It was time to discover what was in the will of her grandfather. She had waited too long, probably fearing what she would discover. She took the torn envelope and caressed the seal made with paraffin in which her grandfather had, in front of her, affixed his signet ring. With a sigh, she took out the pocketbook and opened it.
But what a surprise when she placed the one near the other, the different pieces of the puzzle!
The first was an excerpt from the catalog of the National Portrait Gallery in London dating back a decade. The announced exhibition including paintings of unknown artists from the fifteenth and sixteenth century. Some pictures of paintings represented characters of that time, in bust or full-length, in poses somewhat stilted. The vast majority of models were men. Michaela did not recognize any of them, but it was also true that she was not expert either in art or in history.
The second document was a page of a German newspaper dating back to one thousand nine hundred and forty one, yellowed by time. She searched in her memory the vocabulary she learned at school. It was not enough to translate the page, but with the help of the photo, she knew it recounted an intervention of a group of rescue workers after a bombing. A group of men wearing clothing marked with a red cross helped starving children out of a house largely destroyed. The kids seemed terrified.
The following leaflet was actual. It was a printed web page dedicated to a site of French scientific researchers. The article, in English this time, detailed the results of research on stem cells and the hope that these findings would provide, in particular in the treatment of leukaemia. An interview also appeared with the project manager, illustrated with his photo.
Gradually, as she studied her treasures, Michaela became discouraged. Remained only a single hope.
She carefully took the last layers, which corresponded more to what she expected. An ancient manuscript. Between the pages, silk paper was inserted. Some letters were erased by time especially at the folds of the pages, but the beauty of the document remained intact. Beautiful letters drawn with a precise hand in gold color ink. The first letters of each paragraph were colored in shades of red, green or blue. She had seen in a movie, the hero manipulating an old book and using some kind of tweezers to turn the pages without affixing his fingers. She did not have such tools. So she blew to turn pages for fear of touching them, making lightly cracking the brittle vellum. After turning twenty pages, she had to face the facts. This document was totally incomprehensible for her. She could barely decipher the letters, and of course it was not written in English. Perhaps Latin?
And that was all. It made no sense. What connection could there be between these documents? Except perhaps the manuscript, other parts were public. Anyone could get them on the Net or in a library.
She reviewed his wealth, hoping to find a mark, a comment, anything that proved that it was not a hoax. In vain. Her grandfather gave her the envelope from hand to hand, and she was certain that no one had touched it, since the seals were intact.
Where could the value of these documents lie? No doubt they had none, separately. But it was their combination that was to be limpid.
"Yeah. For now it is mostly dark," she grumbled.
She searched the similarities.
Let’s see. Three documents referred to the past, but the scientific research was current. Three documents included pictures, but of course not the parchment. Two documents were written in English, but not others. One referred to England, one to France, Germany, and for the last, she had no clue but probably somewhere in Europe.
Finally a common point: Europe. She sought the names mentioned but did not find more connections. His grandfather had spoken of clues to start a quest. She would have preferred a map with a flag to indicate the starting point.
She felt too tired to analyze the sheets that night. But she had to find how she would secure them.
Steve had a small desk in his living room. Bills overflowed folders, mixed with Junior’s drawings. Her friend had never liked accounting. She often said he would never make a fortune without following his accounts more carefully. But Steve shrugged his shoulders. As long as he had enough to live...
He owned a computer, scanner and a printer. Perfect. A photocopy would surely have altered the details. A scanning would enable to enlarge some images. She quickly scanned the various documents, and saved them as files. Now what? After hesitating, she created a new email address, opened a draft message and set as attachments the files she had created. So she could view them wherever she would be. Then she erased all traces of what she had done, destroying files on the hard drive and the history of surfing.
What about the originals? Michaela grabbed an envelope and slipped the book inside.
She took a sheet and nibbled the extremity of a pencil before writing a brief message for the detective. All in all, it was not such a good idea. If Porkelevitch was more venal than she expected, he could sell the documents.
She decided on impulse to send them to her own mail address. Post office would be the involuntary depository of the documents. Yes, it was still the safest. She quickly scribbled the address on the envelope. Tomorrow morning, she would ask Steve to post this fold discreetly.
The tape was too bulky to be kept or placed in the envelope. She wanted to keep this last post of her grandfather, but with a sigh, she pulled out the ribbon. It unrolled and instantly became tangled. She took scissors, went into the kitchen and cut out the ribbon above the trash. These arrangements made, she felt better.
She extinguished the light in the lounge. The street lamps lit up the room enough for her to move without bumping. She removed her jeans, shirt and boots and exhausted slipped into her makeshift bed. She tried to sleep but soon realized she would not succeed. Events jostled in her head and she still did not know what she would do the next day.
It was not a quest, it was a treasure hunt. She could not help smiling. Perhaps it would be fun. And then she owed it to her grandfather. Tomorrow she would reserve a plane ticket to Europe. Thus she would respect the request of her grandfather, take some deserved holiday and would move away from those who wanted to steal the book.
Finally she did not undergo the events anymore and was the one who decided what she would do. This idea comforted her. She did not believe in these stories of time travel and immortality even if it pleased her romantic side. And even if such power could exist, she was not sure she wanted to obtain it. Travel through time with the risk, even by modifying a tiny part of history, to turn upside down thousands of lives? Certainly avoiding wars would be comforting, but if her intervention prevented scientific discoveries? Live forever, but seeing her friends, her relatives dying one after the other? No, it does not interest her. She would not be disappointed at not being able to reach it. But solving these puzzles would be a challenge. So why not?
Relieved to have made a decision, and no longer suffer the events, she snuggled into her makeshift bed and fell asleep.
At the foot of Steve's building, in his car, "Elegant" turned up the collar of his jacket. The night would be long and cold.
CHAPTER - 8 -
The next day, a delicious smell of coffee tickled Michaela's nostrils, waking her up. She heard Steve whispering while speaking to his son. But the kid did not have the same discretion as his father. Smiling, she grabbed her clothes abandoned on the carpet the night before, crossed her fingers through her hair to smooth them and entered the kitchen. Steve was rummaging about in the fridge and did not see her at once.
"You see I told you she was awake," the little boy cried.
Steve looked up and smiled at Michaela.
"You sleep well?"
"Very well, thank you. Is there some coffee left?"
She sat facing the little boy and stuck out her tongue. The kid, delighted, gave her a big smile followed by a horrible grimace. But when he crossed the glance of his father, he took on a sheepish look.
"Can I stay here this morning? I have things to organize and..."
&nbs
p; "No problem. Maryse will not be back until around noon. If you want to go, you have only to pull the door behind you."
"Thank you!"
"You will be all right?
"Yes. Don't worry. I just need a few days off. I think I'll take a few holidays."
"You are right. Anyway, since you created your company, you haven’t had a break. It can only do you good.” Then he ruffled his son's head and announced, "It's time to leave for school."
The little boy got up immediately and rushed toward the entrance. His father caught him by the collar.
"Aren't you forgetting something?"
Ashamed, the kid came near Michaela, gave her a big kiss, sticky with jam, and then fled like a thief to find his father.
Michaela laughed and sent him a kiss.
"See you soon! Whatever you decide, give news."
"Promised! Can you post a letter for me please?"
"Of course."
She handed him the envelope containing the book. Steve raised an eyebrow in surprise, reading that the recipient was none other than Michaela, but he made no comment.
She thanked him inwardly for his discretion, and waved goodbye when they left the apartment.
Left alone, Michaela made a quick toilet, cleared the breakfast table and made some space on Steve's desk. She turned on the computer and connected to the Internet.
To begin with, she organized her trip. She had her passport in her jacket and needed nothing more. She had done well not to keep the book, who knows what trouble she would have gotten into at the customs with such documents? Her pursuers had already searched her apartment. The probability for them to come back and check the letterbox was zero. She booked a place on a flight that day for Paris. Paris, shops, museums, small cafes on the banks of the Seine! What could be the weather over there? She was so impatient to leave!
She then called Porkelevitch but heard his answering machine message. While waiting to call him back, she sent a message to her assistant to inform him that she would be absent for two or three weeks and he would have to manage the company in her absent.
Porkelevitch remained unreachable. She took out his business card, memorizing his phone number and email address, then destroyed the card and threw it in toilet.
She sent a brief message to the detective from her usual email. She informed him of her departure for a few days off and asked him to keep her informed of the progress of the investigation by email.
That's it. The die was cast. She was leaving for Paris. She was going to visit the city of light, away from the New York threat, time for things to settle down. She would conduct a discreet investigation on this medical research laboratory. It was the only concrete thing she had. And if the search were cut short, she would benefit from a few days of vacation as a tourist.
This done, she tidied up the living room, made sure she had forgotten nothing, and then left the apartment. The door closed softly, without the possibility of reopening without a key. This closure, almost inaudible, sounded like a knell in the heart of Michaela. She hesitated. She had already imagined herself in Paris, far from any threat, frolicking in the streets, but she brutally resumed contact with the hard reality and fear returned in force.
She should have ensured that the street was safe before going out and ending up stupidly locked out of the apartment. But it was too late now. The worn carpet smothered her steps up to the small elevator, which hardly fit more than two or three people. The building was old, and the lift provided no discretion. It did not lack for charm with its painted black ironwork, but creaked ominously. She pressed the call button and waited the time it put down its passengers. But too in a hurry, she finally chose to take the stairs, and started down the two floors. While thinking about her projects, she watched the elevator cabin that reached her height and froze.
The passenger was none other than "Elegant". He too had recognized her. After a moment during which surprised paralyzed both of them, she rushed down the stairs. But she had time to see a gun appearing in the hand of her pursuer. She heard him shouting something she did not understand. She even did not know if he was talking to her. Her heart was pounding. Only one floor left. She went so fast that in her gaining momentum, she could not slow down, even on the landing.
She could hear muffled steps hurtling down the stairs behind her. She accelerated again, just recovering when she narrowly lost her balance. For a second she stopped to look in front of her. Then she struck full force "Leather jacket" who came to meet her. They rolled down the few steps that separated them from the exit and ended their race in the tiled hall.
Michaela was the first one to regain a grip on herself. She pulled the heavy door that separated her from freedom when she felt the barrel of a gun on her neck.
"Do not move!"
Michaela froze. Hands untied hers of the heavy door. They were those of "Elegant". "Leather jacket" was up, massing his loins. He put back his gun in his holster, communicated silently with his buddy and left the building.
"Listen to me. The car will be there in a few seconds. You get inside without fuss. Let me take you to my boss. Otherwise it would be your boyfriend that I bring, with the kid of course. Your choice! But I will not return empty-handed."
Michaela bowed her head in submission. She blamed herself terribly for getting Steve involved in this story. She not only had put him and his family in danger, but in addition she gave her pursuers a way to circumvent her. Better to wait and learn more before trying anything.
"Good girl. You are intelligent."
They did not have to wait very long. A horn briefly sounded. "Elegant" tidied his weapon, caught Michaela by the arm and led her to the car. He pushed her unceremoniously on the back seat before sitting down by her side. The vehicle immediately sped off.
If he had not mentioned kidnapping Steve and his son, Michaela would have tried to jump out of the vehicle before it gained too much speed, but she did not want to involve her friends in this story.
"Where are you taking me?"
Neither man took the trouble to reply. Michaela knew nothing about cars. She was unable to tell its model. She recognized the logo on the steering wheel. But aside from that, and the black color, she did not notice any distinctive marks. So she preferred to concentrate on the road.
"Elegant" handed her a mask similar to those pulled on to sleep without being bothered by the light of day. She looked questioningly. He threatened her with his gun, which he had taken in hand.
"No way!" Michaela opposed.
"You pull it on. That's it. I have to bring you alive. No one mentioned that you should not be hurt. Oh! And as you can see, my weapon is equipped with a silencer. You will only hear a tiny pop, but you will suffer, believe me! And you will limp all your life."
Saying this, he directed the barrel of his gun to her left knee.
Having nothing to oppose to this, Michaela put on the mask. She took care not to place it perfectly, in order to not totally hide her view of the right side. But "Elegant" suspected the trick or maybe he just wanted to make sure it was well positioned, and he correctly placed the mask on her face.
Michaela was in total darkness, adding to her anxiety of feeling powerless. She grabbed the seat fearing to fall and felt bad with too abrupt slowdowns or accelerations. She had long lost any sense of direction and did not know for how long she was travelling and in which direction the vehicle was heading. "Elegant" and "Leather jacket" did not exchange a word.
CHAPTER - 9 -
After what seemed an eternity to Michaela, the car slowed down. Gravel screeched under the wheels of the vehicle. They had reached their final destination. She wanted to raise the mask, but "Elegant" prevented her.
"Patience!" It was his only word.
The car stopped on a last tight turn. "Leather jacket" came out and slammed the door behind him. "Elegant" grabbed Michaela's left arm and pulled her out of the car.
With the smell of forest and sounds of birdsong, Michaela guessed they were in t
he countryside. But she found no information either olfactory or hearing that could put her on the way. She gasped hearing the barking of several aggressive dogs. Fortunately, they must be away from her position, probably in a kennel adjacent to the building.
"Elegant" pulled her, and indicated a few steps they had to take. She made it with an excess of caution. She tried to create a plan, even limited, from what she was able to guess.
Their footsteps echoed in an amplified manner. They accessed a hall entrance, doubtless vast and tiled. Finally their steps sounds became stifled, perhaps from a carpeted floor. There was a fireplace on the left. She felt heat waves.
"Elegant" led her to a chair where he pushed her carelessly. Then he walked away, murmured something she did not understand and left the room.
Michaela repositioned in a more comfortable way and waited. She was sure she was not alone and that someone was watching her. She did not want to show any fear, even though it was far from what she felt.
After a few minutes, a voice rose from somewhere in front of her, slightly higher than her position.
"Miss Jones! You are not easy to meet with."
"You kidnapped me! By what right?"
"What a naughty word! Let's simply say that, as you did not take time to respond to my invitation, I saved you the complexity to make the road to visit me."
Hearing the voice, she supposed that her vis-à-vis was of his father's generation, but it could be older. Undoubtedly a "well educated" man, considering his vocabulary. Assuming that a "well educated" man organized kidnappings.
"But let stop with the social chitchat. You have something I want. Give it to me and we will stop here. You ignore who I am. As long as it is the case, you run no risk in my presence. Of course, if you were to refuse to cooperate, I should put you back in the hands of the bodyguards who took care of you up to here and they do not share my magnanimity. Do I make myself clear?"
"I do not see what you mean."
The Parchment (The Memory of Blood) Page 7