The Prophecy paj-5

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The Prophecy paj-5 Page 19

by Chris Kuzneski

A Moore from the lost line.

  Jones asked, ‘What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you read this line?’

  Payne shrugged. ‘Something to do with Megan’s ancestry.’

  ‘That was my first guess, too. Line stands for lineage. Pretty simple, right?’

  ‘Right,’ Megan agreed.

  Jones continued. ‘Furthermore, if you think about the final word in lines one and three — brothers and mother — they have to do with family as well. Which fits in nicely with the theory that the first three lines are connected. Remember, none of them have verbs.’

  Payne nodded. ‘We’re all in agreement. Those lines are talking about Megan.’

  Jones smiled cryptically. ‘And yet we’re still missing a key piece of information. How does Megan’s lineage fit into all of this? What has actually been lost?’

  ‘I’m guessing you have a theory.’

  Your fortune waits for you.

  Protect it with your life.

  Death shall visit those untrue.

  Blood of his first wife.

  Payne skimmed the quatrain. ‘Care to narrow it down for us?’

  ‘I could,’ Jones said, ‘but I think it’s pretty obvious. Only one line talks about family.’

  Megan pointed at the board. ‘The fourth one. It mentions someone’s wife.’

  ‘Not only that,’ Jones said as he underlined three words: waits, protect, and shall. ‘It’s the only line in this poem that doesn’t have a verb.’ He paused for a moment, then glanced at Megan. ‘How about that? I guess they do teach grammar at the service academies.’

  She smiled, remembering her earlier wisecrack. ‘Touché.’

  ‘Okay,’ Payne admitted, ‘you make a pretty strong case. The fourth line seems to connect with the first three lines from the other poem.

  ‘Don’t worry. I was just getting to that.’

  Jones erased the first three lines of the poem. When he was done, only two lines remained on the board: A Moore from the lost line.

  Blood of his first wife.

  Wasting no time, Jones explained how they were connected. ‘As soon as I saw the word line, my mind jumped to bloodline. I mean, when you’re discussing someone’s lineage, that’s what you’re actually referring to: their bloodline. Then it dawned on me that “line” ended one verse and “blood” began another. That led me to believe that the two statements could be combined. All you have to do is tweak the word order a tad, and you get the following…’

  A Moore from the lost bloodline of his first wife.

  Jones grinned in triumph. ‘Not too shabby, huh?’

  Payne nodded. ‘Not bad at all.’

  Jones turned his attention to Megan. ‘Of course,

  Megan shrugged as she read the line. ‘I have absolutely no idea. My adoptive parents were high-school sweethearts, so they weren’t married beforehand. And as far as I know, neither were my biological parents. Then again, I never met either of them. My mom died in childbirth, and my father split right after conception. At least, that’s what I was told.’

  ‘Although you never met them, do you remember their names?’

  She nodded, as if the memory was a painful one.

  ‘Then I can probably help. Let’s go into the other room and run some data searches on my laptop. I’ve tracked down several deadbeat dads over the years. If we’re lucky, we’ll find something useful.’

  She stood from her chair. ‘Sounds good to me.’

  Jones walked towards the door. ‘Please tell me their names weren’t Jesus and Mary. Because if this is some kind of Da Vinci Code bullshit, you’re on your own.’

  She laughed at the suggestion. ‘I drink water. I don’t walk on it.’

  Payne knew Jones and Megan didn’t need his help, so he sat behind the desk and used his encrypted cell phone to contact the Ulster Archives. Even though it was night time in Küsendorf, Petr Ulster answered the call in his private office.

  ‘I’m so glad you called,’ Ulster said. ‘I was beginning to worry about your safety.’

  ‘Don’t worry. We’re fine.’

  ‘No more run-ins with gunmen?’

  ‘Only one, so it’s been an easy day.’

  Ulster laughed at the comment. ‘Oh, Jonathon, you slay me!’

  ‘Ironically, that’s what he was trying to do to us. I’m not quite sure where they’re coming from, but they’re persistent.’

  ‘So,’ Ulster said, ‘we’re you simply checking in, or did you need further help?’

  ‘Believe it or not, I was calling to give you an update. We put our heads together and figured out these poems. As you suggested, the author was pretty clever.’

  ‘Did you say poems, as in plural?’

  Payne rubbed his eyes. ‘That’s right. I haven’t

  He took a few minutes to explain everything to Ulster, starting with Megan’s text and ending with the solutions to the puzzles. During the explanation, Ulster said very little, but he wrote all the deciphered codes in a notebook so he could re-examine them later.

  ‘What about the letter? Did you find the original letter?’

  Payne nodded. ‘Sorry, I should have mentioned that, too. I’m looking at it right now.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ Ulster said excitedly. ‘What type of paper?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m not an expert. Some kind of parchment, I guess.’

  ‘Does it look old?’

  ‘Yep. Pretty fancy, too. It’s held up well over the years.’

  ‘Tell me, do you have a black light on your person?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘A device for seeing bloodstains and such.’

  Payne laughed at the possibility. ‘Why in the world would I have a black light? I make bloodstains. I don’t examine them.’

  ‘Yes, of course, how silly of me. In that case,

  ‘A discotheque? No, Petr, we’re at an airbase, not Studio 54. Why?’

  ‘An airbase might work! Do they have war planes? Perhaps something from the forties?’

  Payne furrowed his brow at the line of questioning. ‘Police stations? Discotheques? War planes? What in the heck are you rambling about?’

  ‘Your letter,’ Ulster explained. ‘I have a theory about its author, but I need a black light to prove my hypothesis.’

  ‘Tell me what you have in mind, and I’ll see what I can do.’

  Ulster leaned back in his office chair. ‘Since 1282, papermakers have been using watermarks to identify their products. The first technique was called the Dandy Roll Process, a pressure roller developed in Bologna, Italy. In time, governments started protecting their products as well, using special paper for stamps and currency in order to discourage counterfeiting.’

  ‘And what does that have to do with the letter?’

  ‘Eventually the art world followed suit. Painters protected their works by using special types of

  Payne grabbed the corner of the letter and held it up to the light, searching for a watermark of any kind. ‘Sorry, Petr, this letter is watermark-free.’

  ‘Wonderful! Just wonderful!’

  ‘Are you being sarcastic?’

  ‘No, Jonathon, not at all. In fact, I’m thrilled with the news. As I mentioned, I have a theory about the puzzle maker. If the author is who I think he is, the only way we can be sure is with a black light.’

  ‘Wait. Who do you think it is?’ Payne wondered.

  Ulster shook his head. ‘For the time being, I’d rather not say. But if my hypothesis is correct, I can understand why people are willing to kill for that letter.’

  50

  While Ulster waited on his cell phone, Payne used the office telephone to call the base commander. The grey-haired supervisor answered on the second ring. After a moment of small talk, Payne got right to the point.

  ‘Let me apologize in advance, but I need to ask you a strange question.

  The commander smiled. ‘You mean stranger than being smuggled into Willow Grove and setting up shop in a back offi
ce?’

  Payne laughed. ‘Well, when you put it like that…’

  ‘What can I do for you, son?’

  ‘I was wondering if you had a black light anywhere on the base.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, we do. Hand-held and battery-powered.’

  ‘Seriously? Why in the world do you have one?’

  ‘Every year we have one of the biggest air shows in the country. Sometimes we get in old bombers from World War Two. The type we built

  ‘Sir, I’m confused. What type of panels are you talking about?’

  The commander grunted. ‘How disappointing! I figured an academy man like you would know this stuff. You soldiers nowadays need to learn your history.’

  ‘You’re right, sir. If you have a moment, please fill me in.’

  The commander smiled, happy to impart his knowledge to a younger generation. ‘Back in the old days, the bright glow of our instrument panels used to give away the position of our planes during night raids. During the war, we experimented with UV-fluorescent dials and black lights. We even printed charts in UV-fluorescent inks and designed special UV-visible pencils and slide rules for the navigators.’

  Suddenly, Ulster’s comment about war planes made sense to Payne. ‘That’s pretty fancy gear for the forties. Was it effective?’

  The commander laughed. ‘Not really. That’s probably why you never heard of it. The damn power inverters kept blinking out on takeoffs. And no power meant no instruments.’

  ‘A series of crashes forced us and the Brits to abandon the programme back in forty-five. Surprisingly, some of the old birds are still functional. Not the inverters, though. That’s why we have to break out the wand. To light those panels up.’

  ‘If it’s all right with you, could I borrow the wand for an hour or two?’

  ‘Not a problem, son. Someone will bring it to you in a few minutes.’

  ‘Thank you, sir, I appreciate it. And, sir? Thanks for the history lesson.’

  As promised, the UV wand was delivered less than five minutes later. It was nearly a foot long, and the casing was made of black plastic. There was a thumb switch near the handle, which turned on the UV lamp — a single UV bulb that shone light over a limited space.

  Jones saw the device being delivered and was immediately intrigued. As soon as the airman left, Jones and Megan hustled into the office.

  ‘Close the door,’ Payne whispered as he covered the mouthpiece on his cell phone. Jones did what he was told, then took a seat next to Megan.

  ‘What kind of test?’ Jones asked.

  Payne signalled for Jones to hold on for a moment. ‘Petr, the wand just got here. If it’s okay with you, I’m going to put you on speakerphone. I’m here with DJ and Megan.’

  ‘Hello everybody,’ Ulster said through the speaker. ‘This is so exciting!’

  ‘What’s exciting? What are we checking?’ Jones wondered.

  ‘I have a theory on the identity of your mysterious writer. If I’m correct, your letter will have a special UV watermark in the parchment.’

  Jones scoffed at the notion. ‘Petr, none of us are experts in the field, but this letter looks several centuries old. I doubt UV technology was available when it was written.’

  ‘Technology, no. Ink, yes.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘Believe it or not, phosphorescent ink is older than modern man. Several forms of phosphorescence can be found in nature. For instance, there are many species of fish that glow under UV lighting. Insects, too. Have you ever seen a scorpion under a black light? Very creepy!’

  ‘Maybe so, but—’

  Jones smiled. ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Because that’s what forward thinking is all about. Some of the greatest minds of all time designed contraptions long before we had the technology to build them.’

  ‘In other words, you’re telling us that ancient writers used UV watermarks to verify their work for future generations?’

  Ulster clarified his point. ‘No, I never said writers. Just one in particular.’

  ‘And why would he do that?’

  ‘Because his most important work focused on the future.’

  ‘The future, huh? Care to give us a name?’

  ‘In a moment,’ Ulster promised, ‘but first, you need to do something for me.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Payne asked.

  ‘Turn off the lights, turn on the wand, and tell me what you see.’

  Despite being highly sceptical, Jones walked towards the door and put his hand on the light switch. Megan slid round the desk to stand next to Payne, who anxiously held the wand over the letter.

  ‘Ready?’ Jones asked.

  ‘Holy shit!’ Jones blurted as he rushed over to read it.

  Payne echoed his sentiment. ‘Holy shit indeed.’

  ‘What do you see?’ Ulster demanded.

  Jones answered. ‘It’s glowing. The damn thing is glowing!’

  ‘But what do you see? Words? Shapes? Numbers?’

  ‘All of the above.’

  ‘The shape! Tell me about the shape.’

  Payne moved the lamp closer and did his best to describe it. ‘The object is in the centre of the page. It’s roughly two inches in diameter and looks like a crescent moon on its back.’

  Jones growled in the dark. As he did, his teeth glowed. ‘Please tell me it’s not Islamic. The Saudis are still pissed about what we did in Mecca.’

  ‘No, it’s not Islamic,’ Ulster assured them. ‘In fact, it’s not even a moon.’

  ‘What is it then?’

  ‘A bowl? Like for Frosted Flakes?’

  Ulster ignored the question. He’d explain everything soon enough. ‘Tell me, Jonathon, is the bowl being cradled?’

  ‘Yes,’ Payne said. ‘It’s being held in the air by some kind of support.’

  A loud belly laugh filled the line. ‘Brilliant! Bloody brilliant! I simply knew it!’

  Payne smiled at Ulster’s excitement. ‘Knew what, Petr?’

  ‘The tripod. It had to be the bowl and tripod! What else could it be? A long time ago, I read that—’

  ‘Petr!’ he said forcefully.

  ‘Jonathon?’

  ‘We’re here in the dark. Literally in the dark. Please tell us about the bowl and tripod.’

  Ulster took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. ‘Yes, of course. Sorry for my babbling. I won’t let it happen again. Are you familiar with the concept of scrying?’

  ‘Scrying? Nope, never heard of it.’

  ‘Scrying is a technique used by soothsayers to predict the future. It involves seeing things psychically in a reflective or translucent medium, such as a crystal ball or a mirror. The watermark

  ‘If scrying is so common, how do you know who wrote our letter?’

  ‘How? Because of the watermark! Only one man in history used UV ink in that manner and had the talent to pull off such an elaborate puzzle for a future audience. Obviously we won’t know for sure until I test the parchment and sample the handwriting, but as far as I’m concerned, I’ve seen enough to hazard a guess. In fact, it’s more than a guess. I’m 99 per cent sure I know who wrote that letter.’

  ‘Give me a name,’ Payne demanded.

  Ulster grinned. ‘Your pen pal from the past is none other than Michel de Nostredame. Of course, you probably know him by the Latinized version of his name: Nostradamus.’

  51

  Everyone’s eyes widened in the dark. For the next few seconds, no one made a sound as they pondered the significance of Ulster’s claim.

  Finally, Payne ended the silence. ‘Did you say Nostradamus?’

  Ulster’s laugh filled the room. ‘Yes, Jonathon, I did.’

  ‘You mean the prophet from the Middle Ages?’

  ‘The one and only.’

  ‘Nostradamus wrote this letter?’

  Ulster laughed some more. ‘Yes, I’m fairly certain he did.’

  Jones jumped in. ‘Did he send the text, too? Because that would be
some freaky shit.’

  ‘No,’ Ulster clarified, ‘I think he had some help on that one. I would imagine whoever mailed the letter to Megan also sent the text.’

  Hearing her name, she entered the conversation. ‘Why would someone do that? Why would someone send me a letter written by Nostradamus?’

  Payne smiled at the question. Where else would he be? ‘Yes, Petr, I’m still here.’

  ‘Wonderful! Perhaps you would be kind enough to describe everything that is glowing. I believe David mentioned there was a series of letters and numerals.’

  Payne repositioned the UV wand above the letter and leaned in for a closer look. ‘Up near the top, he wrote some initials and some numbers: CS 1566.’

  Ulster jotted it down. ‘Interesting. Very interesting. What else?’

  ‘His watermark is in the centre of the page.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I knew that already.’

  ‘Toward the bottom of the letter, he wrote something in French: Quai du Mont-Blanc.’

  Ulster repeated it back to him, making sure his notes were accurate. ‘Any numbers?’

  ‘Nope. No numbers.’

  ‘Strange. Very strange. What else do you see?’

  ‘Genève?’ he blurted. ‘You’re sure of this?’

  Payne nodded in the dark. ‘Positive.’

  Ulster sought a second opinion. ‘David, do you concur with Jonathon?’

  Jones, who knew basic French, read the entire document aloud. ‘CS 1566. Quai du Mont-Blanc. Genève.’

  ‘Wonderful! Just wonderful! This is exceptional news!’

  ‘How so?’ Payne wondered.

  ‘First, before I answer your query, is anything else glowing?’

  ‘No, Petr, that’s everything.’

  ‘In that case, you should turn off the wand now. The sooner, the better.’

  ‘Why?’ Payne asked as Jones walked across the room and turned on the overhead lights. ‘Will it damage the letter?’

  ‘No,’ Ulster explained, ‘the parchment is quite durable. However, without proper eyewear, long-term exposure to UV light can cause blindness in humans.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Payne snapped.

  ‘Relax, Jonathon, relax. A few minutes are fine. Twenty minutes, not so much.’

 

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