Key to Eternity

By Mallory M. O’Connor

Psychic detective Epiphany Mayall is enjoying a lovely evening when her peaceful reverie is suddenly interrupted by a vivid mental image of a naked man sprawled on the ground surrounded by two snakes. Moments later, she realizes her vision is somehow connected to the ancient Mesopotamian story, the Epic of Gilgamesh—a legendary King Gilgamesh who left his home to search for the secret of immortality. Now she must wait for Spirit to send her another clue.

Soon, Epiphany finds herself on a new quest to solve a complex mystery. While tracking stolen antiquities and a clay tablet relating to the Epic, Epiphany relies on her psychic abilities and help from private investigator, Maro Gaido, and the FBI’s art-crimes division to help her hone in on the mysterious conspirators lurking in the shadows of the shady, global underworld of the arts and antiquities black market. Can Epiphany and her team locate the Gilgamesh tablet with its map to the flower of immortality before the treasure disappears forever into the private vault of a billionaire art thief?

Key to Eternity is the exciting tale of a psychic detective’s new mission to solve the mystery of the Gilgamesh tablet as she is transported around the world in search of stolen treasures.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Mar 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9781480888227

Mallory M. O’Connor

Mallory M. O’Connor is an award-winning author of several books who holds degrees in art, art history, and American history from Ohio University. For twenty years she taught art history at the University of Florida and Santa Fe College. Now retired, Mallory resides with her artist husband, John, in Gainesville, Florida. Key to Eternity is the second book in a series.

Book preview

Copyright © 2020 Mallory M. O’Connor.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Archway Publishing

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www.archwaypublishing.com

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-4808-8821-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4808-8822-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2020904196

Archway Publishing rev. date: 03/13/2020

Contents

Acknowledgements

Prologue

PART I

The Epic of Gilgamesh

Tablet 1

Chapter 1 The Spiritualist Camp Watoolahatchee, Florida

Chapter 2 Watoolahatchee, Florida

Chapter 3

Chapter 4 Chicago, Illinois

Chapter 5 Watoolahatchee, Florida

Chapter 6

Chapter 7 Miami, Florida

Chapter 8

Chapter 9 Aboard the yacht Magilum off the coast of Montenegro

Chapter 10 Miami, Florida

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

PART II

The Epic of Gilgamesh

Tablet II

Chapter 14 Kotor, Montenegro

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

PART III

The Epic of Gilgamesh

Tablet VII

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22 Miami, Florida

Chapter 23 Route 60, west of Vero Beach, Florida

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27 Hamad International Airport, Doha, Qatar

Chapter 28

Chapter 29 Stargazer Ranch, Florida

PART IV

The Epic of Gilgamesh

Tablet XI

Chapter 30

Chapter 31 University of Miami

Chapter 32 University of Miami

Chapter 33 Ocala Medical Center

Chapter 34 Kotor, Montenegro

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38 Varna, Bulgaria

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42 Doha, Qatar

PART V

The Epic of Gilgamesh

Tablet XI

Chapter 43 The Adriatic Sea off Tivat, Montenegro

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46 Hotel Regent Porto Montenegro

Chapter 47 The Hotel Regent Porto Montenegro

Chapter 48

Chapter 49 Miami, Florida

Epilogue

Reading Group Guide

Praise for Mallory M. O’Connor’s Key to Eternity

"Key to Eternity is a great mix of crime investigation and psychic mystic. The characters are very engaging. Mallory O’Connor does and amazing job of showing the black-market dealings and how money does buy just about anything. If you are looking for a fresh crime series that breaks away from the normal CSI type story lines, this is a great one."

—Five-star rating from Literary Titan

"I could not put this book down. It was captivating and intriguing, just as is predecessor. I found it to be fast-paced and fun, along with some raw emotional moments. O’Connor has a gift of telling stories through her characters where it paints the pictures as you read.I can honestly say that O’Connor hit it out of the park with Key to Eternity."

—Five-star rating from Literary Titan

"This is a lovely story that incorporates elements of art, romance, supernatural, and espionage. It … has an entertaining plot with some great twists and a very satisfying ending. I’m pleased to rate Key to Eternity 4 out of 4 stars. I’m definitely going back to read the first book, and I look forward to seeing more of this series."

—Four star rating from OnLineBookClub

"Foreign Intrigue, Eastern Europe, Russian Oligarchs, Petroleum Industrialists, Corporate Corruption— In Mallory Oconnor’s Key To Eternity we are taken around the globe in search of ancient treasures."

—Steve Surryhne, poet and lecturer in Emglish

Literature at San Francisco State University.

A delicious page-turner! I fell in love with the characters. Mallory O’Connor takes readers on a trip worth taking.

—Anne Taylor, Author’s Editor

To Matthew Bogdanos and his team, who

helped me understand why it mattered.

Acknowledgements

I n April, 2003, I was teaching art history classes at Santa Fe College in Gainesville, Florida. The first several weeks of the class were devoted to the art of the ancient world, especially the works produced in Mesopotamia, often described as the cradle of civilization. In the class, we explored the monuments and artifacts of the Sumerians, the Akkadians, the Babylonians—the Sacred Vase of Warka, the Golden Helmut of a king from 2500 B.C., the Golden Harp of Ur, an exquisite limestone head of a woman dating from 3100 B.C., thought to be the oldest known naturalistic depiction of a human face. When I heard that these and other priceless objects had been looted from the Baghdad Museum during the American invasion of Iraq, I was horrified and furious. Art, for me and many others, is more than a bunch of pretty objects. It is, In fact, the story of who we are as individuals and as cultural communities. To have a treasure-trove of the earliest examples of cultural expression disappear was like seeing a piece of humanity forever obliterated.

Key to Eternity is, in part, my response to the horrendous consequences of losing an important part of our collective past. Through my story, I want to make people aware of the importance of preserving our story and of just how fragile our hold on history can be. And so, I want to thank all those who work to discover, explore, and preserve art—both ancient and contemporary—and those who work to protect our heritage.

I also want to thank al those who personally helped me with Key to Eternity—my husband and first reader, John, my son, Chris. My friends Phyllis Saarinen, Anne Taylor and Steve Surryhyne for their edits and suggestions. My friends from Writers Alliance for living up to their tag line, Writers Helping Writers. And to my friends in Miami who contributed to my understanding of how the illegal trade in antiquities thrives in the black market.

And to the Monuments Men (and Women) everywhere who work to recover all of that Lost Art—Thank you!

Prologue

T he man with silver hair sat on the balcony of the third-story Penthouse and looked out at the Bay of Kotor. It was late afternoon and the bay was a silken dish of luminescent pearl. On the far side of the water, a line of blue hills stood like a stage set, flat and opaque, against a pastel sky. The sun had retreated behind the wisps of clouds that hung above the hills.

The renovations to the house were nearly finished. He had inherited the place from a distant relative ten years earlier but hadn’t considered it worth the trouble to visit or remodel. However, since that peculiar—and, he thought, rather untidy—incident in Ohio, he suddenly needed a new place to stay. A refuge, if you will. A place outside the jurisdiction of U.S. law. So tedious, these unfortunate intrusions into his business. As CEO of the recently re-organized RAce Energy Corporation, Derrick Rarian appreciated the possibilities of maintaining a certain level of discrete anonymity in a country that had no extradition treaty with the U.S.

But now, sitting on the balcony enjoying a glass of chardonnay from the nearby winery of Castel Savina and savoring a Galois, he felt a warm glow of satisfaction. Transplanting himself to the safe harbor of Montenegro—the Black Mountain—suddenly seemed more an opportunity than an inconvenience. It was only fitting that land once held by the Venetian Black Guelphs was now in his hands. Interesting, the cycles of power. …

He had decided to use the Penthouse as his personal quarters. It was spacious, light, and luxurious with its own bedroom, office area, living room and kitchen, and a splendid bathroom outfitted by a renowned English designer with the finest marble and quaint embellishments of Italian hand-painted ceramic tile.

Besides the Penthouse, the villa had five additional bedrooms—all with en-suite bathrooms—a large living area just off the enormous infinity pool, and grand views of the bay from every room.

And best of all, his personal art collection was being installed in a special gallery one floor below the Penthouse. For private viewing. And occasional selective sharing. Yes, he could live here quite comfortably. At least for now.

He got to his feet, snuffed out the cigarette and toasted the view with his wine glass. Time to have another look at the gallery. All of the art works should be installed by now and Jackson would certainly have overseen the details of lighting each work to bring out the most luminous nuances of color and form.

Rarian deposited his empty glass on an end table and took the elevator down to the lower level where the gallery was located. He paused at the gallery’s doorway to take in the effect. The pristine white walls were lined with his personal collection of art works—paintings, photographs, sculptures, digital works, installations. Although many different media were represented, the theme of the collection was very focused. All of the art dealt with one subject: environmental destruction.

He looked around approvingly at the images of plumes of smoke rising from oil rigs, pipes spewing frothy green poison into ponds, the floating bodies of dead birds who had unwittingly landed in water so polluted that it killed them instantly. A polar bear stood trapped on a floating iceberg. The stiffened, emaciated body of a child poisoned by mercury lay on a narrow cot while the weeping mother gazed down at her son.

Rarian smiled. What a beautiful selection of masterful works. And how well they reflected his philosophy: the dance of destruction was the most powerful force on the planet.

But there was work to do. His office was ready—a nicely appointed room in the Penthouse where he could work without distraction (other than the splendid view of the bay and the distant mountains). Tomorrow he would begin a new project. Or, more precisely, a new component of an on-going project: arranging for the distribution of five of seven rare artifacts to various auction houses in different cities around the world where they would be sold for enormous sums of money to pre-selected buyers. He had managed to get hold of them through one of his contacts in Tokyo and they were now back in London, ready to be re-sold with the help of his old friend Hayden Camden. This time they would go to appropriate collectors, not to some Jap businessman. He estimated that the five pieces would bring in somewhere close to $30 million. His share was fifty percent. The $15 million would be deposited in his account in the Cayman Islands under the name of Adrian Gulf, Ltd. Not bad for a morning’s work.

But it was the two other artifacts that interested him the most. Those he wanted for himself. He had tried to trace them, but so far he had only heard rumors. That they were in Japan. That they were in Geneva. He had to find them! Their value was inestimable.

After all, who could put a price on immortality?

PART I

The Epic of Gilgamesh

Tablet 1

1.png

He who has seen everything, I will make known to the lands. I

will teach about him who experienced all things,

Anu granted him the totality of knowledge of all.

He saw the Secret, discovered the Hidden,

he brought information of (the time) before the Flood.

He went on a distant journey, pushing himself to exhaustion,

but then was brought to peace. . .

Find the copper tablet box

open … its lock of bronze,

undo the fastening of its secret opening.

Take and read out from the lapis lazuli tablet

how Gilgamesh went through every hardship. . .

—The Epic of Gilgamesh, Translation

by Maureen Gallery Kovacs

1

The Spiritualist Camp

Watoolahatchee, Florida

N ana, Nana! Come quick.

Epiphany Mayall got to her feet and hurried across the dining room. What is it, Maddie?

Look, Nana. Endora’s acting really funny.

Epiphany leaned forward and peered out the window. Endora, her black and white cat, was crouched in the grass, completely focused on something. The cat suddenly flinched and jumped sideways, then resumed its position as though preparing to pounce.

She’s stalking something, Epiphany said, But I can’t see what it is. Even as she spoke, the cat once again sprang sideways and dropped to the ground.

What do you think it is, Nana?

A bird maybe, or a frog. Goodness knows what she’s got cornered.

Epiphany unlocked the window and lifted the bottom pane. She pressed her face against the screen and looked down. A slow wave of movement caught her eye. Oh, she said, stepping back, it’s a snake!

A snake, Maddie cried with delight. Where?

Right below the window. Along the foundation. It’s hard to see because of the leaves.

I see it! Maddie looked up at her grandmother. What kind is it?

I don’t know, dear. Epiphany turned away from the window. Michael, she called. Michael, can you come here?

The measured sound of Bach’s Prelude from the First Cello Suite halted abruptly and Epiphany’s son Michael appeared in the dining room arch. A brown-haired man with a round face and a neatly trimmed beard, he was already growing a bit stout in early middle age. What is it, Mom?

Sorry to interrupt your practice, but Endora appears to have cornered a rather large snake, and I don’t know if it’s poisonous or not.

Michael crossed the room to stand beside his mother and daughter. Where is it?

Down there, Maddie answered, pointing.

Michael braced his hands on the sill and looked. I see it. Looks like a brown rat snake. They’re harmless. He grinned at his mother. Unless you’re a rat.

Maddie wriggled under her father’s arm and peered out. What’s it doing, Papa? Why is it turning upside down?

It’s, uh. . . Wow! It’s shedding its skin. Look at that!

Awesome! Maddie cried.

Michael turned to Epiphany. Take a look, Mom.

I’d really rather not.

Can we go outside, Papa, and get up close?

Sure. But we don’t want to get too close. Snakes get a little edgy when they’re shedding. But we should grab Endora.

Maddie looked up. Why, Papa?

Snakes are really vulnerable when they’re shedding. They need some peace and quiet.

What’s all the fuss in here? A small woman pushing a walker came through the dining room arch, wisps of white hair radiating around her face.

It’s a snake, Great-Gram, Maddie said.

Where? Susan said in alarm. In here?

No, outside. Under the window. Endora found it, said Maddie.

Good for her, Susan said. Florida, she muttered. First it’s alligators in the yard and now snakes. Sometimes I wish I was back in Ohio.

It’s a harmless little rat snake, Gram, said Michael. Come on, Maddie. Let’s go watch it shed.

Watch it what? Susan asked as father and daughter hurried past her.

It’s shedding its skin, said Epiphany. Something snakes do now and then,

That sounds perfectly dreadful, Susan exclaimed.

Mom, Epiphany objected, we had snakes in Ohio. Remember the time I brought that garter snake into the parlor when Reverend Ashby was visiting?

I remember telling you to get that evil serpent out of our house.

Serpents aren’t evil. They do a lot of good.

Such as?

They eat vermin.

Fine. I just want them to stay in the garden where they belong. Susan steered her walker toward the hall. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me, she said over her shoulder.

Epiphany stood for a moment, considering. Then she headed for the kitchen door.

Michael and Maddie were standing next to the house gazing down in rapt fascination. Maddie had Endora in her arms, but the cat was struggling to get free.

Here, Epiphany said, reaching for the cat, I’ll hold her.

Take a look, Mom, Michael said. It’s rubbed the skin loose from its nose. That’s the first step. Michael put his hand on his daughter’s shoulder. Let’s stay back and give it some room.

They all took a few steps back from the struggling snake, then watched as the process continued.

Look, Maddie cried, pointing. It’s crawling out of itself!

Epiphany watched in amazement as the snake writhed and pushed, rubbing its nose against the twigs, then oozing away from its own skin like a lady peeling off a nylon stocking. The empty sack of paper-thin scales lay still as the snake inched forward bit by bit until it left its former self behind. Its new skin shone, bright and smooth, in the late morning sun. It rested for a few moments, then slowly curved its way along the base of the foundation, pausing now and then to sample the air with its tongue. Then it flowed around the corner and disappeared into the grass.

Now that, said Michael, was a great performance.

Worthy of a master, Epiphany agreed.

Look, Papa. It’s a perfect empty snake. Maddie was holding up the discarded skin.

Epiphany set Endora down and joined Michael for a closer look. My goodness, she exclaimed. You can even see its eyes. The delicate ribbon of skin was like a phantom serpent—nearly weightless and paper thin but decorated with a herringbone pattern of tan and brown. The head was perfectly formed—mouth open, clear bubbles where the eyes had been. It looked as though it might at any moment re-animate itself.

Can I keep it? Maddie asked, the snakeskin dangling from her hands.

Fine with me, said Michael.

Just don’t show it to Gram, advised Epiphany.

59889.png

It wasn’t until that evening that Epiphany thought again about the snake. She was sitting on the screened porch listening to the chirp and buzz of frogs and cicadas. In the distance, a limpkin gave a shriek and a pair of Barred Owls erupted into a riotous duet of hoots, cackles and gurgles. The early summer air was heavy with moisture blowing in off the nearby Atlantic. Lightning flickered toward the east, too far away for the thunder to be heard.

Epiphany drifted with the gentle breath of the wind, watching the Spanish moss swaying like silver veils from the branches of the oak trees.

But her peaceful reverie was suddenly interrupted with a mental image so clear and so immediate that she bolted upright and stared out at the dark canvas of the yard. The image blazed in her mind’s eye—a naked man sprawled on the ground surrounded by two snakes. The man