During the stunned silence that followed her departure, Cassie walked around to the other side of the table. She rested her hands on the back of the paladin’s empty chair as she searched the faces of her colleagues. “Erik would ask all of you the same question. Did he really die for nothing? The only way you can honor his sacrifice is by seeing this mission through—by rescuing Hannah and recovering the Sage Stone and shutting the Nephilim down for good. That’s the answer the Arkana owes him.”
The pythia stopped abruptly. “I don’t have anything else to say.” Without another word, she returned to her seat.
Just as the chorus of voices resumed its chaotic rumble, Griffin stood up. “I’d like to add a comment or two, if I may.”
In an instant, the chatter ceased.
“Although Cassie has ably addressed all your concerns, there’s one topic we haven’t touched upon yet—the divergence between the collective and the individual.”
This comment spurred a flurry of confused speculation.
The scrivener elaborated. “All of you are aware of the brutal methods which the Nephilim employ to achieve their ends. Kidnapping, murder, and potentially even global terrorism. From birth onward, members of the cult are taught that obedience is the highest virtue. In consequence, they are willing to commit innumerable atrocities at the behest of the deranged fellow who calls himself their diviner. Such is the damage that can ensue when unquestioning obedience supersedes personal conviction of right and wrong.”
“I’m not sure what your point is,” Michel Khatabi interjected testily. “But stooping to fear tactics to sway our decision is beneath you.”
“That wasn’t my intention at all,” the scrivener countered. “I simply wanted to clarify my motives for tendering my resignation as chief scrivener.”
Cries of disbelief erupted from around the table.
“Please.” Griffin raised his hand. “Allow me to finish. Collectively, we are bound by the decisions of the Circle. As individuals, we must consult our own best judgment when deciding upon a course of action. Without that necessary counterbalance, we would follow authority as blindly as the Nephilim, no matter how misguided that authority might be. Personally, I am convinced that the Sage Stone is Abraham Metcalf’s Achilles heel. If we deprive him of it, all his schemes will collapse like a house of cards. Therefore, should the Circle decide to terminate the relic hunt and declare a blackout, I will dissociate myself from the organization and pursue the Minoan relic alone.”
The assembly fell still. Shock had evidently taken the place of protest.
The scrivener gazed around at his flabbergasted audience. “Of course, I would welcome the support and assistance of the Arkana but, either way, I intend to see this quest through.” He glanced down at Cassie. “I haven’t discussed my decision with our pythia yet, so I can only speak for myself.”
Cassie jumped up beside him and took his hand. “Griffin speaks for me too. We didn’t battle our way this far to fail in the end. Trust me when I tell you that we mean to finish what we started.”
The scrivener gave a slight smile. “It would appear the two of us are in accord as to our future plans. The direction the Arkana chooses to take now rests with you, but I would hope that you understand the necessity of standing with us in this fight. The survival of the troves depends upon it.”
They both sat down.
Jun looked around at his fellow members. “Does anyone wish to offer any final comments?”
No one spoke.
The old man nodded. “Very well. I will officially close discussion of this topic. Since the chatelaine is unlikely to return, I suggest we now take a vote on her proposal.”
Cassie reached for the scrivener’s hand once more and gripped it tightly.
“All those in favor?” Jun announced. He waited several seconds, but there were no votes to count. “All those opposed?” Thirty-two hands shot up in the air including his own.
“Brilliant!” Griffin exclaimed.
“The Nephilim wanted a war.” Cassie’s tone was ominous. “They just got their wish.”
Chapter 50—Recyclables
Dr. Rafi Aboud sat in the office of his underground laboratory reviewing a batch of test results. For the past two months, he had tried, with only limited success, to develop a vaccine which would quell the strain of pneumonic plague he had created. He was running out of patience with himself. His own mild disappointment was nothing compared to the vocal displeasure of both his benefactor and his business associate Vlad. Their demands for immediate results grew more strident with each passing day.
He scanned the data before him. The last test subject had taken days to succumb. At least Aboud had succeeded in slowing the advance of the bacteria. He’d made some additional adjustments to the vaccine formulation and was hopeful that the next test might produce a better outcome. He smiled morosely. When he first began the testing process, he’d been worried about how to obtain human subjects. Much to his own amazement, his benefactor possessed an inexhaustible supply of people he wanted to get rid of. The trait seemed to run in the family.
A month earlier, Aboud had been surprised by a visit from one of his benefactor’s many sons. The young man introduced himself as Joshua and explained that he was the head of security for his father’s organization. He told the doctor that he was tangentially involved in the supply chain insofar as he was the man responsible for identifying malcontents who were then sent to Aboud’s laboratory. Although Joshua wasn’t privy to what went on inside, he did know that those who entered never returned. Given that fact, he was wondering if the doctor might help him with an awkward situation.
When Aboud followed Joshua out to the reception area, he was confronted by the sight of two of Joshua’s men carrying what appeared to be a body bag. They placed it on the floor. Joshua explained that his father had nearly been assassinated by the person now lying within said body bag. Joshua was aware
