Wolters slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper.
“Shall I read it to you?”
“Please do.”
He looked at her uncertainly. “You will pass it on to Mr. Vanlint, won’t you?”
“As soon as he gets home, I’ll give it to him personally. Don’t you worry about that.”
He unfolded the paper. “All right, then, this is the message that we deciphered.” He read:
“Few can resist the allure
Of her divine beauty
She will remain slumbering
In this silver shrine
Until she is awoken
Semper Augustus”
He looked up. “Does that mean anything to you?”
Tara tried not to let her face betray her emotion. Her heart was pounding so hard that she feared Wolters might be able to hear it. She was glad that she had trusted her intuition, sticking close to Alec until she found out where the bulb was hidden. But not so fast— she wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot.
“Well, at least we know what it says now. It’s bound to be more useful than gobbledygook. Thank you very much. Damian and Alec will be glad to hear the news.”
She pushed back her chair and stood up.
Wolters looked at her. “Semper Augustus— that’s a kind of tulip, if I’m not mistaken.”
“Thanks again, Mr. Wolters,” she replied coolly, holding out her hand for the sheet of paper. “I’ll give it to them as soon as they get home—”
“You’ll give us what?”
She spun around, aghast to find Alec and Emma standing in the doorway. Forcing herself to remain calm, she said, “Mr. Wolters was kind enough to stop by and let us know what they discovered. Here it is.”
Alec nodded at Wolters and took the message from him, his eyes still fixed on Tara.
“Mr. Schoeller.” Wolters stood up and groped for his coat, looking uneasy. “I’d better be going. I hope you don’t mind that I told your girlfriend about the message.”
Alec’s eyes bored into Tara. He opened his mouth to speak, but seeing the look on her face, he shut it again. “Not at all,” he said to Wolters. “I’ll show you out.”
When he returned, he made straight for where Tara was standing. She shrank back, lost her footing, and landed with a thud on the chair behind her.
“What are you trying to pull? Why did he think you were my girlfriend? What are you really after?”
“Isn’t that obvious? The Semper Augustus bulb. It’s hidden in something made of silver,” Tara said. Her eyes were wide, and her cheeks burned with an unhealthy glow.
“Damn it! When are you going to come clean with us? You knew Frank a hell of a lot better than you claimed. I’d say the two of you were pretty close. Here, explain this.”
He pulled the e-mail from Frank to Tara out of his pocket and threw it in her face. It fell onto her lap, and she pulled it open. A moment later, she looked up, unmoved.
“So now that you know how far we had already come, you must understand how important this is. Did Frank leave you anything made of silver— or could it be locked up in a safe somewhere?”
“Will you shut up about the goddamn silver? Just tell us what’s going on and how you fit into it. Now.”
She shrugged and stared sullenly into the distance.
Alec kneeled in front of her, placing his hands on her knees. “Okay, let’s make a deal. You tell me how you’re involved in this and what ever it is you know. Then I’ll tell you all about Frank’s silver collection. Okay?”
Her eyes lit up. “So he does have one! Does it include any seventeenth-century pieces?”
Alec gave her a stern look.
“All right, all right. Semper Augustus. Ever heard of it?”
“Just this morning, in fact,” Emma said. “It was the most valuable tulip in the world. The question is whether it ever really existed.”
“Oh, it existed, that’s for sure. And it still does. You see, Frank asked me to come up with a method for developing the Semper Augustus.”
“Developing? You mean cultivating?”
“No, Em, I know exactly what she means,” Alec said. “She was going to clone it.”
“Clone it?” Emma said, surprised. “That’s not possible, is it? I thought you could only clone living cells.”
Tara turned to Emma with a smile. “It’s possible for me. I can make an exact genetic copy. When Frank came to ask if I’d give it a try, he gave me enough money to use the most advanced techniques available. In the end, I got the job done.”
“But the bulb is hidden in a silver shrine,” Emma said.
“That’s why I was asking about his silver collection. How about giving me an answer now?”
“Later,” Alec said. “I’m not done yet. Why did Frank want to clone the tulip?”
“To make money.”
“He had plenty of money.”
“Sure, he had lots of money, but not as much as he needed. With the Semper Augustus, he could have earned tens of millions. Through years of careful breeding, modern growers have developed ingenious imitations with flamed petals, but those have nothing to do with the genuine article. They’re fakes, phonies. What would happen if the real Semper came onto the market? No other tulip has had such a colorful history. In the seventeenth century, hardly anybody ever saw one outside a tulip book. But today, with the cloning techniques I’ve developed, we can bring it back to life. Not some cheap knockoff but a direct descendant. A true Semper Augustus.”
Emma peered at Tara. “What was in it for you?”
“Respect. Admiration. Above all, professional recognition. Maybe even a major prize. Finally, I could establish my reputation. You don’t know what my world is like. Nobody can be trusted. People are always stealing ideas and research findings. They’ll run you into the ground unless you can show them what you’re capable of.” Her voice faltered. “I had done all my research, completed the experiments, analyzed the data, written up the results. Everything was ready. All I needed was the bulb.” Almost whispering, she went on. “Frank had it. When he died, he was the only one who knew where it was. He told me he had hidden it, someplace where no one would find it. So when I first saw you, walking up the path to Simon’s door, I had a hunch that, without even knowing it, you could lead me to the Semper Augustus.”
“Your hunch was right,” Alec said.
“Yes,” she said guardedly.
“So who’s after you?”
She looked bewildered. “After me? Oh, I see. No one, as far as I know.”
“No one?” Alec sputtered. “Then who was tailing us on our way back from Simon’s house?”
She shrugged. “If I hadn’t acted like someone was chasing us, Damian wouldn’t have invited me to stay here.”
Dick wandered down the stairs, lost in thought. The wind rushing through the underground corridors of the subway station pushed him out onto the deserted platform. A stray leaf crackled under his feet, and a plastic bag danced by. He checked his watch, then stared out at the filthy black wall across the track. The handle of his briefcase clung to his moist palm. The tape he’d wrapped around the cracked hinge was coming undone. He clenched the briefcase between his legs and started to scratch off the traces of glue on his hand.
He heard someone walking down the platform. The footsteps stopped right behind him. Suddenly, he felt a powerful blow as the briefcase was kicked from between his legs, arcing through the air all the way down to the track, where it flew open. Sheets of paper fluttered over the rails and were sucked into the dark mouth of the tunnel.
“What—”
He turned around, dazed. A hand clamped over his mouth. Then came the roar of a subway train, charging ahead at full speed, coming closer and closer. The last thing he heard was a man’s voice shrieking. The last thing he wondered was whether the voice was his.
FIFTY-THREE
The front door slammed shut, and a moment later Damian came into the room.
&n
bsp; “Wolters came by, and Tara was thoughtful enough to let him in and find out what he had to say,” Alec explained. His sarcasm wasn’t lost on Damian, whose eyes shot to Tara.
After Alec had told the whole story, Damian said, “So we were right about the code.”
“Here, take a look. This is the decoded message.”
After a few seconds, Damian looked up again. His expression was strained. “The Semper Augustus. Dick was just telling me about that. So it’s really true— Frank had found the bulb. When Dick told me, it seemed too fantastic to believe.”
“Is that what Dick wanted to talk to you about?” Emma asked.
“Among other things. I’ll tell you all about it in a minute. Alec, didn’t Frank have a silver collection?”
“Well, I wouldn’t really call it a collection, but he had about twenty pieces. Some of them are lovely.”
“Anything from the seventeenth century?” Tara looked at him tensely.
“Yes, I think so.”
With a few swift steps, she was standing beside Alec. She gripped his arm so tightly that Alec could feel her nails through the material of his jacket. “We have to go to London and see what we can find there.”
Alec laughed scornfully. “You really think we’ll find a tulip bulb taped to the bottom of a candlestick?” But when he saw the fire in Tara’s eyes, his scorn melted into doubt.
“You self-satisfied prick,” she shouted. “That’s what the message says, in black and white.”
“Will you please spare us the hysterics? Or do you need a glass of water in your face?” Emma gazed archly at Tara, then turned to Damian. “Shall we have the collection brought here?”
He nodded. “Alec, why don’t you call Tibbens? Ask him if he’ll bring the silver to the airport and give it to our pilot. We can have it here in just a few hours.”
“But suppose the bulb really is hidden in one of these objects, and we find it. What then?” Emma asked Alec.
“I don’t know yet.”
“I do,” Tara said.
Alec grimaced. “Forget it. You’re the last person I would trust with the bulb. Frank and Simon were murdered for that thing, and you don’t even care. It means nothing to you. All you can think about is the tulip. I thought you’d want to help us find out who’s responsible for Frank and Simon’s deaths. Have you ever taken a good look at yourself? You should try it sometime. You make me sick.”
Tara’s eyes narrowed in fury. She spat out her words. “I may keep my emotions to myself, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care. Do you think I’m a heartless monster? What happened to them matters tremendously to me. It’s just that right now I have other priorities.” She held out her hands and said despairingly, “Can’t you see how much this means to me? I don’t care about the money; all I care about is the Semper Augustus.”
“If that were really true, I think I could begin to understand. But it’s not true at all. All you care about is yourself, your reputation.”
Tara shook her head desperately and lowered her eyes. In a quavering voice, she said, “I knew I could help Frank carry out his mission.”
“Help Frank?” replied Alec with a sneer. “You sanctimonious hypocrite.” He turned away from her. “You make me want to puke.”
She ran out of the room. The door banged shut behind her.
Damian took the suitcase from the chauffeur and put it on the floor of the living room. Alec kneeled down and opened it. There were about twenty packages inside, covered in bubble wrap and taped shut. About fifteen minutes later, Frank’s entire silver collection was lined up on the floor.
“Where could he have hidden it, for God’s sake?” Alec looked at the glittering array. “A tulip bulb would be too big to fit in any of these things.”
They looked up as Tara entered the room. With bloodshot eyes, she came up to Alec and said, “Everything you just said about me is true. You’re right. I just needed a wake-up call. I can’t believe the way I’ve been acting.” Her fingers were knotted together, and she held them clutched to her chest like a shield. “You’re right, the important thing is to catch the killer. Nothing else matters. I . . . I couldn’t even work with the bulb anymore. It’s stained with blood.” She shook her head. “I don’t even want the damned thing.”
“Come on,” Emma said. “Give us a hand. If our guess is right, the bulb is hidden somewhere in this collection.”
Each of them picked up an object. Tara snatched up a candelabrum, turned it upside down, and started to pick off the felt lining on the bottom. After tearing it loose, she squinted into the tiny cavity, then shook her head. “There’s nothing in there.”
After a while Emma said, “I think I’m on to something. Come and take a look.”
She held up a small silver buckle and pointed to the thickest part. “This has a tulip carved into it.”
“Let me see.” Damian took the buckle and held it close to his face. The slight protrusion in the middle was engraved with a small tulip. He ran his finger over it, pressing gently. To his amazement, the top of the buckle sprang open.
“You’ve got it,” Tara cried.
They looked on in silence as Damian pushed the top farther open. He peered inside and shook his head.
“Nothing. It’s empty.”
“There’s a matching buckle over here. Let’s try that one.” Alec picked it up and repeated the process. Again, the buckle sprang open. He squeezed his thumb and index finger into the opening, and when he pulled them out again, he was holding a tiny brown pouch.
“Oh, my God,” Tara murmured.
Alec opened the pouch, held it over his palm, and shook out the contents. In his hand lay a small dark brown object, no larger than a centimeter across. It resembled a raisin.
“It’s completely dried out,” Alec said softly. “There’s no life left in it.”
Tara said excitedly, “If you only knew how much life I could get out of it.”
“What about the other buckle? Why is it empty?” Emma sounded wary.
“The message must have been in that one,” Alec replied. “Remember? It said ‘in this silver shrine.’ “
“So Frank removed it and hid it inside the tulip book.”
London
2001
“Just wait for me here,” Frank Schoeller told his chauffeur after stepping out of the car. “I won’t be a minute.” For the past few days, mild mornings had given way to sweltering afternoons, and the asphalt on the Kings Road had absorbed the heat. Frank could feel the warmth rising up the legs of his pants.
He dabbed at his face with a handkerchief. Before entering the antiques shop, he stopped to admire the sideboard on display in the window. It was covered with shagreen, and the granular surface had a silvery luster. The ivory knobs on the doors and shelves looked as good as new. He rang the bell, waited for the buzz, and pushed the door open.
“Mr. Schoeller, how are you?” said the man who came to meet him.
“Fine, and you? How’s business?”
“Couldn’t be better. What can I do for you today? Are you looking for anything special?”
“No, not really, just nosing around.”
“Be my guest. You know where to find me.”
Moving from case to case, Frank scrutinized every object: ivory netsuke shaped like monkeys, flowers, and samurai; miniature clocks with finely painted scenes on their enamel faces. Next to the table in the middle of the shop, goldfish were circling in an enormous Chinese flowerpot. He continued to the back of the shop, where the furniture was on display. As he inhaled the odor of wax, the owner came to his side.
“Mr. Schoeller, I have something that may . . . well, you come from Holland, don’t you?”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t know whether they’ll suit your taste, but they’re Dutch, seventeenth century, so I thought . . . wait a moment, I’ll go and get them.”
Frank heard a rustling sound in the back room. “Here we are,” the antiques dealer said, returning with
something in his hand. He opened his fingers and unfolded the thin paper.
“I bought these at an auction in Holland just recently. They’re magnificent, aren’t they?”
“Are they hallmarked?”
“Yes, indeed. If you’ll just follow me . . .”
At his desk he turned on the magnifying lamp and placed the two buckles under the lens. Frank leaned over to examine them. They were stunning in their simplicity, their clean curves. Only the tops were decorated, each with a single tulip.
“Here’s the mark, see?”
His magnified nail tapped an almost invisible symbol stamped into the side.
“I’ve done some research. They’re seventeenth century— I can’t pinpoint the date, but probably around sixteen thirty, or maybe a bit later. They were made by a silversmith in Alkmaar. Ever heard of the place?”
“Oh, yes. It’s a lovely old town in the province of North Holland.”
“I see.”
“May I have a look?”
“Of course, take your time.”
Frank sat down, picked up one of the buckles, and examined it carefully under the lens. As he studied the tulip engraved into the top, he noticed a word inscribed underneath it in letters so minute that even when magnified they were barely legible.
“Tulipa,” he whispered.
Running his finger over the silver, he imagined a wealthy merchant of ages past wearing the buckles with pride. A pride that many people would have resented. In those days, it was bad form to flaunt your wealth.
“Don’t put on airs. Don’t stand out in the crowd. For God’s sake, don’t express yourself,” he mumbled. “What a bitter bunch of Calvinists.”
When he was done examining the two buckles, he stood up. “The buckles are charming, but they’re nothing special. Besides, there’s a dent— right there, on this one. But I’m getting sentimental in my old age. You might as well seize the opportunity. What kind of price can you offer a faithful customer?”
Seated at his kitchen table, Frank picked up his glass and downed the last drops of cognac. He slipped his hand into a glove impregnated with silver polish and rubbed gently on one of the buckles, putting a little extra pressure on the decoration to remove the layer of tarnish. Suddenly, something moved in his hand. He put down the buckle, removed the glove, and stared at the opening in amazement. Then he picked up the buckle again and held it in front of his nose. His fingers barely fit into the tiny compartment. When he drew his hand out, a small sepia scroll was nestled in his fingertips.
The Tulip Virus Page 21
