We chatted about whether he liked the city and how long they were expecting to stay. Tomas said little, but I watched him steal the occasional glance Laurel’s way. We learned Ari was a photojournalist covering the Iraq war for the BBC. Despite Ari’s efforts to put us at ease, our conversation had a stilted, uneasy tone that mirrored an underlying tension in the room.
Finally, Tomas joined in. “John, you can feel free to talk. Ari and I share everything.”
It was perfectly reasonable he would take his family into his confidence, but it still bothered me.
“What happened to you?” he asked, indicating my lip.
“Eris Haines paid me a visit last night. She almost killed me.”
Ari walked over and rested his hand on my shoulder. I could feel the warmth spread from his palm through the thin fabric of my shirt. “Our friend, you are not alone now. Samuel would have done anything to protect you. We will take his place. Please honor us by believing me.”
He probably meant this sincerely, but I wondered whether his brother shared the sentiment. I got the feeling Tomas would rather throw me to the wolves than welcome me into the flock.
“Tomas has told you the story?” Ari affirmed this with a nod of his head. “I didn’t tell Haines anything because I don’t know where the engraving is. Hal left a kind of trail, a puzzle that needs to be solved in order to find it.”
Tomas spoke up. “Why would he do this? It makes no sense. First he steals it from Samuel, then he gives you a map to get it back?”
“A nasty trick he played on me. I think he told Eris Haines I knew where the engraving was hidden, then he created the game, believing I wouldn’t work it out in time to save my own life.”
“He deliberately set you up? Why would your friend do this?”
“Hal was damaged and abusing drugs. He turned on me. And now Laurel and I could use some help.” With a paper furnished from Laurel’s purse and my pen, I drew a perfect square, dividing it into four rows and four columns and writing in the numbers. I held it out so Ari could see. “Does this mean anything to you?”
Ari shook his head and beckoned to Tomas.
“That’s Dürer’s magic square,” Tomas said. “But I can’t see any relevance to the Book of Nahum. Hal was a science professor, correct?”
“He taught the science of philosophy. A Dürer expert told us the artist hid his name in the picture, perhaps by using the magic square.”
Laurel asked me to pull up Dürer’s bio again. “There,” she said once the text came into view. “Halfway down the page it says his father changed the family name from Thürer to Dürer.”
“That won’t do it either. Even if we substitute a th for the d and assign numbers to the letters and add them up, including his first name, we get one, five, and nine, and there are only two spaces.”
We spent some time concentrating on number–letter combinations. I found the whole exercise really frustrating and felt close to tearing my hair out when Laurel spoke up again. “Didn’t Phillip Anthony say Dürer’s father moved to Nuremberg? Was he German or another nationality?”
“I don’t know; let me check it out.” The bio confirmed what Phillip had told us. “Hungarian.”
“And what was the name in Hungarian?”
“Another sec … Ajitos. It means doorway, like Dürer.”
“Does that work?”
I added up the numeric values of the letters. “Ajitos without his first name would total seventy-four. Let’s give it a try.” When I entered the numbers the page failed to move.
I was just about to pack the whole thing in when I thought of something else. “Are we looking at the wrong alphabet? Dürer might have used the old Latin alphabet. There’s no j.”
“That’s interesting. Think of the common roots: Dur and Tur both mean door, don’t they?” Laurel said. “So what would that be in the Hungarian using the old Latin alphabet?”
“Ajto means door in Hungarian. And in numbers, using the old Latin alphabet, without the j, that would be expressed as … thirty-four, Dürer’s magic square constant.”
“That makes sense,” Tomas said. “I remember it now. I read somewhere that the square had eighty-six possible combinations of thirty-four.”
I recalled Phillip’s earlier challenge: There are actually eighty-six ways Dürer signed his name, but I suspect anything deeper will elude you. Phillip had virtually given us the answer back in his gallery.
When I keyed the three and four into the two squares, the page flipped to reveal the United States Senate Seal. Beneath it were squares for an eight-letter word and a three-letter word.
I checked out the seal on the Web and found that it had been designed by Louis Dreka in 1866. It was circular with the words “United States Senate” around the exterior circumference. A shield with thirteen stars and stripes occupied the center, with the Latin words E pluribus unum across it. Above the shield was a strange-looking conical cap, and below, crossed fasces I recognized as Roman.
The quotation in Latin, E pluribus unum—“Out of many, one”—was far too long to fit the spaces. Neither the crossed Roman fasces at the bottom nor the cap at the top fit either. We had no idea what Hal was getting at.
Ari addressed a question to me. “Tomas and I appreciate your coming to see us. You could have kept this to yourself and then we would have no idea about the fate of the engraving. We appreciate that you are being honest. So I take it this means we’ll be working together?”
“More or less. Everyone gains that way, but I want full disclosure.”
Tomas knew right away what I was getting at. “That’s privileged information. I can’t divulge any more.”
I got up. “You’re giving me no choice. I’m leaving then.”
Ari walked over; his hand returned to my shoulder. “You should stay with us. You know now how dangerous those people are. We can’t help you if we don’t know where you are.”
“I’ll be okay if I can just get through this game. I’ll be in touch.”
He dropped his hand and made a plea to Tomas. “It makes no sense. Just tell him the rest of it.”
A heated discussion ensued between them in what I assumed was an Arabic dialect. Tomas finally gave in. “The information stays only with you?”
“Of course.”
“We honestly can’t tell you much more. Samuel believed the Book of Nahum revealed the location of plunder seized in the seventh century B.C. during one of King Ashurbanipal’s military campaigns into what is now the region of Anatolia, in Turkey. He discovered this when he came across an Assyrian inscription, an account of booty Ashurbanipal took and hid somewhere in Assyria.”
That was possible, I suppose. It was commonplace for Assyrian records to list in great detail the spoils they’d taken after successful battles. “What was it?”
“We don’t know. Samuel wouldn’t tell us. He only hinted at something. He said the treasure was connected to an ancient witch and a famous legend that had a supernatural element—something beyond normal human experience.”
“Was it a Greek legend or Middle Eastern? Did it have anything to do with transforming base metals into gold?”
Tomas shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea. The engraving has explicit signs that don’t exist in the biblical scriptures. Without it, we don’t have the text Samuel was working with.”
“And the American dealer who’s after it, is he aware of this?”
“Samuel thought the dealer knew at least that much. The value of the engraving goes beyond the intrinsic. He believed Nahum intended it to be a guide to the location of Ashurbanipal’s plunder. Since Hanna Jaffrey has made herself scarce, I’m assuming she was the conduit for the information to the dealer.”
My mind swirled with this new information. Had Ashurbanipal seized a motherlode of precious objects? The engraving itself had to be worth at least twenty million. If it led to plunder taken by an Assyrian king, the value would be incalculable. And yet Tomas’s story, especially when he couldn
’t give anything more than a vague description, hardly seemed credible.
Tomas could see the skeptical look on my face. “The Anatolian states were rich in gold, silver, and precious stones, and they had superb craftsmen. It’s quite possible the king found a gold mine of artifacts.”
“Ashurbanipal’s son was king when Nineveh was sacked, right?” I asked him.
Tomas nodded yes.
“When it was clear to the king that he’d lost the battle, he gathered all his precious objects, his queen, and his concubines and had his retainers build a massive funeral pyre and set it on fire. All his possessions burned with him.”
Tomas’s scowl practically reached down to his knees. “That’s just a fairy tale. There’s never been any proof.”
“But you’re asking me to believe there’s still some treasure trove out there? What is it? Let me guess—the Queen of Sheba’s lost jewels?”
“You’re the one who wanted to know. Now I’m telling you and you heap scorn on me.”
Ari, the peacemaker, stepped in, worried that our fragile accord was splitting apart. “You can’t be sure of that, Tomas.”
“Give me some credit.” Tomas flung words at him with an implicit criticism of me. “I’m the only one here with any real knowledge of Mesopotamian culture, I might add.”
I raised my hand. “All right, point taken. But you’re asking us to believe it has remained hidden all this time? That’s absurd.”
“There are twelve thousand archaeological sites in Iraq,” Tomas snapped back at me. “Those are just the registered sites. Many haven’t even been explored yet.”
Laurel and Ari exchanged glances as the conversation grew more heated. Finally she took my hand. “You’re both arguing about phantoms. When you have the engraving, it will likely all become clear. Anyhow, I’m dead on my feet. I want to turn in now.”
Downstairs, I used most of the credit left on my Visa to book rooms for Laurel and me for two nights.
“Come in for a drink?” Laurel asked me as I walked her to her door. “I don’t feel like sitting in a lonely room by myself.”
“Sure. Why not?” I flopped on the bed while she went to the bar and got two miniature bottles of Scotch. “Straight’s fine,” I said. She handed me my glass and sat down beside me.
I took out my phone and started removing the battery cover.
“What are you doing?”
“How did that guy dressed up like a jester find us?” I said. “It was no coincidence—I’ve tried to be careful.”
“They must have some kind of surveillance on us.”
“I’m not going to spend the rest of my life being hunted by those lunatics.” I slid out the battery and looked into the compartment. “Damn. This looks okay. I thought Eris might have slipped some kind of tracking device into it.”
She sipped her drink quietly for a few minutes. Just as the silence was beginning to get awkward, she said, “You might as well get undressed.”
Although it seemed a somewhat cold approach, the speedy transformation from small talk to open invitation broke some kind of record. I happily complied and took my shirt off.
“Turn your back to me.”
She obviously felt modest about nudity, so I turned around. “If you prefer the lights off I’m fine with that.”
“No, that’s okay.” She ran her hands under my jaw and down my neck. I took one of her hands and kissed it gently. She murmured something I didn’t catch and coyly pulled it away. This did nothing to deter my lust. I could feel myself getting harder than a rock. She moved her fingers to the base of my skull. The tense network of muscles in my neck and upper back surrendered. For the first time in a long while, I relaxed.
I leaned back a little. Strands of her long brown hair brushed my shoulders. She ran her hands down my back, caressing it with her fingers. Better to let her be the pursuer. After all, things had progressed very well without me pushing anything.
Her next words had the same effect as a sudden plunge into freezing water. “There’s something implanted underneath your skin in the middle of your back where you’d be least likely to see it. Eris probably inserted it when you were unconscious. We need to take it out.”
I’m not sure what was more of a downer: realizing Laurel’s finger work was not a prelude to sex, or having missed the fact that this thing had been stuck into my back.
“With all the injuries your body has suffered lately, I guess you didn’t notice that one little spot of pain.”
I sat on the toilet seat while she used tweezers and scissors from her manicure case to pry it out. A pinprick or two and it was over. She deposited a small object that looked like a grain of rice into my hand.
“Just flush it down the toilet and then it’s done,” she said.
I got some tissue and carefully wrapped the device inside.
Sticking it into my pants pocket, I walked into the bedroom and put my shirt back on.
Laurel stood in the bathroom doorway, a worried look on her face. “Aren’t you going to get rid of it?”
“No,” I said. “I have a better idea.”
Sixteen
The evening sky, a low gray canopy of clouds, trapped the heat and made the city feel like a compression chamber. The atmosphere cried out for release—an explosion of thunder and a deluge of rain. Drivers yakked away on cellphones, cool as ice cubes in their frosty interiors while pedestrians wilted. With the number of people milling about, it was almost impossible to spot my pursuers, but I was sure they’d be keeping their eye on me. My first stop would be Corinne Carter’s.
Corinne, raised in Harlem, had made a permanent move south; she’d been part of our inner circle at Columbia. She was the only one who’d ever gotten away with calling me Johnnie. At school, she’d been the centrifugal force that held us all together. When someone crashed after a major bender, she was there. If a disagreement ramped up into something damaging, she’d be the one smoothing the ruffled feathers. It was a surprise to all of us that she ended up living like a hermit.
From her home office Corinne specialized in developing and testing advanced security systems on contract for banks and Wall Street firms. She could negotiate her way around the Web as well as any hacker.
Her building was a yellow-brick monolith at the corner of Eighth Avenue and Twenty-third. Days went by without her ever knowing whether the sun shone or the rain poured down. Her blinds were always closed. She once said she could tell it was fall because the heating system cranked on. I don’t believe she even owned a proper winter coat. The building’s front entrance was a few steps from the subway, where she could connect to all the services she needed. Right across the street, a Dunkin’ Donuts and Dallas BBQ provided sustenance. She ate a lot of ribs and cherry crullers.
Corinne was as cloistered as any medieval nun.
Sure enough, she answered when the doorman buzzed her.
I had no idea whether the evil chip could read elevations as well as coordinates, so outside the elevator I stuck it into a wad of gum that I fastened under a ledge.
As soon as I stepped across her threshold I was wrapped in a long, enthusiastic embrace. “How are you? I tried to visit you ages ago, but the hospital wouldn’t let anyone near you and you just seemed to vanish after that. I must have tried to call or email a dozen times.” She touched my lip. “Did your mouth get hurt in the accident?”
“Sorry for not getting back to you. I couldn’t face talking to anyone for a long time. I’m better now, physically anyway.” Telling her about the attack would just upset her more.
She gave my hand a squeeze, shooed the cat off a chair in the living room, and offered me a seat. Her cat, a colorpoint Persian, mewed his displeasure. “And now this happening to Hal. I totally caved when I found out yesterday.”
“He got careless I guess,” I said.
“It’s not that hard to do. I’ve seen it enough times. That stuff just rips the shit out of people.”
“I knew you’d be really depressed
about it.”
“Well, thanks for coming to see me. I know we don’t get together as often as we used to, but I’m always thinking about you guys.” Corinne’s best feature was her gorgeous brown eyes. Right now they were getting a little teary. “I used to envy Hal, growing up with all that privilege. It always surprised me that he hung around with us.”
I felt a flash of guilt. Had I not been facing this labyrinth of trouble I would have touched base with her right away. I didn’t want to cause her even more distress by telling her the real reason for Hal’s death.
“Can I get you a drink or something?”
“A coffee would be good.”
“Black, right?” She said this as she walked to the kitchen, more a rhetorical question than anything.
When she returned I could see she’d put on a few extra pounds since the last time we’d been together. She’d always been pleasingly plump with ample curves, and had carried it well. Guys found her easy laugh and warmth appealing. It mystified me that she kept herself hidden away like this.
She handed me my coffee and sat on the couch opposite, her mug in her hand. “Do you know anything about arrangements for Hal?”
“No. Apparently the police haven’t released his body yet. So Laurel tells me.”
“How’s she taking it then?”
“Not well. And there are mega problems with the estate to clear up. Both Mina’s and Peter’s.”
Corinne let out a sigh. “That mother of his. She kept him trapped like a fish in a bowl. At her funeral Hal could barely stand, he was so distraught. Incredibly strange, what he did with her. Peter’s in a nursing home now, isn’t he?”
“He’s in really poor shape. Can’t feed himself anymore, doesn’t recognize anyone.”
“At least he won’t know what happened to his son.”
“Yeah. A weird kind of blessing.” I sipped my coffee. “Corrie, there’s something I was hoping you’d help me with. Do you have any time right now?”
“I’m just finishing up some work. How much of a hurry are you in?” “Huge.”
“What’s it about?”
“Some people have been giving me a bad time. They want to get their hands on an artifact that belonged to Samuel and they won’t identify themselves. The only lead I have is an unusual website with a forum about alchemy.”
The Witch of Babylon Page 15
