“I’m so sorry,” he apologized in a sheepish tone, “but I forgot to have you guys sign in earlier and I need you to just put your names on here. It’s something they’ve been making us do lately. With all the security they have, I think it’s a little redundant. But you know how big corporations are.”
Helen let out a long, annoyed sigh. “You know, it really is frustrating,” she sympathized and took the pen from the guy, writing down her name in a left-hand column.
“Tell me about it,” he remarked as Helen finished and handed the pen to Joe.
Joe said nothing, afraid his voice would crack. For a moment, he hesitated, trying to remember what the fake name on the ID card said. His fingers began to shake as he nearly panicked.
A few tension-filled seconds later, the name came to him, and he blew off his moment of trepidation by saying, “Oh, I sign here. I’m sorry. My eyes aren’t what they used to be.” He signed the name quickly and set the pen back down on the clipboard.
“Thank you. I appreciate your understanding,” the guard smiled and waved, giving Helen one last glance before turning around.
This time, the both of them didn’t worry about looking like they were in a hurry as they marched down the corridor and out the hall into the foyer.
When both of their car doors were shut, Joe and Helen let out a deep sigh of relief. She revved the engine to life and wheeled the sedan out of the parking lot and onto the road as quickly as possible.
“That was too close,” she commented, steering the vehicle onto the interstate, heading south.
“Yeah,” Joe said, looking back through the rear window of the car as if he were afraid someone was following. “But what are we going to do about the sample? If those shipments get sent, millions, possibly billions of people could die if there is some kind of super virus in those containers.”
“Sweetie, you don’t need to worry about that,” Helen smiled over at him and merged into one of the middle lanes. She stuck her hand in her suit jacket pocket and removed a small, glass vial. “We got what we needed.”
His face washed with disbelief. “How did you…but the guy in the warehouse…there were four vials in that container.”
Her grin widened. “I slipped it in my pocket while I put the container back. Then, when he asked which one it was, I told him the one next to it. Just an old shell game, baby.”
“Did I tell you, you were good?” Joe laughed. “You are really good. I do okay with bullets flyin’ at me. But all that sneakin’ around stuff is for the birds. About wrecked my nerves just now.”
“You did fine,” she encouraged. “But we are twenty minutes from the CDC, so hold that vial by its top in front of the vent to keep it cool until we get there. We ain’t out of the woods yet.”
Chapter 40
DeGard helped himself to an empty chair near a stack of cargo boxes and pulled it over to where he’d been standing across from Lindsey. He eased into the seat and folded his hands together while crossing one leg over the other. He peered at his employer expectantly, eagerly awaiting the tale this supposed diary of Sir Francis Drake held.
Alexander Lindsey’s patience was beyond thin with his French assistant. The man didn’t seem to understand social cues. It shouldn’t have surprised him that DeGard didn’t know when he should stay or leave. All Lindsey had wanted was a few hours of quiet to analyze Drake’s diary and try to figure out the riddles behind the three tests. In the short time he had been studying them, he had not found a solution. Not yet, anyway.
He wondered if the Frenchman would be able to lend any help on the matter, but he doubted it. DeGard was there mainly for his abilities to interpret ancient languages. And while he certainly had some other talents in terms of historical knowledge, Lindsey didn’t consider DeGard to be a critical thinker when it came to riddles. Still, if by some miracle the man was able to help, it would be worth it.
“The three tests the alchemist told Drake about were designed to try the three parts of a human being’s makeup. The spiritual, mental, and physical.” Lindsey allowed his voice to trail off at the end of the sentence.
“So, what are the tests this supposed alchemist spoke of to Drake?”
“The first one tests a man’s spiritual purity. The alchemist told Sir Francis that only the most righteous may eat from the table of God.”
DeGard’s eyebrows lowered slightly at the clue. “What does that mean?”
“I suppose we will have to see when we get there. But in the Bible, it mentions that the meek will inherit the earth. And there are many comparisons to humility and righteousness. Perhaps that is an additional clue.” Lindsey shrugged as he offered the theory.
“Perhaps,” the Frenchman stuck his thumbnail just inside his lip and bit down on it gently, considering the thought. “But what is the real definition of meek? Some interpretations of that could mean that the people who are mentally disturbed are meek.”
“I hardly think that is what the verse meant by the word meek,” Lindsey scoffed. “And besides, the notes in the diary clearly say that humility is the key. I’m merely stating there is likely a correlation between the two words, not some other crazy definition.”
DeGard threw up his hands in surrender. “My apologies. I was merely offering an alternative point of view.” He shut up for a few seconds, just long enough for there to be an awkward silence in the tent before speaking again. “So, what is that supposed to mean, about the righteous eating at the table of God?”
The older man nudged his spectacles a little closer to the bridge of his nose and proceeded to finger his way through some of the pages of the book until he reached what he was looking for. He turned it around so his archaeologist could read the ancient handwriting.
At first, DeGard’s eyes were wide as he leaned forward, realizing that the book could indeed have belonged to Sir Francis Drake. Then they narrowed as he tried to read the faint words. After a several seconds, he leaned back in his chair again and pressed an index finger to his temple.
“The most righteous,” he said to himself. “I suppose that the righteous proceed slowly, without arrogance. They take their time to move and are very calculated.”
“Or it could be a death trap,” Will interjected from the opposite corner. “And we could all end up dead.”
Both of the men engaged in the conversation snapped their heads in Will’s direction. He had never lifted his eyes away from the task of cleaning his gun. At present, he was busily running a cleaning tool down the barrel of a handgun.
“Of course,” Lindsey attempted to ignore the cynical comment. “It must be some kind of test. There is a text in the Bible that mentions that as well. It says to the humble are wise, and the wise stand for the right.”
DeGard nodded slowly, still uncertain. Lindsey could tell the obnoxious man was a little energized by the riddles, though.
“What is the next one,” the Frenchman asked.
Lindsey flipped through a few more pages and stopped again. “The second is titled as the physical test and says that only the strong shall pass through to taste eternal life.”
“That’s all? I would think there would be something more than just that.”
Again, the old man turned the book around so DeGard could see for himself. After he read it, the Frenchman moved his hand to his chin to process the new information. He said nothing, simply staring at the floor as he considered the problem.
“I haven’t been able to figure that one out, either,” Lindsey spoke for both of them. “It is vague, to say the least. But the last clue is even more ambiguous.”
One last time he flipped through a couple of pages towards the end of the book. He craned his neck slightly to better read the faded words on the page. “This one reads that many shall wander in darkness, but the wise will reach to the heavens and find the path to immortality.”