The Stone of Babylon

Old Friends, New Friends

Old Friends, New Friends

“You are so dead”, I hissed at Richard, when we stopped in front of the massive building covered in dark, purple-shaded glass. “If I knew you’d bring me here, I’d say no.”

He rolled his eyes and went straight to the parking lot. A guard at the entrance took a small visit-card and allowed us into the complex directing us to the underground garage.

“Of course, you would.”

I was pouting like a brat until we made it, circling around the area mainly intended for the regular visitors of the company’s branches working with the direct clients, to another large gate where the security guard referred us to the VIP level.    

I was ready to snap at my brother again, but his face was serious and dark showing he did not expect this either. He decided to park as close as possible to the entrance into the building itself.

“Expecting trouble?”, I murmured.

He grimaced and scratched the back of his neck – the move I knew too well. He felt bad all of a sudden for pulling me into this, realizing all the potential dangers of working for someone like the WIC. His naturally abnormal curiosity dissipated, and the ugly head of realization began to appear. Richie and I were harmonized, almost as tides, the Yin and the Yang, or fire and water. Panic and concentration. So as his insecurity was growing, mine was diminishing. I took his hand and pulled him to the entrance.

“This was a bad idea, sure. Now, pick yourself up little bro and let’s go see how bad!”

“Seven minutes”, his mood shifted from agitated to mix of amused and annoyed. “Seven minutes late and lifelong suffering is what you get.”

“A lifechanging time difference”, I giggled adding salt to his wound.

“Now, that is a rather poor way to treat someone who was utterly polite to let you be born first. That’s what I get for being a gentleman.

“You have never been much of a gentleman, Richie”, I let go of his hand and rolled my eyes as we were in front of the fancy dark glass and silver metal doors. Too expensive and with no taste at all.

“See? You’ve ruined me, Sis”, he said and pushed the intercom button.

The voice from the speaker sounded dull and mechanic. Gee, I would not be surprised if they had the real English butler.

The doors opened smoothly, and a tall, slender man greeted us. He asked for our names, and then motioned us to follow him down the hall. Very expensive hall.

“I feel so underdressed”, I murmured, and Richard nodded. Everything looked straight from a ‘buy that old villa type of magazine’. Except from the annoying neon lights flashing above our heads. And there it goes. I tried to suppress sighing and rolling my eyes. Snobs.

“I could not agree more, Miss. Maroon”, a warm, pleasant voice reached us from behind.

I turned on my heals and almost ran into the person who said it. A man in a fine, custom-made suit was looking at me and my brother amused.

“About me being underdressed?” I asked, ready to put up a fight, since no one warned us about the dress code, and he was looking like he came straight from the pages of another type of magazine.

“No, about us being snobs”, he smirked. “I’m afraid you’re right.”

Before any of us had time to comment – or apologize for not keeping mouth firmly shut – he introduced himself and reached out to shake hands.

“Matthew Green. CEO of the Outreach Department. You can call me Mat.”

I raised my eyebrow, but Richard was faster:

“Outreach Department?”

“It’s complicated”, he smiled and showed us to his office at the end of the hall. “But I’m the one in charge of this type of actions.”

His office seemed nice, for a change. Modest, efficient and with some refine sense of style. And no windows. Why would someone with the CEO title spend entire day without natural light?

“Please, take a seat. Would you like something to drink?”

“No”, I replied swiftly without giving Richard a chance to confirm. I needed him clearheaded. Not that he was intolerant to alcohol – he wasn’t – but I did not like the idea of giving the WIC CEO an opportunity to pour us something else except from the booze.

The man just shrugged and poured himself a brandy. He sat behind his desk, across from us, and his demeanor instantly became official.

“As you could see from the files you’ve received, several months ago, the stone with some unusual inscriptions was found in the Middle East and scientists and archeologists have been trying to prove it fake ever since. However, media really loved the story – up to the level that they actually made the damn thing real enough. We were asked to make an exhibition and make it available to public.”

“The forged archeological finding?”, my brother asked.

He slowly nodded.

“You do understand that its highly frustrating for us to be forced to exhibit the fake, when we have so many other interesting findings that are actually real and important. And if we do prepare the exhibition, once someone decides that the New Rosetta Stone is no longer interesting and declares it a fake, we will suffer a huge damage. And I’m not referring to the financial one here.”

I sighed and leaned a bit forward.

“So, Mr. Green...”

“Met”,  he corrected me.

“Met, why does the WIC believe that the tomb raiders might be able to help?”

He looked down and polled his index finger over the desk surface before he looked up at me again and answered:

“Do you know why are you two here?”

We shook our heads and shrugged simultaneously. He smiled at our synchronized gesture, and said:

“You were actually shortlisted with several others. Oh, don’t look so surprised Richard, this is very important to us, so we did have to make some kind of selection process. And also”, he looked straight into my eyes. “There is that thing between your family and the company. Honestly, I’m surprised you two showed up here today, but I must admit I was hoping you will.”

I inhaled deeply but managed to say nothing. I knew, even without looking, that my brother’s expression is the same – pursed lips and rigid stand. 

 “Why?” I finally managed to ask and sound polite enough.

“Why what?”

“Why did you want us here?” I leaned my head to side and observed his reaction. His hazel eyes were wondering between me and Richie, as he spoke:

“You were the only ones asking to see the original stone before accepting the contract. Others were too eager to get the money.”

“We have to make some plans and assessments”, Richard said. “Seeing the damn thing first is a good place to start.”   

“Of course”, Mat agreed. “I have several more teams to interview, but I would like you two to conduct them.”

“I don’t understand...”, I grimaced. “You want us to interview people applying for the same contract?”

He stood up signaling us it was time to leave.

“More or less. I want you to assess their potential. If one could be useful, we can contract him or her, too. If one could be potentially dangerous...”

We nodded. He actually gave us both the job and the discretion to upgrade our team from already selected group. I could assess my competition in no time, but I could not make my mind about this man. He seemed so easy going and pleasant, but there was something about him, I could not really put a finger on.

“One more thing”, I asked running along and trying to keep up with Richie and him while walking towards the lift, “What happens if we run into something that might actually prove its authenticity?”

“We sign an Addendum”, he shrugged and pressed the button. Too easy going.

“And what about the things we find along the way or if the stone turns out to be something else?” Richard asked this time.

“Addendum”, he replied and stepped out of the elevator into the grand lobby filled with light. Mat stepped aside to let us pass, and I was about to make a comment when I saw Richard stiffen and heard a very familiar voice.

“Isn’t that the Maroon duo!” A gray-haired, slim man in cowboy clothes approached us quickly. Who the hell he thinks he is? Indiana Jones? He acted as he owned the place. His eyes finally stopped on me.

“Missing working under me already, love?”

I rolled my eyes:

“Was too short duration of the contract, Mark, insufficient effort. And then there’s that little thing with failing to do the job. Did not quite recommend you for further actions.”

He laughed but continued, as if Mr. Green was not there at all and my brother was not staring daggers at him.

“How’s my sweet little Ginger? I bet she misses me. I sure do miss her. Or at least her signature of approval on that chopper invoice.”

Richard growled at him, clenching his fists, but I grabbed his arm and pulled him back. The last thing I wanted was to discuss the failed mission in front of the potential employer.

“Manners, Richie my man”, he smiled. “This is, after all, a respected place.”

“I’m beginning to question that.” I replied looking him straight in the eyes. “They did let you in.”

He smiled and leaned forward.

“They did let your mother in, too, love”, he whispered. “She also had no manners.”

I noticed that Richard shifted to side trying to suppress his anger and Matthew Green reached out to stop me, but it was too late.

I had no idea I could punch someone so hard and so fast. Mark flew backwards, as in movies, and landed on the cold marble floor. Two pairs of hands pulled me away, preventing me to finish him off in front of the people staring at us in horror and discuss. He was sitting down, bleeding heavily from his broken nose, and cursing.

I managed to free myself from the guys and raise my hands letting the security running to us know I’m calmed enough. Matthew nodded and gave several instructions I was not paying attention to the guard, who reluctantly stepped away turning his attention to the injured man.  

“The deal is off”, I hissed and turned around to enter the elevator again. I had enough. It was a huge mistake to come here.

“Rona...”, Matthew tried to protest.

“Off!”, I repeated and stepped into the elevator nodding Richard to follow me. I did not want anything to do with the WIC, I did not want anything reminding me of painful loss of my parents, and I sure did not feel like being insulted like this by a complete... I shook my head and inhaled deeply. The door was about to close when Matthew pushed himself through and towered over me. I glanced over to my brother, but he seemed oddly relaxed, almost as in a trans. I wanted scream, but was pushed against the mirror wall with a large hand pressed against my mouth.

“I need your help, Rona”, he whispered.