in disbelief. She had no idea what she was going to do with it now, but there it was, in plain sight, back in her hands, where it belonged. She dropped to her knees and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

What about Tyler? Why did he do this? What happened?

Suddenly, she realized something. Jesse didn’t stutter. His blistered hand wasn’t blistered. He was exhausted. He was hungry. “Oh my God,” she said aloud and ran back to Jesse’s room.

“Jesse?” Sam said, tears in her eyes. “Look at me.”

Jesse reached up and pulled the pillow away. He turned his head and opened his eyes. “What?” he said. “What’s wrong with you, Sam?” he said, annoyed, rubbing his violet eyes.

Sam hugged him and wept. He would never stutter again.

His brain damage was healed just like the blisters he went to bed with. Yes, this would create chaos and make Buz madder than hell, but she didn’t think she ever felt more grateful for anything in her life.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” Jesse said, perfectly.

“Nothing, Jess. Nothing. Oh, where’s Tyler?”

“Damned if I know. Everything was in emergency mode. He picked me up, sped to his house, worked me like a Hebrew slave and then left.”

“But first he gave you a taste of what was in the bottle?”

“Yes, just a sip,” Jesse said with a guilty look. “I liked it, but it made me feel really weird. I still feel weird.”

Sam nodded. “It’s okay. You’ll be fine. We’ll talk about it another time, but it’s okay,” she said, wiping away her tears. “Did he say where he was going?”

“Yeah, he said he was going as far away as he could. He said till the train runs out of track. Till there’s no more road,” Jesse said. “He took Cedar and all that electronic stuff too.”

Sam nodded and pursed her lips. “Did he say why?”

“Nope.”

221

47 Sam and Jesse laughed about how much breakfast they ate as they got into her Mini. Jesse had a backpack full of his videogame paraphernalia. She wondered how his regenerated mind would respond to the games now. She thought about how she had been able to play that boy’s accordion outside Gorky Park once the potion had some time to work on her. What would it do to Jesse? Would it enhance his play and increase his fun, or would it bring him beyond the game’s ability to hold his interest?

In any case, she didn’t want to leave him alone at the house. Buz spooked her with the news of Korn alerting some kind of blackmarket people about Uncle Ed. God knows what that could be about, but if some shady characters came to a Samantha Conway residence, hunting down a violet-eyed Uncle Ed, they might find a violet-eyed Jesse and target him as well. She was beginning to understand why Buz lived on a boat.

LaMotta’s Marina entrance was off the beaten path in Port Washington. Sam parked and walked with Jesse to the top of a tide ramp that overlooked a series of docks with hundreds of boat slips stretching deep into the bay. The place was bustling with people engrossed in boating activities. Sailboats and motorboats, large and small. Which one was Buz’s?

“Excuse me,” Sam said to a passing worker with a sideways baseball cap. “Do you know which boat is Bathsheba?”

The worker raised his brow and pointed. “At the end,” he said, with a Spanish accent.

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There were dozens of boats at the end. “I’m sorry,” Sam said, wondering if she should just thank him and ask someone else.

“Which one are you pointing to?”

He pointed again, this time with an arching motion. “Grande,” he said.

“That’s Bathsheba?” Sam asked.

The worker smiled and then walked away.

Sam stared, speechless. There was no need for further directions. The boat the worker had pointed to was a ship and the largest at the marina by double. She didn’t even think it was part of the marina, possibly a government or commercial ship.

And it looked like some kind of old restored tugboat.

Sam and Jesse padded down the ramp and onto a floating wooden dock that reached out to the Bathsheba. They passed sunbathers and sweaty scrubbers listening to boat sound systems while making the most of the beautiful weather. The closer they got, the bigger the Bathsheba appeared. The motor yacht had a boarding stairway, maybe seven feet high up to the ship’s deck.

Sam paused for a moment, looking for someone familiar to wave to. She waited about ten seconds and then, with no one visible and nothing that looked like a doorbell around, she marched up the stairs and stepped onto a spacious, beautifully finished teak deck. To her left were two opposing overstuffed white cushioned teak sofas, matching lounge chairs, two teak tables with lit candles on a giant camel area rug. Beyond and farther stern was a waist-high white cushion that could easily handle a dozen sunbathers and beyond that, more decking and the rail.

To her right were serving counters on either side of teak-framed sliding doors accessing a beachy but modern living room, with a huge TV on one wall and more sofas against the other. “I live on a boat,” she said mockingly.

A man appeared from whatever was beyond the living room.

Sam estimated he was seventyish and Asian dressed in a very formal beige Oriental suit. She wondered if it was styled from a past century. He bowed and said, “Samantha Conway and brother Jesse. I am Chen. Please come this way,” he said and then turned and went back the way he came.

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Sam looked at Jesse, shrugged and followed Chen. They passed through a dining area with the table completely set at one end for five. Bronze candleholders, bowls and goblets seemed out of sync with their white placemats and the otherwise beach-tech decor, but Sam never claimed to know her way around today’s proper interior etiquettes. Chen turned left before an opening of what appeared to be the galley, a dynamic kitchen that made Sam want to gawk, but she followed him up two flights of stairs to the upper deck, where there was a hot tub, bar and more sunbathing lounges…and Maria?

“Hi,” Maria said as she waved, put down what looked like a bloody mary and got up to greet them. She was wearing a small crimson crocheted bikini that could stop a clock.

“Wow,” Jesse said.

“Jesse,” Sam said with her elbow hitting his side, though he took the words out of her mouth.

Maria gave Sam a hug, kissed the air on both her cheeks, then shook Jesse’s hand and said, “And you must be Jesse. I’ve heard so much about you. And I see you’ve joined the club,” she said with a big smile, looking into Jesse’s eyes.

“What club?” Jesse said.

“Uh, we didn’t talk about the club yet,” Sam said quickly.

“Oh,” Maria said. “Well, there’s plenty of time for that, isn’t there?” she said with a smile and then got serious. “Can I talk with you privately for a second?”

“Yes, but first tell me, what are you doing here?”

“Buz invited me. I texted him with the contact info you gave me with your uncle’s picture and he told me to come over for a visit on his boat. I had no idea the boat he was talking about was this.”

“Me either,” Sam said, looking around. “Apparently, he’s done quite well for himself.”

“I’ll say.”

“Nice suit, by the way,” Sam said. “You look amazing.”

“Buz had it waiting for me when I arrived.”

Sam looked over her sunglasses at her. “You’re joking.”

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Maria smiled and shook her head slowly. “It’s all thanks to you and your potion,” Maria said. “Sam, you’ve changed my life.

I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Hey, you deserve everything. After all, it was you who steered me in the right direction,” Sam said. “You recognized the flower and knew about Svetlana Yashina.”

“Anyone could have done that,” Maria said.

“Clearly, that bloody mary has gone to your head.”

Maria smiled. “It can’t. Buz had Chen fetch me a ‘bloody awful.’”

“What’s a bloody awful?”

“A bloody mary without the vodka.”

“Oh, I thought that was a virgin Mary!”

“Well, whatever Buz wants to call it on his boat is fine with me, especially since he also gave me this,” she said, holding out a black card in her hand.

Sam frowned. “What’s that?”

Maria handed her what looked like a credit card.

Sam took it and read a raised inscription. “Maria Bavyko. He gave you your own credit card?” Sam said. “Wow.” “It’s not a credit card. It’s a debit card. Read the name of the bank,” Maria said.

Sam looked close. Black lettering on a black card made it hard to see. “BuzBank?”

“Yes. He has his own private bank.”

Sam paused. “Why?” “I don’t know. I’m a botanist. At least that’s what I was yesterday.”

Sam laughed. “I know that feeling. So, then what’s the card for?”

Maria shrugged. “He told me I could use it for whatever I wanted. I thought he was joking. He wasn’t. What should I do?”

Sam laughed. “I don’t know. What does whatever you want mean?”

“I don’t know,” Maria said. “When I asked him what he meant, he said, ‘whatever you want means whatever you want.’

Then he left. I think he likes me.”

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Sam laughed again. “You think?”

Chen appeared with a bar tray with what looked like two more bloody awfuls. Sam and Jesse liberated the tray. Jesse ate the celery like a saber-toothed rabbit and then guzzled his drink before Chen could move.

“Ah, that was good,” Jesse said and then belched. “Can I have another?”

Chen gave a slight bow and then looked at Sam. “No, thank you, Chen. I’m good,” Sam said and then gave Jesse a look that said, “Behave yourself.”

Chen gave Sam the same abbreviated bow and said, “There is swimming attire in your cabins.”

“Cabins?” Sam said.

Jesse’s eyes brightened.

“Oh yeah.” Maria nodded. “I didn’t get to that yet. We have our own rooms. I’ve gathered quite a few sick days I’m thinking of taking,” she said and laughed. “I’m actually not joking.”

Suddenly, Sam’s phone vibrated. She found it in her purse and looked at the screen. She frowned. “Jesse?” she said and then looked at her brother. “You’re calling me.”

“Huh?” Jesse said.

Sam pressed “answer.” “Hello?” she said.

“I’m in bad trouble,” a familiar voice said.

“Tyler?”

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48 Sam cupped the phone and turned away from Maria and Jesse. “What kind of trouble?”

“You name it?” Tyler said nervously.

“Okay, calm down. You didn’t murder anyone…did you?”

“I don’t think so, but the whole world’s after me.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Who exactly is the whole world, Ty?” “The FBI, the IRS, Nassau County Police, the mob, American Express,” Tyler said.

“Well, let’s forget American Express and the mob for the moment. What does the FBI and IRS want you for?”

“Earning a living.”

Sam sighed. “By a living, you mean sending out your counterfeit red-light camera tickets?”

Tyler breathed in deeply and exhaled. “They froze my bank account and raided Tony’s. He’s in jail now. I’m dead meat.”

“Refresh me on who Tony is.”

“Tony processed the payments. I was the geek; he was the banker.”

“Did the geek, by any chance, hack, I mean, borrow, from the banker?” Sam asked.

“I only took what was mine.”

“Would Tony agree with that?”

“Forget Tony. I’m getting nauseous.”

“Is Tony going to forget you?”

“He will have to!”

“Why?” 227

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“I’m still working on that,” Tyler said. “This all happened yesterday after you left. That’s why I had to get out and I didn’t think it was safe to call anyone with my phone, especially you.”

“Well, thanks for getting the pillar out with you,” Sam said sincerely.

“I didn’t want you after me too. That would be worse than all the others combined.”

Sam said nothing, content not to say anything to change his mind, but she smiled. “Then, where the hell are you?”

“As far away as I could get with Jesse’s license.”

“You took his phone and license?”

“Sorry, but I couldn’t use mine. They would find me.”

“Great, I just got him that phone. It was very expensive.”

“It’s huge.”

“That’s the case, stupid. Try not to lose it. It’s waterproof, so if it falls in the outhouse toilet, go in and get it.”

“You’re gross.”

Sam paused to think. “They will eventually track down all your contacts to see if you are communicating to them and they will eventually track communication your contacts are having to see if there is anything unusual.”

“They will?”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“I don’t know anything right now, Sam. I can’t think. I need you to tell me what to do.”

“Great, you want me to aid a fugitive.”

“Sam, please. Just tell me what to do.”

“Okay, but we need to have a long talk soon. You’re an idiot.”

“Yes, I agree; just help me.”

“After this call, hide Jesse’s phone somewhere you can see from a distance and only use it if it hasn’t been disturbed in case they find it and watch for you to come to it.”

There was a pause. “Okay.”

“It sounds like you’re driving. Are you?”

“Yes.” “Whose car?”

“Jesse’s.”

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“Jesse doesn’t have a car.”

“He does now. A white Dodge minivan that I can sleep in if I need to. Tell him he’s a soccer mom.”

“You bought a car using Jesse’s ID?” “Yes.” “Does he also have a car loan?”

“No, I thought about it, but I was in a rush.”

“Thank Christ. Cash?”

“Yes.” “Good. You have some cash?”

“Yes.” “How much?”

“About two hundred and thirty thousand.”

“What!”

“I told you, they froze my bank account.”

“You didn’t tell me you had that much cash. Wait; is any of that cash Tony’s?”

“That’s a matter of opinion.”

“Great. Okay, seriously, I know you don’t want to say where you are over the phone, but can you give me a clue that only I would know?”

“Yes. Remember that time your folks took us camping and you caught a squirrel in some crazy trap you made? Then you cooked it on a fire and made me eat it and I threw up?”

Tyler was in Key West. As far as he could go, he told Jesse.

Sam remembered the camping trip with her folks and Tyler vomiting after eating the squirrel vividly. She tried desperately not to laugh. “Yes,” she said and then covered her mouth.

“Well, I’m going there. In fact, I just passed the welcome sign as we speak.”

“You have a good memory,” Sam said, still holding it in.

“Good memory? It’s called PTSD, thank you. And I hear you laughing.”

“I’m not laughing,” Sam said, tearing.

“My ears hear everything for some reason. You’re going to hell.”

“Is Cedar with you?”

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“Of course.”

“Keep your sunglasses on, especially when you walk him.

If anyone sees you both have violet eyes, tell them it’s part of a costume.”

“Isn’t it?”

“And remember, if you get hungry…”

“Very funny. Hey, look at that. Damn, talk about hungry,” Tyler said.

“What?”

“Oh, just something I’m starving for,” Tyler said. “Think I’m gonna get me some au jus.”

“Prime rib?” Sam said.

“Uh, yeah. Gotta go. I’ll talk to you later,” he said and disconnected.

Sam looked at her phone for a long moment. “Now what?” she said.

230

49 Sam stared out across the sun-strewn waters of Manhasset Bay but saw only her own thoughts, vexed by her conversation with Tyler. She knew him since she was ten. He would never hang up on her unless he was about to do something she would forbid. She didn’t have any idea what that could be, alone in Key West, hiding, but behind her eyes, sirens were screaming.

Just then Jesse yelled to her to join them all in the dining room.

“Shit!” she whispered as she left the guardrail for a grand lunch Buz had prepared. Chen pulled out her chair and pushed it in for her after she sat. She thanked him and then managed a thin smile for everyone already seated. All eyes were violet. Eerie, she thought. Before her, a bronze plate held a steaming red lobster.

Additional lobsters were within easy reach, centered on the table, neatly arrayed, side by alternate side, like new shoes in a box, atop a bronze tray big enough for a roast pig. Everyone had white cloth napkins, but there appeared to be no utensils. None.

Directly across from Sam sat Maria, who was leaning her ear toward Buz, at the table’s head, as he whispered something to her. She laughed, shook her head and pushed at his shoulder but too lightly to move him. Jesse sat to Maria’s right, staring at the lobster assembly in disbelief. Uncle Ed sat to Sam’s left. They exchanged smiley nods, but Sam could no longer recognize him.

He looked twenty-five. His nose was straight with a slight cleft at the end. His jawline was smooth and tight and his chin proud.

His new violet eyes went perfectly with his thick, red hair, now a quarter-inch long. His smile was gentle and produced vertical 231

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dimples. His teeth were bright and fully formed. God, he was quite handsome and going to be impossible to hide among strangers, she thought. Sam had seen old photos of him when he was young, but those were in black and white and he usually wore a suit with a fedora, a sharp contrast to the shorts and Hawaiian shirt he was presently donning. Uncle Ed had spent some quality time with Buz during his dramatic transformation and Sam wondered what they had talked about. Jesse sat across from him, but they were both quietly anticipating their food, each not knowing who the other was yet. In any case, every indication pointed to Uncle Ed peacefully soaking in his new surprise life, happy to be out of the hospital and young again. Did he know he was immortal? What he must be feeling after finding out his wife, Sam’s aunt Francis, had died eight years ago? Her thoughts annoyingly slipped back to Tyler and her jaw tightened. How does one person connect so many bad decisions in a row?

Buz pulled his attention from Maria, sat up straight and closed his eyes for a silent moment and then opened them and said, “I want to thank you all for coming. I know you’re all hungry, so all I will say is, I have waited a long time for your company and I am grateful. Okay, enough said for now. Dig in. And don’t be shy about it,” he said and then proceeded to lead by example. All eyes seemed to watch him as he grabbed his lobster with both hands, no apparent regard for temperature and ripped it in half.

He set aside the tail, removed both claws and went meticulously to work on the body, separating the outer shell from the carcass and then drinking the green innards like an opened oyster.

Maria surveyed the table and said, “Where are the nutcrackers?”

“You don’t need them for these lobsters,” Buz said. “These are soft shell.”

Maria’s eyes narrowed. “I guess I’ve been spending too much time with plants,” she said.

Buzz swallowed and said, “Lobsters molt every year and afterward their shell is soft, the meat is sweeter and they’re local.”

“They’re local?” Maria said.

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“Always. Soft-shell lobsters are too fragile to ship. Most don’t survive. Imported lobsters are always hard shell with coarser meat and more expensive,” Buz said.

“What’s the green stuff?” Jesse asked.

“Chefs call it tomalley. It’s quite eatable and many find it delicious,” Buz said.

“Is it, uh…the uh?” Maria said.

Buz laughed. “No. I don’t know the biological name, but it acts as the lobster’s liver and pancreas.”

“Oh. That’s very educational,” Maria said dryly and then went for the tail. “I would like to announce that my tomalley is now available if anyone wants.”

Uncle Ed shrugged and drank his tomalley down Buz style and then went for a claw.

Chen was busy topping off bronze water goblets from a dented bronze pitcher that looked as if it belonged in a museum.

“This is amazing and very generous, Buz,” Sam said between bites and then pointed at him with a claw. “When you said you lived on a boat, I was concerned the two of you might find it crowded. I didn’t expect a hundred-foot motor yacht,” she said.

Buz chuckled admirably. “Actually, ninety-eight,” he said. “It was built in 1962 as a tugboat, in Italy. I took possession about ten years ago and had it, let’s say, transformed into what you see now.”

“All the way from Italy?” Sam said. “It must be quite seaworthy.”

“It’s unsinkable,” Buz said. “They are faster, but with time on my side, I went with dependability.”

“Just don’t change the name to Titanic,” Uncle Ed said.

Buz shook his finger at him playfully and then winked. “Your uncle’s a good man, Sam. I told you he would be fine. We’ve had some good talks. I told him to enjoy living on Bathsheba for as long as he wants. He doesn’t need to concern himself with anything at all right now. I advised him to just relax and take in everything slow, one day at a time.”

Uncle Ed raised his water goblet. “I’ll drink to that,” he said.

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Sam nodded and tapped her index finger to her lips.

Jesse’s eyes grew.

Sam smiled at Jesse and motioned for him to eat his lobster.

She had no idea how to handle him with this. Was she being overprotective? She had a thousand questions and felt she needed to have separate private conversations with everyone at the table.

Why, though? They all looked happy. Why mess with happy? Why be the mother hen? The dismissive thoughts only lasted a moment before reality reappeared. She brought this potion into the lives of those closest to her and now was scrambling to make sure she wasn’t killing them in the process. Buz seemed to have all the answers, but could his explanations be true? It was simply too good and fascinating for her to embrace. Something had to be wrong.

Sam looked around the table. Uncle Ed was the least of her concerns. At one hundred years old, he was playing with house money and plenty of it, but his renewed existence was as frightening as it was wonderful. Yet he was the single biggest reason she gave Buz’s story a chance. Maria was having the time of her life and all arrows were pointing up. Sam watched her and Buz. She squinted at him seriously. He squinted back. Her lips curled into a smile she could not hold back. He laughed. They were filling each other’s voids. Smiled but then thought of her last time with Decker and her smile faded.

Chen swiftly cleared the carnage and returned with cordial glasses half full with a dark amber liquid. He placed one in front of each of them.

“A toast,” Buz said and lifted his glass.

Sam examined the color and sniffed. “May I ask what we are drinking?”

“It’s a brandy from my personal collection,” Buz said.

“How old is it?” Maria asked sweetly.

Buz smiled. “Let’s just say we’ll be drinking something else the next time we toast something. This is the last of its kind.”

Jesse looked at Sam, who gave him the nod to drink it.

Buz lifted his little glass. “Time, energy and money. May you all use them wisely.”

Everyone drank.

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Cognac, Sam thought, with her brow raised. The best she’d ever sipped. Very smooth. “Buz, where did you come up with the name Bathsheba?” she said.

Buz finished his drink, clacked it down on the table with earnest and paused before speaking. “Well, she was quite a woman.”

“Bathsheba?”

“Yes.” Sam gave him a look over her glasses. “Dare I ask?”

Buz smiled. “I think you already know what I’m going to say.”

Sam stared at him blankly. “And her husband?”

“Which one—first or second?”

“Let’s start with the second.”

“Ah, poor Uriah, always an afterthought.”

“I would love to hear about Uriah, but first, tell me about David.”

“As a king or as a person?”

“A person.”

Buz paused and pursed his lips. “I’ve never known anyone else like him, ever,” Buz said and stared into nothingness. “He was an archangel,” he said and then laughed. “Except when he wasn’t.”

“Meaning what?”

“His confidence moved mountains.”

“Like Goliath?”

Buz frowned. “I wasn’t there for that, unfortunately, but yes.

He would pick and choose his battles, but the ones he picked, he would win, fearlessly. His faith was heroic and contagious, but he was human.”

“And Bathsheba? Was that a win?”

Buz shook his finger. “Let’s just say David had good days and bad days but never dull ones.”

Sam nodded and said quietly, “On that note, I need to ask you a big favor.”

Buz examined her without a blink and then excused himself from the table and said, “Doctor Conway, have you seen the bridge?”

“No, I have not,” Sam said.

235

50 Sam followed Buz out of the room, up a flight of stairs and through a thick steel door. She stepped inside and stopped to take it all in. The bridge looked like a NASA control room trimmed in teak. The captain’s seat was an invitingly overstuffed, black leathered version of a giant barber’s chair. Six large monitor screens illuminated with various maps, charts and scientific data lined the curved dashboard. Directly in front of the chair was a meaty teak steering wheel with satin nickel spokes. Just to the right of the wheel, on the console top, was a chrome barrel with throttle levers on each end. Colorful lit buttons and switches were scattered between the screens. Panoramic windows sloped up and away.

Buz walked to the middle of the room and turned around.

“Like I said, I live on a boat. This tug was built in Naples. I bought it ten years ago and made some modern modifications before bringing it here. It’s almost time to move on again.”

“Move on? To where?” Sam said as she climbed onto an elevated couch behind the captain’s chair. Her sneakers dangled a two feet off the floor.

“I don’t know anymore,” Buz said and slid a chrome footrest out of the elevated seat for her. “You have brought unexpected changes that require careful consideration,” Buz said. “These are very different times now.”

“Tell me about it!” Sam said jestfully and then frowned as she considered the magnitude of what he could mean. “Different?

How, Buz?” 236

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“Well,” he said, turning his palms upward, “advancements used to make life simpler.”

Sam found his particular hand language to have its own unique accent, interesting, but she refocused. “Like?”

Buz paused a second and then opened a drawer and pulled out an old canvas pack on a rope. He handed it to her. “Now this is a pure advancement.”

Sam looked inside the canvas and recognized that it contained a very old canteen. “It’s old, but all I see is a canteen. So what?”

Sam said. “Canteens have been around as long as man has been drinking water.”

Buz waved his finger. “What you are seeing is a new invention called the screw cap. Patented by John Mason, in 1858. You know, the Mason preserving jars you all love so much? During the Civil War, this screw cap replaced a cork that used to fall out in battle.

I would reach for a drink and find the canteen empty. A simple advancement with nothing but benefit. I love that thing.”

“Wait! You were in the Civil War?” “Seemed worthwhile at the time.”

Sam paused. “Why do I get this feeling there’s a lot you haven’t told me?”

Buz laughed. “Maybe because there’s a lot I haven’t told you.”

“You know I want to hear everything, right?”

“In time, Sam. In time.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “So, which side?”

Buz frowned. “Which side?”

“Yes, north or south?”

Buz gave her a look. “Guess. Anyway, you’re changing the subject. We can go over the real world history some other time.”

“The real world history?”

Buz nodded. “One of today’s authors correctly stated, ‘Whoever owns the present owns the past and whoever owns the past owns the future’.”

“That was Orwell. He’s dead,” Sam said.

Buz snorted. “Dead. Everyone is dead.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Buz rolled his eyes. “In time, Sam. You will understand.”

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“In time, in time,” Sam mocked. “Is that what you tell all your friends?”

Buz shook his head. “I have no friends. Just partners and associates. My friends are long gone. I stopped making new ones about three thousand years ago.”

“What?”

“You get close to someone and poof! They’re gone. After a while, you learn to keep your distance.”

Sam just stared at him for a moment. “Like you said, Buz, these are very different times.”

Buz smiled and nodded. “What was that favor you needed?”

Sam sighed. “Tyler’s in trouble.”

Buz’s eyes widened.

“Don’t worry; the pillar is safe. He and Jesse moved it to my basement. That’s why…”

“So it was Tyler who gave the potion to Jesse,” Buz interrupted.

“I thought you did.”

“I wanted to in the worst way, but I wanted to hold back until I knew it was a hundred percent safe.”

“Does Jesse know?”

Sam leaned back. “He knows things are different, better, but not the magnitude.”

Buz nodded. “And you want me to look after Jesse while you help Tyler because you’re afraid of Jesse getting in the line of fire with whatever Korn and his connections might be up too.”

Sam sat up and put her hands flat on the black leather. “Is my mind that easy to read, or is that something else you can do?”

Buz grinned. “Not always. Today you’re easy.”

“So then you’ll watch him till I get back?”

“Yes, but we need to have a little talk. Life as you’ve known it needs to adjust to your new reality.”

Sam nodded. “I’m starting to get the picture.”

“Perhaps, but you need an accelerated course. In the meantime, I will watch over your uncle and brother…”

“And Maria?”

Buz smiled.

Sam lifted her hands in surrender. “Dumb question.”

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Buz furrowed his brow. “We are all suddenly a family.”

“And you’re our dad.”

Buz exhaled. “For a little while, yes. This is a critical juncture.”

“Which is all the more reason I need to find Tyler,” Sam said.

Buz nodded. “Yes. I agree. Where is he?”

“Key West.”

Buz brightened. “Really? Where at Key West?”

“A campground we visited as children. He’s not going to be safe there for very long.”

He held up a finger. “Do exactly as I say. Go to Republic Airport, now. A Talon Air jet will fly you to Key West. A white Toyota Camry will meet you when you land and take you to a nearby house, where you can bring Tyler. He will be very safe there. The garage will have a few vehicles you might find handy.”

“Wait! What!” Sam said.

“Just go. I’ll make the arrangements.”

239

51 Tracy Star heard the cricket-like tweet on her cell-phone radio. “Yeah,” she said, walking westbound on Highway One, her tiny backpack tucked under a blond ponytail that reached her worn mini jean shorts. Au Jus was embroidered on a rear pocket.

“White minivan,” Jack said.

A pickup truck approached and gave a friendly toot as it passed. She didn’t grant any acknowledgment. She glanced back.

“Got it,” she said into the radio and then turned it off, slipped it into her pack and put out her left thumb. *** Tyler ended his connection with Sam and slipped his phone into his shorts’ cargo pocket. He lowered his passenger window and pulled up next to the hitchhiker. “Need a ride?” he asked.

The girl turned and leaned into the window. She was about twenty-three with captivating blue eyes. Her sleeveless blouse was so sheer and low cut that Tyler found it impossible not to stare at possibly the only view he could think of more beautiful than her eyes.

“Thank you so much,” she said sweetly with a Russian accent.

“I thought no one would stop. The sun is brutal today.”

Tyler slid his sunglasses up till they rested on a thick, black wave. “Well, come in and enjoy some shade and cool air conditioning.”

“Oh my God, I think you just saved my life,” she said and slid into the passenger seat, pinched her blouse’s narrow lapel and pulled it away from her skin to let the cool air in and give Tyler 240

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an open glimpse of what he was hoping for. “I’m Tracy. By the way, you have such cool eyes.”

Tyler cleared his throat and started driving. “Thank you.

So do you. I’m…I’m Tyler. Look, I wasn’t going all the way into town, but it’s not much further than where I’m headed.”

“Oh, no problem; I’m not going to town either,” she said with a smile that hit Tyler like a wrecking ball.

“You’re not?” Tyler said, on automatic response, his mind ten steps ahead of his mouth.

“No, I’m going just two miles up to the deer refuge. I have a little tent there.”

“Deer refuge?” he said, surprised. “I think that’s right next to the campground I’m going to.”

“Really? Meeting some friends?”

“No. Just showing up and hope there’s a vacancy I can park in. This is my tent,” Tyler said, motioning to the interior.

“That’s why I set up in the deer refuge. No one goes in there.

Say, if you’re not meeting anyone, I would love your company,” she said and flapped her blouse again. She then pointed to Tyler’s opened bottle of red Gatorade in the cup holder. “Mind if I have a little?”

“Of course, help yourself,” he said, wondering if any of this was really happening. The universe had conspired against him; he was a wreck, running for his life, stressed out of his mind and then an angel appears with heavenly eyes and a perfect body.

And just as he was going to probably find no vacancy at the campground, she offers him her company and little tent. There is a God, he thought.

Tracy spilled a little Gatorade onto her chin as she drank and it dripped down to a lapel. She pulled the bottle away from her mouth and looked at herself. “Oh no, I’m such a slob. Here, Tyler, have some before I finish it all,” she said and extended the bottle to him.

“That’s okay; finish it,” he said.

“No, you have the rest,” she said. “Let’s share.” Tracy stared into his eyes and held them fast.

Tyler blinked but said nothing as he drained the bottle, never losing eye contact with her.

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“Do you have any water? I’d like to get this out before it stains,” she said.

“Yes, I do actually,” Tyler said and reached behind to a case of twelve-ounce bottles and brought it to her hand.

Tracy opened the bottle and spilled it liberally on the stain.

The microfiber virtually became clear as it saturated. “Can you still see it?” she asked.

Tyler slowed, unable to look at the road. “Yes; I mean, no. I think it’s gone.”

“Oh good, but now it’s soaking wet. I’ll hang it to dry at the campsite.”

Tyler said nothing.

She took the half-empty bottle, capped it and said, “Where do you want this?”

“Oh, just toss it in the back, but don’t hit Cedar.”

Tracy turned and gasped. “A-a dog. You have a dog?”

“Yeah, Cedar goes where I go.”

Cedar’s tail started thumping at the sound of his name.

“He’s beautiful. Hey, he has the same eyes you do.”

“Oh, they’re contacts. We went to a party and I just left them on him.”

“The dog let you put contacts on?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“I’ve never heard of anyone doing that before,” she said and then turned her attention back to Tyler. “Does he bite?”

“Cedar? Are you a cat?”

Tracy purred. “Sometimes.”

Tyler smiled and brought his finger to his lips. “Shhhh. You’ll get him all excited.”

“Oh gottcha, wouldn’t want to get anyone too excited,” she said sarcastically.

Tyler could not believe this was really happening. If everything bad had not happened, he wouldn’t have met Tracy.

The silver lining had appeared for him. He was starting to feel better, more relaxed, like magic, he thought. Trees thickened on either side of the road as they entered the national forest.

“A little further up on the right is a dirt road. That’s us.”

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Tyler nodded and wiped sweat from his forehead. He slowed as she pointed to a small opening in the trees. He turned in and the motion felt strange. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. Why did that turn make him feel light-headed? “This isn’t a road, just an opening,” he said as the thought came to his mind. He didn’t really mean to say it, but his mouth produced the words, as if on its own.

“Exactly,” Tracy said. “No one ever comes here. We can have complete privacy.”

“Great,” Tyler said. “That’s what I want now,” he said, again feeling like he was a bit outside himself when he spoke. He wondered why he was caring less about it with each passing second.

The car entered the forest and the sunlight dimmed under the shadow of thick pine trees. The ground softened and the van felt like it was floating through the woods.

“Careful, tiger,” Tracy said. “We don’t want to hit any trees.”

Tyler shook his head to clear the cobwebs. “How far in do I go?”

“All the way to the water,” she said, looking back and forth at him and the road.

“Cool. I’m feeling a little tired. I’d like to sit back and enjoy the water view for a little while.”

“I was hoping you would join me for a ride in the kayak. It’s a two-seater. I’ll paddle if you’re tired.”

“Oh, that sounds nice,” Tyler said and continued slowly through shallow dips and branches until they came upon a small opening by the water. A green octagonal tent was set up with a red kayak next to it.

“Come on,” Tracy said and got out.

Tyler climbed out and held the door open for Cedar, who hopped onto the front seat and then out. He sniffed and quickly found a suitable tree to relieve himself on.

“This is my tent and this is my boat,” she said and tossed her pack into the kayak.

“I love it,” he said and walked toward the kayak.

“And I love that you were so kind to bring me all the way.”

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“This is better than I hoped for.”

“Would you come with me for a little paddle now?” she said and pulled a rope handle on the nose of the kayak.

“Now?” he said and then wobbled a bit.

She glanced at her wristwatch again. “Yes, yes. And then if you’re tired, we can nap in the tent when we get back.”

“Let’s nap first,” he said.

“No, no, Tyler. Kayak first. Paddle and then nap,” she said.

“Paddle and then nap,” she repeated.

Tyler nodded and dragged his feet. He took the rope handle at the rear of the boat and followed as she pulled him to the shoreline. He stepped into the salt water. “I left my shoes on,” he said.

“Yes.” She laughed. “Everyone does,” she said and helped him settle into the front seat. She took a paddle and got into her seat behind him.

“We’re in the kayak,” Tyler said and Cedar came into the water next to him.

“Yes, we are. And we’re having lots of fun,” Tracy said. “Tell Cedar he has to stay.”

“Staaay,” Tyler said. “Staaay.”

Cedar tilted his head but obeyed.

“Where’s my paddle?” Tyler asked.

“You don’t get one, dear.”

“I don’t get a paddle,” Tyler repeated, his eyes wanting to close.

“You can’t hold a paddle now, sweetheart. You’re like rubber.”

“I’m rubber now,” he mumbled and heard an electronic chirp from behind.

“On the water,” Tracy said. “We have a dog. Over.”

“Shit. Over.”

“It’s okay; he listens. Over.”

“Transport in ten. Over and out.”

Tyler watched shiny lights reflect off tiny waves and water dripping slowly off the end of Tracy’s paddle as it dipped in and out of the surface. He liked the sound of water flowing under the kayak as it floated into open waters. He felt as if he was watching 244

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himself on television from a swimming pool. He saw Sam’s face for a moment, but then it was gone. There was an engine whomping in the distance and getting closer.

“I hear another boat,” Tyler said. “It’s coming here.”

“Really?” Tracy said, surprised. “How do you know that?”

“I know things now,” Tyler said.

There was a pause. “What things, dear?”

“Just things,” Tyler said.

“Like what?”

“Oh, just things. We are going six miles per hour, but those clouds are going ten.”

Tracy laughed. “Okay. What else, dear?”

“Oh, you had a shoulder injury, left side.”

Another pause. “And how do you know that?”

“I hear it.”

“You hear it?” Tracy said, cynically.

“I hear it. Pop, click, pop, click, pop, click.”

“Okay, stop!” Tracy shouted.

“Okay. Don’t be scared.”

“I’m not scared.”

“Your heart just went twenty-three beats faster.”

“What?” she said angrily.

A white sport-fishing boat with a flying bridge cruised into the cove and coasted to their side.

Tracy maneuvered to the rear and two large men plucked Tyler from his seat with a strap she helped secure under his armpits. His arms and head hung limp. He tried to move them but couldn’t. He looked into her eyes. They no longer wanted his.

She looked away and was handed his jingling car keys and a fat yellow envelope.

“He’s different,” she said.

“How?” one of them said.

“You’ll see,” she said.

245

52 Sam drove into the southern entrance of Republic Airport, followed a perimeter service road around hangers and small aircraft and then turned into the parking lot of Talon Air. She hadn’t come to a full stop in front of the plush terminal before a large golf cart drove through a gated entrance and pulled up beside her. Sam climbed out of her Mini as the cart driver, in dark-blue trousers and matching shirt, jumped out to assist her.

“Samantha Conway?”

“Yes.” “Your luggage, please?”

“I don’t have any.”

He stopped. “Okay then, hop in and let’s skedaddle,” he said.

“Your flight is ready to go as soon as you’re on board.”

They drove across a perfect asphalt field to a small white jet that was set apart from the others. Heat waves rose from its high-pitched engines. A thin black woman in a navy skirt, white shirt and bright smile was waiting by the boarding stairs. A moment later another flight attendant in similar attire welcomed her through the doorway and into her cushy leather seat. The entire process was a fast-and-fluid execution of smiles and hand motions. The door clacked tight and the crackle of a speaker began the pilot’s introduction.

“Welcome aboard, Miss Conway. It is our pleasure to fly you to Key West International Airport. Tara is the lovely lady who showed you to your seat. I am Captain Hari Rajan and right here next to me is my capable copilot, Lucinda Karter. We are 246

W.G. Griffiths

flying Talon Air’s Hawker eight hundred XP and the flight time this afternoon will be approximately three hours at thirty-seven thousand feet. The skies are clear, so just sit back and enjoy your flight.”

A moment later the little jet taxied to the runway and started down the stretch. Takeoff was smooth and flat; Sam barely noticed leaving the tarmac. The ground zoomed out until it resembled the veiny surface of an autumn leaf. Tara set a menu on the high-gloss mahogany table before her.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Tara asked.

Sam thought and then smiled. “I’ll have a bloody awful.”

“Spicy or not so much?”

Sam’s brow raised. Did everyone know this drink but her?

“Spice it up,” she said.

Tara nodded and vanished.

Sam perused over the menu, wondering how this was all happening so easily. Traveling on museum business trips was never this fast or smooth. She wanted to ask who was in charge of her flight but decided to ask Buz when she saw him next. For all she knew, it was his airline. Something like that might explain his surprise appearance in Moscow’s Gorky Park.

Sam saw prime rib, au jus and immediately thought of Tyler.

Idiot. Couldn’t she even eat in peace?

Tara returned with the bloody awful and Sam ordered a BLT. When the sandwich arrived, it looked so good that she had to wonder if there was an actual kitchen on board. She took a healthy bite and closed her eyes in bliss. It’s the little things, she thought, but then a big thing broke through the door to her mind like a glacier that just wouldn’t stop. Tyler. Sam raised a finger and Tara was immediately by her side.

“Is everything okay?” Tara asked.

“The sandwich is wonderful. Can I make a phone call, please?”

“Absolutely. Just pick up the receiver and dial,” Tara said, motioning to the armrest.

“Oh,” Sam said and made the call. After a couple of extra clicks in her earpiece, there was a familiar connection and ring.

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“Come on, Ty, pick up,” Sam said, but then it went to Jesse’s voice mail. There was no point leaving Tyler a message he couldn’t retrieve.

The Hawker touched down in Key West as lightly as it had taken off from Long Island. Sam stepped off into a steam bath of humidity and heat. She didn’t have to wonder for more than two seconds where to go next. A white Toyota Camry with dark tinted windows pulled up slowly before her. The passenger window lowered and an elderly man with sparse white hair, sunglasses and a Hawaiian shirt greeted her with a big smile.

“Well, come on in, young lady. I don’t open doors anymore,” the man said with a high, whispery voice. “My name is Horace and I’m your ride.”

Sam glanced suspiciously into the back seat. Empty. She opened the passenger door and slid in, relieved by the air conditioning. The window went back up and Sam turned to Horace. “Where are you taking me?” she said.

“To your next ride, of course. I’m the second slowest driver in the state of Florida, so you don’t want me driving you any further than you have to,” Horace said.

Sam smiled. “Who is the first slowest?”

“The first? Some old bitch I came across some ten years ago on Highway One. I passed her on a double line after following her for five miles. It scared me to death and made her the slowest, maybe in the world. She took my title.”

Sam laughed. “So how long have you worked for Buz?” she asked, fishing.

Horace allowed a thin smile. “Who’s Buz?” he said, eyes straight ahead. They pulled out of the airport at a crawl. They crossed Flager Avenue onto Seventh Street for a few agonizingly slow blocks. They waited until there were no oncoming cars as far as the eye could see and then made a left onto Highway One for a few hundred feet, before turning right onto Hilton Haven Road, a narrow peninsula. At the end of the road, Horace turned into a driveway. “We are here,” Horace said as a gate opened to let them in.

“I think your title is safe, Horace. Ants could have carried me here faster.”

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Horace smiled. “Aw, you’re just saying that,” he said as they drove under an arch into the inner courtyard of a gorgeous Spanish villa that horseshoed around a pool and opened to a long dock. Beyond was a small and very protected bay. Sam imagined Bathsheba tied to the dock, safe in any weather. The car stopped in front of four mahogany garage doors.

“So where’s my next ride, Horace?”

Horace squeezed a remote button and all four doors raised, as did Sam’s brow. “Right through those doors, Miss Conway.

Everything here is yours to use as you wish to your heart’s desire.”

Sam’s eyes were wide. “Everything?”

“Of course, except for ole Betsy here,” he said, patting his seat. “We wouldn’t want you to feel constricted. Door number two just arrived an hour ago, in case you get homesick,” Horace said.

She turned to Horace, who just smiled and motioned for her to go on in. Her eyes went back and forth between the garage and Horace, who seemed to be enjoying this immensely. “Are you going to wait for me here?” she asked.

“I live here. And so do you, any time you want.”

“You’re the caretaker?”

“You might say that. I own it, but I’ve been paid well to adapt my last will and testament to some very specific instructions.”

Sam nodded slowly. “I think I understand, but I have some important business that will have to push this conversation off for a little while.”

“That’s all right. I’ll be inside if you have any questions.

The keys are in the ignitions and the gates will open for you automatically. Carpe diem.”

Sam nodded and went into the garage. The inside was like a mechanic’s showroom. Pristine key-lime tile floor with black toolboxes around the perimeter. Behind door number one was a metallic silver Porsche 918 Spyder hybrid. Yes, but sadly, no. This was not the inconspicuous ride she needed to find Tyler without attracting attention, but she wasn’t leaving town without taking this baby for a spin. Door number two had a British-racing-green Mini Cooper identical to her own in every visible way. Beyond 249

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sweet of Buz to make her feel at home, but door number three quickly snatched her attention. Two motorcycles. A large green BMW R1200C cruiser and a yellow Ducati 800 Scrambler with a narrow gas tank. New but a retro sixties look. Oh yeah. The Scrambler would go anywhere she wanted, on or off the road.

She scanned the area and saw two yellow helmets atop a tall black toolbox. She grabbed one. Full tinted visor and face guard.

She took off her sunglasses and pulled it on by the straps. A little snug going on but fit well once in place. She slid her glasses back on with the visor up, mounted the bike and turned the ignition key. The gauges lit up, retro but digital. She squeezed the clutch, clicked the foot shifter into neutral and pressed the start button.

The purr of the engine curled the corners of her lips up. She turned to the Spyder and said, “Soon, I promise.”

250

53 Tyler yawned and opened his eyes slowly and then all at once wide and darting. What is this place? He tried to sit up but couldn’t.

Straps? Tubes? Wires? What happened? His breathing sped up to hyperventilation. Wait! What was that? A scream? A bad scream.

It continued on and on, agonizing.

A door opened and the scream volume became louder. A woman in yellow scrubs and a shower cap of some kind wheeled in a rolling cart. She shut the door and the scream sound lowered again. Was this the FBI? “Hi there,” she said, very friendly, calming. “Did you sleep well?”

“I think so. Where am I?” “The doctors will be in soon. They will go over everything.

What unusual eyes you have.”

“Doctors?”

“Yes.” “What is that screaming?”

“I know, right? You would think they would have soundproofed that extractor room better. Some people get used to it but not me, no, when I…” “Stop, please. Why is someone screaming?”

“I’m not allowed to talk about that. Everything is fine,” she said, rocking her head with each word as if it was her given line.

“The doctors will fill you in on your situation.”

“My situation?” What did he do wrong now?

“Arm please,” she said, holding a blood-pressure wrap.

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Tyler held out his arm without question, like a dog that had been asked for his paw.

“A hundred over sixty. Pretty damn perfect. I need to take your blood.”

“All of it?”

“No, silly. Which arm is best?”

“The same one, I think,” Tyler said, helpfully. “Why am I strapped down?”

“The doctors will go over all that.”

“Okay,” Tyler said. He liked her, she was nice.

The door opened and two men in lab coats walked in, the bald one with a clipboard in his hand.

“Well, speak of the devils,” the woman said and pushed her cart toward the door.

“I’m Doctor Ackerman and this is Doctor Meltzer,” the man with short, thick hair and a potbelly said. “We need to ask you a few questions.” Doctor Meltzer watched the woman as she left the room and then shook his head and readied himself with a pen drawn from his top pocket.

“Okay,” Tyler said.

“What’s your name?”

“Tyler Green.”

“You slept for a long time. How are you feeling?”

“Good, but I’d like to move my arms more.”

Ackerman nodded. “When we leave, a couple of soldiers will unstrap you and bring you to your room. You won’t need straps there,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Soldiers?”

“Yes, nothing to worry about,” Meltzer said. “Standard procedure.”

Tyler nodded. So this was the FBI, he thought.

“Your driver’s license says you have brown eyes, but your eyes are actually violet and you aren’t wearing any contacts. Can you explain that?”

Tyler closed his eyes and sighed. “Sorry, I can’t talk about that.”

“And why is that?” Ackerman said incredulously.

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“I’m not allowed to.”

“You’re not allowed to?” Ackerman repeated. “And why is that?”

“I promised my friend I wouldn’t. It was my fault and she’s already very mad at me.”

Meltzer scribbled. “Very mad at him,” he mouthed aloud and then looked up for more.

Ackerman frowned. “Who is she?”

“I don’t think I can tell you that either. In fact, I think I already said too much.”

“We can make you tell us, but that would be very painful,” Meltzer said while writing.

“I think I’ll use my right to remain silent then,” Tyler said.

The doctors looked at each other and laughed. “You don’t have that right here,” Ackerman said.

Tyler shook his head, disagreeing. “Everyone under arrest has that right.” He didn’t like these guys so much.

“You’re not under arrest, Tyler,” Meltzer said.

“I’m not? Isn’t this the FBI?” The doctors laughed. “No. Now can we get back to the questions?” Ackerman said.

“Then where am I?” Tyler said, looking around.

Ackerman rolled his eyes. “You are at the Beekman Pharmaceuticals Island Research Center. You have been chosen for a special program because, uh, you are special.”

“Apparently, in more ways than one,” Meltzer added. “Did you take a little yellow bus to school?”

Ackerman gave him a look and Meltzer shrugged. “We found a little plastic bottle on you and Dyson, our fearless leader, tasted it. Since then his eyes have turned the same color as yours and the gray in his beard vanished. Coincidentally, our company is involved with another, uh, research project involving another little bottle and violet eyes. We’re hoping you can help us connect some loose ends.”

Tyler closed his eyes and shook his head. “No. I’m in deep shit. Sam’s gonna kill me. I’m not saying anything else.”

“Sam? Is Sam the ‘she’?”

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Tyler shook his head. “Dammit. I’m done talking.”

“Good,” Ackerman said, angrily. “Then I think we can forgo bringing you to your room. Since you are already strapped in, let’s just roll you directly to the extraction room.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s an operating room, where we remove your ELLP. That’s where those screams were coming from. What happens after that won’t matter to you.”

254

54 Sam rode up Hilton Haven Road toward Highway One, leaning from side to side, wiggling the handlebars and bouncing up and down. The Ducati felt remarkably nimble, tight and light for an eight hundred. At the top of the road, she looked right, the way into town, but turned left toward the campground Tyler said he was going to. She leaned forward and twisted the throttle to get a sense of its power. The bike surged with authority. She twisted the throttle a bit more but then backed off as the front wheel came off the pavement. Okay then, no one was going to catch her or get away from her, she thought.

She motored the next several miles to the campground at cruising speed, not wanting to attract any police who could pinpoint her location. She stopped at the entrance, a curved coral brick wall with an opening to drive through. The driveway combined asphalt and gravel, so Sam would have to watch her throttle to avoid spinning out. Before going in, Sam surveyed the area around her. Across the street was national-park woodlands that extended a good mile in either direction. If she was Tyler, she would find a way to set up camp in there somewhere, but Tyler would feel safer surrounded by other campers than noisy crickets and wild deer.

Tyler said he bought a white Dodge minivan. The gravel crunched under her tires. After a reception office and small restaurant, the campground opened up. RVs lined either side of the road. Each generous parking spot came with a picnic table and charcoal barbecue. Not much had changed since she was 255

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a child. The place appeared full. A hundred yards later, camper trailers appeared and a hundred yards further, tents. Again, every spot seemed occupied. Tyler said he would sleep in the van, which sounded just like him. He wouldn’t bother with a tent right away. Bring a tent to a campground that had tent sites?

That notion would procrastinate a few days before Tyler would actually go into town and buy one. His minivan would be alone, next to a picnic table. She looked at every possible spot. No visible vacancies and every vehicle had a tent next to it. If he was out shopping, eating, or anything else his impulsive mind told him to do, there would be an empty spot. She circled the campground’s looping roads until she was convinced he wasn’t there. She considered asking at the office but decided not to. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to use his real name.

Sam left the campground and headed west toward town. She stopped at the other campgrounds on the way, but as expected, they were also full to capacity.

Sam drove into town as slow as traffic would allow, looking for a white minivan. She hung a left on Duval Street. The sun was setting and the Key West nightlife was rising. Sam parked the bike at the southern end and walked north. The street was a dozen blocks in length. If Tyler was bored and foolishly looking for a good time, he would be somewhere here.

Everything down at the southern end claimed to be the southernmost. Southernmost Beach. Southernmost House.

Southernmost Hotel. Tyler’s nostalgic fascination with being at the most southern piece of sand in the country would register about zero. His attention span wouldn’t be long enough to read through the sign’s title and the sound of music further north would have his body moving uptown before his brain could follow.

The first few blocks were mostly small novelty shops, big hotels and parking lots, but then the fun started. A bizarre mix of family restaurants, biker bars, gay bars, strip joints, zombie costumes and flesh-pounding music filled both sides of the road.

There were over a hundred drinking establishments and she wouldn’t waste time searching places she knew he would avoid.

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White picket fences corralled outdoor tables filled with tourists and conversations. She gave the tables a cursory gaze. They were too appropriate and visible for Tyler. Ahead, men, wearing mostly tight black leather, drifted in and out of a bar’s area way.

Only men. There was no point looking in there.

Further up, motorcycles lined up like horses tied to a post and several bearded riders with beers and cigarettes were admiring them. A lit blackboard declared live music tonight. A possibility.

The backbeat of the southern rock went through her as she entered. There seemed to be a dress code. Everyone apparently had to wear sleeveless black T-shirts, with artwork and poetry from the local novelty shop’s clearance racks.

“Mighty fine,” said a deep voice about five feet to her left.

“Goddamn,” another voice said from the same direction.

Sam ignored the comments as she scanned for Tyler. The bar area was crowded two or three deep. To the right a low stage with a three-piece band not adhering to the strict dress code. A few people dancing, all women.

“I’m guessin’ it’s me you’re lookin’ for, darlin’?” said the same voice.

The other voice laughed.

Sam turned. Shaved head, tall, bushy blond goatee, blue eyes, big arms, beer in hand and somewhat handsome, standing next to another tall guy, salt-and-pepper beard, brown eyes, black bandanna tied pirate style, beer, not so handsome.

Sam smiled politely. “Guess again, darlin’,” she said and then returned to her scan.

“A proper lady like you needs proper attention,” the deep voice said.

“Seems she likes playing hard to get,” brown eyes said.

Sam zeroed in on few small tables that were behind the women dancing, a place Tyler could fit in.

“That true, darlin’? You like playin’ hard to get?” the deep voice said and Sam felt a hand on her left shoulder.

Cat quick, Sam reached around and grabbed his hand, dug her last three fingers into his palm, twisted it up, bent it toward his wrist and pressed on him middle knuckle with her thumb.

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The shaved head dropped to his knees with a deep scream. His friend came at her. She released her grip on the shaved head’s hand and jabbed his friend below his Adam’s apple with joined index and middle fingers. His eyes bulged as he reached for his neck and then dropped to the floor on his face.

“Yes, I’m playing hard to get,” Sam said and turned her gaze back to the stage area. Tyler wasn’t there. She sighed and left.

Heading north, Sam made quick stops at Sloppy Joes, the Lazy Gecko, Irish Kevin’s, Coyote Ugly and then came across a girl in black spandex handing out flyers outside the Bull and Whistle bar that read, “The Garden of Eden, clothing optional, rooftop bar.”

Sam sighed, took the flyer and started up the three flights of stairs to the roof. If Tyler was anywhere, he was here. At the top of the stairs, she stepped through an archway and into a room with short lattice walls and a canopy over the bar area. The young redheaded bartender was topless as was a half dozen other women among the thirty or so patrons swaying to the popular music. But again, no Tyler.

A blond girl with an open, sheer top was looking at Sam from the other end of the bar. When Sam caught her attentive gaze, she smiled brightly and walked over.

“Hey there, I’m Tracy,” she said buoyantly in a Russian accent, her eager blue eyes sparkling. “Can I buy you a drink?” she said as she lightly ran her fingers down Sam’s bare arm. “The key-lime feisty shots are spicy but amazing.”

Sam was about to say no but then shrugged and said, “Sure, why not? I can use a cold drink.”

“Super. What’s your name?”

“Sam.” Tracy raised a hand to the bartender and ordered two shots and then turned back to Sam. “So what brings you to Key West, Sam?” “I’m looking for a friend,” Sam said.

Tracy’s face brightened and leaned closer.

Sam smiled and held up her hands. “No, I mean I’m visiting a friend, just haven’t found him yet. He’s somewhere,” she said, glancing around. “Thought he might have come up here, but…”

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“Oh, I see,” she said. “Well, I’m sure you’ll find him, but in the meantime…”

“I’m afraid there’s not much of a meantime. I’m going to check out Mallory Square next. Maybe he’s watching some street theater.”

The drinks were poured into shot glasses on the bar top.

Tracy retrieved them and handed one to Sam. Sam clinked her glass with Tracy’s. They both drank. The strong drink sent a rush through Sam’s sinus and brought tears to her eyes. Sam took a little napkin from the bar top, lifted her lightly tinted sunglasses, dabbed her eyes and blinked a few times.

She turned to Tracy and said, “Spicy. I guess I’m lightweight.”

Suddenly, Tracy’s smile dropped, her blue eyes widened and it wasn’t from the drink. Sam frowned. “Is everything all right?”

Tracy paused and then said, “Yeah, everything’s fine. I just remembered something. I’ve got to run. It was nice meeting you, uh…”

“Sam.” “Yeah, Sam, uh, sorry, bye,” she said and then vanished through the exit.

Sam puzzled over what just happened and then pulled her glasses back down from her hair and went to the door. Tracy was gone.

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55 Sam swallowed and pointed her fork at Horace. “You’re amazing. These are the best scrambled eggs I’ve ever had. What’s your secret? Cooking slow?”

“Slow is how I go, young lady, but I’ll tell you what I tell Buz when he asks me the same question. Horace Zausmer, captain, 516-9037-617.”

Sam laughed and plowed the last of her eggs onto a light toast wedge. “What war were you in, Horace?”

“Korean.”

“Is that where you learned to…”

“Horace Zausmer…”

“Okay, okay, but you did slip up, Horace. I thought you didn’t know Buz,” Sam said and winked.

Horace’s brow raised. “Horace Zau…” Sam held up her hands in surrender, sloshed down the rest of her coffee and got up from the kitchen table. “I want to get to the campground before he wakes up,” she said.

“Did you try calling him?”

“Yes, last night before I went to sleep and this morning as soon as I opened my eyes. It rings, but no answer; I don’t know why I even leave a message.”

Horace nodded thoughtfully. He seemed to go somewhere else for a moment and then looked at his wristwatch. “It’s already nine fifteen.”

“Trust me, he’s still asleep,” Sam said on her way out the door.

She entered garage door number three, straddled the Ducati and 260

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pointed at the Porsche. “I’ll be back,” she said and set off for the campground.

Sam turned into the campground and iguanas scattered from the warm asphalt to the sandy roadsides. She made one loop around, but the result was the same as yesterday. No Tyler.

She didn’t bother taking another look and set off for the other campgrounds. If she couldn’t find him there, she would use the daylight to comb every block for that white Dodge minivan.

She gritted her teeth. He had to be in Key West somewhere, she thought, but her conviction had lost its patience. She waited at the entrance for a few cars to pass and then throttled westbound on Highway One. Two miles up the road, walking eastbound, was a woman who caught her attention. Blonde, sheer blouse and mini denim shorts, looking straight ahead. Tracy? Sam passed her and looked in the left mirror. She saw something in the reflection that made her head snap around and pupils flare.

Au Jus. Sam continued out of sight and then U-turned and started back slowly. Why did she disappear last night after she saw Sam’s eyes? People want to know more about her eyes, not run away from them. The odds for coincidence just plummeted. Sam rose with the road and Tracy came into view. Her body was magnetic and moved like a pro. Sam nodded. “Starving for that,” he had said. “Au Jus.” Of course, he stopped.

Sam was about to jam on the brakes in front of her and grill her about Tyler on her back, but she controlled herself, thinking it better to follow her for a bit. She passed her by and when she was nearly out of sight, she turned into the trees, watched and waited. She planned to hide the Ducati for when she passed, but something strange happened. Tracy lifted her hand to her ear and then put out her left thumb as she continued to walk. Probably a prostitute, but why the call before hitching? Was she working with someone? Had Tyler been conned into something bigger than sex? Sam sighed. Tyler. If she weren’t so worried about him, she would laugh. He was the world’s easiest person to con. She duped him daily when they were kids and apparently, he hadn’t learned much since.

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A black car pulled over and Tracy walked to the window. She stood there leaning in for a bit and then opened the door and got in. The car stayed still for an unusually long time for someone just giving a hitchhiker a ride and then it started moving and was getting closer. Tracy appeared engaged in conversation. Sam crouched as the car passed and she allowed them a little distance buffer before she followed. They were driving slow, when, suddenly, the black car turned left off the highway and into the woods. What? Sam continued past where they went in and saw that it really wasn’t a road at all, just an opening in the trees big enough for the car to squeeze through. She couldn’t see inside.

Beyond the opening was thickly shaded darkness.

Sam slowed and pulled off the road further ahead, to think.

She had no idea how far into the woods they were going or for what. If Tracy was a prostitute, she might have a convenient hiding place just inside the forest to earn her fee. If Sam were to drive in and immediately be seen, the spy cover would be blown and she would be forced to deal with Tracy then and there on the fly. But Tracy could have gone in further, maybe miles and maybe for other reasons unknown. If that was true and she left the bike outside, she might never find them at all. One way or the other, Tracy knew where Tyler was and the key to finding him.

Sam turned around and went back to the opening in the woods. No throttle, she coasted in quietly. She entered the shaded interior ready for action. Everything under the pine canopy became visible. No black car but a fresh winding path where tires had compressed pine needles and thin grass. She followed the trail slowly, quietly, up and around virgin landscape, always keeping her vision as far ahead as she could for the black car. Her tires rolled over the soft needles silently. A small hill appeared and she could not see beyond it. She was about to give a touch more throttle when she suddenly heard something. Quiet but there. She stopped. Footsteps? Quiet but approaching fast.

Running.

Sam turned off the path for about a hundred feet into thick brush and behind a boulder. She shut off the engine, dismounted and leaned the bike against the boulder. She paused to listen. The 262

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footsteps were still coming. She scurried low back to the side of the path, next to a tree. The footsteps were getting closer and now she could hear breathing too. Fast breathing. Someone was running at full speed, but she could see where or who. Maybe it was the driver. Maybe it was Tracy. Maybe it was Tyler.

Sam crouched and scurried toward the top of the shallow hill to peek over the top, but suddenly, a blond blur with bright violet eyes flew over the crest.

“Cedar!” she whispered as the golden retriever hit and knocked her backward to the ground. He whimpered as he licked her face and wagged his tail madly. “Easy, buddy. It’s good to see you too. Where’s Tyler?” she whispered.

Cedar stopped at the recognition of his master’s name but didn’t turn his head to lead Sam anywhere, as she expected him to do. Sam frowned. She looked up at the hilltop and then back at Cedar. “Stay,” she said and then crawled back up until her eyes broke the plane of the top. Nothing. The path continued out of sight. She looked back to Cedar, who was standing in place, wagging his tail, panting. Did he simply catch a whiff of her scent in a breeze and recognize it from somewhere? From where? She thought about how to proceed for a moment and then patted her thigh and said, “Heel.”

Cedar padded to her side and stayed close as Sam continued down the path. The further she went, the stranger she felt. Why was Cedar running around so far from Tyler? And if Tyler was hiding way out here with Tracy, why bring a stranger she found hitchhiking in to join them? Suddenly, Sam heard voices in the distance. She stopped and listened and then continued until finally, she saw the black car in the distance. She continued slowly, carefully until she saw a green tent. She stopped again behind a thick pine. Where was the white Dodge minivan? She crouched down and looked at the attentive Cedar in the eyes.

“Stay,” she said.

Sam zigzagged from tree to tree and then snuck up low to the base of a twin pine on a slightly elevated knoll, where she could watch and listen clearly.

“Robert. Oh, Robert. It’s our kayak time,” Tracy said into his face.

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Robert, chubby, black hair, clean-shaven, dressed for the golf course, stood next to the black car, teetering and then leaned against it for support. He raised his brow to keep his eyes opened.

“I feel funny,” he said, smiling, speech slurred.

Tracy turned and palmed her forehead. She pulled out what looked like a cell phone but worked it like a walkie-talkie. “Jack?” she said.

“Yeah,” a male voice said.

“You picked a handful,” Tracy said and then turned to look at Robert. “He’s fat and going down too fast. I need help.”

“Ugh, you’re the handful. I’ll be right there.”

Tracy put the radio away and walked up to Robert. “Jack will be here in a minute and then we’re going to put you in that kayak and paddle you out for a big boat ride. What do you think about that, Robert?”

Robert smiled. “I feel funny,” he slurred.

“You look funny too,” Tracy said as she reached into his pockets. She found his wallet, took out some cash and stuffed it in her front pocket and then put the wallet back. “Hiding any drugs in the car?”

“Yethhh,” he said.

“Where?”

“Consulllll.”

“Smart, Robert. Who would think to look there?” Tracy said and then went into the car. When she came out, she had a small sandwich bag with a few white joints inside. Robert slid off the car and folded to the ground, his face plowing into needles. Tracy stepped over him and threw the bag into the green tent.

Sam tried to stay calm as her fears for Tyler mounted. Robert appeared to be wearing an expensive watch, but Tracy didn’t take it. Traceable, she thought. What was the point of the boat ride? Where the hell was the boat going? Tyler probably took the same ride? What the hell were they after? Wait! An engine sound was approaching. A motorcycle, Sam thought and she was proved correct a moment later. A Harley and rider, presumably Jack, in the appropriate dress code. She wondered if he had been in the bar last night.

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Tracy tossed Jack a block of wood, on which he rested the kickstand. “You sure can pick em,” she said as she grabbed one of Robert’s limp arms. “Tomorrow, make sure your glasses are on.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack said sourly as he lumbered over and grabbed Robert’s other wrist. “That dog was out there,” he said.

“Where?”

“On the path. Sittin’. He didn’t move when I passed him.”

“You should have run him over,” Tracy said.

“I ain’t runnin’ him over. I like dogs.”

“Then I’ll do it. That dog’s trouble.”

Jack said nothing.

Robert was dragged to a large red two-man kayak and loaded into the front cockpit headfirst. There was no discussion. They had done this before. His rubbery legs were straddled and the kayak was dragged to the water.

Tracy made another radio call. “Dinner’s ready. Come and get it,” she said.

“On our way,” a voice responded.

Tracy got into the rear cockpit, slapped Robert’s large butt and started paddling. Her paddle grazed Robert legs with each stroke as they dragged in the water on either side.

Jack walked calmly back to his bike and left the same way he came. The engine faded into the distance.

The camp was suddenly empty and quiet. Sam waited and then came out from hiding and made her way down to the shore.

She saw Tracy in the distance, paddling. She called Horace and told him to meet her at the campground to give Cedar a ride home. Just then, a boat appeared. A white sport-fishing boat with a flying bridge. Tracy maneuvered the kayak to the rear of the boat. Two men left the boat’s controls to meet her. They grabbed Robert’s legs and dragged him on board, his arms and head banging limply on the stern platform and transom. They handed Tracy a yellow envelope and then departed their brief rendezvous in opposite directions.

Sam backed away from the shore opening into the shadows; confident Tyler had met the same fate. She clenched her fists and jaw tightly as fire filled her eyes. She had no idea what they were 265

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doing with their helpless prey, but she would find out. And then the nightmare would become theirs.

266

56 Tracy sat in the passenger seat of a white Range Rover as the driver, Mark, drove over the last crest to the camp.

“You have a beautiful camp set up,” Mark said. “Does the tent have a mattress?”

“Yes, it does and we will make good use of it as soon as we get back from our kayak trip,” Tracy said.

“If you insist, but I wouldn’t mind if we make good use of the mattress first. I’m actually feeling like a nap,” Mark said, slurring.

“I do insist. I would like to get to know you a little before you get to know me,” Tracy said and then hurried out to help Mark to the kayak. He was slipping fast and she didn’t want to call Jack again.

“Sounds good, I think,” Mark said slowly.

She opened Mark’s door and grabbed his elbow. Thank God, he was thin and short. She pulled and his feet followed. She got about twenty feet and stopped. “Where the hell is the kayak?” She let go of Mark, who just stood still, blinking and looked around the other side of the tent. “Shit!” She pulled out her radio and pressed the side button.

“Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“The kayak’s gone.”

“What?”

“The kayak is gone.”

There was a pause. “Is the tent there?”

“Yes.” 267

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“Someone stole the kayak?”

“It’s gone, all right. I don’t know why, but it’s gone. What do I do?” she said angrily.

“I don’t know; let me think a second.”

“You have to get another kayak here ASAP.” “I’m on a bike.”

“Then get your pickup. Do I have to tell you everything?”

Tracy said as she walked to the shore opening. “And by the time you get here, I’ll need you to load him.”

“All right, all right,” Jack said, annoyed. “This loading shit is getting old, fast. Hey, is the dog around?”

“I didn’t see him but probably. He’s always…wait.”

“What?”

“I see the kayak.”

“Where?”

“Someone’s using it, in the cove.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope. Some girl.”

“A girl? Who is she?”

“How should I know?”

“Is she in a uniform or something?”

“No. Blond ponytail, baseball cap, yellow bikini top, sunglasses. Probably a camper who found the kayak and thought she would take it for a ride.”

“She’s alone?”

“Yes.” “Let’s keep her. We’ll get paid for two.”

Tracy paused. “I like the sound of that, but I need to get her in here. I hope she planned on returning it.”

“I’m on my way.”

Tracy put the radio away, cupped her hands around her mouth and yelled as loud as she could, “Hey!” The blonde turned, waved and started paddling toward her.

Tracy heard a thud behind her and sighed. She went back to Mark, dragged him by his wrist into the tent and then went back to the shoreline to greet her next victim. She paused to think.

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pills. Offering the blonde a water in this heat would be friendly and unsuspecting. She smiled. Easy money. *** Sam let the kayak slide to a stop on the sandy shore, climbed out and pulled it into the camp, where Tracy was watching her with a water bottle in her hand.

“I’m sorry. I saw the kayak and couldn’t resist taking it out for a little paddle,” Sam said, placing the kayak back where she found it.

“I totally understand, with this heat,” Tracy said from behind her. “You brought it back, so no harm done. Feel free to use it again if you’re around.”

“Thank you. I might take you up on that.”

“Have a water,” Tracy said, extending her hand. “I’m Tracy, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Tracy,” Sam said as she turned around with the paddle in both hands. She pulled in with her left hand and pushed with her right. The flat end of the paddle smacked Tracy’s head, taking her off her feet and onto her back. The water bottle bounced from her hand onto the pine needles. Sam was on her like a cat, paddle pinned against Tracy’s neck. She knocked off her baseball cap and lifted her sunglasses. “I’m Sam. Remember me?”

Tracy’s eyes widened. “You!” Sam paused. She heard the Harley approaching. The bike broke the hilltop and stopped and footsteps were running toward her. She spun around to see Jack coming, a yard away, arms outstretched, hands ready to seize her. She reached for his lower biceps, grabbed them tight and pressed her thumbs deep into his muscle two inches high. Jack screamed in agony before she smashed his mouth shut with her knee and then twisted and twirled him onto his back in one motion. She grabbed the water bottle, spun off the cap, jammed it into Jack’s mouth and squeezed hard. He gulped and coughed convulsively, sprawled out in the needles. Tracy rolled to her knees and sprang into a short sprint 269

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before Sam shot a kick to her ankle, tumbling her forward to the ground, where she curled to a rest in fetal position.

Sam knelt next to her on one knee. Tracy’s ear and cheekbone were puffy red from the paddle swat. “It’s good to see you again, Tracy. We have so much to catch up on,” she said.

“Who are you?” Tracy said and then spit a little blood.

“I’m Tyler’s friend,” Sam said. “Remember him?”

Tracy shook her head. “I don’t know any Tyler.”

“Really? When you saw my eyes last night, you remembered him pretty quick.”

Tracy looked at Sam’s eyes and then closed her own. “Are you aliens? With an alien dog?”

Sam rolled her eyes. “I’m not here to discuss me.”

“What do you want from me?”

“I want to know where that boat took Tyler.”

“What boat?”

Sam sighed. “Where’s that paddle?”

“All right, all right, I don’t know where the boat goes.”

“You expect me to believe that?”

“Look, I don’t know. They don’t want me to know. It’s a big secret.”

Sam paused. “Okay then, I’m going to make a deal with you and you’re going to take it.”

“Why should I?” “Because I’m not the police and I just want Tyler. You’re going to paddle me out to the boat, just like I’m one of your victims.

And you’re not going to play any games or warn them. If you play along, I’ll let you keep the yellow envelope.”

Tracy’s brow raised. “And if I don’t?”

There was the click and snap sound of a rifle’s bolt action from behind. “Like the lady said, precious. We’re not the police,” Horace said, standing ten feet away with a hunting rifle pointed at Tracy’s face. “You follow her instructions or swallow a threethirty-eight-magnum round. I might be slow, but I never miss.”

Sam noticed Jack trying to move, but he quickly gave up. “I, I feel funny,” he said, smiling.

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Sam fished around Tracy’s mini pack and found her radiophone. She handed it to Tracy and said, “Contact them. If you say anything but your usual, it will be your last words.”

Tracy paused.

Horace raised the rifle sight to his eye.

Tracy closed her eyes and then brought the phone to her mouth and pressed the radio button. “Dinner’s ready, come and get it.”

The phone tweeted. “On our way.”

Sam took the radiophone from her and threw it, arching far into the salt water. “Oops.”

271

57 Sam sat in the front of the kayak, arms at her side, head drooping, as Tracy paddled to the rendezvous point. Horace, back at the shore, watched every move through the rifle scope.

The white sport-fishing boat appeared and coasted up to them.

Tracy maneuvered to the stern and two large muscular men— one with short, black hair and the other bald—made their way down a small chrome ladder to a platform. The bald one handed her the end of a wide strap. Tracy slipped the strap under Sam’s arms and the men lifted her effortlessly from the kayak. The bald one padded down Sam’s pockets and then probed further. Sam fought a reflexive urge to render him unconscious. Some other time, she thought.

“You have her keys?” the bald man said.

“Yeah, she left them in the car,” Tracy said.

“You sure?” said the black hair.

“Yes, no worries.”

Black hair nodded. “Wouldn’t want you to need a tow,” he said and handed Tracy her yellow envelope.

Sam remained limp as they climbed the ladder and hoisted her onto the boat. Black hair opened the lid on a long fish cooler and baldy fit her inside with room to spare. She remained motionless as baldy arranged her with his rude and callused hands. Sam fought the urge to end his life on the spot. She remained limp and thought of childhood adventures with Tyler to distract and fortify herself.

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“Come on, let’s get out of here,” black hair called from the helm. “Wait till we get back to the island,” he continued.

The island, Sam thought. What island? Suddenly, the lid closed all but a crack, presumably for air but also allowed in some light. The engine throttled up and the boat surged forward.

Sam peeked through the crack to see both men looking forward. They paid her no mind at all. The drug they used was probably very strong for them to be so confident no one placed in the cooler would awake during the ride to wherever island they were going to. But then what? What happened to the victims after the boat ride? More drugs? Tortured? At the rate the victims were being taken, the black market came to mind. What was being sold?

Organs? None of the possibilities were acceptable. In the cooler, in the massive hands of her captors, or in whatever containment was waiting for her, she would be in a very weak position. She needed to work from strength. Dictate, not dictated to. Playing possum got her this far, but the game had to change gears.

Two hours passed when suddenly the engine slowed and one of them said, “Coming in,” on the radio.

Sam opened the lid enough to see the skippers were focused on whatever was in front of them. She lifted the lid further and looked up. A stone cliff, seven or eight stories high, with armed men on top, uniformed. Wait, soldiers? Why were there soldiers?

Shit. These were not simple criminals. Beneath the soldiers was an arch and the boat was aimed to go through it. God knows what was waiting for her inside. She took a deep breath. Time to dictate.

Sam climbed out of the cooler and unsnapped a small fire extinguisher from the wall behind the muscled men. She pulled the handle pin and crept up behind them. She lifted the canister with both hands and was about to smash it down as hard as she could on the back of the baldy’s head, but she had something she wanted to tell him first. She tapped him lightly on the shoulder with the fire extinguisher.

Both men snapped their heads around. “What the…?” would turn out to be baldy’s final words.

Sam smiled. “Shhhhhh. Now it’s my turn to touch you,” she said before the fire extinguisher caught the bridge of his nose 273

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with a sickening crack. He fell backward into the console and then folded to the floor, lights out. The black-haired guy’s eyes filled with shock before Sam filled them with flame-retardant white powder. He lunged blindly at her, but she quickly stepped to the side and threw the throttle lever full forward. The bow raised and the boat sprang forward and then gained speed and leveled as black hair climbed to his hands and knees next to the cooler, unable to open his eyes.

Sam turned the steering wheel slightly right and then dove right off the starboard side to cover her presence from the view of the watching soldiers with both the boat and the flying bridge’s canopy. She swam deep on an angle toward the cliff ’s jagged shoreline. A flash of light and muffled thunder excited the water around her. Their mystery begins, she thought. The ocean floor rose steeply and she climbed across it, pulling her way to the shore between massive boulders. Her lungs ached as she ascended but broke the frothy surface slowly. Just fifty feet away, the sport-fishing boat had crashed into the side of the archway and in flames. Soldiers chaotically gathered high above the boat and looking down and out to the ocean. Sam took a deep breath and sank quietly into the churn. She swam in the opposite direction, pulling on rocks to stay tight to the shore and surfacing in the shadows of fallen stone wedges until the shore curved from view. The cliffs lowered and pulled away from the shore into trees. Sam belly-crawled along the base of a boulder and then scanned the descending cliff ridge and shoreline.

Soldiers appeared, moving toward her along the ridge. She tightened against the eroded base of a boulder and watched their shadows move and grow in the sunlight an arm’s length away.

Suddenly, there was another explosion from around the bend. A second gas tank? Propane? The shadows froze and then all moved at once with lots of Latin chatter. The shadows shrank away, except for one, which continued to grow. Her gaze rose from the growing shadow to the whomping sound of a boat engine approaching in the direction she was going. Wonderful. While she was shielded from where she came, she was wide open to the beach and water ahead.

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Suddenly, the heel of a black boot stepped directly in front of her head, close enough to lick. She stopped breathing. She became the boulder. Take him down. Wait, no. A missing soldier would convince the others of an intruder, to be hunted down.

Her presence was probably unknown, at worst, a speculation, assuming her captors were too dead to talk. The thought brought a thin smile. Sam inched backward on her belly and then the boat appeared. An ocean racer with two men at the helm. The soldier waved to them with his machine gun and they slowed.

Sam stayed low and slow as she backed around the boulder. The soldier took a few more steps toward to water and then pointed in the direction of the crash and the boat throttled up. The soldier watched the racer turn the corner, with his back to Sam. Sam pulled off her sneakers and sprinted for the trees silently, careful to land each foot on rock to avoid footprints. She hurdled a fallen tree trunk into the dark shadows, landed in a crouch and immediately turned, facing the soldier on her hands and knees. He was still facing the water but turned and stared in her direction. He heard her? She didn’t move, didn’t blink. He took his gun in both hands and took a step toward her and then another. Why did she have a yellow top on? She would have to run for it. She didn’t have time to put her sneakers back on. Her legs tightened to spring when his stare moved away from her. She waited and then he shouldered his gun and started walking back the way he came.

Sam exhaled, turned and stared into the forest. Thick and tropical. With denim shorts and a yellow bikini top, she was dressed for the kayak. She put her sneakers back on and thought about which way to go by elimination. Not back to the crash.

Not the shoreline, where the ocean racer and who knows what else was patrolling. She looked into the woods. Further in, the ground rose steeply, but beyond was obscured. She took off her top, rubbed it in the dirt, put it back on and then smeared more dirt on her bare limbs and face. Great, a mud wrestler, she thought. Tyler would pay for this someday.

Shadows appeared on the sunny beach from above. Chatter.

Time to move. She scurried as quickly and quietly as she could 275

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through thick leaves and drooping vines. A black snake looped around a thin tree and onto a branch. Something else ran away under the low ground cover. Under better circumstances and the appropriate clothing, she enjoyed tropical forests, but in a bikini without a weapon or the tools to make one, she needed to gather intelligence and resources, fast. She sprinted, hurdled, scrambled and squeezed her way up the thick jungle slope without fatigue.

The potion was beyond amazing, giving her a physical advantage she marveled over. Sunrays cut through one tree and then another until she saw an opening that revealed the top. She slowed her pace and lowered her posture and then stopped and listened.

The whomp of the ocean racer was far left. Somewhere ahead in the distance was a much smaller engine, possibly a dirt bike or chainsaw. No voices. Wait. Oh no! Her eyes widened to the sound of dogs barking. Dogs? Dear God, please no.

Sam crawled a few yards out from the trees to the ridgetop.

A dirt footpath with single-tire prints went down the middle of the narrow ridge. The ridge, mostly level, traveled completely around the island. An old volcano, she thought and then crawled a little further and looked down into the crater. Wow, she thought as she tried to take it all in. The first thing to grab her eye was the lagoon that filled half the crater. The next grabber was the facility. The volcano had to be inactive, judging by the high-tech infrastructural investment, though—wait, there was a steaming stream snaking its way down to lagoon. Ah, there it is. The arch the sport-fishing boat had aimed for on entry, way down to her left, opened the lagoon to the ocean. Sam imagined the water to be unusually warm and deep. A single rowboat was moored in the center. At the far end of the lagoon, down to her right, was a dock with several empty slips. The sport fisher had probably resided in one of those slips before its unfortunate early demise.

The main dock led to a large circular building, a few hundred feet in diameter with an open center courtyard, like a tire on its side or a doughnut, the same color as the volcano’s inner perimeter walls. Impressive design, she thought. A radius in every direction, making it indestructible to wind in a place hurricanes were common. Outside pressure would compress it, making it 276

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stronger. Palm trees speckled the landscape, making the building virtually invisible from the sky. The large center courtyard was also tree speckled, with the same tree-spacing ratio as the island itself. Very stealth. Why? The outside of the giant doughnut had no visible windows and one solitary entrance up from the dock.

Impenetrable. The circular inner circumference had windows around the entire courtyard. A nuclear bomb could go off and this place would still be standing, she thought.

Sam’s attention was drawn upward. A dirt bike appeared on the far ridge, popped up from the outside. It traveled the ridge to the right, north, Sam thought, judging by the sunlight and shadows. The bike dipped down the wall on a diagonal. A narrow road from top to bottom. She noticed other diagonal roads around the crater. Her peripheral caught movement in the doughnut’s courtyard. White coats. A lab facility? A hospital?

Opposite the doughnut, two soldiers walked out of a path between thick trees that filled lower slopes. Another soldier walked into the same opening. She didn’t see any building, but there was definitely foot traffic in and out. A cave?

Just then, the doughnut’s entry door opened. A man in a white coat appeared escorting a naked man by the arm. They walked slowly. When they got within a few yards to the end of the dock, the man in the white coat stopped, but the naked man continued walking slowly. He never stopped. He walked off the dock without hesitation, as if the floor continued further. He sank below the surface and all was calm, just widening ripples. The man in the white coat turned and started back to the doughnut.

Suddenly, the water at the end of the dock erupted with a torrent of thrashing and splashing and then all was calm again but blood red. The white coat never looked back and vanished through the doorway.

What the hell is in the water? Regular feeding of humans? No more swimming today, Sam thought and then looked back at the doughnut. Tyler’s in there somewhere, she thought and then heard a low growl behind her.

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58 Sam turned her head only, careful not to show an aggressive posture to a guard dog, who could not be more than a few feet behind her. A Rottweiler with long white fangs, dripping saliva beneath snarling lips, back hair up. His jaw could snap bones like pretzels. Wonderful. She could never outrun it. She’d rather take her chances jumping off the cliff. Although she could wait for the lunge and then step aside and let the dog deal with the cliff. That became her plan until something very unexpected happened as she stared into the beast’s eyes, waiting for the twitch of attack.

His upper lips and back hair lowered. His growl turned to a slight whimper and he lowered to his belly. What? Something else Buz neglected to share?

“Good boy,” Sam said and then started climbing down the cliff, staying behind rocks wherever she could. She didn’t get far before the sound of the bike alerted her. Close and getting closer.

Patrolling or investigating? She crouched and curled into a small ball behind a rock. The dirt bike slowed above her. For the dog? she hoped. The bike stopped. Not good. She heard a radio chirp and some Latin chatter. She found a lemon-sized round rock by her knee, looked up and waited for the biker to peek over the cliff edge. She preferred to remain unknown, but becoming a prisoner was not happening. Maybe she could take him out with the rock and then throw him and the bike off the cliff and make it look like an accident. Another freak accident? Suddenly, the throttle revved up and the bike rode away.

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Sam dropped the rock and peeked around her cover. The bike was on its way toward the arch and random guards were visible on a few of the diagonal cliff roads and on a few ridgetops.

She also saw soldiers in an open area west of the doughnut. A landing area? What the hell is this place? The crater was indeed a fortress, a castle with a moat, complete with its own monster. Like the doughnut, the entire island was heavily guarded from the air and sea. But for what purpose? Whatever. She was only curious to the point of getting Tyler and getting out.

Sam continued downward, sliding on powdery sand between jagged boulders and sparse trees. Toward the bottom, the trees thickened up most of the way to the lagoon. Several yards up from the high-tide mark, another footpath appeared with dirtbike tire prints. Sam wondered if the path was purposely set a safe distance from the lagoon and whatever man-eating monster lived in it. She snaked her way through the trees and fallen boulders toward the doughnut. The lagoon appeared unguarded and she imagined swimming under the dock, where she could wait for an opportunity to arise, but whatever was snacking on the patients was probably all the security needed.

The trees and boulders ended and a hundred feet of open landscape separated her from the dock. If she sprinted, she could get under that dock in five or six seconds. More than enough time to be spotted. She could use a diversion, but what? Wait, she heard something. A high pitch. She listened as it got louder and discernible. A large helicopter appeared over the edge of the cliff and started to descend into the crater. A diversion? She readied herself to sprint as soon as the chopper blades kicked up dust.

Suddenly, she heard the metallic click of a trigger safety release behind her and the cold muzzle of a gun barrel pressed against the back of her neck. She closed her eyes and raised her hands.

“Turn around, very slowly,” a voice said with a Spanish accent.

Sam did as she was told. A soldier backed up with a smile, staring at her muddied bikini top. He was too far away to try anything and he knew it. He motioned with his gun for Sam to walk into the open area. She was about to comply when she saw something completely unexpected. Something low and black 279

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was racing toward them from behind the soldier. The Rottweiler, in full stride, leaped into the air and hit the soldier while sinking his fangs into his right arm. The soldier surged forward and Sam blocked the gun from his hands and elbowed him in the neck, muffling his scream and knocking him unconscious in one swing. The soldier hit the boulder Sam was hiding behind and crumpled to the ground. The Rottweiler stepped back from the soldier’s collapse and looked at Sam, panting, tongue out.

Sam looked back and forth between the soldier and the dog as dust from the helicopter blew through. “You’re a very good boy,” she said and then set herself to sprint to the dock but looked again at the soldier, thought for a long moment and smiled.

The soldier’s pants were a little loose over her shorts, his undershirt worked, but his buttoned-up shirt made her look like a kid in her father’s clothes. She wanted to keep her bikini top but couldn’t resist dressing up the soldier like the Barbie doll she never had. She kept her own sneakers but used his bootlaces to hog-tie his hands to his feet and then stuffed one sock in his mouth with the other to gag him. She picked up his gun and turned to the rottie. “Stay,” she said and then turned to the soldier, who was just stirring. “Yellow is your new color.”

“Hmm, hmm,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” she said, her hand mock cupping her ear. “Come again?”

“Hmm, hmm, hmm.”

“Oh, the top is yours; keep it. Just forward me some of the pics your friends take of you.”

His eyes widened.

Sam pulled the guard’s green hat over her folded-up ponytail and tried to look like one of the soldiers on patrol as she walked casually across the open area to the dock. She only needed to go a hundred feet but prayed no one would notice her. She didn’t feel like a soldier and was certain, under a familiar gaze, she wouldn’t look like one. Suddenly, the helicopter passengers appeared on a walkway at the top of the dock heading for the doughnut entrance. Sam stopped, a deer in headlights. She couldn’t very well duck under the dock’s decking now. Should 280

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she salute, change direction? She had no idea what the correct protocol was if there even was any. The arriving party was led by two of the island’s soldiers. Behind them were five others, the passengers, two women, one elderly man with a noticeable limp in the middle and two men bringing up the rear. All were young, in business suits, but the elderly man, with a dozen dyed hair strands shellacked backward, was impeccably dressed, top shelf.

They turned left and vanished through the entrance.

Change of plan. Sam walked directly up to the entrance, took a deep and then went in. To her surprise and relief, she stood in an empty pie-shaped room, polished concrete floor, white cement walls, a single door at the far end. She walked to the door and cracked it open. A slightly curved hallway that went in both directions, voices to the right. She looked at herself. Crossing a small open field where she would be visible at a distance was one thing, but anyone seeing her up close in a uniform three times her size with sneakers and violet eyes would set off immediate alarms. She may as well be in her yellow bikini. She pulled the door open, heard footsteps coming and closed it again, all but a crack. A woman in mint-green scrubs walked by briskly and then disappeared around the curve. Sam heard footsteps behind her at the entrance. She quickly opened the door and turned left into the curved hallway.

There was nothing in the hallway except white wall and polished concrete floor. No chairs, no art, no signs, no door labels. Sterile and quiet. There were sounds in the distance, mostly voices, some loud. Stop. Approaching footsteps. She turned right down an adjoining hall that intersected twice before ending at a glass door that led into the center courtyard. She tried a door on her left. No lock. She opened it slowly. A bedroom? She stepped in, closed the door and flipped on the light. Four small recessed ceiling lights lit the room evenly. A green area rug extended to a tightly made bed. A small bedside table, a simple wooden dresser with nothing on top, no lamp, no books, no television, no clock, no chargers, nothing plugged into anything. Two interior doors.

One was a bathroom. Sterile clean and simple. The other door was a closet with a small pole, with a few hangers being used for 281

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blouses and business attire next to shelves holding only mintgreen scrubs. She looked through the dresser. Undergarments, socks, a few shorts, a few T-shirts and a notebook. She grabbed the notebook and flipped through it. Medical. More specifically, brain science. Everything was written in black ink. “Long-life proteins” titled a section with hand-drawn illustrations. This was some kind of bio facility conducting illegal human involvement.

For who? She stopped and put the book back exactly where she found it. What they were doing was far less important than keeping Tyler from being part of it.

Sam took a one-minute shower rinse, keeping her hair pulled back and dry and then used what she could find to dress into a pair of scrubs. This time everything fit except for the bra, which was too big in every direction. She stuffed her shorts, the soldier’s uniform and gun into the bottom dresser drawer and then hit the light switch and cracked open the door. The hallway was empty.

“Let’s do this,” she whispered.

Sam walked cautiously down the hall to the glass doors and viewed the courtyard. Winding cement walkways with several round tables shaded under tree groupings. A secure backyard right in the center of the building, she thought. One of the tables was occupied by three staff in scrubs, possibly on break and another table had one white lab coat with a patient. No soldiers.

No suits. Where were those guys?

Voices. She spun around. Sounds were close to her left and far to her right. She turned right. The staff bedrooms were near the entrance and the bio research or whatever was going on here, was on the side furthest from the entrance. Made sense, in a prison camp sort of way. She followed the inner hallway, closest to the courtyard toward the distant sounds. The closer sounds behind her seemed to follow her. Should she hide and let them pass? No, what if they stopped where she hid? She continued down the curved corridor. As she crossed an intersection, she looked left and saw two soldiers walking in her direction. She kept her pace even and unremarkable. Ahead, on either side of the hallway, were a row of doors with small solid windows. She paused and looked into the first one. A man in pale yellow scrubs 282

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sat in a chair next to a bed. Her eyes widened as fear bore into her chest. The man, gazing straight into nothingness, had stitches across his entire forehead just below the hairline. “Jesus, Tyler,” Sam whispered. “Where are we?”

She continued to the next door and saw a female with the same zombie-like stare. A redhead in yellow scrubs was sitting with the same stitched incision across the forehead, a shiny blood drip to her left eyebrow, staring at the wall. Sam looked left. Damn. Those following voices and footsteps were getting close.

Keep moving, she thought. She hurried to the next door, took a quick look and then moved to the next and the next. Each room had a different version of the same thing, but no Tyler. Did they already give him the long walk off the short pier?

A scream in the distance suddenly froze her. Male. She wanted to turn and run, but where to? And what if that scream was Tyler? Calm down. Deep breathe. Move onward.

Another glass door to the courtyard appeared to her right.

Sam took a quick glance out. Nothing had changed out there.

Same tables with the same occupants. Voices from the direction she was heading. The building felt even larger on the inside, but with all the polished concrete floors and no art on the walls, the echoes made her feel closed in. Another corridor headed straight up from the glass doors, similar to the last intersection. With sounds coming from both directions, she felt squeezed to go perpendicular.

There were more doors with glass to peek into, but they were empty. No zombies, but no Tyler. She came to a large stainlesssteel door with no window but light leaking underneath. She watched for shadow movement and then turned the lever and leaned on the door. Nobody inside. She squinted from the brightness and then felt an icy shiver run up her spine. What in the world was this place? Everything was stainless steel. Walls, floor drain, center table with a steel belly strap, shackles for both hand and feet, sinks, counter, hand tools, flex hoses and a strange tentacle-like machine at the head of the table. Everything but the polished concrete floor. Some kind of operating room? The layout reminded her of a fish market or butcher shop, but table made 283

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her think of a sacrificial altar. The hose and floor drain made everything easy to clean. She thought about the naked guy fed to whatever was in the lagoon and then shook off a shiver.

Sam frowned as she approached the table and tentacle machine. The center hose-like arm was thicker and had a shallow bowl attached to the end. She picked up the bowl and examined it. The inside had a circular blade near the top, like a hole saw, surrounded by springs and open hoses that disappeared into the tentacle. A white chip was caught in a saw tooth. Her eyes widened as she realized it was a mask. The inside of the bowl was shaped to fit over a face and the blade was at the same height as the stitches on the foreheads. She imagined the foreheads were sliced open and the mask was attached to the skull bone. Lots of blood. She looked again at the floor drain and the hose. The restraints with no evidence of anesthesia indicated something equally barbaric. Pain. Severe and ongoing. That could explain the screams. Why? Contamination? Of what?

Sam put her ear to the door and waited but heard only her own rapid heartbeat. A moment later she was continuing down the corridor. She felt like running but casually walked past what looked like a laundry complex and then a kitchen. For the first time since Russia, she had no appetite. A new set of approaching sounds caused her to change direction again. More halls that ended at more glass doors overlooking the courtyard. The courtyard had become her compass. She had traveled to the far side of the doughnut and could now look across the courtyard from the opposite end. Keep moving. A new set of doors similar to the zombie rooms. She glanced through the little window and saw an elderly man in yellow scrubs on a treadmill, exercising.

She moved on to the next door and saw the same thing. Who were these old guys?

Suddenly, she heard another scream. Female. High pitched, long and loud. Much closer than before. She wondered if there was another stainless-steel butchery around the corner.

Footsteps. She wanted to hide and reflexively moved on to the next door and went in without looking through the window, not caring if there was another zombie or old guy on a treadmill. She 284

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shut the door behind her and heard it latch. She paused and tried to open it again. Locked. Uh, oh.

Sam turned to see a man in yellow scrubs. Wait, what? Jesus, no. Sam stopped dead and her heart sank as she dropped to her knees. Tyler, in a chair, eyes closed, stitches across his forehead.

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59 Sam crawled to Tyler, took his hand in hers and stared into his still face. “Ty, it’s Sam. Can you hear me? Speak to me,” Sam said, tears running down her cheeks.

Tyler’s eyes slowly opened, bloodshot white rims surrounding shiny violet crystals. “Sam?” he whispered, sleepily.

“Yes, I’m here to take you home,” she said, consolingly.

Tyler closed his eyes, exhaled through his nostrils and then opened them again with the help of his eyebrows. “What…what took you so long?”

“Ty? You can talk?”

Tyler frowned.

“They didn’t remove your brain?”

The corners of his lips weakly curled up. “Now that you mention it, I do feel a little bit light-headed,” he said, not as weakly, waking up.

“You are light-headed,” Sam said and then dragged a finger across her forehead.

“Ah, yes,” Tyler said with a slow nod, turning his palm and pointing a finger to his head.

“It is noticeable,” Sam said.

“I think it was worse yesterday,” Tyler said and then leaned forward with effort. “I was never so scared. They strapped me down, broke out a scalpel and dug into my head. No anesthesia.

Nothing. The pain. I never thought I could scream so loud. They didn’t care. Bastards.”

“Okay, okay, but then what happened?”

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Tyler paused. “Dyson. Dyson happened.”

“Who’s Dyson?”

“Eric Dyson. The top dog. The warden.”

“Explain.”

Tyler paused again. “You’ll probably get mad at this, but Dyson found my bottle and tasted it.”

Sam looked at him blankly and then squinted and said, “What bottle?”

“You know,” Tyler said and closed his eyes.

“You took…you mean Dyson, zoo-keeper of this insane asylum, drank the potion?”

“Yes, but if he didn’t, I would be dead by now.”

“When you feel better, I’m going to kill you, but first tell me how him drinking the potion saved your life?”

Tyler smiled weakly. “The eyes, Sam. After he drank it, his eyes changed to violet, like mine. He wanted to know why. He pulled the mask off me before they could drill my skull.”

“So now Dyson knows?”

“He knows what I know, which ain’t much since you didn’t tell me much. But when Dyson told Beekman, they put the kibosh on removing my protein.”

“Whoa,” Sam said. “Who’s Beekman? What protein? What the hell is this place?”

“Beekman is Reginald Beekman. Beekman Pharmaceuticals.”

Sam’s eyes widened.

“He’s old, rich, desperate and owns a giant pharmaceutical company. This place is some kind of life-extension research facility. From what the doctors tell me…”

“The doctors?”

“Yeah, they tell you everything because they like to see your fear and they know you’re not leaving alive.”

“Go on, what did they tell you?”

“Behind everyone’s forehead is a specific protein that has something to do with how long we live. They extract it, synthesize it and use it on old people and it seems to make them younger.

Beekman gets regular doses. It helps him. He figures the eventual benefit to humankind justifies whatever he has to do to get it.”

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“Great, Ty, you just gave an evil narcissistic monster the potion for immortality. Buz will love this.”

Tyler’s eyes bulged. “You never told me that. I thought it was just the world’s best energy drink.”

Sam sighed. “I’ve spent most of my life trying to tell you as little as possible and this is a perfect example why.”

“It’s not all my fault.”

“Whatever, we can discuss your punishment when you feel better. How do we get out of here?” Sam said.

“The only way is through Dyson.”

Sam frowned. “What do you mean?”

“The front room. If you can get past him and swim to the boat, he lets you leave.”

Sam gave him a look. “Who told you that?”

“Dyson.”

“Ty, did anyone ever get to the boat?”

“I don’t think so. Dyson is pretty impassable.”

“Trust me, if you got past him, the swim to the boat has bigger problems.”

“Dyson’s pretty big.”

“Okay, forget Dyson. There must be another way,” Sam said and went back to the door latch and wiggled it. Locked.

“You can come in to these rooms, but only they can get out.

They have some kind of electronic key on them,” Tyler said.

Sam nodded. “Can you call for someone?”

“What do you think this is—a hotel?”

Sam walked back to Tyler and went to the wall on the other side of his bed and scratched it with her fingernail. Some sort of hard plastic. She shook her head and looked up at the ceiling, at least ten feet high. She wondered what it was made of.

Suddenly, there were footsteps and Sam’s gaze snapped to the door. The handle turned and Sam darted into the bathroom.

A young man, with short, dark hair and black-rimmed glasses, wearing a white lab coat walked in. “Tyler, you have some important visitors waiting to see you,” he said.

“Who?” “Mister Beekman. And he’s very excited to meet you. Let’s go.”

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“Okay, but I need to use the bathroom first.”

“Then let’s do it. We don’t want to keep Mister Beekman waiting.”

“I can’t.”

The man frowned. “What do you mean you can’t?”

“There’s a bug in the bathroom.”

“A bug?”

“Yes. Big and yellow. I think it’s dangerous.”

The man looked at him doubtfully. “You won’t go to the bathroom because you’re afraid of a bug?” he said.

“A big yellow bug.”

The man sighed. “And I suppose you want me to flush it down the toilet?”

“Yes,” Tyler said, deadpan, nodding.

“Tyler’s afraid of a little bug,” the man said, annoyed, as he rounded the bed and opened the bathroom door. “Here, little buggy. Where are you?” he sang.

289

60 “Right here,” Sam said as her right palm slammed under his chin and her foot kicked him hard in the groin. The glasses flew off his bulging eyes as he dropped to the floor with a deep sickening grown. Sam grabbed Tyler’s pillow and pulled it over his head, cushion against his face and then tied it tight around his neck with his shoelace. He fought to get to his knees, but Tyler cracked the chair over the back of his head. The man instantly crumbled to the cold floor, motionless. Sam pulled off his white lab coat and then yanked off a curious necklace with a rectangular silver bar on the chain. Not jewelry. “What’s this?” she said, dangling the device in front of Tyler’s face.

“I don’t know,” he said.

Sam draped the necklace over her head and went to the door lever. It turned and she peeked out. The hall was empty, but she heard sounds to the left. She put on the lab coat and turned to Tyler. “Let’s go,” she whispered.

“Go where?”

“Just follow me. If I signal you, walk slow and straight with a blank stare. Don’t blink.”

“What’s the signal?”

Sam rolled her eyes. “Just shut up and follow me,” she said and started in the direction of the front entrance. With most of the sounds coming from the inner radius, she moved to the outer corridors. A long row of large windows appeared on the right.

Light poured into the hallway. Sam glanced casually through the glass as she passed. Labs. Lots of white coats busy around shiny, 290

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sterile equipment. She was familiar with some of the machines, but most were unrecognizable. Separating and synthesizing proteins, she thought. A madman’s evil quest for immortality.

So close but yet so far. A couple of white coats glanced up at her but quickly went back to their business. If her presence was an anomaly, these guys didn’t appear to care. What kept them working here? she wondered. Greed, or fear, or both?

Suddenly, Sam heard wheels and soft footsteps approaching from around the bend. She motioned with her left hand to slow down, visible to the entire lab. A Latin woman in yellow scrubs pushing a canvas laundry cart. The woman kept her eyes straight ahead but then looked up at Sam and held eye contact as she passed. Sam kept walking and didn’t turn around but saw Tyler in a window reflection looking back. Sam gritted her teeth and when the curve brought them out of sight, Sam spun around. “I told you just to follow me like a zombie. Not turn and look at her for the whole world to see. Zombies don’t do that.”

“Zombies aren’t real,” Tyler said.

“If you don’t shut up and do as I say, you’re not going to be real either,” Sam said and walked faster. She wanted to run but maintained enough self-control to make it back to the entry room. The door handle turned and she was in the foyer.

“This is where Dyson challenges people to get past him and then beats the shit out of them,” Tyler said.

“Okay, Ty, this is the plan. Outside there’s a dock with another adjoining dock running out perpendicular near the end.

There are boats tied to the attached dock. We walk out there like I’m marching you off to oblivion, but then make a break for the ocean racer and roar the hell out of here.”

“Sounds too simple.”

“You sound simple. Okay, take your shirt off,” Sam said.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I saw them do this before. The patients go out naked, probably so there are no clothes floating away as evidence of the murder.”

“No way; I’m keeping my clothes on. You don’t get to see me naked.”

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“You’re joking, right? This is life and death, Ty.” “You just want to laugh at me. I know you. You want to deliver me to cameras and reporters bare ass. No. I’d rather get my head drilled.”

Sam bit her lips from smiling. “Oh my God, Tyler, don’t be a baby. Come on, we have to do this now. They’re already wondering where you are.”

“You take your clothes off,” Tyler demanded.

“I’m the doctor.”

“Then I’ll be the doctor.”

“Yeah right, you can’t even do the zombie right. Okay, we’re out of time; soldiers will be busting through that door any second.

Take your shirt off at least. Maybe they won’t notice. Now!” Sam said through gritted teeth.

Tyler exhaled noisily and took off his shirt. Sam opened the door. “I will lead you out, but then you keep walking after I stop.

Then when I say go, run for the boat.”

“Okay,” Tyler said.

Sam walked out and Tyler followed. She slowed and Tyler slowly took the lead. Oh no! Fear entered her chest when she saw a few soldiers talking on the attached dock near the ocean racer. “Walk straight, Ty, slowly, eyes forward and don’t blink,” Sam whispered.

“Okay,” Tyler said.

“And don’t talk.”

“Okay.”

One of the soldiers was staring at them. He stepped away from the group, gun in hand and walked faster on an intercept course. Wonderful, Sam thought.

The soldier stopped in front of Tyler, blocking his advance.

“Why is he wearing clothes?” he said sharply in Spanish.

Sam shrugged and said, “Dyson.”

The soldier frowned.

Sam glanced right. The other soldiers were staring at her.

Suddenly, she heard the dirt bike at her left. It stopped where Sam had bound and dressed up the other soldier. The bike guard started yelling frantically. Sam looked at the soldier blocking 292

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Tyler. His eyes were on fire. He stepped around Tyler and leveled his gun at Sam’s face. The bike’s throttle revved and the soldier with the yellow bikini on stepped out from the trees and yelled loudly, pointing at Sam. Sam looked down the gun barrel and swallowed hard. The dirt bike roared around, past the bikini soldier, toward Sam, spinning sand into the air from the rear tire.

The soldier holding the gun at Sam did a double take when he saw the soldier wearing the yellow bikini. To Sam’s surprise, Tyler seized the moment, grabbed Sam’s soldier around the neck and threw him backward so hard that he tumbled off the end of the dock. The soldiers by the ocean racer yelled and bolted toward them, guns raising. The soldier in the water made a desperate reach for the dock and then screamed in agony as the water erupted ferociously. The biker spun to a skip-stop, his attention grabbed by the crimson boil. He turned back to Sam just in time to receive the heel of her sneaker in his neck.

Sam rolled to her feet and waved to Tyler as she wrenched the bike up from the sand. Tyler straddle jumped on the back as Sam twisted the throttle hard. The front wheel came up and Tyler grabbed her waist tight and leaned forward. The bike leveled and accelerated. Shots rang out and Tyler screamed as one round found the edge curl of his right ear. The bikini soldier tried to step in front of them but jumped away as Sam steered toward him. As she passed him, she grabbed his white briefs in her left hand and ripped them off.

“Here,” Sam said, handing the shredded briefs to Tyler. “Put this on your ear.”

Tyler quickly tossed the briefs into a tree, leaving a white flag on a branch as they vanished into the trees.

293

61 Sam held tight on full throttle as the dirt bike climbed higher on the diagonal road to the top of the island’s rim. She heard another bike engine whining behind her but didn’t look back.

Tyler’s grip tightened as they came upon the rim. The wheels left the ground and the engine redlined and then grabbed with a thrust. The view opened wide on either side of the narrow path.

Vast blue sea to the left, crater to the right and the picturesque aquamarine lagoon in mock tranquility. Ahead was the arch crest and beyond that foot soldiers running toward her in single file.

Further to the right, next to the doughnut, the helicopter plumed dust and left the ground, angling toward her. The other dirt bike closed the gap and was right behind them.

Tyler leaned to her ear and yelled, “Nice rescue!”

“You’re welcome,” Sam yelled back.

“Now what!”

“I’m thinking,” Sam yelled back. On her left another ocean racer came into view, aimed at the arch. Another kidnap, she thought.

“Don’t! Remember the hornet nest with the slingshot?” Tyler yelled.

She remembered when they were twelve. The hornets all came out and chased them into a lake. Tyler got stung badly.

“Yes!” Sam yelled. “Good idea.”

“No! Bad idea!”

“Hold on!” Sam yelled as they came to the arch. Past the curving trail over the arch, the soldiers bunched and raised their guns.

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“Slow down,” Tyler shouted as the curve tightened.

Sam pinned the throttle and stayed straight. The bike shot off the cliff. “Push away!” Sam yelled.

“Ahhhhh!” Tyler screamed.

The engine raced until Sam let go of the handlebars and then an eerie silence and weightlessness. The bike dropped away and Tyler’s tight grip released. Momentum carried them away from the dangerous slope to darker waters before gravity changed their direction and speed downward. Sam wanted to yell some instructions to Tyler, but there was no time; he would have to figure this out for himself. She spread her arms wide and arched her back into a controlled swan dive. The white lab coat began to flap like a cape and as the water approached, she brought her hands together, shifting her weight forward to change her angle of entry for the least-possible-entry resistance. She locked her arms tight and flared her palms to break the surface for her head.

At the last instant, she tucked her chin and followed her palms through the surface. The white coat sleeves shot up her arms and cushioned the impact on her shoulders. Water exploded around her ears and then silence as she curled into a ball to slow her downward plunge.

Tyler broke the surface next to her awkwardly, feet first in a sudden cloud of bubbles. His body was limp. She swam to him and pulled him upward. When they broke the surface, Tyler awoke in an eruption of limb flail, gasping for air.

“I got you,” Sam said.

“You…you…you are insane!”

The ocean racer came to their side and the helicopter lowered above them. One of the two men in the ocean racer trained a pistol on them and a soldier from the helicopter held a rifle point-blank.

Sam waded while another man on the boat was listening on a radio, nodding. He signed off and then reached out to her with a pole and guided her to the rear platform.

“I’m instructed to shoot you immediately if you try anything else,” the man with the pole said. “So, please, try something.”

295

62 Sam unscrewed the shower head in Tyler’s bathroom and started removing parts. She tossed aside components until she came to a thin washer the size of a silver dollar. She left the bathroom, walked to the door lever and slipped the washer between the latch and backset.

Tyler, a white puffy bandage on his right ear, sat Indian style on the bed, watching her. “Did you already forget what he said?”

Sam said nothing.

“If you tried anything else—” “I heard him,” Sam said, focused on her effort. “Did you hear what he didn’t say?”

“What he didn’t say?”

“He didn’t say shoot them. We have what they’re looking for.”

Tyler rolled his eyes. “So what will you do if you get the door open? Steal another dirt bike? Go for another swim?”

Sam kept working the washer. “I don’t know, but we’re not staying here. How long do you think it will be before they dissect us, starting with you?”

“Step away from the door, Doctor Conway,” came a voice over a speaker.

Sam startled backward and shot Tyler a look. She looked out the door window but saw nothing.

“I suggest you listen,” Tyler said.

“Where did that come from? There must be a hidden speaker and camera,” she said, looking around the room. “How do they know my name?”

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Tyler held up his hands. “Not me.”

“Step back from the door, Doctor Conway,” the voice repeated.

Sam stepped back. The door sprung open and slammed the wall. Two soldiers entered and separated, both with pistols drawn, pointed at her face.

A much larger soldier with a shaved head entered between them. He had violet eyes and carried in a small folding chair in one hand. The impassible Dyson, Sam thought. He unfolded the chair, set it next to Sam and quietly said, “Sit.” Sam looked at the chair and said, “I prefer to stand.”

The back of his hand came lightning fast and as hard as a bat.

Her face smacked the polished concrete floor before her hands could react. Both cheekbones were instantly numb and then pain flooded in.

“Sit,” Dyson repeated, calmly.

“Asshole,” Tyler said, but Dyson ignored him.

Sam slowly climbed to the seat, trying to hide any evidence of the room moving and her pain.

Dyson stepped back and turned to the open door. The welldressed, elderly helicopter passenger limped in with a black cane.

He looked better at a distance, where she couldn’t see his Bassethound eyes and liver spots on his forehead. She couldn’t help but notice a strange tick or habit he had with his tongue, sticking it in his cheek and biting down. Maybe it itched, she thought.

“Well, this is an unexpected honor, Doctor Conway. Welcome to my island. I’m Reginald Beekman and Mister Dyson here is my manager. His job is to keep everything running smoothly,” he said with a strange sucking sound as if he had hard candy in his mouth. Maybe his tongue was swollen from biting it?

“I feel honored…and welcome,” Sam said, sarcastically, her cheekbones burning hot.

A man in a lab coat entered with a chair and set it behind Beekman. The old man sat, arranged himself and put his cane across his knees. He stared at Sam, eye to eye, for a long moment.

Sam wanted to look away but didn’t. He held his hand out to his side, palm up and the man who had brought his chair put a small bottle in it. His eye contact remained, unblinking.

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“What is this?” Beekman asked, holding out one of the little plastic energy bottles she had filled with the potion.

Sam frowned and stared at the bottle and then shrugged and said, “Five-hour energy?”

The back of Dyson’s hand came fast, but this time Sam expected it. She turned, only his fingertips grazing her cheek and then threw her own punch into his groin. He winced but absorbed the impact and was about to take another swing. What?

“Enough,” Beekman said quickly.

Dyson straightened and took one step backward, emotionless.

“Doctor Conway, it is not my desire to hurt you in any way—” “Yet,” Sam interrupted.

“I have a few simple questions and I know you have the answers. One way or another, I will get those answers. It is up to you how difficult you want to make this on yourself and, of course, on Tyler.”

Sam looked at Tyler. His eyes were wide with fear but knew better than to say anything. “I have some questions too,” Sam said.

“Feel free to ask them. I will answer all your questions as you will answer mine. I am all for our common education,” Beekman said. “You may go first if you wish.”

“What is this place?”

Beekman paused and rearranged himself in the chair before speaking. “Doctor Conway, I’m sure you, as a scientist, can appreciate that current policies and regulations concerning medical research are extremely inefficient and stifling to the progress of real solutions in a timely manner. This facility has enabled us to work outside the imposing constraints of paranoid insurance companies and greedy politicians for the betterment of humankind. We have had a measure of success sustaining and even lengthening telomeres through the synthetization of a specific human protein. We are on the verge of extending healthy human life for ten, twenty, possibly as much as fifty years.”

“And this particular protein just so happens to be located in the brain’s outer frontal lobe?”

“Yes.” 298

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“So you rationalize kidnapping and murdering maybe hundreds of lives in exchange for the millions of extended lives who will pay dearly for your procedure.”

“I wouldn’t put it that way, but the math is quite obvious,” Beekman said.

“Define psychopath,” Sam said.

Dyson looked at Beekman for a nod, but Beekman shook his head for him to hold off.

“I believe your Bible says, ‘The current affliction does not compare with the glory that shall be revealed.’”

“No pain, no gain,” Sam said.

Beekman paused, expressionless. “Crudely put, Doctor Conway, but correct,” he said.

“How do you know my name?”

“A mutual acquaintance,” he said with a smirk.

Sam frowned. “And who might that be?” she said, doubtfully.

“That’s question number two. First, it’s my turn to get some answers from you,” Beekman said and then sucked on his tongue. He held up the little bottle of potion again. “Before you what you know about this elixir, you should know I have my own information and if I think you are lying, your friend Tyler will be escorted off the dock and I believe you know what that means.”

“What is in that water?”

Beekman smiled. “That is another question, but I will answer you. We don’t actually know. We only know it stays in the lagoon’s deep-heated waters and responds quickly when someone, let’s say, enters the water. So if you don’t answer with the truth, Doctor Conway, you can ask Tyler the same question in the next life,” Beekman said, licking his inner cheek.

Sam paused and glanced at Tyler’s pleading gaze. “I don’t know if I know the truth.”

“That would be unfortunate for your friend,” Beekman said.

Sam nodded. “The truth. The truth is the potion in that bottle has healing and regenerative properties that can turn back the clock on your age and optimize your health well beyond what we have come to know as normal. Oh and it changes eye color to violet.”

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Beekman stared at her blankly. “You expect me to believe that?”

“If you know anything about it, you know what I said is true.”

Beekman laughed giddily. “What is the dosage? And how often must you take it?”

“I don’t know. A sip is all it seems to take and I don’t know how often,” Sam lied.

Beekman frowned. “How could you not know?”

“I just don’t.”

“Doctor Conway, you are telling me if I take a single sip, my eyes will turn violet like yours and Tyler’s and Mister Dyson’s here?”

“That and more.”

Beekman said nothing, deep in thought. “Ah, what the hell,” he said, unscrewed the cap and took a sip. “Tastes like root beer,” he said, screwing the cap back on. “Are my eyes violet?”

“Not yet,” Sam said. “That will take a few hours, maybe more.”

“And when will I experience the age reduction and optimization you referred to?”

“It’s already happening. It will be mostly complete in fortyeight hours.”

“Really? In two days, I will feel and look younger?”

“In two days you will be twenty-five,” Sam said, deadpan.

“Me?” “Anyone.”

“For how long?”

“It’s my turn to ask a question,” Sam said firmly.

Beekman’s knuckles whitened as his left fist tightened around the cane. “Very well, ask,” he said, impatiently.

“How do you know my name? Who is the mutual acquaintance?”

“With the proper funds, Doctor Conway, the world we live in can be made very small. Tyler’s eyes and, as you might say, his optimized sensorial prowess caught our attention. Mister Dyson tasted the elixir Tyler had with him and experienced enough transformation to give us pause. Then a little research within our extensive, ‘small world’ network system, revealed a piece to a puzzle we were already busy working on.”

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“A puzzle?”

“Yes. It appears an Edward Conway also had some of this elixir and developed the same eye-color change as Tyler and my, uh, manager, Mister Dyson.”

Sam was stunned. “How do you know Edward Conway?”

“Your uncle’s physician, Dr. Peter Korn, thought we might be interested in Edward’s, rather uh, sudden, health improvements, after your visit on his one-hundredth birthday. You see, all centurions immediately make our list of potential donors because they have the proven longevity proteins in their frontal lobe. You were seen administering something you claimed to be a simple sassafras tea. A family recipe he enjoyed. We suspected your claim lacked credibility. Though indeed this elixir does taste like sassafras, the root has never been known to change eye color, stimulate appetite, produce new original-color hair growth on an old baldhead, grow new teeth and cure dementia. Simply put, a one-hundred-year-old man attached to vital monitors and feeding tubes, on what was expected to be his deathbed, does not simply get up, get dressed and leave the next day in obvious good health. It makes us wonder if you knew what you have here,” Beekman said, holding up the plastic bottle. “I believe I have answered your question and it is once again my turn.”

“Wait,” Sam said. “You were going to kidnap my Uncle Ed?” “Yes.” “And Korn was going to help?”

“He is paid quite well for his assistance,” Beekman said matter-of-factly.

“And you don’t mind telling me this because you don’t plan on letting us leave,” Sam said.

“My turn, Doctor Conway.”

Sam looked at him and then at Dyson, who seemed calmly ready to strike.

“How do I get more of this?”

“You don’t need more!”

“But you don’t know that.”

Sam was about to say it’s what she was told but stopped herself. She could not bring anyone else into this without involving everyone. “I strongly suspect it.”

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“Regardless, this is almost empty and I want more.”

“There is no more,” Sam said firmly.

“I don’t believe you. What are the ingredients, the recipe, if you will?”

“A very specific flower and sawdust from a tree. Both are long extinct.”

“Then how did you get them?”

“In an ancient sanctuary that has since collapsed.”

“Where?”

“Afghanistan.”

“Afghanistan,” Beekman repeated doubtfully.

“Yes. Would you like us to show you exactly where?”

Beekman stared at her and then produced a thin smile. “I think you know the answer to that, Doctor Conway. Mister Dyson, please escort Tyler to the end of the dock. We will continue our conversation there.”

302

63 Decker grabbed a pencil off the console, circled the dot on the map and tapped it until the graphite tip put woodpecker-like holes in the blue paper. “They’re here,” he said emphatically and then pointed through Bathsheba’s windshield. “Six miles, that way.”

“Five point two,” Buz corrected, watching the lighted hand on the ship’s radar pass over the island. “If they’re really there,” he said pointedly. “Horace could only confirm the direction they went when they left Key West. It’s a big ocean.”

“Tyler’s cell phone last pinged near this island, before it died,” Decker said, half to himself.

Buz shrugged. “They found the cell phone on him and threw it overboard. They may have been just passing by, or maybe they threw it out there as a decoy.”

Decker shook his head. “Unlikely. Definitely not as a decoy.

Cell-phone pings are accurate to within a hundred feet in urban areas and a mile in rural areas, where the triangulation of transmission towers are further apart. There are no towers out here. But that island is supposed to be a deserted inactive volcano base. There should be no signals of any kind coming from it. But for some reason, it has its own internal Wi-Fi and close enough to Tyler’s phone to get a ping off. That means the phone was very close to the island or maybe even on it. In any case, too close for someone to have been simply passing by. They’re there,” Decker said.

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“Or were there,” Buz said. “I contacted you because you have the technological resources available to trace Tyler’s phone and because I know Sam is very special to you. The last thing we can do is get outside agencies involved.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Your secret is safe with me, but it’s also not my concern. I want nothing to do with it. I hope Sam told you that.”

“No, actually. She guards her relationships pretty tightly.”

“Hmm, well, whatever, I’m here for her, not this little club of yours; no offense.”

Buz rolled his eyes. “Club? Damn. If this is a club, membership is closed; no offense. But back on task, there are no guarantees, just clues. Maybe they’re there; maybe they’re gone. We have no way of knowing.”

Decker looked at him. “I have a guarantee for you. If they’re not there, whoever is there is going to have a very miserable day.”

Buz snorted. “I don’t really see a scenario where they don’t have a miserable day,” he said and then pulled back on the throttle.

“What are you doing?” Decker said.

“Well, you don’t think we are just going to drive up to this place and ask to see Sam and Tyler, do you? The island is going to be guarded. Substantially, I suspect. I’m sure they have procedures for random visitors that include either death to the visitors, death to the kidnapped, or, more likely, death to both,” Buz said.

“I agree,” Decker said.

“Well, you’re the expert here. What do you have in mind?”

Buz asked.

“I figured we would swim in. Use your scuba gear.”

Buz smiled. “Two problems with that plan. One, they likely will see us at any reasonable swimming distance, even at night.

And what their eyes don’t see, their radar will. We have to assume they have radar. Two, I don’t swim in open water, especially under it,” he said and then shrugged.

“What?” Decker said incredulously.

“You heard me.”

“How is that possible? I thought you’ve been around for…a long time. How do you not know how to swim?”

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“It’s one of the reasons I’m still here. I can swim, but I’m hydrophobic. I come from a time that no one swam in open waters. We were afraid of sea monsters and the unknown. My uncle Methuselah drowned after living nine hundred and sixtynine years. Swimming is a new concept to most of us.”

“Sea monsters? This is another joke, right?”

“My logical mind can explain them away, but subconscious phobias keep my swimming in pools and lakes.”

“Let me get this straight. Owning a house is complicated, so you live on a boat but won’t go in the water and you own scuba equipment but can’t scuba dive?”

“Something like that. For four thousand years, my head has been above water. I simply can’t submerge and breathe. I’ve tried.

Forget it. Can’t,” he said with a shrug. “I just can’t.”

“Okay, okay, so what’s your foolproof plan?” Decker asked, sarcastically.

“I don’t have one. All I have is you and a Seabob.”

“A what?”

“A Seabob. A personal handheld submarine that can go fifteen miles per hour under water. The battery will last an hour.

The island is five miles away. Do the math,” Buz said.

“The math tells me it’s a one-way trip.”

“Where did you go to school?”

“It’s a one-man sub. There is one breathing setup. There are three of us. Miss Carola, in kindergarten one oh one, taught me it won’t work.”

“I have two Seabobs,” Buz said.

“I can tow one?”

“No, it will float and if we weigh it down, it will drain the battery of the first one, leaving you again with one. Someone else will go with you,” Buz said, shyly.

“Who?” Decker said, doubtfully.

“Jesse.”

“Oh no. Are you insane? If we bring Jesse in on this, Sam will become the enemy. I’d rather fight the kidnappers,” Decker said.

“How about Maria?”

“No,” Buz said.

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“Why not?”

“Just no,” Buz said quietly.

“Okay, okay, then who?”

“Uncle Ed?” “He’s one hundred,” Decker said.

“I’m four thousand,” Buz said.

“So you say,” Decker said. “Ed has no training and this is not the time for him to get a crash course in hostile rescue. And believe me, I’m not the best teacher. He’s a huge liability. I’ll be better off alone.”

“How will you return?”

“I don’t know. After being with Sam on a few missions, I’m used to making it up as I go.”

“Just make sure you do. There will be no plan B.” Decker looked at him. “The club must go on.”

“That’s right.”

“Tell me, Buz, are you one of the good guys or the bad guys?”

“I’ve been both. How about you, John Decker?”

Decker held eye contact for a moment but then looked away.

“Let’s break out that, uh, whatchamacallit.”

“The Seabob.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

306

64 Decker climbed into a pair of khaki cargo shorts, olivegreen T-shirt and rubber-toe boat sandals he could sprint over rocks with. Since he didn’t have to swim, he would dress for land encounters.

Buz was on the stern deck holding a guideline while directing Chen, who was operating the upper-deck crane, lowering the silver Seabob. The handheld submarine, about four feet long and two feet wide. When it was within reach, Buz dropped the guideline and helped it to a soft touchdown by hand.

“Is that the Seabob or your grandmother’s vacuum cleaner?”

Decker asked as he walked up.

Buz turned. “My grandmother’s vacuum was an elephant,” he said and then received a scuba tank from Chen, who seemed to be running everywhere.

Buz thanked Chen in some unfamiliar language and then laid the tank down and turned to Decker. “The sky is cloudy.

That should help your approach.”

Decker nodded. “Brief me on this thing,” he said, motioning at the Seabob.

“It’s electric and jet-propelled,” Buz said. “You hold onto these handles and the Seabob will pull you wherever you point it. The green button at the top of the right handle is your accelerating throttle and the red button at the top of the left handle is your decelerating throttle. The speedometer bars are self-explanatory when on and that’s your compass,” he said, pointing to a round 307

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disk he affixed below the speedometer. “The island is due north from here. Pretty simple.”

Decker frowned, running his fingers along the glass-smooth body. The crane cable hooked to a recessed steel bar cleat ahead of the dashboard. “How much does it weigh?”

“About eighty pounds, not much, but it can be awkward to move and I store them on the top deck,” Buz said. “In the water, it weighs nothing and that’s where we’ll put it for you,” he said and then looked Decker in the eye. “We want to conserve your strength for the island.”

Decker didn’t smile. “Ever seen anyone go five miles on this thing?”

“No,” Buz said. “But it will. It’s fully charged and will go for fifty minutes at full throttle.”

“I’m sure it can, but five miles and thirty minutes is a lot more of an arm challenge than carrying eighty pounds to the water. And with that tank on my back, the extra drag will make it impossible to hold on without taking breaks we can’t afford,” Decker said.

“So what are you saying?” Buz said.

“I need a harness of some kind to take the burden off my arms.”

“A harness?” Buz said, massaging his chin.

“Yes, a rope or strap through that bar cleat your crane cable is hooked onto. I’ll loop it under my armpits. That should do it.”

“Done,” Buz said. “Anything else?”

“That air tank is full?”

“Yes; do you want two?”

“No, too much drag. It will slow me down and one full tank should get me there if it moves like you say,” Decker said, half thinking aloud.

Buz looped a thick white nylon rope through the bar cleat and then Chen craned the Seabob off the deck and over the rail to the water.

Decker strapped a large diving knife to his right calf, buckled his weight belt and slipped into the tank harness. He depressed the regulator purge button and a gush of air hissed through the mouthpiece.

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Buz grabbed Decker’s hand and pulled him to a stand. “Oh, I should mention the Seabob creates an electromagnetic field that attracts sharks,” he said and then winked.

Decker gave him a look and shook his head once. “Let’s get the party started,” he said and then turned and sat on the side rail near the Seabob. He pulled on his mask, bit down on his mouthpiece and breathed in. When a fresh flow of cool air filled his lungs, he fell backward and plunged into the water. He exhaled and bubbles gurgled by his ears as he swam to the surface. The Seabob was slippery, so he grabbed the left handle and mounted it like a horse, swinging his leg over. He then stretched his arms through the rope loop, testing its size. The rope fit snugly over his back and under his armpits as he took hold of the throttle grips.

It felt good. He pulled off his mask, spit into it, smeared the saliva around the glass and then dunked it into the salt water to rinse it clean. Now it wouldn’t fog. He looked up and saw Buz, Maria, Uncle Ed and Jesse looking over the rail at him.

“Via con Dios,” Buz said. “Keep your needle pointed exactly on N and you will be there in about thirty minutes.”

The rest waved and yelled encouragements as he put his mask on, fit his arms back through the rope and grabbed the handles. He looked at his analog watch. Six thirty. He pressed the green button and the Seabob surged forward with authority.

Skimming the surface was fast and smooth but also visible and detectable from radar. While the radar might have a hard time at first distinguishing him from a dolphin, any extended trail would expose him as a motorized blip heading directly for them. He leaned his weight onto his hands and the Seabob nose burrowed downward.

He leveled at about twenty feet, pinched his nose and blew out to equalize his inner ear pressure. He figured to stay level the whole way so he wouldn’t have to keep adjusting for new pressure.

He then pressed the green button and increased the speed until the red-lighted speedometer bars stretched around to maximum.

The tank drag pulled him back and the rope tightened under his shoulder blades and armpits. He pulled himself forward with his arms but felt the strain in his hands, forearms and biceps. Strain or pain, the usual choice, he thought. He adjusted his direction 309

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so the compass needle rested on N. A casual turn of his head quickly taught him to look straight ahead. The current nearly pulled off both his mask and mouthpiece.

Decker gazed at his watch again. Six forty-five. Halfway. The drag made him feel as if he had been hanging in the rope from a tree limb. He pulled on the handles to relieve the pain, which was now torturous, but he refused to slow down. After a few minutes, he had to let up and the rope tightened, causing his teeth to clench.

Suddenly, a shadow caught his peripheral. He glanced left with his eyes only. A shark. Coming toward him on an angle.

A large shark. He wasn’t up on his shark species, but this one was definitely interested in him and not as an escort. Another shadow appeared on the right. “Shit,” he said, through exiting bubbles. He knew how this would go. They were sizing him up like dogs would a cat. Well, every once in a while, the cat would give the dogs a surprise swat and they would think twice.

Decker jackknifed his legs left and the Seabob responded instantly. Startled by the aggressive maneuver, the big shark veered off its intercept course but not in time. Decker rammed the Seabob nose into the predator’s side, stunning it. Actually, wounding it, he thought. The jet motor never lost any thrust through it all. It just kept driving forward. Impressed, he corrected his direction back to N. He wanted to look back, but he didn’t want to slow down or lose his mask. No more shadows, though.

Six fifty-seven. His back was on fire. He wanted to yell, but just then he saw something encouraging. The bottom. The water was still deep, but the bottom was rising. Schools of fish appeared. Boulders. Bright colors. Something had to be coming up. A slight arching of his back caused the Seabob to rise. The surface came too quickly and to break it like a dolphin might attract attention. Might attract bullets. He straightened his arch and pressed the red button once. Speed eased, but he didn’t want to go slower and lose any maneuverability. He lifted his head and raised his feet just enough for his mask to break the surface. The island was dead ahead a half mile away. There was an arch in a 310

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cliff wall with men on top. A cove? An entrance? He aimed for the arch and submerged. The compass needle was still on N. Not bad, Buz, he thought.

Seven oh seven. He was approaching the arch and the bottom was still deep. A channel. The clouds would help, but he curled and went deep to stay out of sight in the crystal-clear water. Once under the arch, he needed to get another visual but this time without moving. He held the red button down until it killed the throttle. The jet stopped and the machine started to rise in place.

He broke surface under the arch, which was actually a tunnel.

Inside he saw it opened to a lagoon. At the far end of the lagoon, he saw boats tied to a dock. People standing on the dock. He lifted his mask to his forehead and squinted. His eyes suddenly widened. Sam. Decker unbuckled the weight belt and slipped off the tank.

311

65 Sam didn’t like where they were taking her, but she was glad they were going somewhere. Movement usually meant potential opportunity. Beekman, in his arrogance, was taking a risk by bringing her outside. Two armed soldiers led the way down the corridor, followed by Tyler, with Dyson right behind him. Sam followed Dyson with two guns poking her back. Beekman and one of his doctors brought up the rear. Tyler kept turning his head around, hoping for an answer. She had none.

They walked through the foyer, or challenge room and through the main entrance. Clouds had moved in and it looked like rain was on its way. The soldiers marched to the end of the dock, split apart and about-faced. Dyson stopped between them and also turned around, his right hand on the back of Tyler’s neck. Tyler’s eyes were big and unblinking. Two chairs were brought out by two yellow scrubs. Beekman sat and motioned for Sam to do the same.

“Now, Doctor Conway, we will continue our conversation,” Beekman said. “If I don’t like your answers or if it begins to rain before we finish, Tyler will go for a brief swim and we will go back inside for a hot meal.”

“I told you what…” Sam said.

Beekman held up his hand. “Think very carefully before you speak, Doctor Conway. Exactly what are the ingredients to this potion and how did you find out about it?”

Sam took a deep breath. “Last year some missiles were flying and exploding on impact in the rural hills north of Kabul. A 312

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shepherd, trying not to get blown up, dove into a crater caused by one of the missiles hitting the side of a ravine. The explosion opened a crack to an ancient sanctuary and where he found a legendary artifact known as Methuselah’s Pillar. The DIA came into possession of a piece of the pillar and asked me to translate it. That’s how I first came across it. Etched onto the pillar, among many other things, was the recipe that allowed Methuselah and his family to live hundreds of years old in young good health.

This was recorded in the Bible and all thought to myth before the pillar was discovered. The ingredients are dust from the pillar itself, which is an extinct tree thought to come from another mythological place called the Garden of Eden and a common little campion flower found in northern Siberia up until thirty thousand years ago. A Russian scientist recently brought the flower back from extinction with thirty-two-thousand-year-old seeds found where the permafrost is melting from the banks of the Kolyma River. These two ingredients combined with water I retrieved from Russia made the potion you hold in your hand.”

Beekman looked at the little bottle while chewing on his tongue. “And how would I get the ingredients?”

“You would need to get the pillar from the DIA or CIA and the flower from the Russian government,” Sam lied.

Beekman arranged himself uncomfortably. “That’s quite a story, Doctor Conway. Do you expect me to believe it?”

“Do you think I could make that up?”

“No, but you could leave out information I need to get what I want.”

“But you don’t need more. You already drank the potion. In forty-eight hours, you will be twenty-five and you will stay that way, unable to die of natural causes, you and Dyson. You are virtually immortal.”

“You’re lying,” Beekman shouted, causing everyone to startle.

“Wait and you will see I am telling the truth,” Sam said.

“I am not a man who waits, Doctor Conway,” Beekman scolded. “I want proof right now, or your friend gets fed to whatever is down there waiting for him.”

“Okay, okay,” Sam said desperately. “Take the bandage off his ear. You treated him for a gunshot wound that cut through his 313

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ear hours ago. It should be a bloody mess on its way to infection.

Look at it now. If what I’m saying is true, it should be almost healed.”

Beekman frowned and looked at Dyson. “Pull off that bandage,” he ordered.

Dyson let go of Tyler’s neck and pulled off the white gauze and tape. He looked at it and then looked at Beekman. “There is little trace of the wound,” Dyson said.

Beekman’s Basset-hound eyes widened. “Very impressive.

When did Tyler drink the potion?” he said.

“Almost a week ago,” Sam said.

“So you don’t know if it will last,” Beekman said.

“It will,” Sam said and felt a raindrop.

“Mere theory,” Beekman said. “I want proof that it lasts forever or more potion, or Tyler goes in the drink,” he said and then looked up at the sky.

“What do you have to lose by waiting?” Sam said. He had to be bluffing, she thought.

“It’s raining, Doctor Conway. What do I have to gain by keeping Tyler alive after I told you the terms? Maybe now you will learn I keep my word and don’t take no for an answer, ever,” he said and motioned for Dyson to throw Tyler into the water.

“Stop!” Sam shouted. “I lied.”

Beekman held his hand up for Dyson to wait. “Go on.”

“You’re correct. You need periodic doses of the potion, or you’ll return back to your original age and ill health.”

“How often?” Beekman said.

“Weekly.”

“Where do you keep it?”

“Tyler keeps it. I’m the only one who knows how to make it and he’s the only one who knows where it’s hidden.”

Beekman laughed and pointed his cane at her. “Do you think I am so naïve that I would beli…” was all he got to say before Sam reached out cat quick and swiped the end of the cane from his hand and swung it against the soldier’s ankle and pulled, sweeping his feet off the now-wet and slippery dock. As the soldier went down, Sam hooked his gun, yanked it from his hands and used 314

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the pointy end of the cane to jab the other soldier in the throat.

When his hands went to his neck, Sam snatched his gun, spun around, aimed it at Dyson and pulled the trigger. Click, click, click. Sam looked at the gun, aimed and again pulled the trigger.

Click, click, click.

Beekman laughed loud and then coughed and sucked hard on his tongue. “Doctor Conway, I have not been so completely entertained in quite some time. Did you think I would be foolish enough to have loaded guns pointed at you? Suppose one would go off accidentally? Then I would lose my greatest prize. No, no, I plan on keeping you as long as you live, which seems like it will be a very, very, very long time. And Tyler seems to be the only one who will be against that idea, so, Mister Dyson, please continue with my last order. Please toss the young man off the dock.”

Dyson grabbed Tyler behind his neck.

“Sam!” Tyler yelled. “Do something.”

Sam took one step in Tyler’s direction and both soldiers grabbed her arms. She struggled against them, but they held her tight. Beekman continued to laugh.

Dyson turned Tyler around and started to push, when suddenly a silver mass shot out from the water, like a man riding a dolphin and hit Dyson square in the chest. The soldier next to Dyson fell off the side of the dock and Tyler pushed the unbalanced soldier next to him off the other side and ran down the perpendicular dock. The silver machine crashed in the middle of the deck and spun around to the dock’s edge, throwing off the man who was riding it. The machine kept running loudly as the man rolled to his hands and feet, grabbed a large knife from his leg and threw it into the chest of the soldier holding Sam’s right arm. The soldier gasped, let go of her arm and fell to the deck.

The man tore off his mask and turned to Sam. Sam felt a rush of delight and strength at the sight of Decker’s steeled face. But then…”Look out!” she yelled.

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66 Tyler ran down the boat dock as fast as he could. All he could think was hide. Hide from the soldiers, hide from the guns, hide from the mad scientists, hide from Beekman, hide from Dyson, hide from the whole world. He jumped into the first boat he came to, the ocean racer and slid under the rear bench seat.

All hell was breaking loose, he thought. He heard running and yelling. Boat engines were starting and boats were leaving.

That’s when it occurred to him; the boat might not be the smartest place to hide. He started to climb out from under the seat when running footsteps stopped and landed in the boat. He saw boots and shoes. One soldier and two others. The soldier’s boots turned, something landed on the bench and then the boots turned away again. A strap fell from the bench top and hung swinging in his face. A gun. The soldier had put his gun on the seat.

All the boots and shoes were facing away. Tyler reached up, felt and grabbed the gun. He looked at it in his hands and had no idea how to shoot it, but they didn’t know that. He slid out, stood up and pointed the gun at the back of the one soldier and…two doctors?

“All right, everybody, freeze,” Tyler said, copying a line he remembered from a TV western. “This is a stickup; hands in the air. One move and I’ll fill you full of lead,” he said, running out of things to say.

All three put their hands in the air. “Now turn around slowly.”

All turned.

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“Doctor Ackerman and Doctor Meltzer,” Tyler said with a smile. “Are you leaving?”

“Tyler,” Ackerman said. “Thank God it’s you. This place is coming down, fast. We all need to get out of here. Come with us.”

Tyler pointed the gun at the soldier. “You, start the engine.

And if you try anything, I’ll make you Swiss cheese.”

The soldier turned and started the motor, which immediately purred with a heavy, deep gurgling sound. He put his hands back in the air and turned around.

“Now scram. And don’t come back, or I’ll shoot you right between the eyes,” Tyler said, motioning with the gun.

The soldier moved cautiously and then jumped out and ran.

Tyler slipped a rope off the rear cleat and told Meltzer to slip off the one next to him. He did. The boat floated freely.

“Now I want you two to behave yourselves and come around here to the back seat and sit down,” he said and they all rotated counterclockwise until Tyler was at the steering wheel. He pulled a chrome lever backward and the boat backed away from the dock slowly and completely. He kept the gun on the doctors as he turned the steering wheel left. The boat curled slowly until the bow faced the open lagoon. Tyler pushed the lever forward and the boat followed suit, crawling away from the dock.

Everyone was either fighting or running on the main dock.

Sam was on her feet, which meant everyone else was in trouble.

“Why are we going so slow?” Ackerman said. “And put that gun down.”

Tyler idled his way to the little, moored boat and pulled the lever to the middle neutral position. “Okay, here’s your escape boat. Get in it,” Tyler said, motioning with the gun.

“You can’t be serious,” Ackerman said.

“Serious as a heart attack,” Tyler said but couldn’t remember where he’d heard that one.

Meltzer said nothing and climbed into the skiff.

Ackerman pointed his finger at Tyler and said, “I knew I should have used the extractor on you.”

“Just get in and shut up,” Tyler said and then aimed his gun at the little outboard engine and pulled the trigger. A short spurt of 317

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bullets perforated the cover and liquid leaked from a few holes.

He then pointed the gun barrel at the little boat’s floor and pulled the trigger again. The doctors turned away and cowered as the chips flew and tiny water fountains sprang up through the bullet holes. “Adios amigos,” Tyler said.

“You idiot. We’ll sink,” Ackerman shouted angrily.

“You can use your hands like cups to bail, though you might get tired after a while. And I’d toss that motor; the extra weight will bring you down faster.”

“You can’t just leave us here,” Meltzer said.

“You’ll be fine, just fine. If the boat sinks, the dock is a short swim. Isn’t that what you tell everyone?” Tyler said, idling away.

“But if we swim, we’ll get eaten,” Ackerman said.

“Yes, I suppose you will. Isn’t that what you call standard procedure?” Tyler said as Ackerman started cupping his hands and bailing the water. Meltzer started turning the outboard’s transom bolts to throw the engine overboard.

Tyler turned his attention to the dock and his heart sank.

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67 Sam pointed and Decker spun around. Dyson rose to his feet and tore off the bloody shirt the silver machine had ripped open on impact. His eyes were on Decker, but his eyes said nothing.

Decker bolted toward him.

Sam swung her right fist around to the neck of the soldier who held her right arm, but he blocked the punch and tripped her backward hard to the deck and pinning her back down with his weight, his right hand grabbed her neck.

Beekman barked orders and the yellow scrubs immediately swept him away from the mayhem.

A sudden explosion of water and screams at the end of the dock told Sam the two soldiers guarding Tyler a moment earlier were now a puree of crushed human body parts in the lagoon monster’s digestive system.

Decker engaged the bigger Dyson in a flurry of combinations and counter combinations. Decker blocked, ducked, threw a palm uppercut to the chin and then followed with a roundhouse kick to his ear. Dyson, violet eyes, his chest gashed diagonally from hip to shoulder and bleeding, shook off the impacts and landed a kick to Decker’s chest that knocked him back a dozen feet. Decker hit the hard surface, back-rolled to his feet and charged. Dyson’s face, as always, was completely expressionless, even as blood dripped from his left eyebrow and mouth. Decker swooped low, hit Dyson’s groin with his shoulder and wrapped his arms around both of Dyson’s legs and then lifted and continued 319

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to push with his forward momentum. Dyson dropped both his fists, pounding Decker’s back as his feet came off the ground.

“Noooo!” Sam yelled as both Decker and Dyson flew off the dock and splashed into the lagoon.

Sam arched her back, spun to her right, reached over the dead soldier, grabbed Decker’s knife, pulled it from his chest and spun back, whipping her arm and slashing the other soldier’s throat. He released her throat and grabbed for his own as she continued her rotation and then scrambled to the silver machine, its jet motor still humming loudly. She grabbed the handles Decker had hold of when he came flying onto the dock and pushed the machine off the decking and into the lagoon. The jet motor sucked in the water and the machine surged forward with a thrust of water shooting out like a firehose. She pointed it toward the end of the dock and pushed downward on the handles. The silver machine dove, pulling Sam with it. She felt immediate water resistance as she plunged and saw chaotic movement dead ahead.

Sam didn’t know what the beast was, but in the black mass before her, she saw angry bright yellow eyes and a flash of long white teeth chewing on Dyson. Then it shook him violently, like a rag doll. Decker was floating limply a few feet off. He would be next. She aimed the nose of the jet at Dyson and the monster’s mouth and felt it ram Dyson into its throat. The black mass was driven backward and down as she let go the handles. Sam instantly turned, swam, grabbed Decker under his armpit and kicked to the surface.

“Breathe, Deck, breathe,” she yelled when they broke the surface. Her feet caught the bottom and she dragged him halfway ashore and fell side by side, their legs still in the lagoon.

He wasn’t breathing. She pulled him onto his back, pushed his stomach twice and then moved her hands, one over the other, to his sternum and pushed. She tried to count depressions but couldn’t calm her mind. She grabbed his scruffy chin, pulled his head back, pinched his nose and breathed into his mouth, once, twice. Nothing. There were a lot of sounds and activity near the doughnut entrance, but she gave no attention to whatever was happening. Back to his chest, hand over hand, one, two, 320

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three, four…nineteen, twenty. Back to his mouth. The sound of the helicopter starting. “Breathe dammit!” she cried. Blood.

She saw blood dripping from his ear. “Jesus!” she cried and then went back to his chest, one, two, three. The helicopter turbo jet whined. She looked up and saw it rise above the trees and turn while she pushed on his chest. When she looked back to Decker, something caught her eye and she did a double take. A little white bottle was lying in the sand a foot below the dock edge.

Beekman must have dropped it and it rolled off the deck. She looked at Decker. She looked at the bottle. She looked at Decker.

She heard another engine. The ocean racer. Reverse, pause, forward. She moved back to his mouth and breathed into it, once, twice. His chest rose and fell with each breath but then stopped.

She prayed for a cough, anything. “Why don’t you breathe?” she cried, wondering if the monster had done something that hit his head, damaged his brain. She felt his neck for a pulse. Maybe, but her hand was shaking so much that she couldn’t determine what she was feeling.

“Sam!” a voice yelled. She turned. Tyler was in the ocean racer waving for her to come. “Come on! Let’s go!” he shouted.

Sam looked back at Decker and then at Tyler and then at all the chaos around her and then back at Decker. Her eyes flooded with tears. “I’m so sorry,” she said.

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68 Sam was still picking at her food when Chen poured coffee for the others at Horace’s dining table.

“You no like Chen food?” Chen asked.

“It’s delicious, Chen,” Sam said, slowly cutting a lobster ravioli in half with her fork. “I’m just not very hungry.”

“I know that look,” Uncle Ed said, finished with dinner and now digging his spoon into a bowl of triple-chocolate ice cream.

Sam lifted her gaze to him but said nothing.

“Guilt,” he said, stabbing his spoon in the air. “Forgiving others is easy, but forgiving yourself can be the hardest.”

“She can be too hard on herself,” Jesse added, excavating his own bowl eagerly.

“Too hard is right,” Maria said, sipping her coffee. “I don’t see any fault here.”

“There’s plenty of fault,” Tyler said, on his third helping of ravioli. “And it’s all mine. If not for me being so stupid, Decker would be sitting right here, downing these hot pockets with us.

Chen, can I have one more helping?”

“They call ravioli and you eat last one. No more. I need make.

Who help?” he said, looking at Sam. Sam raised her brow and pointed her fork at herself.

Chen nodded. “Best medicine.”

Sam smiled and nodded. “Okay.”

“What do you think?” Maria said, patting Buz’s hand.

“Me?” Buz said, enjoying a small glass of Lillet on ice. “I agree with Chen; ravioli best medicine.”

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Maria rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

Buz drained his glass with a satisfying clack on the table. “I think it’s time for me to go and take care of a little business.”

“What kind of business?” Maria said.

“Family business,” Buz said.

“I thought you said we were your family?” Maria said.

“Exactly,” Buz said.

Sam felt her teeth clench and glared at Buz. “You want a little help with that chore?”

“No, less is more with this one,” Buz said, confidently.

“Besides, you already have a job too,” he said.

Sam nodded. Buz had a plan. She just wanted a piece of it.

“Okay, Chen, I’m all yours,” she said.

Chen bowed slightly and waved for her to follow him.

Sam excused herself and followed Chen into the kitchen. He compiled a few bowls and utensils on the countertop.

“We take outside,” Chen said.

“You’re the boss,” Sam said and followed him out with a large bowl and a rolling pin. They put everything down on a white polished granite counter top on the patio under a skinny palm tree. He briefed her on what they were going to do and told her to wait for him to come back with the ingredients.

“You need help?” Sam asked.

“No, you wait,” Chen said.

Chen went inside and Sam heard the automatic gate open.

The Ducati motored up and into the garage. Decker got off and put the helmet on the mirror and then saw her on the patio.

“Welcome back,” Sam said cautiously. She had never seen him so angry when he left yesterday.

He walked over to her and pushed up his sunglasses, eyes brilliant violet. “Where can I go? You broke your promise and now I’m stuck here until I figure out how to make this work.”

“Poor baby,” Sam said, sarcastically. “If you don’t want to be here, you can kill yourself any time. Who would know?”

“Yeah and how exactly do you suggest I do that?” Decker asked, hands on his hips.

“Here,” Sam said, handing him the rolling pin.

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“What am I supposed to do—beat myself to death with this?”

Decker said.

“Yeah, why not? I’m not sure it will work, but it’ll be fun to watch,” Sam said.

Decker glared and walked up to her, holding up the rolling pin. “You know, I have a better idea!”

“Oh yeah? What’s that, genius?”

Decker swung the rolling pin at her head.

Sam’s eyes bulged.

Decker dropped the rolling pin, pushed Sam against the palm tree, scooped her hair into his fist behind the tree and pulled her head tight to the bark as he looked her in the eye from inches away. “With your potion working everything so optimally, there seems to be an enhancement you’ve avoided telling me about,” he said.

Sam used the tree against her back to swing both legs up around Decker’s midsection and then locked her ankles and squeezed as hard as she could and arched her back. Decker released his grip on her hair and she sprang forward and headbutted him off his feet. They hit the limestone patio with a hard thud and suddenly she was on top of him, now staring him in the eye from inches away. “Maybe I was waiting for you to ask me about that, politely,” she said and then sat up, straddling him.

Decker felt the back of his head with his right hand and winced. He gave her a look and said, “I didn’t know you held politeness in such high regard.”

“Get to know me better,” she said, deadpan.

Decker looked at his right hand. His fingers showed some blood. “Sounds dangerous,” he said.

“Danger’s your life and you just got an extension, by the way,” she said with a thin smile.

Decker looked at her for a long silent moment. “Let’s get out of here for a while.”

Her brow raised. “What’s a while?”

“Does it matter?”

“It might.”

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“Damn, how’s this ever going to work if you never do what I say?”

Sam looked deep into his eyes and smiled. “In time,” she said and then looked up at the silver 918 inside garage door number one. “But I drive.”

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Epilogue Reginald Beekman walked out the automatic glass doors to his rooftop patio. He breathed in the Sunday-morning air deeply and exhaled. He could distinguish every odor, like never before.

Just incredible. The summer sun warmed his face. Pigeons flew by as if they had somewhere to go.

He walked to the rail and looked out. Before him, Central Park was lush and full of busy life, jogging, biking, Rollerblading.

Much like the pigeons, he thought. He scanned the skyline with perfect vision. There wasn’t a prescription in the world that could give him such eyesight. Like an eagle, he could see everything and with his money, he could have whatever his eyes wanted. He looked south. He would move there, to SoHo, a less conservative and more happening area of the New York City. He would buy an entire block—no, two. In ten years, he would move somewhere else. He would live every day doing and buying whatever he wanted.

Just a week ago, this entire scene was depressing to him, but now, after tasting Conway’s potion, everything had changed. Last week he was out of time; now he was immortal, with all the time in the world…and young. He turned and looked at his reflection in the glass door. He had completely changed. He looked twentyfive again but better. He looked like someone else’s twenty-five.

His eyes reflected brightly in the dark glass and had changed to the same violet color as Dyson’s had. Poor Dyson. He never got to enjoy his new self. Pity, but his short-lived experience was predictable and nothing to dwell on now. He would instead dwell 326

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on his new hair already growing in his original dark brown, his new teeth where old ones had been removed, new skin, all his wrinkles gone. No pains, tons of energy, strength, his mind never clearer. He gave his entire staff a permanent paid vacation. He didn’t need them anymore and didn’t want to explain his new appearance and disappearance to anyone.

He also decided to transform his facility to one of continued research, but not with absconded donors. He would take his time here also. There was no need for a militant security anymore.

Beekman Pharmaceuticals would run it, build on the past discoveries and future profits, but he would remove himself from the picture. He would remove himself from every picture. The past was the past and the future was timeless.

He would be alone for awhile until he figured out how everything would move forward. And there was no rush. He could call out and have everything delivered—food, clothes, entertainment, women. He would be his own receptionist until he found someone he could trust for a few years to buffer himself from the world. He would keep all his relationships distant and temporary. He was the only permanent fixture in an ever-passing world. Well, except for Samantha Conway and her simple friend.

He would take his time and decide the best future for them. They were his only competition and he made a living rising above his competitors. They were clearly no match for him now. Their fate would be in his hands.

He shook his head in disbelief and made a few poses in the glass reflection. He had muscles again, without even exercising.

What if he exercised? How would his new hyper regeneration respond to that? he wondered and laughed loudly. He was truly a god.

Suddenly, something made him pause and frown. A red dot of light appeared in the reflection on his neck and a dark shadow moved over him. He quickly turned and looked up but saw nothing. He looked back at his reflection and the red dot had also vanished. He peered closer through the glass. On the service counter was a tiny red light that indicated the coffeemaker needed water. He smiled, turned back to the patio and walked to the rail.

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He laughed and then breathed deeply and sucked on his tongue.

He wanted to shout for all the world to hear. He raised his right arm to the sky and pumped his fist. “Ready or not, you bastards?

Here I come!” were his last words, but his other senses continued to function optimally, his bulging eyes and bleeding ears fully cognizant of all the panoramic sights and sounds, as his head was carried off and dropped high over Central Park’s murky Turtle Pond, breaking the thick surface with a loud, smacking splash.

Hungry snapping turtles moved in to investigate.

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