Ancient Echoes (35 page)

A six-foot wide, eight-foot tall dark mahogany wardrobe
dominated one side of the room. Jianjun was afraid to look inside. Anything
could be hiding in there. He drew open the drapes. A gray, drizzly overcast sky
only added to the eeriness. Moments later, the housekeeper wheeled in a lavish
breakfast of eggs, sausage, kippers, waffles, cold cereal, orange juice,
coffee, and tea. A few minutes after he finished eating, she delivered over a
dozen books on alchemy in Egypt and China, as well as discussion papers on
Nicholas Flamel and Hermes Trismegistus.

Her timing made him feel spied upon. He rubbed his arms to
ward off an eerie chill.

Instead of reading, he went looking for Phaylor or his
nurse, but failed to find anyone, not even the seemingly omnipresent
housekeeper. He discovered that the elevator would not stop for him on the
house’s third floor, but only on the first with its entryway and garages, the
second or main floor, the fourth with his guest bedroom, and the roof garden.
When he took the stairs, he found a locked door blocked access to the third
floor as well.

He knocked on it, but no one answered.

Finally, he gave up and returned to his bedroom to spend the
day trying to understand the basic tenants of a confusing mishmash of ideas
about turning base metals into gold, and humans into immortal beings. No wonder
sane people considered alchemy crazy.

In the evening, he sat alone in the dining room, eating a
feast of grilled red snapper, roast beef, coq au vin, vegetables, one hot and
one cold soup, and several salads. Everything about the meal seemed both
elaborate and wasteful. He had eaten his fill when the door to the dining room
opened. Calvin Phaylor entered, wheeled by his nurse. Jianjun jumped to his
feet.

“I hope you enjoyed the meal,” Phaylor said. “Please sit.”

Phaylor’s nurse brought out a decanter of cognac and two
crystal glasses, and poured them each a drink. “I’ll be fine for now, Bob,”
Phaylor said.

The nurse left, shutting the door behind him.

“Michael Rempart’s adventures in Mongolia were quite
fascinating,” Phaylor said. “Dr. Rempart managed to do what no one else has.
Find a Han tomb outside of China, and find someone who successfully practiced
Chinese alchemy. Did your boss ever learn where or how Lady Hsieh’s body
disappeared?”

Jianjun was stunned. “How did you learn about all that?”

Phaylor
grinned,
shrunken gums
making his teeth appear overly large and wide-spaced in his skeletal face. “As
you saw by the books I sent you, my interest in alchemy is deep and has existed
for many years. Some years ago, I traveled to China.”

Jianjun nodded and said nothing.

“Recently, certain acquaintances there, men who work with
Director Zhao from the Ministry of Culture, informed me of the loss of Lady
Hsieh’s body. It was most unfortunate. She would have provided science with
indisputable proof that alchemy works.”

“Or that the early Chinese knew a
scientific means to preserve the body,” Jianjun said, ever practical.
He
remembered Director Zhao’s comment that wealthy, influential people, if not the
US government itself, engineered the theft of the tomb contents. He now knew
Phaylor was one of those people.

 “If anyone could have learned alchemy’s secret, it
would be Michael Rempart,” Phaylor said. “I’m absolutely certain Michael
Rempart’s fame is what caused Jennifer Vandenburg to choose his brother Lionel
to find
The Book of Abraham the Jew.
I’m sure she expected Michael to
step in and help his brother.”

Jianjun couldn’t comment right away because he was too busy
mulling over Phaylor’s mention of Vandenburg “choosing” Lionel Rempart.
“Jennifer Vandenburg?” He tried to sound surprised. “Is she involved?”

Phaylor chuckled. “Don’t pretend you don’t know about her
already. If there is anything to alchemy, who could better benefit than a
pharmaceutical company? Vandenburg could give the alchemical formulas to her
company, and perform wonders in droves. Creating gold would be well and good,
of course, but imagine the rest of it. What if alchemy truly can lead to a life
that continues so long a person feels immortal? And what if PLP distributed the
means to provide that immortality? How valuable would such a ‘medical
discovery’ be?”

Jianjun wanted to kick himself for not putting that together
sooner, but at the same time, as the implications of it
struck,
he looked at Phaylor with growing horror. “It would be priceless,” he murmured.
“Absolutely priceless.”

Phaylor gave him a wide, ugly smile.
“Exactly.”

LIONEL SAT ON THE floor of the
barn, his back resting against a wall. He was alone except for Vince. Somebody
or something had awoken him. His brother, the Sheriff and that spooky-looking
Simon Quade left the barn to go outside and talk. He wondered what they were up
to, and why he wasn’t included.

He also wondered why the villagers allowed the women to stay
warm and comfortable while they treated him no better than a farm animal. He
couldn’t help but suspect the women offered the villagers all sorts of favors.

He
notice
the way Thaddeus Kohler
ogled Melisse. He wouldn’t put it past her to take advantage of Kohler’s
interest. Enough coeds had played such little games with him. They knew what it
took to raise their
grades, that was
for sure.

Even that sniveling idiot Brandi Vinsome had come to his
office after hours a couple of times and practically threw herself at him to
convince him to take her on this field trip. She had hinted without subtlety
that she would provide him a most pleasurable trip. What else would have
convinced him to select her over capable applicants?

Once on the field trip however, she ignored him.
So much for her promises and gratitude.
Little bitch!

He sighed heavily. He couldn't think about women now.

Vince’s loud snores interrupted his thoughts.

The boy had been abnormally quiet ever since his fright the
other night when he ran caterwauling back to camp. Rempart didn’t even want to
think about Devlin and the possibility of another dead student. He rubbed his
throbbing temples. Already he feared being forced to kiss his career good-bye
after this abominable disaster. He would never live it down.

Tenure provided his only comfort. If they tried to fire him,
he’d sue. How could he have known any of this would happen?

He felt sick to his stomach. He lay back down and covered
himself with more smelly animal hides. All in all, he was glad the villagers
took them in, even if he did have to sleep in a barn. The villagers suggested
they not attempt to leave the village walls. Dangers lay beyond them. In the
pens beside the stable were wild boars and sows, ducks and wild turkey whose
wings had been clipped so they could no longer fly, and surprisingly tame big
horn sheep and mountain goats. Lionel felt like one of the animals…but at least
he was safe.

If only he better understood what he encountered here, he
might feel less nervous about the place.

The sheriff had told them the men here had disappeared
thirteen years ago; he said he recognized their names from official reports on
their disappearance. Lionel found that hard to believe considering how young
some of them looked. Or, maybe, this place was the Fountain of Youth, too!

One thing he did know. The ancient tools, utensils and such
all around here had to have been left by the secret expedition that followed
Lewis and Clark.

Many months ago, when he first read the journal of Francis
Masterson at the Smithsonian with all its talk about people disappearing into
the pillars, he assumed Masterson had gone mad. But now, he learned the tale
was true. The expedition's men must have built these log huts and the community
house, trying to make this forlorn land habitable.

He wondered what had happened to them. Did they find their
way out, or did they die here? He shivered.
And what about
the strange creatures all around them?
Where had they come from? His
thoughts returned to rumors of bones of odd creatures found in this part of
Central Idaho. Maybe he should have investigated further, although any rational
man would have expected they were a hoax. But if bones of those creatures from
this side were found in the real world, there had to be a way to go back, a way
to go home. A kernel of hope built inside him.

Getting back...back to his home…his studies…his coeds…

Happy thoughts lulled him back to sleep.

EARLY THE NEXT morning, before
dawn, all six of the village men entered the community house, their faces grim.

They awoke Charlotte, Melisse, Rachel and Brandi and ordered
them to dress and come down to the gathering room.

After a long silence, Kohler spoke, his voice deep and
troubled. “We have tarried long enough.” He cast cold eyes on Melisse. “You
have done wrong.”

“She didn't mean any harm,” Rachel said in a high and
quivery tone.

Kohler glared at her. “She stole our food and supplies; she
is a thief. Are you saying you are as well?”

Rachel shook her head, then meekly stepped back into the
shadows, too afraid to stand up bravely, and too embarrassed and ashamed by her
fear to look at anyone.

Charlotte glanced at Melisse, who shook her head waving
Charlotte off.

“Bring the criminal forward,” Kohler commanded.

Melisse glared at Kohler as Sam Black and Arnie Tieg each
grabbed one arm. She easily pulled herself free of them and marched on her own
to stand in front of Kohler, her chin high and defiant.

“You are bold,” he said, a hint of approval in his voice.

She made no reply.

Kohler slowly marched around Melisse eying her as she stood
alone. “I've given this great thought. It is not right to flog a woman as I
would have done to one of my men. Nor is it manly to use a woman in a conjugal
way as punishment—much as that would have pleased several in this room.” He gave
a studied, distasteful glance at Black and Tieg.

No one spoke.

“There are other means, however.” He walked up to her. She
never flinched as he unzipped her jacket and dropped it from her shoulders to
the floor. She wore a turtleneck with a flannel shirt over it, multi-pocketed
cargo pants, and hiking boots.

He said nothing but looked at her shirt and top and nodded.

Her face a mask of disgust, she removed the shirt, and then
pulled the heavy turtleneck over her head, revealing a tight knit camisole. Her
breasts were full, her waist small, and a flat abdomen disappeared into
loose-fitting trousers. Every man, including Kohler, made a sharp intake of
breath at the sight.

“Stoke the fire,” Kohler ordered,
then
glanced toward the large fireplace in the room. Ben Owens went over and did as
commanded.

No one moved as Kohler took an iron poker and placed it in
the fire. He waited a minute,
then
used a wadded cloth
to pick it up. The tip glowed as he walked toward Melisse.

“This is barbaric!” Charlotte cried. “What’s wrong with
you?”

Arnie Tieg approached her, knife in hand. Her protests
stopped.

Brandi whimpered “No,” as tears filled her eyes.

The other men crowded near, expecting Melisse to run.

“Hold her,” Kohler ordered.

As they tried to grab her, she fought. She knocked Gus and
Sam out of the way with ease. The elderly Olgerbee hung back, as did Will
Durham who looked sickened, but didn't interfere even when Rachel begged him to
stop this outrage.

Finally, Olgerbee and Will joined Gus and Sam. Together they
wrestled her, face down, to the floor. While the others held her, Kohler knelt
on the ground, straddling her hips. Angered by the struggle, he gripped her
camisole and ripped it open to expose her bare back. Then he gasped.

“What is this?” he whispered.

Scars from lashes and burn marks crisscrossed her back. His
fingers lightly touched the puckered, tortured skin.

She turned her head to look up at him, but made no reply.

“Who did this to you?” he asked.

“What does it matter? It's your turn now, it seems.”

He tossed aside the poker then moved off of her. He grabbed
her arm, made her sit up and turned her to look at him. The other four stayed
close, ready to act if she lashed out or tried to run. She gripped her camisole
to cover herself.

“I want to know!” Kohler demanded.

“I was with a couple of men doing recon in Afghanistan when
we were captured by the enemy. The men were killed. Fortunately, our unit found
me—saved my life.”

“You were in combat?
A woman?”

“Why so shocked?” she said bitterly. “It happens.”

He held her gaze. “How long were you a prisoner?”

Without flinching, her tone saying as much as her words, she
replied, “Four days...three nights.”

His jaw tight with anger, he stood. “Leave her be,” he
ordered the others. They didn't move. “Damn it, did you not hear me? I said,
leave her be!”

They hurried out of the room.

After once last glance at Melisse, Kohler also left.

UNAWARE OF WHAT transpired in the
community house, Michael, Jake, and Quade met outside the stables, out of
hearing of Lionel and Vince. They each read the Francis Masterson manuscript.

Masterson’s account stunned Michael. No wonder his brother
dropped everything to come to Idaho to search for this place, to find out if
any of the information was true. He would have done the exact same thing.

“These papers explain everything,” Quade said.