John Sneeden: The Hades Conspiracy

“Yes, that’s when he moved to Venice,” the Oracle said. “Strangely, Rust told us Pauling didn’t stay in touch very much after moving overseas.”

Zane frowned. “They lost contact completely?”

“Not completely, but the relationship changed. According to Rust, they spoke a few times by phone, and that was about it. Pauling had said he wanted Rust to visit him in Italy, but he never followed up with a formal invitation.”

“Perhaps it’s tied to the new work Amanda referred to,” Carmen suggested. “If he was involved in the black market, perhaps he thought Rust would judge him for that — assuming it’s true.”

“That’s certainly possible,” the Oracle agreed. “In any event, what we do know is the two grew apart over time.”

Zane took a sip of beer then set his glass on the table. “That’s a nice story, but what does it have to do with us?”

“Patience, Watson. I was just coming to that. Rust said he hadn’t heard from Pauling for about two and a half years. That is, until two days ago.” The Oracle flipped to another page in his notepad and slid it down the table to Zane. “What you’re about to see is the content of a text Rust received from Pauling.”

Zane’s brows pinched together as he read the words written on the top sheet: They are coming for me. The document is real. Major implications for humanity and for truth. You can find it. Start with William Albright . After reading it three times and committing it to memory, he passed it to Carmen.

The Oracle waited until all three had read it. “As you can see, the message is very cryptic. In anticipation of your first question, no, we don’t know what document he’s referring to.”

“Let me make sure I understand what you’re saying,” Carmen said. “Pauling texts Rust about a document, and Rust says he doesn’t know what Pauling is talking about? That’s bizarre.”

“Indeed, it is,” the Oracle said.

Zane said, “I hate to keep repeating myself, but what does—”

“Pauling has disappeared,” the Oracle said, anticipating his question. “After getting the text, Rust called him right away but got no answer. In fact, he called him a half dozen times, and each time, it rolled to voice mail.”

“ E la polizia ?” Carmen asked.

“Rust didn’t contact the Venice police. When he couldn’t reach Pauling, he called a friend who is an FBI agent in Los Angeles. After getting the basics of the story, the agent contacted FBI headquarters in DC, who, in turn, made a courtesy call to the Venice police. They went by his house several times but were unable to reach him. Even so, they still aren’t treating this as a crime.”

“Are they treating it as a missing person case?” Zane asked.

“The short answer is no,” the Oracle answered. “First of all, Italian police don’t handle those types of cases the same way we do.”

Carmen nodded.

“Second,” the Oracle continued, “they’re not sure Pauling is truly missing because he doesn’t work a normal job and lives alone. He does have a daughter here in the States — Florida, I believe — and if she isn’t able to make contact with him in the next seventy-two hours, she’ll be able to file a missing person report.”

Carmen’s brow furrowed. “The text still bothers me. I just find it hard to believe Rust doesn’t have any idea what Pauling was referring to.”

“It’s not really all that strange,” the Oracle said. “Remember, Rust hasn’t had much recent contact with Pauling. And if what Amanda told us is true, Pauling may have been seeking out relics and documents Rust hasn’t even heard of.”

“I think we’re ignoring the elephant in the room,” Zane said. “Pauling said someone was coming for him. Do we know who that might be?”

“That’s the million-dollar question, and that’s why the director called me this afternoon. Obviously, they suspect foul play.”

As the group fell into silence, Zane stood and walked over to the window. Outside, the snow fell heavily. A family of well-bundled tourists walked by, their breath puffing out in clouds. After they disappeared around the corner, he said, “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I think it’s safe to say Dr. Pauling is probably at the bottom of a Venetian canal.”

“Unfortunately, you may be right,” the Oracle said. “This means there are two mysteries here: who killed him, and what is the document they’re looking for?”

“I guess that means we’ll start to get a trickle of answers in seventy-two hours,” Zane said.

“That’s when the Venice police are going to get started. The FBI believes an American citizen has likely been killed, and they don’t want to wait in order to find out why.”

“So what next?” Amanda asked.

The Oracle leaned back in his seat. “First, we need to determine whether or not Dr. Richard Pauling is, in fact, dead.”

“I think we know that answer,” Zane said.

“Assuming he’s dead, we need to find out who did it and why.”

Carmen slapped her hand on the table. “I’m ready to go to Venezia . When do we leave?”

The Oracle slid the notepad back into his coat pocket. “The three of you fly out tomorrow afternoon.”

Zane circled the quiet Venetian block three times. He kept his head down, giving the illusion he was immersed in his phone. He counted six people — an elderly woman carrying a bag of produce, three teenagers with skateboards, and a couple holding hands — and none gave him any cause for concern.

On the third pass, he stopped at a weathered green door midway down the Calle de l’Aseo . After glancing in both directions, he used a key to gain entry. Beyond the door was a private stairwell, which he took to the second floor. He crossed the dark landing and pressed an ear against the door. Hearing nothing, he located a panel to the right of the doorjamb. He withdrew a card and swiped it through the slot on the side. When the screen lit, he punched in a five-digit code and waited. A sharp buzz and a loud click followed.

Zane entered and closed the door behind him. Before doing anything else, he stepped over to the sole window and cracked the blinds. With the all-clear signal set, he turned on a lamp, illuminating a familiar interior. The CIA-operated flat looked exactly as it had on his last visit two years before. Like other safe houses, the layout was simple and functional: a living room and open kitchen combination, three bedrooms, and one and a half baths. The furnishings consisted of two couches and a coffee table.

Zane crossed into the kitchen and opened one of the cabinets. Stacked neatly inside were several boxes of MREs — Meals Ready to Eat — along with ten cans of coffee. He picked up one of the cans and read the label. Lavazza . He smiled. Carmen will be ecstatic .

He checked his watch. Carmen and Amanda were due to arrive at any moment. Per Delphi protocol, they had all traveled separately from the airport. Zane left first, taking one of the many transfer boats operating on the lagoon. Amanda left next by taxi, while Carmen departed on board the Alilaguna ferry.

Knowing both of his partners would appreciate a jolt of caffeine, Zane started a pot of the Lavazza. He dropped his bag in one of the bedrooms, grabbed a fresh set of clothes, and headed for the shower. He stood underneath the hard stream for a full ten minutes, letting it invigorate his body and jump-start his circulation. He shampooed his long locks before stepping out and drying off.

As he finished, Zane heard muffled conversation coming from down the hall, so he quickly dressed and made his way back to the front. Carmen stood against the kitchen counter, and Amanda peered through the blinds.