Viktor worked, or they couldn’t handle the travel demands. Grey had no problem with either.
Grey’s case was proving more interesting. Viktor toyed with the information he’d learned as he would pieces on a chessboard, arranging them in every possible position. The game was too early, the possible moves too many. He didn’t even know his opponent, though he had hints.
The obvious choice, the connection Grey had found by following the money, was the Lazarus Foundation. The Lazarus Foundation was the child of a parent organization, spun off a decade ago to keep pace with new developments in biotech. The Lazarus Foundation concerned itself with modern scientific research into anti-aging techniques: biomedical gerontology, nanotechnology, cryonics, modern mummification, even something dealing with uploading a human mind to a computer, which made Viktor shake his head and stop reading.
The parent organization was a group with which he was familiar. It was an organization with roots in medieval times, a society which had latched onto the coattails of history and hung on for dear life. In Viktor’s mind, they were of the same ilk as the modern-day Templars, Rosicrucians, Freemasons, and other secret societies: obsessed with ritual and appearance, guardians of ancient gossip, purveyors of charity events and domestic escape. Organizations of serious intent and real threat conducted their business without fame or needless pomp. They made their bed in a nest of shadows.
The parent organization to the Lazarus Foundation had changed its name over the years, and had now assumed that symbol of progress, the acronym. They called themselves the W.G.A.A, the Worldwide Guild of Advanced Alchemists, or, as Viktor knew them better, The Guild.
The Guild concerned itself with two purposes. The first: preservation of the legacy and traditions of the ancient alchemical sciences. Alchemy had a fascinating and important past, and deserved its place in history.
The second purpose of The Guild was the same goal the alchemical world had maintained, as far as Viktor knew, since the beginning of the art.
They were looking for the elixir of life.
Viktor was not too concerned about the possible involvement of The Guild. The Guild enjoyed its history, its costumes and its esoteric references. It was harmless, and he was relieved one of the more radical pro-aging groups wasn’t involved. What surprised him was that The Guild gave money to Somax. Usually it exercised more discretion with its donations and business associations. Had the Guild grown more brazen in its timeless search for immortality? Or perhaps more desperate?
He would soon find out, as he happened to know one of their members. But first, it was time to turn his attention to the piece of the puzzle that intrigued him far more than The Guild: Al-Miri and his golden medallion. He didn’t know many CEOs that engraved their corporate logo and wore it on a medallion around their neck, especially when that logo contained pagan iconography.
It was rare that Viktor encountered a religious figure of which he was not aware, and the thought excited him. He eyed the stack of books before him with pleasure, an array of tomes on Egyptian religion he had gathered from a local used and rare bookstore that specialized in religion and the occult. It had been a while since he had delved into ancient Egypt. He wished he was at home in his personal library, as his collection dwarfed that of the bookstore, but this would do for now.
He took a long sip of absinthe, released a sigh of pleasure, and got to work.
– 11 –
T he plane thrust off the ground with a stomach-wrenching surge, and Grey watched some of the other passengers murmur quick prayers. Grey put his own faith in the human spirit, and his strength of mind and body had seen him through life’s trials.
Until Zimbabwe, that was.
Until Grey had been assigned to investigate the kidnapping of a retired diplomat, and the investigation
Grey’s case was proving more interesting. Viktor toyed with the information he’d learned as he would pieces on a chessboard, arranging them in every possible position. The game was too early, the possible moves too many. He didn’t even know his opponent, though he had hints.
The obvious choice, the connection Grey had found by following the money, was the Lazarus Foundation. The Lazarus Foundation was the child of a parent organization, spun off a decade ago to keep pace with new developments in biotech. The Lazarus Foundation concerned itself with modern scientific research into anti-aging techniques: biomedical gerontology, nanotechnology, cryonics, modern mummification, even something dealing with uploading a human mind to a computer, which made Viktor shake his head and stop reading.
The parent organization was a group with which he was familiar. It was an organization with roots in medieval times, a society which had latched onto the coattails of history and hung on for dear life. In Viktor’s mind, they were of the same ilk as the modern-day Templars, Rosicrucians, Freemasons, and other secret societies: obsessed with ritual and appearance, guardians of ancient gossip, purveyors of charity events and domestic escape. Organizations of serious intent and real threat conducted their business without fame or needless pomp. They made their bed in a nest of shadows.
The parent organization to the Lazarus Foundation had changed its name over the years, and had now assumed that symbol of progress, the acronym. They called themselves the W.G.A.A, the Worldwide Guild of Advanced Alchemists, or, as Viktor knew them better, The Guild.
The Guild concerned itself with two purposes. The first: preservation of the legacy and traditions of the ancient alchemical sciences. Alchemy had a fascinating and important past, and deserved its place in history.
The second purpose of The Guild was the same goal the alchemical world had maintained, as far as Viktor knew, since the beginning of the art.
They were looking for the elixir of life.
Viktor was not too concerned about the possible involvement of The Guild. The Guild enjoyed its history, its costumes and its esoteric references. It was harmless, and he was relieved one of the more radical pro-aging groups wasn’t involved. What surprised him was that The Guild gave money to Somax. Usually it exercised more discretion with its donations and business associations. Had the Guild grown more brazen in its timeless search for immortality? Or perhaps more desperate?
He would soon find out, as he happened to know one of their members. But first, it was time to turn his attention to the piece of the puzzle that intrigued him far more than The Guild: Al-Miri and his golden medallion. He didn’t know many CEOs that engraved their corporate logo and wore it on a medallion around their neck, especially when that logo contained pagan iconography.
It was rare that Viktor encountered a religious figure of which he was not aware, and the thought excited him. He eyed the stack of books before him with pleasure, an array of tomes on Egyptian religion he had gathered from a local used and rare bookstore that specialized in religion and the occult. It had been a while since he had delved into ancient Egypt. He wished he was at home in his personal library, as his collection dwarfed that of the bookstore, but this would do for now.
He took a long sip of absinthe, released a sigh of pleasure, and got to work.
– 11 –
T he plane thrust off the ground with a stomach-wrenching surge, and Grey watched some of the other passengers murmur quick prayers. Grey put his own faith in the human spirit, and his strength of mind and body had seen him through life’s trials.
Until Zimbabwe, that was.
Until Grey had been assigned to investigate the kidnapping of a retired diplomat, and the investigation
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