by Joel Goldman
Jake sat next to her. “Maybe he was trying to protect you.”
“Protect me? From what?”
“I don’t know. We’ll have to ask him.”
“We?”
“Yes, we. You’re not getting rid of me so easily. Like you said. We find him, we find the Magna Cartas.”
“He won’t be an easy man to find.”
Jake walked to the door. “You found me. We’ll find him. Fair enough?”
“Fair enough.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
CASSIE MET JAKE the next morning in the lobby of his hotel. She handed him a coffee from Starbucks and a muffin.
“This is breakfast?”
“Enjoy it,” she said. “Hold still.” Jake flinched as she inserted something in his left ear.
“What the hell is that?”
“It’s a micro earpiece. We call them comms units. I’m using one too. It allows us to hear and talk to each other.”
“For real?”
“For real and don’t ask for the secret password. Now, let’s go. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover today.” She led him out to the street. “I reviewed the rest of the videos from the York Road station. The thieves split up after they climbed over the fence. Gabriel took the tube and the other two caught cabs. That’s the last we have of them on camera.”
“Which leaves us where?”
Cassie handed him a list of addresses. “These are the places where Gabriel liked to hang out in London. Talk to anyone that will talk to you. Let them know that you’re looking for him and that it’s urgent.”
“What’s the point in that? Anyone who knew him will tell me he’s dead.”
“If they tell you that much. My guess is that Gabriel reached out to someone he trusted to let them know he was alive and in London.”
“Why would he take that chance?”
“Because he knows better than to trust the people he’s working for. He’ll want a backdoor just in case. The mastermind on this job could easily let them take the fall or decide he’d rather kill them than pay them. Whoever is helping him will get word to him. We won’t have to find Gabriel. He’ll find you.”
“Why would he bother? Why not just get out of the country assuming he hasn’t already done that?”
“He’s more likely to lay low until things calm down. That’s the way he worked. He needs to stay off the street but he can’t risk someone running all over London asking about him when he’s supposed to be dead. His employer won’t appreciate the attention.”
“You’re saying he’ll want to eliminate the risk?”
“First, he’ll evaluate the risk. Then,” she added with a grin, “he’ll decide if he has to eliminate it.”
“And where will you be while I’m drawing him out?”
“Close.”
“How close?”
“Close enough.”
He took another look at Cassie’s list. “This is a waste of time. It’s like trying to draw to an inside straight ten times in a row.”
Cassie raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”
“Because you’re assuming the odds are the same for each place. Plus, it will take all day, maybe longer, for me to cover all of them. And, who knows how long it will take for Gabriel to track me down like a dog. We don’t have that kind of time.”
“Do you have a better idea.”
“Look. You’ve got pubs, restaurants, coffee shops, a gym and a bookstore on your list. Only one of these is worth a shot.”
“Which one?”
Jake pointed to the sixth entry. “Doyle’s Rare Books.” He looked it up on his cellphone and showed her the website. “It’s been owned by the same family for six decades.” He scrolled through the page identifying the staff. “They’ve all been there at least fifteen years.”
Cassie nodded. “Okay. I get it. Someone who’s been there a long time is more likely to have known Gabriel and remember him.”
“That’s not all. Any serious collector only buys from someone he trusts. It takes years to build that kind of relationship. The people at Doyle’s get to know their top customers better than their own family. They’ll do anything to keep them happy and they know to keep their mouths shut. If Gabriel reached out to anyone from this list, odds are that person works there.”
“What makes you so certain?”
“Because I collect rare books about probability. Ben Mitchell is my go to guy. He has a shop on the upper West Side and you couldn’t water board my secrets out of him.”
“Really? I can’t wait to meet him.”
“Keep Gabriel from eliminating me and I’ll introduce you.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
DOYLE’S RARE BOOKS was in Chelsea. The royal blue exterior stood out from the whitewashed shops on either side. The interior was finished with contemporary polished light brown hardwood floors and walls painted a rich gray. Antique furniture mixed with the sweet smell of rare books for a comforting blend of old and new.
A lanky man with a mop of tousled brown hair dressed in jeans and a sweater sat at a desk in the front of the shop. He had the pale complexion of someone who’d spent his life in the stacks. He rose to greet Jake.
“Welcome to Doyle’s. What brings you in?”
“A friend of mine recommended your shop.”
“You’re a collector?”
Jake laughed. “I tried to quit once but it didn’t work out.”
“I know what you mean.” He looked around the overflowing shelves. “I walked in here when I sixteen and haven’t left. Where in the States are you from?”
“It’s the accent, isn’t it? I live in New York but I grew up in Kansas.”
“Dorothy and the Wizard and all of that, eh? We’ve got a first edition if you’d like to see it. I’m Andrew Finch,” he said, shaking Jake’s hand.
“Jake Carter. Thanks, but my collection is limited to rare books on probability. I’ve been looking for a first edition of The Book of Games by Gerolamo Cardona in the original Latin. I think it was published around 1520.”
“Afraid that’s not in my area. I’ll have to check.” An older man, bald with a full, closely trimmed beard flecked with silver and black, joined them. “Kevin, this is Jake Carter. A friend of his referred him to us.”
“Hello, Mr. Carter. I’m Kevin Doyle.”
“You’ve got a lovely shop,” Jake said.
“Mr. Carter is looking for a first edition of…” He looked at Jake.
“The Book of Games by Gerolamo Cardona. In the original Latin.”
“I know of it,” Doyle said. “Some say the games Cardona describes were the forerunners of poker. Do you play?”
Jake shrugged. “Now and then.”
“I’ve seen a copy up for auction from time to time, but our clients haven’t expressed an interest. You say a friend of yours referred you to us. Who might that be?”
“Gabriel Degrande.”
Andrew’s eyebrows bounced for an instant as he glanced at Doyle whose face remained a calm pool except for a fleeting downward twitch of his mouth. “Isn’t he…”
Doyle put his hand on Andrew’s arm. “No. You’re thinking of someone else. I’m not familiar with Mr. Degrande. Perhaps he meant a different shop.”
Jake shook his head. “No. I don’t think so. I ran into him last night. He said I’d regret it if I didn’t stop in.”
“And, we’re pleased you did, even if it was in error,” Doyle said. “If you tell me where you’re staying, I’ll make some inquiries about Cardona’s book and let you know what I find.”
“That would be great. I’m at the Amba Charring Cross. I’m headed there now and I’ll be in town until Friday.”
“Quite right. We’ll be in touch.”
“I hope so,” Jake said.
***
JAKE’S EARPIECE CRACKLED as soon as he was out the door.
“What do you think?”
“I think hearing your voice in my head is weird.”
“No, you dop
e. What do you think about Finch and Doyle?”
“I think they’re liars and not very good ones. The body language was a dead giveaway. And if Doyle wanted to get in touch with me, he’d have asked for my cell number, not my hotel.”
“Describe them.”
“Finch is tall and skinny, early thirties, and Doyle is sixty, give or take, bald and has a beard.”
“Telling them that Gabriel referred you was more plausible than asking for their help to find him. Well done. And, the part about the book you’re looking for was smart. Even I believed you.”
“Thanks, but I wasn’t kidding about the book. It’s on the top of my gotta-have-it list. What do I do now?”
“Exactly what you told them you were going to do. Walk back to the hotel. It’s about three miles. Take your time.”
“You think Gabriel will get there that fast?”
“He’s not going anywhere near your hotel. Too risky. If he’s close enough, he’ll get to you somewhere along the way.”
“Got it.” Jake consulted his phone. “Google Maps says to take Brompton Road.”
“Perfect. That will take you past the Natural History Museum and Harrods. Be a tourist. Site see and shop.”
“Why do you think Gabriel will find me in one of those places?”
“Because Andrew Finch is following you and he’s on his phone. Care to guess who he’s talking to? Keep walking and don’t turn around.”
TWENTY-NINE
JAKE WAS PLEASED with the bluff he’d run on Finch and Doyle but he wasn’t excited about being a moving target for Gabriel. If they were seated across a poker table, he could read him, get a feel for how he’d play the game. Out on the street, he had no idea what to expect. All he could do was the one thing no poker player ever should do – trust someone else to win the pot for him. Even if Cassie was that someone.
Last night, she’d been a wreck. Today, she was all about the mission, her raw pain squelched, stuffed inside some hidden emotional box. Could she leave it there long enough to get the job done? Or would she peek inside the box and give them away?
But Jake knew his growing anxiety was about more than that. If forced to choose between him and Gabriel, what choice would Cassie make? Competing against a ghost was bad enough. Squaring off against a resurrected lover wasn’t a fair fight.
He took his time at the Natural History Museum, wandering through the wildlife photography exhibit and a display of botanical and zoological watercolors. He skipped the virtual reality journey to the great barrier reef, not wanting to linger too long in any one place. The crowd at the dinosaur exhibit insulated him until the tour groups moved on, leaving him feeling small and vulnerable against the skeletons of the massive beasts. He wished he could take the crime scene tour and sift through forensic evidence to catch a killer but his gut told him he’d been there long enough.
Once outside, he glanced around in what he hoped was a natural fashion, hoping to catch a glimpse of Cassie. She was wearing jeans with a t-shirt under an olive khaki jacket and was carrying a messenger bag slung across her body. There was no sign of her. Nor did he see Andrew Finch lurking anywhere. If it was possible to be lonely in a crowd, he was that. Though, knowing that two people were following him was an odd sort of comfort.
He could have lost himself in Harrods but he didn’t spend much time there. If Gabriel was going to make a move, it wouldn’t be in the wine department. It had been two hours since he’d left Doyle’s shop. Time to push the hand he was playing to the final round of betting.
Brompton Road became Knightsbridge. Major renovations were under way on a block-long building. Windows and doors had been replaced with plywood. Scaffolding overhung the sidewalk. The sounds of traffic mixed with the noise of construction.
“Can you hear me in all this racket?” Jake asked Cassie. When she didn’t respond, he had his answer.
Men in work clothes passed him by carrying tools and supplies. One man wearing a scuffed yellow hardhat came alongside him, a length of steel pipe hoisted on his shoulder. He stumbled and pivoted to keep his balance. The pipe struck Jake in the back of his head, stunning him.
“Sorry about that, mate,” the man said as he dropped the pipe and grabbed Jake’s arm to keep him upright. “You all right?”
Jake blinked and rubbed his scalp. “Yeah. I think so.”
“Sorry about that. You look a might glassy-eyed. Let me help you over here where you can get your legs under you.”
The man leaned Jake against a sheet of plywood covering a doorway. He gathered the front of Jake’s shirt in one hand, holding him up, then gave a swift, sharp kick to the bottom of the plywood. The temporary door swung inside. The man released Jake’s shirt and gave him a stiff shove in the chest. Still groggy, Jake tumbled into the opening as the man stepped past him and pushed the plywood back in place. From start to finish, the encounter took five seconds.
“On your feet, mate,” the man said. He slipped his arm under Jake’s and steadied him as Jake widened his eyes and got his bearings. The building had been gutted to the walls. A string of low-wattage bulbs crisscrossed the exposed concrete ceiling, washing the space with dingy light. “Over here now.” He used plastic ties to cuff Jake to the arms of a heavy wooden chair, then stepped back, neither asking or explaining.
The room stopped spinning. Jake studied the man. His narrow face and close-cropped dark hair emphasized his retreating hairline. He was a bit shorter than Jake, without an ounce of fat on his lithe frame. He wasn’t movie star handsome but there was something compelling about him beginning with the deep brown eyes that bored into Jake.
“Gabriel Degrande?” Jake asked. The man nodded, his eyes brimming with curiosity. “French?” Gabriel nodded again. “Why the phony British accent? If you’re trying out for a remake of My Fair Lady, you might want to brush up on your Cockney.”
Gabriel switched to English with a slight French accent. “Why did you tell my friends at the bookstore that I sent you there?”
“That’s cool. Can you do it with a Russian accent too? You know, you don’t look bad for a dead man.”
Gabriel ignored Jake’s jabs. “Why did you tell my friends at the bookstore that I sent you there.” He took a spring-loaded knife from his pocket and popped the blade open. “I won’t ask you again.”
“Now be careful with that knife. I can’t stand the sight of blood. Especially mine. Makes me scream like a little girl and piss my pants. And, let me tell you as one grown man to another, that’s something you can’t un-see. I’d hate for you to have nightmares on my account.”
Gabriel leaned in and pressed the point of the knife against Jake’s jugular vein. “You forget that I’m a dead man. No nightmares.”
Jake leaned his head back as far as he could. “Okay. You’ve made your point. Back off and I’ll tell you.” Gabriel straightened and retreated a step. Jake nodded past him. “She sent me.”
“Hello, Gabriel,” Cassie said.
Gabriel turned. The knife fell from his hand. “Cassie. You’re alive.”
THIRTY
GABRIEL RUSHED TOWARD CASSIE with open arms. She waited until he was close enough, then smacked her palm against his chest, knocking him back half a step.
“I’m alive?” she said. “I’m alive? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“What are you talking about?” Gabriel said. “Prometheus told me Petrescu’s crew shot up the chopper as you were taking off. He said you were hit in an artery and bled out.”
Cassie said, “And I’m supposed to believe that bullshit?”
“It’s the truth. He showed me photos of your body. It was you. I saw the scar next to your breast.”
“But you didn’t see my body, did you? Just a picture that Prometheus could have photo-shopped with his eyes closed.”
“I was hurt pretty badly. The backup team barely got there in time. Another five minutes and I’d have been dead. I was in a coma for a few days. When I was conscious enough to know what was go
ing on, Prometheus told me your body had been cremated and…” He stopped in mid-sentence. “…the bastard told you I was dead, didn’t he? He made sure you saw me lying on the ground with a couple of bullets in my back and he broke us up for good.”
“Oh, my God, Gabriel.” She wrapped her arms around him. Breaking their embrace, she walked toward Jake then turned around. “I can’t believe he would do something like that, make us believe that each other was dead. That’s the cruelest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“You always thought he was some kind of hero but he wasn’t. He was a prick that only cared about the money.”
