"Hey, baby, we're just talking here." He spoke quietly as people at nearby tables glanced their way for a second. "If you tell me not to go, I won't go. But I'd like to talk it through with you. If I can help Oliver ..."
"If you can work another adventure into your life, you mean," she interrupted as she began to cry. "Dammit, haven't you done enough? You nearly died in a cave in Guatemala. Thanks to your Indiana Jones-style escapades we've both been kidnapped! This shit hasn't happened once, but time and again. But something inside you just can't stop. You hear a story like Oliver's and it's like a kind of magic spell that lures you in regardless of the consequences or the danger. Why can't you just settle down like other people?"
He took a slow drink of his wine and didn't answer. There were no words to rebut her statements. She'd accurately summed him up in those few words.
After a couple of minutes that seemed like an eternity, she snapped, "I'm not hungry any more. I'm going to the restroom. Pay the bill and let's get out of here. I'll meet you on the sidewalk." She stood, threw her napkin on the table and walked away. Brian called the waiter and asked for his bill, insisting he would pay for the two expensive meals they'd ordered but not yet received. The maître d' stopped by and advised that the only charge would be for the bottle of wine. They'd had just one glass each and he corked it up so Brian could take it with him.
The stroll to the hotel was another silent one. Each had ideas, hopes, fears and concerns for safety and security. Ever since a car crash that nearly killed her a couple of years ago, Nicole had been emotionally and physically fragile. That was a situation she'd never experienced before. Until that day, she had been a powerful female lawyer heading straight to the top in her career at a major Dallas law firm. Now she couldn’t push herself as she once had, and she fashioned a new existence, one far more sedate and unhurried than before. Brian, however, continued to traipse off to this jungle or that ruin. The last thing she wanted was to stifle his enthusiasm for adventure. She knew a simple wedding ring hadn't changed the feelings between them, but to her that ring made all the difference in the world. It was her commitment to the only man she had ever really loved. She simply couldn't lose him. She couldn't go on if that ever happened.
Brian's feelings vacillated between anger that she was stifling his ambition, to understanding where she was coming from. I haven't changed from the day we met, he thought to himself as they walked. I'm a risk-taker. She called me that from the very beginning and it's true. Why is this trip any different? Why does she seem so hell-bent on making me stay home?
He knew the answer; he just didn't want to admit it. Something had changed when that ring went on her finger and he said, "I do." A new bond was created between two people who had been lovers, confidants and partners for years. He had made a commitment - a pledge between husband and wife - that was different. There was a responsibility now that hadn't existed before. He couldn't explain it, but he knew in his heart what it was.
As dangerous as Haiti surely was, Oliver's revelations had stirred him in a way he hadn't felt for some time. In his last adventure, he'd been a bit player in a chaotic effort to rescue the American presidency from a deplorable miscreant. Haiti was a place of danger and intrigue. The more exotic and mysterious the venue, the more his adrenalin flowed. He would be safe - he was already thinking how he could ensure that - and he hoped he could convince her to trust his judgment. It would be a hurdle; in the past, she had witnessed first-hand how his enthusiasm for adventure had gotten them both into serious trouble.
Nicole and Brian walked the sidewalks of the French Quarter, lost in their own thoughts, unaware that someone had followed them from the restaurant. As she stood in the shadows of a darkened storefront, the old woman watched them turn onto Toulouse Street and open the door to their hotel. She raised a finger as it shut behind them and whispered a few words. Frustrated, she walked back to her house on Ursulines Avenue. She could feel in her old bones that the curse hadn't worked. It was happening more and more these days. Without the elixir, her powers were fading away. She hadn't taken it since her son stole it from her years ago, and as a result, her long, long life on earth was drawing to a close. And she was ready to meet her master.
_____
There was no romantic interlude for the Sadlers that evening. He lay on the bed, watching the news until she emerged from the bathroom in a T-shirt and panties instead of the flimsy negligee that had been on and then off in minutes every other night of their honeymoon. He used the bathroom and came out naked as usual. She lay as far as she could get on the other side of their king-sized bed, her back to him and apparently asleep. He turned off the light and lay awake for what seemed like hours. When he finally slept, he dreamed of a ritual in the St. Louis Cemetery, where Creole women in colorful dresses danced around the Duplanchier tomb while tourists watched. One of the dancers held the Black Cross out like a sword, pointing it at the gawking onlookers and striking them dead one by one.
Drenched in sweat, he jolted awake at 3:17 a.m. He reached for Nicole, but she pulled away. He felt a profound sadness. The last thing he'd intended was to allow his adventurous nature to create a rift between him and this woman he loved so much. Maybe tomorrow would be a better day. It was their one day alone and he prayed it would be a happy one.
The next time he awoke, he glanced at the bedside clock and was surprised to see he'd slept until almost eight. Both were early risers, ready to tackle each day's challenges after a few cups of black coffee. Now her side of the bed was empty. He walked into the bathroom and saw a note. "Gone for a run." For a second he wondered if she'd be safe but immediately let it go. Today wasn't the time to lecture her about being careful, when the trip to Haiti had caused such a rift just hours before.
He went to the courtyard for coffee and the morning paper. Through the open doorway, he saw her enter the lobby. He waved and thought she glanced his way, but she went straight to the elevator instead of joining him as she would have any other morning.
We're not finished with this yet, he thought to himself, knowing he had to concede. It was too dangerous. Oliver could go himself if he wanted the cross. As Brian's friend, he shouldn't have asked him to do something that risky.
This all felt so strange. Giving in without explaining his feelings was a new thing, something born out of the wedding vows he'd recited. The two of them were one now, and that meant instead of telling her what he was going to do from now on, he had to think of what his actions meant to her.
Even though he accepted what must be done, the same thoughts kept popping into his mind. He had a burning desire to go to Haiti. He wanted the thrill of finding the cross and bringing it back. He wanted to solve the puzzle and learn how the Duplanchier family fit into all of this. Yesterday afternoon he'd been bitten by the challenge and excitement of a new adventure and it felt strange to have to quash those feelings.
As he walked into the room, he could hear the shower running. He sat on the bed in silence until she came out, naked except for a towel on her head.
"We have to talk," he began, but she came around to his side of the bed and put a finger on his lips. She tossed the towel on a chair, straddled him and began to unbutton his jeans. "Oh, good," she murmured as she saw he wasn't wearing underwear. That was a silly game they were playing on the honeymoon, walking around all day with nothing under their clothes. She removed his pants and began to lightly move her fingers up and down his legs, carefully avoiding touching the one thing he wanted her to touch the most. At last she knelt and took him in her mouth. He enjoyed the amazing sensations but stopped her just before it was too late. He pulled her face up and she climbed on top, riding him until they simultaneously exploded with a burst of pent-up passion.
No one said anything for several minutes. They rested comfortably in each other's arms, secure in the assurance that in this time and place, they were meant to be together.
"I'm sorry."
"No, Nicole. No. You don't have a reason to be sorry. I
t's my fault ..."
She propped herself up on one elbow and looked at him. "How can it be your fault? You are who you are and I knew that when I married you. I have no right to keep you from doing the things you love. I'm not going to be a shrew who tries to keep you on a tight leash."
He guffawed and she began laughing too. "I hate being mad at you," she admitted. "It makes me sick to my stomach. I couldn't sleep last night, and when I went on my run, I had time to think things through. You don't need my approval to go to Haiti and I won't stop you from doing something you want to do. Just promise me you'll come back. You must do that, Brian. I'll kill you if you don't," she concluded with a smile.
"What about the speech I'd prepared about you being right?"
"You can save it. There'll be plenty of other times to use it since I'm always right. Now let's get going. It's a beautiful morning out there and we have things to do!"
"Thanks, sweetie, and just so you know, I'm not sure I'm going to Haiti. I need to hear more from Oliver about exactly what I'm getting into. If I do go, I have an idea how to make things safer for me."
"I thought of something too. Does your idea have anything to do with friends in high places?"
"Maybe." He laughed, realizing they were on the same page.
CHAPTER SIX
After their conflict at dinner Sunday evening and a frustrating night with little sleep, they made Monday something special despite having no set agenda. "There's nothing better than making up," Nicole offered over their second glass of Chardonnay at a charming sidewalk café on Magazine Street. After lunch, they visited the trendy shops nearby and were back in the Quarter around four. They popped into the bar at Mr. B's Bistro for one more glass of wine and then headed back to the hotel. That evening they would dine at Commander's Palace, the Garden District restaurant near Oliver's home that Brian had enthusiastically proclaimed his all-time favorite.
"Dibs on going first!" she cried as she stripped naked and stepped into the shower. He waited a moment and then joined her.
"Can we get mad at each other again?" he jested. "I really liked that part where we made up."
"How about skipping the mad part?" she murmured as she soaped up her hands and ran them slowly down his body. "How about I give you a little present?"
"Works for me," he groaned as she began to lather him up, moving her hands rhythmically in the way he loved.
They arrived at Commander's Palace half an hour early so they could have a drink in the bar. "Mr. Sadler, welcome back," the host said as they arrived. Just past his station the usual ritual awaited them - a cadre of waiters and floor managers stood in the entry hall to welcome each visitor by name. It was a nice gesture, one Brian hadn't seen anywhere else, and something that made guests feel special.
They were seated in the Garden Room, a cozy second-floor venue overlooking a patio with trees covered in twinkling white lights. After a wonderful meal, a bottle of Veuve Clicquot champagne and a marvelous Grand Marnier soufflé, they were in bed by ten p.m. They had a big day tomorrow - Tuesday was Mardi Gras and they planned to hit the streets early. Unlike last night - the loneliest night they had ever spent in the same bed - this one was one of the nicest, proving that love could smooth the bumps along the way.
Tuesday was the big day. The partying and revelry started even earlier than usual, beginning with the crazy antics of the highly unconventional Zulu Parade that was on its way downtown by eight a.m. Promptly at ten the biggest, most spectacular parade of all - the Krewe of Rex, king of Carnival - took center stage. Brian and Nicole sat with Oliver in the mayor's box for the festivities. Like others in the past, this mayor was a friend of Oliver's; watching him honor King Rex each year was a long-standing tradition in Oliver's family. His parents had brought him as a young child and he had missed only a few over the years.
Afterwards Oliver was off to a round of parties in the beautifully-decorated Garden District homes of friends. Two months ago he had invited Brian and Nicole to join him at the ultra-exclusive Rex Ball tonight, but they declined. Brian knew that tickets for that ball were coveted by everyone, and his friend had done enough. Instead of partying away their last night in New Orleans, they spent it quietly. It had been a long day and they were exhausted. As they turned off the light, they wondered if their conservative friend was dancing the night away at the ball.
The next morning was starkly different, a refreshing contrast they noticed the minute they walked outside the hotel. For the past few days, going anywhere in the Quarter had meant maneuvering around people every minute, but now the sidewalks were bare. It was an easy stroll to Brennan's for brunch with Oliver. It was nearly ten a.m. on the first day of Lent, which in New Orleans is marked by peace and tranquility. Yesterday the police had allowed the debauchery all day long and right up to the stroke of twelve, but at the very moment Lent began, the party was over.
Seconds after midnight the revelers had been told to go home. Bars that hadn't closed in days shuttered their doors for twelve hours and fire trucks began cleaning up, spraying the sidewalks with water from massive hoses. Any unfortunate drunks who remained in the vicinity were knocked to their knees by the powerful streams of water. Tons of trash and every other imaginable nasty thing lay in the street, waiting for pickup by garbage crews beginning at sunup. By mid-morning - the time that Brian and Nicole went out - the French Quarter was surprisingly clean.
Brian had been here on several Ash Wednesdays. He considered it the nicest day of the year for strolling the Quarter. For this one morning on this one day, everything was wet, fresh-smelling and uncharacteristically quiet. Today there was almost nobody on the streets, providing a dramatic contrast to other mornings when the revelers who'd pulled all-nighters were still going strong.
It was their last day in New Orleans; they would head to the airport late this afternoon for the trip home to Dallas. They'd checked off Brian's list of things to see and do in the Crescent City. The only thing they missed was seeing the Duplanchier tomb, but they at least had seen Oliver's picture of it.
"Do you think Oliver will be on time?" Nicole asked.
"Are you kidding? Absolutely. He may have had a full day of partying yesterday, but you know him. These days he parties like we do - everything in moderation. He'll probably be there when we arrive."
And he was. Within half an hour they were on their second round of Bloody Marys and had just dived in to plates of tantalizing eggs Sardou, the restaurant's brunch specialty.
Oliver reported on the ball last evening. He had stayed until the bitter end, arriving home around 3:30 but appearing none the worse for wear this morning. He wasn't much of a drinker, he confessed, and had had "one too many" at the party - a second glass of champagne. That brought a laugh from them and Nicole said she hoped his hangover wouldn't keep him down too long.
Over coffee he asked for a few more minutes of their time. He wanted to tell them what he knew about Columbus before they left town. Since they were all packed and had no other plans, they joined him back at the shop.
The gallery was closed because Ash Wednesday was a holiday. They sat in Oliver's office as he rummaged through stacks of reference materials until he found a thick folder with the information he wanted.
"Now, students," he began, lightly rapping a pencil on his desk as though he were a teacher, "today's lesson will be about Cristobal Colon, the adventurer we know as Christopher Columbus. I'll try to keep this brief and to the point so you don't fall asleep during the lecture," he continued in a mock-scholarly tone so unlike him that it made Nicole laugh out loud.
"As did many other mariners funded by European monarchs, Columbus kept detailed records of his four voyages to the New World. Originals from three of his four trips are extant. The one we care most about - his first - disappeared. It’s lucky that there are copies, so at least we have something. Columbus correctly believed he would reach land if he sailed west, but he thought it would be India. He finally talked the king and queen of Spain - Ferdinand and
Isabel - into backing his trip in exchange for his bringing back trade goods, spreading Christianity and claiming lands for the crown. Three ships were fitted out in the port city of Palos, Spain, and just before dawn on August 3, 1492, they sailed west toward the Canary Islands, embarking on what would be known as Columbus's first journey to the New World.
"The flagship Santa Maria was captained by Columbus himself. The Nina and Pinta were provided and skippered by two shipbuilders who had also put money into the endeavor, Martin Alonso Pinzon and his brother Vicente. All three ships were small - none was more than a hundred feet long and thirty wide - and there were only ninety crewmen in all. I'm giving you these facts so you can get a feel for how small this expedition was in every respect, contrary to accounts in history books that spin yarns of majestic, massive vessels riding high in the water while the admiral stands proudly in the bow."
Oliver told them that on October 12, just over a month after leaving the Canary Islands, the ships sighted land at what is now San Salvador in the Bahamas and sailed on. On October 28, they went ashore at Bariay in northeastern Cuba.
“Although Columbus had successfully navigated the journey to the New World, not everything had gone well. To ease the crew's fears that they might be sailing to the end of the earth, Columbus's logbook reveals that he deliberately misled his men, entering lower numbers for the distances they sailed each day so they wouldn't become disruptive. The crew got wind of the deception and threatened to mutiny if land wasn't sighted in three days. Columbus wrote that fortunately he had that lucky Black Cross hanging in his cabin. The ships sighted land before the crew's deadline and the admiral was forgiven ... for now. Regardless, the subject of mutiny remained in their minds, as we'll see soon.
The Black Cross (Brian Sadler Archaeological Thrillers Book 6) Page 4
