It was as if the root language emerged in one place, been taken at a certain point to other locales, then evolved separately at each place. Which made sense, Nabinger allowed.
It was the way language worked. It also fit the diffusionist theory of the evolution of civilization.
The real problem for Nabinger — beyond the fact that the dialect made translation difficult — was that the content of the messages, once translated, was hard to comprehend.
Most of the words and partial sentences he was translating referred to mythology or religion, gods and death and great calamities. But there was very little specific information.
Most of the high runes in the pictures seemed related to whatever form of worship existed in the locale they were found in.
There was no further information about the pyramids or the existence or location of Atlantis. There were several references to a great natural disaster sometime several centuries before the birth of Christ, but that was nothing new. There was much emphasis on looking to the sky, but Nabinger also knew that most religions looked to the sky, whether to the sun, the stars, or the moon. People tended to look up when they thought of God.
What was the connection? How had the high rune language been spread? What had Von Seeckt found in the lower chamber of the Great Pyramid? Nabinger gathered up the photos and returned them to his battered backpack.
Too many pieces with no connection. With no why. And Nabinger wanted the why.
CHAPTER 22
“You gave Nabinger this address?” Turcotte asked for the third time.
“Yes,” Von Seeckt replied from the comfort of the couch. The living room of the apartment was dark.
“You left it on his voice mail?”
“Yes.”
“And he left the first message on your voice mail?” Turcotte persisted.
“Yes.”
“For God’s sake,” Kelly muttered from underneath a blanket on a large easy chair, “you sound like a cross-examining attorney. We went through all that earlier today in the car. Is there a problem?”
Turcotte peered out the two-inch gap between the curtain and the edge of the window. He’d been standing there for the past hour, unmoving while the other two slept, the only sign that he was conscious his eyeballs flickering as he took in the view.
He had awakened them both a few minutes ago. It was still dark out and in the glow of the streetlights there was nothing moving on the street. “Yeah, there’s a problem.”
Kelly threw the blanket aside and reached for the lamp.
“Don’t do that.” Turcotte’s voice froze her hand on the knob.
“Why?”
Turcotte turned his gaze into the room. “If I have to explain everything I say, we’re going to get our shit wasted when there’s no time to explain. I’d appreciate it if you just do what I say when I say it.”
Kelly’s clothes were wrinkled and she had not had the most comfortable night’s sleep in the chair. “Are we in the middle of a crisis that you don’t have time to explain?”
“Not this minute,” Turcotte said. “But I’m preparing you both for the minute when that’s going to happen. Which,” he said, jerking his thumb at the window, “is going to be sometime this morning.”
“Who’s out there?” Von Seeckt asked, sitting up on the couch and trying to pull his beard into some semblance of order.
“Less than an hour ago a van pulled in across the street and down that way”— Turcotte pointed to the left—“about two hundred feet. For fifteen minutes no one got out. Then a man exited, went over to our rent-a-car, and placed something under the right rear quarter panel. He went back and got in the van, and there’s been no movement since then. I assume they have surveillance on the back of this building also.”
“What are they waiting for?” Kelly tossed aside the blanket, stood, and began gathering her few belongings.
“If they got the messages off Von Seeckt’s answering service, probably the same thing we are. Waiting for Nabinger to show.”
Kelly paused, seeing that Turcotte was standing still.
‘Couldn’t they just have had this place under surveillance after kidnapping Johnny?”
“Maybe,” Turcotte said. “But that van wasn’t there when we pulled in last night, and when you and I were out for our little walk I did a sweep of the area and didn’t spot any surveillance. I think they only came on the scene this morning. Which makes me think they got around to checking the good professor’s answering service.”
Von Seeckt nodded. “Yes. They would do that. I made a mistake, did I not?”
“Yes. And by the way, next time, you tell me what you’re doing before you do it.” Turcotte reached inside his coat.
He pulled out a pistol, pulled out the magazine, checked it, put it back, and pushed the slide back, chambering a round.
“What’s the plan?” Kelly asked.
“You ever read the book ‘Killer Angels’?” Turcotte asked, shifting over and looking back out the thin crack.
“About the Battle of Gettysburg?” Kelly asked.
Turcotte spared a glance back at her. “Very good. Do you remember what Chamberlain of the Twentieth Maine did when he was on the far left of the Union line and about out of ammunition after continuous attacks by the Confederates?”
“He ordered a charge,” Kelly said.
“Right.”
“So we’re going to charge?”
Turcotte smiled. “Just when they do. They’ll be overconfident and think they have the initiative. Timing is everything.”
“Ah, fuck,” the major muttered to the other men crowded into the van. He glared at the sophisticated communications rig bolted to the left rear wall of the van, then keyed the mike hanging from the ceiling. “Roger that, sir. Anything else? Over.”
“Don’t screw it up.” General Gullick’s voice was unmistakable, even after being digitized and scrambled, then unscrambled and deciphered by the machines. “Out here.”
The radio went dead.
The major pushed the ceiling mike out of the way and looked at the other men. “We wait until the other target links up at the apartment. They have to be taken alive. All of them.”
“It’ll be daylight by the time the other guy gets here,” one of the men said in protest.
“I know that,” the major said in a tone that was not conducive to discussion. “I’ll clear it with the locals and keep them out of the way.” He lifted a sophisticated-looking gun-like object. “Remember — they are all to be taken alive, so use your stunners only.”
“What about Turcotte?” one of the men asked. “He’s going to be trouble.”
“He’s the priority target when we go in the door. The others will be easy,” the major said.
“I don’t think Turcotte’s going to worry about keeping us alive,” one of the men muttered.
Despite a long night with an extended layover at Dallas Fort Worth International, Professor Nabinger felt thoroughly alive and alert as the taxi turned the corner and the apartment building appeared. There was just the slightest hint of dawn in the air in the east.
After removing his bags Nabinger paid the driver. He left the suitcase on the curb and tucked his leather case with the photos Slater had given him under his arm as he searched for the appropriate apartment. He knocked on the door and waited. It swung open, but no one was there.
“Hello?” Nabinger called out.
“Step in,” a woman’s voice came from inside the dark room.
Nabinger took a step forward and a man’s arm reached around the door and grabbed his collar, pulling him into the room. The door slammed shut behind him.