Mario Reading - The Mayan Codex

Sabir shook his head in despair. It was clear that the world simply hadn’t come that far yet. Forbearance and inclusiveness were as far off the agenda as they had been in Nostradamus’s time. People paid lip service to ideas of colour-blindness, religious tolerance, and fair play, but if ever their own little bailiwicks were threatened, they very swiftly reverted to racial protectionism and national isolationism – ‘strangers out’ still seemed to be the motto in extremis. As a result of this, nothing on earth would ever get Sabir to divulge Yola’s true identity and whereabouts, and through her, the identity of her unborn son. Not to Calque. Not to anybody.

The penultimate prophecy in the cycle went on to describe the Third Antichrist – a being who would, if nothing was done to prevent him, trigger 2012’s final holocaust. That, too, needed to be kept secret.

But Sabir had to have something to sell to his publishers and the public at large. A suitable hook on which to hang his story. Or what old-time comedians would have called a shtick.

The safest bet seemed to consist of the narrative of his search for the unique visionary Nostradamus had spoken of in that year’s prophecy. A person apparently so in tune with the matted web of time that they could disentangle its threads and read the future from them.

If this person existed then Sabir would find him. And to heck with the Countess, the Corpus Maleficus, and the de Bale twins.

Sabir straightened up from checking underneath his three-year-old Grand Cherokee. The garage had been locked tight. He didn’t think there had been any way that the twins could have gained access to his vehicle.

Still, forewarned is forearmed. Both Achor Bale and the French police had used electronic tracker systems during their pursuit of Sabir and his friends in France. Sabir had never encountered such systems before that time, but he would certainly not overlook them again. He needed his car to get to the airport, and he needed that car to be clean. The last thing he wanted was for the twins to dog his trail all the way to Saudi Arabia.

He locked and alarmed the garage door behind him and trudged back towards the house. Since the events of the night before he had taken to carrying the shotgun with him wherever he went, trusting that his neighbours wouldn’t think he was partly off his trolley, and call the cops. He’d worked out a possible cover story to deal with that eventuality – something about a rogue opossum that had been eating through his telephone wires – but he hadn’t had cause to try it out on anyone yet, as none of the neighbouring householders appeared to have noticed his new, military-style incarnation.

Once inside the house he flung a few articles of clothing into a carryall, and gathered up his emergency reserve of travellers’ cheques, his credit cards, his passport, and his cell phone charger. Then he stowed the shotgun back on its meat hook in the wine cellar, sealed the house as tightly as he was able, and started back towards the garage.

Halfway there he slowed down, ready to run again. A car was parked outside the garage door, completely blocking the entrance. There was no way on earth the gate could be swung up and over, as it was designed to be.

Sabir looked swiftly behind him. Surely they wouldn’t come at him here, out in the open?

The driver’s door of the car opened, and a familiar face appeared over the lip of the roof-rack.

Sabir dropped his carryall. ‘Captain Calque. Jesus H. Christ. You almost gave me a heart attack. I thought it was the twins again. What the heck are you doing here?’

‘The twins?’ Calque stepped away from the car, his facial expression taking on a new urgency. ‘The twins have been here already? And you are still alive?’

Sabir flashed Calque a look. ‘As luck would have it.’ He picked up his carryall and continued walking. He glanced inside Calque’s car. It was empty. ‘This an official visit of some sort? Tidying up loose ends?’ Sabir was trying hard to make his voice casual. He didn’t want Calque interfering in his plans. Muddying the waters. Queering his pitch for the new book.

Calque allowed his gaze to play up and down the road. He, too, was now busy playing a part. ‘No. I took early retirement. I was invalided out of the service. I’m working on my own time now.’

‘You? Invalided out? That surprises me. I’d have thought they’d have had to tie you to a stretcher and wheel you out of your office in a straitjacket before that ever happened.’ Sabir cocked his head to one side. ‘What are you doing here, anyway? Are you on vacation? Come to see the fall colours, perhaps? And so you just dropped by to see me for old times’ sake?’ He hesitated, frowning. ‘Christ, Calque, you’re not really a leaf peeper, are you?’

Calque shook his head. The sarcastic undertones in Sabir’s voice were unmistakable. He realized he’d have to cut straight to the chase or risk losing him. ‘No. I’m not a leaf peeper, as you so charmingly put it. I came out here to warn you, Sabir. About the twins. And there didn’t seem to be any other way to do it except in person. I assumed, you see, that you would prefer I didn’t contact you through the local constabulary.’ Despite his best efforts, Calque had shifted back into police mode again. ‘Why don’t you leave your damned telephone switched on, man? And why don’t you answer your messages? You must have a death wish.’

Sabir gave a non-committal shrug. Privately, he was more than a little taken aback by Calque’s tone. ‘It’s a long story. Basically, I can’t sleep at night. So during the day I leave everything switched off so that if I do manage to drop off to sleep, the fucking telephone won’t fucking wake me up.’ He hesitated. ‘If this isn’t an official visit, Captain, what is it? And how come you already know about the twins?’

Calque chucked his chin in the direction of his car. ‘Get in and I’ll tell you.’

‘The White Horse Inn? You’re staying at the White Horse inn?’

‘Why is that so strange?’ Calque was concentrating on his driving – he was clearly unused to a manual gear change.

‘Don’t you realize you’ll be paying fall rates?’

‘Fall rates? What are those?’

‘Christ, Calque. Didn’t you hear anything I said to you back there in front of the garage? It’s when the inns and guest houses pump up their prices for the leaf peepers coming in to see the fall colours. You pay maybe 75 per cent over the usual odds.’

Calque shrugged. ‘It was not my idea. It was that of my companion.’

‘Your companion? You’ve come out here with a girlfriend?’

‘In a manner of speaking. Yes.’

Sabir shook his head. He screwed himself nervously around in his seat.

‘It’s all right, Sabir. We aren’t being followed.’

‘You’re sure of that?’

‘I’m a professional. I’ve been watching all the way. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. We’ll stick to the public rooms. We just need to talk, that’s all.’

The two men got out of Calque’s car. The ride to the inn hadn’t taken them more than eight minutes in toto.

Sabir nodded to the desk clerk as they walked through the lobby.

‘They know you here, then?’

‘Calque, I’ve lived here all my life. I was born maybe three miles down the road.’

‘It’s nice to belong someplace.’ Calque’s attention was somewhere else, however. He had seen Lamia seated on one of the lobby sofas, near to an open fire. ‘Come with me. I want you to meet someone.’

When he first caught sight of Lamia’s face Sabir flinched backwards, as though he’d inadvertently stumbled into an electric fence.

Calque turned towards him, shocked. ‘You two already know each other?’