Michael White - Equinox

Philip was next to her in a second and pulled her hands away from the letters before she could injure herself. Laura collapsed into his arms, sobbing. He held her to him and kissed her gently on the cheek. He could feel her shaking and knew that he had to let her get it out of her system. After a few moments, he guided her to the wall close to the sealed doorway and lowered her to the floor before sitting down next to her.

'We're not going to get out of this one, are we?' she sobbed.

'Of course we are, you daft-'

'Philip … the air is going. It's going, I can feel

it.'

He couldn't deny it. In just the past minute or two, the air seemed to have grown much thinner and he was finding it harder to draw breath. He pulled her closer.

They were quiet for a moment. Laura stopped sobbing but kept her head close to Philip's chest. 'I really am sorry, you know,' she added quietly.

'Sorry for what?' he replied, but he knew exactly what she was referring to.

'You know what I'm talking about, Philip. I don't need to spell it out, not to you.'

He said nothing.

Laura pulled her head away from his shoulder. 'I … I just thought it was the right thing to do at the time. I didn't think we had a future. I was wrong. I should have stayed. I should have married you.'

Philip suddenly felt lost. For days the two of them had been preoccupied with solving the mystery of the killings and then they had been put through the wringer here in this stinking hole under the Bodleian Library. But it took no time at all for the old emotions to come flooding back. For almost twenty years he had tried to bottle them up, and for the most part, he told himself, he had succeeded. But every time Laura had come back to England or he had gone to New York the same old wounds had reopened. He hated it — but then, he simply could not go through life without seeing Laura and Jo whenever possible. For a moment, he was lost for words. What could he say?

He studied Laura's face. In the sparse torchlight he could see the streaks of her tears. They had made her mascara run. Then, suddenly, her mouth was on his and he could feel her melt into him, feel her hair brushing his cheek, feel her warmth, her familiarity. He had missed that so much. Then, all too quickly, she pulled away and they looked into each other's eyes.

'What. .?' he asked.

'I just wanted to steal your air.'

Philip laughed. 'You're welcome, Laura.'

She put a finger to his lips and smiled. Then she leaned forward to kiss him again.

A second later she yelped, her lips still fixed to Philip's. 'That's it.'

Without saying another word, Laura walked over to the far wall, crouched down and began to stab at the letters. She hit five of them, her hand moving quickly from left to right until she reached the 'M' in 'UNICUM'. She drew her hand back and punched at the letter with a grandiose gesture. Philip couldn't suppress a small laugh.

For long, agonising moments they waited. Then there was the faintest squeak followed by another creaking sound in the wall perpendicular to the original opening. A few nervous heartbeats later, the first crack began to appear in the wall and gradually two huge slabs of rock started to slide upwards into recesses in the ceiling. Philip grabbed the rucksack and they scrambled through the new doorway as quickly as they could.

Oxford: 30 March, 10.45 p.m.

Just as Monroe put down the receiver there was a knock at his door. He was so amazed by what he had just heard that for a few seconds he could barely focus on the bulky form of PC Steve Greene as he walked up to his desk.

'Sir, this arrived about an hour ago. Chatwin apologises … he forgot about it. . busy night … he just gave me it… Courier dropped it in, apparently'

On the front was typed: DCI Monroe, Oxford Police Station . Below that was the word URGENT, written in red capitals. Seeing this, Monroe sighed and shook his head. Then he ripped open the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of paper. He glanced quickly at the illustration showing a complex array of interlocking lines like the schematic for a complex electrical current. Beside this was a jumble of Latin words and bizarre-looking symbols. He began to read the message written in English at the top of the sheet.

Oxford: 30 March, 11.10 p.m.

They stood in the corridor, bent almost double with their hands on their knees, trying to breathe normally again.

'How did you do that?' panted Philip.

'It was obvious really. . Gold.'

'You may have to be a bit more precise.'

'"Aurum", the Latin word for gold. It was spelled in the Guardian's mysterious statement. ALUMNUS AMAS SEMPER UNICUM TUA DEUS. A and U in "ALUMNUS", R in "SEMPER", U and M in "UNICUM".'

'You're a genius, Laura,' Philip said.

'I know'

'And it's nice to know that your mind was on the job back there.'

'I'm a woman, Philip, I multi-task,' she replied, with a grin.

Ahead of them, some twenty yards away, stood a door. It was slightly ajar and light spilled out into the corridor.

Reaching the wall to one side of the opening, they peeped inside.

The room was lit by a cluster of candles in a chandelier that hung from the centre of a domed ceiling. At the far end stood a huge gold pentagram. It was at least seven feet across and rested on a platform a short way from the far wall. To the right of the pentagram Laura could see a glass door set into the wall. It looked like a huge refrigerator, the glass opaque with ice.

Two men stood close to the pentagram. They were wearing long black robes, their hoods thrown back. The man to the right was leaning forward, making adjustments to the metal structure.

Laura was about to turn to whisper something to Philip when the torch that she had been holding suddenly slipped from her grasp. It clanged across the floor. She stepped back quickly and cursed under her breath.

'Laura, I'm so pleased you could join us,' came a familiar voice from the chamber.

She felt a jolt of horror pass through her, a definite physical reaction, immediate and powerful. She turned to Philip, who looked stunned. Closing her eyes, Laura felt the pain of realisation sweep through her. Philip thought she was going to cry, but instead she turned on her heel and walked into the chamber.

James Lightman looked ridiculously relaxed, as though they were meeting in the drawing room of his house or at a tea shop on The High. He stood with his hands clasped in front of him and appeared to be filled with self-confidence and energy. His intense brown eyes glinted in the candlelight. Beside him stood Malcolm Bridges, his eyes expressionless. The shadows that fell across the young man's face made him look like the Grim Reaper.

'You've arrived at a most auspicious time,' Lightman said.

Laura felt sick to her stomach. 'What the hell is this?' she demanded, her face flushing. 'How could you. .?'

With a hint of a smile, Lightman said: 'Surely you suspected, Laura? With your vivid imagination?'

'I could have believed it of him ' She glared at Bridges who returned the look with blank eyes. 'But you, James? Why on earth?'

'Why on earth would I want eternal life, Laura? Now, let me think.'

'But occult rituals. .?'

'It would be a dull world, would it not, if we all believed in the same things? But come. . enough. I must congratulate you both on passing the tests of the Guardians. Few have ever managed it. I would have been keen to see the document that you used to guide you, but I no longer need such things. My task will soon be complete.' He gestured towards the Pentagram.

'As you know from your intrepid investigations, this evening the final organ will be in my possession and the real work will then begin. The final piece will soon be here.'