The Seventh Stone (51 page)

“
Manson was like a Skinwalker, a guy turned evil, only he didn’t shift shapes,” said Torrino. He took one hand off the steering wheel to finger the simple, silver cross he always wore around his neck.

“
But I can see the connection,” she said. “The Abraxas cult learned from the Manson murders in 1969 to keep their cult underground, literally and figuratively.”

“
The question is, do they know about the connection to the other seven stones.”

“
Not sure,” she said, “but it says here that some believe the seven letters of Abraxas represent the seven classic planets.”

“
The sun through Saturn, like in the tunnels that led to the Turquoise,” said Braydon.

“
Not this time,” said Christa. “The classic planets are those objects in the sky that were visible from Earth without a telescope. Sun, Moon, Mercury, Mars, Venus, Jupiter and Saturn, the same heavenly bodies that inspired the names of the seven days of the week. And for you mathematicians out there, the numerical values of the original Greek letters spelling out Abraxas add up to 365.”

“
As in 365 days of the year,” offered Torrino.

“
Or, if you were a second century Gnostic,” said Christa, “the 365 spheres or heavens.”

“
I’m having enough trouble following the rules of getting into one heaven,” said Torrino. He slowed to merge into the exit for the city.

“
Did these cult members know that this particular Abraxas stone was pried out of the Breastplate of Aaron?” asked Braydon. “That was supposed to be the Circle’s best kept secret.”

“
And it was,” she said. “Better kept than most. Until the early 1970s, the stone was buried in the hull of a ship beneath the streets of San Francisco.”

“
An underground ship?” From the 1500’s?”

“
No,” said Christa, “although the original guardian did arrive by ship. He came aboard a British ship exploring what is now the California coast. It was very hush-hush at the time. I studied about this when I worked on my thesis on the conquistadors. Sir Francis Drake had explored the coast, named it New Albion and claimed it for England. He sailed north searching for a Northwest Passage, information so valuable that Drake’s brother was tortured by the Spanish to reveal their discoveries. Queen Elizabeth the First ordered subsequent, secret explorations up the coast. Some say Drake had started a colony right here, on this bay. In any case, according to the oral history Joseph learned from the Abraxas guardian years ago, the original guardian of the Abraxas came north on a British ship, came ashore. He intermarried with the indigenous people. Fast forward almost three centuries to the gold rush. Hundreds of ships were cramming into San Francisco harbor. One of those ships is the Niantic, a whaler out of New England. Its crew deserted, fleeing to find their fortune in the gold country.”

“
And how did a ship end up underground?”

“
A whole section of San Francisco is built on top of ships abandoned during the gold rush,” she said. “Like most of the 500 or so ships that brought gold seekers to San Francisco, the Niantic’s crew deserted to seek their fortune. Without a crew, the Niantic was floated in and left aground when the tide receded to serve as a hotel and baggage storage. The city kept burning down. The Niantic kept getting rebuilt. Eventually, dirt was filled in around the hull to create land on which to build a new Niantic hotel. The Niantic became the fanciest hostelry in the city, under the direction of the man whom we now know was the guardian of the Abraxas stone. He made a fortune.”

“
The real riches of the gold rush weren’t found in the mountains,” he said, “but the pockets of the treasure-seekers’ Levis.”

“
Joseph printed out a photo.”

She showed it to him. It was a scale model of the Niantic as converted to a hotel, a diorama from the Maritime Museum. Piers encircled the dry-docked ship. The entire hull had been roofed over. Its main cabin had been built up into a two-story wooden structure, presumably the tavern.

“
He hid the Abraxas stone in a safe in the bow of the hull just before it was buried,” she said, “figured its hiding place was foolproof. Problem was, the Niantic wouldn’t stay buried. It was rediscovered during excavations in 1872, and in 1907 after the devastating San Francisco earthquake and fire. Excavators found cases of champagne, but the stone remained hidden. Then, in 1969 came the plans to build the Transamerica Pyramid, practically on top of the buried hull of the Niantic.”

“
I’ve been down that way, when I first went undercover as Contreras’s bodyguard,” said Torrino. “It’s not on the waterfront.”

“
Six blocks away,” said Christa. “That shows how much of the city is built on landfill around abandoned ships.”

“
Pyramid,” said Braydon. “I bet the prospective cult members ate that up.”

“
Especially since one of the earliest references to Abraxas is an ancient Egyptian demon,” said Christa. “The current guardian’s uncle told him he was going to inherit the guardianship. A weighty responsibility, but he figured he had it made, guarding a stone that was buried. His uncle left the substantial family fortune and political influence, along with guardianship of the Abraxas to his nephew. But he didn’t get a chance to tell him who his second was.”

“
It had to be the rabbi,” Braydon said, “O’Malley’s friend, Ezekial, in New York.”

“
Makes sense,” said Christa. “Joseph’s oral history from the Circle of Seven is sketchy after that. Two months later, in 1969, he knew they started surveying the TransAmerica pyramid. He figured that’s what prompted Adam to start the Abraxas cult. The stone was in the bow of the ship, only accessed by the cult’s secret passageways.”

“
Great,” muttered Braydon, “underground again.”

“
I don’t like the idea any better than you do,” she said, “but it worked. The bow of the ship remained hidden, even when another section of the Niantic was excavated in 1978 for a building on Sansome Street. Excavations were hurried and the bow remains intact, under the parking lot.”

“
So where does this black magic woman come in?” asked Torrino. “The one Joseph told you about.”

“
Apparently, according to Joseph’s notes, she was instrumental in recruiting the founding members for the Abraxas cult,” said Christa.

“
Someone named her the Black Magic Woman,” said Braydon, “probably for a reason.”

“
Adam must be in his sixties by now. He was probably part of the counter culture of San Francisco back in the 1960s,” said Christa. “After his tour in Viet Nam, the sudden death of his uncle pushed him over the edge. Before he disappeared, he told Joseph he had to seek out peace and redemption.”

Torrino guffawed. “And he thinks he found that in a woman?”

“
It was either that or black magic,” said Braydon.

“
Same difference,” said Torrino.

“
Save your punches for the bad guys,” said Christa. “She was his psychoanalyst when he got back from Nam, treating him for what we now call Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. Before long, she advised him to cut off all communication with Joseph.”

“
Adam was vulnerable,” said Braydon. “She used him.’

“
This black magic woman must have been a master at twisting minds around her finger,” she said. She adjusted the map on the SUV’s GPS screen. “Joseph thinks that the connection still exists. It may be the only way to find Adam and the Abraxas. The nav system has five listings for Black Magic Woman.”

“
We must be in San Francisco,” griped Torrino.

“
A clothing boutique, magic shop, record store, psychic and get this,” said Christa, “a medicinal marijuana distributor.”

“
Could try the psychic first,” said Braydon. “If it’s not the right place, she could look in her crystal ball and tell us which one is.”

“
Could go for the weed shop,” said Torrino. “Then we wouldn’t care if it’s the right place.”

“
The record store,” said Christa. “Black Magic Woman is best known as a song title by Santana.”

“
Agreed,” said Braydon. “Carlos Santana is from San Francisco.”

Torrino snapped his fingers and grinned. “Abraxas,” he said. “It’s the name of one of Santana’s albums.”

Braydon leaned forward. “I’m not going to ask how you know that,” he said. “Or why you didn’t mention it earlier.”

“
I’ve been distracted,” said Torrino, “saving your asses.”

“
The record store is just a few blocks away,” said Christa. “Turn right.”

Within minutes, the SUV was “arriving at destination, on left.” The Black Magic Woman Record Store didn’t have much of a storefront, just a tired, sun-faded display of a few record albums in the window. The Open sign hung gamely on the front door, but the street was nearly devoid of traffic. This was the city’s financial district and it was Sunday afternoon.

Braydon glanced at the GPS map. “Torrino, you can walk to a BART subway stop a few blocks up Clay Street,” said Braydon. “It will take you to the airport.”

Torrino parked the SUV, twisted around and snarled, “Forget about it, Braydon. I’m covering your back on this one.”

“
Go home to your family,” he said. Torrino had called home as soon as they got out of the dead zone in the desert. His wife and kids were already tucked away in the pre-planned safe house, but Braydon knew his friend was worried about them, for good reason. The madness in New York was escalating and though the poison might be confined to Manhattan and Princeton water systems, the crazies were not. The news reporters were giddy with the stories of increased violence spreading out from the city like rats with the plague.

“
I’m telling you,” said Torrino. “There is no way Rambitskov could make it out of that desert on foot, even if he did survive the beasts.”

“
Doesn’t matter,” said Braydon. “Your cover is blown.”

As if to seal the deal, Christa leaned across and embraced Torrino. “Thanks,” she said, then, after a moment, sat back. “And let me know if you find out anything about my nephew, Liam. I still can’t get through on the phone.”

Braydon held out his open palm. Torrino reluctantly handed him the car key. Braydon didn’t tell him what he saw parked down the street. Stonington’s vintage Alfa Romeo, a bloody handprint smearing the inside of the driver side window.

CHAPTER
60

Braydon stepped out of the car. Christa followed. They crossed Sansome Street to the Black Magic Woman record store. The thick fog had rolled in from the bay, casting a surreal gloom over San Francisco. Although only mid-afternoon, the streets were dark with storm clouds, but the air was preternaturally still. It had the feel of Gotham at midnight. The Transamerica Pyramid pierced through the fog and clouds like a beacon for malevolent aliens.

“
Closing early, man,” the aging hippie called from behind the counter as Braydon led Christa through the door, “due to the end of the world.” Decked out in tie-dye shirt, granny glasses and long, gray hair in a Willie Nelson braid, the hippie had a weirded-out look in his eyes like he’d gotten hold of the brown acid. The Doors song, The End, played loudly on the speakers. Braydon half expected to hear Huey blades thumping above them and the odor of napalm in the air.

The record store was as surreal as the street, as if they had crossed a threshold to 1969. There wasn’t a CD in sight. Bins of albums crammed into the small space. Psychedelic posters on the walls promoted the “upcoming concerts” of the Grateful Dead, King Crimson and Jimi Hendrix. Behind the counter, an old black and white television was tuned to a news channel broadcasting the riots in New York. Like primeval predators stoking up for battle, a mob danced around a car engulfed in flames and black smoke in front of the Public Library.

The hippie’s movements were frenetic as he selected and rejected albums to place in the old whiskey box on the glass display counter in front of him. “Apocalypse now, man,” the hippie shouted over Jim Morrison crooning that, “all the children are insane.” Braydon appreciated the hippie’s sense of drama, but he wasn’t about to surrender to the lyrics, especially given that Morrison’s next line was “ride the snake to the lake.”

If angels could fall, then so could guardians, he figured. War could do that to a man. But he couldn’t see this hippie as the Charles Manson type who could command a legion of cultish barbarians.

Christa elbowed Braydon and nodded towards the one album cover framed on the wall behind the counter. It was a frenetic, psychedelic collage of a jumble of boldly colored images, most distinctively, a winged female figure in red hovering over its shadow creature in black and two words, barely distinguishable from the chaotic background,
Santana
and
Abraxas
. The poster next to it featured a quote, red letters on black.
I watched as the
Lamb
opened the first of the
seven seals
. Then I heard one of the seven living creatures say in a voice like
thunder
, "Come!" I looked, and there before me was a white horse! Its rider held a
bow
, and he was given a
crown
, and he rode out as a conqueror bent on
Conquest
.
The quote was labeled,
King James Bible, Revelations 6:1-2.