The Oracle Code

8



32 Miles Southwest of Herat

Herat Province

Afghanistan

June 21, 2012

Three days later, after much of the cataloguing of the hidden cave within the mountain had been done, though much also remained, Lourds and Boris invited Layla Teneen to the Russian’s tent for dinner.

At first, Layla hadn’t known whether or not to attend. After all, if anything, she should have been punishing them for risking their necks the way they had.

But there was something about the tall, good-looking, American professor that drew her. He was unrepentant and irrepressible, a man every woman should stay away from and yet so many were drawn to.

Even during her years in the West while at college, Layla had taken only a handful of lovers. The concept of sleeping with a man while not married to him went deeply against her moral fiber, even though she refused to conform to a typical Muslim woman’s role.

Still, Thomas Lourds interested her, but she would not allow herself to become involved with him. That just wasn’t going to happen.

As she walked through the tents, one of Captain Fitrat’s soldiers dogged her trail. The man was experienced and aloof, no more bothersome than Layla’s own shadow.

She stopped at the front of Boris’s tent and waved the soldier off. He took up a post only a short distance away. As she stood there, the twilight deepening into full night, she realized music was coming from inside the tent.

The jazz was a surprise, filled with light and airy movement. In spite of herself, Layla smiled. So...Professor Lourds had something else in mind other than dinner.

She spoke loudly enough to be heard over the music. “Professor Glukov, it is Layla Teneen. I have come at your invitation.”

After a moment, the tent flaps opened, and Boris stuck his shaggy head out. “Ah, good evening, Director. So good of you to come.”

“The two of you still owe me a story, I believe.” Layla stepped into the tent.

“Indeed we do.” Boris waved her farther into the spacious tent.

Over the past three days, Layla had been dealing with the dead men and the media blitz that had settled on the dig after the announcement of the find was made. She’d had no time to speak with the professors about the events of that night.

Layla was amazed at the smell of food. She recognized the spicy scent of palao and qorma. It had been weeks since she had enjoyed a decent meal. All of her meals had come out of the microwave lately, or a cereal box. Occasionally, and generally only if she was entertaining an archeologist group, she grilled on a small stove outside her tent.

In the center of Boris’s tent, a table stood under a burden of food and braziers that held small flames to the undersides of dishes. Pots held several different foods, including bata—sticky rice, mantu—pasta dumplings, and aush. Layla loved noodle soup, and she felt hunger pangs chew at her.

“Oh, this smells wonderful.”

“It does, doesn’t it? We thought you’d like it.”

“Like it? I’m amazed.”

“Thomas and I will settle for amazed.”

She looked at Boris. “The two of you did not cook this?”

Boris shook his head. He stood on crutches, his right leg bandaged in a protective, inflatable boot. “Of course not. We’ve been busy working with artifacts. We had a caterer deliver.”

“From Herat?”

“There was no closer place.”

“But this must have been very expensive.”

Boris raised a hand. “Please. We owe you our lives.”

“Not exactly me. Major Dolgov had the situation in hand by the time we arrived.”

“Ah yes, my illustrious spy.”

“Do you know why he has been watching you?”

Boris shrugged. “I am opinionated and a university professor. Before the Wall, well, either one of those things would have garnered the attention of the KGB.”

“Major Dolgov is SVR.”

“I do not know their agenda, nor do I care. I am doing nothing that would get me into any trouble. I am simply a man who has dedicated his life to discovering what I can of the past. As you yourself have done.”

“I fear I’m more fascinated than dedicated. History holds my attention.”

“Then let us hope it holds your commitment for a great many more years to come. You are an excellent director.”

Layla looked around the tent. “Where is Professor Lourds?”

“He will be along. He–”

“—Is here, actually.” Lourds stepped through the tent flaps carrying a vase of flowers. “I’d forgotten to ask the caterer to bring a table setting. By the time I remembered, he’d already left Herat. I had to ask another courier.”

Layla watched in perplexed wonder as Lourds put the setting on the table. The bouquet included several large sunflowers, which she loved. “You had another courier dispatched simply to bring the flowers?” She couldn’t believe it. “Do you know how many of my people that would feed?”

“I do.” Lourds faced her squarely. “And I’m hoping that the courier I paid, as well as the flower shop owner, spends their profits within their communities. That’s usually how free enterprise works. You make money. You spend money. I’m a big advocate of that.”

Knowing what he said was true, Layla still felt a bit irritated.

“I know I have been very fortunate when it comes to money, Director Teneen. If you’d like, I can show you a list of foundations I endow and charities I donate to on a regular basis as the sales of my books permit. But don’t think for a moment that I won’t spend some of my ill-gotten gain to enjoy myself. Or to share a fine meal with my friends.”

“Of course. I stand corrected. This is not my business.”

“No, it isn’t.” Lourds smiled. “But I like the fact that you stand by your priorities.”

“I could have lived without the flowers.” Layla was embarrassed at her comments now, because he was totally correct. She had no right to counsel him on his spending.

“Perhaps you could have. But I could not. I wanted this celebratory dinner to be everything that it currently is. Not to impress you, but to congratulate Boris on his dogged pursuit.”

Boris delivered a mock bow while on his crutches and nearly fell over. Lourds had to steady him with a hand on his shoulder. “Thank you, Thomas, and thank you even more for this fine repast. I shall probably not eat this well again until I see you next time.”

Lourds grinned and patted Boris on the stomach. “I know. You’ve been practically wasting away. I noticed that when we were squeezed together in that passageway.”

“Hello, the tent.”

Layla turned at the man’s voice.

Lourds went to the tent flaps and opened them. “Major Dolgov. Please. Come in.” Lourds waved the man inside.

Dmitry Dolgov appeared a little uncertain, but he kicked his boots off and stepped into the tent. He smoothed his shirt, which was clean but was one meant for work rather than a feast. He gave a small smile. “I appear to be somewhat underdressed for the event.”

“Not at all. Boris and I are glad to have you and twice as glad that you’re a crack shot and a brave soul.”

Dmitry smiled and bowed his head. “As needs must.”

Boris shifted on his crutches. “Perhaps we could sit. Standing isn’t doing much good for my leg, I’m afraid.”

Layla pulled out a chair for the Russian professor, then was pleasantly surprised to find Lourds doing the same for her at the end of the table. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Instead of sitting beside her as Layla had thought he would, Lourds sat at the other end of the table. Layla didn’t know how she felt about that, and she was even more surprised to find that she felt anything at all.

Boris picked up a bottle of wine and offered it to Layla. She refused, and he offered her bottled water instead, which she took. While at school in the West, she occasionally drank alcohol and did not feel as though she were offending God. But while she was in Afghanistan, she held to the edicts of her culture and religion as closely as she was able. Being unchaperoned with three men for dinner was already excessive.

Lourds took wine as well, but Boris offered a bottle of vodka to Dmitry. “A bottle of the best vodka our sources told me could be had in Herat, Major.”

“Danka. But please call me Dmitry. That way, when I am drunk, you will remind me who I am.” Dmitry grinned.

After pouring himself some vodka, Boris held up his glass. “A toast, my companions. To this fine dinner, to Thomas for providing the meal, to Dmitry for his marksmanship, and to Layla, the best director I have ever had.”

They toasted, and then the eating began.

***



As he ate, Lourds found himself mesmerized by Layla’s dark gaze. She was enchanting, witty, and effusive once she had relaxed, and she matched Boris and Lourds story for story when it came to swapping tales—and even lies, which Boris told with the absolute best authority.

“In your exploration of the cave where the passageway dropped you, you have found no indication of the promised treasure?” Layla picked at the kofta, the meatball made of ground lamb and spices and onions. The dish was a staple of many Afghanistan restaurants and family tables.

Lourds had enjoyed kofta on several occasions and enjoyed it now. Boris had been diligent in keeping the meal properly heated. He drank more wine and picked up a khameerbob, a pasta dumpling filled with onions and ground beef. Biting into it, he savored the rush of flavors and spices from the yogurt topping filled with sour cream and garlic. The dried mint it was topped with mixed in as well.

“Well, that’s a rather humorous story.” Boris looked more embarrassed than amused. “Have you heard of those Internet scams that start something like, ‘I am a Nigerian ex-patriot who was a banker in my country and left a large sum of money in the Bank of Nigeria’?”

“Of course. But that is a con game.”

“Yes. Only one not so deadly as the one I apparently found.”

Layla smiled uncertainly. “You’re saying there was never a treasure.”

“I’m afraid so. Think of all those poor, greedy merchants lured off the trail as they went to and from Herat. Here they were, sold a bill of goods by some thieving murderer and ended up getting impaled by that hidden spear.”

“But why not simply kill the victims where they were found?”

Lourds finished swallowing and picked up the thread of the tale. “Possibly the thieving murderer, to use Boris’s term, was an old person.”

“Or a young one, or possibly even a woman.” Boris shrugged. “We don’t know, but changing the sex and age makes the tale much more interesting, doesn’t it?”

Layla frowned. “Whoever did this was very bloodthirsty.”

“But very thorough as well. And that person could only prey on those who were greedy.” Lourds picked up another kofta. “You can’t con an honest man. Using the passageway was a much easier way to dispose of the bodies. That way, the con could be done again and again.”

“You think all of those people in that cave were killed by this person?”

“Or persons?” Lourds shook his head. “No, Boris and I have theorized that whoever came up with this scenario found an actual ossuary used by the Zoroastrians. We’ve dug up evidence of habitation here, some of it Zoroastrian, so that’s no stretch of the imagination. This was just a case of need meeting a fortuitous circumstance. At least, that’s how we’re going to write up our findings.”

“Would you mind going public with your story first?”

“What do you mean?”

“There is a young woman who has impressed me with her work.” Layla nodded at Boris and at Dmitry. “A fellow countrywoman to the two of you. Her name is Anna Cherkshan.”

Boris shook his head. “I’m afraid I haven’t had the pleasure.”

Layla picked at the palao on her plate, isolating a fried raisin with her fork. “It will be a pleasure. She is a very bright young woman. Very diligent about her duties, and she loves what she does. You can see it in her eyes.”

Dmitry cocked his head to one side. “Did you say Cherkshan?”

“I did. Do you know her?”

After a brief pause, Dmitry shook his head. “No, I don’t. No Anna Cherkshan.”

Layla switched her attention back to Lourds and Boris. “She would like it very much if the two of you would grant her an interview. She’s a journalist with The Moscow Times.”

Lourds stretched his legs under the table. “That’s impressive. The Moscow Times only publishes the best writers in the country, and the articles have to be in English.”

“Exactly. I believe this would be a good experience for her, and it wouldn’t hurt to embellish your careers, and mine. Perhaps it would help if the two of you found the Holy Grail or a lost Russian ikon that somehow found its way out here–”

“Given the trade through this area, that’s not as impossible as you might think.” Boris smiled.

“—but your story, especially with the added trappings of the deadly con game, will probably seize the attention of her readers. As well as armchair archeologists throughout the world.”

“Only for a brief time.” Lourds sipped his wine. “Fame is very fleeting.”

She looked at him. “Not always fleeting, Professor Lourds. Bedroom Pursuits continues to hit the international bestseller lists.”

Lourds met her gaze for a moment and didn’t say anything.

Dmitry nodded, and it was apparent the vodka was affecting him as well. “Yes, my wife has this book. She hides it from me, but I know where it is.”

Boris looked at the SVR major and smiled. “Because you are a spy.”

“This is true. Because I am a spy. A very good one. Just not so discreet about it when I am among friends.”

Lourds flicked his attention to Dmitry. “So, why were you spying on Boris?”

Dmitry shrugged. “Is orders. I am given orders, I follow them. It is what I always do. I am called back to Moscow already. There I will get new orders.”

“They know you’ve been caught out?”

“Of course. I told them. I am no longer effective to spy on you. If they wish you spied upon further, they will have to send another spy.”

Boris shook his head. “But I’ve done nothing to draw the attention of spies or spymasters.”

Chuckling, Dmitry patted Boris’s hand on the table. “Is Russia. You don’t have to do anything wrong. Sometimes we spy on you just as practice. Sometimes we spy on you to let you know we will spy on you whenever we wish. To keep you from doing anything wrong.”

Lourds stared at the man in disbelief. “But that doesn’t make any sense.”

Dmitry shrugged magnanimously. “Is Russian way.”

And that settled the matter.