Charles Brokaw - The Lucifer Code

‘Local Lovers’ Lane?’ Cleena asked.

‘One of the many,’ Olympia replied. ‘There are a number of caves round the city.’

‘I take it you have personal experience?’ Cleena said.

Olympia frowned at the other woman and started to say something.

‘Maybe we could concentrate on surviving tonight,’ Lourds interrupted. ‘Evidently there are a lot of people who know about the Joy Scroll and want it. Until we have our hands on it, it’s in danger of becoming lost to us.’

Without a word, Joachim took out the leather tube and handed it over to Lourds.

Lourds looked at the other man.

‘You saved us back there,’ Joachim said. ‘All of that, the Cave of the Elders, the passageways, all of that was new to you. My sister trusted you to find the Joy Scroll, even though she didn’t know what we were looking for. Now, after everything I’ve seen you do, I would be a fool – more than that, I would be remiss – if I didn’t show you the same trust.’

Lourds recognized the cost of Joachim’s concession. He took the scroll in his left hand and offered the monk his right. ‘This is what I do, Joachim. If there’s anyone better at this, I haven’t met them. If there’s a way to get an answer to this, I’ll get you an answer. I promise.’

Central Business District

King Abdullah Economic City, Saudi Arabia

24 March 2010

Webster stood in the early morning darkness of the hotel high-rise and looked out across the city to the sea. Dawn was less than an hour away, but he knew the violence waiting to sweep over the land would arrive before the sun. He was just where he wanted to be: in the eye of the approaching storm.

The last five days hadn’t been without their frustrations, though. Lourds and the Brotherhood of the Joy Scroll had vanished. Despite Eckart’s best efforts, no trace remained of them. Webster knew the professor and his new allies were within the city proper. If they had their hands on the Joy Scroll, the vice-president remained certain that he would know it. He would feel that threat as surely as he felt the promise of the impending violence about to engulf Saudi Arabia.

He sipped his Scotch and water and glanced at the television in the corner the room. He maintained his own satellite dish that linked him to Western world news and not just the propaganda Prince Khalid allowed to air on local stations. The American Networks and the BBC all covered the mounting military presence along the Middle Eastern borders. In the last few days, the area had become a powder keg. One spark would set them all off, and the world would march towards a fiery conflagration.

He intended to provide the spark.

Exhilarated, he used the television remote control to switch through the news channels. Video footage, some of it old and some of it new, showed armoured ground units, aircraft and soldiers preparing for full-on military engagements. Israel was curiously silent, but no less industrious. India and Pakistan, as well as China, had also upped their border defences and patrols. In Iraq and Turkey, American forces also prepared. In the Gulf, navy ships ran strict grids and maintained constant contact.

Webster was inordinately pleased. All he needed was the Scroll to complete things and ensure his ultimate victory.

‘Are you still awake?’ Vicky DeAngelo stared at Webster from the tangled sheets of his bed.

‘I napped briefly,’ Webster admitted. ‘But I can’t sleep very well. Too many things to do.’

Vicky sat up in bed and pulled the sheets up after her. Only the full, heavy roundness of her left breast was visible, and Webster felt certain she knew exactly what she revealed as well as what she hid. Her slim, tanned legs were crossed but the sheet covered her lap.

She smiled. ‘I thought I had exhausted you.’

‘You did your best.’

Vicky arched a salacious eyebrow. ‘Is that an assessment or a challenge?’

‘Perhaps a little of both.’

‘Are you going to come over here? Or do I have to come after you?’

Webster didn’t reply.

Vicky tossed the sheets away and stood revealed in her full glory. She was beautiful, with alabaster skin and a body moulded by relentless exercise designed by a personal trainer and the narcissistic expertise of a gifted plastic surgeon. Not a blemish remained on her. She crossed the floor like royalty, claiming every inch of space with undeniable carnality. She was a temptress from the Old Testament, a siren who could topple kings and heroes, and Webster couldn’t help but be moved by the sight and promise of her.

When she reached him, she wrapped her left arm round his neck and took his drink in her right hand. She tossed back the rest of the Scotch and water, then moulded her fiery lips against his. He lifted her in his arms, stepped between her thighs, joined them, and turned so that her back was to the wall. Arching his body fiercely, he drove himself into her again and again. She cradled his head and covered his face in kisses. She surged against him and screamed in exultation again and again, till there was almost nothing left of her. With one final thrust, they both fell silent.

Slowly, Vicky regained control of her body. Tears ran down her cheeks, a mixture of pleasure and pain. Despite the adrenaline and lust that filled her eyes, Webster saw fear in there as well.

‘I’ve never felt anything like that before,’ Vicky gasped.

‘I know,’ Webster told her.

‘Awfully confident of yourself, aren’t you?’

‘Do I have any reason not to be?’ he taunted.

‘No, not at all.’ Vicky kissed him. ‘I have to admit, I expected you to turn me away after we arrived here.’

‘I don’t have to play the grieving widower any more.’ Webster kissed her again.

‘You were playing?’

‘No. I loved my wife.’ Webster was certain that was why she had been taken from him. Her loss had been one of the few setbacks in his relentlessly successful life. But now his plans were at last nearing fruition. He could afford a bit of amusement. He turned to her again and took her in his arms.

She opened herself willingly.

Nothing could stop him. He wouldn’t allow it.

Oceanview Offices

Eminonu District

Istanbul, Turkey

24 March 2010

‘Would you like tea?’

Lourds looked up from the notes he had taken the previous night, still groggily struggling to make sense of them. He’d had a plan of attack, more likely a conjecture he realized now, but it had been starting to make sense before he’d lain his head down and gone to sleep.

Olympia stood in front of his borrowed desk and looked as tired as he felt. She and the monks had been busy searching through books they’d borrowed from local libraries, the university and bought along Cagaloglu, the street filled with a collection of booksellers and printers. Their efforts had gleaned a few facts no one else had known, not even the monks, but it hadn’t helped with the translation Lourds was struggling with. Cleena had stayed with him as his bodyguard, but she hadn’t seemed happy about it. Lourds wondered again what kept her with them when she’d seen first hand how dangerous it was to do so.

‘I’d love a cup of tea,’ Lourds answered.

‘What about breakfast?’

‘We have breakfast?’

‘I went to market this morning,’ Olympia explained. ‘It’s nothing fancy, but it will help hold body and soul together.’

‘I’d be very interested in breakfast.’

‘Good. Why don’t you go grab a shower and we’ll take breakfast out on the balcony. The sun has only just risen, and the weather’s perfect for early morning dining.’

‘I really don’t have time to-’

‘Thomas,’ Olympia said gently and reached out to hold his face between her hands as if he were a child, ‘for the last four days, you’ve done nothing but sleep, eat and breathe that scroll. If you ask me, you’ve exceeded all expectations of human endurance. All you’re doing at this point is locking yourself into tunnel vision.’ She smiled at him. ‘Take a shower. Eat breakfast with a beautiful woman. Catch your breath. Take a nap. Then look at the scroll with fresh eyes.’