Castro Directive (33 page)

"Oh?" Andrews abruptly turned to K.J., who was seated in a chair by the door like an oversized potted plant. Andrews snapped his fingers and flipped his index finger in Pierce's direction.

Christ, now what?

Immediately the bodyguard crossed the office, brushed by Pierce, and adjusted the lens of the video camera. A red light came on, indicating the camera was running.

"Please, go ahead."

"Before Paul Loften was killed he told me a strange story. He made me promise to keep quiet about it, but now that he's dead, I guess it's okay."

Something flickered in Andrews's eyes, an emotion Pierce couldn't decipher. But it passed as he smiled. "Tell me about it."

Pierce looked at K.J., saw he'd swiveled the camera so that the lens pointed at him.

"Don't feel intimidated by the camera. You don't have to look at it." Andrews sat on the edge of his desk. "So what did Loften say?"

Pierce's throat constricted. "Ray, turn that goddamn thing off. It makes me nervous." It wasn't the camera as much as the circumstances that made him feel uneasy. But the camera served as a way of deflecting his nervousness.

Andrews looked surprised. "Of course." He snapped his fingers again. "I didn't think you minded." The light blinked out. "There, that better?"

"Yeah." He paused, culling his thoughts.

"So go on about Loften."

"Well, the truth is, he told me that you were the one who was actually hiring me. Then he started talking about some sort of document relating to crystal skulls that was written on a silver scroll."

Andrews's smile disappeared.

"He said that if the scroll was real, it was not only an important artifact, but the most important historical and philosophical document to appear since the Dead Sea scrolls."

Andrews tipped his drink to his lips. Pierce wasn't sure, but it seemed as if he'd accepted the story. He didn't particularly like lying about a dead man, but it was better than telling him about Marisol Puente.

"What was his point in telling you the story?" Andrews asked.

"I don't know if there was a point, other than that it provided me with a reason to explain your interest in the skulls."

Andrews stepped close enough to Pierce so he could smell alcohol on his breath. "Why are you telling me about this now?"

"Because I don't think you've told me everything that's going on. I think you've got another agenda. I want to know what it is, or I can't work with you any longer."

"What?" Andrews laughed. "What other agenda? The scroll? Loften was telling you the truth. It does mention the skulls. But I didn't think the philosophical underpinning of these matters had much to do with finding the skulls. That's why I didn't bother going into any of that with you."

Pierce considered asking him what the skulls had to do with Noster Mundus, but decided to stop while he was ahead. He'd pushed hard enough. He wanted Andrews to think he was confused and curious about what was going on—but not that he'd realized what Andrews was all about, or that he suspected he was as expendable as Fuego.

He tried to think of something else to say. "I'd be very interested in seeing this silver scroll . . . and finding out all about it. Do you think it's real?"

Andrews's smile was condescending. "I don't have any doubt about that. I'd enjoy telling you all about it sometime. But right now, I think it's more important for you to see as much of Elise Simms as possible." Andrews's mesmeric eyes held his gaze, held it too long. "My feeling is that something big is going to break in the next day or two. I feel it in my bones."

Yes, the Harmonic Convergence.
Pierce nodded. He'd heard enough.

As he left Andrews's office and headed for the door, he saw someone talking to the receptionist. The man straightened suddenly, glanced his way, and vanished out the door. Pierce hadn't seen him for more than a couple of seconds, but it was long enough to recognize him as the man from the elevator who'd leaned against the emergency stop button.

Well, well, he thought. There hadn't been any accident at all. Somehow; that didn't really surprise him.

T
hey sat outside by Redington's pool, sipping coffee and watching the sunset. The gentian sky was streaked with soft pinks, yellows, and ribbons of lavender. A flock of green parrots swept in low over the tops of the trees behind the house, their cries ringing out in the stillness. Despite the tranquil setting and the sumptuous shrimp scampi dinner Redington had prepared, Pierce remained on edge. He'd done most of the talking since he'd arrived, holding nothing back; Elise and Redington had said little aside from asking occasional questions.

"It sounds like you had a busy day, Nick," Redington said.

"And when you phoned, you didn't tell me half what was going on," Elise added. "Do you think Marisol would talk to the police?"

Pierce shrugged. "It would be her word against Andrews's, and you can guess who would win that one."

"It would probably get her killed," Redington said. "What she told you must have been what Paul was planning to tell me before he died. He'd realized a bit too late how far Raymond would go to get the skull."

No one spoke for a moment, and Pierce watched Redington's black cat munching on a leftover piece of shrimp near the pool.

"He's an evil bastard," Elise muttered, venting her frustration.

Redington's lips pursed in a sour look. "I doubt that he sees himself that way. He's a pragmatist, an amoral one. He's taken the holistic philosophy, which he espouses, and perverted it. In other words, since you can't understand the whole by only examining its parts, it's okay if some of the parts are corrupted by despicable deeds."

Elise shook her head. "That's not any different than believing that the end justifies the means."

"Exactly. He's just given it an updated twist."

Pierce sat back, listening to Redington's succinct and unemotional way of looking at Andrews. But analyzing his personality, as far as he could tell, wasn't going to prevent him from killing someone else. "The only way I see that Ray is going to be stopped is by obtaining clear-cut evidence. But how are we going to get it?"

"I would speculate that Andrews has inadvertently cued you on the whereabouts of the skull," Redington said.

"I'm not aware of any cues."

"You may be aware of them only at an unconscious level."

"It's like how you knew what had happened on the elevator," Elise said.

"That's right," Redington agreed. "We could dig for the cues."

"Hypnosis again?"

Redington cleared his throat. "It would be very much like what I do with students to improve their ability to recall what they've studied. Except in this case we would be dealing with events—and instead of preparing you for an exam, we'd take it right now."

"What are you suggesting, that I go back to my meetings with Ray and look for one of these cues?"

"No. The unconscious mind works best if you give it free rein. It'll create its own scenario and speak through metaphors. The trick is to interpret them."

"I think you should do it," Elise said. "Bill knows what he's doing, and you might trigger something important." Then again, I might shoot a blank, he thought. But what the hell. Another hypnosis? Sure. Why not.

They moved to Redington's den, which was dark and quiet, insulated from outside noises. A small table lamp was the only illumination. As Redington prepared to record the session, Pierce settled into a comfortable chair. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly as Redington began leading him through the same head-to-toe relaxation method.

Redington told him it wouldn't take as long this time, and he was right. Pierce followed his words, drifting with them, slipping deeper and deeper into the embryonic waters of his own being until suddenly something flopped across his thighs. He blinked his eyes open, and there was the black cat, perched on his lap, licking a paw.

"Come on, Comus, old boy." Redington snatched him up, and Pierce heard the door softly close. "Comus was letting you know you're in his favorite chair," Redington explained in the same soft voice. "But he won't bother you now. I told him he'd have to share it this evening."

Pierce smiled, still feeling relaxed and unconcerned. Redington picked up where he'd left off, and in a couple of minutes Pierce was passing through the now familiar blue dome and approaching the elevator. Once again, Redington described the elevator as roomy, comfortable, and well lit. He told him he wouldn't be adversely affected by elevators again, and said that whatever happened during the session would result in only positive effects for him. Finally he started counting backward from ten, explaining that when he reached one, the elevator door would open. Pierce would then enter into an experience that would lead him to the place where the stolen crystal skull was hidden.

Pierce's body felt heavy, weighted, yet his mind was alert. He could see the inside of the elevator clearly. He looked above the door and was startled to once again see a blur of numbers.

"Three. . . two. . . one. Now the door is opening. You can step out." After a moment, he asked what Pierce saw. He didn't respond.

Pierce waited . . . and wondered if anything was going to happen. Then all at once the numbers stopped, the door opened, and the elevator vanished. But all he saw were vague forms against a jumble of light and colors swirling around.

"What do you see?" Redington's voice was mellifluous, like music suited to a dream, a priestly incantation. It reminded him that he was lying on a couch hypnotized. Yet, his awareness was elsewhere, in an in-between place, and he didn't know if he would see anything that would make sense to him.

Then the particles congealed. He was standing in a plaza watching as a line of men dressed in loose cotton pants and tunics climbed the steps on a stone temple. He knew he was back again, in that same time in the green mountains. It was as if he'd been there all along, but hadn't been able to see the obvious.

He described the plaza and the pyramid. At the peak was an altar draped in a black mantle and on top of it was a crystal skull. As he watched, he knew exactly what was taking place. The people were interested not just in seeing the skull, but in hearing it speak to them. He knew that the Old One was beneath the altar, manipulating the jaw with a stick. He was the one speaking, offering the messages to ensure the servitude of his subjects. His powers were false. A craftsman had altered the sacred skull. The jaw had been cut loose and hinged. A small hollow had been carved at its base so a stick could fit into it from below.

"How do you feel?"

"Sad and angry. Tonight I will expose the Old One."

"How will you do that?"

"Steal it. Steal the skull."

"Are you no longer the Old One's student?"

"I am his enemy. He has tried to kill me."

"Can your enemy or anyone else see you now?"

He was confused by the questions, but then he knew no one could see him. "I would be killed. I can see, but I'm not here in the ordinary way."

"Okay. Move ahead now to the next significant event. Take your time, and when you're ready, tell me what you see."

For a moment, he couldn't see anything. Then he realized he was waiting in the dark. He'd waited for hours, and now he heard a noise. He whistled; a responding whistle punctured the air. He knew it was the men who had sided with him, the ones who had fled to the mountains where he was hiding.

"What's going on?" The voice again, gentle, reassuring. "I have the skull. It disappeared two days ago from the altar before everyone's eyes."

"What are you going to do with it?"

"Take it where the Old One's men cannot find it. He is not a true leader; he deceives. He steals the powers of those he controls."

"How do you know that?"

"Because he does not drink the sacred juice. He only makes it."

"Why doesn't he drink it?"

"He knows it's poison and kills. That is why the warriors never live to old age."

"Don't the warriors question why they die young?"

"The Old One says they get lost on the other side."

"What about you?"

He thought a moment. "Maybe I will die, too. Soon I will take more."

"Now go to that time."

Atlan was lying under the shelter of a rock. He'd drunk the juice and was waiting. Four men were sitting around him, and their eyes were on the skull.

He heard a hissing noise like a snake behind him, and jumped up. The others paid no attention to it. He looked around and instead of seeing a snake, he saw his body.

It astonished him at first, then he saw the skull and began to understand what was happening. It was glowing brightly, illuminating the tired faces of the men. He picked it up—and again saw that they didn't notice. He realized the hissing sound was familiar. He'd heard it the other times he'd slipped from his body. It was something within him signaling the departure.

The skull was in his hands, yet he knew what he held was its essence, that its physical presence was still there by the men. He also knew that when he reached his destination and let it go, the skull would vanish from under the rock and appear in its hiding place. It would be safe, away from the Old One, whose weakness would be revealed because neither he nor his warriors would be able to retrieve it.