John Schettler - Touchstone

“I can imagine,” said Maeve. “So what were you up to, Doctor? And how did we upset your little scheme?”

“We let it be someone else’s little scheme,” said LeGrand. “We were trying to arrange it so they killed Reginald. After all—the word assassin dates from that very milieu. There were experts in the mountains of Syria who could do the job well enough. All we had to do was make certain Reginald gave them sufficient reason. Our adversaries were not sleeping, however. They must have been on to us—or so we thought. It took us some time before we realized they were running couriers into Massiaf to their agent in place at that location.”

“Sinan,” said Maeve, matter of factly.”

“Quite so,” said LeGrand. “You really are very good, Madame. Reading about you is one thing, but seeing you work this out with that steely resolve of yours is quite another. Touché!”

“Spare me the flattery,” Maeve put in.

Nordhausen was following along as best he could, but he had a puzzled expression on his face. “See here,” he began: “Then this Sinan, the one the Crusaders feared as the ‘Old Man of the Mountain’, was indeed an agent from the future?”

“Of course,” said LeGrand. “He was a perfect little Osama Bin Ladin for that milieu. He found a disaffected cult—just another of the many branches on the tree of Islam, and he managed to nurture and prune it until he had his crop of Assassins. They became a perfect instrument for the radicals for the next 200 years—until we put the Mongols on to them. In the meantime, Sinan poses quite a challenge for us.”

“But I don’t understand,” said Nordhausen. “If he was as skilled an adversary as you indicate, then why would he allow himself to be duped into taking the life of a Prime Mover?”

“Every barrel of fruit has a few bad apples,” said LeGrand. “Men are petty, they have pride, desire, odd motives that can be played upon by one who knows the span of their entire life. Sinan was not our target. We knew there were others in the Ismaili cult who could not abide a man like Reginald. We tried to get rid of Reginald ourselves, but to no avail. We urged him to conduct his little known raid by sea along the coast of Arabia, hoping to leave him hopelessly stranded there, but then, by some miracle, he escaped. We made sure he was restored to Castle Kerak on the southern border near the great Islamic trade route into Egypt, and then we whispered of the Sultan’s caravans, fat with gold, and spice and silk.”

“And it almost worked,” said Maeve.

“Almost.” LeGrand looked at her suspiciously. “Mr. Dorland’s fall into the Well of Souls undid our plan at the last moment. The man we were hoping to influence within the Ismaili cult failed to act. We aren’t exactly sure what Mr. Dorland did, or how he did it, but the assassination plot against Reginald was foiled. In fact, he managed to get the Assassins in Massiaf at each other’s throats! Quite effective for an agent saboteur! Well, we should have expected nothing less. After all, we relied on you people for the Palma reversal, so it should be no surprise to us that you find ways of… accomplishing things with great success. After all,” he smiled wanly, “you are the Founders.”

“Yes,” said Maeve quietly. “And if I read you, Doctor, and I read very well, I would say you are not at all happy with our accomplishments.”

LeGrand sighed heavily. “Well, there it is,” he said. “We want things our way—you want them yours.”

“And the Assassins want them another way,” Maeve finished.

“Yes,” said LeGrand quickly. “We’ve seen the world they want. We’ve lived in it. Believe me, madam, you would understand our motives quite well after a year or two in the Chador. I don’t think a woman of great spirit, such as yourself, would abide Islamic Sharia very long without going quite insane. Is that what you want?”

“It’s not what I want that matters here, Doctor,” said Maeve. “It’s what you want that I’m concerned about now.”

“Me? You mean the Order? Why, we want the world we fought for, died for by the thousands. We want the destiny that Christendom so richly deserves, along with the spread of freedom and democracy, in a world where individual rights are respected, and the dignity of women is upheld.”

“Doctor LeGrand,” said Maeve, “just a moment ago you were telling me how inconvenient it was that a billion Muslims were sitting on all that petroleum. You were lamenting that things might have been better if they were all shunted away on some island, safely out of the way. I must say, other men have gone about with the words freedom, equality and fraternity on their lips, and spread more misery across the globe than all the so called terrorists that ever lived. Take your friend, Napoleon, as a perfect example.” She folded her arms, her point well made.

“I can see that this is leading us nowhere,” LeGrand sighed. “Well, it hardly matters. You’re here for the discovery, and so am I. My offer to lead you to the site still stands, if you can abide my company.” He looked askance at Maeve, a wounded look on his face.

“Just a moment,” Nordhausen spoke up. “If you two are done with politics I should like to have some answers myself. You say your computers indicated a variation for this milieu.”

“Of course,” said LeGrand. “The Ismaili Assassins are up to no good again. It has something to do with the stone, and the hieroglyphics. Who knows?”

“Then you believe they are responsible for the damage to the stone?”

“Who else?” LeGrand opened his palms, his jovial eyes reflecting the sincerity of his conclusion.

“But why, Doctor, have you reasoned that?”

“Why? That’s is not my charge. I’m an agent in place. It’s my job to observe, report, and execute specific instructions. Let Research and Outcomes quarrel over the rest.”

Nordhausen thought for a moment. “And how do you receive your instructions?”

“What? Oh, by special courier. We’ve learned that’s the only safe way to transmit orders. Just a little Spook Job, you see. All the agents have rounds to make, and places to be on particular days. We plan things very well. This entire week I was to be billeted here at the inn, during the run up to the discovery of the stone. The Order knew my whereabouts and sent someone through with a message last night. It’s really quite simple—in and out, a cool minute in eternity. We’ve perfected the technique quite well: Delphi and the oracle, the burning bush that spoke to Moses in the desert, the sudden appearance of apparitions. It’s really great fun.”

“I see,” said Nordhausen. “Well it may please you to know that I think I ran into a messenger from the other side during my stay in Wadi Rumm.”

“Oh?” LeGrand perked up, suddenly interested. “Do go on, Professor.”

Robert looked at Maeve, but hearing no immediate protest he began to explain. “He called himself Rasil, the Messenger, and claimed he was to use the Well of Souls to reach Castle Massif with certain instructions. I didn’t know his destination at the time. That was not confirmed until Kelly and Maeve ran down the vectors and pulled Paul out. But the curious thing about this is—”

“That will be quite enough, Robert.” Maeve had heard a little more than she was comfortable with.

LeGrand looked surprised. “What? I was quite forthcoming with both of you. We’re in a Nexus. Please, rest assured.”

“I’m afraid not.” Maeve folded her arms, shaking her head in the contrary.

“But madam, please. I can assure you that—”

“You have assured me of one thing already, Doctor,” said Maeve. “And that is this: until I have time to reflect on this matter further, I must consider you, and your Order, to be the gravest possible threat to the integrity of the continuum, and I will do everything in my power to see that your tampering is put to an end.”