"Will do."
Bobby came in with Celine, holding a piece of paper. "Hey guys, how are we doing?"
The professor, who had grown fond of the odd, little man, said, "Bobby, good to see you. Whacha got in your hand there?"
Bobby handed the paper to the professor. "I got a call from my friend who knew a few symbols which could be found on each of the three boxes. He told me the exact book I could find them in, and the pages, and so I went to the library and traced them. I thought you would want these for the viewing."
Mike and Henry looked at each other, smiling, and the professor said, "I can't believe you found this...amazing, and thank you." The professor looked at the paper, studying each symbol closely. "This will really help me sound convincing, which I was concerned about."
Henry took a look at the symbols. "Dr. Schaeffer will be pleased. We should probably head down to the lobby, so as not to keep him waiting.”
The sedan pulled up. Hans was driving; Professor Brookert got in the front seat, while Henry joined Dr. Schaeffer in the back. They drove uptown and stopped at a corner, where a man approached and handed a piece of paper to Hans. It had the address of the viewing area. It took forty minutes to make it to the building, in a rather dodgy area. Hans stayed with the car and handed the paper to Dr. Schaeffer.
“It says go to the second floor, down to the end of the hall, and knock on the last door on the left.”
“Is this how it always goes?”
“Yes, lots of cloak and dagger stuff, though usually they give us a day's notice, not a few hours.”
“I wonder why the short notice?” the professor asked.
The building appeared to be empty, as they didn’t run across anyone in the halls or on the stairs. Henry and the professor let Dr. Schaeffer lead the way. He knocked and Patrick opened the door. Their jaws dropped. The room looked like it might be huge, but it was hard to tell, what with all the mirrors.
The doctor said, “You have outdone yourself this time. Though it looks like a carnival fun house, it is impressive nonetheless.”
Patrick said, “The credit goes to Randy, as always, but thanks.”
Patrick looked unsettled at seeing Henry in tow.
They walked through a lengthy set of mirrored halls and arrived in a circular room with the three boxes set in a triangle. The Eye of God sat atop the smallest of the three.
Dr. Schaeffer looked at the professor, and waved his arm. “Please, Professor Brookert, and take your time.”
The professor pulled out a magnifying glass. “May I touch it?”, he asked, looking at Patrick.
“You may touch the boxes, but please not the device.”
The larger of the boxes was faded and pretty rough, the sea had been hard on it. The professor ran his finger over the carvings and carefully looked at each face of the box, finding the symbol he was looking for on the side. The second box was an entirely different style, but the symbol was there, just as Bobby’s friend had said it would be. The third box looked brand new, and on the top in the center, was the design he was looking for, and he turned his attention to the device.
“This is remarkable, completely amazing. I am awestruck.”
“So it is your opinion that it is genuine?”
“There is little which is known about this mysterious machine, but I would have to say I don’t see any indications that it isn’t from the time period suggested. Beyond that, I can’t offer much more.”
“I appreciate your evaluation. I am satisfied.”
Dr. Schaeffer and Henry then took about fifteen minutes to look it over. When they were finished, they walked out of the mirrored room.
The sound of a small bang made them all turn around. The little room had filled with smoke, and when it cleared a few moments later, the boxes and the device were nowhere to be seen.
Patrick simply explained, “Randy is quite a showman.”
The ride back to the Flatiron building was full of chatter about the Eye of God. Hans had a lot of questions, and Professor Brookert was happy to share all of the finer points he had noticed. There were symbols, beyond the ones he was looking for, which also helped him determine the age. “I was looking for anything which might be known to be more recent; it all looked authentic.”
When they returned to the office, the stories were told again for Celine's and Bobby’s benefit. They had talked for almost an hour when Celine suddenly asked about Mike. He was long overdue.
Henry was concerned - it showed on his face - and the room became quiet. Now everyone was worried.
Chapter Fifty-One
Patrick was anxious. He was always in control of his emotions. When he got the polite decline of his invitation from Garneau, after having been caught by the church, he was angry. It had been with him all day. The only thing which calmed him down was the meeting with Dr. Schaeffer and his people. He was glad they were gone now. He wasn’t sure how the detective was connected to his client, but he couldn’t dwell on that now.
The more he thought about the meeting, the more bothered he became, though. Henry hadn’t seemed the least bit surprised at seeing him. Had Henry seen through his priest cover? Could it have been Henry who called the bishop with the accusations? But why would he do that? It didn’t make sense. If he was working for Dr. Schaeffer, then he wouldn’t want to do something to risk the sale.
Henry was polite when they shook hands. Damn, he had a good poker face.
Maybe Dr. Schaeffer had told him what was up?
That seemed like the most logical conclusion.
He hadn’t heard back about the funeral. If Henry knew that his being a priest was a cover, he may have made other arrangements.
These thoughts continued to swirl around in his head, making him more uncomfortable, and he was on the cusp of paranoia. He looked at his watch; there was still fifteen minutes before he was to meet the Falcon.
Patrick started to think about who might have called the bishop. He hadn’t seen Stan and his friends in a while; they were supposed to be keeping tabs on Henry. They were just kids though, probably off drinking. He went through the checklist of every person he had in his employ, and none of them seemed likely to have done it. They were all paid very well...what was the upside, what could their angle have been? No, it wasn’t one of his people.
He looked around to see if there was anyone watching him. Patrick didn’t expect to see anyone, but then again, he was starting to lose it.
Across the street, looking out of a stairway window on the second floor was a large man, keeping an eye on him. Patrick couldn’t see him: it was getting dark and there weren’t any lights in the hallway. Patrick saw the van pull out of the loading bay and pull up next to him.
“I am off to the second location; I need a couple of hours to set up.”
“Thanks, Randy, the mirrors were great. I give you high marks for the flourish at the end.”
“I try to be a showman, so you get your money’s worth.”
“As always, you have earned everything coming to you. Fine work, Randy.”
The van drove away and Patrick thought to himself, “Yes, you arrogant little bastard. After all these years and all the money, you still can’t follow instructions. It will be a pleasure making you disappear.” He felt the Walther PPK in his pocket.
Under the street light, a figure in a dark trench coat and hat lit up a cigarette. It was the signal. Patrick lit up one himself and started to walk. The figure, remaining on the other side of the street, followed. The person in the window quickly made his way down to the street and followed them both. It was tricky, as the point of them walking on opposite sides of the street was to be able to keep an eye open for anything out of the ordinary, but he wasn’t noticed.
Patrick was hungry and was pleased the Falcon had chosen a restaurant. Patrick liked the Falcon; he respected the Falcon’s organization and skill at keeping secrets. In that, they were birds of a feather. He looked over his shoulder, thinking he had seen something. The paranoi
a was getting bad. A nice meal would help.
The figure entered the restaurant first, and then Patrick crossed the street. He hungs his coat next to a dark trench coat. On the lapel was a small falcon, this is the one, he thinks. Patrick slipped the instructions into the pocket and then asked for a table.
Mike rounded the corner in time to see Patrick enter the restaurant. He crossed to the other side of the street. Mike stood there for a while and then decided to find a pay phone.
“Hey Henry, this is Mike."
Henry said, so everyone could hear him, “Mike, good to hear from you buddy, where are you at?”
“I hung out after you left. It took a little while, but then I saw them load up the van. Your guy Patrick then took to waiting for someone. I found a good vantage point and was able to keep an eye on him. I don’t know how long he stood there, maybe 20 – 30 minutes, but eventually they showed up. I couldn’t see who it was. I followed them to a restaurant. They're in there now.”
“We were getting worried.”
Mike chuckled, “Sorry, but I couldn't get to a phone and keep an eye on him.”
“Can you get a look inside the restaurant, without being seen?”
“I can, but does it matter? Patrick doesn’t know me from Adam.”
“It probably doesn’t, but I want to play it close to the vest.”
“Will do, I'll call in later. Are you going to be at the office?”
“Yes. I'll order some Chinese food and wait for your call.”
“Order me some egg rolls and soup.”
Mike walked to the corner and crossed, then approached the window. He tried to look casual by reading the menu, when all of a sudden there was a pounding. He looked and Francis LeMange, the food critic and up until recently, someone he didn’t care for, was knocking and motioning for him to come inside. When Mike was in the hospital, earlier in the year, Francis came by every day to check on him. Their common friendship with Henry had been enough, their differences had vanished. Now, they were friends and it was biting him right in the butt. It couldn’t be avoided.
Mike went in and joined Francis at the table in the window. At least he would be able to eat.
Chapter Fifty-Two
Mike shook Francis's hand and took a seat. The table had a bottle of wine, and Francis had still been looking at the menu when he spotted Mike. He had his notebook out, pen at the ready, and a blank page awaiting his thoughts.
“I'm just delighted that you happened past my little window seat. It will be nice to have someone to dine with this evening.”
“Are you here doing a review for the paper?” Mike said looking around the restaurant. He spotted Patrick sitting alone near the far wall.
“Oui et Non, I am working on my article, but it isn’t about tonight’s meal, but today’s lunch. I eat here fairly often. The calamari is brilliant.” Francis waved his hand and a young man with jet black hair appeared next to the table. “It would bring me an almost immeasurable amount of pleasure to share, with my friend Mike, a plate of your calamari.”
The waiter looked at Francis and then Mike. “It will be right up and I'll bring a wine glass for your guest.”
“I have to admit I was getting pretty hungry.”
“Did you catch any bad guys, today?”
“I decided to take a couple of week’s vacation and help Henry on a case. Did you hear about Mickey?”
“No, what happened? I just got back from Lyon last night.”
Mike lowered his voice, “He was killed by a hit and run and Henry thinks its murder. He has convinced me, so I took the time off to help.” Mike leaned in slightly, “I am sort of working now, so…”
Francis was sharp and whispered, “Play it cool, got it. Normal dinner conversation,” and then raising his voice, “The veal is fantastic, but so is the pasta. This place has been here for over 30 years, as has most of the staff, except the young man who helped us. He is new and very eager.”
The waiter returned with a glass, poured Mike some wine, and said, “The calamari is on its way. Are you ready to order?”
“I need a few minutes…and a menu.” Mike said with a smile.
The waiter blushed, “Of course, I am so sorry.” He scurried away and returned almost immediately, then ran off again, likely to hide his shame.
Mike and Francis had a good meal. They talked easily, telling stories and laughing, just like old friends. They were friends, but had mostly just tolerated each other until this year. During the calamari and throughout the entire main course, Patrick never looked over once. He dined alone, which meant that one of the other patrons was the mysterious person in the dark trench coat.
Mike excused himself and went to the men’s room. On his way he noticed the black trench coat was still hanging there and when he returned he saw her. Katarina was eating alone at a corner table. As far as he could tell, there were only two people dining alone. Mike may have only been in the detective business for a few days, but he could do the math. He also knew that nobody else on the list was here, so she was somehow mixed up in this mess.
Mike returned to the table and ate slowly, enjoying the food and the company. The waiter returned and asked about dessert. Francis insisted they both try the cheesecake. Mike trusted the food critic’s choice. He was glad he had, as it was the best he had ever eaten.
Mike was so enjoying his cheesecake that he didn’t notice Katarina approaching. “Mike what are you doing here?”
If she was involved, and was half as clever as Henry said, she would be suspicious. “This is my friend Francis, he and I were just catching up. He is the food critique for the paper. He asked if I wanted to join him for dinner and I have learned never to turn down those invitations. Are you here with Henry?” He stood up and looked around. It worked, now she needed to make an excuse.
“No, he was working late, so I had to eat alone.” She donned a pouty face.
Francis leaned forward, “Delighted to meet you…”
“Oh sorry, this is Katarina; she is a friend of Henry’s from way back.”
Francis smiled and shook her hand.
“It is nice to meet you, too. So how does this place rate?”
Francis didn’t know if he should tell the truth about not actually being out reviewing, so he just leaned back, and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “If you were to guess, based upon my face, what would you say?” He smiled broadly.
“I would say it gets an A. I know I enjoyed myself. Feel free to quote me on that.” She spoke easily and with incredible charm. Mike noticed Patrick leaving and when he walked past the window, so did Katarina.
“Would you like to join us for a cup of coffee?” Mike said, suspecting she would decline.
“Thank you, Mike, but I have to be going.”
When Katarina walked past the window she gave them a wave. They both waved back. She wore the black trench coat.
Chapter Fifty-Three
The Professor, Bobby, and Henry were eating and listening to Celine tell a story from one summer in the Poconos. Henry had bought take out for everyone. It was a bit of unwinding he sorely needed. Mike walked in just as Celine was saying, “…and though I never found my swimsuit, it was worth it, even though the nickname stuck.”
“Henry, could I talk to you outside?”
The ominous tone in his voice made everyone stop eating and look at Mike and then Henry. “Sure Mike, let’s take a walk.”
As they closed the office door, there was a collective shrug and they heard Celine ask the professor, “So Prof, you ever have a nickname?”
Henry and Mike walked down the hall and stopped at the other end. “What is it Mike?”
“I tried to get a look in the restaurant, but had an unexpected turn.”
“Oh?”
“Francis was there, in the window, about to have dinner. He sort of insisted I join him. I don’t think Patrick noticed me. He ate alone and I never saw anyone approach his table, aside from the waiter.”
“Inter
esting…but why so secretive?"
“The person in the trench coat, well I didn’t see them sit down. I didn’t know who it could be, all the other tables were couples or groups, well except one. It was Katarina.”
Henry looked out of the window at the end of the hall, then shook his head, and turned back to Mike. “She’s the Falcon.”
“You knew?!”
“No, but I suspected. I have been avoiding the signs, her returning, our case involving the art underworld, and the way she seemed to to avoid my questions. I let myself get drawn in. Mickey once told me, ’Never let Dames fog your mind.’ I didn’t listen. But I am now.” His voice was low and sad, but resolved. He accepted what he had suspected and was ready to move on.
“Does this mean…”
“I am not ready to jump to that conclusion, but I am prepared for it to be true.”
“She isn’t working alone.”
“I agree. We should bring everyone up to speed.” Henry turned and walked back to the office.
When they joined the others the professor had just finished his nickname story. Henry sat down behind his desk. Celine jumped up, “We have saved some for you Mike.” Her beaming voice made Henry feel a little less dreadful. “He's eaten. Go ahead, Mike, tell them what you learned.” Henry flipped open his notebook.
***
Across town Katarina flipped up her collar. She had left her hat at the restaurant, as she figured Mike would find it odd, her wearing a fedora. Another five minutes and Patrick would pick her up for the viewing. She couldn’t wait. She believed in the Eye of God, she believed it with every fiber of her being.
Katarina couldn’t put into words her love of art. She didn’t remember why she had wandered into that museum when she was sixteen. She only remembered how she felt seeing the 19th century Russian icon, “St. Nicholas –Woodworker”. It was a show full of Russian iconography, but this one piece, in the corner, had drawn her in. She stood looking at it for a few minutes, but it must have been hours, because afterwords it was dark outside.
Time and Again Page 17
