Beneath the Hallowed Hill (7 page)

Robert contemplated the question, rhythmically tapping the arm of his chair with his long index finger. Michael waited, watching the refractions of the firelight in the cut crystal glass. Finally Robert looked at him. “I still think there are Atlantean artifacts. Clearly, your group’s mission involved opening the Earth’s main etheric temple. You’ve reconnected us to some galactic energy grid.” His grey eyes sparkled. “I’ve felt a difference in the lodge rituals and my own meditations. Let’s hope these more positive trends in the world situation continue.”

Michael nodded. “But?”

Robert’s mouth twisted in an ironic smile. “I know our ancient enemy too well. They will not let this stop them. Cagliostro survived, not to mention Miriam.” A former member of their lodge, Miriam betrayed them to the Illuminati. Robert shook his head. “I still can’t believe she slipped by our security, much less the group’s psychic senses. Ritual creates a certain level of intimacy. I never guessed.”

“Don’t blame yourself.”

“Who else? I’m the Grand Master.”

“Her disguise was perfect. What do you think they’ll do now?”

Robert set down his empty glass. “Keep searching the Giza Plateau. You described a maze of tunnels. There still might be a treasure trove somewhere.”

“Perhaps.” Michael still felt the certainty he experienced that fateful night. He doubted there was a physical Hall of Records.

“There are artifacts in museums and private collections that date from Atlantis. They’ll keep trying to gain control of everything they can lay their hands on. Speaking of which, I’ve gotten some interesting results on those crystals you loaned the group.”

“The ones from Frank in California?” Michael looked up expectantly.

“Yes, but it’s late.” Robert covered a yawn with his hand. “I’ll send you a copy of the findings in England.”

He never got the chance
, Michael thought as the limo drew near the Manhattan address.
Now he’s gone
.

Lawrence pulled up in the loading zone, got out and walked around to open Michael’s door. Michael slid across the leather seat and fumbled for the door handle, but Lawrence beat him to it. Michael reached for his bag.

“You can leave that, sir. I’ll wait for you.” He handed Michael a card. “My cell number.”

“I may be a long time, I hate to make you just hang around. I can make my own way to dinner with Abernathy.”

Lawrence pointed to the front seat where a thick book lay. “I’m used to it, sir.”

Michael hesitated, then asked, “Do you have my cell? You can call if it’s too late.”

Lawrence smiled. “It’s really no problem. This is my job, and it’s a good one.”

Michael blushed, realizing his reticence at accepting Lawrence’s help might be condescending. The man must be well paid, not to mention imminently qualified; the Le Clair’s had a tough security screening. “Thank you,” he mumbled. “I’ll just take my briefcase, then.”

Michael hesitated before the steps of the group’s headquarters, a neat brownstone on a quiet residential street mixed with a few businesses. Once he went inside, somehow Robert’s death would be final. After a minute, he squared his shoulders. He took the steps slowly and opened the door to the familiar hallway with its polished wood floor and old umbrella stand, an antique from India. A portrait of their founder hung in a gold leaf frame over a French mahogany console. Harold Simon Llewellyn looked down at Michael with mild brown eyes above a full white beard. Footsteps sounded from the back of the hall. He turned to find Stephen walking toward him.

“It’s good to see you, although I’m sorry for the occasion.” Stephen put a hand on his shoulder.

“I still can’t believe it,” Michael said.

“You knew him so much better than I.”

Michael nodded, his throat suddenly too constricted to speak.

Stephen spoke to cover the silence. “You made good time. Let me take your coat. The others are here already.”

The front room usually resembled the lobby of a small hotel, with groups of comfortable chairs clustered here and there separated by discreetly placed plants. Tonight, the chairs were pulled into a rough semi-circle in the middle of the room. Guy spotted Michael first. He held out his arms, his eyes red. Somehow the hug solidified the reality and the tears Michael had held back fell. He pulled away and wiped his eyes, nodding at everyone. The rest of the group welcomed him and he sank into an armchair. Stephen pulled the sliding doors closed and took a seat.

Michael looked around expectantly, and then realized he was waiting for Robert to begin the meeting. All eyes were on him, so he cleared his throat. “I’m sure we’re all deeply shocked and saddened by this news.”

Murmurs and nods answered his statement.

“What do we know?”

Guy spoke up. “The police were cooperative in sharing their investigation with Jacob; he’s an attorney.”

Jacob, a compact, energetic man with a head of springy brown hair, spoke up. “Robert was shot with a 9mm, probably a semi-automatic. It’s a popular weapon among professionals.”

Michael flinched.

“He died instantly,” Jacob said in a more subdued voice. “There was no suffering.”

Diane, a younger member, blew her nose loudly.

Jacob continued. “The killer probably used a silencer. None of the neighbors on the street reported hearing anything. One old lady heard tires squealing and looked out her window to see a black Mercedes speeding away. She didn’t catch the number, but remembers the license plate colors and thinks it was from New York. I was frank with the lieutenant about Robert’s esoteric interests; I think we’ll make much better progress this way.” He paused and looked around, then his eyes settled on Michael. “I’ll keep you informed.”

“Thank you,” Michael said. “The service?”

Adeline, the group’s secretary, answered. “Wednesday at 11:00. The reading of the will is scheduled on the following Friday. The family has asked we send a representative.”

Michael nodded. “I would like us to spend some time meditating together before we leave.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” Guy said, “but we do have one other piece of business.”

Michael frowned in confusion. “Business?”

“We need to elect someone to lead our group.”

“Surely that can wait,” Michael objected. “Robert was just—” He closed his eyes, unable to finish the sentence.

“Our charter requires we replace the Grand Master as soon as possible,” Guy said in an undertone.

“I think it’s important, especially at a time like this,” Adeline added. “We may all be in danger. It’s urgent that we discover who’s behind this and what they have planned.”

“Are there nominations?” Michael asked. He looked around the circle of faces until he reached Guy, who smiled rather sheepishly.

“We sort of already took an informal poll.”

“Good.” Michael nodded, relieved this would be a short process. “Who volunteered?”

“We all agreed it should be you,” Guy said.

“Me?” This knocked Michael back in his chair. “I’m in transition. I’ve just left the museum, I’m getting married in May…” He looked around in appeal.

Adeline smiled. “You were his star pupil.” Michael shook his head, but she pressed on. “For several years now, you were also his peer.”

“Never that,” Michael objected.

“He said as much to me after you left for Egypt,” Guy said. “You have the talent and the wisdom.”

Michael looked around the group. He expected support for his objections, but found only earnest expressions and nods. “You all agree?”

“Yes,” Adeline said.

“There’s no question,” Guy added.

Michael wiped his hand across his forehead and closed his eyes for a minute. He didn’t feel ready to lead this group. How could he, without the quiet strength of Robert? Robert always knew what to do, what to say to bring out the best in everyone. The old saying sprang unbidden into his mind, “If not me, who?” No name came. He asked silently for guidance and heard a quiet chuckle in his mind.

“Robert? Is that you?”
He felt a presence behind him that radiated a warm strength, and calm assurance washed over him. Michael opened his eyes and looked around the group again. “I’ll never be able to replace him, but if you feel I could serve in this capacity, then I accept.”

“Thank you,” several people said at once.

“Excellent,” Adeline said.

Guy sat forward, his face relieved but still somber. “Now let’s meditate together in honor of our friend and mentor, Robert Rhodes.”

Michael closed his eyes, grateful for the quiet. His head swirled with the changes he was facing. He sent up a silent prayer for guidance. After a moment he caught the faint scent of sandalwood, the essential oil Robert always wore. Perhaps he was not lost altogether.

The chime that ended meditation reached Michael from a long distance. He stretched his fingers, willing himself back. Conversations started around him. He opened his eyes and stood. A wave of dizziness washed over him and he steadied himself on the back of the chair. He turned to the lodge, but no one seemed to have noticed. Adeline already had on her coat.

Michael quickly made the rounds to say goodbye, asking who would be at the service. He thanked everyone for their vote of confidence, but assured them he would need help. Eventually only the circle of empty chairs remained. Someone would return them to their proper places. Now that he accepted the responsibility of leading the group, he would have to find out who cleaned the place. Who held keys? All the mundane details would have to wait; it was almost eight o’clock, and he didn’t want to keep Doctor Abernathy waiting.

He walked into the hallway and found Guy standing by the door. “I suppose business can wait until next week,” Guy commented as he helped Michael into his coat.

“That would be best. You’ll be at the service?”

“Of course.”

“Where can I meet you?”

“I live here,” Guy said with a wry smile. “I’m the caretaker.”

Michael tapped his forehead. “I forgot.”

Guy simply shrugged.

Michael caught a glimpse of himself in the hall mirror—his eyes red and glazed, his tie askew. He ran a hand through his hair, vaguely wondering how long he had been awake. “Think they’ll let me into St. Anthony’s Club looking like this?”

Guy straightened his tie for him, then patted him on the shoulder. “Everything will be all right.”

Michael looked into his friend’s steady eyes. “I can never replace him, Guy.”

“No one is asking you to. Go get some sleep.”

Michael walked down the steps. Lawrence pulled the limo up next to the brownstone. He opened the back door with a nod. As soon as he slid behind the wheel, he put up the privacy window, perhaps sensing Michael needed the quiet. Michael sank into the seat, deciding to meditate so he’d be somewhat alert for his next meeting. He woke with a start when Lawrence opened the door again, announcing their arrival.

Michael straightened out his jacket and walked up the marble steps, moving from the familiar comfort of his group’s headquarters into the elegance of the Le Clair family’s club. An enormous chandelier dominated the front entrance. He approached the concierge who stepped out from behind the desk. “This way, sir.”

Michael followed down carpeted hallways, passing portraits of famous members and tall potted palms and orange trees marking out quiet nooks, to an elevator that swooshed silently upward. They emerged into another long hallway and walked halfway down to a set of double doors. The concierge knocked and the door opened from within. Arnold’s large frame blocked the entrance.

An unexpected wave of relief washed through Michael. “It’s good to see you.”

The head of the Le Clair family security waved Michael inside a surprisingly modern suite. The sleek wooden floors gleamed beneath Turkish rugs, but it was the expanse of windows overlooking the city that caught his eye. Ice clinked in a glass, and Michael turn to find a chrome bar in one corner. Doctor Abernathy held out a glass of some burnt amber liquid. “I expect you need some fortification.”

Michael accepted the drink and looked around for a seat.

“Over here.” Doctor Abernathy indicated a table near the windows. “Hungry?”

Michael shrugged. He didn’t eat the night before and only nibbled on the plane. He should be hungry, but only felt empty and cold.

“Soup?”

“I guess I should eat something.”

“I’m sorry for your loss, son.”

Michael sank into the chair and loosened his tie. “I was just in Glastonbury,” he said almost at random.

“How did you find things?”

“I hardly had time to see the house, but everything seemed fine. We were at the Well when I got the news.”

“What do you know so far?”

Michael told him what Jacob shared with the group. He took a sip of what turned out to be cognac. It burned its way down his throat and spread a fine fire through his torso.

“We’ve done a bit of poking around ourselves,” Doctor Abernathy said.

“The group is grateful for any help.”