The Mongol Objective (7 page)

She had a sudden flashback to another vault, standing before a far more ancient door ten years ago and deliberately setting off a trap that had turned the room into a storm of fire. A trap she had prepared for, a trap she had been able to avoid.

Then, she was ready.

Today, she was not.

“
Mom!”
she heard, and turned toward the sound before the fiery tsunami fell upon her. She tried to cry out to him, tried to say something meaningful in that moment. What could she possibly say in her final seconds to the son who would grow up, grow into a man and live his entire life without her?

Instead, she just clasped her burning hands together, lowered her head, and met her fate.

Caleb, now it’s up to you.

#

Halfway across South America, cruising at top speed, Caleb woke with a scream that ripped Phoebe and Orlando from their trances. They stared at him wordlessly.

His mouth was dry as a desert, his lips cracked, splitting. “Did you see it?”

Phoebe reached for him. “No, I didn’t get a clear view. The vault room, a fire . . .”

“Yeah,” Orlando said, “and some crazy red-haired dude, his clothes smoking, dragging a boy up the stairs.”

“Lydia. I saw her consumed in the explosion. My trap.” Caleb held his head. “What have I done?”

Phoebe was there, holding his hands. “Don’t jump to any conclusions. Remember, this could be anything. A future glimpse, or maybe you were just seeing the past again. The Pharos trap and—”

Caleb met her gaze with pained and desperate eyes as he shook his head. “No, she’s gone. I felt her reaching out to me. Begging for me to save Alexander.”

“He’s got him,” Orlando said. “I was pretty sure about that.”

“Alive?”

“I think so. But I had the sense that he was protected somehow, and maybe holding your boy, it saved him too?”

Caleb nodded slowly, and closed his eyes.

“He’s got the tablet.”

7.

Alexander watched from the prow of
Old Rusty
as Xavier Montross piloted the boat out into Sodus Bay and around the bend into Lake Ontario before the legion of police and fire engines descended upon his house. He watched as the dawn lifted out of the mist, the clouds swallowed up the roiling black smoke, and his lighthouse burned like a biblical pillar of flame.

Mom
. He wanted to dive overboard, to brave the icy currents, to swim back to her, or to run over the water itself, back home, to join her in the cleansing fire. But then he thought of his father and his Aunt Phoebe.

They needed him.

He sensed footsteps behind him, a shadow over his shoulder. Silent, the winds stealing even his breath, Alexander wiped away tears that wouldn’t stop flowing. He turned and tried to sound strong as he faced Montross. “What are you going to do with the tablet?”

A silhouette before the rising sun, Montross stood quietly a long time considering him. “The better question, I think, is what am I going to do with you?”

“Let me go?”

“That was my original plan, but now, I think you may be useful.”

“Why? You gonna ransom me?”

“Not at all. I have plenty of money. But since I’m fairly certain your father survived, and since the regrettable incident in your lighthouse basement, I fear he will be after me with a vengeance now. So, it would be prudent to have some leverage.”

“They’re going to look for the boat,” Alexander said. “My dad knows I know where the key is hidden, that you made me tell you how to start it. They’ll come after us with helicopters, jets, satellite stuff. And of course they’re psychic. There’s nowhere to hide.”

Montross walked back toward the cabin. “I’m not worried about that. I avoided their detection for years.”

“How?”

He smiled to himself. “I’ve got something. Something I found after the Pharos incident. It’s old. And it has the side benefit of blocking the user from certain prying eyes.”

“I don’t understand,” Alexander said. “But—how old?”

“Never mind. In any case, we’re not going to be on your precious boat much longer. Maybe this was my escape route all the time.”

Montross cut the engines and they drifted into a choppy area of the lake. A moment of calm, and then suddenly Alexander had to hold on tight, feeling his stomach lurch. Just then, a big wave caught them and they rose higher than he could have imagined, then slammed back down.

Wiping spray from his face, Alexander looked over the side at the sleek black thing rising from the lake, the thing at first he took to be some fanciful lake monster. But then he saw the hump wasn’t a hump at all, especially when a door in its base opened.

“Come on,” Montross said. “Our sub is here.”

#

Five hours after the rogue submarine and its small crew made its way into the Atlantic Ocean, Caleb, Phoebe and Orlando arrived at Sodus Point, jumped out of the car and passed through the crowd of neighbors, firemen and police. They walked to the edge of the caution tape, where they stared in silence at the smoldering wreckage of the house that had been in the Crowe family for four generations.

The lighthouse alone stood above the ruins, just its brick and concrete façade remaining, up to the scorched glass cupola. The intense heat had turned it black, and now it stood lording above the smoking ruins, like one of Sauron’s towers.

“All gone,” Caleb whispered, with Phoebe at his side as the police approached.

“Your books . . .”

He held out his hand, seeing black body bags lying in one section of the lawn. “Wait, we need to be sure Alexander wasn’t inside.”

“He wasn’t,” she voiced hopefully.

“Mr. Crowe?” The first officer took off his hat. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but your wife . . .”

#

The FBI agent arrived an hour later.

She found Caleb with a blackened book in his hands, the pages crumbling, the cover brittle. He held the book, and without a word remaining on its cover, he knew it was the first book he had written,
The Life and Times of the Alexandrian Library
. Not only that, it was the one he had signed for Lydia. The day they met, at his first book signing.

He trembled as the images rolled through his mind like a tender wave, picking up the shells and stones and sand with the flotsam of his memories. Not psychic visions, just clear, pure memories.
Their
memories, together. Like a kaleidoscopic light show, Lydia and her jade eyes, her scent of cinnamon perfume, cascaded through this vision.

“Caleb?”

At first, the word mingled with Lydia’s voice, speaking close to his ear.
Caleb, goodbye.

“Caleb Crowe?”

A tremor shook him and he let the book drop. He blinked, then glanced up into a woman’s face. Short auburn hair, brown, not-unsympathetic eyes that were darting around a little too fast for him to follow. Grey suit. She held out a hand, helped him up, then pulled away. “Renée Wagner, FBI.”

Caleb forced his eyes to focus. “FBI?”

She nodded curtly. “The police chief called us as soon as it was clear that in addition to arson and murder, this involves a kidnapping, with evidence that the perpetrators have fled to international waters. I’m so sorry for your loss, but time is of the essence. We really have to—”

“You know,” Caleb said softly, looking at the brittle book at his feet, “there’s a theory beloved by bibliophiles everywhere, one that suggests that the way to keep alive, to stave off death itself, is to constantly read. If you’re reading many books at once, perpetually awaiting the resolution of cliffhanger moments, you’ll be unable to rest until you know it all works out. All the mysteries, plot twists and turns, everything that keeps you guessing—and turning pages—all of that will keep you striving to live another day.”

“That’s interesting,” Renée said, frowning. “But we really need to start a workup on who did this and what they want. We’ve got agents canvassing the vicinity, checking satellite photos, police logs, all concentrated on finding your son and his abductor.”

Caleb looked away from her, toward the sea and the missing boat. “I’m pretty sure I know how we can find them.”

Renée followed his line of sight. “Ah yes, the lightship. Sorry, but the Coast Guard found it deserted about thirty miles out. Seems they jumped ship. Any other ideas?”

Caleb shook his head. “No, I just need some time.”

“Any idea who did this?” Renée looked around. “Or who the two other bodies we’re still trying to identify are?”

He nodded. “Robert Gregory is one of them. My wife’s brother.”

She glanced at him suspiciously. “How do you know that?”

“I just do.”

“I see. So, you’re involved with parapsychology, research and remote viewing.”

Caleb stared at her.

“Unusual line of work, Mr. Crowe, but I understand your group has had some successes. Located sunken wrecks. Salvage, treasure—”

“I know what you’re getting at,” he said. “Wondering if we had enemies.”

“Or just jealous followers.”

“Look, Agent Wagner—”

“Renée.”

“—I’ll help in any way I can, but please, give me and my sister some time. An hour maybe, at one of our neighbors’ homes. We need to sort things out.”

She looked at him steadily, and Caleb had the sense that red lights were lighting up inside her skeptical brain. Facts and figures, percentages. Wasn’t the husband the perp in something like seventy percent of these cases? Right now she was probably running scenarios and creating a follow-up checklist: see how he and Lydia got along, whether he’d wanted full custody, what unsavory friends he might have contracted for arson and murder . . .

“All right,” she said at last. “I’ll continue working the scene here, and I’ll call on you in an hour.”

“Thank you.”

“But Mr. Crowe.”

“Yeah?”

“Whatever you find out, promise you’ll share with me.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

She smiled. “Let’s just say, Caleb, that I’m open-minded about what you do here, and in what you’re about to do.”

He considered her for a long time. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but would you like to watch?”

#

Phoebe and Orlando were off to the side, sitting on a bench overlooking the lake.

“I’m sorry about Lydia,” Orlando said. His hand hovered around her shoulder uselessly, not sure whether to touch her or not. He had felt something close to a connection with Phoebe ever since interning for her class four years ago. Although only a few years older than he, she had a way of making him feel like an awkward teenager. “I know you were close.”

She gave an attempt at a shrug, trying to appear stoic despite her tears. “Sometimes, she could be like a sister to me. When she wasn’t being all Keeperly.” Her voice cracked. “And Robert . . . Are they sure it’s him in there?”

“Two other men with Lydia. Everyone was so burned up, though. Still have to do the dental records.”

“You really think he teamed up with Montross?”

“I gotta believe he never trusted Caleb, or me. Obsessed with the tablet twenty-four-seven.”

Orlando scratched the back of his neck, then stood up. “So, the FBI. What’s Caleb going to say to her?”

“Probably going to try to get rid of her,” Phoebe said. “So we can track Alexander without all the dead weight. We should probably start. Come on, we can go to the Hurleys’ house, use their basement. Kids down there have hundreds of pencils, markers and paper. We’ll find him.”

A minute later, when Caleb was alone again, they approached him. Phoebe gave him a hug, then backed away, searching his eyes. “You going to be all right? I can’t believe she’s gone.”

“Not now,” Caleb said, clenching his eyes shut, drawing Phoebe back into a crushing hug, not wanting to let go. “I’ve got to focus on Alexander. Nothing else until he’s safe.”

Sniffling, Phoebe nodded. “You told that agent about Xavier, didn’t you?”

He nodded. “Thought I’d give them something to work on. Maybe they’ll dig up a clue from another angle while we try it our way. She’s got her people checking on Montross, but she wants to be in on our session.”

“What!” Phoebe asked at once. “Are you nuts?”

“Well,” Orlando said, “she is cute”. He craned his neck to watch the agent as Phoebe glared at him.

Caleb cleared his throat. “We’re going to need federal assistance with this. Travel arrangements, security, weapons. We’re lucky we drew an agent with an open mind.”

“Yeah,” said Phoebe. “Lucky, or something else.”

“We
are
talking about the government here,” Orlando said in a suddenly refrained voice. “They screwed you over last time.”

“We won’t make the same mistake again,” Caleb voiced.

“No we won’t.” Phoebe crossed her arms. “I’ll RV her while you guys focus on Alexander.”

“No,” Orlando said. “You’re closer to your nephew, you’ll get a better hit. I’ll spy on the FBI chick.”

Phoebe glowered at him. “Perv.”

“Anyway, I’m surprised that we haven’t gotten a call.”

“Oh crap.” Caleb dug into his jacket pocket. “My phone battery was dying, so I turned it off.”

“I’ll call your voicemail,” Orlando said, grabbing his phone before Phoebe got hers.

In a moment, Orlando handed over the phone and Caleb entered his code.

Caleb held up a hand, signaling to Agent Wagner. “It’s him.”

Renée walked over, and Caleb gave her the phone after he listened to the message. “You may want to have your people run that through their analytics. See if they can pinpoint a location.”

“What did Xavier say?” Phoebe asked.

“He said I’d know where to meet him. But to come alone.”

“Or he kills Alexander.”

“Of course,” said Orlando. “Got to be dramatic.”

“Come where?” Renée asked.

“He said I’d remember, the place where he last told me I’d see him again.”

“When was this?”

“In Alexandria. Twelve years ago. He backed out of a project we were working on. Then said he’d see me again.” Caleb closed his eyes, remembering. “At the mausoleum.”

“Mausoleum?” Renée asked. “In a cemetery somewhere?”

“I’m not sure,” Caleb answered. “But I have a thought.”