Journey Into the Flame (13 page)

As if he were in a lucid dream, a scene unfolded in front of him. He was hovering over an Indian village. Below him, he could see many hovels and dirt roads, sink holes formed by the Great Disruption on the village’s outskirts, and a fallen bridge, lying in ruin and half buried in
a dried riverbed. Something was not right in this most real of visions. But Sebastian was too high up to see. Slowly, he descended and moved closer. A strange green light permeated the village. Where were the people? There were no men, women, or children walking about. He floated closer and moved in and out of the bamboo structures. Something was indeed wrong. All of the villagers seemed to have disappeared.

Sebastian now stood on one of the dirt roads and looked around. Suddenly, a body fell from the sky and smashed on the ground. Then another and another. One by one, human corpses came crashing down, their skulls cracking open like eggs. But the skulls were empty, their brains gone.
How can this be?
Sebastian’s heart beat faster and faster.
What curse has befallen these people?
He was losing his breath. Another great blast from the cannon was heard, and Sebastian snapped out of his vision. He was back in his body, sitting at the center of the Arcis Chamber.

Slowly, he became aware of the candle. He became aware of his body and of his surroundings. He could hear the soft music and smell the scent of the roses again. He remained seated for a moment, gathering his thoughts and trying to process what he had just seen. The foreboding of the storm clouds paled in comparison with whatever this vision portended.

After centering himself, Sebastian slowly rose and bowed to the candle before blowing it out. A small trail of smoke floated from the smoldering wick. At a single spoken command, the lights in the chamber came back on, once again illuminating the pillars and the statues of the sages. Another command was given, and a 3-D image of Lawrence was projected in front of Sebastian.

“Greetings, sir,” Lawrence said. “I hope that you enjoyed the flame.”

“Lawrence, please ready the resources,” Sebastian instructed. “I am off to India tomorrow, to a village outside of Banaras.”

12

The answers to the greatest mysteries in your life must be actively sought, for in the adventure and the journey to reveal them, there lies your greatest wisdom.

—THE CHRONICLES OF SATRAYA

WASHINGTON, D.C., 5:00 P.M. LOCAL TIME,

5 DAYS UNTIL FREEDOM DAY

“There it is,” said Mr. Perrot. “The old meeting place. That is where it all started.”

Logan and Mr. Perrot had taken a 1:00
p.m.
flight from New Chicago and arrived in Washington, D.C., the former nation’s capital, late in the afternoon. They stood across the street from the Council of Satraya offices, which were in a red brick building at the corner of 18th Street and New York Avenue. Its signature red façade and the tall brick wall that bordered the property stood in stark contrast to the many modern post-Disruption office buildings that surrounded it.

Logan and Mr. Perrot could hear the noise coming from the construction site one block north on F Street, where cranes were hoisting steel beams for a sprawling new office complex that would cover four square blocks and serve as the new home of the Allied Republics, an international organization formerly known as the United Nations. The
IMF and other banks that had once occupied those blocks had little value during the Rising and were never rebuilt.

“I remember reading about this place,” Logan said. “It used to be called the Octagon Museum.”

“Do you know why it was given that name?” Mr. Perrot asked. “As you can see, the building is not shaped like an octagon.”

“No, it isn’t. Do you think I didn’t pay attention in my architectural history classes?” Logan retorted with a smile. “In the eighteenth century, round rooms were usually built with eight angled walls inside. They were called octagon salons. My guess is there is a room like that in the building.”

“You are correct,” Mr. Perrot said. “The entrance hall is circular.”

During the rebuilding efforts after the Great Disruption, the Council of Satraya started using the basement floor of the once-renowned Octagon Museum for its meetings and other activities. Over time, as the Council grew and its projects flourished and expanded, it was granted ownership of the building. But now the home of one of the most influential groups in the history of mankind was secured by local police and agents from the World Crime Federation. Yellow security tape stretched around the brick wall that surrounded the building, effectively blocking the gated entrance to the front door.

“How are we supposed to get in?” Logan asked as he adjusted the backpack of supplies he’d brought along for their journey.

“You didn’t suppose that our little adventure was going to be easy, did you?” Mr. Perrot said. “Let us be patient and see what opportunities arise.” He took Logan by the elbow, and they walked slowly north on 18th Street. They saw a policeman standing at the main entrance, while another officer walked around the perimeter of the property. Visitors lingered on the sidewalk after being turned away, apparently wondering what all the commotion was about.

“What are you looking for?” Logan asked Mr. Perrot. “Let’s come back later when there aren’t as many people around.”

Ignoring Logan’s suggestion, Mr. Perrot continued to watch the guard and assess the scene. “I have an idea,” he whispered. “Look at the entrance to the building next door. The gate is open, and I don’t see any security guards or police. Maybe it’s still there.”

“Maybe what’s still there?”

Mr. Perrot didn’t answer. His gaze was still on the patrolling officer, who had stopped to talk to two attractive women who were walking past. “And here it is,” Mr. Perrot said then. “Our opportunity.” He squeezed Logan’s elbow and escorted him across the street. When they reached the open gate, Mr. Perrot pushed Logan into a small, confined area between a set of tall shrubs and the brick wall that surrounded the neighboring Octagon building. The policeman had finished talking and was once again making his rounds.

“What are we doing?” Logan asked in a low voice.

“Help me look,” Mr. Perrot said. “Help me push away the dirt. Quickly, quickly!” In a rush, Logan did so. After clearing some debris, their fingers touched smooth metal. “Ah, you see,” Mr. Perrot said, “old secrets afford new opportunities.”

“What is this?” Logan said, shocked to see the submarine-like hatch door in the ground.

“As I said, it’s an opportunity.” Mr. Perrot began to turn the handle, and Logan helped him lift the door open, careful not to let the squeak of the old hinges give them away. Once it was open, the top of a metal ladder could be seen in the hatchway. “Could you get your little device to illuminate our situation here?” Mr. Perrot asked.

“Little device? Oh,” Logan said, as he grabbed his PCD and pressed a few buttons to project an ample light.

“Follow me,” Mr. Perrot said.

Logan followed Mr. Perrot down the ladder and carefully closed the lid behind him. He descended slowly, making sure of his footing, one rung at a time.

“Still can’t believe that policeman didn’t see us,” Logan said, as he climbed down. “That seemed too easy.”

“Many things have happened in our history because a man stopped to talk to a woman.”

Logan chuckled.

After a surprisingly short climb, they found themselves in a dark tunnel. Mr. Perrot flashed the light around. The dusty tunnel was about three meters tall and four meters wide.

“What is this place?” Logan asked.

“It is an old escape tunnel that the first Council was required to build,” Mr. Perrot answered. “During the Great Disruption, many buildings collapsed, and people were trapped in them. New safety laws were enacted. In order for us to use the building, the WFR required that secondary exits be installed. This particular tunnel was our emergency exit. I never expected to have to use it to break
into
our offices.”

Mr. Perrot used the light from Logan’s PCD to point the way down the extremely dusty and dingy corridor. Lining the walls of the tunnel were large plastic boxes with well-sealed lids. “Survival supplies?” Logan asked.

Mr. Perrot nodded. “In case things fell apart again. The boxes contain food, bottles of water, and other essential items.” He shone the PCD on some of the boxes’ labels. “It’s been forty years now; I’m sure much of the food has passed its shelf life.” Logan pried open one of the lids and was immediately repulsed by a foul odor.

The tunnel was not very long, only about fifteen meters. At the end, they found another fortified door. Mr. Perrot handed the PCD back to Logan and turned the handle. The hinges squeaked after years of disuse. Mr. Perrot pushed the door open.

Feeling along the wall, Mr. Perrot continued inside until he found the light switch. He and Logan found themselves standing in what appeared to be a storage room. “So it was a hidden door,” Logan said, observing that from the inside, the door appeared to be part of an old bookshelf.

“It wasn’t like that when we built the tunnel,” Mr. Perrot said, gazing around the basement. Small windows lined the upper parts of the
beige-painted concrete walls, and large wooden pillars around the perimeter of the room provided support for the coffered ceiling, which had a mural of an open night sky painted across it. “The shelves weren’t here when I worked for the Council,” Mr. Perrot continued. “Neither was this furniture.”

“Look at this room,” Logan said in wonder. He was more interested in the architecture and design than in the dusty rugs and boxes that were scattered around. “The ceiling is exquisite. And this floor, it’s right out of the time of the Freemasons.”

“Yes, it is still the same grand floor,” Mr. Perrot said, looking at the very large black and white alternating tiles. “This used to be the meeting place of the Council of Satraya. There was a large table at the center. We would sit there for hours planning how to spread the words and philosophy of the
Chronicles.
I wonder what they did with it. We were such idealists then . . .” Mr. Perrot’s voice grew softer.

“Sort of like King Arthur and his knights,” Logan said with a laugh. He walked around, looking at the various items, opening boxes and rummaging through their contents.

“Yes, very much like those knights,” Mr. Perrot said in a serious tone. He gazed around the room. “To think that now it’s just a storage room, full of dust and things from a forgotten time.”

“I still can’t get over the ceiling,” Logan said, looking up at the mural of the heavens at night. “They painted the Big Dipper perfectly. That is a beautiful piece of work.” He gazed at it a bit longer and then turned back to the room. “How are we supposed to find anything in here?” he asked, looking around at a scene that could only be properly called a mess.

“I think the more pertinent question is, what are we looking for?” Mr. Perrot said. “Would you read the letter again?”

Logan reached into his pack and took out the piece of paper that had fallen from the volume of the
Chronicles
. He read it aloud again, as Mr. Perrot listened intently. Then, suddenly, Mr. Perrot stopped him and asked him to reread a section.

Maybe the answer will come in the flame to the person brave enough to look. Sadly, that person cannot be me. I will hide it under the old meeting place. 4B5W. The King’s Gambit is our best and only option. They must accept it. I pray to the star above that everything will unfold properly. It is now in the hands of destiny to select the finder.

Logan slipped the letter back into his pack.

“Well, one thing I do know is that this is the old meeting place,” Mr. Perrot stated. “What we now have to figure out is what Camden wanted someone to find.”

“What does 4B5W mean?” Logan asked. “Maybe it has to do with the boxes on these shelves.” He began to examine some of their labels.

“Remember, none of these shelves or the furniture was here during our time,” Mr. Perrot said. “So that clue must relate to something that was part of the original room. Camden was a strategist; he would not have made this obvious. In all the years we played chess, I only managed to beat him a few times. I think he let me win occasionally so I would continue to play with him. But even then, he was always a few moves ahead of me.”

Logan smiled at the thought. Then his smile suddenly deepened. “Chess!” he exclaimed. “Look at the floor, all the black and white tiles. It looks like a chessboard, doesn’t it? And 4B5W. That could be four black and five white tiles!”

Mr. Perrot looked down at his feet. Then he, too, broke into a smile, shaking his head. “Yes, of course! The King’s Gambit—that is an opening move in chess. My old friend is still a few steps ahead of me.”

“But we need a reference point,” Logan pointed out. “Four and five from what square and in what direction?”

The two pondered for a moment, stumped.

“Maybe there is a mark on one of these tiles,” Logan suggested, kneeling down to get a better look at them.

Meanwhile, Mr. Perrot walked over to a corner of the room and started to count the number of tiles from one corner to another and
then did the same to the opposite corner. The room was indeed a perfect eight-by-eight chessboard.
The King’s Gambit,
he mused. Camden had used that opening on him many times.
But I need to know the proper orientation.
Mr. Perrot continued quietly to recite the words in the letter. One line in particular intrigued him. “Why would Camden write that?” he asked aloud.

Logan, who was crawling on the floor inspecting the tiles, stopped and looked at him. “Write what?”

“ ‘I pray to the star above.’ Why would he write that? In the time that I knew him, Camden never prayed to anything, let alone a star in the sky. That line doesn’t make sense.”

Logan’s eyes widened. “Sir, you may want to look above you,” he said, pointing to the mural on the ceiling.

Mr. Perrot looked up. The two stars that formed the Big Dipper’s outward edge pointed to another, the brightest star in the mural. “Ah! Look there, the star above, a depiction of the North Star! Well done again, Logan. I think you just found our reference point.”