‘Sir,’ Reed continued, ‘please tell Mr Payne that
‘His phone is broken, but I’ll tell him. You better believe I’ll tell him.’
Reed heard the anger in his voice. It was a tone he had never heard from Jones before and one he never hoped to hear again. ‘Be careful, sir.’
‘Fuck careful,’ he snapped as he hung up the phone.
Walking towards his fireplace, Dubois pointed to the elaborate mantel that surrounded the roaring fire. Made out of grey stone, it was intricately carved and featured knights on horseback and battling dragons of all shapes and sizes. ‘Are you familiar with medieval architecture? Many artisans, particularly those from the lower class, had a fascination with mythical creatures. Some of their pieces I find primitive and rather distasteful, but this one I enjoy. Notice the repetition of triangles on the rim of the fireplace. It represents the teeth of the dragon.’
‘I like it,’ Payne admitted. ‘I’ve always liked dragons.’
Dubois smiled. ‘And I’ve always liked fire.’
‘Like the prophet himself, I am someone who values secrecy, which is one of the reasons I fell in love with this château. Hidden behind its walls are dozens of corridors and chambers that protect my most precious possessions. Including my collection.’
Dubois placed his hand on the side of the mantel and pulled a latch concealed by the stonework. As if by magic, the bookcase to the left of the fireplace swung away from the wall, revealing a secret passageway that wasn’t on the blueprints.
‘I call this room the Dragon’s Lair.’
68
Payne couldn’t believe his ears. Dubois had just referred to the secret room where he kept his collection as his lair. It was the same term Nostradamus had used in his quatrain. He claimed the book that belonged to his heir would be ‘Hidden in ink inside his lair’.
That couldn’t be a coincidence, could it?
Even to a realist like Payne, he had to admit too many coincidences in a row meant something else was going on, something beyond his understanding of the world. He still wasn’t ready to believe that Nostradamus had foreseen all the events of the past few days, but he was no longer willing to dismiss things quite as easily.
‘After you,’ Dubois said with a slight bow.
‘Sorry,’ Payne said as he grabbed the box from the crate, ‘my parents warned me about older men and secret rooms. That’s why I wasn’t an altar boy.’
Dubois smirked at the vulgar joke and led the way into the hidden chamber, pausing to flip a
‘Please take a closer look,’ Dubois encouraged.
Payne moved forward, searching for anything that resembled the object described in the third line of the quatrain. Of all the items, the most likely candidate seemed to be a leather-bound journal displayed in the very centre of the case. ‘What’s that?’ he asked.
‘That is the crown jewel of my collection. It is the earliest known edition of Les Prophéties, handwritten by Nostradamus himself. The first public instalment was not published until 1555, a full two years after his last entry was dated.’
‘Wow, that must have cost you a lot.’
‘Actually,’ Dubois said as he backed away, ‘it didn’t cost me a cent.’
‘Quite simple, really. I took it.’
‘You took it?’
Dubois pulled a pistol from the small of his back. ‘Allow me to demonstrate.’
Payne turned around slowly. He was fully expecting to see a gun in his rival’s hand. ‘I admire your confidence, but that’s not going to happen you know, considering the circumstances.’
‘The circumstances? I’m not stupid, Mr Payne. I’m fully aware that Mr Jones is lurking in the darkness. Why do you think I pushed for this meeting to be held inside?’
‘I thought maybe you wanted to cuddle.’
Dubois couldn’t help but smile. ‘Hardly. I did it so we could have a conversation without interlopers.’
‘And you think you’re safer in here?’
‘All the windows in my château are bulletproof. They were made by the same company that outfitted the White House. Sniper fire won’t even leave a mark.’
Payne shrugged. ‘Oh well, I guess we’ll have to kill you some other way.’
‘I guess so. In the meantime, tell me about the girl.’
‘Sorry, you’re not her type.’
‘She has no significance,’ Payne lied. ‘The only reason she’s involved is because your men killed her neighbour.’
‘Her neighbour was a thief.’
‘Coming from a thief, is that a compliment or an insult?’
Dubois smirked at the comment. ‘I’m getting tired of your insults.’
‘Then why don’t you come over here and do something about it?’
‘There’s no need, Mr Payne. I can silence you from here.’
A moment later, Dubois lifted his gun and fired.
Jones was on the move long before he heard the gunshot in his earpiece. In fact, he had abandoned his position in the yard as soon as he got off the phone with Butch Reed.
Dubois had burned down his house. The bastard needed to pay.
While hiding his sniper rifle in the undergrowth, Jones told Payne what had happened and told him he was on his way to the château. It was the main reason Payne had been willing to go
But not soon enough.
The first shot hit Payne squarely in the chest, catching him by surprise and knocking him off balance. But that wasn’t good enough for Dubois, who fired two more times at close range. The second shot struck Payne in his abdomen, and the third tore through his left trapezius, just missing the arteries in his neck. The bullet, after passing through skin and muscle, shattered the display case behind him and imbedded itself in the stone wall.
Payne slumped to the floor, stunned. Blood leaked from his wounds as shards of broken glass fell upon him, cutting his hands and face.
Wasting no time, Dubois reached into his pocket and pulled out a chatellerault — an antique French switchblade with a distinctive S-shaped cross guard. With a skilled hand, Dubois flicked it open and plunged its tip into the bubble wrap that protected the package. Payne, who had been paranoid about leaving it in the library, had been kind enough to carry it inside the lair. Now the last image he would see before he bled to death was his rival opening the box.
And from the floor, Payne grinned as well.
The instant Dubois cracked the inner seal of the package, a large ball of flame erupted in his face, and his hair, skin, and clothes caught fire. The homemade explosive, which had been rigged by Jones in the back of the van, was their insurance policy in case something happened to them before they confronted Dubois. They figured if they were dead, it was the only way they could stop him from killing Megan and Ulster.
Dubois howled in agony as his skin blistered and bubbled like cheese on a pizza. He tried in vain to smother the flames by dropping to the floor and rolling around, but all that did was spread the fire. In a flash, one of his bookcases ignited, filling the room with thick, noxious smoke that blinded Payne and made it impossible to breathe.
Alive because of his Kevlar vest, Payne reached his right arm over his head and snatched the edition of Les Prophéties from the shattered case. The blood from his wounds stained the book’s cover as he pulled it against his chest and started crawling towards the doorway. Choking on the fumes and coughing loudly, Payne moved closer to the exit he couldn’t see. It was up ahead somewhere –
Suddenly, from the darkness behind him, Payne felt a bony hand brushing against his lower leg. At first it felt like a dog nipping at his heel, but it quickly turned into a hound from hell as Dubois latched onto Payne’s foot with all the strength he could muster. The flammable fluid that had ignited the blaze quickly spread from Dubois to Payne’s clothes. Seconds later, his lower leg was engulfed in flames.
‘Jon!’ Jones screamed as he burst into the library.
‘In here!’
Jones ran towards the sound as Pa
yne rolled over and kicked Dubois several times, trying to free himself.
‘Where are you?’ Jones demanded.
‘He’s got my leg!’
As flames climbed the walls and ignited the ceiling above, Jones dived to the floor and crawled towards the screams of his best friend. He blindly grabbed the first thing he could find, which happened to be Payne’s left arm, and pulled it with all his might. The sudden force freed his foot from Dubois’s grasp. It also saved Payne’s life.
Lightning bolts of pain shot through his
Ironically, his search for the future had ended his own.
69
During the long drive to Küsendorf, Megan had pondered everything that had happened over the past seventy-two hours. Prior to Sunday night, she had never heard of Payne and Jones, had never been to Europe, and knew very little about Nostradamus. Now the ex-MANIACs were risking their lives to save hers, she had been smuggled to the Ulster Archives in the Swiss Alps, and she had found out she might be a blood relative of the famous prophet.
Other than that, it had been an uneventful three days.
After unpacking her suitcase and showering, Megan changed into a clean pair of jeans and a sweater. She didn’t know how long she would be sequestered at the Archives, but as Ulster had promised back in Geneva, her stay wouldn’t be uncomfortable — not with a gourmet kitchen, a private suite, and one of the best research libraries in the world. While she was there, she fully intended to do her part, whether that was
With an hour to kill before dinner, she got permission from Ulster to examine the puzzle box in one of the research labs. After lining the table with a sterile sheet of plastic laminate, he placed the box on a soft cloth to protect it. Then he gave her a pair of latex gloves to reduce the fingerprints and oil residue on the wood.
‘Tell me, my dear, why the sudden urgency? As I mentioned earlier, there will be plenty of time to inspect the box after dessert.’
‘Call me crazy,’ she said, ‘but a theory popped into my head while I was in the shower. And I didn’t want to wait half the night before I tested it.’
‘What type of theory?’
‘While turning the knobs for hot and cold
Ulster nodded. ‘And each of them have three numbers.’
‘Exactly! But so far we’ve only discovered two combinations. The date that Nostradamus died, and the date that Louis Keller was supposed to open the box.’
‘The second of July 1566, and the first of December this year.’
She smiled, glad that he was following. ‘That means eight of the twelve numbers have been used in the two combinations.’
He did the maths in his head. ‘Two numbers on four dials for a total of eight.’
‘And unless I’m mistaken, none of the numbers was used twice. That leaves one number on each of the four dials that has not been used.’
‘Good heavens! I think you’re right.’
‘Considering the events of the past few days, I thought it was worth checking out.’
Ulster grinned and patted his stomach. ‘As far as I’m concerned, dinner can wait!’
‘I was hoping you’d say that.’
‘So,’ he said excitedly, ‘do you know the combination? I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I can’t remember the four unused digits.’
‘No worries, my dear, we’ll simply use the process of elimination to figure it out.’
Megan nodded and placed her gloved hand on the first corner. She twisted it slowly, careful not to break it. ‘The choices are three, seven, and twelve.’
‘Seven represents July, the month that Nostradamus died. And twelve represents December.’
She twisted the knob to three. ‘That leaves March.’
‘Beware the ides of March,’ Ulster whispered.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Sorry, my dear, it’s a line from Shakespeare. Julius Caesar was told to “Beware the ides of March”. Later, he was killed on that date.’
‘What date is that?’
‘The ides of March — or Idus Martias in Latin — means the fifteenth of March.’
She ignored the Latin and focused on the second knob. ‘Sorry, no fifteen. Our choices are one, two, and twenty-five.’
‘Nostradamus died on the second, so the two has been used. And Louis opened the box on the first. That leaves twenty-five.’
Megan nodded and slowly turned the dial. As she did, the numbers clicked in place in her mind. ‘No way!’ she shrieked.
‘The date! I know what it means!’
‘Really?’
‘It’s March 25, 1982. I’m sure of it!’
He sat there, confused, trying to figure out its significance, wondering if it was historically significant in any way. ‘I don’t get it, my dear. What happened on that date?’
She twisted the knobs into place. ‘It was the day I was born.’
As if on cue, the puzzle box emitted a loud pop. A split-second later, a three-inch square was ejected from the middle of the front panel. It fell onto the soft cloth directly in front of Megan. ‘Holy shit!’
Ulster’s eyes widened while he leaned in for a closer look.
‘There’s something in there,’ she insisted. Her voice was calm, but her heart was nearly thumping out of her chest. ‘I think it’s a folded parchment.’
‘Don’t touch it! Please don’t touch it!’
‘Why not?’
He signalled for her to wait while he lumbered towards the cabinet on the far side of the room. He threw open the doors and retrieved a long pair of tweezers. ‘Please use these. They’ll do far less damage than your fingers.’
‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘For what?’
‘For letting me do this.’
Ulster patted her on the shoulder and handed her the tweezers. ‘Considering the date of the combination, I believe you were destined to do this.’
She shrugged. ‘I guess we’ll find out soon enough.’
With a gentle touch, she slid the tool inside the puzzle box and clamped it onto one of the folded edges of the parchment. Then, ever so carefully, she pulled it towards her until it was free from the secret compartment. ‘Now what?’ she asked.
‘Place it on the table,’ Ulster whispered.
Her hand trembled slightly as she turned to her left and followed his instructions. As soon as she released the parchment, she breathed a huge sigh of relief. ‘How was that?’
‘Perfect. Like a surgeon.’
‘I don’t know about that, but thanks. So, what do we do now?’
‘Now’s the fun part. We get to open it.’
‘With what?’
‘No tweezers?’
‘No, my dear. Those were simply to remove the parchment from its cramped quarters. Now that it’s free, I believe your gloved fingers will pose less of a threat than a sharp tool.’
‘You’re the expert,’ she said as she inched her chair to the left.
Using both hands, she unfolded the document once, then again, and then a third time. Finally, she could see words, and dates, and a bunch of straight lines. She unfolded it a fourth time, and then a fifth. Every time she did, it grew larger before her eyes. What had once fitted inside a tiny space had grown to the size of a roadmap.
‘Lay it flat, so we can read it,’ he urged.
With trembling hands, Megan laid it on the table, curious to find out what had been hidden for so long, anxious to find out why she had been selected to open the box.
The answer left both of them stunned.
Epilogue
Sunday, 20 December
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
Payne rested comfortably in the main conference room at the Payne Industries building. His left arm was in a sling, and his right foot in a walking boot, which protected the gauze wrapped round his minor burns. His injuries would have been far worse if not for the Kevlar vest he had been wearing under his clothes at the château. Other than a few bruises, the gunshots to his chest and stomac
h had merely knocked the wind out of him. Four days later, the marks were a distant memory — like all the other times he had been shot in body armour.
‘You ready?’ Jones asked as he grabbed the remote control. ‘Because the Steelers game starts in two hours. We need to leave for the stadium soon.’
Payne nodded. ‘I’m ready.’
‘No more missed games. I don’t care about the hole in your neck.’
Jones grinned. ‘It’s about time.’
With a touch of a button, he turned on the video camera and monitor that had been set up on the conference table. As the screen flickered on, thoughts of the previous Sunday flashed through their minds. It was hard to believe only one week had passed since their last videoconference with the Ulster Archives. Then, they had been trying to decipher the mysterious letter that Ashley had brought to the Cathedral of Learning. Now they were about to find out if the Nostradamus artefacts were authentic.
Adding to their déjà vu was the image that filled their screen. Ulster was sitting at the same antique desk as last time. On the wall behind him was the same dry-erase board, covered with many of the same notes, and a silver tray filled with coloured markers. As far as they could tell, the only major difference was the number of people on the screen. Ulster was no longer alone, he was accompanied by Megan, who sat in a chair to his left.
Payne smiled as soon as he saw her. Although they had spoken on the phone the night before,
‘Good morning,’ he said into the camera.
‘Good morning to you, too,’ she replied.
‘Actually,’ Ulster said, ‘it’s late afternoon over here, but we appreciate the sentiment. How are you feeling, Jonathon?’
Payne gently touched his shoulder with his opposite hand. ‘This sling is a pain in the butt. Thankfully, I’ll be free from it soon.’
‘Thank God for that,’ Jones muttered.
‘Do I detect some tension?’ Ulster asked.
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