Egyptian princess Meritaten and the Apium of Faras.”
McKee leaned forward with a furrowed brow. “So they know the power of the apium. I saw a photo of the tomb mural. It seemed to confirm its use as a remedy for the plague.”
“Father knew of it when he found a reference on a monument in Thebes, yet he was never able to verify its existence.”
“If this apium was a cure for the plague, then it would act as a cure for our developed agent,” Audrey said.
“The NUMA people, they must also know it’s extinct?” McKee asked.
“I think so. I just learned they believe Meritaten is buried in Ireland, in the person of Queen Scota. And they think she may have the apium in her tomb.”
“Queen Scota?” McKee said. “Is there evidence of her grave?”
“Apparently, there is a gravesite in County Kerry that has never been properly investigated.”
“You must go there and ensure nothing comes of it. Take the company jet. Leave as soon as you can, and take Gavin and Ainsley with you.” She stroked her daughter’s hair. “We are on the verge of great things. Let us be strong at this critical hour.”
“Yes, Mother.” Riki rose and left the room.
McKee watched her leave, then gazed at Audrey. They were so different, her two daughters. Riki was innately kind and naïve in the ways of the world, while Audrey suffered no such afflictions. It was Frasier’s doing, she knew.
Arriving home drunk late one night, he had staggered into one of his daughter’s bedrooms in the dark. Perhaps he was seeking Evanna, or more likely his stepdaughter, Riki, yet he fell in with Audrey. Never a word was said, but the damage was done. Audrey became a bitter shell of her former self, while Evanna rekindled the anger she had suppressed for years. No more, she had told herself, and she acted to ensure it.
McKee spoke to Audrey with worry. “Your stepsister shows uneasiness.”
“She was feigning interest in Pitt’s son to determine what he knew. Maybe she is reluctant to kill him.”
McKee nodded. “She’s not strong like you. She never has been. Perhaps we shouldn’t have protected her from the truth.”
“There is no need to relive the past now,” Audrey replied stoically.
“If only she were as strong as you. Perhaps she can still learn. Call Gavin and tell him to kill the son in Ireland at the first opportunity.”
She turned back and gazed at the monitor of Pitt’s room, wondering if she should do the same with Dirk’s father.
41
Winding down a narrow country road five kilometers south of Tralee, Summer was shocked to see a roadside marker proclaiming FEART SCOITHIN.
“Scota’s grave?”
“Aye,” Brophy said from the backseat. “Vale of the Little Flower, as the spot is called. Pull off here. We’ll have just a short hike.”
Dirk found a clearing beside the road and eased the rental car to a stop. He opened the trunk and removed the crate they’d picked up at Shannon Airport. Inside he found a rectangular box, an LED panel, four wheels, a frame, and a wrench. He assembled the pieces into the shape of a lawn mower, with the screen mounted on the handlebars.
Brophy shook his head. “You going to mow the grass with that thing?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Dirk said. “It’s a ground-penetrating radar system. If the soil conditions cooperate, it will give us a peek at any subsurface objects.”
“Like a sarcophagus?”
“Like a sarcophagus.”
“Then let’s go cut some grass.” Brophy grabbed a shovel from the trunk and turned from the car.
He led them through a gate that fronted a small groomed trail. Grassy hills rose in an arc before them, but the path angled through a narrow valley lined with birch trees and heather. Dirk flipped over the radar system so he could tow it across the trail on two wheels.
Brophy pointed to his right. “The high hill over there, that’s Knockmichael Mountain. We’re at the eastern end of the Slieve Mish Mountains. And it was somewhere near here, in this glen above Tralee,” Brophy continued, “that the great battle took place. Meritaten and her forces fought the ruling tribe and defeated them, taking control of the land. But she died during the engagement.”
The scenic glen, with a babbling brook called Fingal’s Stream meandering through it, looked peaceful. Summer found it hard to imagine the battle between Bronze Age warriors armed with axes, swords, and spears, fighting hand to hand across the sedate countryside. A growing black cloud, threatening a rain shower, darkened the skies.