She enters the lagoon, wading in the shallows and into his arms.
‘Do you know how much I’ve missed you,’ he whispers.
‘Yes.’
They embrace-Adam and Eve in Eden-the only two souls in the world, oblivious and carefree in their own uninterrupted eternity of happiness – until that fateful day when a serpent shall again reenter their garden.
EPILOGUE
The American strides purposefully down the empty corridor, the sound of his footsteps picked up by the acoustic monitors, activating the holographic guard image at the security checkpoint. ‘Good evening, sir. Authorization, please?’
The American holds up his forged passport and palm. The infrared beam scans his ID tab.
Two floors up, the information is instantly sent to the Cambridge Archaeology Department. A moment later, an older gentleman’s face appears in place of the guard’s. ‘You came fast, Professor Rosen.’
‘I happened to be in the country. When were the papers found?’
‘Two days ago. Construction workers discovered the vault when they started tearing down the old library. None of the department heads remembered it being there. Must’ve been built back in the early 1940s.’
‘The papers… may I have them, please? I’m in a bit of a hurry.’
‘Who isn’t these days? Give me a few moments.’
The American watches the digital clock. Wipes perspiration from his brow.
Minutes pass like hours.
Finally, the elderly British professor appears in person, a rusted metallic lockbox in his hand. ‘Everything’s inside, Professor Rosen, just like we found it. Not sure why you’d even want it, to be honest. Gave us all a good chuckle when we read it.’
The American takes the box, stifling his excitement. He opens it, removing the dust-covered text:
THE FINAL PAPERS OF JULIUS GABRIEL
Secured within the vault of
Cambridge University
AUGUST 21, 2001
The azure-blue eyes glisten behind the hazel contacts, the dark-haired American forcing a smile. ‘Yes, I’m sure we’ll all have a good laugh at this back in the States.’
‘What part of the States you from?’
‘Uh, Florida.’
‘Really? The missus and I are heading there next month. Just booked passage on the space plane-our first trip. Twentieth anniversary and all. Ever been up?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Took us four years just to get tickets. You ought to book as soon as you can. By the way, you can keep those papers. Nobody ’round here seems to give a bluck about them.’
Bluck? Bloody fuck… Damn British string slang.
The American waves, then turns and leaves. He exits the building and climbs in the back of a waiting cab.
The large African-American in the front seat glances up at the rearview mirror. ‘So?’
Immanuel Gabriel holds up the lockbox containing his paternal grandfather’s papers.
The bodyguard turns to his Caucasian companion. ‘Get us outta here, Salt, before the wicked witch figures out we just stole her broom.’
The cab turns into traffic, accelerating into the night.
