“How?”
“First, tell me if Wolhardt’s notes were in your backpack.”
“Yes.”
“The only copy?”
“Of course. Now, how did you find me?”
“A little detective work, some illicit accessing of computer systems.”
“The rental car company?”
“Yes.”
“I was afraid of that. Sorry I broke in. It was useless anyway.”
“Yes, it was. I think I’ve worked out what you’ve been up to. You stole the notes from Wolhardt. You’re trying to solve the enigma so you can collect the reward from Jutting. You used to work for Jutting.”
“That bastard.” Bathmore had what the British would call a posh accent. He said the word bastard with a truly bitter inflection.
“How did you end up working for him anyway? You studied music and mathematics in college, not finance or business.”
Bathmore looked surprised for an instant, then winced again, shifting on the couch. “My aunt got me the job. She’s in finance. Used to work for him too. Didn’t like me being a music teacher. Not fancy enough. What are you anyway? A private investigator of some kind?”
“Something like that,” I said, then stopped speaking for a moment. Something had just struck me. There was another person with whom I had come into contact recently in a similar situation to Bathmore’s—another person who had turned to criminal activity and who lived in a city Bathmore had visited just ten days before. “One more question,” I said. “Are you working with Molly?”
“Molly? You mean James Ringold?”
“Yes.”
“That’s his stupid nickname I guess. Yes, I was working with him. I should have never trusted that asshole.”
“So you two met on that forum and hatched a plan to steal the notes after Wolhardt made his announcement?”
“Pretty much. Although I ended up doing all the work. I went to Los Angeles and stole the notes from Wolhardt. Ringold said he would meet me there but he kept delaying. Finally I just did it myself. Then after you hacked his BBS…”
“How did he know about that?” I interrupted.
“He’s an asshole but he’s not an idiot. And he’s very paranoid. He knew the hacker was in the Bay Area somehow. He asked me to send him the notes again. I refused, again. He tried to convince me to come to San Francisco so we could work on it together and I wouldn’t have to turn over the notes.”
“But you didn’t give him the notes, or a scan or copy?”
“Already told you, no copies. He wanted me to send them to him but I refused. He said he would pay for my plane tickets, the rentals, everything. But he wouldn’t give me the money. Told him I’d send him the notes when he gave me the money. I don’t think he has it.”
“So you’ve been trying to work it out yourself?”
“No good. I’m no cryptographer.” He squeezed his eyes closed and laid his head back in frustration.
“So who were those guys down there? Who knew you had the notes and wanted them badly enough to ambush you?”
“Jutting’s boys undoubtedly. He must have sent them. I contacted him earlier today. Told him I had something that could help solve the enigma. I offered to sell it to him. I need the money. I’m broke. I wanted to solve it myself but I couldn’t wait anymore.”
“So he told you he’d think about it and get back to you?”
“Yes.”
“But instead he sent some rough people to take the notes from you. Nice guy.”
“Not nice. A real cold bastard. Psychopath. I should have known better.”
“Well, you’ve made my job more difficult. Now I have to steal the notes back from him, not you. He has better security. One thing that’s been bothering me is how you knew I was helping Wolhardt. How did you find out? There are only two possibilities I can think of. One, you were still in Los Angeles when I met with him. Or two, Johann Benderick told you.”
Bathmore nodded, appraising me. “Bender thirty-nine. That must be who you mean. He posted in the forum. Said you visited him. Said if anyone in the forum knew anything about the burglary they should tell Wolhardt or you. I didn’t know he was fucking Johann Benderick. That puts a different spin on some things he’s posted. Wolhardt responded and explained that you were helping him search for the stolen notes. By that time I knew what I stole from Wolhardt was old. The guy puts dates on everything. He seems really organized. Maybe he wants to be able to file things chronologically. Anyway, the dates were all from a few months ago before he posted that he was close to a solution. The method is pretty good but it needs tweaking. The solution is wrong. I went back to Los Angeles. I was going to go talk to him and see if he would join forces with me. But then I got the message and decided to go up to San Francisco and check you out instead. I thought maybe Wolhardt would have given his materials to you to keep safe.”
This last part didn’t ring true to me. I didn’t believe Bathmore was going to talk to Wolhardt. He had probably planned on breaking in again. I nodded and let it go. “Expensive flying back and forth between London and LA though.”
“One of the reasons I’m broke. Fucking Molly. It was a big waste of money in the end.”
“And you headed back to London immediately after you searched my place because you thought I might come here, find you gone, and steal Wolhardt’s notes back?”
“Yes.”
“Well Nigel,” I said, standing. “It all adds up but not in a way that benefits you I’m afraid. I’m sorry about your troubles. Let me be clear about something. I’m no longer interested in you. Wolhardt’s real solution is well protected. You will not be able to steal it. So, my advice is give up on this and find another way to get out of debt. Leave burglary to the professionals. You’ll end up in jail if you keep this up. How would your aunt feel about that?”
I left him sitting there on his couch, a crumpled human. I felt bad. I had been there before, in his shoes, feeling how he felt, but I couldn’t do anything for him. I had a job to finish and I needed to turn my attention to Jutting. Time was running out. If I didn’t catch a break soon it would be all over.
****
Late that evening I was sitting up, unable to sleep. I had sent the photo of the van to Ashna and was waiting to hear back from her. I was waiting to hear back from Ortoli too. I didn’t know what my next step would be. I needed confirmation that it was Jutting’s people who had mugged Bathmore and I needed Ortoli’s help to put my plan into action. I was reading Cellini while the cat twitched in its sleep next to me on the couch. The book had begun to bore me. Cellini seemed to get into the same kinds of conflicts again and again, always because of his own stubbornness and ego. I was scanning quickly, flipping forward, when the word necromancy caught my attention and I read with renewed attention.
“It happened through a variety of singular accidents that I became intimate with a Sicilian priest, who was a man of very elevated genius and well instructed in both Latin and Greek letters. In the course of conversation one day we were led to talk about the art of necromancy; apropos of which I said: “Throughout my whole life I have had the most intense desire to see or learn something of this art.” Thereto the priest replied: “A stout soul and a steadfast must the man have who sets himself to such an enterprise.” I answered that of strength and steadfastness of soul I should have enough and to spare, provided I found the opportunity. Then the priest said: “If you have the heart to dare it, I will amply satisfy your curiosity.” Accordingly we agreed upon attempting the adventure.
The priest one evening made his preparations, and bade me find a comrade, or not more than two. I invited Vincenzio Romoli, a very dear friend of mine, and the priest took with him a native of Pistoja, who also cultivated the black art. We went together to the Coliseum; and there the priest, having arrayed himself in necromancer’s robes, began to describe circles on the earth with the finest ceremonies that can be imagined. I must say that he had made us bring precious perfumes and fire, and al
so drugs of fetid odour. When the preliminaries were completed, he made the entrance into the circle; and taking us by the hand, introduced us one by one inside it. Then he assigned our several functions; to the necromancer, his comrade, he gave the pentacle to hold; the other two of us had to look after the fire and the perfumes; and then he began his incantations. This lasted more than an hour and a half; when several legions appeared, and the Coliseum was all full of devils. I was occupied with the precious perfumes, and when the priest perceived in what numbers they were present, he turned to me and said: “Benvenuto, ask them something.” I called on them to reunite me with my Sicilian Angelica. That night we obtained no answer; but I enjoyed the greatest satisfaction of my curiosity in such matters. The necromancer said that we should have to go a second time, and that I should obtain the full accomplishment of my request; but he wished me to bring with me a little boy of pure virginity.”
I read on, captivated. Cellini related how he had chosen one of his young shop assistants and met the priest again. Once again he performed the ritual, summoning “the most dangerous of all the denizens of hell” and once again Cellini demanded to be reunited with Angelica. The demons assured him he would be with her within a month. The host of demons summoned by the necromancer was so great they all feared for their lives. Cellini’s description of the scene was chilling:
The sorcerer turned to me and said: “Hear you what they have replied; that in the space of one month you will be where she is?” Then once more he prayed me to stand firm by him, because the legions were a thousandfold more than he had summoned, and were the most dangerous of all the denizens of hell; and now that they had settled what I asked, it behooved us to be civil to them and dismiss them gently. On the other side, the boy, who was beneath the pentacle, shrieked out in terror that a million of the fiercest men were swarming round and threatening us. He said, moreover, that four huge giants had appeared, who were striving to force their way inside the circle.
The circle held and Cellini and his companions were able to stay inside “until the matinbells began to sound.” Safe at last “the necromancer put off his wizard’s robe, and packed up a great bundle of books which he had brought with him; then, all together, we issued with him from the circle, huddling as close as we could to one another.” Interestingly, later, as they made their way home, Cellini claimed the priest asked for his help “in consecrating a book, by means of which we should extract immeasurable wealth, since we could call up fiends to show us where treasures were.” I wasn’t sure exactly what this meant. Maybe the priest wanted Cellini to help him create a sort of magic book or grimoire with instructions for performing the ritual. The idea made me remember Dworkin and his raving about the dark saying. I shuddered involuntarily. The writing was very evocative even if it was the self-aggrandizing propaganda of a first rate solipsist.
I closed the eBook, put my phone aside, and sat thinking. Benderick had told me he didn’t believe the ‘dark saying’ supposedly woven into the variations could be an evil incantation. He had said the music spoke to him, uplifted him, giving him visions of something lofty and bright, not something dark and evil. Based on my experience of hearing the music, I had to agree with him. Reading Cellini’s account of summoning demons was intriguing though. I didn’t believe in the supernatural or demons or angels for that matter but I did believe people could have experiences that stretched them beyond rationality. Their own belief in those experiences mixed with a penchant for drama could be a force for swaying other people and gaining power over them, even down the centuries to a remote ancestor, locked in an asylum, conversing with an impressionable young music master dreaming of his own future glory.
Chapter 14
Rat de Ville, Rat de Campagne
July 3: London and Powick
I woke the next morning to a text message from Ashna.
—Tracked down the license plate. Registered to Greenbriar Industries.—
—Awesome. So now we’re up against Morgan Jutting.—
—Yep. Fun opponent I’m sure. If you get a chance, use that sneaky little box I gave you. Any open ethernet port will do.—
—I’ll do my best.—
Ashna was still planning on coming to London but her software release had been delayed. She would come as soon as possible. Shortly after, while I was drinking my first cup of coffee, my phone rang. I picked up and the soft voice of Petru Ortoli materialized from across the continent.
“Justin. It’s Petru. My service told me you called.”
“Thank you for calling me back. I have a favor to ask.”
“Name it. I will do my best.”
“Do you know Morgan Jutting? The property developer? He runs Greenbriar.”
“I do not know him personally but I’m familiar with his reputation. We’re in the same business but usually not in direct competition.”
“I need an excuse to meet with him and get inside his house. Apparently he prefers to hold all of his meetings at home. Maybe something regarding a property deal or investment. I was told by an insider that Greenbriar is working on a resort development on the Amalfi coast. Apparently it’s far over budget. They’re searching for additional investors but having a hard time finding anyone to help. I thought you might be familiar with this project since it’s in your geographic area of influence.”
“Yes, I know about this one. I was intrigued when I heard about it but decided to be cautious. Still, when your opponent is most in need you get the best terms. I could look into it again. Can your insider, the one who gave you this information, get me in contact with Jutting? I will tell him I have a representative in the U.K. who can meet with him on my behalf to get the details. It is well known that I only deal in person or by a representative, never without face to face discussion. You can play the part. I know your abilities. I will set up a meeting between you and Jutting. Will that be sufficient? I will not make the investment unless the opportunity seems good but you will get your meeting either way.”
“More than sufficient. I think the person who gave me the information should be able to set up a phone call with Jutting. She used to work for him.”
“Excellent. I am going to give you my private number so that this can go quickly.”
“Thank you Signore. I appreciate your help.”
I copied down Ortoli’s number and we ended the call. My next step was Clelia Nguyen. I dialed her number, hoping she would be willing to help. She picked up on the third ring.
“Justin?”
“Yes, it’s me. Are you busy?”
“No, I have a meeting in a few minutes but I can talk for a moment.”
“Thanks. I was wondering if you can get a message to Jutting. I know someone who might be interested in helping out with the financing of the development you told me about.”
“Probably, I’m still on good terms with one of the senior partners at Greenbriar. Is this legitimate or is it a cover for the project you’re working on?”
“It’s both. The offer could be very legitimate if the terms are right.”
“Good.” Clelia paused for a moment. “I wouldn’t want to have it come back to bite me. If the offer is a real possibility, I can contact him right away.”
“Of course. The potential financer is Petru Ortoli. He’s a Corsican developer.”
“I’ve heard of him. He has some unsavory associates. It seems like most developers do though.”
“Yes, I ran into a couple of Jutting’s unsavory associates last night.”
“You’re not damaged I hope?” She sounded legitimately concerned.
“No, I’m okay. Just a minor scuffle.”
“Are you sure you want to be involved with someone like Petru Ortoli? Sorry, I get maternal. My friends tell me it’s annoying.”
“I did a favor for him. Or at least he sees it that way. So he’s returning it. I don’t have any ties to his organization. I’m sure I probably wouldn’t want to.”
“Okay, good. I’m glad.”
&
nbsp; “Ortoli might be willing to put up the money to save Jutting’s resort. He wants the details and he’ll make a proposal right away. I’ll act as his representative. Between us, this is Ortoli doing me a favor so I can meet with Jutting but there is a possibility of a deal if Ortoli likes what he sees.”
“Got it. I’m fine with being the conduit if that’s the case.”
“Thanks. I appreciate your help. I owe you one.” I gave Clelia Ortoli’s number and we hung up. The cat was meowing at me so I filled his bowl and sat thinking while he crunched away at his kibble. If the plan worked I would hopefully be able to get into Jutting’s house and take stock of the security. Of course, he could be keeping the notes elsewhere. What would I do if I were him? It was hard to project myself into his world since I knew so little about it but I could examine the probable facts and work from there. First, I had to assume he was not a cryptography expert. He was probably not trying to break the code himself. Instead, he would hire someone to do it for him. He probably had someone working on it already, interpreting Wolhardt’s notes. My intuition said Jutting would not want the notes in some cryptographer’s office safe. He would want them protected by his own security. So, they would be in his house in London or one of the other apartments and houses he owned around the world. The London house was his primary residence and he was currently in London as far as I knew so it was likely the notes would be there. In any case, getting into the house and meeting Jutting couldn’t hurt.
The cat finished eating and wandered off to lie on the couch some more. He didn’t seem to mind the prospect of an entire day spent doing nothing. I didn’t like it though. I sat and considered for a few minutes, trying to think of a way to kill half the day. I wasn’t in the mood for tourist stuff. In the end, I decided to pay a visit to the asylum where Elgar had supposedly met Cellini’s mad descendent. I had researched it a bit the night before after reading about Cellini and the Sicilian priest. It was a couple of hours away by car. I could go look at it, have lunch, and drive back. By then I would hopefully have an answer from Ortoli.
Enigma Variations Page 14