Jones nodded. ‘Lots of tension.’
‘Over what?’
He snarled at Payne. ‘I saved the guy’s life, and how does he repay me? He makes me his friggin’ butler.’
‘His butler? What do you mean?’
‘As you know, my place is kind of crispy right now, so I needed somewhere to stay. Jon was kind enough to offer me a room in his mansion, but he didn’t tell me about the catch. I’ve been his manservant for the past three days.’ He continued his rant in a mocking tone. ‘I can’t butter my toast! My foot needs ointment! Give me a sponge bath! I feel dirty!’
Payne laughed at the claims. ‘I asked the guy to
‘I can’t hold the pillow. Please stop squirming!’ Jones teased.
Payne rolled his eyes at his friend. ‘On that note, let’s talk about something factual. I was intrigued by the trust fund at Capital Savings — the one that paid for the safe-deposit box — so I had a computer researcher at the Pentagon do some checking for me. With his hacking skills, he managed to track down the name of the company in charge of the fund. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a real company. It was a shell company with two mailbox offices.’
‘What does that mean?’ she asked.
‘Sometimes people set up fake companies for tax purposes. In this case, the offices were nothing more than mailboxes in Paris and Tokyo.’
‘Tokyo?’
He nodded. ‘That’s where your mysterious letter was mailed from. We figured that out once we had a chance to examine the stamps and the postmark. They were Japanese.’
‘And,’ Jones added, ‘the business address in Paris is only a few miles from the airport. Remember, that’s where the phone that sent you the text
‘Me, too,’ she admitted. ‘Will you know something before I get to Pittsburgh?’
‘You’re coming to Pittsburgh?’
‘Didn’t Jon tell you? He invited me to his house for Christmas. Just the three of us.’
‘Thank God!’ Jones blurted. ‘Now you can be in charge of his sponge bath.’
Payne glared at him. ‘Why do you say stuff like that?’
‘Because it’s funny,’ he said, grinning.
‘Anyway,’ Payne said, ‘where do we stand on the carbon dating?’
Ulster rejoined the conversation. ‘We have conclusive data on all the documents — except, of course, for the journal you acquired in Bruges. Due to its late arrival, we are still testing it.’
‘What do you know so far?’ Jones asked.
‘The letter mailed to Megan is authentic. So is the puzzle box, and all the documents found within its walls.’
‘Define authentic,’ Payne said.
‘Carbon dating doesn’t give us an exact date, per se. It simply gives us a time window of approximately fifty years. Everything that we’ve
Jones nodded. ‘In other words, the years surrounding Nostradamus’s death.’
‘Precisely.’
‘What about the handwriting?’ Payne wondered.
‘We flew in an expert from France, who feels the writing on all the documents is a perfect match to the Nostradamus samples that have survived over the years. While he was here, I also had him peek at the journal, and he feels it’s a perfect match as well.’
‘So,’ Jones said, ‘what’s the consensus?’
‘As far as the Archives are concerned, these documents were written by Nostradamus.’
‘Awesome!’
‘Even the Birthday Tree?’ Payne asked.
Megan smiled at the reference. ‘Yes, even that.’
Ever since Payne had learned of the final parchment, he had referred to the document as the Birthday Tree. The nickname stuck because it perfectly summarized its contents.
To prove he wasn’t a con artist who had capitalized on ambiguous quatrains, Nostradamus had created his family tree for dozens of future generations, starting with a son from his first
‘Any thoughts on why the tree ended with you?’
‘Who knows? Maybe I’m not going to have any kids.’
‘Actually,’ Ulster suggested, ‘I might have another possibility.’
She looked at him, surprised. ‘You do?’
He nodded. ‘While examining the Bruges journal, I started to ponder the significance of line three of the final quatrain. He claimed the fortune would be “Hidden in ink inside his lair”.’
‘And that’s where I found it,’ Payne assured him.
‘Actually, the phrase that caught my eye was “hidden in ink”. I figured, if he wrote secret and told us what to do with it?’
Payne sat up in his chair, intrigued. ‘Go on.’
‘I tested my theory a few minutes ago, just before I made this call, and it appears I was correct. The journal is filled with several notes, written in UV ink.’
‘Are you serious? Why didn’t you tell me?’ Megan demanded.
‘I literally just found out, my dear. It seemed easiest to share it with everyone at once.’
‘And what did it say?’ Payne asked.
Ulster smiled and looked into the camera. ‘It appears to be a prophecy.’
Author’s Note
For those of you who have read my other novels, I’m sure you realize that I like to tackle controversial subjects in my writing. Whether it is racism in The Plantation, the history of Christianity in Sign of the Cross, or Islamic terrorists in Sword of God, I’m not afraid to put my head on the proverbial chopping block. (Actually, since the chopping block is the punishment for many Islamic terrorists, maybe that’s a poor choice of metaphor.)
Anyway, my point is this: I’m not afraid of taking chances.
During the past year, while researching Nostradamus and his prophecies, I’ve encountered an equal number of believers and non-believers. Although their positions couldn’t be further apart, both groups had one trait in common: they were passionate. Many praised my choice of topic, pleased that someone was writing a thriller about Nostradamus. Others were less than complimentary. The terms I heard most often were ‘crackpot’ and ‘charlatan’. I think they were talking
Either way, I knew I had chosen wisely because everyone had an opinion.
With that in mind, I did my best to stay neutral on the topic. I presented some of the best-known stories about Nostradamus, and some of the lesser-known ones. And since The Prophecy is a novel, I also made up a bunch of stuff — although I’ll never reveal what.
Ultimately, I wasn’t trying to change your opinion about Nostradamus. My only goal was to entertain.
For additional information about my writing and answers to frequently asked questions, please visit my website: www.chriskuzneski.com.
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