Despite all this pampering, which might suggest he was a little too familiar with his feminine side, Dubois was a raging heterosexual. To help quench his libido, he flew in female courtesans from all round the globe, sometimes partaking in several at once. Although he had a few personal favourites who were flown in monthly, that was as close as he came to having an actual relationship. For him, women were disposable, meant to be used and discarded like toothpicks.
Usually at this hour, some exotic beauty would be writhing on top of him in his bedroom, but due to a business concern in America, the fire and the alcohol were the only things keeping him warm. All told there were twelve fireplaces in his château, which had seemed like overkill until he moved in and realized how draughty a fourteenth-century castle could be. The temperature outside was in the low thirties — pretty typical for a December night in Belgium — but would warm up to the fifties during the day. Normally Dubois spent this time of year in his exquisite vacation homes, particularly the ones he owned near tropical beaches.
As an antiquarian book collector, Dubois possessed one of the finest rare-book collections in Europe. Recently, thanks to a very expensive bribe or two, he had been given new information about the mythical manuscript he had been dreaming about since he was a little boy. Although many historians doubted the book ever existed (they claimed it was the figment of someone’s overactive imagination), Dubois was confident it was real. In fact, he was so convinced he had learned several ancient languages just so he could read first-hand accounts of all the people who had searched for the book before him.
By learning about their failed attempts, he hoped to achieve success.
Thumbing through his notes on The First Face of the French Janus by Jean-Aimé de Chavigny, a sixteenth-century writer who had guided his search on multiple occasions, Dubois heard the phone ring. Glancing at his watch, he noted the time and approved. The call had been placed within the timeframe they had discussed.
Apparently, everything had gone as planned.
‘Hello,’ he said in Dutch. ‘Do you have news?’
Dubois shook his head, irritated. ‘You consider that news? That is not news. That is a waste of my time. I already knew about the leak. That’s why you were sent there in the first place. Call me back when the leak has been eliminated!’
6
Payne was known for his gut feelings. Sometimes they went against empirical evidence, and often they defied common sense. But he had learned long ago to trust his instincts, even if he couldn’t rationally explain them. Sometimes he just knew when something was wrong.
And this was one of those times.
From the moment he had spotted her in the back of the crowd, Payne knew she was there for him. For what purpose, he didn’t know. But he planned to find out as soon as they found her.
Trying not to draw attention, he walked calmly but quickly down the long corridor. He passed the Irish, Lithuanian, and Romanian Classrooms, nodding to several guests along the way, then made a sharp right. The English Classroom, the last place the woman had been seen, was at the far end of the hallway. In between were dozens of people, multiple classrooms, and plenty of places to hide.
This would be harder than he had thought.
Payne continued to move forward, his eyes scanning everything in the corridor, looking for the slightest hint of green or blue — the colours of her coat and jeans — in the black and white world of men’s formal wear. Some of the women wore colourful gowns, often complemented by lavish jewels and designer accessories, but none of them fitted the criteria he was searching for.
‘Shit,’ he mumbled to himself, realizing she had probably left the hallway for the sanctuary of a classroom or the freedom of nearby stairs. But first things first. Before he concerned
The door to the Swedish Room was wide open, and several guests were standing inside. The walls were built with 200-year-old handmade bricks coated with multiple layers of whitewash. The sloped ceiling and back wall were covered in murals, many of which showcased the subtle humour that Sweden was known for. A fresco depicted the Three Wise Men, dressed as cavaliers, riding to Bethlehem in opposite directions. In another image, Lady Justice used her blindfold to hold a scale that appeared to be balanced but actually had an off-centre fulcrum.
Ignoring the scenery, Payne focused on the people. A quick scan of the room proved that the mystery woman was not there.
A few seconds later he stepped next door and visited China. Inspired by a reception hall in the Forbidden City, the Chinese Room was dedicated to the memory of Confucius and his democratic model of education. Teachers and students sat at the same level around a moon-shaped teak-wood table. Above it, the ceiling contained a golden five-clawed imperial dragon, the symbol of nature’s energy. Surrounding squares portrayed
Thankfully, the room was small and practically empty, allowing him to move onward.
The Greek Room represented classical architecture from the fifth century BC. The marble columns and pilasters had been made at a stone quarry near Mount Penteli, the same quarry used to build the Parthenon. They had been transported on the last ship to sail to America prior to the occupation of Greece in World War Two. Two Greek artists came from Athens to paint the marble, the doorway, and the coffered ceiling. Instead of using stencils, they drew each line by hand. To highlight the colours, they applied beeswax and twenty-four-carat gold leaf, rubbing it in with a polishing bone. The entire process took them over seven months to complete.
A half-dozen people sat in the white oak chairs
During the anecdote, Payne walked round the perimeter of the room, casually studying the faces that surrounded the table. The windows were flanked with gold-coloured curtains that hung from sturdy wooden rods. He ran his hand over the coarse material, making sure no one was hidden behind them, before heading back to the door.
Jones was having similar luck on his side of the Cathedral. He walked the entire length of the hallway, then turned and started searching rooms. The Russian Classroom was first, followed by the Norwegian. Although both were impressive in
Getting more frustrated by the minute, Jones ducked into the final room in his corner of the building. The French Classroom, which sat next to the English Classroom, was designed in French Empire style, inspired by the ancient worlds that had been rediscovered during the Napoleonic campaigns in Egypt, Greece, and Italy. The walls were lined with classic wood panelling. Carved ornaments of Egyptian griffins and rosettes accentuated the panel divisions. Crystal and metal chandeliers, simplified versions of those found in the Palace of Versailles, hung from a grey plaster ceiling. A mahogany professor’s chair and table included bronze ornaments that were replicas of the originals from the Louvre, and the student armchairs were mahogany and upholstered in royal blue.
Nearly all the chairs were empty, as was most of the room. A few people were hanging out by the chalkboard, discussing an upcoming trip to France, but all of them were older men, including a French tour guide who blabbed on and on about wine and cheese. Jones did his best to ignore the rambling as he searched for his prey in the back of the room.
As snow continued to fall, coating the chapel’s facade in the steady glow of its spotlights, Jones shifted his gaze to a solitary figure who was trudging across the slush-covered sidewalk. At first he thought he was imagining things, his mind playing tricks on him, but after wiping the frost from the classroom window and taking a closer look, he smiled in victory.
Only one person was out there, braving the ice and cold.
And she was wearing a green coat.
7
Jones rushed into the hallway, where he spotted Payne leaving the Scottish Classroom.
‘Jon,’ he called as he jogged towards him, ‘she’s outside.’
‘Where?’
‘Heading towards Heinz Chapel.’
Payne paused in thought. ‘What do you think?’
‘I say we go after her.’
‘Are you gonna bitch about the cold?’
<
br /> Jones grinned. ‘Not if you don’t.’
‘Then let’s go.’
Ignoring the nearest exit, they hustled to the back of the Cathedral where a pair of revolving doors opened onto a large stone patio. They pushed their way outside and instantly felt the sting of the arctic air on their hands and faces. Rock salt, recently scattered to melt the ice, crunched under their dress shoes and provided them with enough traction to quicken their pace.
Jones motioned towards the ground where a single set of footprints could be seen in the freshly fallen snow. It led them down two steps and onto a long path known as the Varsity Walk, a place where the names of former Pitt athletes, like Mike Ditka and Tony Dorsett, had been carved in stone. Trees and benches lined the path, as did a series of black lamp posts that gave them just enough light to follow her tracks to the other side of the spacious east lawn, one of the largest patches of grass on a mostly urban campus.
Payne led the way, walking briskly despite the unsteady footing. Never slipping nor sliding, he continued until he reached a fork in the sidewalk. Heinz Chapel sat off to the left, but the footprints continued straight ahead towards Bellefield Avenue.
He glanced back at Jones. ‘Are you sure it was her?’
‘Positive.’
Payne nodded. That was good enough for him. Without saying another word, he started walking again through the swirling wind. Although it hindered his vision and coated his clothes with snow,
One hundred feet ahead, the stone path ended in a set of icy steps that led down to the road. Payne grasped the handrail for support but didn’t slow his pace until he reached the bottom. Suddenly the footprints he had been following were no longer distinct, thanks to a group of Pitt students who had recently trudged by. Payne looked to his left and studied the sidewalks that lined both sides of the street. No people, no movement, no signs of life — except for the occasional car that trickled past on Fifth Avenue, about half a block away.
‘Over there,’ Jones said from his perch on the steps.
Payne glanced in that direction and smiled at the sight. Across the slush-filled street, roughly fifty feet to their right, the woman in
‘Stay here,’ Payne ordered, realizing she would feel less threatened if only one of them ap proached, and since she had listened to his speech, he knew he was the best candidate.
Before Jones could argue, he made his way carefully across Bellefield Avenue. Even though it was a one-way road, he had learned long ago to always look both ways when crossing streets on the Pitt campus. For some strange reason, the city of Pittsburgh had designed its busonly lanes to go in the opposite direction to the car traffic on a few of its streets. Vehicles rarely collided with buses — all they had to do was stay out of each other’s designated lanes — but pedestrians weren’t always as fortunate. Nearly every year some visitor or clueless freshman who wasn’t familiar with the setup stepped off the sidewalk and got flattened by a bus heading in the ‘wrong’ direction. It happened so often that local police called it death-by-bus.
‘Can I give you a hand?’ Payne called from a distance.
The woman stopped scraping her passenger-side
‘I’m sorry,’ she yelled to him while hustling around the front of her Ford Taurus. Her headlights were off, but her car’s engine and heater were running.
‘For what?’
‘For showing up like that. I shouldn’t have done it.’
‘Don’t worry about it. I’m not here to yell at you.’
‘Then why are you here?’ she asked as she opened her door.
When the interior light popped on, Payne could finally see the woman they had been following. Until that point, she had been nothing more than a ghost moving in the shadows of the Cathedral, a green coat trekking through the snow. Now he could put a face on their subject. She was an attractive woman in her early thirties. Brown hair, brown eyes, and very little make-up. Not the least bit glamorous, but sexy nonetheless. The type of woman who used to be a cheerleader but now spent her days at work and her nights with her kids.
Payne answered, ‘I’m here to help.’
‘I will if you tell me.’
‘Listen,’ she said as she climbed into her car, ‘I appreciate you coming outside to talk to me. But I shouldn’t have shown up unannounced.’
He shrugged. ‘Trust me, it’s not a problem. I made my speech and welcomed my guests. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve earned myself a coffee break. Why don’t we go back inside and get ourselves something to drink? I don’t know about you, but I’m freezing my ass off.’
For the first time that night, she smiled. ‘It is kind of cold.’
Payne theatrically rubbed his arms. ‘Brrrrr— rrrrrrr.’
She smiled again, this time even wider. ‘Fine, we can go somewhere and talk, but not inside the Cathedral. I’m severely underdressed.’
Payne glanced at his watch. ‘How about Heinz Chapel? I bet it’s still open.’
She considered his suggestion, then nodded.
‘Do you mind if my friend joins us?’ He pointed back at Jones, who was keeping an eye on things from the nearby steps. ‘I swear, he’s harmless.’
‘No, he’s not,’ she replied. It wasn’t an
He raised an eyebrow. ‘Where did you come from?’
‘Philadelphia.’
‘In this weather? What’s that, a seven-hour drive?’
‘Closer to ten. Lots of accidents on the turnpike.’
Payne nodded in understanding. This time of year, Pennsylvania highways were an adventure — especially in the central part of the state where the roads were so mountainous it was like riding a roller coaster. ‘What time did you leave?’
She turned off the engine. ‘Early.’
‘And you came all this way to talk to me?’
‘To both of you.’
‘Both of us?’
She closed her door and nodded.
‘About what?’
‘If you don’t mind, I’d rather tell you together. It’ll be easier that way.’
‘Not a problem,’ he assured her. ‘No pressure from me.’
‘Thanks. I appreciate that.’
‘However,’ he said as they walked across the
‘Oh, yeah? What’s that?’
Payne looked at her. ‘What’s your name?’
She glanced at him and smiled. ‘Ashley. My name is Ashley.’
8
After shaking Ashley’s hand, Jones led the way to the front entrance of Heinz Chapel. The massive front doors, each weighing over 800 pounds, were made of oak and attached with wroughtiron fixtures. As the three of them approached, one of the doors inched open as an elderly black janitor tried to push his way outside. He was wearing a grey hooded sweatshirt underneath a khaki work jacket stitched with his name: Sam. In his left hand, he had a metal snow shovel. In his right, a bucket filled with rock salt.
Jones saw him struggling and rushed forward to help. ‘Let me get that for you, sir.’
‘Thank you. Thank you indeed. Awfully nice of you.’
‘Not a problem.’
Sam hobbled outside and set down his bucket with a clang. ‘Can I help you guys?’
Jones nodded. ‘We were wondering if the chapel was open.’
Sam studied Jones in his tuxedo, then noticed
‘Not at all.’
‘You see,’ Sam explained, ‘I don’t got much time left, so I like to joke around.’
‘Don’t worry about it, sir. I’m not the least bit offended.’
‘Good!’ he said, patting Jones on his shoulder. ‘You’re proud of your gayness. That’s good to hear. Ain’t nothing to be ashamed about.’
‘No, sir, that’s not what I meant. I’m not gay.’
Sam shook his head. ‘I guess you ain’t black, neither.’
Once again, he laughed — even louder than before. Jones humoured him with a smile, but realized their conversation was going to be pretty one-sided.
‘Anyway,’ Jones said,
‘it was nice talking to you. The three of us are pretty cold, so we’re heading inside. Make sure you stay warm out here.’
‘Oh, I will,’ he said as he grabbed a handful of salt and scattered it on the stone steps. ‘Don’t
‘Nice meeting you,’ said Payne as he followed the others inside.
The lobby, known as the narthex, was surprisingly dark. What little light there was came from deeper inside the chapel. The middle section, known as the nave, extended from the edge of the entryway to the railing in front of the altar and was filled with several rows of oak pews. Wroughtiron lanterns, dangling on chains from the arches above, scattered soft beams of light in every direction, but they went virtually unnoticed because of the transept window on the left side of the nave. Four vertical rows of stained glass, each 73 feet tall, showcased important figures from secular history, representing politics, science, music, and literature. People like George Washington, Leonardo da Vinci, Beethoven, and Edgar Allan Poe.
‘Wow,’ Ashley whispered as she stared at the rainbow of colours projected inside the chapel by its exterior spotlights. ‘The windows are beautiful.’
‘If you look closely,’ Jones explained, ‘there’s an equal number of men and women. For every Shakespeare, there’s a Pocahontas. That level of equality is pretty rare in older art.’
‘Glad I could be of service.’
‘Speaking of which,’ Payne said as he settled into a nearby pew, ‘I get the sense you are looking for our help.’
Ashley turned towards him and nodded. But before she was willing to sit down and explain, she glanced up and down the rows, making sure they were alone. Once she was satisfied, she took off her coat and sat to Payne’s left, one row behind Jones.
‘First of all,’ she said, ‘I’d like to apologize to both of you. I really shouldn’t have ambushed you like this. Earlier today, it seemed like a great idea. You know, bumping into you in a public forum. But once I got to your party, I realized I was out of my league.’
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