David Morrell - The Covenant Of The Flame

'Of?'

'The same image as this . Not frequent. In situ , they were always hidden. Always in caves or grottoes.'

'Images of-?'

'Mithras.'

Tess jerked her head up. 'What or who the hell is…?'

'Mithras?' Priscilla mustered energy. 'Are you religious, Tess?'

'Sort of. I was raised a Roman Catholic. In my youth, I believed. In college, I lapsed. But lately…? Yes, I suppose you could say I'm religious.'

'Roman Catholic? Ah.' Priscilla bit her lip, her tone despondent. 'Then I'm afraid your religion has…'

'What?'

'Competition.'

'What are you talking about?'

' Ancient competition. Stronger than you can imagine. It comes from the start of everything, the origins of civilization, the roots of history.'

'What the hell…?'

'Yes, hell.' Priscilla's face drooped, at once haggard again. ' Heaven and hell . That's what Mithras is all about.'

'Look, I can't take much more of this,' Tess said. 'You don't know what I've been through! My mother's dead! People are dying all around me! I'm supposed to be at National Airport to meet someone in an hour! And I'm scared. No, that's an understatement! I'm terrified .'

'About Mithras? I sympathize.' Priscilla clutched Tess's hand. 'If this photograph… if this statue's related to your problems… you have reason to be terrified.'

'Why?'

'Mithras,' Priscilla said, 'is the oldest god I know of, and his counterpart's the most evil and unforgiving.'

'This is…' Tess shuddered. ' Crazy . What are you…?' She clenched her fists, her fingernails gouging her palms.

'Talking about?' Priscilla stood with difficulty. 'Stop glancing at your watch. There's a great deal to teach you… and warn you about… and prayers to be said.'

Western Germany. South of Cologne. The Rhine.

Headlights glimmered through fog along a seldom traveled lane. Years earlier, between the Great Wars, it had often been used by fishermen who'd laid their bicycles behind bushes, removed tackle kits from baskets on the front of their bikes, assembled fishing rods, and followed well-worn paths down the thickly treed slope to favorite spots on the river. Children once had scampered along the bank. On warm summer days, mothers had spread blankets on sweet lush grass and opened picnic baskets, the aroma of sausage, cheese, and freshly baked bread drifting out. Bottles of wine had cooled in shallows.

But that had been long ago, and in western Germany, while at the same time in Washington Tess listened with horror to what Professor Harding's wife explained to her, this wasn't day, and even if it had been, no one came to fish here anymore. Few people came here for any reason and certainly not to picnic, for the stench from the river would have fouled the aroma of freshly baked bread, and the poison in the water had long since been absorbed into the soil, blighting the grass and trees, and the sludge that choked the current had long since killed the fish.

On this evening, however, the passengers in the car that jolted along the lane did think about picnics and fishing, although their thoughts were bitter, making the men frown with anger at glimpses of leafless trees and stunted bushes in the fog.

All except one passenger who frowned for another reason.

Indeed he trembled. 'You won't get away with this! My guests are expecting me! I'll be missed!'

'You're referring to the reception at your estate?' the driver asked, then shrugged. 'Well, your guests will just have to do without you, Herr Schmidt.'

'Yes,' another man said. Too bad. They'll simply have to wait.'

'And wait. And wait,' a third man said.

' What do you want from me ?' the silver-haired, lean-faced, tuxedo-clad man demanded. 'Ransom? If that's what you want, what are we doing here ! Let me use a phone! I'll arrange-! My assistant will deliver any amount you demand! No police!'

'Of course not, Herr Schmidt. I can guarantee,' the driver said. 'Later maybe, but not for now. There'll be no police.'

'What are you talking about?'

'Justice,' a man with a pistol said.

The pistol was wedged against the silver-haired man's neck.

'Examples,' another man said. 'Here.' From the back seat, he leaned forward, telling the driver, 'When I was a child, this was my favorite path. The river was so…! How I loved this place. Now look at it! Look at how ugly it's become! Here! Yes, stop right here .'

'Why not?' The driver shrugged again. 'It's as good a place as any.'

'For what?' Schmidt demanded, voice trembling.

'I already told you,' the man with the pistol said. 'Justice.'

The driver stopped among skeletal bushes at the side of the lane, dead branches snapping. He turned off the headlights and stepped from the car while his companions opened other doors and dragged Schmidt, struggling, into the fog-shrouded wasteland. The sleeve of his tuxedo tore on a barkless tree limb.

'Ah, too bad,' the man with the gun said. 'What a terrible shame.'

'Yes, a pity,' the driver said.

They reached a bluff and forced Schmidt down the sterile slope. At once, the sickening fumes from the river enveloped them, making them cough. In terror, Schmidt resisted so fiercely that the men were forced to drag him downward, his patent-leather shoes scraping over rocks. Where the zigzagging, barely detectable path became steep, one of the men used a shielded flashlight to guide their way.

At the oppressive grassless bottom, the light revealed the foam along the river's edge, the slime on the water, and the sludge that thickened the current. The area smelled like a cesspool, for sewage too fouled the water.

'What a damnable…! I used to be able to swim here!' the man with the gun said. 'And the fish… the fish tasted so pure and delicious. Their meat was so white, so flaky, at the same time solid. The way my mother dipped them in milk. She used to cover them with biscuit crumbs, and…'

'Fish?' Schmidt whimpered. 'What are you talking about? Fish ? Why does that-? For God's sake, if your purpose was to scare me, you've succeeded! I admit it! I'm terrified!' His control collapsing, the silver-haired prisoner began to sob. 'How much do you want? Anything ! Please! I swear on my mother's grave, I'll pay you anything!'

'Yes,' the driver said. 'That's right. Anything. You'll pay.'

'Name it! Just tell me how much! It's yours! Mein Gott , how much?'

'You still don't understand how much you must pay,' another man said. ' You did this.'

'Did? What did I…?'

' This .' With disgust, the fourth man gestured toward the noxious desecration of the river. ' You . Not alone! But you share the responsibility!'

' With ?' Schmidt voided his bowels.

'With the other greedy industrialists who demanded profits, no matter the cost to nature. Billionaires who wouldn't miss the comparative few millions it would have taken to keep the river pure and the sky free of poison.'

' Millions ?' Schmidt shook his head, frenzied. 'But my board of directors, my shareholders would have…!'

'Millions? Yes! But only at the start!' the man with the gun corrected. 'A one-time only expense! But that was years behind us! Now the cost would be greater! Much, much greater! And the river's so poisoned, so dead, that it might take decades before it's revived, if ever, if the dead can ever be brought back to life.'

Scowling, the man with the flashlight stepped closer. 'Pay attention, Herr Schmidt. We didn't choose this place merely because we used to love to come here when we were children. Not at all. We chose it because…' The grim man gestured. Even in the fog, the lights that silhouetted the numerous huge factories upriver were gloomily visible. Indeed the fog was not completely natural. Smoke containing toxic pollutants added to it. Nearby, a drainage pipe from one of the factories spewed nostril-flaring chemicals into the water. The foam accumulated.