The Library of Shadows (34 page)

'We know that,' said Katherina. 'Can you find out whether any of the pupils have travelled to Egypt recently?'

'Hmm, provided their Internet server hasn't gone up in smoke too,' Mehmet replied, humming to himself as the keys clacked. 'Nope, here it is,' he exclaimed. 'Alive and kicking.' He started humming again, interrupting himself with little, dissatisfied exclamations and grunts. 'Hey, listen here, Katherina. It's probably going to take me a while. Can I ring you back?'

Katherina said yes and put down the phone.

'Well?' asked Iversen, anxiously.

'He'll ring later,' she replied, disappointed. She would have preferred to be sitting next to Mehmet, or to keep him on the line so she could sense when something happened. She clapped her hands together. 'What now? How many plane tickets are we going to need?'

Iversen gave her a worried look, but he didn't offer any objections. He knew her well enough to realize that nothing he could do would prevent her from going. 'Not for me,' he said, looking down at the floor. 'I'm too old, and the heat ... I'd just be in the way.'

'That's okay, Iversen,' said Katherina. 'We need you here.'

Iversen nodded without raising his eyes from the floor.

'You're going to need a transmitter,' declared Henning, raising his hand as if taking an oath. 'I'll go.'

The others all exchanged glances.

Tom shook his head. 'I'm already too far away from my farm,' he said with a dejected expression. 'I'm sorry.'

'Maybe it's best with a small group,' suggested Clara.

Everyone agreed, some people showing obvious relief. Katherina didn't care. As long as she could go, it wasn't important whether one or a hundred went with her. Once she found Jon, she'd find a way to free him.

After an hour Mehmet still hadn't called back and almost everyone had left the shop. Iversen had stayed and was pottering about with some books but keeping his distance from Katherina, who was spending the waiting time alternately sitting down and pacing back and forth in front of the windows. She sensed that Iversen was still a bit embarrassed that he couldn't go along. He avoided her eyes and moved quietly among the shelves, as if not wanting to disturb her.

After yet another hour had passed, Iversen went home too when Katherina insisted he needed to get some sleep. She rang Mehmet a couple of times, but he didn't answer. Gradually her pacing around the shop got more and more restless. She walked in order to keep her thoughts at bay. But after more than two hours of pacing, she sat down on the floor with her back against a bookcase. Her legs ached, which provided a welcome distraction from her speculations. She wrapped her arms round her legs and rested her forehead against her knees. When she pressed her eyelids closed, spots danced before her eyes like flies in the afternoon sun. She even felt the heat of the sun baking on her back. The sun of Egypt.

The phone rang.

Katherina awoke with a violent start and looked around in fright. She was lying on the floor in a foetal position. It was daylight outside.

With some difficulty she stood up. Her legs were stiff, and she tottered the first few paces over to the counter.

'Libri di Luca,' she said when she finally picked up the phone.

'It's me,' she heard on the other end of the line.

Katherina recognized Mehmet's voice and was instantly wide awake.

'Meet me at the main library in half an hour.'

'What?' Katherina stammered, but by then Mehmet had rung off.

Katherina broke all the traffic rules as she biked over to the main library. She rode on the pavement, headed the wrong way down one-way streets and used the bus lanes without regard for traffic lights or the honking cars. Her leg muscles, which already ached, began to burn so badly that she almost fell off her bike before she finally reached the main library on Krystalgade. She parked her bicycle without bothering to lock it and dashed through the revolving door into the library.

The white vestibule stretched up through the entire building to the roof, where frosted panes let in the sun to light up the big open space below. Katherina paused in the middle of the hall to look around. The library had opened only an hour earlier, so there weren't many people. She was picking up words from far fewer people reading than she had feared, and she was able to concentrate on those who were present.

At the counter on her right stood a lone librarian who was idle at the moment, while others were pushing carts crowded with books, which they methodically put back on the shelves. A solitary woman was sitting in front of a monitor among a cluster of computers on the ground floor.

Mehmet was nowhere in sight.

Katherina went over to the escalator that led from the entrance up to the floor above. She got off at the fiction section on the second floor and went to stand at the railing so she had a view of the vestibule below. Her heart was still pounding from the mad dash on her bike and she noticed that she was sweating. She fixed her attention on a group that had just come in, but they turned out to be a bunch of students headed for the comic book section.

'This way,' said Mehmet's voice behind her.

She turned to see Mehmet moving towards the escalator that would take him up to the next floor. He was wearing a grey hoodie. She noticed that he was limping, and when he turned his head to make sure she was following, she saw he was wearing sunglasses that didn't quite cover the bruise over one eye.

On the third floor he went over to a terminal that was suitably tucked away between the bookcases.

'What happened?' Katherina asked when she came up to him.

Mehmet sat down with a grimace. 'It'll be easier if you see for yourself,' he said and started tapping away on the keyboard.

A picture of a room showed up on the screen. The image was fuzzy and not particularly well lit, but there was no doubt that it was Mehmet's flat. Even though his living room had never been especially neat, it was clear that something was very wrong. The furniture and boxes were all jumbled together, with the contents strewn across the floor. The desk had been turned over and the monitors that used to sit on top were nowhere to be seen.

'That's what it looks like right now,' muttered Mehmet. 'We have to go back to last night to see why.'

Underneath the picture was a row of buttons with symbols, like on a videotape player. Mehmet clicked on the button to rewind. A time indicator in the upper right corner began counting down. The image was the same, but Katherina could see that the light coming from outside was changing. The counter went faster and faster, and suddenly there was a lot of movement in the picture.

'There,' said Mehmet and clicked on the play button.

On the screen they could see that Mehmet's living room had been restored to its normal appearance and Mehmet himself was sitting in front of his monitors.

'This is right before it happened,' he said.

The pictures showed Mehmet working at the keyboard. He was bobbing his head rhythmically to some tune they couldn't hear. All of a sudden he stood up and stretched his arms in the air as he did a little victory dance.

Mehmet cleared his throat. 'Well, okay. That's when I cracked the school's security system. Good thing there's no sound.'

He clicked on the fast-forward for a few seconds and then on the play button again.

On the screen Mehmet was back in front of his computers, but he stood up abruptly and looked towards the corridor. Through the open doorway they could see boxes cluttering up the floor of the hall. Mehmet went over to the door, but at the same instant a figure appeared behind him and hit him on the back with some sort of club. Mehmet staggered a few steps forward but managed to turn round before the next blow came. He fended it off with his arm and then threw himself at the person, who flew backwards and crashed into a pile of boxes. That gave Mehmet enough time to grab one of the golf clubs from his collection of prizes and he delivered a blow to the chest of his assailant. In the meantime, two more figures entered the living room from the hallway. They too were armed with clubs, and Mehmet had to defend himself from all sides. He was struck numerous times, once on the shin and several times in the face, but he fended them off as he backed out through the garden door.

In the library Mehmet shifted uneasily in his chair and turned to glance around.

On the screen one of the intruders tossed aside his club but pulled out a pistol and aimed it at Mehmet, who raised his hands. But as he stepped backwards he was lucky enough to topple over a stack of crates piled up close to the door. Two quick flashes issued from the barrel of the gun, but by then Mehmet had already got up and out by the garden door. Two of the assailants struggled with the boxes blocking their way while the man with the gun fired yet another shot through the windowpane towards the garden.

'That's about all,' said Mehmet sadly.

On the screen the burglars gave up the pursuit and vented their frustration on the contents of Mehmet's flat before leaving.

'Are you okay?' asked Katherina, putting her hand on his shoulder.

'I'll be fine,' Mehmet replied. 'Just a few scratches.' He pointed at the image of his ravaged flat. 'Those bastards.'

'Did you manage to find out anything about the school?'

'Of course,' said Mehmet and smiled for the first time. 'I'm about to download the last bit right now.' He glanced around. 'Let's switch to a different terminal.'

They got up and went towards the escalator.

'These terminals aren't good for much,' he said. 'But from here I can go through the library's server and access ... well, just about anything.'

'If you say so,' said Katherina.

They took the escalator up to the fourth floor.

'It wasn't easy to get into the school's server. Not exactly what you'd expect from a school,' Mehmet whispered along the way. 'But I guess it's not what you'd call a normal school, is it? At least I don't know any other school that has that kind of security monitoring and can react so quickly. In fact, I don't know of anyone who can trace a hacker in such a short time and even send out a bunch of thugs while he's working.'

On the fourth floor they found an available terminal and Mehmet sat down and started typing. The screen went blank and then slowly filled up with symbols.

'What did you find out?' asked Katherina.

'I finally got into their security system and found the class lists,' he began. 'As I said, a strange school. It looks like they have their own grading system. All the kids have an RL value, whatever that means. Anyway, I ran the list of student names against the airline passenger lists and got two hits on the same flight as Jon.'

'Only two?' said Katherina in surprise. 'Are you sure?'

'A hundred per cent,' replied Mehmet. 'But then I tried the private charter companies. Even though they don't operate regular flights, they still have to enter passenger lists.'

'And?'

'There have been two departures during the past week. Each flight carried twenty-five passengers who either attend or have attended the Demetrius School. Of all ages.'

Katherina sighed. 'Fifty,' she said, sounding dejected.

'Plus a few more,' Mehmet added. 'There were a few passengers who aren't on the lists of students. Approximately ten others.'

'Can you print out the lists?'

'Of course,' replied Mehmet. 'You can have names, addresses, even photos if you want. At least of the students.' He got up. 'We're going to have to change terminals again.'

They found another monitor at the opposite side of the floor. A moment later photos and lists began scrolling down the screen.

'But now I think it's time for you to give
me
something,' said Mehmet. 'You can start by telling me what the hell is really going on.'

He took off his dark glasses and looked Katherina in the eye.

'It's one thing when the two of you get mixed up in something, but when it starts affecting my business and my health, I think I'm entitled to an explanation.'

Katherina nodded. 'And I'll give you one,' she said, 'but not here.'

Mehmet gave her a dubious look.

She shifted her gaze back to the class lists.

'Stop,' she said, pointing.

With the press of a button, Mehmet stopped the scrolling on the monitor.

'Back up a little,' Katherina told him.

A photo appeared on the screen, showing a dark-haired boy. It was an old picture, but his crooked, arrogant smile was unmistakable.

It was Pau.

Jon woke with a thundering headache.

Still bleary with sleep, he reached for the glass of water on the bedside table and drank it down in one gulp. There were still red marks around his wrists, and he turned them back and forth as he studied them. Then he broke out into a big smile.

He was part of something amazing.

All his life he'd been held back and robbed of his destiny, but now it was time to regain what he'd lost. It would do no good to cry over time wasted and all the lies that he'd been told. The goal made everything worth it.

Jon got out of bed and went over to the window. It was light outside, and he surmised that it must be early morning. He opened the curtains and looked out at the landscape. Less than a hundred metres away flowed a wide river, its restless surface glinting with sunlight. Between the water and the house were carefully sectioned plots of land with dark green plants in red soil. On the other side of the river the picture was the same: fields with scattered houses in between. On a few of the plots of land he could see people hoeing the ground or carrying away crops.

On the previous evening he hadn't been able to examine his surroundings. Then only single lights were visible in the houses that he now saw before him. He'd also been too tired and filled with his newly acquired knowledge to notice the details of the landscape, even if it had been broad daylight.

Poul Holt, the man whom Jon now regarded as his guide, had read for three hours, sitting next to his hospital bed. Jon felt ashamed as he thought back on it. He had behaved in an ignorant and foolish manner, too proud to see the truth and too weak to reject his past and acknowledge his destiny. But that had changed over the course of those three hours. During that time he had come to a realization, and he had Remer and Holt to thank for the fact that he could now, at last, fulfil his potential.

At first he had fought against it. The book was his enemy, and when Holt started to read, Jon had done all he could to distract himself and focus on anything other than what he was hearing. The reading continued, and gradually he couldn't help listening. It was the story about the founding of the Order and the achievements the group had made through the centuries. The leather-bound book was a chronicle of what he had previously called the Shadow Organization, but now knew as the Order of Enlightenment. The contrast in meaning made him smile at his own naiveté. This Order cast no shadows.

There was no doubt that Holt was a skilled transmitter and that he had made good use of his powers from the very first word he read. Jon could now see that it was necessary. He'd been so frozen in his own world view that he needed help, even though it meant that Holt had to exert a small amount of influence.

During the reading Holt had stopped three times. He removed the tape from Jon's mouth and gave him some water to drink. Each time he asked with concern about how Jon was feeling. Whether he had a headache, pains at the back of his head, or whether he was seeing spots before his eyes. The last time Jon had refused the offer of water. He would rather have the reading continue so he could learn more about the amazing development of the Order. After that it was no longer necessary to put tape over his mouth. And when Poul Holt decided it was time to stop, the leather straps were removed and Jon was allowed to move freely about the room.

Remer had come in a short time later, and from what Jon could remember, he hadn't left until Jon fell asleep. He felt at peace here. More at peace than he'd felt in a long time, maybe even since that time when ... Jon pushed the thought aside with a grimace of annoyance. He'd been deceived by those he had loved and trusted, that much was clear to him now. He had to put all that behind him and focus on his future.

At that moment someone knocked on the door and Jon turned round.

'Come on in,' he called cheerfully.

Poul Holt came in carrying a tray on which a breakfast of toast and tea had been arranged. There was also a book bound in black leather.

'
Bon appétit,
' said Holt with a smile as he put down the tray.

Jon sat down on the bed, set the tray on his lap and started eating.

'What are we going to read today?' he asked with his mouth full of toast, nodding at the book.

'Today you're going to do the reading,' replied Holt, giving him a look filled with anticipation.

Jon stopped chewing and studied his guide's face. 'Are you sure?' he asked as he swallowed the last piece of toast. 'Last time ...'

Remer had told him that Kortmann's chauffeur had died during the reading at the school. The chauffeur was one of the Order's true heroes. He'd kept Kortmann under observation for eight years, and in that way he had prevented their secret from getting out. With the permissive way Kortmann and Clara ran the Society, it was only a question of time before their powers became publicly known. They were weak. Even worse, they took pride in using their real powers widely, which resulted in diminished effectiveness and was of no use to anyone. The Order took controlled aim at a few selected individuals, using the full force of their powers and with full effect.

'This time don't try to force things,' said Holt calmly. 'And besides, one of our receivers will be ready to intervene.'

Jon nodded as he drank his tea. During the experiment in the school basement, the cell room had been insulated against the energy discharges so they hadn't had the chance to bring in a receiver to stop him, even if they'd been able to react in time.

'The objective is to find the proper level,' Holt explained. 'It has to be strong enough so that the physical discharges start to manifest themselves but not violent enough to do any harm. We're going to put electrodes on you so we can follow your progress.'

As if on cue, the woman in the white lab coat came in, rolling a trolley in front of her. On it was a helmet like the one in the school, with cords leading from the helmet to a PC.

Jon finished eating and settled himself comfortably. He smiled at the woman as she placed the helmet on his head and made sure it was firmly secured. Determined to do his best, Jon closed his eyes and concentrated. He mustn't disappoint them again. Now was the time to prove he belonged in the Order.

'Start whenever you feel ready,' said Holt, who had sat down in front of the computer screen.

Jon opened his eyes and picked up the book. It vibrated almost imperceptibly in his hands. He opened the book and began to read. Eager to demonstrate his powers, he started accentuating the images after only a few sentences.

Just like during the reading at the school, he felt his surroundings slowly change until they matched the scene he was reading. The white walls expanded into the snowy landscape he was describing, and the bed he was lying on became a sleigh pulled by horses. Trees towered up on both sides of the track they were moving along, and snowflakes whirled around the sleigh, getting thicker and thicker. Time seemed to slow to a lingering panning shot, and he sensed that for each sentence he read, he could create images as detailed as he liked. Every single snowflake was under his control.

Jon turned the sleigh ride into a dark and dreary journey, with the cold pressing over the landscape like a lead weight. Disquieting shadows could be glimpsed in the dense forest, but the speed of the sleigh made it impossible to judge whether they were animals or people or mere phantoms.

The whole time he was aware of the receiver's presence, not trying to disturb or control, but merely offering support, as if a hand were resting on his shoulder.

After a journey that seemed endless, the main character in the book came to a small inn. A shabby wooden door opened onto a pub, and the scene shifted abruptly from greyish-white nuances to golden tones in the glow coming from the fire in the hearth and the oil lamps on the wooden tables. The guests in the pub regarded the new arrival with tremendous suspicion. Their faces were either in shadow or reddish-yellow from the light, radiating an inhospitable arrogance. Jon enhanced the mood into a claustrophobic nightmarish vision in which the characters' faces pressed closer, their yellow teeth bared, their scars and wrinkles delineated by shadows.

The hand on his shoulder seemed to give him a squeeze and a brief flash of light lit up the computer screen. The images lurched, like a film that stutters.

Jon stopped reading and lowered the book.

'Excellent,' said Poul Holt, nodding to him. His eyes were filled with affirmation and admiration. 'We had to stop you at the end. It was starting to get too strong.'

Jon nodded. He could feel the effect of his exertions, but his joy at having done a good job outweighed the depletion of his energy. His whole body was filled with a pleasant buzzing sensation, not unlike what he had felt from the book, and he noticed that he had goosebumps on his arms. He laid the book aside and rubbed his arms.

'Who stopped me?' he asked, since they were the only two in the room.

'A receiver in the room next door,' replied Holt. 'You need to learn to recognize the signals from the receiver so you'll know whether you can increase the force or have to stop. This time you interpreted the signal perfectly.'

He stood up and helped Jon take off the helmet.

'How did the measuring go?' asked Jon, nodding at the computer.

'Excellent,' replied Holt with satisfaction. 'You held it just below twenty.'

'Is that good?'

Holt laughed. 'You might say that. I measure just under eight, and I'm one of the strongest in the Order.' He carefully placed the helmet on the table. 'It's impossible to know how high you could go. Maybe double that, maybe even more. In that case, we'd need to get different equipment.'

'Does that mean we're done?' asked Jon, slightly disappointed.

'Not at all,' replied Holt. 'But it's important we don't go too fast. You need to rest after each test.'

'I feel okay,' said Jon.

'That's good, but there are other preparations you need to make.'

At that moment Remer came in with a book under his arm. To his great joy, Jon recognized the book of chronicles he'd listened to the previous evening.

'Campelli,' declared Remer heartily. 'I hear the first test went well, is that right?'

'Apparently,' replied Jon, trying to tone down his pride.

'And you're feeling all right? Are we taking good care of you?'

'I feel great,' replied Jon. 'I could keep going right now, no problem. The sooner I get trained, the faster I can be of service to the Order.'

Remer smiled. 'It's important for you to rest after every session. You'll have opportunities to work with us soon enough.' He held up the book. 'In the meantime, there's more about our background you should know.'

Jon reached eagerly for the book, but Remer laughed.

'When I say rest, I mean total rest. Lie down and close your eyes, then Poul will continue from where you left off yesterday.'

Jon did as Remer requested, and he smiled with pleasure when, a few minutes later, he heard Holt's calm voice reading aloud.

The next twenty-four hours were filled with training, sleeping and listening to stories. Never before in his life had Jon experienced a more satisfying feeling. He received approval for his powers, he got better and better with every session, and he kept on discovering new sides to the Order that showed he had found his proper place. For a long time his ambitions had been allowed to hibernate; not since law school had he felt so filled with purpose. Now he knew that with the Order behind him, there were no limits to how far he could go. They could and would support him to achieve whatever goal he set for himself. His success was the Order's success.

Jon hadn't yet sorted out what he might want to do, but Remer had suggested he could establish and run a law firm with offices all over the world. The firm would chiefly have the other companies in the organization as its clients. Most of the employees would be Lectors and, according to Remer, with Jon's powers and background they wouldn't lose a single case. But Remer had pointed out that this was merely a suggestion. Jon could decide his future for himself.

'Time for a day off,' declared Remer when he turned up again. 'We're going sightseeing.'

Jon would have preferred to stay in, but it occurred to him that he hadn't yet been out of the house, even though he was in a foreign country.

The woman in the white coat came in, bringing a suit for him, and he put it on at once. It fitted perfectly. Remer escorted him out to the driveway, where Poul Holt was waiting along with a red-haired man of about thirty. He was introduced as Patrick Vedel, the receiver who had participated in the training sessions. Jon thought it was strange that he sat in another room during the sessions, but Holt had explained that it was at Vedel's own request.

The red-haired man now shook hands with Jon as he stared at him with an oddly expectant expression. He seemed to be waiting for Jon to recognize him. Jon dismissed the idea, and they all got into the Land Rover that Remer had hired and drove into Alexandria.

They drove along the beach promenade, Al-Corniche, which ran the entire length of Alexandria, twenty kilometres in all. Within that area of the east harbour hundreds of stalls stood along the coastal boulevard. Crowds of tourists and local residents were strolling along the wide pavement by the sea. A low stone wall functioned as both a bench and a bulwark facing the water. On the other side of the wall were giant boulders, acting as a defence against the waves of the Mediterranean.

The first stop was the Qaitbey Fortress on the western arm that surrounded the harbour basin. The fort looked a lot like a model made with Lego of various sizes and colours, but it stood on the site where one of the seven wonders of the world once stood, the Pharos lighthouse of Alexandria. It was said that the big reddish blocks of granite came from the ancient lighthouse, which was estimated by some to have been over 150 metres tall. It had made Alexandria into a centre of light, quite literally, just as the library had done the same from a scholarly perspective.

The next stop was a huge square where stalls had been set up to form a marketplace. Some of the stalls were simply cars that the owners had draped with their goods for sale, such as clothing. Other stalls consisted of carpets spread out on the ground and covered with a selection of jewellery, shoes and electronics. The more professional merchants had set up proper stalls made of wooden boards covered with fabric on which their wares were displayed.