the elixir of life by michael j. scott-- chapter 1

8/13/2019 The Elixir of Life by Michael J. Scott-- Chapter 1

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Copyright 2013 Michael J. Scott

2013 Ellechor Publishing House Edition

e Elixir of Life/ Scott, Michael J.

ISBN: 9781937844820

Library of Congress Control Number: 2013954735

All rights reserved. All characters appearing in this work are

fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is

purely coincidental. No portion of this book may be reproduced,

scanned, or distributed in any form without the written

permission of the Publisher. Please purchase only authorized

editions. For more information, address:

Ellechor Publishing House1915 NW Amberglen Parkway, Suite 400

Beaverton, OR 97006

If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware

that this book is stolen property. It was reported as unsold

or destroyed to the publisher, and neither the author nor the

publisher has received any payment for this stripped book.

!!!"#$$#%&'()*+$,-&,./&'*-#"%'0


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For Terry Silence: the best Bible teacher Ive

ever known and the man who taught me themeaning of Gods grace.


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(

Josephs forearm and star-tled the old man into dropping the spoon into

the pasta fagioli. Joseph stared across the buffet

table at the six foot, dark-suited behemoth looming over

him. With a linebackers build, the bald man stood apart

from every other man in the drab dining hall of the New

York rescue mission. His bright blue eyes bore a cunning

intelligence without a hint of compassion, and none of thedull resignation or furtive maneuvering that characterized

so many of the missions clientele.

Who are you? What do you want? Joseph demanded,

tugging in vain to get his arm back.e brute smiled and said

nothing. He forced Josephs wrist over and yanked his sleeve

up, revealing a six-digit number tattooed on his forearm.Whats going on? Wearing a greasy apron over a rum-

pled NYU sweatshirt, Nicky appeared at Josephs side. He

planted his legs as if fully intending to take this gorilla on.

What are you doing to Joe?

Another man, easily as large as the first, stepped into view

and thrust Nicky back, holding up a shiny badge. Is not

your problem, non? the new man said in a thick, French

accent.


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And who are you?

is is William, and I am his partner. As if that set-

tled the matter. Joseph shook his head.

Oh yeah? said Nicky. Well, Im Joes partner. You

gotta problem with Joe, you gotta problem with me.

e newcomer grinned.

Nicky picked up a large spoon and a pot and banged

them for attention. Heads in the dining hall looked hisway. Hey, he called. Whos with me, eh? We stand

strong together.eres only two of them.

Joseph frowned. Most of the homeless men ducked their

heads and eyes, already too beaten by life to risk them-

selves for anothers troubles. Nicky seemed undaunted.

Come on, boys. You guys gonna let em do this to Joe?

With no further response from the others, he turned and

faced the heavies.

e bald brute named William turned to his partner.

Andre, quit screwing around. e numbers match. Its

him.

Andre nodded. en put him in the car.

Mr. Lake, said the bald man. Will you come with us,please?

It wasnt a request, and Joseph knew it. He said anyway,

My name isnt Lake.

Sure. Whatever. He tugged Joseph forward, as if

intending to pull him over the serving counter.

Hey, hey! Nicky dropped the spoon and picked up

a carving knife. Dont make me hurt you. He held the


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knife low, ready to slash. Despite Andres size, Joseph

could see Nicky meant it.

Incroyable!He thinks hes is going to cut me.

Side of beef like you, who could blame him? William

returned.

Andre smirked and moved aside the front of his jacket.

Joseph glimpsed the butt of a pistol in a shoulder holster.

Back off, little boy, or I will bring you in, too.A filament of doubt flickered in Nickys eyes. What are

you, cops?

You saw the badge, no?

Seen a lot of badges. at dont look like no cops badge

to me, and I dont know no cops in New York speak with

that accent.

Andre showed a toothy smile. Trs clever, he mur-

mured. His hand moved toward his gun. People, they get

hurt that way.

Wait. Joseph tore his forearm free from William,

glaring at him. Turning to the younger man, he said,

Nicky, put the knife away. Joseph removed his apron and

smoothed out his shirt.Joe

is is not the way. He put his hands on Nickys

shoulders. Remember what I taught you.

Nicky opened his mouth to argue. Joseph shook his

head. Everything will be all right. He turned and faced

them. I will go with you. Leave these men unharmed.

You see? He can be raisonnable.

Joseph vented a long breath. I have faced worse


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monsters than you in my time. Men like you are all the

same. All destined for the same place: the ash heap of

history.

Andre smirked. Allons-y.

Outside, Joseph paused on the sidewalk.

e two menpressed up behind him, flanking him. In front of him, a

limousine waited at the curb. e driver opened the door

and stood ready beside it.

Get in, William growled.

Joseph ran a shaky hand through the white tus of hair

still clinging to his head and shuffled forward, peering into

the limousine before climbing inside across from a well-dressed woman smoking a cigarette. She was a striking

beauty, somewhere between twenty and thirty years old,

he guessed, with flame red hair, green eyes, a thin build

and bare, slender legs poking beneath a dark skirt.

Mr. Lake? she asked with a smile. ank you for

joining us.at is not my name, he said. You have me mistaken

for someone

I think not. e numbers on your arm tell us, quite

definitively, who you are, Isaac. May I call you Isaac?

at is not my name!

Yes, I know. Her eyes flickered impatiently. at is

not your name. Right now. But we both know who you

are. We know you have worn many names through the


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Michael J. Scott

years. Were it not for that unfortunate war, we might

never have found you. You are a master of hiding in plain

sight, Mr. Lake.

She signaled the driver and the limo pulled away from

the curb. Joseph glanced outside as the two heavies disap-

peared into a dark SUV behind them.

Do you mind if I ask you a question? she said.

What do you want with me?You have such a gi. She enunciated the word gi

carefully. You could be anything you wanted to be.

Wealthy beyond the dreams of avarice. Why do you waste

it here, among the indigent?

Joseph narrowed his eyes. You think you know so

much. You understand nothing at all.

e woman settled back into her seat and ordered the

driver to take them to the airport, then smiled demurely

at him. We shall see.


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. J

M

choked on his champagne.His eyes widened, and he ducked his head, trying

desperately to breathe. Within the garish ball-

room, surrounded by men in tuxedos and women in eve-

ning gowns, a few heads glanced his way. e loud buzz of

conversations and music from the string quartet across the

room covered the sound of his wheezing.

Jonathan? Are you okay?A heavy blow thudded through his back. Someone was

clapping him hard, trying to assist. He tried to wave off

the help, smiling weakly at the concerned faces grouped

around him. Im okay, he gasped. Justwrong pipe.

Dr. Harold Bryce stopped slapping him long enough

to apologize to the students and their friends, eff

ectivelydismissing them while he assisted his friend. Jon blinked

his eyes, grateful for the excuse of choking, if only Bryce

would stop hitting him. He peered around his coworkers

girth. Bryce leaned toward him, helping him back to his

feet, but also blocking his view of the face that couldnt

have been on the other side of the room.

Not that that was a bad thing. Bryce was effectively

hiding him as well. Unless . . . A surge of panic grabbed


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his stomach and compressed it to the size of a golf ball. He

peeked around his friend.

Jonathan? Are you all right? You look pale.

He hadnt been seen. At least, he didnt think so. I need

to get out of here.

Bryce frowned. All right. Come.

No. is way. Jon tugged his friend, pulling him along

toward the kitchen area. Behind him, servers slipped throughthe swinging doors, carrying trays of hors doeuvres and

glasses of champagne to the assembled guests in the Founders

room of the University of Michigans Alumni Center.

Jonathan, what is going on? You act like youve seen a

ghost.

He steered Bryce through the swinging doors, glancing

once through the tiny window before pressing his body

against the wall. Call campus security. Better yet, the police.

What? Whatever is the matter?

Wait. He jerked his thumb toward the window in the

door. Bryce pushed his round glasses up and stepped to

the door peering through the window.

Jon said, Look for a blond man with a square jaw, blueeyes, about six feet tall or so, thin, and very athletic. See

him? Is he coming this way?

Bryce frowned, wrinkling his mustache against his

nose. He studied the crowd mingling in small groups

across the floor of the room, with wait staffin white coats

and black trousers expertly weaving among them holding

alo trays of champagne and hors doeuvres beneath the


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Michael J. Scott

glowing chandeliers. Aer a moment he said, I dont see

anyone. What was he wearing?

Dark, Jon replied. A dark suit, I think.

Bryce looked again, but aer a moment shook his head

and gave up. I dont see anyone like that. Who is he?

Jon caught his breath. I must be seeing things. For a

moment I thought I saw Sean MacNeil.

Who?As many times as youve made me tell the story . . .

Bryces eyes bulged. e Irish mercenary? e terrorist

from your adventure in Turkey?

And one of the last people I ever want to see again.

What would he be doing here?

I cant even begin to imagine. I dont wantto know.

Youre sure you saw him?

I think so. It was only a moment. A passing glance.

Jon ran his hand over his forehead, surprised at the sweat.

Hes not the sort of man youd forget easily, as much as

you might want to.

He stared at the stainless steel counters in the kitchen.

Any moment now, the wait staffwould send for the maitred to escort them out. is was supposed to be a simple

affair. Just another end-of-the-year dinner party to thank

the Universitys supporters and alumni and remind them

to keep giving.

But if that really was Sean MacNeil, then he hadnt come

alone, and this simple dinner was about to become unbear-

ably complex. Dangerously so.


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Bryce shied his weight impatiently. What do you

want to do?

Jon swallowed. I dontI dont know.

ere you are!

ey turned toward the musical voice belonging to a

young woman whod just stepped through the door. She

wore a forest green evening gown with matching emeralds.

Shed woven her long, apricot tresses in a thick coil overone shoulder, and her smile glistened in the stark light of

the kitchen.

Bryce opened and closed his mouth. I-uh-who . . . sorry,

have we met?

Youre Dr. Harold Bryce, professor of archaeology and

a renowned specialist in the Middle Ages.

Ah, well, thats very flattering.

And you must be the famous Dr. Jonathan Munro.

And you are? Jon eyed her warily.

Evelyn Rothman. She extended her hand. Bryce took it,

kissing it gently. Oh, charmed, she said.en she cocked her

head. Why are you two hiding in the kitchen? She studied

their faces, then covered her mouth with a surprised, Oh,Im so sorry. How rude of me. You must be tired of all the

publicity and thefameand here I am gushing over you

like a school girl when all you want is a moment to breathe

and . . . She grinned. is isnt how I pictured this.

What is it you want, Ms. Rothman? Jon asked.

I only wanted a moment of your timethat is, Dr.

Bryces time. I have an artifact I wanted to show you. Its


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Michael J. Scott

something I think youll find very interesting. You could

come, too, Dr. Munro.

I dont know, said Bryce. is might not be a good

time. He glanced at Jon, his eyes searching.

I think thats a splendid idea. Jon turned with Bryce

and muttered into his ear, e quicker we get out of here,

the better Ill feel.

ey followed the woman back into the ballroom asshe wove her way through the crowded guests. Before they

reached the exit, Jon felt a hand touch his elbow. Dr. Munro,

a word please?

He turned to see the gnarled face of the dean waiting

expectantly by his side. Bryce paused, clearly concerned.

is isnt a good time, sir, Jon protested.

e dean took him by the elbow and drew him across

the floor. As the new director of Antiquities, you have an

obligation to our donors. I dont care if you have to meet

every one of them. Someone in here may be the one who

donated ten million dollars to your department. e least

you can do is shake his handeven if you have to talk

with every last one of the guests to discover who he is.Jons eyes darted around the room. Harry and Ms.

Rothman were already gone. He had to get out of here!

It is part of your responsibility, Dr. Munro. One you

have been ducking far too long. Now, do be gracious, and

try smiling for once. You look sickly.

Jon swallowed his fear and tried to compose him-

self. It was possible hed imagined seeing the mercenary.

Hed been on edge ever since the money came into the


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department. True, the donor was anonymous, but Jon had

his suspicions. It felt too much like Turkey all over again,

especially aer his Blackberry was stolen and mysteriously

reappeared. His colleagues blamed it on his chronic absent-

mindedness, but he knew for certain hed leit recharging

in his car. It disappeared that morning and reappeared in

the exact same spot that evening. Somebody had taken it.

He just couldnt prove who, let alone why.e dean brought Jon to face a couple at least as old and

frail as the dean himself. George, Pauline? I wanted to

introduce you to one of our rising stars: Dr. Jon Munro,

professor of ancient literature and, uh

Paleography.

Paleography, and our new director of Antiquities. Jon,

this is George and Pauline Greyson, some of our oldest

alumni and very generous benefactors. He pressed his

aged lips into a thin line, clearly waiting for Jon to say

something.

Well, surely not thatold. Jon said with forced charm

as he kissed Mrs. Greysons hand. She tittered apprecia-

tively. e dean nodded, satisfied, and moved on alone.Jon gritted his teeth and smiled. Old is, aer all, a rela-

tive term.

Yes, returned George. Its a term you only use for

relatives.

Jon pasted on a smile, pretending George was funny,

and tried to find a way out. Well put, sir.

He didnt really want to be the director of Antiquities.

Hed only taken the job because it felt right at the timehis


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way of striking back at the board for sending him on the

Turkey assignment in the first place. For years hed been

content to live quietly, squirreled away in his corner office

with his beloved books and histories, begrudgingly coming

out to teach his classes before disappearing down his hole

again. en his whole world upended when he was sent to

validate a find by a dubious relic hunter who happened to

be a former friend, as well as the brother of his ex-fiance.Within hours of arriving hed been held at gunpoint, shot

at, nearly blown up, and chased down a tree, not to men-

tion kidnapped twice and forced to flee the country. Hed

been turned into a border-jumping, international fugitive,

now permanently banned from Turkey and still wanted by

Syriaall for the sake of finding the lost autograph scrolls

of the New Testament. Still, he couldnt quite shake the

feeling that just finding those documentsholding them

in his hand however brieflymade it all worthwhile.

He scanned the room, his heart thudding. What if Sean

were here? It wouldnt take the mercenary long to spot

him standing out in the open like this. For that matter, he

might have already.Tell me, Dr. Munro, Mrs. Greyson asked, is it true

that you found some of the oldest manuscripts of the New

Testament in existence?

Hmm? Oh, well, nothing has been confirmed.

ats right. ey were stolen again, almost immedi-

ately. Is that correct? said George.

Sadly, yes. Before we could validate the find. He


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stopped looking long enough to smile at the Greysons.

How long before he could ditch them and make his escape?

It must have been quite an experience to hold some-

thing that old in your hands.

Jon bit his tongue and nodded.ere were too many ways

this conversation could go wrong. He glanced in the direc-

tion of the door where Bryce had followed the young Ms.

Rothman out and didnt see either one of them standingthere. What if Sean had done something to Bryce?

Mrs. Greyson was saying something else about cunei-

form tablets when Jon interrupted her. Im terribly sorry,

Mr. and Mrs. Greyson. It was lovely to meet you both, but

I have a pressing engagement I must attend to.

Oh dear, I hope we havent kept you.

Not at all. Please excuse me.

He offered a polite bow and edged toward the door,

trying hard not to run. Pushing through to the outside, he

felt a blast of warm, night air envelope him. At the bottom

of the stairs, Harry Bryce waited.

Swallowing his relief, Jon skipped down the steps to his

waiting friend.I was getting worried, said Bryce.

Had to ditch the Greysons, he explained. Dean

Richards wanted to show me off. Im not sure it worked

in his favor.

Mm. Mine either. I told her I had a prior engagement.

You owe me one.

Whats that?


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Oh, the lovely Ms. Rothman was quite eager for my

company this evening. Told me so.

Did she? Just think of the ethics charge Ive kept you

from. Youll thank me later.

Yes. Youre a true friend.

Feelings mutual. Lets get out of here. ey turned to

go, but Jon stopped short as a lithe figure pushed into the

streetlights halo, hands shoved into his pockets and a slygrin on his face.

Leaving so soon? Sean MacNeil asked. I was hoping

we might have a wee chat.

the elixir of life by michael j. scott-- chapter 1

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