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Authors: Iris Johansen
Tags: Fiction
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to crawl into a cave and be alone in the darkness.
Maybe the bad memories wouldn’t follow her there.
“Jesus, you’re a hard man to find, Jed.”
Kelby whirled around to see a giant of a man coming toward him down the hall.
He relaxed as he recognized Nicholas Lyons. “Tell that to Wilson, Nicholas. He had to scour St. Petersburg for you.”
“I was having a few difficulties.” He added dryly, “But I didn’t leave a trail of bodies behind me. Wilson tells me you’ve got yourself into a bit of first-class nastiness here.” He glanced at the door. “Is that her room?”
Kelby nodded. “Melis Nemid.” He moved a few feet down the hall and unlocked his door. “Come in and I’ll order you a drink and fill you in.”
“I can hardly wait.” Nicholas grimaced as he followed him. “It might be safer for me to go back to Russia.”
“But less profitable.” He turned on the light. “If you’re going to risk getting yourself killed, it might as well be for something worthwhile.”
“Marinth?”
“Wilson told you?”
Lyons nodded. “It’s the bait that drew me here. I decided that you need the services of a first-rate shaman like me if you’re going to try to mess around with Marinth.”
“Shaman? You’re a half-breed Apache who grew up in the Detroit slums.”
“Don’t bother me with truth when I’m concocting such a great lie. Besides, I spent summers on the reservation. You’d be surprised what I learned about magic when I applied myself.”
No, Kelby wouldn’t be surprised. He’d realized Lyons was multifaceted from the moment he’d met him at SEAL training in San Diego. On the surface he was all friendly, casual charisma, but Kelby had never run into anyone more coolly efficient and savage when called into action. “What kind of magic?”
“White magic, naturally. We Indians have to be politically correct these days.” He smiled. “Want me to read your mind?”
“Hell, no.”
“What a spoilsport. You’ve never really let me show you my talents. I’ll tell you anyway.” He closed his eyes and put his hand to his forehead. “You’re thinking about Marinth.”
Kelby snorted. “That’s an easy enough guess.”
“Nothing about Marinth is easy.” He opened his eyes and his smile faded. “Because it’s your dream, Jed. Dreams are never simple. There are too many interpretations.”
“It’s your dream, too, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“I dream about the money it could bring. Hell, I don’t know enough about Marinth for anything else. I didn’t want to know. But now it appears you’re going to have to fill me in.”
“Okay, you’ve got to know that word first broke on Marinth in the late 1940s.”
“Yeah, I saw that old copy of National Geographic you’ve had on the Trina . They did a spread on the discovery of the tomb of some scribe buried in the Valley of the Kings.”
“Hepsut, scribe of the royal court. It was a great find since he’d covered the walls of his future burial place with the history of his time. Yet an entire wall was dedicated to the tale of Marinth, an island city destroyed in a great flood. It was an ancient tale even in the scribe’s lifetime. Marinth was wealthy beyond belief. It had everything. Rich farmlands, a navy, a prosperous fishing industry. And it was reputed to be a technological and cultural mecca for the whole world. Then one night, the gods took back what they had created. They sent a great wave and drew the city back into the sea where it was born.”
“Sounds suspiciously like Atlantis.”
“That was the general consensus. Marinth was just another name for a tale about Atlantis.” He paused. “Maybe it was. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that this scribe devoted an entire wall of his final resting place to Marinth. Everything else in the tomb pertained to the history of Old Egypt. Why would he change horses in midstream and tell a fairy tale?”
“So you think it’s not a
Maybe the bad memories wouldn’t follow her there.
“Jesus, you’re a hard man to find, Jed.”
Kelby whirled around to see a giant of a man coming toward him down the hall.
He relaxed as he recognized Nicholas Lyons. “Tell that to Wilson, Nicholas. He had to scour St. Petersburg for you.”
“I was having a few difficulties.” He added dryly, “But I didn’t leave a trail of bodies behind me. Wilson tells me you’ve got yourself into a bit of first-class nastiness here.” He glanced at the door. “Is that her room?”
Kelby nodded. “Melis Nemid.” He moved a few feet down the hall and unlocked his door. “Come in and I’ll order you a drink and fill you in.”
“I can hardly wait.” Nicholas grimaced as he followed him. “It might be safer for me to go back to Russia.”
“But less profitable.” He turned on the light. “If you’re going to risk getting yourself killed, it might as well be for something worthwhile.”
“Marinth?”
“Wilson told you?”
Lyons nodded. “It’s the bait that drew me here. I decided that you need the services of a first-rate shaman like me if you’re going to try to mess around with Marinth.”
“Shaman? You’re a half-breed Apache who grew up in the Detroit slums.”
“Don’t bother me with truth when I’m concocting such a great lie. Besides, I spent summers on the reservation. You’d be surprised what I learned about magic when I applied myself.”
No, Kelby wouldn’t be surprised. He’d realized Lyons was multifaceted from the moment he’d met him at SEAL training in San Diego. On the surface he was all friendly, casual charisma, but Kelby had never run into anyone more coolly efficient and savage when called into action. “What kind of magic?”
“White magic, naturally. We Indians have to be politically correct these days.” He smiled. “Want me to read your mind?”
“Hell, no.”
“What a spoilsport. You’ve never really let me show you my talents. I’ll tell you anyway.” He closed his eyes and put his hand to his forehead. “You’re thinking about Marinth.”
Kelby snorted. “That’s an easy enough guess.”
“Nothing about Marinth is easy.” He opened his eyes and his smile faded. “Because it’s your dream, Jed. Dreams are never simple. There are too many interpretations.”
“It’s your dream, too, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“I dream about the money it could bring. Hell, I don’t know enough about Marinth for anything else. I didn’t want to know. But now it appears you’re going to have to fill me in.”
“Okay, you’ve got to know that word first broke on Marinth in the late 1940s.”
“Yeah, I saw that old copy of National Geographic you’ve had on the Trina . They did a spread on the discovery of the tomb of some scribe buried in the Valley of the Kings.”
“Hepsut, scribe of the royal court. It was a great find since he’d covered the walls of his future burial place with the history of his time. Yet an entire wall was dedicated to the tale of Marinth, an island city destroyed in a great flood. It was an ancient tale even in the scribe’s lifetime. Marinth was wealthy beyond belief. It had everything. Rich farmlands, a navy, a prosperous fishing industry. And it was reputed to be a technological and cultural mecca for the whole world. Then one night, the gods took back what they had created. They sent a great wave and drew the city back into the sea where it was born.”
“Sounds suspiciously like Atlantis.”
“That was the general consensus. Marinth was just another name for a tale about Atlantis.” He paused. “Maybe it was. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is that this scribe devoted an entire wall of his final resting place to Marinth. Everything else in the tomb pertained to the history of Old Egypt. Why would he change horses in midstream and tell a fairy tale?”
“So you think it’s not a
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