The Book of Lost Fragrances: A Novel of Suspense

by M. J. Rose

  “There are three of us; one of you,” Griffin said in a voice that was as sharp as a knife’s edge.

  “There may be two of you. But I have her. And I have the gun.”

  Jac felt the air waving around her again. The scent of antiquity. Of icons turning to dust with one slight touch. The smells of the Nile Delta. Palm fronds. Women heady with power. Men thick with lust. The smell was making her sick. There was no question. Her sanity was being stolen by the scent.

  She breathed through her mouth. Focused on her brother. He was pressing his sleeve against the flow of blood and looking at Ani with an expression of such confusion it made Jac’s heart hurt for him. She shifted her gaze to Griffin, who was breathing hard and trying to send her some silent message with his eyes.

  Jac looked back at Robbie. “Give her the pottery. It’s worthless,” she told him.

  “It’s not. You know it’s not. I saw your face, I saw—”

  “Robbie!” Griffin shouted. Jac knew he was interrupting him to keep him from giving away information.

  “Your time is about up,” Ani said. “I guess you need some incentivizing.”

  Suddenly Jac felt the cold nose of Ani’s gun pressed into her temple.

  “A gun going off down here could set off an avalanche. We’d all get trapped. Even you,” Griffin said to Ani.

  “I’ve taken worse chances.”

  “If you hurt us, how will you find your way back?”

  The nun laughed. It was low and guttural, and Jac felt it in a hot breath on the back of her neck.

  “I marked our trail with infrared ink. I won’t have any trouble getting out. Robbie, please give me the pottery.”

  Griffin turned to Robbie. “Do what she says. Put the pottery down. There on the floor. Then back up, away from it.”

  Robbie shook his head. “I know her. She won’t hurt Jac. She’s not capable of doing something like that.”

  Jac felt the woman shudder.

  “We can’t trust she’s who you think she is.” Griffin pointed to a spot on the ground. “Put the pottery down. There.”

  The nun’s grip on Jac tightened. Jac stared at her brother. Robbie took a step forward and gingerly placed the silk pouch on the dirt floor.

  “Get back now, out of her way,” Griffin instructed.

  Robbie stepped backward. As he did his face caught in Griffin’s headlight, and Jac could see that her brother had tears on his cheeks. She wanted to go to him and hold him. Comfort him they way they had consoled each other as children. Instead she looked at Griffin. His eyes were on her again. But his attempt at silent communication was failing. Whatever he wanted was impossible for her to glean.

  Ani moved. Inched toward the pouch, pulling Jac with her.

  Griffin had been so specific about where Robbie should put the pouch. Scanning the ground, Jac tried to figure out why Griffin had chosen that spot. There had to be a reason. What did he know about the cavern that she didn’t? What had he noticed that she’d missed?

  As she neared, the pottery’s scent grew in intensity. Reached out to her with its accents of smoke. A cloud of pungency. Even from a few feet away, even under these circumstances, she felt the pull of the strange and elusive ancient aroma. A river of sadness. A desert of promise. The decipherable spicy notes and undecipherable ones that worked on her mind beckoned. Determined to remain conscious and present, she pushed back. Refused to give in to the scent. Surprisingly, at least for a time, she remained on the other side of it.

  Jac judged they were two and a half feet from the pouch. Once they reached it, Ani was going to have to bend over to get it. Or she was going to make Jac get it for her. Either way, the nun was going to have to loosen her grip. What should Jac do when she did? Grab the gun? What it if went off? An explosion down here, as Griffin had warned, could cause a cave-in.

  Her brother was still hovering near the pouch, unable to leave.

  “Robbie.” Griffin’s voice was softer as he tried to pull her brother away with his words. “Let it go. Just let it go.”

  Robbie seemed unable to leave the object.

  In the midst of these terrifying moments, with Ani’s arm wrapped tight around Jac, digging into her, with a black gun shoved into her temple, with a hundred things to be worried about, what Jac thought about was the miracle of her brother’s belief. What must it be like to care about something so much, to believe so deeply—that even faced with this kind of danger, you still had trouble giving up? It was ironic. Her only conviction was a commitment to nonbelief. To seeing stories as being nothing but stories. To deconstructing them to metaphor and nothing else. She was a realist: man created faith to light up the darkness. To gain a foothold into the crater of nothingness.

  The pouch was within reach now. Jac felt Ani hesitate. Was she figuring out how to get it?

  Across the room, Griffin’s eyes bored into Jac. What the hell was he trying to tell her to do? He tilted his head to one side. What was he saying?

  She was only going to have one chance to—

  Ani’s grip loosened. Jac wrested free. Backed away as fast as she could.

  Ani reached down.

  Griffin leaned forward. Picked something up off the ground. In the dark, Jac couldn’t see what it was. He raised his arm. Then a loud crack reverberated in the chamber.

  Ani fell. Sprawled on the ground. Her gun skidding.

  Griffin’s weapon, a hollow-eyed, yellowed skull, rolled toward Jac.

  Then Griffin was on top of Ani, pinning her down, grabbing her hands and pulling them behind her. His knee on her back.

  The nun fought hard. Griffin fought harder. She bucked. He pushed her back down. Got her by the neck.

  “Jac, grab the gun!” Griffin shouted.

  She reached for it, groping in the dark.

  “Robbie, get the—” He didn’t have to finish. Robbie had already scooped up the silk pouch.

  Ani fought wildly. He yanked her arms behind her. She kept struggling. He increased his pressure. She came out of her jacket. She bucked again. Tried to kick him. Griffin wrenched her arms farther behind her. The nun let out a piercing cry. In seconds, beads of sweat dotted the woman’s upper lip and forehead. He’d hurt her badly. Maybe dislocated a shoulder.

  “Jac, look through her robe. She said she brought rope with her to tie us up.”

  “Don’t bother,” a voice boomed out from the far side of the vaulted chamber. Angry. Strident. “She brought me with her, too. So let her go. And step away.”

  Forty-eight

  5:55 P.M.

  Most of the students and chaperones were unpacking and relaxing after the plane ride. In an hour a bus would arrive to take them to a private opening reception with Chinese and French dignitaries at the Musée de l’Orangerie in the Tuileries gardens.

  There was no way that Xie could relax in the small hotel room he shared with Ru Shan, so he suggested to Lan and the professor that they unpack later and instead see something of the city. Walk from the small hotel on the Île Saint-Louis to the museum. Professor Wu, who wanted to get in as much of Paris as he could, was happy to chaperone.

  The three of them stood outside the hotel, getting their bearings. Up and down the street were small shops, windows artfully designed to show off their wares.

  “It’s all so lovely,” Lan whispered as they walked by a florist’s storefront. A dazzling array of roses, poppies and peonies spilled onto the sidewalk. Reds and oranges and pinks all fighting and complementing each other at the same time. Colors on fire.

  Xie was too concerned to truly appreciate all of it. He had to struggle to pay attention to what Lan was saying.

  “Everywhere you look, there’s something to see.” She pointed at the window of a candy shop. Yellow cookie and candy boxes were stacked on top of one another, creating an Eiffel Tower.

  Xie had been exhausted by the time their plane landed. The stress of getting through security with the contraband phone had worn him out. And it had been wasted anxiety. There hadn�
��t been any trouble. The cell phone remained safe in his pocket. And now he was safe in France.

  Strolling along the quai, Lan stopped to watch a tourist boat cruise by, then led them across a small bridge to Ile de la Cité.

  “Look how the river shimmers. How the clouds drift by the sun. Like a Monet,” she said. “Or a Pissarro. Or Sisley.”

  Xie saw only the shade under the trees where people whose faces he couldn’t make out looked like they could be lurking.

  Paris was a living canvas, and the artist in him wanted to thrill to the sights that filled his eyes. But he was worried about these last two days. About all the things he didn’t know. When was the meeting going to take place? What was he supposed to do?

  This wasn’t smart. He knew his emotions were going to drain him, create an aura around him that would attract negativity. For the time being, for the time he was on this walk, he couldn’t think about what lay ahead. He had to be here, in this moment, in Paris.

  There was a phrase he’d learned at the monastery when he was a little boy, presented to him like a puzzle along with the lessons in deep meditation:

  The no-mind not-thinks no-thoughts about no-things.

  He intoned it silently now as they walked toward Notre Dame, and felt his energy returning. The majestic Gothic cathedral was a prayer made out of stone, one that demanded attention. Offering succor and refuge. Hundreds of people milled about it. Groups of kids, smoking and skateboarding and texting and being free.

  As the three of them passed by, the church’s bells began to ring out. Deep, booming, tremendous, and splendid; the sound reverberating inside of Xie’s body.

  Xie stopped walking. Slowly he turned. Took in the ancient rooftops and windows, bridges, the pulsing river.

  “Professor,” Xie said.

  The venerable calligrapher turned to him.

  “Thank you for all of this.”

  “You earned all of this.” He bowed his head slightly, and Xie saw there was a smile playing around his mouth.

  Wu would be in danger if Xie failed. This amazing artist who had taken the teenage boy under his tutelage was risking his life to help him.

  Lan, who’d noticed the exchange, shyly took Xie’s hand for a moment. With her quiet eyes, she too smiled.

  “Can you imagine what it would be like to be an artist and live here?” she asked.

  Xie shook his head.

  “What it would be like not to go back? To run away. Now. This minute. Just take off. Stay in France. Paint?” She was breathless with the idea.

  “Dangerous thoughts, my dear,” Wu said.

  Before Xie had a chance to concur, something caught his eye.

  Not far from them, standing to the right of a group of kids, Xie saw Ru Shan.

  There was only one reason he’d be there, hovering in the background.

  He was following them.

  Forty-nine

  6:08 P.M.

  The intruder wore goggles and a helmet with such a strong light that when he turned, it momentarily blinded Jac.

  When she could see his face, it was smeared with dirt—either on purpose as a disguise or by virtue of the machinations he’d taken to get here—and his features were indecipherable. But Asian, Jac thought. Like Ani.

  No one moved.

  Griffin continued holding Ani down. From her expression, the pain was intense, yet she didn’t utter a sound.

  Robbie stood beside Jac, his arm around her protectively.

  The intruder remained at the far entrance to the room.

  “I told you to let her go,” his voice boomed out across the expansive space.

  Griffin didn’t move.

  “I’ve got a gun,” the intruder said.

  “Yes, you do. But so do we,” Griffin said. “And if either of us shoots in here, we’re going to cause a major collapse. Maybe more than one. We’re in a series of fragile mines. A loud noise could cause a cave-in.”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  “Try me.”

  A drop of sweat dripped down Jac’s back.

  The man came toward her and her brother. Ignoring her, he focused on Robbie. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you face to face,” he said, “so I could give you this.” He spat. A thick wad of spittle landed on Robbie’s cheek. “For what you did to—” He hesitated. Thought. “Fauche.” Then he smacked Robbie on the side of the head with the gun.

  Jac tried to hold Robbie as he fell, but he came at her at the wrong angle. He grazed his face on the rock wall, and his cut reopened. Blood welled almost instantly. It dripped down his neck, onto his collar. Disappeared into his jacket.

  “Don’t hurt him anymore,” she said as she dropped to Robbie’s side.

  “Shut up. Or you’ll get the same gift.”

  She cradled her brother’s head. “Robbie?”

  He answered with a groggy grunt. “I’m okay.”

  “Touch either of them again, and I’ll take it out on your friend here,” Griffin called out. He jerked Ani’s arms tighter behind her back. She swallowed a scream.

  “Hurt her all you want. I don’t care about her. I’m here to collect the pottery.”

  “And you’re willing to let her die to get it?”

  The intruder ignored Griffin. He squatted beside Robbie. “So, Monsieur le Parfum, where is it?” His voice was gentle, almost soothing.

  When Robbie didn’t answer, the robber used the gun like a hammer and struck him.

  “Stop!” Jac shouted, reaching for his arm. The intruder shoved her away. In doing so, he’d turned his back on Griffin, who let go of Ani and jumped him.

  Ani screamed out a warning. “William!”

  “Keep her down!” Griffin yelled to Jac.

  The nun was struggling to her feet. Jac reached her in two strides. As strong as Ani might have been, her pain was debilitating. She tried to fight Jac, and almost won. But Jac managed to grab hold of her injured shoulder. For the first time, Ani wailed. Blinked back tears.

  Jac threw herself on of top of the woman and held her down.

  Immediately she was assaulted by Ani’s smells. Such intimate odors. Perspiration, skin, breath. Jac could identify black tea and juniper berries. Cotton and talc. A hint of salt. Something else.

  The stench of a man coming at Marie-Genevieve. To rape her. To laugh at her. He was talking about how her God couldn’t save her from this. That man. This woman. Their smells were identical.

  No. Not now. Jac could not allow her mind to fracture. Not now.

  She looked up, searched for Robbie. Her helmet illuminated the corner, where it looked like the ground opened up. He wasn’t there. Then she caught sight of him crawling toward Griffin. Probably to help. But drunk with pain, Robbie was unsteady and moved slowly.

  Griffin struggled with the intruder. The men’s helmet beacons created an insane light show on the chamber walls as they rolled around on the floor in the bones and debris.

  Then the intruder maneuvered his right arm loose. “Watch out,” Jac shouted as the man raised his arm.

  Griffin moved just in time. The gun missed him. Griffin held on tighter and pushed them into the next roll.

  They were in the farthest corner of the crypt now. Hidden in the shadows.

  Jac couldn’t see what was happening. She heard a grunt. Was it Griffin? Then another.

  A swipe of strong light zigzagged through the chamber.

  The intruder was standing. Griffin was down. “That’s enough of that. Where is the fucking pottery?”

  Griffin looked across at Jac. “Okay Jac, give him the pouch.”

  She was about to say she didn’t have it, but he knew that. What was he doing? What was he asking of her?

  “Throw it over here. Let him have it. We don’t have a choice anymore,” Griffin ordered.

  What was she supposed to do?

  “To you?” she asked.

  “Not to me, give it to him, Jac.”

  Griffin could mean only one thing. He wanted the man dist
racted. Jac grabbed the skull that Griffin had used before, which was lying next to Ani. Trying to aim, not at the intruder, but just beyond his reach, she threw it. Close enough so that he’d think he could catch it, but too far for that to be possible.

  The dark object sailed across the room.

  The intruder lifted his hands up. Realized it was higher than he’d anticipated. Reached.

  And in that moment, Griffin pushed him toward the ledge.

  It was such a simple thing. A push. One shove. The man wearing the goggles disappeared. Only the glow from his helmet remained. Shining up toward the vaulted ceiling.

  There was a millisecond of silence. Then a splash of water. Then angry cursing.

  Griffin leaned over the edge of the chasm. “Hope you didn’t hurt yourself. That’s at least a twenty-foot drop.”

  There was no response.

  Griffin and Jac bound the nun’s hands together with the rope Jac found in Ani’s robes. Then they tended to Robbie, who had an egg-shaped bump on the side of his head but otherwise was all right again.

  “Now. Let’s deal with her,” Griffin said to Jac.

  “What are we going to do with her?”

  “Help me get her up.”

  Once they had the nun on her feet, Griffin nodded toward the far end of the chamber.

  Together they moved her across the room.

  At the edge of the abyss, Jac leaned over. The man in the goggles stood in mud or water—Jac couldn’t tell—up to his waist in one of the deep wells so prevalent in the catacombs.

  “Okay,” Griffin said to Ani. “Jump. It’s water. Our goal isn’t to hurt you. Just take you out of commission for a while.”

  She didn’t move.

  He nudged her closer to the edge.

  “If you don’t jump, I’m going to have to push you. And if I push you, I might mistakenly touch your shoulder.”

  Ani launched herself off the edge.

  Seconds later there were two sounds: the splash of her landing and what Jac guessed was a swallowed scream.