Chapter 11
Jebel al-Taj Complex
Under bluish flourescent lighting a dozen men of varying ages and nationalities
stood gathered around a metal table, upon which lay several maps and technical charts.
On the papers, Patrick Murphy placed a small device, which resembled a cube
of child's "Play Dough" with coiled, colored wires added for decoration. "This little
beauty'll do the job," he said. "Once our mistress puts her mark on it."
"What will she do to it?" asked Faruz.
"Don't know," replied Murphy, his Arabic barely comprehensible beneath his
Irish brogue. "She said to prepare it, then place it in the center of her altar.
"When we plant it aboard the jet, it will need to go here," he said, pointing to
a spot on a schematics chart of an Ilyushin IL-86, "at the first junction box in the forward cabin."
Sean Harris, who had been standing in the shadows of a back corner, stepped
into the light. "Why this jet?" he asked. "It has nothing to do with any of us. It's not
an IRA target, nor Weather Underground, nor PLO." He didn't understand what was
happening to the camp... it was splitting into two factions. Those who had descended
into that hole in the desert, and those who had not.
Patrick turned to face his old friend. "Because our mistress needs her
nourishment... the energies of pure emotions... and our mistress says there are only
two... the ambrosia of men's souls consumed by a hatred that has vanquished all else...
and the nectar of a child's fear." He flicked his wrist and the long blade of a knife
flipped forward. He drove the switchblade deep into Sean Harris' abdomen and,
smiling, watched life depart from the blue eyes. "Sorry, chum," he said. "You didn't
hate enough for our Queen to want you."
< < + > >
Legacy House Drawing Room
"Thank you, Lourdes," said Derek, "just set it up there." He nodded toward the
top of the piano as he continued to play.
The maid placed a coaster on the top of the baby grand and set his cup and
saucer on it. "Will there be anything else, sir?" she asked.
"No, thank you," he replied.
After a moment, he took a sip of his coffee, then returned to his exercise. His
Thanksgiving musical performances had reminded him of his serious need for
practice... especially with Christmas so near. He had promised to play at the museum's
small holiday party and at Luna's larger Christmas party for the employees, volunteers,
and their families. He might make a fool of himself for the sake of fun in New York,
but San Francisco was another matter. He hadn't yet selected his pieces... actually,
Kymberlee hadn't yet selected them for him... but he still could get the fingers and the
mind back in musical shape with some complex drills, a little Mozart, and a lot of
Chopin.
Derek searched through the sheet music piled on top of the piano, finally he
found a piece that appealed to his mood... one of Chopin's piano sonatas. He wanted
to test himself against something truly complicated and difficult. He propped the music
against the stand to study the pages as he finished his coffee.
At last, he emptied his mind to focus only on the notes before him. He began to
play. He reached for the classic purity for which Chopin himself strove... emotion
untainted by sentimentality. Soon the piano began to sing as surely as if it had vocal
cords. The rhapsody vibrated through the Legacy House.
* * *
In the dining room, Kym was sorting through various boxes of Christmas
decorations when she realized that the complex, repetitive keyboard exercises had
ceased. A moment later, Chopin ruled and the entire house stopped to listen. Though
she had heard her husband play many times and knew that he was an accomplished
pianist, she had never dreamed that he was capable of such a wonder as she was now
hearing.
With a wistful smile, she wondered if their children would be as talented as their
father. Kym could sing a bit, in the shower, but she certainly had no intention of
singing in front of another human being any time soon. "Well... maybe the occasional
lullaby," she allowed herself.
Suddenly, Dominick was at her side. "Ma'am, Mr. Sloan is on the telephone
from London. He wishes to speak with Dr. Rayne. Should I interrupt?"
"No," replied Kym. "I'll speak with William until Derek finishes this piece."
She tore herself away from the sound to pick up the kitchen receiver.
"Hello, William," she said. "It's Kym. What can we do for you?"
"Where's Derek?" he asked. "I'd like to speak with him."
"He's practicing... listen," she said, holding the receiver high. "I'll get him when
he finishes this piece, if it's all right with you."
"Of course, we wouldn't want to interrupt Chopin," responded William. "I'd
forgotten how well he can play when he wishes. Perhaps, you can answer a question
for me," the Legacy's Precept-at-large continued.
"I'll try," Kym said, rather warily.
"Was Derek in the hospital last week?" Sloan asked flatly.
"Yes," she replied, unsure of how much she should say.
"Why?" he demanded.
Kym hesitated. "I believe he submitted a report." Beneath the cool formality of
William's tone, she could sense an underlying concern for her husband's welfare.
"Yes... he did... a very short report." He could hear Derek's music in the
background. "He's nearly finished, Kym. You can go tell him I want to talk with him,"
the precept said. "Tell him it's about his mother... don't mention what we spoke of,"
he added, "since I do want to speak with him."
* * *
Kym waited at the drawing room door for her husband to finish the last note.
Allowing the music to drain from him, he sat quietly, eyes closed, for a moment. Kym
walked over and began to rub his shoulders. She gazed down at the music, amazed that
he could comprehend that multitude of black squiggles, let alone turn it into the miracle
she had heard.
"William's on the phone," she said finally.
"Did he say what he wants?" Derek asked.
"He's curious about San Juan Bautista," Kym admitted, "but he also wants to
talk to you about your mother." She gave his shoulder one last pat. "Talk to him," she
said, then returned to her decorations to allow him to take the call in private.
Derek stepped over to pick up the phone. "Hello, William," he said. "Is Mother
all right?"
"Yes," replied William. "She's down with the flu and laryngitis. She wanted me
to tell you that she's not up to going over for the holidays. She'll call when she gets
her voice back."
"I see," said Derek. "Ingrid will be disappointed." William could tell by his tone
that Derek was disappointed as well.
"If she's up to it, she said she'll join us for Christmas in London... if not, we'll
go over on Boxing Day," Sloan explained. "Patty and I both wanted to thank you for
the presents you sent the girls. I'm sure they'll love whatever it is. Expect a proper
thank you note from each."
"Don't you think they're a little young for thank you notes?" Derek chuckled.
"One can never be too young to observe propriety," the older man replied.
"You've got to start them out early... remember that, Derek." Sloan paused. "Now,
what happened in San Juan Bautista that put you in the hospital?"
There was silence on the San Francisco end of the line. "Derek?" William finally
said.
"You must have read my report," said Derek.
"What there was of it," Sloan said drily. "Either tell me what happened, or I'll
ask Major Boyle."
"It was a multiple possession... the last three spirits were stronger than all the
others and didn't want to move on," Derek explained.
"So you did what you've been told not to do... channel them out through
yourself?" William asked. When he received no response, he persisted, "I realize we
don't understand what it is that you do, but it's a bone-head play... and you know it."
"They needed help, and Diana Kelly needed help," said Derek as he moved to
hang up.
"Derek," Sloan said, "if you hang up, I'll ask London House to demand a
supplemental report, as well as your medical records, Legacy Journal, and Major
Boyle's."
"Fine," said Derek. "She was fifteen... scared... and the last three were afraid
to move on. They put up a bit of a fight and I crashed afterwards. That's all there was
to it. Give my best to Patricia and tell Mother I'll speak with her on Sunday, if she's
up to it. Happy holidays and good-bye."
In his London office, William Sloan fumed. He knew there was more to the San
Juan Bautista episode than Derek was revealing. He could call Johnny Boyle, but it
wouldn't do any good. Unless it was a case of life and death, Derek's, Boyle was
absolutely loyal to his precept. He'd just have to stretch out his antennae to ultimately
discover the truth.
| CHAPTER 12 |
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