Book of Cures (A Thomas McAlister Adventure 2)

by Hunt Kingsbury

  “No idea.”

  “New York City.”

  “No way!”

  “Yes. 83rd and Lexington.”

  “My God. I don’t believe it.”

  “Wait until you hear this.”

  “What?”

  “Guess how old he is?”

  “How old?”

  “He’s 97.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding!”

  “Not at all.”

  McAlister was quiet for a moment, and then said, “He’s using the book to stay healthy.”

  “I think they all were. They all lived well into their hundreds. Since surfacing after the invasion, each male ancestor of this Hai Cai’s family has lived to be at least one hundred years old.”

  “Impossible.”

  “Impossible, but true.”

  “It’s got to be them. They have to be his relatives. Great work! I bet they’ve worked hard to keep their ages a secret.”

  “I took a look at some census data. There are only about fifty thousand centenarians alive today. They say genetics has a lot to do with it.”

  “Yes, but three in a row?”

  “So we’ve got a starting place. What do we do?”

  McAlister was decisive. “We have to get back to New York, find the residence and have a look. Somehow, we need to ensure it’s the right family. That address is just blocks from Taylor’s apartment.”

  “I know. I considered that. Do you think we should contact them?”

  “No. If they have the book and have not shared it for three generations, they’re certainly not going to start now. I don’t want to tip them off.”

  “How will we find out if they have it?”

  McAlister opened another beer. “We could kidnap and torture Nuan Cai.”

  “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “Blindfold him, take him to a motel, and put him in the shower under scalding water. He’d talk.”

  McAlister spoke of the torture in such a matter-of-fact way that it made Bertram nervous. He wondered what McAlister would do to him if he found out that he was not really Professor Bertram, but a federal agent.

  McAlister smiled, and Bertram was still unsure if he’d been serious.

  “If he has the Beryl, I suspect he’ll be one of two things: very healthy or very rich. Or both. If he has it, he must be using it for his own personal benefit. For a family to have three generations of people who all live beyond one hundred years is rare. There’s also the chance he’s selling information to the healthcare companies, local doctors, and God knows who else.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “We’re going to take it.”

  “Steal it?”

  “Yes, of course. He’s certainly not going to give it to us.”

  Bertram paused. “I guess it’s not really his anyway.”

  “No, it’s not. They own it because of a murder and a theft. Why should they get to hoard the benefit? I know a man in New York who can help us.”

  “A thief?”

  “Yes. He’s the best. I just hope he’s available.”

  Bertram nodded. He knew McAlister had underworld connections from the last time he and DJ had dealt with him. They’d stolen the Ten Commandments from him; he’d stolen them right back from the National Museum of Art working with what could only have been a professional.

  “I have one last set of fake identification papers I can use to get back to the States. They’re going to be watching for you too. It will be best to separate on the way home.”

  Bertram offered, “I asked around and found a man in Lhasa who can create identification and a passport for me, but it’s going to take a few days.”

  “How did you find him?”

  “I just asked around. It wasn’t that difficult.”

  “We need to rent a hotel room for an hour to clean up. And I need to dye my hair. I’ve got to change my appearance as much as I can.”

  “Glasses and a hat will help. Try to look like a tourist,” Bertram said authoritatively.

  As he was opening a sandwich, McAlister said, “You’re becoming quite the international spy, Dr. Bertram. You may have found a fall-back if teaching doesn’t work out for you.”

  Bertram shrugged. “I watch a lot of movies, that’s all.”

  McAlister took out a pre-paid phone card again. “I’ll buy my ticket, and then you call back and buy yours. That New York cop will have everyone watching for two men traveling together.”

  McAlister had no idea that Bertram was really Elmo, partner of his nemesis DJ Warrant. Through meticulous planning, Warrant had finally worked himself into the perfect position to steal a valuable treasure right out from under McAlister’s nose.

  What neither McAlister nor Bertram knew was that while they were away from camp earlier in the day, the Clone had planted a small listening device in McAlister’s bag. He was sitting one hundred yards away, listening to every word they said.

  Once he’d heard McAlister tell Bertram the time of his flight later that day, he also called the airline.

  McAlister was making progress. Now that he was closer to finding the book, had zeroed in on its location, Uri felt sure that he was close to collecting the single largest amount of money he’d ever been paid…in cash.

  He’d also probably get to kill someone. He smiled, finding humor in the fact that he was getting paid for having so much fun.

  Chapter 33

  At its base level, what Joel and the Group of Five were involved in included collusion, price fixing, corporate espionage, anti-trust violations, and--potentially--murder. All illegal. All felonies.

  The illegality of withholding the Blue Beryl’s benefits from the public was almost impossible to characterize. Keeping a cure secret was worse than never having had it in the first place. The resulting deaths from not sharing and developing medicines and cures would be akin to mass murder.

  Joel had read countless articles about numerous CEOs who had been ousted and tried for violations far less serious than the ones in which he was involved. He’d always had strong ethical and moral boundaries, and the more he thought about what was going on, the more he realized he needed a way out.

  But how could he get out and still remain CEO of Cabbott? He had obsessed over the matter since his first meeting, and an idea was beginning to take shape.

  There were certain requirements that any plan he put forth must accomplish. Assuming the council stayed together, Mortimar must be removed as leader. Also, drugs must be allowed to come into the market freely--without manipulation or fixing--regardless of who made them.

  Most importantly, for the his own safety and that of his family, the other members of the group--particularly Mortimar--must know nothing about his plan.

  Joel had discussed the plan with his wife on numerous occasions. They made sure to talk about it away from their home, since they both suspected it was bugged. As far-fetched as the plan seemed, he was beginning to think that it might work.

  He was in his den staring at the television when his wife entered. Ironically, a commercial for a drug his company sold was just ending. He was shaking his head at the incredibly long disclaimer at the end of the commercial.

  “I didn’t know a man could talk that fast,” Sabrina said, referring to the disclaimer.

  “Funny you say that. Our lawyers said he was talking too fast, and that we might be liable if a court found we were intentionally trying to hide the risks of using the product by having him blur words together.”

  “Did you have to make him slow down?”

  “Nah. It’s kind of like ‘Peter Piper Picked a Pepper.’ We just had him enunciate. We figured that would slow him down some. It’s hard to say ‘side effects may include headache, drowsiness, lightheadedness, insomnia, diarrhea, constipation, stroke, rash and erectile dysfunction’ too fast.”

  “Wow. You just did.”

  “I’m a thirty-year industry veteran.”

  Sabrina came over and sat next to him on the c
ouch. She laced an arm around him and pushed the mute button on the TV remote.

  “Have you given our problem anymore thought?”

  “I told you, we should only talk about it in the car, or with the water running in the bathroom. Seriously, you never know.”

  “Oh, now the shower is okay?

  “Well, if we’re in it together, sure.”

  “Nice try. The kids are still awake.”

  “Oh.”

  “Well, have you?”

  “Yes. Actually, I was thinking about it when you walked in. Have you?”

  She gave him a mischievous smile. “Yes, I have an idea that may work.”

  “Does it accomplish everything and still shield my involvement?”

  “Amazingly, yes. But there’s a catch.”

  “What?”

  “It involves the archeologist you told me about.”

  “McAlister?”

  “Yes. Do you know him?”

  “No, not at all. I’ve seen pictures of him. Mortimar’s learned he’s on his way back from Tibet where he’s been looking for the Beryl. We’re still not certain he’s going to find it. But the man following him thinks he’s making progress.”

  “You mean the assassin? The disguise artist?”

  “Yes.”

  “What does he know about the archeologist?”

  “He stays very close to McAlister.”

  “If McAlister finds the book, my plan would require you to get in touch with him. Could you do that?”

  “It wouldn’t be easy. This guy Uri, The Clone, is all over him. Because he changes his disguise depending on where he is, he’s always right with him. Watching and listening. You should see the detail in the reports we get.”

  “We’d have to figure out a way to reach McAlister without the Clone knowing. That’s a necessity for my plan to work. Want to hear it?”

  Joel glanced at the still muted TV. He wouldn’t put it past Mortimar to have bugged his house in order to keep track of him. He knew they shouldn’t be talking about this inside the house, but his children were upstairs doing their homework and their housekeeper had left for the day. It would be too much trouble to find a sitter just to go for a short drive and talk. Plus, he had an early morning meeting tomorrow.

  Finally he said, “Okay, let’s hear it.”

  Chapter 34

  Every morning at 8, like clockwork, McAlister’s girlfriend Lisa Goodwin went to a coffee shop on West 23rd called Eva’s Oasis. There, she would get a cup of coffee and a bagel and read the morning paper before going to the New York City Library to work on her thesis.

  This morning she ordered her usual, but when she turned away from the counter, the owner, Eva, called her back.

  “Oh, hey, Lisa?”

  Lisa retuned to the counter.

  Eva whispered, “I almost forgot. This guy was in here earlier, around 5:30. He told me to serve your coffee in this cup today.”

  Eva held up a cup.

  “He said it was a practical joke. I didn’t know him and there’s no way I was going to serve you anything in this cup--especially with the virus scare and all that.”

  “Eva, Thomas had nothing to do with that.”

  “Hey, I see all types in here and I’ve seen Thomas in here with you, and this guy wasn’t Tom. He was short and had a hat and glasses. Huh? Hands, arms and voice, I’d put him at hmm, forty-five or fifty, give or take.”

  Lisa took the cup. “Thanks, Eva.”

  “Have a good one.”

  Lisa sat down and opened her paper, pretending to read it. She sipped her coffee and stared at the cup Eva had handed her. She didn’t want to act too curious about it. Sometimes she knew someone was following her, other times she couldn’t be sure. Today she wasn’t sure.

  Holding the newspaper up with one hand, she spun the cup. Nothing odd about it. She turned it over and looked at the bottom, and then inside. Nothing.

  She considered it a minute longer and finally slid the cardboard sleeve off. There it was: writing on the inside of the sleeve.

  She took a deep, excited breath while looking up at the other customers. No one seemed to be watching her.

  She tore the sleeve at the seam and saw that it had already been torn and taped back together.

  She straightened it out. It read:

  9llatstsal1+rlfrulcyn

  It had to be from Thomas. He was an amateur cryptologist, but he knew she knew next to nothing about it. In fact, all she did know she’d learned during conversations with him.

  She stared at the letters. So many options. Surely Thomas wouldn’t have used anything more complex than a Caesar cipher or a poly-alphabetic substitution. He often talked about Vigenere’s square, the Tabula Recta, but that would require her to figure out a keyword and draw a complicated letter chart.

  She tried a few Caesar shift variations, but nothing popped. The plus could mean two phrases added together, or possibly, she was supposed to use the letters P, L, U, S as part of the cipher.

  She sipped her coffee until finally a few minutes later the letters CYN gave it away. That was NYC backwards. So she reversed the entire phrase, writing each letter on the back of the cup sleeve:

  nyclurflr+1laststall9

  It was a letter reversal--technically, a transposition. She smiled, feeling slightly embarrassed it’d taken her so long. She whispered aloud: New York City L, your floor, plus one, last stall nine. She excitedly tapped her pencil. L had to stand for Library. That was the only New York building in which she had a floor. Thomas knew she always worked on her dissertation on the fourth floor. Plus one would mean the fifth floor.

  Last stall probably meant the last--or ninth--stall in the bathroom. Or nine could mean nine o’clock.

  The riddle was simple, but probably not easily intelligible to someone who didn’t know her routine of studying and writing daily on the fourth floor of the New York City Library.

  She packed quickly to leave. If there was a chance Thomas could be at the library, she wanted to get there as quickly as possible.

  She stood up, slung her backpack over her shoulder, and walked to the door. She waved at Eva, dropped the cup and sleeve into the garbage by the door, and walked out.

  Five seconds later O’Brian’s partner, Detective Ferguson, drank the rest of his coffee, stood up, and headed for the front door of Eva’s Oasis. He dropped his cup in the trash and, as he did, he picked up Lisa’s cup and sleeve.

  He quickly crossed the street and jumped into O’Brian’s unmarked Caprice Classic.

  Without speaking, he handed O’Brian the sleeve. O’Brian took a long time reading the message, committing it to memory. He put his head back, closed his eyes, and took a few deep breaths.

  A minute passed, then another. Finally, he raised his head, opened his eyes, looked at Ferguson and said, “Let’s go.”

  “Where to?” Ferguson asked.

  “NYCL. New York City Library.”

  Chapter 35

  Lisa felt an odd energy in the library that morning.

  She’d spent the last hour trying to work, but she couldn’t concentrate. After reading the same sentence for the fifth time and still not comprehending it, she looked at her watch again.

  8:50 a.m..

  She stood up, walked to the escalator and rode up to the 5th floor. Once there, she headed for the women’s bathroom.

  Inside, there were only six stalls, not nine. She bent down to look under them, seeing no feet.

  She walked over to the stall against the wall. The door was closed.

  She wanted to see Thomas so badly, she felt like her heart would jump out of her chest.

  She gently pushed the door and it swung open.

  Empty.

  Her disappointment was severe. Her eyes welled with tears. Ever since the day he’d failed to meet her in Central Park, she’d been terribly worried.

  She walked out of the stall ready to leave the bathroom, but reconsidered just before reaching the door. It just didn’t mak
e sense. She went back and entered the stall, closing the door this time.

  Nothing.

  She inspected the toilet paper dispenser. Nothing.

  Not until she looked behind the toilet near the floor did she see a small folded note taped to the base of the toilet.

  She pulled the note free and hastily unfolded it.

  You’re being followed! Make absolutely sure you lose them

  and meet me in one hour at the first place I brought you when we came

  to New York. Second stool from the end. Make sure you

  come alone, and flush this note when you’re done reading it.

  They found the coffee cup sleeve in the trash at Eva’s.

  Chapter 36

  For an amateur, McAlister’s disguise was rudimentary, but effective. He’d dyed his hair black and had a shaggy goatee. He wore a full-brimmed golf hat, sunglasses with thin horizontal lenses, a t-shirt and jeans, and an old 35-millimeter camera around his neck that Uri doubted even worked. He was the perfect Midwestern tourist, a disguise that would work well most anywhere in Manhattan.

  At PJ Clarke’s, there was a seat open between Uri and McAlister. Uri figured Lisa would take it, but didn’t know when she’d arrive. He knew McAlister had planted a note for her at the library, but he’d been unable to read it.

  Then, at two minutes after ten, she arrived. She strode in looking worried and serious, but somehow more beautiful than last time he’d seen her. That was when Uri realized that he had missed her. The realization jolted him, and a small smile formed on his normally stoic face. He hadn’t thought he was capable of feeling positive emotion towards a woman. Unwittingly, Lisa had just proven he could.

  She wore a shrunken, faded blue t-shirt with the words “Port Salerno, Florida” barely legible on the front. The tight t-shirt accentuated full C-cup breasts, no bra, and below them a three-inch gap separated the bottom of the shirt and top of her faded blue jeans. Her abdomen was golden brown and flat. Her jeans had a hole in one knee. They were button fly, low cut and tight. Uri took a rare second look and then closed his eyes, her leonine image seared into his brain.