The Secret of the Ancient Alchemist (38 page)

“
Hallelujah! Glory be, the date is near,” a woman cried
raising her hands to the sky.

He soon caught
a glimpse of the TV screen the woman was looking at as she placed
her hands down. He had never seen Arthur Bentley. What little he
knew of him came from chatting with Pearce. Now, there he was with
his arms akimbo, standing at a podium in Paris heralding a Lord of
the Dawn. An image of Orion circled his head. The stars did nothing
to hide his determined, effusive stance. His dark eyes bored deep
into the hearts and souls of many with their message of
salvation.

Marin
continued along the dusty streets pushing back his hair that blew
with a gust of wind. Back in his office, the Geographical Alarm
System, the GAS, was already beeping. A warning beep from an
undersea fault in the Pacific had stopped when he turned to stare
at the broad flickering bands on his Anza network.
Damn these
tremors.

Marin hadn’t
forgotten the 5.8 quake that had struck Virginia years ago. The
earthquake had sent shockwaves to Quebec City. It was all part of
the strange pattern of seismic swarms throughout the world but more
so in the Caribbean and Pacific plates. He rubbed the tiredness
from his eyes and sat.

“
The
magnitude for Southern California is 4.3 today,” his assistant’s
voice sounded behind him.

“
What
area, Thompson?”

“
Los
Angeles. We also have a magnitude of 6.9 for Sikkim, India, 7.3 in
the Fiji region, 6.8 near Fox Islands, and, a 2.1 for Vanuatu that
just came in.”

Marin stretched
for his ringing phone.

“
Look,
the magnitude was three point two,” he said responding to a caller
enquiring about the tremor that had shook New York City at 2AM. “Be
calm and no, we don’t expect another.”

As Marin placed
the phone down, it rang. He grabbed it.

“
The
Brooklyn Bridge?” he frowned this time. “No, it’s fine.”

“
You’re
sure?” The voice asked. “Isn’t it true New York City has a whole
lot of seismic problems no one wants to acknowledge?”

“
Hell.”
The word slipped out in frustration but he knew the man was right.
New York’s seismic risks were only determined a short time ago. The
greatest was the nuclear plant at Indian Point, built by mistake on
two active fault lines. It sat on the Hudson River bank twenty-four
miles north of New York City. “Hey, don’t worry. Be cool. We’ve got
it under wraps,” he said hanging up. He looked at Ted Thompson
whose eyes were glued to a monitor. The man seemed livid with fear.
“What the hell’s wrong now, Ted?”

“
The
sensors at Buchanan are showing activity, Marin. Indian Point looks
bad.”

The ground
below the reactor was shaking when Marin pressed a knob on a
warning system. Cell phones rang in every direction for fifty
miles. Television stations flashed messages. Red Alert was in
force. He rushed to the GPS, his Global Positioning Satellite to
track events.

“
How much
warning time has gone?” he asked.

“
Four
seconds.” Thompson was checking a timer.

“
What’s
the seismic reading?”

“
4.5.”

“
That
can’t break the reactor.”

“
The
intensity is falling,” Thompson yelled.

“
Falling?
What the hell is it now?”

“
2.6.”

The
shaking stopped and Marin wiped the sweat off his face. He walked
away from his instruments feeling drained.
At least my sensors didn’t miss this
one
, he thought. His
phone rang again. He picked it up and held it a distance from his
ear in response to static on the line. He caught a mix of voices in
the background.

“
Hello.
Hello, who is this?” he shouted.

Soon, the line
cleared.

“
Dr.
Marin, please look outside your window.” A male voice
spoke.

“
Who are
you?”

“
Jack
Demster. Please, board the craft.”

“
Craft?
What craft?”

There was no
answer. The line went dead.

Ignoring the
call, he sank in a chair and placed his feet on his desk thinking
of what he could do.

“
Damn
you, Olsen, how the hell could you die and leave us?” he
said.

Tears came to
his eyes as he recalled the tall Dane with the wide grin. He
thought of the seismic reversals the man had spoken so much about
but there was no significant reduction in seismic activity
anywhere. Marin soon lifted his head to find Thompson standing over
to him.

“
There’s
a
stratellite
outside, Marin.”

“
A
what?”

“
A low
flying spaceship.”

“
Get
outta here!”

“
Have a
look yourself.”

Marin walked to
a window and stared out. “What the hell?”

“
This
way, Sir,” the stratellite pilot directed Marin as he
approached.

The stratellite
was a solar-powered telecom airship that was designed to capture
information from around the globe. While satellites were lodged
miles into the stratosphere, the stratellite cruised at twenty-five
thousand feet. Many were designed to be remotely operated but the
one Marin sat in wasn’t. The jump seat was just wide enough for his
size. He gazed around. The stratellite was packed with high-speed
voice and video equipment.

With its
propulsion system, the airship lifted vertically and zoomed away.
As Marin stared in awe at the intricate networking devices he’d
never seen before, he suddenly remembered something.

“
Hey,
where are we going?” he asked.

“
To the White House.”

Chapter 88

In her modest
Queens apartment, Mandy plucked a CD from a drawer. Love songs were
Santiago’s favourite she knew. She slid it into an old Samsung
player and listened as the mandolin strings of the Godfather theme
poured into the air. This was going to be an evening with the man
who kept her up at nights. It was sleeplessness that came from
desire. Mandy never imagined someone like him would ever notice
her.

It was a long
time she thought, too long since she felt love. She needed to
forget the boredom of everyday survival and enjoy those moments of
happiness life so graciously provided. She was romantic deep down,
believing that love could conquer all. It was the nectar of life,
an elixir for all of life’s pains.

And, Mandy La
Croix knew them well.

She looked at
the clock on the wall again and began tidying the simple room,
placing plates on the table. She checked the oven and switched it
off. She looked around the room and did a scan, waving her hand in
the air.

“
Well, I
can’t make everything perfect, can I?” she said. “Christina,” she
called now, “it’s time for your homework.”

“
In a
minute,” she heard.

“
Now! You
spend too much time on the piano. Come off it and do your
homework.”

“
Alejandro’s father is coming over, isn’t he?” the little
girl said with a glint in her eyes.

“
None of
that cheek, Miss!”

“
Why
d’you hide things from me?” she asked now.

“
I swear
you’re impossible.”

“
Mama?”
she called again.

“
Yes?”

“
Are we
going to die like Daddy?”

“
No,
Christina, you’re not.” She kissed her young daughter lightly on
her forehead.

“
Are you
sure, Mama?”

“
Yes, my
sweet.”

Life in Queens
was simple for her and her daughter since her husband died. Francis
La Croix was not a rich man. He was an artist with little money to
spare but he paid his bills. He was often difficult to understand.
His long hair, strange garb and cap attracted stares. Many said he
was Rembrandt reincarnated. But, she loved him, even with his
strange moods. He adored Christina and his eyes would light up when
she was around and she knew Christina missed him deeply.

Mandy patted
her hair and straightened her blouse at the sound of the doorbell.
Mayor Ferelli stood smiling at the door.

“
These
are for you.”

“
Flowers,
thank you. Please, come in.”

Feelings of
elation rang through for Mandy as she stared at Santiago’s gentle
eyes and stunning grey hair. Mayor Ferelli was an upbeat neatly
packed fifty-three year old. The cologne he wore ignited her senses
but not near enough as the warm kiss and strong arms that embraced
her slim shoulders as he entered.

“
Spoke to
Carl Reinholdt yesterday,” he began slightly anxious and a spot
confused about his romantic inclinations towards her. He wasn’t a
smooth operator when it came to matters of love. “We’re ready with
the new conservatory. It’ll be a special place for Alejandro and
Christina.”

“
For
them?”

“
Of
course, and we’re expanding the New York Center for the
Arts.”

“
That’s
great. I do hope there’ll be a place for Francis’s
work.”

“
We’re
redesigning the city to one that will be famous for science,
technology, music and art.”

Unexpectedly it
happened and not how she thought it would be. He placed his arms
around her and kissed her neck lightly. Her lavender scent excited
him.

“
Mandy
listen,” he said gently. “I like you.”

She looked up
and felt the crush of his lips against hers, his hands firm against
the silkiness of her blouse. It was a very deep kiss, something
they both needed and something that sealed their bond of genuine
love forever.

She
straightened up and tore herself away from his arms.

“
What’s
wrong?” he asked.

“
Nothing.
Food’s getting cold, that’s all. Let’s eat.”

“
This
looks wonderful,” Santiago said, looking at the display of dishes
on the laminated table.

“
I hope
you like it. Bon Appétit.”

Mandy beamed.
She felt reassured and protected when Santiago Ferelli was around.
He was miles ahead of others, strong and full of character. The
feeling she had was a good one and one that made her forget her
loss and loneliness.

“
We have
to begin to prepare for the opening night, Mandy.”

“
Opening
night? What d’you mean?”

“
We’re
opening the conservatory. Reinholdt insists on performances from
Christina and Alejandro. Alejandro is there now
practicing.”

“
Really?”

“
I can’t
describe to you in words the design of the interior. It is
unparalleled in history, like nothing anyone has ever seen, Greek
gardens and baths, marble halls with statues crafted by the Italian
masters.”

“
Santiago, you excite me much!” Mandy laughed at the obvious
exaggerations.

“
We can
transform this city into one that is greater than Constantine. Our
science centres will no longer be drab, unfriendly but alive with
great scholars.” He stopped and looked at her. “I’ve arranged for
an art dealer to see your husband’s work.”

“
You
have?”

“
Monsieur
Antoine La Rue of Garnier Art Works is interested. Where do you
keep them?”

“
In the
spare room. Are you ready to have a look at the paintings now or
later?”

“
No,
now.” He glanced at his Rolex and lifted his manly frame. “Meal was
delicious, thank you, but I don’t have much time and I still have
more places to go. My job never stops, I’m afraid.”

“
Okay,
back in a flash.”

He looked up
from the sofa as she returned carrying the heavy painting in her
hands. “Here, let me help you with that.”

“
It’s
okay,” she said placing it gently on the couch. “This one’s my
favourite. I’m going to let you unveil it. Are you sure you’re
ready?”

“
Yes.”

The remarkable
colour of Christina’s hair and the glint in her eyes caught him
first. La Croix had captured the child’s expression perfectly and
Santiago knew he could never erase it from his mind. It was that of
a child who knew she was different and so did La Croix.

“
Mandy, I
had no idea.”

“
I think
it is wonderful. Don’t you?”

“
It’s a
masterpiece.”

Santiago stood
spellbound forgetting all that he had pending. The painting was
more than beauty. It was compelling.

“
I must
call the art dealer again,” he said dialling. “Monsieur De La Rue?
It’s Santiago Ferelli. How are you? You must come to number 314
Orchid Boulevard, Queens. I’m waiting.” He hung up. “Can I see
another?”

“
Sure,
this way.”

Santiago
followed her through the narrow hallway. He squeezed through piles
of canvasses Mandy kept as reminders of her life with a man she
never really knew. She opened the door to La Croix’s studio. It was
the first time since his passing she could muster the courage to do
that. The stench of acrylic paint filled the air. Easels and
brushes dried with paint lay across the floor.