The Prophecy paj-5

by Chris Kuzneski

  ‘Fine,’ he said reluctantly, ‘you can tag along. But in the field, I’m in charge. If I say something, you do it. No questions, no quarrels, no hesitation.’

  Ulster nodded and grinned.

  ‘One more thing, and this isn’t negotiable. Both of you need to wear bulletproof vests.’

  Ulster grinned even wider as he pulled up his sweater. Hidden underneath was the largest Kevlar vest that Payne had ever seen. Custom-built to protect Ulster’s massive stomach and man boobs, it had been decorated with red and blue paisley. ‘I’m ready to rock and roll!’

  Jones grimaced at the sight. ‘And I’m ready to throw up.’

  *

  ‘As soon as I got off the phone to you, I hustled to the Renaissance Room at the Archives and located a copy of Les Prophéties in its original French, and all the materials I had on Nostradamus. That included some handwritten correspondence to his son. Although nothing will be conclusive until your document is tested, I can assure you the handwriting is a perfect match. If your letter wasn’t written by Nostradamus, it was done by a master forger.’

  Sitting next to Ulster, Megan shook her head in disbelief. ‘You mentioned he had a son. Did you find any connections to my family?’

  Ulster patted her on the leg. ‘If I had, my dear, I would have called.’

  ‘So where does that leave us?’ Payne wondered.

  ‘Actually, it leaves us in a very good place.’

  Ulster explained. ‘Although I found nothing definitive about Megan’s family, I uncovered a few titbits about his family that might come in handy. First of all, his son’s name was César. According to some accounts, he was named after Nostradamus’s mentor, a man named César Scalinger, who was a famous philosopher and botanist.’

  ‘Why is that important?’ Jones asked in his rearview mirror.

  ‘Because his initials were C. S., just like the initials on your document.’

  Payne tried to make sense of it. ‘So the letters might stand for César Scalinger, and the number is the year that Nostradamus died. Any thoughts on what that might mean?’

  Jones guessed. ‘Maybe there’s a statue or a plaque on Quai du Mont-Blanc honouring them?’

  ‘I don’t think there is,’ Ulster said, ‘but we can certainly look. As I mentioned yesterday, it’s a very short road. We can cover it on foot in less than an hour.’

  ‘Anything else?’ Payne asked.

  Ulster nodded. ‘The last line of Megan’s text message mentioned the blood of his first wife, so I tried to find all the information I could about this woman. During my search, I found something

  Megan looked puzzled. ‘How is that possible? Nostradamus was famous.’

  ‘Remember, my dear, this was his first wife. At the time they were married, Nostradamus was a physician, not a celebrated prophet. According to my research, they married for love, not convenience, and the couple had two children whose names are not known.’

  ‘What happened to them?’ she demanded, hoping one of them had carried on the bloodline of his first wife.

  ‘Sadly, there was an outbreak of Black Death in France, and Nostradamus was called away from their home in Agen to help heal the afflicted. While he was off helping others, his entire family caught the plague and died before he returned. Obviously this devastated him on a personal level, but it also ruined his professional reputation. Nobody wanted to be treated by a healer who let his own family die from the plague.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Jones said, ‘that wouldn’t look good on a business card.’

  ‘In what way?’ Payne asked.

  ‘No one knows when and no one knows why, but at some point during his travels, Nostradamus found his gift for prophecy.’

  54

  Ulster wasn’t exaggerating about the short length of Quai du Mont-Blanc. It ran for 2,000 feet along the north-west shore of Lake Geneva. Sandwiched between Rue du Mont-Blanc to the south and Quai Wilson to the north, Quai du Mont-Blanc was a picturesque road filled with banks, monuments, and luxury hotels. It offered a distant view of Mont Blanc, Europe’s highest mountain, which towered above the Alps on the French-Italian border.

  After parking on the quay near the Genève-Pâquis ferry terminal, the foursome climbed out of the SUV and felt the cold sting of the Geneva winter. All of them were bundled up in warm clothes and Kevlar vests, but it was no match for the frigid wind that whipped across the water.

  ‘From now on,’ Jones mumbled to Payne, ‘we only take missions near the beach.’

  Payne turned up his collar and nodded. When he was younger, he used to love downhill skiing and snowmobiling at the great resorts near etc. But the more he aged, the more his body ached in the cold weather. Years of sports injuries, martial arts, and bullet holes had slowly taken their toll. Now when he visited a ski lodge, he spent half the time on the slopes and the other half in the hot tubs.

  As they walked along the water, Ulster pointed towards the eastern shore, which was less than a half mile away. ‘The Jet d’Eau fountain is over there. During the warm season, it shoots water five hundred feet into the air.’

  ‘I find that hard to believe,’ Jones said.

  Ulster stopped. ‘I’m serious, David. It shoots the water very high.’

  ‘No, I meant the part about a warm season. Right now I’m freezing my ass off.’

  Ulster laughed and started walking again. As he did, Megan moseyed up to Jones and locked her arm in his. ‘You know, for an ex-soldier, you’re kind of wimpy.’

  He shrugged. ‘Maybe so, but at least I’m not a… um… Ah, fuck it! It’s too cold to be funny.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ she teased. ‘No need to talk. Just shut up and look pretty.’

  Jones grinned and leaned closer. ‘Same to you.’

  *

  Cars whizzed by as they walked past several Swiss banks and businesses on the busy street. A few blocks later, they came across the Beau-Rivage, the only privately owned hotel in Geneva and one of the most famous hotels in all Europe. It was so luxurious it served as the headquarters for Sotheby’s, the most prestigious jewellery auction house in Europe. Even from the sidewalk, the hotel overflowed with extravagance.

  ‘Have you heard of the Beau-Rivage?’ Ulster wondered.

  Jones answered. ‘I’ve been to the Beau Rivage Casino in Biloxi, Mississippi, but I’m going to guess it’s not affiliated.’

  ‘Does it have slot machines in the lobby?’

  ‘Certainly not.’

  ‘Then it can’t beat the one in Biloxi.’

  Payne, who considered himself a hotel aficionado, was quite familiar with the Beau-Rivage, a lavish five-star hotel. If not for the task at hand, he would have strolled through the marbled atrium and the Sarah Bernhardt Salon, soaking in the history and enjoying the decadence. Despite his personal wealth, he rarely bought expensive toys like gold watches or fancy yachts, but whenever Payne was travelling abroad, he always stayed in the grandest hotels. It was one of the few luxuries he truly enjoyed. ‘Have you ever eaten at the chef’s table?’

  Ulster’s eyes widened with surprise. ‘You know of the chef’s table?’

  ‘Who doesn’t?’ he joked.

  Megan raised her hand. ‘I don’t. What’s the chef’s table?’

  ‘The Beau-Rivage has a special table inside the kitchen of Le Chat Botté, its famous restaurant. Those who dine within have their meal specially created for them by its world-class chef. All done tableside.’

  Payne smiled. ‘I guess that means you have eaten at the chef’s table.’

  ‘Indeed I have. Many times. It’s a magical feast for all your senses!’

  Jones cleared his throat. ‘If you guys are done salivating, can we get back to our mission? I mean, what’s this world coming to when I’m the guy trying to keep us focused?’

  Payne rolled his eyes. ‘You’re just cranky because you’re cold.’

  ‘I’m fucking freezing, but that’s beside the point.’

  ‘Fine. What’s your point?’r />
  Jones explained. ‘While you guys are bragging about eating in the kitchen — something black people have been forced to do for centuries — I’m over here solving mysteries.’

  ‘And what mystery is that?’

  ‘I just figured out what CS stands for. And it’s not his mentor, César Scalinger.’

  Payne furrowed his brow. ‘What is it then?’

  Jones motioned towards a building up the street. ‘I think it’s a bank.’

  He nodded. ‘Ever heard of Capital Savings?’

  Ulster answered for him. ‘Heard of it? I have several accounts there. In my country, there are two major banks that handle more than half of all Swiss deposits. Union Bank of Switzerland is number one. Capital Savings is number two.’

  ‘Have you been inside this branch?’ Payne asked.

  ‘Many times. It is where I do my banking when I’m in Geneva.’ He paused for a moment. ‘I’m sorry I did not think of it sooner. I was focused on landmarks, not businesses.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Payne said. ‘We still don’t know if DJ’s right. It might simply be a coincidence.’

  ‘Maybe so,’ Jones admitted. ‘But the text message said something about her fortune. It seems to me that a bank would be a perfect place to stash it.’

  ‘If that’s the case, what does 1566 stand for?’ she wondered.

  ‘Don’t ask me. I’ve done my heavy lifting for the day. What do you guys think?’

  Ulster shrugged. ‘It can’t be an account number. It’s way too short. Besides, unless Megan’s name is on the account, she wouldn’t be able to access the funds.’

  Ulster shook his head. ‘He was an apothecary and an author, not a duke or a king.’

  ‘In other words, he wasn’t rich.’

  ‘Comfortable, but not rich.’

  ‘If that’s the case, what’s his fortune?’ Payne asked. ‘It can’t be cash or jewels. It has to be something else.’

  ‘Like what?’ Megan wondered.

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe something he cherished. Something priceless.’

  Ulster gasped softly. ‘His journal.’

  ‘What journal?’ Payne asked.

  Paranoid, Ulster glanced in both directions. ‘During the past few days, I’ve come across several rumours about a secret journal that Nostradamus might have been keeping. Although he never admitted to its existence, it was widely believed that he wrote all his prophecies in a single notebook and stored it somewhere safe. Since it was never intended for publication, his visions were written in simple, straightforward language. No puzzles, or codes, or verses of any kind. Nothing but his most vivid predictions, all compiled in one journal.’

  Payne frowned. ‘What happened to it?’

  ‘And what do you think?’

  Ulster smiled. ‘If the man could see the future — and that’s still a very big if — then he didn’t die without a plan. If Nostradamus was a prophet, I’m sure he realized that future generations would cherish his work, not condemn him for it.’

  Payne continued the thought. ‘If that’s the case, then he definitely figured out a way to get his journal into the hands of someone he was connected to. Perhaps a distant relative.’

  Megan gasped in understanding. ‘Someone like me.’

  55

  The four of them strolled past Capital Savings, giving Payne and Jones an opportunity to inspect the exterior of the nineteenth-century building. Made of tan stone, the bank was four storeys tall and equipped with modern security. Cameras had been mounted above the main entrance, which gave the guards a panoramic view of Quai du Mont-Blanc and the waterfront. Unlike most of the taller buildings on the street that housed several businesses and residences, the bank was a stand-alone structure, designed to be impregnable.

  ‘What do you think?’ Payne whispered.

  Jones answered. ‘I think any facility with that type of camera on the outside is going to have even better technology on the inside. Maybe even facial-recognition software.’

  ‘In other words, we can’t go inside without risking detection.’

  ‘Not only that, but my lock-picking skills would be useless. I’m sure their safe-deposit vaults are equipped with digital-scan security.

  ‘Yes,’ Ulster assured them, ‘the security at Capital Savings is top-notch. Although I don’t have a box in this branch, I’ve seen customers entering that section of the bank. First they enter a password into a computer system, then their entire hand is scanned. Fingertips, palm, everything. After that, they go downstairs to the vaults. Who knows what kind of system they have down there? They might even take DNA samples.’

  Jones smiled. ‘Somehow I doubt that, but you’d know better than I. You’re the one who has been bragging about the Swiss banking system for as long as we’ve known you.’

  Ulster patted him on the back. ‘I brag because I care. I want my friends to have the best.’

  ‘Speaking of friends,’ Payne said, ‘do you have any buddies who work at this branch? Maybe someone in management who can provide us with some inside information.’

  ‘What type of information?’

  ‘For instance, does this bank have a safe-deposit box with the number 1566? And if so, what’s the name and address of the person who rents it?’

  Ulster chuckled. ‘You’re joking, right? Swiss

  Jones leaned in and whispered. ‘Ironically, Jon and I pride ourselves on making people talk. If push comes to shove, whose side do you think will win? The bankers, or us?’

  Payne forced a laugh to diffuse the tension. ‘He’s kidding! Just kidding! No one’s going to make anyone talk. Tell him you’re kidding, DJ.’

  ‘Sorry, Petr. I’m cold, and I’m cranky. I promise, no torture today.’

  ‘And what about tomorrow?’

  Jones shrugged, unwilling to commit. ‘Depends on the weather.’

  Slightly concerned, Ulster glanced at Payne. ‘Is he joking?’

  Payne put his arm around Ulster’s shoulder and led him away from the others. ‘Petr, you need to keep something in mind. We’re not here because of Nostradamus. We’re here because people are trying to kill us. For the time being, we’re off the grid, but our status can change at any moment. The last time we were spotted a cop was killed in Philadelphia, and we were lucky to get away. Next time, we might not be as fortunate.’

  Slowly but surely, Ulster nodded his head

  ‘What do you need me to do?’ he asked.

  Payne answered. ‘If you have a friend, call him. If you have a connection, use it. I don’t care what rules they have to break, but I need all the info you can get on box 1566.’

  Ulster looked him in the eye. ‘Give me one hour, and I will get your information.’

  While Ulster did some digging inside the bank, Payne, Jones, and Megan killed time at the Hôtel Beau-Rivage where they ordered hot beverages and homemade pastries inside the L’Atrium Bar. Located next to the five-floor atrium, the bar continued the same theme with its chandeliers, mirrors, candelabras, and sculptures. High stools filled with guests lined the long marble bar, but the trio preferred a more private setting, commandeering the plush loveseat and upholstered armchairs near the roaring fire.

  Halfway through a mug of authentic Swiss hot ever. There’s no way in hell that blonde chick on the Swiss Miss box is actually from Switzerland. Because compared to this stuff, her cocoa tastes like shit.’

  Payne smiled. ‘Next time I see her, I’ll be sure to mention it.’

  ‘Please don’t piss her off. For some reason, I still want to bang that chick. I think it’s her cartoon ponytail.’

  Megan laughed at the absurdity of the comment. ‘Welcome back, David.’

  ‘Welcome back?’ he said, confused. ‘Oh, you mean my crankiness? Sorry about that. In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m not a fan of the cold.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I figured it out. Helen Keller could have figured it out.’

  Payne nodded in agreement. ‘DJ’s the best soldier I’v
e ever met from forty degrees to one-hundred and forty. Never bitched. Never moaned. Never needed sunscreen or extra fluids. The guy was like a black Terminator. But thirty-nine and below? He was a pouty little princess. Thankfully, during Hell Week — the roughest part of Special

  Jones smirked. ‘No comment.’

  ‘Nowadays, he’d be screwed. All candidates are forced to live in the mountains of Kodiak, Alaska, in near-arctic conditions to prove their worth. They’re tossed from tiny boats into the coastal waters and have to swim to shore. Over the next three weeks, they climb cliffs, traverse gorges, rappel down mountains, and sleep in the snow. All in hopes of preparing them for extreme conditions like Afghanistan.’

  Jones sipped his hot chocolate and sighed. ‘I don’t know about screwed, but I’d be pretty damn cranky. If I had to guess, I’d say the odds are fifty-fifty that they’d feed me to a bear, just to shut me up.’

  Megan was about to question him further when Ulster entered the room. His cheeks were flushed, and he was out of breath.

  Payne stood, concerned. ‘What are you doing here? You were supposed to call, so I could meet you at the bank.’

  Grinning, Ulster collapsed into an armchair. ‘No need, my boy. I have great news, so I hurried straight here.’

  Everyone.’

  A few seconds later, he hustled out of the bar and into the atrium.

  Confused, Ulster and Megan looked to Jones for answers.

  ‘Did I do something wrong?’ Ulster whispered.

  Jones nodded as he eyed the room. ‘You were supposed to call us from the bank. That was the plan. You deviated from the plan.’

  ‘I know, but it was only a block. I might be plump, but I can walk that far by myself.’

  ‘Maybe so, but how do you know you weren’t followed?’

  Ulster’s eyes widened. ‘Followed? Who would follow me?’

  ‘The same people trying to kill us,’ Jones explained. ‘If they know about the letter, there’s a possibility they know about Geneva, too.’