GREG HAD PLENTY OF TIME to reflect. He was tired, and all he wanted was to sleep for twelve hours straight without anyone disturbing him, but he knew that wasn't possible. Soon he would have to face his inevitable encounter with knowledge.
He soothed his anxiety with a good shower and, in the absence of a gin and tonic, enjoyed some ice-cold sugarcane juice he had ordered from room service. He went to the closet and retrieved the sketches and papers he had stored in the safe. He hesitated for a few seconds, but finally, he destroyed the recording and the printed copy of Iacobus's manuscript, placing everything in a plastic bag and throwing it in the trash. He hoped that this would prevent anyone from delving into the shop's secrets again. Balkis had expressed this wish when he said goodbye: to prevent anyone else from dying because of an ancient secret.
Since he still had some time left, he fell onto his bed, ready to rest. Try as he might, it was difficult to forget the conversation he'd had with Balkis on the Giza Plateau. The story she'd told him about a temple buried beneath the desert sands seemed inadmissible.
In reality, there was no evidence to corroborate that novelistic argument. To claim that the pyramids were the roofs of two obelisks of titanic proportions, supporting the nave of a sanctuary built at the dawn of time, was madness. What's more, he was certain they had been built on cross-shaped foundations, previously designed by Egyptian architects, so they could support a weight of millions of tons. At least, that's what he had read years ago in a scientific journal.
However, when Balkis explained to her why no archaeologist or historian would be able to accept her story, she almost believed it. According to her interpretation of the facts, a terrible flood struck the Earth at the dawn of humanity, causing great changes on the planet and the total annihilation of prodigious beings who lived in direct contact with God.
The city where the Compendium of Wisdom was carefully guarded in an Ark made of an alloy of noble metals called Electrum was razed and buried by an ocean of mud. After thousands of years of exposure to the sun, strong winds, and temperature changes, the mud solidified into a rocky plateau covered in sand. Only the supports of the obelisks and one of the two Sphinxes that, carved into solid stone walls, greeted those who dared to enter the city of Enoch in ancient times.
Despite everything, he continued to believe that this whole confusing set of antediluvian legends was the fruit of the store's obsessive imagination, and that, perhaps, the story was a pretext that would make him momentarily forget his relationship with Giovanna.
At that moment, someone knocked on the door. He wasn't expecting anyone, so he went to his desk to find a pointed letter-opening knife. He kept the tool hidden in the palm of his hand.
— Who is it? — he asked tensely.
— Greg, it's me... Umbert... — He heard, on the other side. — Can I come in?
Greg recognized his voice. He put the sharp object away in the nightstand drawer. Then he opened the door.
— I came to accompany you — he said as soon as he entered. — Sephora asked me to do this.
— Sephora...? — Evans raised his eyebrows, disconcerted.
— Oh, yes...! I forgot you don't know her real name... — he said carefully. — I mean Balkis. She thinks it's best if I escort him to the Archaeological Museum. Apparently, they're looking for him. —
— She already told me it's Antonia and Sephy. She's worried because they went to Hiram's office accompanied by a well-known Egyptian archaeologist.
He invited Umbert to sit in the only armchair in the room. He did so, on the edge of the bed.
— And then...
— Rest assured, everything is under control— the architect assured, adding solemnly: — we must trust in the power of the Guardians.
He didn't want to argue with what seemed like a dogma of faith. He changed the topic of conversation.
— How is Giovanna?
Monroe hesitated for a few seconds before answering.
— I suppose as nervous as a bride on her wedding day.
Greg didn't like the comparison, as it gave the impression that she was still conspiring with all that madness.
— I gather from your words that we will have no alternative but to go ahead with this madness.
— Call it what you will, but many in your place would consider it a privilege.
— The same way as killing innocent people? — he teased harshly.
Umbert accepted the rebuke stoically. Means to protect the secret came to mind. The lodge's oath was a moral principle he must uphold, even at the cost of his own life.
— I know it wasn't the smartest solution — he admitted quietly, — but it's my responsibility to preserve Wisdom from ignorance.
— Listen... — he swallowed. — I don't know what kind of miracles this damned instrument hides, but I think if it's that good, we all have the right to try it. Your attitude seems quite selfish to me. —
Monroe sighed as if deeply dejected. He felt as if the detective's words had served their purpose of making him reflect, but that wasn't the case. In reality, he was simply trying to remain calm.
— Would you want a child to perform cataract surgery on you? Would you board a commercial airliner piloted by an Islamic activist? — he asked, with deep sarcasm. — I also don't want to allow some sacrilegious people to desecrate the name of God.
— I will do it and I'm not special — He reminded incisively.
— Not yet, but you will be. Balkis said you're ready to take Hiram's place, and she's never wrong in her predictions.
— You admire her very much, I see.
— You don't know how much... — this time, yes, The master was entangled in nostalgia and his face contorted into a grimace of pain and self-pity.
— Years ago, at the beginning of my preparation as a brother of the lodge, I was madly in love with her — he admitted, his voice broken, as if speaking to himself. — And during the congress of initiates in the late sixties, I cherished the hope of being chosen to embody the figure of Hiram Abif, because I wished to live with Sephora for the rest of my life. However, after climbing the steps of the ladder, facing my demons, and sitting in the Kise of Testimony, I was unable to decipher the riddle of Wisdom... And all out of pride.
— I'm really sorry — was the only thing the detective could think to say.
— They stripped me of my title and the woman I loved. In exchange, I was granted the honor of holding the office of Master of the lodge... — He took a deep breath. — It's a veritable hell for someone who must protect God's secret under any and all circumstances, even putting their own soul in danger. If I ordered the assassination of the paleographer and his lover, the director of Hiperión, don't credit that decision to me personally. I did it because it was my duty.
Gregory Evans remained silent, still trying to piece together the puzzle in his prodigious mind. He knew that if he was still alive, it was because Giovanna would never allow anyone to harm him. And this was a gesture worthy of gratitude, on both their parts.
— Tell me... what is the riddle of Wisdom? — he asked, trying to satisfy his curiosity and, at the same time, to pull the architect out of that melancholy state to which he seemed to indulge with pleasure.
Monroe lifted his head. His pupils shone with unusual splendor. He turned his face to the side, smiling as only scoundrels can.
— It's hard to explain.
— You could try — he suggested.
— I would if I could, but the rules are strict. No one can talk about their experience, and not even their voice could express the feeling. It's too intimate for words.