Strange Eons (15 page)

In one cabinet rested a great stone stela bearing the sign of the asp; in another, wings outspread, stood Bennu, phoenix-symbol of resurrection; still others housed papyrus scrolls, bronze tablets, funeral urns. Here was a miniature model of the sacred barge, which carries the spirits of the dead to the Underworld for final judgment, and here a full-sized display of what the dead leave behind—four Canopic jars containing the liver, lungs, stomach and intestines of the deceased. The bodies from which such organs were drawn rested in mummy cases, hearts still unremoved and intact through slumbering centuries, faces carefully preserved so that they could be recognized when confronting the forty-two Judges of the Dead.

And against the triangulated walls rose the great figures of brass and bronze and stone, the carven creatures with human forms and animal heads—the gods of Egypt.

Here stood bull-headed Apis, horned Hathor, saurian-snouted Sebek and Horus of the falcon-beak. Bast and Mother Sekhmet crouched, baring their feral fangs; the ibis profile of Thoth and the jackal muzzle of Anubis reared in the dim light. Beside them Nekhebet’s vulture-visage gazed coldly down at the great ram-head of Amon, the scarab-skull of Khepri, the man-serpent Buto and the Typhonian animal countenance of Set, Lord of Evil. Rising above them all was the figure in the feathered robe, bearing the
uas
scepter and wearing the
atef
crown—Osiris, King of the Dead.

He stared. And stirred.

Kay gasped as the figure advanced from the darkness, then realized it was not the statue that had moved, but the man who had waited unseen in the shadows before it.

“Peace and wisdom to you,” said Reverend Nye. Nodding at Kay, he extended his white-gloved hand to Fred Elstree.

Kay made the introductions hastily, eliciting a polite smile from her companion and a fleeting, almost imperceptible frown from the black man. He glanced at Kay questioningly.

“This is not the gentleman who was with you at the Temple last night.”

“No—he had to leave for San Diego on another account.” Kay nodded at Elstree. “I think you’ll be just as happy with Fred’s work. When it comes to portraits he’s really a better photographer.”

“I’m glad to hear it. But is he familiar with the purpose of this assignment?”

“Yes. I’ve clued him in.”

“Good.” Nye gestured to the bearded young man. “You can go now, Jody.” The young man stood motionless, his eyes fixed on the statuary against the wall.

Nye’s voice firmed. “Jody—out!”

The glazed stare flickered and the young man’s head bobbed quickly. He turned, moving to the door with a peculiar gliding gate, which confirmed Kay’s suspicions.

Freaked-out on something. Remember what Mike Miller said about the Assassins.

If Miller was right about that, then perhaps he was right about the rest. The museum here was just a switch-point; now Nye would try to sneak them away to someplace else.

“Well then, let’s get started,” Nye was saying. “If you’ll set up your equipment—”

As he spoke, the Reverend crossed to the far wall and pressed a switch. Kay blinked at the sudden surge of light.

Miller was wrong about us being switched. And maybe he was wrong about the rest.

For a moment Kay surrendered to her confusion, but the light helped to dispel doubt as well as shadows. Its glow warmed the room, transforming sinister statue-shapes into harmless examples of the sculptors’ art. While still grotesque, they no longer seemed menacing.

Perhaps that was the answer to the entire situation after all.
Grotesque but not menacing.
Everything was part of Nye’s hype—window-dressing for his cult. Even the photos Kay was here to pose for were intended as advertising, mere make-believe to attract the gullible. Once again the thought crossed Kay’s mind—this whole setup was just another form of show-biz.

She glanced at Fred Elstree, wondering what he was thinking, but couldn’t read his reaction. Already he was opening his two bags and lifting out portable lighting equipment. Extending the telescoped legs of the lightstands to support his spots, he unlooped the coiled wires attached to the units and strung them across the floor to plug into baseboard electrical outlets. He was doing the job like a real pro, and Kay’s misgivings vanished; he made this seem like just another photo session.

To her further surprise, that was almost exactly what it proved to be.

Reverend Nye nodded approvingly. “All set? Fine. Now, before we begin, let me tell you why I picked this location. The lady in charge of the Foundation also happens to be a member of the Starry Wisdom and she was kind enough to give her permission. I think we can use these statues to good advantage, and if you don’t mind I’d like to suggest a few poses.”

“Go right ahead,” said Elstree. “I’m just here to point the camera.”

Nye took over, issuing instructions in a low voice. What he wanted, obviously, was a series of close-ups featuring Kay—head-and-shoulders shots. But each pose included a statue in the background; serpent-skulled Buto, vulturine Nekhebet, Osiris of the all-seeing eye. Again the emphasis on lighting and composition seemed routine; the difference lay in his instructions to the model.

“Remember last night,” Nye murmured. “Remember how those poor suffering people looked when they approached the altar. That’s what I want—the intensity, the complete concentration on the mysteries of Being and Becoming. I want you to see these statues for what they are, symbols of the gods who are in turn symbols of even greater powers. Look into the eye of Osiris and see what he sees—the secret of life, which is the secret of death, which is the secret of eternity. Renewal and recurrence, endlessly repeated. In the eye of Osiris you yourself are merely a reflection—and when the eye blinks, you vanish, only to reappear when he resumes his gaze.”

Kay heard his voice droning from beyond the circle of light, drawing her into the darkness. Listening, she obeyed; obeying, she believed. As she stared she could almost sense that the eye of Osiris was returning her gaze with an awareness of its own. And if it blinked she would cease to exist.

Silently she gave thanks for the sound of the other voice; the voice that returned her to reality.

“Let’s have a little more of the profile,” Elstree was saying. “Raise your chin just half an inch now. There, got it—”

When at last they finished, Kay felt drained. She was oddly grateful to Elstree for turning off the blinding spots, and to Nye for dimming down the overhead lights so that the room was once again swathed in shadows. Now she didn’t have to gaze at the grotesque gods, stare into the eye of Osiris and see it stare into her own.

Elstree was unplugging connections, coiling wires, dismantling and packing equipment. If they could get out of here—

He picked up his bags and nodded. “All set,” he said.

“Thank you for coming.” Reverend Nye walked with them to the door.

“I’ll have prints ready day after tomorrow,” Elstree told him.

“Excellent.” Nye turned and rapped sharply on the door’s upper panel. “Jody—open up!”

The door swung inward.

Standing on the threshold was the bearded young man. He was holding something in his hand, and at the sight of it Elstree reached quickly into his jacket pocket.

He yelled something—Kay thought it was, “Look out!” She couldn’t be sure, because his voice echoed through the anteroom beyond.

But there was no echo at all as the bearded young man raised his revolver and blew off the top of Fred Elstree’s head.

Kay felt the cool pressure of the stone floor against her cheek and her first reaction was surprise.
I’m not the fainting kind,
she told herself. Then she remembered what she had seen and the giddiness returned.
But it happened without a sound. He must have used a silencer.

There was sound now; the low murmur of voices. Kay opened her eyes. From where she lay on the floor of the museum chamber she could see the bearded young man talking with Nye before the partially open door. Kay couldn’t make out what he was saying or what Nye replied, but she watched as he nodded and made his exit through the doorway, moving past Elstree’s body on the tiles beyond.

Nye closed the door, then turned as Kay sat up. He came toward her, black face immobile, voice expressionless. “Are you armed?” he said.

Kay shook her head.

She flinched as he reached out, but he made no effort to touch her. Instead he picked up her purse from where it had fallen beside her. Opening it, he turned it upside down to empty its contents on the floor. Compact, keys, pen and pencil clattered in a clutter. Satisfied, he turned away.

As Kay raised herself on an elbow, Nye helped her to her feet. Before she could draw away, his gloved hands moved swiftly over her body with expert efficiency.

“I’m surprised they didn’t plant a bug on you,” he said. “Of course it wouldn’t have made any difference.”

“What are you talking about?”

Nye shook his head. “Don’t waste your breath. Just be grateful you still have it. Jody wanted to snuff you too, like the others.”

“Others?”

“Those two in the pickup truck outside.” He nodded. “I gather they were too busy listening to their intercom to notice his arrival. The silencer is a crude but useful invention.”

“They’re dead?”

“In the current idiom, blown away. Jody put the truck in gear and headed it over the cliff. I can’t argue about the wisdom of disposing of any evidence, but I’d like to have examined the bodies and the intercom unit. Lacking that opportunity, I must depend on you. This was some sort of security operation, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then suppose you tell me what you do know.”

Kay shook her head. “Nothing. All I did was come here on a job—”

“Elstree was on a job too.” Nye’s voice was level. “He doesn’t work for Max Colbin—he was planted by someone to accompany you. Now who’s responsible?”

“I tell you I—”

Even a gloved blow can sting. Pain coursed across Kay’s cheek and temple.

“Sorry.” Nye lowered his hand and his voice. “Under the circumstances, maybe it’s asking too much of you to tell the truth. But I can guess. Some unidentified government agency has me under surveillance, on a trumped-up charge. Narcotics violations, smuggling, terrorist activities. They asked you to cooperate, find out what you could. Well, let me spare you any further doubts. All of the charges are true.”

“You admit it?” Kay felt another surge of giddiness, fought it. “That means you’re going to kill me—”

The ebon face was an enigmatic mask. “I admit it because it doesn’t matter. Nothing could have saved those men. They would have died anyway, and so would all the others. Including Albert Keith.”

“You know about him?”

“Of course. Do you think it was an accident that I tracked you down, sought you out at the agency for a stupid modeling assignment? I don’t need any pictures to advertise a phony cult that has already served its purpose. This is all part of the pattern, the plan—”

“What plan?”

“To save your life.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Stop and think. Why all this? If it were merely to build the Starry Wisdom, there’d be no need of such drastic measures. But there’s another purpose, a greater goal. I admit our methods are crude, our precautions flimsy and lacking in sophistication. But we must move quickly against the time when the stars are right, the time when the world ends.”

Kay frowned. “You say the cult is phony. But you’re preaching to me just the way you preached to those people in the Temple.”

“The cult is false, yes. But its teachings are based on truth. The world
is
ending—the world as you know it, the pretty world of mind and morality and mankind. The Great Old Ones are already stirring, and the earth trembles in anticipation of their coming. Only the chosen will be spared—and you are one of them, destined to play a special role in what is to be. That is why I seek to save you.”

Nye glanced up as the door opened. Jody entered, revolver in hand. The bearded man closed the door, then moved with Nye to the opposite end of the room where the statues brooded in shadow.

There was a whispered conversation; then Jody nodded and started toward Kay. He was still holding the weapon.

“Turn around,” he said.

“What?”

“Turn and face the door.”

His voice remained level but the revolver was raised in command and Kay obeyed.

She stood there, sensing Jody’s presence directly behind her, then felt something cold and hard pressing between her shoulder blades.
He’s going to kill me,
she told herself.

Abruptly the pressure subsided. “No sweat, lady,” said Jody. “Relax.”

Kay turned as the bearded young man lowered his weapon. She glanced past him, seeking a glimpse of his companion, but all she could see was the semicircle of statues looming up from the darkness along the far wall.

“Reverend Nye?”

“He cut out.”

That was obvious. But how had he left? The door was locked and there was no other exit from the windowless room. Kay’s glance met Jody’s grin.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be back. Wouldn’t split without you. No way.”

No way.
But there had to be a way. Kay forced her fear aside and concentrated on the reality. Nye was gone and Jody was here to guard her until he returned. And then—

“Where are we going?” she murmured.

“On a trip. You dig tripping, lady?”

He was stoned, no doubt about that. But she believed him. Nye would be back soon to take her away. He’d promised to save her—for what?

Kay didn’t want an answer. But the only way to avoid it was to act now, before Nye returned.
There has to be a way—

She peered down at the floor, then started forward.

“Hold it,” said Jody. “Where you going?”

“My purse—here on the floor. I want to get my things.” It was hard for Kay to keep her voice steady, hard to move. But she had to, and she did.

Stooping over the purse, she began to scoop up her belongings. Jody moved up beside her, watching as she gathered the scattered items that had spilled from it—handkerchief, compact, mirror, perfume, keychain, pen, pencil, notepad—and dumped them back into the bag. As she did so, she placed the heavier objects on top, unhooking the clasp of the compact with her fingernail. Obviously she had no weapon here and she could sense Jody relax as she lifted the bag and rose.