Circle of Bones - Kling Christine (полная версия книги txt) 📗

“Cole,” Theo called from the bridge. “We’re approaching the bay. Do you want to take her in?”

He closed the journal, slid off the bench seat and made his way to the wheelhouse. Through the forward window, he saw Riley’s boat at anchor deep inside the moonlit bay.  Cole checked his watch: eight-thirty.

“We made good time,” he said.

“Helps to have the current and the wind on our tail.”

Cole stared at the sleek white sailboat. “Glad to see her boat looks fine.”

Theo glanced at Cole over the tops of his glasses. “It’s not her boat you’re worried about.”

“I told Riley I’d look after it. We’ll drop the hook close by. Might even raft up. There’s not much wind in here for now and it would be more secure. I’ll take her in. You go ready the anchor.”

Thirty minutes later, the Shadow Chaser was anchored with the little sailboat tied to her port side, fat fenders preventing the two hulls from bumping together. Cole stood, his forearms resting atop the bulwark, and stared down at the deck of the Bonefish. Theo appeared at his side and the mate handed him one of the frosty beer bottles he was carrying.

“How’s it going with the calendar thingy?” Theo asked.

“I don’t have a clue what to do with it. It’s got to refer to some future date.”

“Hmm,” Theo said and then he took another long pull from the beer. “Do you think that Spyder is still searching in the weeds back on Dominica?”

“I doubt it.”

“Think he’ll come after us?”

“Maybe.”

“You worried?”

“Not about him.”

“Ahhh,” Theo said, dragging the sound up and then down the scale.

The two men stood there for a long time watching the moonlight trail travel across the bay. Finally, Cole broke the silence.

“Theo, what do you think of when you hear the phrase, ‘end of days’?”

“Why?”

“I hate when you do that. You answer a question with another question. Just answer it. End of days. What does that mean to you?”

“Cole, my mama took me to church every Sunday of my childhood and I heard many preachers refer to the end time or end of days. They meant the return of Christ, you know, the second coming.”

Cole squeezed his eyes closed. “My mom never once took me to church, so excuse me if I ask some stupid questions.” He peered at Theo through slitted eyes. “But, like, is there a specific date associated with that?”

Theo laughed. “There’s more than one preacher who’s claimed to know, but no, I don’t think any of them really do.”

Cole nodded. He rubbed his hand across the stubble on his chin. “I remember there was an old Schwarzenegger movie called End of Days — a horror movie, I think — but there wasn’t a specific date given in that one either.” He stopped his hand on his throat and looking up at the morning sky, he asked, “You don’t suppose it’s the release date of that film? No, I can’t see Pops as an Arnold fan.”

“What’s this all about?”

“We have to figure out what date to set the calendar to so we can try to understand what my crazy old man is trying to tell us. I thought the answer might be in the journals — you know, on that last page with the nursery rhyme we were trying to decode. He wrote, “expect to be there until the end of days.” I don’t think it was a mistake — that he forgot to write end of my days.  He meant end of days — like it was some special date. But what date is that?”

“Well, I know of one possibility.”

Cole straightened up and turned to face Theo. “What?”

Theo didn’t look at him; he continued to stare across the water at the sailboat, a small smile on his face.

“You want to share it with me or are you just going to stand there grinning?”

“I thought I’d relax here for a bit and enjoy the moment. I know something that the brilliant Dr. Thatcher doesn’t.” Theo tipped his bottle to his lips. Before he could take a drink, his teeth clinked against the glass when Cole slapped the back of his head. Beer sloshed down onto the deck. “Hey,” Theo said. “You’re wasting perfectly good beer.”

“You don’t speak up, and I’ll be throwing you over the side next.”

“Oh captain, my captain. I was getting to it.”

“Sometime before those two morons get here?”

“All right, all right. According to the Mayas, the end of days is going to be December 21st, 2012.”

“The Mayas?”

“Yes, you know, indigenous people in South and Central America?”

“I know who the Mayas are, numb nuts, but what’s this about them and the end of days.”

“I’m surprised that a know-it-all archeologist and conspiracy buff like you doesn’t know about the Mayan Calendar.”

“Hey, I’m a discerning conspiracy buff. But this is ringing some bells. Not my specialty — I stayed away from all that Pre-Columbian stuff. But I do remember that the Mayas had some super accurate astronomical calendar. I need to get to a library — a big, decent library, not one of these dinky island places. You’re saying this thing specified a date when the world is supposed to end?”

“Yeah, it’s all the New Age rage — all over the ‘net. It seems the calendar comes to an end on the winter solstice in the year 2012. There are people who are so into this they believe your government is building underground shelters in preparation for a great celestial event on that date.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. People believe that hooey?”

Theo sniffed. “Well, if it isn’t the crackpot calling the kettle black,” he said — and then he ducked.

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Washington, DC 

March 28, 2008

12:18 a.m.

Riley followed Dig through the empty corridors of Reagan National as though she were in a dream. She supposed she must look like some refugee with her bare legs and the thin airline blanket draped over her shoulders, but she was too exhausted to care. She doubted whether the late night floor polishers and bathroom cleaning ladies were paying any attention to the crazy woman whose only baggage was the passport in the back pocket of her shorts.

The car waiting outside in a cloud of steaming exhaust was identical to the thousands of black Lincoln Town Cars one saw all over the city. When she stepped into the frigid winter night, Riley gasped and stopped short. Dig took her by the elbow and steered her to the car door, placing his hand on her head like a cop settling a prisoner. She sank into the soft leather, thankful the car had seat warmers. Dig covered her with another blanket, tucking the edges around her legs, and she leaned her head back to watch the city lights and the barren, leafless landscape as they drove toward the river.

She wanted to think things through, but her brain felt fuzzy. She and Cole had slept little the night before as they’d sat in the galley on his boat and poured over that chart of Dominica. Now, here it was after midnight by the digital clock on the car’s dash, and still she had not even dozed. Lack of sleep could be as debilitating as drugs or alcohol. Her brain wasn’t working right any more. Thus far, Dig had brought her to Washington. Nothing more. No secret agenda in evidence. If it turned out that he was telling the truth about her father, she would need to make plans for her father’s care, for the townhouse, for her boat back in the islands. If it turned out that he had something different in mind for her, she needed rest to be able to take Dig on both mentally and physically.

Her mind kept flashing images of the sparks in Cole Thatcher’s eyes as he held up that damned calendar device. The man was obsessed, but she was beginning to understand it. She felt it, too. She wanted to be there with him — to solve the puzzle, that’s all. No other reason. Had he solved it without her? Or had he gone back to the Saintes to look after her boat as he’d promised?

Don’t be a fool, she thought. Did she really believe he could leave Dominica if he had discovered where the Surcouf was located?