While she spoke, she pulled out a pad and pen from her purse, ready to take orders and snap into action. Jennifer told her she was fine and thanked her for all she’d done already. Katie was not satisfied. She went into Anlon’s room and returned with a pillow to prop behind Jennifer’s back and said she’d get a doctor to come by and check on her. Jennifer said, “Really, I’m good. I look worse than I feel.”
Katie rattled her pen against her chin, casting a skeptical look at Jennifer. “Hmmm…I don’t believe you, but I’ll back off…for now.” She gave Jennifer her cell phone number and room number, then said, “Any hour, day or night.”
She then turned to Anlon. “Count Foucault arrived a little while ago. Is noon still good for your meetup?”
“Uh, yeah…assuming we don’t get some news before then.”
“Of course,” she said, jotting down a note. After she finished writing, she looked at both of them. “Have you eaten this morning?”
“No, not yet, at least I haven’t,” Anlon said. Jennifer indicated she hadn’t either.
“Okay, I’ve had the hotel set up a breakfast buffet in one of the conference rooms. Tell me what you two want and I’ll bring it over,” Katie said.
“Nah, don’t do that. We can walk over. Is Antonio up?” Anlon asked.
“Yes, he had a bunch of calls to make this morning. He asked if he could stop by when he’s done.”
“Absolutely. Tell him to come over any time. Jen and I are going to compare notes; it would be great if he joined us. You’re welcome to come, too.”
The offer seemed to startle Katie. “Oh, sure. That would be great, actually. Thanks. If Dr. Wallace doesn’t need me to do something for him while you meet, I will be there.”
Before she left she asked Jennifer again if she needed anything. “Clothes? Toiletries?”
Jennifer looked down at the cheesy T-shirt she had bought in the hospital gift shop to replace the shirt they cut away in the emergency room. “Well, now that you mention it…”
Katie seemed almost relieved for a new task. In less than a minute she was gone, in search of fresh clothes and some other necessities for Jennifer. When the courtyard door closed behind her, Jennifer said to Anlon, “Holy crap! She’s amazing!”
“No kidding. Antonio’s one lucky CEO.”
“So, you want to get something to eat and then come back and talk?” she asked, rising out of the chair. “I feel like we should do it now, before my shadow reappears and locks us in an interrogation room.”
The hotel’s conference rooms were situated in two buildings separated by a long outdoor hallway. Above the hallway was an arbor covered with bougainvillea bushes, their snaking vines curling around the arbor’s beams. As Anlon and Jennifer walked down the hallway, they noticed two police officers emerge from a conference room with bagels and coffee. They ducked in the room and discovered the buffet. As they moved through the lineup of breakfast dishes, selecting various items, Anlon could hear a woman’s voice through the wall behind the buffet table. He stopped and listened as the woman delivered a briefing of the Ticonderoga incident.
“That’s my shadow,” Jennifer whispered, resting her plate on the buffet table while she poured coffee from an urn. When she finished, she handed the cup to Anlon and began to pour one for herself.
“She sounds intense,” Anlon said.
“Oh, yeah. She’s in it to win it. But that’s good, right?” Jennifer asked.
“True. I guess I should be glad they’re all taking the situation seriously,” Anlon said, as they left the conference room and headed back to Anlon’s room.
Several hotel guests passed through the hallway on their way to the resort’s complex of shops and restaurants. Jennifer leaned close to Anlon and whispered, “Believe me, they are. Muran killed a bunch of cops and an innocent girl. They want Muran’s ass.”
“They can have her. I just want Pebbles back,” Anlon said.
Back at Anlon’s suite, they settled at the patio table and began to eat. In between bites, Anlon said, “So, I visited with Malinyah.”
Jennifer, chewing on a cube of cantaloupe, said, “I thought you might. What did you find out?”
“That Foucault is a liar, that he put Pebbles in danger by giving her the necklace with the medallion,” Anlon said. He went on to describe the visions Malinyah showed him. When he finished, he said, “So, he set her up. Set us up. We were part of his trap. I don’t know how he got word to Muran, how she found out Pebbles had the medallion, but whatever he did, it worked.”
Jennifer cringed. “I think I might have been the one that tipped her off, not about the medallion, but about Malinyah.” She reminded Anlon that she had shown a picture of Malinyah’s Sinethal to Goodwin. “I totally misread him. He’d been looking for it, and I led him right to it.”
“You couldn’t have known,” Anlon said. “And even if you’re right, it doesn’t explain how Muran discovered Pebbles had the medallion.”
“Maybe they started surveilling you and saw Pebbles with you, wearing the medallion?”
“I guess it’s possible, but I think it’s more likely Foucault led her to Pebbles,” Anlon said, picking at a muffin. “Bastard.”
The doorbell chimed. Anlon wiped his hands on a napkin and rose to answer the courtyard door. He opened it to find Antonio and Katie. While Anlon greeted Antonio, Katie breezed by with a shopping bag clutched in her hand. She presented the bag to Jennifer and the two chatted until Anlon and Antonio walked up. Antonio leaned to give Jennifer a quick hug and then joined the others seated at the table. Antonio said to Jennifer, “Saw the video of Muran’s fire show. Don’t know how you made it out of that inferno.”
“If I’d waited much longer, probably wouldn’t have.” Waving her hand in front of her face, she said, “Just wish I’d buckled up before I tried to punch through it.”
“Pretty damn brave, if you ask me,” Antonio said. “Did you see her there? Muran?”
“No, never did. Kinda glad I didn’t,” she said. “I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be here right now if I had. She would have cut me in two with her Tuliskaera.”
“Her what?” Katie asked.
Jennifer described the weapon and how Muran used it to neuter the police and aid in her escape. When she finished the description, Anlon said to Antonio, “Those diamonds I gave you to examine, the ones from Indio Maiz, they are the power source for the Tuliskaera. Couldn’t tell you how they generate such a powerful beam, but obviously they can pack a serious punch.”
“Yeah, I’ve been hoping to catch up with you about that. Dylan’s made some progress analyzing the Stones you brought from Nicaragua. After we get Pebbles back, we should huddle with Dylan. Think you’ll be very interested in what he’s found,” Antonio said.
“Really? Can you give me a quick snapshot now?” Anlon asked.
Antonio looked to Katie and laughed. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.” Turning back to Anlon, he said, “Let’s just say Dylan learned an interesting lesson about them…the hard way.”
“I’ll say,” Katie said. “He blew up the lab! Took out a whole wall!”
“What? Is he okay? Did anyone get hurt?” Anlon asked.
“Everyone’s fine. Dylan was smart enough to wear protective gear. Military-grade stuff. And he cleared the lab before his experiment,” Antonio said.
“So, what happened? What was the experiment?” Anlon asked.
“Don’t we have more important things to discuss?” Antonio replied. “I know you, Anlon. Every time we talk shop, you can’t let it go.”
“Promise, no questions. Well, maybe one or two,” Anlon said with a smile.
“Uh-huh,” Antonio said, crossing his arms. “Okay, short version — the oblong shape of the diamonds. Very important. Concentrates the focus of electrical energy right down the centerline. Gives the diamonds incredible power…but also makes them susceptible to a disrupting force anywhere else along their surface. For example, hit the diamonds with an electrical ch
arge from the side, they shatter…explosively. By the way, you have one less diamond now.”
Anlon thought of Foucault destroying the three Tuliskaeras discovered at Indio Maiz. He struck the cone-shaped Stones on their sides, causing them to crumble, not explode. And the diamonds inside had remained intact. He shared the observations with Antonio.
“Dylan thinks the kimberlite and basalt mix surrounding the diamonds serves two purposes. It acts as an insulator when the Stone is used correctly, sort of helping to channel the diamonds’ energy along its intended line. Since both types of stone are magnetic, they help pull electricity through the diamonds like a vacuum cleaner tube sucks in air.
“On the flip side, the stone mix seems to act like a shield, a protective covering that prevents the diamonds from being damaged from attack. Well, most attacks…as Dylan discovered.”
“How did he do it?” Anlon asked.
“If the oblong diamond is struck with an electrical charge from an angle, while the diamond is building an electrical charge along its centerline…kaboom!” Antonio said, using both hands to simulate an explosion.
“The Terusael!” Jennifer said, gripping Anlon’s forearm. “Anabel’s hands. The medical examiner found bits of pink-gray stone shrapnel. He said it looked like a stone grenade had exploded in her hands.”
Antonio nodded. “We did a scan on all the Stones. All except Malinyah’s. Don’t give me that look, Anlon. I promise, we left hers alone like you asked. Anyway, the shapes of the diamonds inside each vary, but they all contain diamonds. They seem to channel the magnetic energy of the stone mix around them. Very ingenious.”
The explanation caused Anlon to recall his experiment with the Breylofte and Naetir in Devlin’s house and the strong polarity response they exhibited when stimulated in an incongruous manner. He also recalled his feeble efforts to fend off Pacal’s Breylofte attack at Stillwater Quarry by holding a Naetir in the path of the soundwaves. Anlon considered the difference between these milder reactions and what Antonio described. The milder reactions, he realized, occurred when at least one of the Stones was in a resting electrical state, whereas in Antonio’s example, both Stones, or to be more precise, the diamonds within both Stones, were in active, electrically charged states.
“That’s very interesting,” Anlon said. “It suggests a way to defend against the Stones.”
“Exactly. Dylan’s working on a prototype of a device that could be used to disrupt and destroy any of the Stones, but it’ll only work if the Stones are in use. You might lose another diamond or two while he tests it,” Antonio said. “Oh, one other interesting nugget Dylan found, if you pardon the pun. Guess what he discovered when he scanned the Aromaeghs?”
Anlon shrugged. The Aromaeghs were similar to the Sinethal, in that they held memories implanted by the Munuorians and they were activated and used in the same manner. Unlike the Sinethal, however, the Aromaeghs provided only one-way visions. There was no ability to interact with them. One could watch, listen and sense the “tutorials” provided by the Aromaeghs, but one could not ask questions or otherwise interact with the narrator.
“There’s a gold disc inside. The damn thing looks like a rounded memory board in a computer. There are diamond styli inside the Stone that ring the notch where the Naetir is placed, and others are embedded in the handholds. They all touch the gold ‘memory board’ inside,” Antonio said. “The Naetir, by the way, has styli that line up with the ones inside the notch of the Aromaegh.”
The description led Anlon to recall Malinyah’s vision of Omereau’s Sinethal. At the time, he hadn’t focused on its design. In light of Antonio’s commentary, however, some thoughts immediately came to mind. Gold, he knew, is a common material used in computers and similar devices, but it’s more often used to connect processing components with memory components, rather than as the core of memory storage units themselves. The reason? Gold is an excellent conductor of electricity and it doesn’t tarnish or age when exposed to the elements. As a result, data stored on a gold-connected memory device is less prone to degradation. From what Antonio described, however, it sounded as if the Munuorians had discovered a way to use gold in combination with diamonds to store and interact with memories. If true, the two together were perfect choices for housing a culture’s institutional memories for millennia.
Anlon was about to ask another question when the doorbell rang yet again. Over the courtyard wall, he heard a woman’s voice call out. “Dr. Cully?”
Jennifer leaned over and said to Anlon, “It’s my shadow. Either she’s got news on Pebbles or you’re in for it now.”
“No, I don’t have any updates,” Agent Li said, pushing past Anlon into the courtyard. “But I’ve got plenty of questions.”
She spied Antonio and Katie and rather rudely asked them to leave, explaining afterward, “I need to speak with Dr. Cully and Miss Stevens alone.”
After they departed, Li occupied one of the chairs and pulled it up close to the patio table. She rested her elbows on the table’s edge and clasped her hands together. “So, I’m going to talk. You’re going to listen. When I’m done, I’m going to ask you questions. You’re going to answer. No bullshit. No evasions.”
She paused to inhale, forging ahead before Anlon or Jennifer could speak. “Anabel Simpson. Charles Goodwin. Jacques Foucault. What do these people have in common? None of them have birth certificates, at least ones we could find. Goodwin and Simpson have social security numbers, both issued in the 1940s. They both have driver’s licenses. Simpson’s says she was fifty-eight. Goodwin’s, forty-eight. I’ll save you the trouble of doing the math. Their driver’s license ages are twenty-plus years younger than their social security records suggest. Foucault’s passport claims he was born in 1932, yet his birth certificate says he was born in 1967. Not sure how that passed muster with the French, but it did.
“Fingerprints from items in Evelyn Warwick’s safe-deposit boxes match prints on items from Anabel Simpson’s home. I repeat, match. There is no record of an Evelyn Warwick emigrating from the UK to the US, either in our records or the Brits’. There’s no record of an Evelyn Warwick ever having lived at the London address found in the bank’s records.
“Clara Ambrose? She mysteriously disappeared in the Australian outback several years after returning to London from Fernando Pó. She was supposedly in her late twenties when she disappeared.”
Anlon held up his hands to signal time-out. “Who is Clara Ambrose?”
Jennifer said to Li, “I haven’t had the chance to debrief Anlon about the locket and the article.” Turning to Anlon, she said, “Clara is the name of the woman in the locket photograph with Anabel, er, Evelyn.”
“Ah,” Anlon said.
Jennifer asked Li, “So, what’s your point?”
“Come on, Stevens. You know my point. They’re all impostors. All fake identities,” Li said, slapping the table. “And there’s more. Anabel — archaeology professor. Goodwin, same. Foucault? Make it a threesome. Your stones? Anabel-slash-Evelyn had some. Goodwin’s museum has some, too. Auction records show Foucault has purchased a slew of them over the years.
“I’ve saved the kicker for last. Our villain, Muran? She left fingerprints everywhere, including the bank and Deborah Bailey’s home. She left even more when she killed Bailey’s daughter. I won’t nauseate you with how she killed her; suffice it to say the crime scene photos make Anabel’s murder look tame.
“Anyway, the fingerprints match two different women! A British national named Diane Caldwell. She was quite wealthy. She built a mining empire in the South Pacific. Only problem? She’s quite dead. Or, at least, she was reported lost at sea in the 1980s.”
Li paused and stared at Anlon, then at Jennifer. Reaching into the briefcase by the foot of her chair, she withdrew two pieces of paper, placing them facedown on the table. “Do either of you recognize the name?”
They both answered no. Li flipped over the top page. It was a photograph. “Diane Caldwell’s passport photo
.”
Anlon looked at the photo while Jennifer said, “It’s her. The same woman from the bank, the same woman in the locket picture with Anabel.”
Li continued. “The second fingerprint match? A thirty-seven-year-old export-import executive based where? Wait for it…wait for it…New Caledonia. Name? Aja Jones.”
She flipped over the second picture. Same woman, slightly older.
“Aja is still alive. And guess what. She owns a plane that entered the US about two weeks ago through JFK. Would either of you like to venture where it was hangared until a few days ago?”
Anlon shook his head from side to side, too stunned to speak.
“The airport at Lake Placid, New York. A sixty-mile drive from Middlebury and sixty-five miles from Ticonderoga,” Li said, leaning back in the chair and crossing her arms. “Something very bizarre is going on here, and you two know exactly what it is. If you want my help to get your friend back, now’s the time to talk.”
The clock read eleven thirty-two. Foucault sealed the envelope and called for Henri. When the pilot stood beside him, Foucault asked, “Is everything ready?”
“Oui, Monsieur.”
“Bon. You are to give this letter to Dr. Cully, do you understand?” Foucault asked.
“Oui.”
“Merci, ami,” Foucault said, hugging the man and then kissing him on both cheeks. “One last cigarette before we begin.”
Foucault stepped from the bedroom of his suite out into a private courtyard similar to Anlon’s. The air was much warmer than he expected. The sun reflected off the white walls surrounding the yard, causing Foucault to shield his eyes. He turned and found a shady spot beneath an arbor adorned with bougainvillea flowers.
He closed his eyes and enjoyed the flavor of the cigarette and the calming effect of the nicotine as it flowed through his brain. When he reopened his eyes, he looked around at the bright colors in every direction: a deep blue sky, tall palm trees with lush green canopies, the glowing pinkish-red of the bougainvillea and the brownish-orange of the mountains in the distance.
Curse of the Painted Lady (The Anlon Cully Chronicles Book 3) Page 27