The Lucifer Code (8 page)

‘I’m sure something can be arranged quite soon,’ Qayin told her confidently. ‘You went far beyond what was expected of you.’

That gave Cleena a bad feeling. No one in her line of work ever offered a bonus.

‘If you’ll be patient just a little bit longer,’ Qayin said, ‘I’m certain you’ll be taken care of.’

Cleena made herself nod. She resolved to get out of the catacombs at the first opportunity. Screw the money. It was apparent to her she wasn’t going to get the balance of the payment. Either they would simply stiff her or they would try to put a bullet between her eyes. The bullet was looking more and more likely.

Qayin’s eyes were cold and she wondered if he could read her thoughts. But he left her there and went back to the group. Most of the argument seemed to revolve round a notebook the men kept passing back and forth. It was obviously handmade. The leather binding was hand-stitched and the paper had a lot of rag content. Cleena knew about rag content in paper because she had dabbled in counterfeit currency.

Brigid’s next year of college at Cambridge was coming up soon and Cleena’s nest egg had dwindled over the winter because business had been slow and payments not as good. The recession was causing cutbacks even in crime. No matter what it took, Cleena was determined that her sister would get the chance to lead a legal and successful life. When she’d taken the call about the linguistics professor from Harvard, Cleena had thought the job was a gift. The money was well into six figures. She hadn’t had many of those lucrative deals lately.

And you didn’t get one this time, either
. Cleena cursed her luck.

The man had the book open again. They moved one of the lanterns closer to the pages. Even from across the room, Cleena could see the designs that filled the space, but she didn’t know what they were or what they signified. However, since she had helped kidnap a noted linguistics scholar, she would have bet Brigid’s next year’s college tuition that the man expected the professor to read that page.

Qayin sighed in exasperation and ran a long-fingered hand through his hair. His suit jacket moved back just enough to briefly reveal the pistol holstered at his hip. He looked up at one of the men, said something, and jerked his head for the doorway.

The man was gone only for a moment before returning. He spoke quickly.

Qayin closed the notebook and turned to face Cleena. ‘It appears the professor is awake. Would you care to join us?’

Cleena couldn’t help but wonder what the man’s response would be if she had said no.

She smiled at Qayin. ‘I’d love to.’ Movement was good. As long as she was moving, she had a chance to find a way to escape.

Futilely, Lourds pulled at his bonds and tried to loosen them. The legs of the wooden chair scratched against the stone floor.

He blew out all his breath, then attempted to raise his hands and slither down below the ropes. He remembered reading something about an escape attempt like that in one of the adventure novels he read whenever his studies permitted.

Those people in books were always thinking.

The plan worked a lot better for the character in the novel than it did for Lourds. He just ended up getting more winded and was afraid for a moment that he had trapped himself in a position that would slowly strangle him. During his frantic efforts to return himself to his previous position, Lourds shoved back against the chair and it fell over with him still attached to it. He landed with a harsh bang and the back of his head struck the stone floor.

Lying on his back, he realized that his new position was much worse than where he had initially been. Now the blood was draining to his head and causing his temples to throb. And it wasn’t just his pants he had to worry about wetting thanks to gravity and angle. He let out a heartfelt sigh.

As an adventure hero, you make a much better linguistics professor.

He wondered if it would be too embarrassing to call out for help again. On the other hand, that course of action might simply hasten his death.

I
don’t have these kinds of problems in lecture halls.

Footsteps sounded far away and seemed to be coming closer. Given the acoustics in the room, Lourds couldn’t decide where they were coming from. He craned his neck round, but the overturned chair blocked a lot of his view, which was of unrelieved darkness.

A few minutes later, swaying incandescent light filtered into the room.

Lourds narrowed his eyes against the light because it seemed so bright. At least ten figures approached him and he saw there were multiple lights among them. When they got close enough, he only recognized one of them.

The young redhead peered down at him in disbelief. ‘You managed to do this to yourself by yourself?’

‘It was the chair,’ Lourds protested. ‘It wasn’t properly set on the floor.’

‘How do you get out of bed in the morning without breaking your neck?’

Lourds struggled to hang onto his dignity, but lying on his back with a full bladder while tied to a chair made that almost impossible. ‘I get out of bed just fine. I’m just not much of an escape artist.’

The young woman folded her arms and looked at him disparagingly. ‘You suck as an escape artist.’

‘Thanks.’ Lourds said dryly. He looked at the men that circled him. ‘Who are your friends?’

‘Employers.’

Lourds tried to shrug, but found he couldn’t while tied up this way. ‘However you wish to designate them.’

‘You can be a real pain, you know.’

‘I’ve been told. But after having been abducted at gunpoint, shot at and nearly blown up, I think my behaviour is perfectly understandable.’ Lourds kept his fear in check. ‘So what happens now?’

‘Now, Professor Lourds, we’ll see if your abilities match your reputation,’ one of the men said.

Lourds glanced at the man but was certain he had never seen him before in his life. ‘You know who I am?’

The man regarded Lourds with a cold, penetrating gaze. ‘I do, but that doesn’t mean you’re the one I seek.’

If I’m not, you’ve gone to a lot of trouble for nothing
. It was something a hero in a novel or in a movie would say. But it wouldn’t be said while lying on their backs tied to a chair. Maybe he should keep his mouth shut.

The man turned away and gestured to Lourds. ‘Get him up.’

Two men grabbed hold of the chair and righted Lourds. The jarring did his kidneys no good at all.

‘If I can draw your attention to something important,’ Lourds said, ‘I’ve been tied to this chair for a long time. Is there a lavatory nearby?’

The leader of the group said something to one of the men. Lourds found it strange that he didn’t know the dialect or the language. He knew enough of most languages to get along in them.

The man quickly bowed, then departed. He returned promptly and dropped a rusty bucket at Lourds’ feet.

Lourds couldn’t believe it. ‘Surely you’re jesting.’

‘You can use the bucket or not,’ the leader said. ‘The choice is yours.’

‘I’m going to need to stand up.’

The man nodded. One of the others untied the ropes in a simple movement. Lourds felt even more foolish when the man made it look so easy. His hands and forearms stung as blood rushed back into them.

Lourds looked at the woman. ‘I would prefer it if you turned your back.’

‘You’re modest?’ The woman raised her eyebrows sceptically. ‘After that moment we shared in the alley?’

Lourds wasn’t sure if the young woman was trying to impress him or the men. It didn’t matter. He fumbled with his zip and got everything arranged properly. Gratefully, Lourds let loose and sighed in relief. Unfortunately, his aim wasn’t all it could have been. Or that’s what he made it look like. The boots of at least two of the men standing near him got soaked. They screamed in protest and jumped back.

‘Sorry about that,’ Lourds said as he fastened his trousers again. But he wasn’t.

The leader held out a book open to a page. ‘I want you to read this, Professor Lourds.’

Lourds stared at the page and tried to make sense of the symbols across it. The symbols weren’t written on the page, not exactly. It was more as though the writing had left indentations on the paper, like a brass rubbing of an old tombstone. The writing was actually white blank spaces in the centre of a graphite smear.

‘Professor Lourds,’ the leader repeated impatiently, ‘can you read this?’

Concentrating on the script, Lourds barely registered the man’s question. The symbols were deceptively familiar, yet they stubbornly remained just out of his reach. Excitement filled him and drowned the fear and pain in his mind. As a result of all the years he’d been studying linguistics, there were now few languages he couldn’t fluently decipher in their written form. His professors and later colleagues had insisted his brain had been hardwired with code breakers.

Lourds didn’t think that was true. He loved languages, loved the mystery and beauty of them, and—most of all—he loved to read. So much knowledge was lost in the world because cultures had lost their languages over the years, or gradually changed to that of their conquerors.

‘Professor Lourds.’ The leader stepped forward and touched his pistol barrel between Lourds’ eyes. ‘Are you able to read that?’

Lourds glanced at the man and told him the truth. The professor could lie when he needed to, but that generally involved knowing the person he was lying to well enough to lie believably.

‘No,’ he said. ‘I can’t read it.’

The man thumbed the hammer back on the pistol and growled in frustration.

Despite the obvious threat to his life and the man’s displeasure, Lourds was more afraid he wouldn’t get the chance to puzzle out the document than he was of dying. His death was a given thing. Sooner or later, he would die. But finding a real challenge to his skills and mastery of languages? Those opportunities were few and far between. Even rarer was the puzzle that would not only tax his abilities, but also prove worthy of the effort. The search for Atlantis had taught him those puzzles were still out there.

And now, perhaps, here was another great mystery to be solved.

He stared into the man’s blue eyes. ‘I can’t read it,’ Lourds said again. ‘Yet.’

The pistol shook against his head because the man was so angry. ‘
Yet?
’ the man repeated.

‘Yet,’ Lourds repeated. ‘If you give me some time, I can figure this out. This is what I do, and I do it better than anyone else.’

Cleena watched the confrontation with a growing unease. Lourds was foolish and didn’t know enough to take care of himself. She’d already seen that. In the SUV and in the alley, he’d obviously been in over his head. But as he had held the book and stared at the page Qayin had indicated, Lourds had changed.

She was certain he still feared for his life, but there was no way to fake the excitement in his eyes. The passion she saw there was unmistakable. She wouldn’t have believed him capable of it. When she’d read his file, and understood how she was to approach him at the airport, she had guessed he was some rich, privileged snob. Exactly the kind of person she wouldn’t care about. Now, seeing him in his element, Cleena understood how young women could find him so attractive—and challenging as well. A woman couldn’t ignore passions which ran that strong in a man.

His fascination about the book kept him focused on that instead of the danger he was in. Cleena actually felt sorry for him. When Lourds was finished decrypting or translating the document Qayin and his followers had brought him, they would kill him. Whatever secrets they were after, they wouldn’t want anyone else to know about them.

Cleena realized her situation wasn’t much better than the professor’s. They had contacted her through one of the drops she used, and offered money. In their world, she was just a disposable as the professor. She didn’t understand why they hadn’t already tried to kill her. But, unlike the professor, she had a pistol, and she knew how to use it.

Keep your calm, girlie
, she heard her father say.
No one gets out alive who can’t keep a cool head. The best weapon you’ll ever carry is between your ears.

‘If just anyone could have read this page,’ Lourds said in a calm, controlled voice, ‘you would’ve already had it deciphered. Am I correct?’

The silence stretched in the darkness. Three of Qayin’s followers stepped forward menacingly. Two of them grabbed the professor’s arms. The third grabbed him by the neck.

‘Careful,’ Lourds said. ‘Don’t hurt the book.’ Even though the men lifted him from his feet, he tried to protect the book.

One of the men slid a knife free and held the keen edge to Lourds’ throat. He looked at Qayin and waited expectantly.

Lourds didn’t even try to fight back.

Surreptitiously, Cleena slid her hand around the pistol butt. In the darkness, with the men gathered so close together, she liked her chances. At least for a moment, she wouldn’t be able to miss her targets. After that, though, things would quickly become dicey.

Qayin held up a hand to his followers and peered at Lourds. ‘Do you think you can translate this document?’

Lourds didn’t hesitate and spoke with more confidence under the circumstances than Cleena would have thought possible. ‘I can. If you give me time, I can translate anything.’

Cleena said, ‘How much time?’

‘I don’t know. Linguists and archaeologists worked on the Rosetta Stone for years before they made a breakthrough.’

Lifting his pistol, Qayin consulted a Rolex on his wrist. ‘You have twenty minutes to make a believer of me, Professor.’

Cleena expected Lourds to protest over the time frame. There was no way Qayin could seriously expect him to crack whatever was on the page. All Lourds had succeeded in doing was delaying his death for a few minutes.

But he also bought you some more time to think, girlie, so you’d best put your thinking cap on and get to it. You’ve got to come up with a great plan.

She had twenty minutes.

And the clock was ticking.

CHAPTER

6