The Revelation of Gabriel Adam (24 page)

Gabe didn’t realize he’d been noticed. “London.”

His father held up the paper over his shoulder, his head hanging. “Looks like you’ll get your wish. Right now, I think we could all use some rest. Go to bed. We’re leaving first thing in the morning.”

Without another word or so much as a glance to his son, he fell into Carlyle’s desk chair and put his hand to his face to rub his temples. Gabe thought of the hours following the incident in New York when his father refused to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” Gabe managed.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Just try and sleep if you can. We have a long journey ahead.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

In the early morning light, the doors to the Great North Eastern Railway shut and left Gabe with a sense of finality to his time in Durham. The little town and its university life had just begun to feel as much like a home as anyplace he’d lived, but now those days, like the ones in New York, would find their place in his memory.

The train was sparse with passengers, allowing room to comfortably spread out. His father sat across the aisle from Micah, who had curled up against the window, her eyelashes still wet from crying.

Gabe felt like being alone. He found a spot in the middle of the compartment and put his backpack on the booth table, then sat across from a pair of empty seats. Outside, England passed by, covered in snow. The magazine he’d read on the plane from New York came to mind. Rolling hills and patchwork fields, barely distinguishable in the blanketed white of the country.

After an hour of traveling, the train slowed and eventually stopped. One of the conductors entered their compartment. “Tickets,” she said.

Gabe produced his from a pocket, and the woman promptly checked it and scanned the card with her device.

“Slight delay,” she said. Her tone trailed in exasperation, without a hint of apology. “Mechanical difficulties. Not more than thirty minutes, and we’ll be under way.” She moved down the aisle calling out for tickets.

Gabe watched the flurries dance in and out of the windowpane until his father rounded the table and sat down in the seat facing him.

“How are you doing, Son?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Micah’s been asleep the whole time,” his father said. “I think she’s still drowsy from the sedative she found last night in Carlyle’s medicine cabinet.”

Gabe rested his head against the window. “What have I done?”

“What do you mean?”

“Carlyle is dead. It’s my fault,” he said, unable to hold back tears.

“Gabriel Adam, listen to me. His death is
nobody’s
fault but the enemy’s.”

“If I hadn’t run, he would still be alive.”

“This is not your doing. I’m sorry I wasn’t awake to counsel you on your experience with the Entheos Genesthai. I can’t imagine what it was like.”

Gabe allowed his mind to drift. “I saw the future. I know it was real. And the enemy, he can feel my presence. That’s how he found me back home in America. You’re all in danger if I stay. You’ll be killed. It’s already started.”

“We’ve suspected that about the enemy. It was the only conclusion that explained why they have not come for Micah. But that is our risk to take. Carlyle understood that. And nothing is ever certain. Especially the future.”

“I knew him,” Gabe said. “Uriel. Or Yuri. Whatever. Micah and I thought he was just a student from another college. Collingwood. That’s what he told us, anyway. We went to his house for a party earlier in the semester. He always hung around the Undercroft. Or showed up wherever I was. I should have known, but I didn’t really believe all of this. I mean really, truly believe. And even when I could no longer deny what was happening, I wanted to push it away and pretend it wasn’t real.”

“Did you ever speak about what we were doing here?”

“No. But I think he always knew.”

“That would make his constant presence something more sinister than coincidence, don’t you think?”

“I know it now. He was the one trying to get inside the vault. He killed the curator. That’s how he got in.”

His dad didn’t seem surprised by the news. “Then we were undone from the beginning. You can’t blame yourself. No more than you could blame Micah. The enemy uses deception to its advantage. It can play to your emotions or exploit weaknesses that you don’t even know you have. You didn’t believe. That’s understandable. What reasonable person could instantly accept such a belief on faith?”

“I believe. In Micah. In me. In what we are. I just wish it was happening to someone else.”

“It’s happening to all of us. If you believe, then faith will come. We have been blessed with a small victory in that regard.” His dad reached into his pocket and pulled out the note from the safe. “In the meantime, I need your help.”

“What is it?” Gabe asked.

“Final instructions from Carlyle. Though in his typical fashion, like he did with installing the vault, he’s taken an unfortunate precaution. It’s a riddle addressed to me. That old fatalistic bastard,” he said with a sad grin.

His dad placed the note on the table and turned it so Gabe could read it.

There was an address to a bank in London and an account number for a safety-deposit box. At the bottom of the note it simply read:

Joseph, to seek what is inside, you must go back to the day when the genesis of a love lost was a love gained.

“Since there was no key, I’m assuming that the safety-deposit box is accessed by a combination code. Obviously, Carlyle believed it could be derived by me through this riddle.”

Gabe read the note again. “It’s a date.”

“I guessed that, too. But what date could be so important that I should instantly know it?” If he was truly lost by its meaning, he didn’t show it. He seemed to be baiting Gabe for the answer.

“You know the answer, don’t you?” Gabe asked.

His father smiled, caught in his ruse. “I do. But I wanted you to see for yourself. Can you deduce the riddle’s meaning? We’ve spoken about it before, years back.”

A love lost
. . . , Gabe read again, and then the memory came back as it had last night. He was hiding outside his father’s office years ago while he spoke on the phone. “Aseneth. She’s the love lost.”

“That’s correct. Carlyle and I knew her well from the Nicene Project in Turkey that involved the Vatican and the Essenes.”

“But what does
a love gained
mean?”

“Think. When did I leave Aseneth?” his dad said, his smile growing.

“After I was born.”

“My son, the detective. To be specific, I left her the day you were born to be by your side, the very day I received the call.”

Gabe never realized it all had happened so quickly. “So that makes the combination . . .”

“Your birthday. The most important day in my life. A date Carlyle was certain I’d never forget.” He put the note back into his jacket pocket.

Gabe felt his heart swell as his father beamed at him.

The train lurched forward beneath them. Soon they were back up to speed.

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

In a cab taken from King’s Cross Station, they arrived at a bank in the West End of London. Micah had not said a word the entire trip, but occasionally, Gabe stole a glance from her before she would again get lost in the passing scenery of the busy city.

As they came to a stop, Gabe felt as though he’d been dropped into every car fantasy he’d had since becoming old enough to drive. Cars worth more than he’d ever make in a lifetime lined the curbs of the street. A gleaming red one rumbled by and parked in a space by a marble-sided building, which had a white sign that read in black lettering, City of Westminster.

They exited the black cab, his father helping Micah with the nylon bag that contained the sword. “Neighborhood of the Royals,” he remarked, nodding to the sign as he led them to the entrance.

Inside, the foyer’s carved stone and tall ceiling lit by natural light gave the impression that the space might make a fine museum. His dad spoke to a woman at a concierge desk, and they waited until a young man arrived to greet them. He looked every part the banker, from his tortoiseshell glasses to his custom-fitting suit. “My name is George. You are one of the holders of the account?” He checked his papers and turned to Gabe’s father. “I’ll be assisting you with your business with us, Mr. Adam.” He turned, stiff, and said, “This way, please.”

His dad walked with George, and Gabe and Micah fell behind. As George led them through the winding corridors, he bragged about how the bank was used by many of the nearby museums to house various treasures in their high-security safety-deposit boxes. He stopped outside a large vault door. “I’m afraid only those named on the account may enter,” the banker said.

“Wait here. I’ll only be a moment,” his father said and followed George through the vault and into a long hallway of safety-deposit boxes that reached all the way up to the ten-foot ceiling.

The vault closed behind them, leaving Gabe alone with Micah.

“Let’s get this out of the way,” she said, her tone hard-edged. “In no way was Carlyle’s death your fault.” She seemed to struggle to find words. “Yuri fooled me as well.”

Gabe stared at the marble floor. “He played me. But had I not run—”

“If you had not run, the inevitable would have happened anyway. Only perhaps Yuri might have been more successful. When you left, you forced his hand. Think if he had taken us all by surprise. It could have been worse.” Micah leaned against the wall, unable to totally keep her emotion in check. She frowned and wiped away a tear as it slid over her cheek.

“You okay?” Gabe asked.

“No. I keep thinking that if I had let you tell your father about the attack in Durham, none of this would have happened. That is a mistake I’ll have to live with forever. I think, deep down, I was more like you than I wanted to admit. I never wanted this responsibility. More than anything I just wanted to be normal.”

“I still struggle with it. But we couldn’t have known. Telling them about the attack wouldn’t have revealed Yuri, either. So none of it matters, really. Carlyle and my father would have only insisted on us being more careful, but that wouldn’t have stopped what happened.”

“I want those bastards dead—whoever is with Yuri. Carlyle wasn’t my father, and to be honest, never wanted me to treat him like one, but he’s the only family I’ve ever really had. And now he’s gone.”

“I’m so sorry, Micah.” Gabe fought back tears of his own.

“You know, I also had a vision about the future,” she said and reached over to hold his hand. She squeezed gently, the surprise of the gesture nearly stopping his heart. “It was about you, Gabe. A demon killed you. And then it killed Carlyle and your father. I managed to get away, but the world still ended in ruin.” She drifted off again, anger flaring in her eyes, her hand slipping from his. “It was so real.”

Gabe wanted to comfort her, to hold her and tell her that she was beautiful and everything was going to be okay, but in truth, he wasn’t sure everything would be okay.

Before he could say anything more, the vault opened and his father exited with George, who held a black box with a number pad on top, much like a telephone.

“I’ll take you to a private viewing area,” he said and led them again through the bank. In an adjacent hall, he opened a door to a small room filled with a wooden table and leather chairs. George stood in the entrance and allowed them by. He then put the box on the table and turned to leave. “If you need assistance, please use the intercom on the wall.”

They walked in, leaving George in the hall to close the door behind them.

With quick precision, his dad entered the numbers into the keypad and opened the box. Inside was an elongated object wrapped in a cloth adorned with embroidered crosses and symbols matching the marks of the archangels.

He removed the item from the box and unraveled the treasure. Their eyes grew wide, and Micah gasped, putting her hand to her mouth. He held a spear tip, its slotted end notched with grooves that would slide perfectly into the forked blade of the Gethsemane Sword.

“My God,” his father said. He quickly rewrapped the spear in the cloth and placed it inside the sword’s container. “It’s time to go. Ethiopia is waiting.”

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

The longer he watched from across the London street, the more Septis realized this short, bald man—this pathetic waste—concealed no threat. Nor was it Enoch, and yet some of Enoch’s aura had been imprinted on the human, like a fingerprint left at the scene of a crime. Of its origin, Septis felt certain. Never would he forget that scent.

But the power had faded and abandoned this shell. He could smell Enoch in everything surrounding the human, covering it like musk, yet his true essence was elsewhere. Hidden, perhaps, by the fools of the creator’s legion. The conundrum left Septis confused. Confusion made him angry.

The man walked through the neighborhood and entered a building off the sidewalk.