“You said she disappeared. Did you follow her to this place?” Mereau asked, his finger on Australia.
“I did. And I tried to find what became of her. I learned after some digging that the tycoon, his wife and their only child had gone missing on a safari and were never heard from again.”
With head lowered and hands clasped behind his back, Mereau paced back and forth while absorbing Foucault’s tale. He looked both angry and confused. After several minutes, he stopped pacing and turned to Foucault. “You said you thought she was seeking a Tuliskaera?”
“I thought so, but I was wrong,” Foucault said.
“Explain.”
“Once I knew she’d been revived and that her Sinethal had been destroyed, I thought she would go in search of replacements. Otherwise she would never be able to switch bodies again and would eventually die. I changed the focus of my search and began hunting for other Sinethals. I also searched for Tuliskaeras and Taellins, but I found none. After a time, I confess I gave up.
“But when Malinyah’s Sinethal resurfaced, I took it as a sign Muran was afoot. At first, I could not understand why she would give it to Devlin, but when I learned Devlin had interacted with Malinyah and had drawn a map of the Munirvo Maerlifs, it convinced me she was after a Tuliskaera and was using Devlin to tap Malinyah for the information. As there were no Taellins or Sinethals stashed in the Munirvo Maerlifs, that left Tuliskaeras as the only viable target of her search.”
“A reasonable deduction,” Mereau said.
“But yesterday, when Muran emerged from hiding, she used a Tuliskaera to aid her escape after taking a Sinethal from a modern vault, so she already had a Tuliskaera. She was never looking for one! I was wrong.”
“Then, she is searching for a Taellin?”
“I do not think so. I believe her target is more ambitious than that,” Foucault said.
Foucault told Mereau about the bank robbery and Pebbles’ kidnapping and shared his suspicions that Muran had engineered Pebbles’ abduction to acquire Malinyah’s Sinethal and the lyktyl. Mereau understood the implication immediately. “You should have never passed the medallion to the girl,” he said harshly. Foucault tried to explain his reasoning, but Mereau called his explanation naïve and the decision reckless.
Mereau’s disposition soured further when Foucault made it clear that Muran was operating with an accomplice. It was most likely the woman who helped her secure a new body, he speculated, as there was no way Muran could have been in two places on opposite ends of a continent at the same time. Foucault could feel the great Munuorian’s anguish flow through the Stone into his own mind. When he finished speaking, Foucault apologized for his sins. “I am sorry, Master and Captain. I disgraced the trust you placed in me.”
“It is not for me to judge you, Mathieu. I am disappointed, of course, that you did not consult me earlier, but dwelling on that will not help our cause,” Mereau said, leaning forward to clasp a hand on Foucault’s shoulder. His grip was strong yet reassuring. Foucault could sense his anger ebbing. “It is my fault. I should never have asked you to carry this burden for me.”
“Nonsense,” Foucault said. “It has been my privilege to serve you. To know the splendor of Munuoria through your memories has been a blessing, not a burden,” Foucault said.
“I feel your sincerity, Mathieu. And I believe you,” Mereau said, squeezing Foucault’s shoulder firmly. “You could have taken the knowledge I passed to you and used it solely for profit’s sake. You could have used the Tyls to conquer, to control the lives of others. You could even have tried to cheat death, following in the footsteps of The Betrayer. But you did none of these things. You have not been perfect, but no man ever is.”
Mereau released his hold on Foucault and rose from the table. He headed for the cabin door and called for Foucault to follow. On the main deck, Mereau gave the command to surface the ship. Several minutes later, the craft rose from beneath the waves. When the crew retracted the boat’s hull-shell, brilliant rays of sunlight showered the deck. Foucault turned his head away from the sky to allow his eyes to adapt to the sudden change in radiance. Strong swells still buffeted the ship, but Mereau seemed not to care. He dashed up the planked steps to the quarterdeck. “Come, Mathieu, let us make ready a plan. If your speculation is right, we have little time to waste.”
When Foucault released his hold on Mereau’s Sinethal, the Naetir dislodged and both Stones dropped onto the table with soft thuds. His eyes opened and slowly his blurred vision cleared. He was very thirsty and chided himself for not bringing water or enjyia to replenish his body after visiting Mereau. The intensity of the electromagnetic exchanges between the Sinethal and the brain triggered electrolysis within the body, a fact Foucault should have remembered.
But his annoyance was short-lived. Though his body was weakened by the visit, his mind was energized. It would fortify him long enough to reach the chateau, rehydrate, roust Christian from bed and return to the observatory to gather the items needed for their trip.
He braced his hands on the chair’s arms and slowly stood up. Despite the effort to cautiously rise from the seat, a rush of dizziness caused Foucault to teeter. He leaned his thighs against the edge of the table and waited for the woozy sensation to pass. Once it had, he maneuvered between the chamber’s furniture and reached the door. Before ascending the stairs, Foucault turned to look at the room. Mereau’s Sinethal and the Naetir still rested on the table, and he noticed the safe door was still open. Though his body beseeched him to find water, his mind called for discipline. Foucault retraced his steps, wobbling here and there, until he restored both Stones to the safe. As he prepared to close the door, he glanced at the glittering gold object on the top shelf and thought of Pebbles. He said a silent prayer for her safety and locked the safe.
By the time he made his way out of the observatory, the knee-high mist had transformed into a London-worthy fog. As he staggered toward the chateau, he was surprised to see the lights on the main level were out. Foucault then noticed the patio door was propped open. He halted and scanned the patio more closely, squinting through the hazy darkness.
His body tensed. Caught halfway between the house and the observatory, he had no hope of outrunning the figures racing toward him. Instinctively, he reached into the pockets of his blazer. He cursed and withdrew his empty hands.
Chapter 12 – Pressure Cooker
Incline Village, Nevada
September 28
“It’s good to hear your voice. I was worried about you,” Anlon said.
“Good to hear yours, too,” Jennifer said. “I literally just heard about Pebbles from Dan. I’m so sorry, Anlon. I should have had my phone with me.”
As Anlon listened to Jennifer, Detective Emerson entered the kitchen. He looked at Anlon with an expectant expression. Anlon shook his head and held his hand over the phone. “It’s a friend.”
Emerson nodded and turned to leave the kitchen. On his way out, he looked back at Anlon and whispered, “Make it quick.”
“Anlon?” Jennifer asked.
Removing his hand from the phone, Anlon said, “Yeah, I’m here. Sorry about that; police are still here. They want me off the line. And don’t apologize. Neither of us could have done anything to prevent it.”
“I’m sorry still the same. Is there any news? Is she all right?” Jennifer asked.
Anlon stared down at his coffee cup and idly spun a spoon on the kitchen table. At his side was Antonio, who silently offered to brew a fresh cup. Anlon waved him off and said to Jennifer, “No news. It appears she’s being held for ransom. We’re waiting for a call. How are you feeling? Understand you took a pretty good bonk to the head.”
“I’m fine, just sore,” she said. “Dan said Pebbles was shot. Is that true?”
“Yeah, looks that way,” Anlon said, massaging his forehead. “Police think she tried to run and got shot in the leg.”
“Jesus,” Jennifer said, her voice trailing off into a sigh. “Well, Dan’s dr
iving me to the airport as we speak. I’ll be there as fast as I can, hopefully late this afternoon.”
“What? I thought you were in intensive care?”
“Uh, yeah…I was.”
“Jen, come on, now. I appreciate you wanting to help, but you should—”
“But, nothing,” Jennifer said. “It’s about the Stones, isn’t it?”
“Yes. A note was left. ‘Malinyah for the girl.’ Pretty much points the finger at Muran, wouldn’t you say?” Anlon said. “Though if it is Muran, it means she has an accomplice, a male accomplice.”
Emerson reentered the kitchen with a frown on his face. Circling his hand, he whispered to Anlon, “Wrap it up.”
Anlon pulled the phone from his ear and covered it with his hand again. “Be done in a sec.”
The detective scowled and left the kitchen. Anlon turned to Antonio. “Guy’s starting to get on my nerves.”
As Antonio voiced his agreement, Anlon heard Jennifer speaking. The pitch of her voice was raised, and she was talking rapidly. He replaced the phone to his ear in time to hear her say, “…they’re trying to track him down, right now!”
“Sorry, Jen. Missed that. Who’s tracking who?”
“Charles Goodwin! The guy from the museum in New Haven. The one who lied about Devlin’s statue!”
“What about him?” Anlon asked.
“He was with Muran! At Ticonderoga…three days ago!”
Anlon popped up off the chair, knocking it over. “What?”
Antonio was in mid-sip when the chair crashed onto the floor. He flinched, startled by the sound, and spilled coffee down his chin and onto his clothes. Holding the dripping cup away from his body, he reached for a napkin and frowned at Anlon.
“Emerson! Get in here. Now!” Anlon shouted, lowering the phone to his side. Glancing down at Antonio dabbing his shirt, he said, “Sorry, Skipper. My bad.”
As Emerson appeared in the doorway, Anlon raised the phone and pushed the speaker icon. “Jen, I’ve put you on speaker. I’ve got Detective Emerson from the Nevada State Police here. Antonio’s with me, too. Tell them what you just told me.”
“Um, okay. Sure. I think your perp might be a man named Charles Goodwin.”
For the next several minutes, Jennifer ran through the events in Middlebury and Ticonderoga, shading the fantastical elements of Muran’s exploits in order to focus attention on the bank robbery and the photo of Muran and Goodwin. When she finished, Emerson said, “Can you get me a copy of the photo?”
“Hold on,” Jennifer said. Through the speakerphone, Anlon and the others heard a muffled conversation. When Jennifer returned to the line, she said, “We’ll get you a copy ASAP, but check online. FBI’s planning to put out an alert on him, might be out already.”
“I’ll get someone to check right away,” Emerson said, leaving the room.
“Anlon?”
“Yes, Jen.”
“I should let the FBI know about Pebbles.”
“Do it. We’ll take whatever help we can get.”
“Agreed. Probably means I won’t make it to Tahoe tonight, though. Depending on how mad the agent in charge gets, I might need your help posting bail.”
“What?”
“Don’t have time to explain, just keep your phone handy.”
“Okay, will do.”
“And call me if there’s any news about Pebbles, will you?”
“Of course.”
“Thanks. I’ll check in with you later,” Jennifer said.
“Sounds good. Thanks, Jen. Take care,” Anlon said.
“Oh, I almost forgot. You ever heard the name Evelyn Warwick? Ever see the name in Devlin’s papers?”
“Doesn’t ring a bell. Should I have?”
“I don’t know. Remember when you said Anabel had a collection of artifacts Devlin had given her, as gifts?”
“Yeah.”
“I think that’s what’s in the safe-deposit boxes in Middlebury, only the boxes were registered under the name Evelyn Warwick, not Anabel Simpson.”
“Hmmm…an alias Anabel used?”
“Could be. Probably was. Only, there are pieces of evidence that don’t fit.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
“I don’t have time to go into all of it now, but the coroner found some strange things during Anabel’s autopsy. And there was an odd assortment of clothes and jewelry in her house. Together with the safe-deposit boxes, it makes me think ‘Anabel Simpson’ was an alias.”
“You think her real name was Evelyn Warwick?”
“No. I think that was an alias, too. Sort of…”
“You lost me.”
“It’s going to sound crazy, but I think she might have been—”
A double beep from the speakerphone overrode Jennifer’s comment. Anlon looked down to see “Unknown Caller” on the screen. Two icons below prompted Anlon to either accept or ignore the new call. “Hey, Jen. Call coming in. Gotta go,” Anlon said. Turning to Antonio, he said, “Go get Emerson.”
Anlon’s shaking thumb hovered over the screen. He took a deep breath and pressed the “Accept Call” icon. As the call connected, Antonio returned to the kitchen with Emerson and two other officers in tow.
“Anlon Cully.”
There was just static at first. Anlon increased the speaker’s volume and set it on the kitchen’s center-island countertop. The four men stood around him as he said, “Hello? Anyone there?”
A long sigh echoed through the phone, and then a woman’s voice said, “The police are with you.”
The statement was delivered as an accusation rather than a question. Anlon, eyes glued on the phone, leaned forward and nodded. “Yes, they are.”
There was a pause, during which Anlon heard car horns and the sound of moving traffic over the speaker. When the woman spoke again, there was a tired quality to her voice, as if she was annoyed by a perceived inconvenience. “Unfortunate, but not unexpected. You know why I’m calling?”
“Yes, I saw the note,” Anlon said. “You are Muran, I presume?”
Three short puffs sounded from the phone. To Anlon, they came across as an amused laugh, a perception reinforced by the syrupy-superior tone of her reply. “My, I haven’t been called that for a very, very long time. It’s strange to hear the name spoken in your tongue.”
Anlon’s jaw tightened. “Honestly, I wish I’d never heard the name. I just want Pebbles back.”
A cackling laugh filled the kitchen. “Pebbles? What a dreadful pet name!”
If Anlon could have reached through the phone, he would have choked the life out of her laugh, and Muran with it. He bowed his head and gripped the edge of the marble counter with both hands. Antonio placed his hand on Anlon’s shoulder, causing Anlon to look up at him. Antonio mouthed, “Easy,” and mimed a deep breath.
“You have some things of mine. I want them back,” Aja said, her voice now icy.
“Things? The note said you wanted Malinyah,” Anlon said.
“At the time I did not know you had Omereau, too.”
“Omereau? Do you mean Mereau?”
“Don’t play games with me. You know of whom I speak. I want his Sinethal. I want it back.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I only have one Sinethal. Malinyah’s. And I will give it to you in exchange for Peb—”
Aja’s retort was swift and venomous. “Liar! Don’t deny it!”
Anlon glanced at Emerson and Antonio and shrugged his shoulders. Leaning back over the phone, he said in a raised voice, “I’m not lying, Muran. I don’t have Mer—”
“You lie! Your woman wore the lyktyl!” Aja spat.
“The what?” Anlon asked.
“Enough!” Aja shouted over Anlon’s question. In the ensuing silence, all that could be heard over the speaker was Aja’s labored breathing. In almost a whisper, she said, “You will give me both, or she will be sacrificed.”
Anlon pounded the counter. “Look! I’ll give you every f—ing
Stone I have. I’ll give you Malinyah’s map. I’ll f—ing gift wrap the damn things. But I don’t have two Sinethals! Pebbles must have told you that already!”
“I will strip her naked and paint her blue…” Aja taunted. “She will resist, of course, but it won’t be hard for my chacs to pin her down...”
“If you f—ing harm her, I wi—”
With the conversation spinning out of control, Emerson grabbed Anlon by the arm and pulled him away from the phone. “Cool it. This isn’t helping, Cully.”
Anlon fought against his grip and yanked his arm free. His face was deep red as he listened to Aja continue to needle him. “She’ll cry and plead, like they all do. But I’ll make sure to take my time…make her suffer for as long as it entertai—”
“F— you, Muran!”
Emerson directed his two officers and Antonio to lead Anlon from the room. “Get him out of here!”
Aja laughed.
“Look, Miss Muran, let’s all take a step back, here,” Emerson said. “I’m certain we can talk this out without threats or further injury to Miss McCarver.”
Anlon pushed away the officers and yelled, “So help me God, if you touch her, I will smash Malinyah’s Sinethal to rubble! Do you hear me, Betrayer?”
“Betrayer? Betrayer?” Aja yelled back. “I tried to save my people! And for that I’m called Betrayer? Malinyah has poisoned you with lies.”
With a click, the phone call ended.
Pézenas, France
Klaus Navarro strolled around the chateau parlor with a smile on his face and gloved hands clasped behind his back. As he approached the fireplace, he stopped to admire the array of Egyptian figurines lining the mantel. Picking up a statuette of a woman, he closely examined the carved features. “What dynasty is this?”
“Eighteenth,” Foucault said, kneeling in the room’s center under the watchful eyes of Navarro’s bodyguards. The two men, dressed in all black, aimed semiautomatic pistols at Foucault and Christian Hunte, who knelt beside him.
“The gold leaf is in excellent condition. Who is the woman?” Navarro casually asked.
Curse of the Painted Lady (The Anlon Cully Chronicles Book 3) Page 19
