by M. J. Rose
“This way.” In the corner he flung open another door, revealing a small walk-in closet. Cartons were stacked at one end, double shelves lined the opposite wall. As he reached out Meer knew even before he did it that he was reaching for a hidden handle, and when a section of the wall swung out, she rushed to the access and looked down into a gaping black hole, smelling a surge of damp, dank air.
She knew this place. Remembering the cloaked entrance and the details of what lay beyond it, she was lost for a minute between now and then and tried to grab hold of a tangible memory.
“We’re going down into the catacombs, aren’t we? Why?”
“All the Society’s valuables are down there…all the historical papers,” he explained as he pulled a cord illuminating a deep descending spiral staircase and she hurried down the same staircase she’d seen in a memory lurch. Meer’s shivering started with sudden intensity and she had to put her finger between her teeth to stop them from chattering. Remaining in the present was urgent; she couldn’t allow memory to overtake her now.
Eight, nine, she couldn’t keep herself from counting the steps. Eleven, twelve…there were going to be fifteen steps, she thought, and yes, the fifteenth step was the last.
Sebastian flicked another switch. Weak light showed the way through a twisting tunnel. Hearing rustling, she spun around.
“Just mice, they scamper when they hear movement,” he said. “It’s not much farther, I promise.” The kindness and sympathy in his voice reached out to comfort her, but nothing except seeing her father would alleviate her anxiety.
Proceeding through the low-ceilinged passageway, she noticed niches carved into the stone walls, each containing a dusty skeleton but she wasn’t shocked. She remembered them, anticipated them, from Margaux’s journey down here. They’d looked at her with their eyeless, unwelcoming stares before.
Up ahead she saw footprints in the dirt. Three sets. Not all were going in the same direction. She remembered, from that distant morass of confused images and ideas, that there was an exit down here.
“Be careful you don’t slip, it’s muddy,” Sebastian said considerately, altering the distance between centuries. “We’re here,” he announced as they came around a last turn.
The vault room, barricaded like a prison cell with iron bars, stood at the end of this hallway. Inside a bare bulb descended from an ugly black cord that twisted down like a snake hanging from the ceiling and shed its harsh light on her father, sitting on the floor, his back up against the wall.
Chapter 79
Thursday, May 1st—11:31 a.m.
“Thank God.” Jeremy Logan was enormously relieved to see Meer and Sebastian. His voice was weak and he was pale; there was no doubt her father was unwell.
“Meer, did they hurt you?”
“They? No. I’m fine but you should be in the hospital. Are you hurt?” She turned to Sebastian. “How are we going to get him out of here?”
He held up a key: old and worn and made of brass. Like so many other things related to this place, it looked familiar. “I have the key,” Sebastian said. “I was on my way down here when you rang the bell. Meer, you can stop worrying now. Everything is going to be fine.”
Meer took a breath, tried to relax. It was all going to be fine now that she and Sebastian were there.
Sebastian swung the cell open and Meer rushed inside to help her father, who had stood up but seemed to be shaky on his feet. Jeremy opened his arms to hug her and even though his grasp was weak, it reassured her that she’d found him in time. He really was all right. They could get him to the hospital now.
Jeremy looked over the top of her head to Sebastian. “What happened to you?” he asked, concerned. “Did they hurt you? I can’t remember anything after—”
“Dad, how did you get here?” Meer interrupted.
“Sebastian came to the hospital this morning and said you’d been tricked into coming here, thinking I was here and in danger but that it was a trap and that you were the one in danger. We rushed over together and almost as soon as we walked into the building I was knocked out. When I came to I was locked in this damn cell, not knowing where you were or what I could do to find you.”
Meer’s shivering resumed as she desperately tried to make sense of what he was telling her and comprehend its implications. Without looking for it, her father found her crescent-shaped scar and he rubbed her back.
“You took my father from the hospital.” Meer spun around and accused Sebastian. “Even though he’s scheduled for a procedure today you brought him here and endangered his life? What made you think I was in trouble? I don’t understand.”
“You haven’t been here all along?” Jeremy asked Meer. Now he too was confused.
“No, I was at the hotel when—”
The sound of the iron door closing shocked Meer into silence and the click of the key turning in the lock punctuated the moment. Meer and Jeremy looked away from each other and through the bars at Sebastian, standing on the other side of the cell.
Chapter 80
Thursday, May 1st—11:39 a.m.
Her mind took in what the locked door meant. Sebastian had been helping her since her first morning in Vienna. At what point had that changed? When had he started to exploit her? Using her father, he’d distracted her and led her right into this trap without her questioning his motives. But why would she have? There’d been no indication he was anything other than what he seemed. Incredulous that she had been so wrong about him, she searched Sebastian’s face, looking for an answer. They had been too in sync for too many days for their connection to suddenly disappear now. And in this one thing, he didn’t disappoint her. He replied to her unasked question.
“If you had only played me the song this morning…none of this would have happened. Please, play it now,” he said, holding out the flute to her. “That’s all I want.”
This moment was what she’d been running away from all of her life. Not the music. Not the rain. Not the dreads. But the inevitability of her own failure. She’d misjudged Archer Wells long ago and had misjudged Sebastian now.
“You figured out the song?” Jeremy asked his daughter.
“Last night,” she answered without taking her eyes off Sebastian.
“Is it the same music you’ve always heard?” Jeremy seemed amazed and focused on her discovery, despite the danger they were in.
“Yes. That and more. All the ideas you tried to talk to me about—the Tree of Life, the overtone series, binaural beats…they’re all connected to the music and its vibrations. You were right about everything.”
His eyes lit up with pride. “That’s all I ever wanted. To help you. To teach you something that would help you live your life.”
This is what she needed to remember about Sebastian, that he was a parent who would do anything to help his child, including threaten that same relationship between Meer and her father. But first she needed to know how wrong she had been about him.
“How far back does this go? Did you steal the Beethoven letter? Take the gaming box from the auction house?”
“No, of course not. I’d never hurt anyone or steal anything.”
“Until now?”
“I don’t want to now. I don’t want to steal the flute, I just want to play it for Nicolas.”
“How are you going to do that? You’re not even allowed in his room anymore.”
“I can work that out.”
Meer had an idea. “If you let me, I’ll go to Steinhof and I’ll play him the music. If we leave now we could be there in less than an hour. We can free him from the past, Sebastian. We’ll just drop my father off at the hospital and go see Nicolas.”
“Rebecca won’t let you see him.”
“I can convince her. I know I can. I know what’s wrong with him. I can explain it to her.”
He shook his head. “She won’t talk to you. She won’t even take my calls anymore.” His voice was strained with emotion.
“Then how are you going to p
lay it for him—”
“I’ve made an arrangement,” he interrupted.
“You’re taking too great a chance here, Sebastian. What will happen to Nicolas if you wind up in prison? Believe me, you don’t want to be separated from your son. Nothing’s worth that.”
“Nicolas deserves this chance, and I’ll do whatever I have to to give it to him. To save him.” Sebastian moved closer to Meer so that he could reach through the bars and touch her, so that she could feel his breath on her face. “And you’ll tell me the notes to the song because you’ll do whatever you have to to save your father, won’t you?”
“How dare you! How dare you use my daughter like this?” Jeremy’s neck muscles were attenuated and Meer could see his pulse beating under his pale skin.
“Meer, please, tell me the notes. I promise if you do you’ll both walk out of here untouched.” Sebastian held the flute out toward her and in the muted light because of the slight tremble of his hand, it looked as if it were a living thing.
Her heart lurched at the sight of the ancient instrument originally created to bring comfort and sustenance now being used to cause pain, confusion and chaos.
“Meer, don’t do what he’s asking,” her father pleaded. “Even for my sake you can’t betray a promise you made that goes back hundreds of years.”
How did her father know about the promise Margaux had made to Beethoven to help him hide the flute? The question would have to wait till later; Sebastian had turned away from them, crossed the narrow passage in two strides and leaned down over an old heating unit nestled into an alcove that still cosseted a few Roman bones. It took a few tries but finally he managed to twist the black circular handle to the “on” position.
Beside her, Meer was aware of her father’s too-labored breathing. “What is he doing?” she whispered.
“Turn off the gas, Sebastian,” Jeremy called out. “They’ll find out you did this and you’ll wind up in jail, and that won’t help you or Nicolas.”
“Not if I come back and open the door later and let you out.” Sebastian twisted the black wheel open farther, the strong hiss of the escaping gas its own warning.
“That’s not necessary. Sebastian, turn off the gas. Meer, give him what he wants.” Jeremy’s voice was rife with defeat.
“I’ll shut off the gas after I have the notes to the song. There’s more than enough time. Meer? The song?”
Sebastian took a pen and paper from his pocket and waited. He was close enough to the door again so that she could reach out and take the pen from his hand. Or the key to the cell from his pocket where she’d seen him put it just a few minutes ago.
“I figured out the key to the song late last night,” she said to her father, hoping he’d understand her clue.
“You can tell him all about it later,” Sebastian said.
“The key,” she continued talking to her father, “was right in front of me the whole time and—”
“Meer!” Sebastian interrupted.
She had no choice, could only hope that Jeremy had understood the message she tried to communicate. Glancing down at the flute, even though she knew Pythagoras’s Circle of Fifths by heart, she slowly read off the twelve notes secreted away inside the concentric circles. She was trying to buy her father some time to make his move.
Beside her, she heard him gasp, recognizing the sequence.
“And then another C,” she said to Sebastian, “as it starts again.”
Sebastian looked up from the piece of paper in his hand. “How do I know that these are the right notes?”
“They are, I wouldn’t lie to you. Not with my father’s life at stake. Will you let us go now so I can take him back to the hospital?”
“Once I’m certain.” Sebastian quickly reached back through the bars and plucked the flute out of her hands, put it up to his lips and started to play the memory song. C, G, D…
Meer began to shiver.
Sebastian played an A and then an E.
Her teeth were chattering.
The sound emanating from the bone flute was the musical accompaniment of her life. Pervasive and absorbing, tantalizing and hypnotic. It hadn’t caused an actual memory lurch last night… Maybe the person who played it couldn’t be moved by it—the way she was being moved now—as the music swelled deep inside of her. Familiar and terrible and very beautiful.
It was working. She was remembering.
The thunder clapped so loudly it sounded as if the sky were breaking apart. Margaux’s horse reared up but she held on. Through the sheets of rain she could just make out the other horse coming closer. Digging her heels into her horse’s flank, she urged him on, while at the same time she reached into her coat pocket and wrapped her fingers around the gun’s cold metal handle. As long as she had her pistol, she’d be safe.
“No,” Meer said, putting her hands up to her ears. “No, please.”
The rider came up on her right side, his pistol already drawn. “You little fool,” Archer Wells said, just as another clap of thunder filled her ears. “We have an arrangement and I’m holding you to it.”
Fumbling, Margaux pulled the pistol out of her pocket, trying to stop her hand from trembling, and aimed it at him.
“No, please, stop!” Pain coursed through Meer like liquid fire. She didn’t want to remember like this. Not here and not now. But she couldn’t halt the onslaught of images.
Jeremy couldn’t know exactly what was causing his daughter to suffer but it was obvious it had to do with the music, music he’d desperately wanted her to hear her whole life. But she was in too much pain. He couldn’t stand it. He grabbed for the flute through the bars instead of the key, frantic to stop him for Meer’s sake.
Sebastian shoved him hard enough for Jeremy to trip backward and fall, smacking his head on the stone wall.
Stuck halfway between the past and the present, Meer couldn’t move fast enough to get to Sebastian and grab the key from his pocket. By the time she reached out, he had already backed far away from the door. Behind her, she heard her father moan. She spun around.
“Daddy…”
He didn’t answer. She tried again but he still didn’t respond.
Sebastian’s footsteps echoed as he ran down the hallway away from them.
“Daddy?”
No response. She put her head on his chest and listened.
“Daddy?”
Sebastian’s footsteps were as faint as her father’s heartbeat.
“Daddy?”
This time his eyes flickered open and he gave her the smile that still promised protection and comfort. “I’m okay…just thinking things through.” He paused and coughed. “We have to get ourselves out of here. I think he left the gas on, Meer. He never shut it off, did he? Go look…you’ll be able to tell by how much of the shaft is exposed.”
“You’re right. Oh, God, you’re right.”
“We can’t stay here.”
And then Meer remembered she had a phone. How could she have forgotten and wasted the last few precious minutes? Getting up, she searched the small area for her bag and found it discarded in a corner. Her relief was palpable. The solution was so simple. Reaching inside she pulled out the small silver phone, opened it and waited for the signal to catch. The clock showed that it was almost one o’clock in the afternoon.
One bar. Two bars. Everything would be fine now. So simple. Then the bars disappeared and the no service message popped up.
“No!” She shut it off and restarted it. Watched the phone try to connect and then fail again.
“We’re too far down,” Jeremy whispered hoarsely.
Chapter 81
Musikverein Concert Hall
Thursday, May 1st—2:00 p.m.
The sound of the alarm startled everyone except for Bill Vine, who took the earsplitting, shrill ringing in stride as he opened his cell before it rang, anticipating the call reporting on the reason for the alarm. “Fill me in fast,” he said, and held the phone slightly away from his ea
r so Tom Paxton could listen in.
“Appears we’ve got a security break at the back entrance and we’re in lockdown,” Alana Green reported. “The mantrap’s operational. We’re secure.”
“Is this a fire drill or the real thing?” Vine asked.
“I’m trying to find out,” Green answered. “I’ll get back to you as soon as I know something.”
“Fuck,” Paxton muttered once Green disconnected. One real security break and he could—and would—call off the concert, but if he acted too soon and it turned out to be a false alarm it would be bad for business. Standing over Vine’s shoulder, Tom watched as his second-in-command typed instructions into his laptop, bringing up pictures of each entrance, inspecting them and calling out information as he did. Everyone else in the room had frozen, listening to the vitals. “Front main doors, secure.” Pause. “Ticket holders’ side entrance secure.” He listed them all, not finding anything amiss until the stage entrance cameras. “Got it,” he called out.
Paxton leaned down and inspected the scene displayed on Vine’s computer more closely. Or tried to. There was a flurry of activity, making it hard to see anything but a mass of men converging on a locked-down mantrap.
“There’s someone in there,” Vine said. They all crowded around and watched as a dozen guards, all armed with assault rifles, escorted a young man out of the locked-down door system.
“What’s Green doing? Get her back on the phone. I want to know what’s going on,” Paxton barked, and reached for his seventh or eighth cup of coffee. “We are less than three hours away from two thousand, eight hundred people descending on us, waving their tickets in their hands.”
Vine’s cell phone rang just as he was about to dial. “Tell me.” Again he held it slightly away from his ear.
“No breach. It was a musician,” Green explained. “Sebastian Otto. Principal oboe. Originally he weighed in without his instruments but today walked through with them. The monitor kicked in when the numbers didn’t match the stats on the biometric card. Stupid mistake. His cases should have gone through security on their own.”
