The Secret of the Stones by Ernest Dempsey (reading fiction .TXT) 📕

him want to stay and work further, but he knew there would already be hell to pay at home for his tardiness.

He slid the laptop into its bag with his other research materials and casually walked over to the librarians’ desk. The library had closed about an hour ago, but being a professor had its privileges. All of the staff workers were very kind about letting him lock up for the night. Stepping around the corner of the front counter, he pulled out the papers onto which he had just finished the translations of the stone disc. After making copies and a brief notation, he put one set into envelopes and addressed them.  Slipping the letters into a special basket for outgoing mail, he then walked hastily around the front desk and out the door to the sidewalk.

A brisk autumn breeze greeted him as he strode down the promenade toward his car. There was a renewed feeling in his mind as he deeply breathed in the crisp air. Maybe it was the weather or the fact that he felt like this new discovery was going to be something that was talked about for generations? Perhaps it was both. Frank smiled and turned the corner around the library building that led to the parking lot.

The university was situated on the north side of Atlanta in an area outside the sprawling ring of the I-285 bypass. Kennesaw was largely a suburban community. Safety while walking around at night had never even been a concern. For some reason, though, tonight he found himself glancing around, uncertain as to what would make him paranoid. Frank had never had any problems working with the IAA, though he had heard stories about some of their agents, one in particular.

Shrugging off the brief moment of worry, he walked over to his car and put the key in the door. Why should he worry about anything? No one knew what he was working on except his friend. Besides, he had only been researching this new find for the last couple of days.

Frank smiled, thinking about some small amount of accolades. Maybe, after more information came to light, he would receive an award for his assistance in the unraveling of the ancient mystery. Opening the back door of his car, he plopped the laptop case into the backseat. After slamming it shut, he moved to the front door and started to pull the handle when suddenly he heard a footstep behind him followed by a sharp pain in his lower back.

His initial thought was to turn and face his attacker, but there was no feeling or control in his legs, and his body crumpled to the ground a moment later. He tried to move his arms back to feel the wound, but he couldn’t control them either.  They just lay limply at his side. Panic set in with the realization that he was paralyzed.

Borringer saw a pair of black shoes stepping over him and the back door of his sedan being opened as he stared, helplessly, from the pavement. He struggled to move his head just enough to see the assailant, but all he could make out was a silhouette in the back of his car, searching through his laptop case.

After what seemed like an eternity, the shoes and black pants stood over him. Then the attacker’s face came into view. A blond man, probably in his late twenties or early thirties, looked down at him angrily.

“Where is it, old man?” A cold German voice demanded.

The world was spinning now, and Frank’s vision had begun to blur. Haze crept into the corners of his eyes, overshadowing the numbness of his body.

The voice grew louder. “Tell me where the stone is, Professor.”

“You will never find what you seek,” Borringer gasped, desperately fighting unconsciousness.

Grabbing the professor’s shirt, the blond man lifted him off the ground a few inches, sending new waves of pain through Frank’s body.

“I need the stone.” The attacker shook him violently, clenching his teeth. “Tell me where it is.”

“If you couldn’t find it before now,” he gasped, “you were never meant to have it.”

The firm grip on the shirt released, and Frank’s limp body fell to the ground. Borringer’s head smacked against the pavement, jarring any coherent thoughts he may have still had.

The menacing voice sounded distant. “I will find the stone. And when I do, nothing will stand in our way.”

Frank barely heard the last words before surrendering to the darkness.

2

Atlanta

Tommy Schultz sipped a white coffee while sitting in the breakfast nook of his kitchen.  He’d learned of the drink while visiting Spain one summer. It was similar to a latte, except that it was made with regular coffee instead of espresso. It had more milk than a café con leche, so the flavor was less bitter. There was a paused look of satisfaction on his face as he savored the warm, toasty flavor. He had a lot to do today, but no matter how busy his morning might look, there was always time for good coffee. That was something he felt the Europeans had right. They always made time for coffee or tea, especially in the afternoons. Most Americans viewed it more as an energy drink, something to be gulped and discarded. Terrible waste.

These and other frivolous thoughts played through Schultz’s head as he finished up the last bit of java in his cup. He looked at the empty vessel with a small amount of disappointment, wishing there were a little more.

Tommy stood and sauntered into the kitchen, straightening his red-and-white striped necktie as he moved. The tie didn’t have to be perfect since the rest of his outfit was fairly casual: tan chinos with a textured white button-up and a pair of brown Skechers.

Standing by the little bistro table, he gazed for a moment at the