“So you hope,” I muttered.
“Your cane is gone. I threw the mechanism into the Thames,” Fynn said.
“The night of the party, you mean to say?”
Fynn nodded.
“Well, I’m chagrined of course, but inclined to believe you are telling the truth. No matter, it’s the books I’m interested in.”
Drummond’s daughter walked over to Anika and forced her to her knees, then snatched the kiku-ishi from her neck. She handed it to Mortimer.
“No, my dear, that’s not it. I’m looking for a key.”
“What key?” I asked.
“The key, Mr Jardel, to a safe-deposit box… at the bank in Amsterdam. I mean to get those other two manuscripts. You see, I’ve promised them to Lilly.” Mortimer glanced back at one of the two sisters. It was probably Lilly who was clutching a tattered manuscript.
“The books aren’t there. I never went to Amsterdam, not in this timeline, well not yet anyhow.”
“What a curious thing to say.” Mortimer laughed. “I don’t suppose you fully understand how that bank operates. I happen to know the manuscripts have indeed been deposited.”
“How can you know?”
“It’s enough that I do, that’s all.” Mortimer stared at me severely, but was somehow unsatisfied by my expression. “Very well, a little bird told me… a little bird named Miles Vanderhoot. There, does that satisfy your curiosity?”
“No.”
“It will have to suffice.” He nodded to Mrs Domino who pulled back the trigger on her Beretta and aimed it at Anika. I could see she was no stranger to firearms.
“I won’t ask again,” Mortimer said. “The key, or lovely Anika dies here and now.”
“I don’t have the key.”
“Who does?”
“It’s in the desk drawer,” Fynn said.
Drummond’s daughter fetched it with some efficiency.
“Well now, I suppose we will be going then.” Mortimer turned to us all with his smile. “Unless of course there are more questions.”
“I have one…” I faced Lilly and Chloe. “Why are you even with this guy? It’s obvious he’s a madman, a crazy person… not to mention a killer, a murderer.”
Mortimer seemed angered by my comment, or at least annoyed. “Both Chloe and Lilly have seen their fair share of death and brutality. They are quite numb to it by now.”
I stared at the sisters, trying desperately to make an ally. My glances were probably pleading.
“Clever girls indeed,” Mortimer went on. “One sister serves to obfuscate, to bewilder you, Mr Jardel. Her other half… well, she has pangs of conscience— a bit too helpful in this regard. I’m sure we’ll be having words about it. But which is which, and who is who? Even I can’t tell any longer. Can you trust either of them, I wonder?” Mortimer eyed me. “The lovely sisters are with me of their own accord, after all. Lilly wants the books, and Chloe wants to be rid of her sister.” He paused. “I’ve fulfilled my end of the bargain.”
One of the sisters finally spoke on her own. I couldn’t tell if it was Chloe or Lilly. “I’m so sorry, Mr Fynn for all the double trouble. I only meant to ease your suffering, to keep you from harm.”
Mortimer laughed at this. “Oh no, my dear, you weren’t keeping Tractus from harm, you were keeping him out of my way. I needed him indisposed so I could get my hands on the manuscripts.”
“This is why I was imprisoned?” Fynn asked.
“It was the perfect place, the perfect plan… I knew exactly where you were, shackled to the wall for all those years. No chance you’d be interfering… and, I was nearby, if the need arose.”
“And now?”
“One of the sisters knows how to translate the books… and has some knowledge about the secrets they contain. The other has promised to lead me towards… let’s say, well… metaphysical realms which I’ve yet to explore.”
One of the sisters leaned forward and handed me a tarot card. It was the Five of Cups, showing a man wrapped in a cloak staring down at several spilt chalices. That couldn’t be good.
“Well, I must be off,” Mortimer said, as if it were the end of a pleasant evening. “I’ve got everything I need. Access to the precious books and my lovely traveling companions.”
“That’s it? You’re just leaving?”
He turned to me slowly and a smile came to his face. “You’re right, Mr Jardel, I am being rude…” Mortimer paused as if to consider something. “I’ll leave you with Denise here, her itchy trigger finger, and a simple choice.”
“What choice?”
“A parting gift, let’s call it,” he replied. “You must choose between Anika and Tractus.”
“What?”
“One will live and one will die,” Mortimer explained in a dry tone and glanced over at Denise Domino. She slowly pointed her gun back and forth between Anika and Fynn.
“You’ve tried to kill me before, Javelin, and I’ve always come back for you,” Fynn erupted angrily.
“You misunderstand, Tractus. The choice is not yours to make, it’s Mr Jardel’s.”
Fynn said nothing in reply.
“Oh, you may return here a thousand times to fix the situation, but you will fail. You cannot change what happens. The outcome will always be the same: Patrick will make a choice. One person shall live and one person shall die— each and every time…” Mortimer laughed. “And of course it won’t matter to me in any case, as I’ll be long gone.” He gave a heavy sigh, though it seemed insincere. “I suppose I’ll have to get used to living with no adversary.” He glanced in my direction. “Unless there’s someone else to take up the challenge?”
“You can’t do this,” I said.
“I can, and I am. Quickly please, make your choice. My patience is ebbing.”
“I can’t choose.”
“You must… or I’ll simply have you all killed and be done with it.” Mortimer turned to Drummond’s daughter.
I glanced over at Fynn. He gave me the slightest of nods. I walked over to Anika and shielded her from harm. She started screaming, “No…”
A shot rang out. Fynn winced in pain, grabbed his side and crumpled to the floor. Anika rushed over and cradled her father’s head in her arms. He looked up and smiled weakly. “My darling daughter, you are a treasure… a great treasure…”
I looked over to Mortimer and his entourage but they had already vanished, then immediately called nine-one-one. I rushed over to Fynn. Blood was spilling everywhere, too much blood.
“You have been such a good friend, for a very long time, longer than even you can remember… This is my end and so be it.” Fynn stared up at me. “Please do not try to fix things. I am satisfied with my life. It is perfectly fine that I die here and now.” He paused. “Look after my daughter, please.”
I felt tears well up. Anika was sobbing.
Fynn continued in a raspy voice, “For billions of years this earth has existed, and on it, the oceans have churned unceasingly. How many waves have dashed upon the shore? None can count. Each wave is a little death. It washes away the other, and each wave is the birth of yet another… All these ripples make but a tiny mark in the sand… and yet, given enough time, they change the dry earth, they will move mountains as it were.”
“A legacy, you mean?”
“Yes. I have left a small legacy of good deeds and justice.”
“And a few books,” I added feebly.
“…a few books, yes…” his voice trailed off and a smile passed across his face. “With some small bit of luck, I will persist in the past… I hope you will come to visit me there.”
“I will.”
“Thank you…” Fynn grasped my hand a squeezed with his last strength. “…there is no going forward from here.”
For now, Inspector Fynn was dead.
***
Loraine and Anika were devastated by events. I was feeling no less well. The police took our statements and gently… In the end though, they were baffled
by this apparent home invasion. Why would such an odd group of people burst into the house on Dune Road and shoot a retired Dutch policeman, take nothing, and then disappear without a trace.
Privately, Durbin explained that this case was likely never to be solved. Neither Anika nor I let on that we knew the assailants, or at least most of them.
Anika remained inconsolable for days, if not weeks, hardly leaving the house… I coaxed her for a long walk on the beach one morning. She leaned into me and said, “Oh Patrick, how I wish I had other memories now… not the recollection of my father dying.”
“I will fix this, I promise.”
“But how?”
“I’m not sure yet.” I took Anika in my arms. “I might not be able to fix your memory… but I will bring your father back, I swear.”
“Good, then I will make new memories of him.”
***
I was having my morning coffee when the door bell rang. Anika got up to answer it. A few moments later she called for me. I came to the door to find a delivery guy. “Are you Gary Patrick Stevens?”
“I could be.”
“This is Twenty-Two Dune Road, right?”
“Yes.”
“Sign here… it’s your lost luggage.” He handed me a tattered golf bag. It had been ripped open and taped back together, stamped and tagged, and stickered with all kinds of security warnings. “Looks like it’s traveled halfway around the world already.”
“You might be right… thanks.” I hurriedly unwrapped the cane, it was Pagor’s bear claw. I pressed the button and two red lights glowed. I smiled and then realized it would now be a very easy matter to save Fynn.
“Oh, almost forgot,” he said, reaching into his back pocket. “Found this on the driveway. Might be yours.” He handed me a tarot card. It was The Emperor.
____
AUTHOR’S NOTE:
I sincerely hope you have enjoyed reading this story. And now, I implore you to take a moment to click the “like” button, add a few stars, or, if you have the mind to: write a brief review. In the modern world of ebooks, these simple actions mean the difference between life and death. My other books and more information can be found at this link:
http://kmackdesign.com/books/allbooks.html
Thank you.
—MK Alexander
About the author:
MK Alexander has been writing fiction for more than 20 years and has published several short story collections. He is a long-time reporter and editor for various newspapers, and worked for The New York Times for well over ten years. Winner of the BBC Short Story Award. Recent titles include four novels, three novellas, a biography and short story compilation.
Other Titles by MK Alexander:
Sand City Murders
The First Tractus Fynn Mystery.
A failing newspaper, a resort town, a time traveling detective... and murder of course.
Jump City: Apprentice
The Second Tractus Fynn Mystery…
How does a Mongol horde help solve a baffling crime in Colorado and save FDR from assassination? Inspector Fynn and Patrick charge through history, past and present to save America from itself.
The Farsi Trilogy
When the CIA has a clever cyber-war program to shut down Iran. But things never go according to plan. Meet Aydin Llewelyn, computer genius, deadbeat and accidental spy. Can he and his ex-girlfriend make it to Tehran and save the day? Find out in this fast-paced, amusing, twisty tale of travel and intrigue.
Jekyll’s Daughter
A faithful sequel to the famous horror classic: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, by Robert Louis Stevenson. The story picks up some 25 years later as Henrietta Jekyll comes upon her father’s old journals and takes it upon herself to recreate his notorious formula with unexpected results.
Genre Jam, Volume One: Death & Injury
A compilation of five short stories resulting in death or grievous harm. A mix of genres, from science fiction to urban fairy tales.
Random Sacrifice
A highly original espionage thriller about Libya, its infamous dictator, and strange events that take place on a summer day in 1981.
My New World A Teenager’s WWII Odyssey
A biography of Mary Cotsis, centered around her World War Two experiences as she escapes from the Nazi Occupation of Greece and travels to America to begin a new life.
Low City: Missing Persons (A Tractus Fynn Mystery Book 3) Page 41
