‘And it has to do with Nostradamus?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Well, what is it?’
Müller paused, nervous. ‘Sir, I have to admit I’ve never done this before. Shouldn’t we talk about money first?’
Normally, Dubois wouldn’t have the patience to explain his setup, but due to the urgency of the subject matter and the fact that Müller had been screened in advance, the last thing he wanted to do was spook the caller. ‘Before we can settle on a price, I need to know what type of information you possess. Therefore, I need you to provide the basics. Afterward, if I feel it is worthy of my attention, my associate will make financial arrangements.’
‘Okay. That sounds fair.’
‘Now please, if you don’t mind, tell me what you’ve learned.’
‘Earlier tonight, I was studying on campus, and I overheard two of my professors talking about an ancient document they were hoping to sell. I don’t know the specifics, but I know it’s really old and it’s connected to Nostradamus.’
‘Connected in what way?’
Müller shrugged. ‘I’m afraid I don’t know. I couldn’t hear everything.’
‘I’m positive. As soon as I heard the name, I immediately thought of you.’
Dubois wasn’t the least bit surprised. His contacts made sure everyone knew he was a collector who was willing to pay top dollar for documents pertaining to Nostradamus.
‘Do you know the names of these professors?’ Müller nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’
‘What about their phone numbers?’
‘Yes, sir. And their addresses, too.’
Dubois smiled. It was information he would gladly pay for.
28
NASJRB Willow Grove
Horsham, Pennsylvania
(12 miles north of Philadelphia)
On this night, though, it had a much different purpose.
It allowed Payne and Jones to fly secretly across Pennsylvania.
In order to keep their names off passenger
Back when they were in the military and constantly travelling, Payne and Jones had a longstanding tradition. If their mission allowed it, their first meal in a new city would feature local cuisine — whether that was fish tacos in San Diego, paella in Spain, or Cuban sandwiches in Ybor City. Over the years, they had spent a lot of time passing through Philadelphia, and every time they did, they ordered the same thing: Philly cheesesteaks.
Although it was one of the greasiest, leastnutritious meals on the planet, cheesesteaks were also one of the tastiest. Thinly sliced rib-eye steak is placed on a lightly oiled griddle where the meat is browned and chopped into smaller chunks with an iron spatula. Then, depending on the
The two most famous eateries in Philadelphia were Pat’s Steaks (credited with creating the cheesesteak) and Geno’s Steaks, a rival located directly across the street. Both joints are open twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and serve thousands of hoagies per day. Since Payne and Jones were hoping to maintain a low profile, they skipped both places and drove to the University of Pennsylvania (Penn) campus where they ordered their food from one of the vendor trucks that catered to hungry college students. Jones ordered a traditional cheesesteak with provolone, onions, and peppers, but Payne opted for a pizza steak — crumbled mozzarella and pizza sauce were added to the grilled meat and roll before it was toasted in a broiler.
‘Holy hell, this is friggin’ good!’ Cheese and grease dribbled down Jones’s chin, scalding his skin, but he couldn’t have cared less. ‘This is how I want to die.’
Sitting in the passenger seat, Payne admired the bulletproof glass. ‘From the look of this armour plating, that sandwich is the only way you can die in here.’
‘Well, if I start choking, please don’t save me. I swear to God, Jon, I’m gonna walk through the pearly gates, carrying my cheesesteak with me.’
‘If that happens, don’t take the fries. Remember, we’re splitting the order.’
Jones wiped his chin. ‘No promises.’
After finishing their meals, their focus shifted to the mission at hand. According to the criminal database, Ashley had lived in an apartment near Spruce Street, fairly close to the Penn campus. Because of her proximity to the school, Payne and Jones wondered why she had flown to
Simply put, they were going to break in.
Dressed in dark sweaters and jeans, they drove round the block a few times, memorizing the exits, looking for guards and security cameras. Doing most of the things they used to do when they had planned an urban assault, because that’s what this situation required. Although it had started off as a simple conversation with a mysterious woman, it had evolved into something complicated and violent: Belgian snipers blowing off heads, trained assassins searching for a letter, and a coded message pointing back to the city where the woman had lived.
None of it made any sense to them. Or Ulster. Or Raskin. None of them understood what was going on, why Ashley had been targeted, or what to make of the puzzling poem.
However, all of them agreed on two things.
The best way to solve the mystery was to charge forward.
The apartment building was nineteen storeys high with a tan brick exterior. Overall it was a nice complex, but not too nice, meaning they wouldn’t have to worry about a pompous doorman or an overzealous security staff. The surrounding streets and sidewalks were fairly busy for a Sunday night, filled with students and non-students alike. Snowflakes danced through the air, yet there was little accumulation on the concrete walkway that led up to a maroon awning.
Payne and Jones wore ball caps and gloves — partly because of the cold, but mostly to protect their identities as they snuck inside Ashley’s apartment. If the Pittsburgh police hadn’t contacted the local authorities about her homicide already, they would in the near future. And once that happened, the Philadelphia cops would swing by, looking for clues of any kind. The last thing the duo wanted was to be linked to the scene and her apartment. That was the type of coincidence that would be tough to explain.
As they walked towards the front door, Jones reached into his back pocket for his lock picks. Payne shook his head, and pointed to the
In this case, it took less than thirty seconds for them to get inside.
The lobby was warm and well lit. No security cameras in sight. Several rows of locked mailboxes filled the left-hand wall. Beyond it was a long corridor that led to a workout centre, laundry facilities, and a private parking lot. On their right, a fire door opened into an emergency stairwell. Just past it was a bank of three elevators and a small sitting area, with a couch and two chairs. A bulletin board, covered with flyers and a local bus map, hung on the back wall.
Jones pressed the elevator button, and the middle doors sprang open without delay. He walked inside first, followed by Payne, who pressed floor number six.
The doors slammed shut, and the next phase of their journey began.
29
For that reason, they preceded with caution.
As Payne walked towards the door, he studied it out of the corner of his eye. The lock and door frame appeared intact, and no police tape was visible. As far as he could tell, the apartment was undisturbed. Without advanced recon, there was no way of knowing if Ashley had a roommate or a deadbeat boyfriend who stayed over all the time. Just to be safe, Payne knocked on the door and slowly walked past. If someone answered, he
A minute later, after no response, Payne was confident the apartment was empty. Of course, they wouldn’t know for sure until they got inside.
With a quick whistle, he signalled to Jones, who left the elevator and strolled casually down the hall. Inside his coat pockets, he held a gun in his right hand and his lock picks in his left. No matter which hand was needed, Jones would be prepared. He put his ear against the surface of the door and listened. No sound at all. The door was cold and hollow, and made from some type of galvanized steel that had been painted the same shade of tan as the building’s exterior. The knob was fit
ted with a simple cylindrical lock. Nothing too fancy. A click here and a twist there, and Jones popped it open. Less than fifteen seconds from start to finish.
From their military training, they realized the next step was the most dangerous. Although they had downloaded the floor plan from the building’s website and knew the basic layout of the
Ultimately, it was a risk they had been willing to take.
The odds of a roommate were higher than the odds of an intruder.
As an added precaution, Jones would fling the door open while taking cover in the hallway, just in case a shooter was lying in wait. Sometimes an inexperienced adversary would fire at the first sign of movement instead of the first sight of prey. This tactic was a way to avoid those bullets. After a brief pause, Payne and Jones would then breach the room in tandem, carefully scouring the apartment for trouble before they searched for evidence.
With their weapons drawn, Payne stood to the left of the door while Jones stood on the right. From this point on, Payne would be in charge — as he was in the MANIACs.
‘Ready?’ he whispered.
Jones put his left hand on the knob and nodded.
With a quick push, the door swung open and bumped against a coat rack with a muffled thud. Light from the hallway spilled into the dark apartment, revealing a carpeted floor and little else. While keeping their backs against the hallway wall, they struggled to detect movement of any kind, but neither man heard a thing. The apartment was completely silent.
If someone was inside, he was a professional.
But not as deadly as Payne and Jones.
Communicating through hand signals, Payne explained what Jones needed to do. No words were necessary. Years of experience and hundreds of missions had prepared them for this moment. Jones simply nodded, letting Payne know he was ready to breach the room.
Payne moved first, dashing through the door and to his right. A moment later, Jones cut behind him and headed left into the darkness. Both men stayed low and under control, their eyes sweeping for targets and their guns at the ready. Without flashlights or night vision, Payne flicked a switch on the far wall and scanned his surroundings, searching for immediate threats. Much to his surprise, the apartment looked like a tornado
‘What the hell?’ Jones whispered from across the room.
Payne signalled for him to shut up and cover him while he checked the back rooms. Jones nodded and moved into position. With his gun leading the way, Payne eased down the hall and glanced into the bathroom on the left. It had been wrecked as well. The shower curtain had been ripped down and the cabinets had been emptied, but it was devoid of threats. Next, Payne entered the bedroom on the other side of the hall and checked the closet and under the bed, looking for targets. The room was secure but completely in tatters.
‘We’re clear,’ Payne said as he glanced back. ‘Go get the door.’
Jones hustled to the other side of the room and closed the door so curious neighbours couldn’t see inside. Then just to be safe, he locked it and used the security chain, too.
‘What the hell happened here?’ Jones asked.
Payne shrugged as he stared at the wreckage in the front room. Everything had been pulled off the shelves, and a knife had been taken to all the cushions. A thin layer of stuffing that looked like used to be — because it had been overturned and torn apart as well.
‘You know,’ Jones said, ‘I’ve only seen this once before.’
‘What type of case?’
‘It wasn’t a case. It was on a cartoon. The Tasmanian Devil ripped shit up!’
Payne smiled at the image. ‘Somehow I doubt Taz was here.’
‘Yeah, you’re probably right. It’s too friggin’ cold for a marsupial.’
Both of them laughed at the absurdity of his statement as they waded through the debris, looking for anything that would explain what had happened, or why.
Jones asked. ‘What do you think they were searching for? The letter?’
‘That depends.’
‘On what?’
‘When this happened.’
Jones kicked aside a broken lamp. ‘What do you mean?’
‘If this happened yesterday, they might have been looking for Ashley’s travel plans so they could track her down. If this happened today, they were probably looking for the letter.’
they, by the way?’
Payne shrugged. ‘Who knows? Maybe the Belgian Gun Club.’
‘The notorious BGC. Kinda sounds like a rap group.’
‘Hopefully, we’ll find something that points us in the right direction.’
‘Such as?’
‘What’s with all the questions? Aren’t you supposed to be the detective?’
Jones stopped searching. ‘Are you paying me for my time?’
‘No.’
‘Then I’m not a detective. I’m merely your lieutenant.’
‘In that case, go get a broom and clean this mess up.’
‘I will, right after you kiss my ass.’
The two of them searched the apartment for over ten minutes, not finding anything of value until Jones wandered into the kitchen. He had gone in there for some water — the salt from the fries had made him thirsty — but found something better.
‘Hey Jon,’ he called, ‘you need to see this.’
Payne left the bedroom and walked into the cluttered kitchen. Strangely, he found Jones just
It was a photograph of Payne and Jones.
30
Philadelphia Inquirer. It described his upcoming charity event at the Cathedral of Learning and provided a brief synopsis of their adventures in Greece, complete with a photograph from some random press conference. He and Jones had done so many during the past year they all ran together in his mind.
‘That really pisses me off,’ Jones growled.
‘What does?’
‘That they used that picture for the story. It makes my ass look fat.’
Payne shook his head. He was amazed that Jones was a year older than he was and not twenty years younger — because Jones sure acted like a teenager at times. ‘Are you finished?’
‘With what?’
‘Being an idiot.’
Jones nodded. ‘I guess you want to talk about the article, huh?’
‘Not much to discuss as far as I’m concerned. It simply means that Ashley wasn’t lying about everything she told us at Heinz Chapel. Remember, she mentioned the article there.’
‘True,’ Payne said, ‘but in my opinion, it means more than that.’
‘Such as?’
‘Because of this, I think the odds are pretty good she came to Pittsburgh to meet with us, not someone else. It also might explain why a second gunman showed up today.’
‘How so?’
Payne explained his theory. ‘Let’s assume both gunmen are on the same side of things. The first one went to Pitt to eliminate Ashley. He did his job with a shot to the head, then fled the scene. Unfortunately for him, a bus kills him before he can retrieve the letter. Meanwhile, a second team comes here, trying to find it. From the looks of this place, they didn’t find much. So what do they do next? They go to plan B.’
Jones nodded in understanding. ‘They noticed our names in the article and realized she had flown to Pittsburgh to meet us. They can’t ask Jean-Pierre for help because he’s dead, so they send gunman number two. He finds you and asks
‘He tries to take me out.’
Jones paused in thought. ‘So, what’s their next move?’
‘If I was them and wanted the letter, I would send more troops to Pittsburgh to chat with you and me. No doubt about it.’
‘Well, that settles it.’
‘Settles, what?’
‘I’m never going back to Pittsburgh.’
Payne grinned at the comment. ‘Not even for the playoffs?’
‘Shit! I forgot about the playoffs!’
‘How could you forget about the playoffs?’
Jones shrugged. Unable to think of
a clever retort, he did the next best thing. He changed the subject. ‘Let me ask you a question. Where did Ashley get the letter?’
‘Where do thieves usually get things?’
‘They steal them.’
‘That would be my guess.’
Jones nodded. ‘You think she stole it from the Belgians?’
Payne shook his head. ‘First of all, we’ve only identified one Belgian, not two. We have no idea if the second gunman was a Belgian, an American,
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Mostly just a gut feeling. There’s something about their desperation that leads me to believe they don’t know what it says. I’m guessing they never had it in the first place.’
‘If that’s the case, whom did she take it from? You saw her rap sheet. She stole all the time, but nothing too big. Mostly shoplifting and petty thefts, not museum heists. If this letter is important enough to kill for, someone must have reported it missing.’
‘You’re probably right.’
Payne gave it some thought as he walked out of the kitchen and headed for the bedroom. Other than Petr Ulster, he didn’t know anyone associated with historical artefacts who could provide them with rumours about items for sale on the black market. At least no one he would trust with their lives. Randy Raskin was already searching for the identity of the second shooter. If he discovered a name, he would look at the gunman’s known associates and try to figure out
Unlike the tattered furniture in the other room, the intruders hadn’t used a knife on her mattress. They had leaned it against the wall to look under it, but they hadn’t slashed it open. For that, Payne was grateful. It allowed him to examine all the books and papers on the floor without having to brush away a thin layer of stuffing.
Payne spent the next five minutes searching through her belongings and found two items that interested him. The first was a recent photograph of Ashley. It had been taken at the top of the Rocky Steps in front of the Philadelphia Museum of Art, the location that Sylvester Stallone, aka Rocky Balboa, had made famous in his Rocky movie series. Ashley was just standing there, smiling, not raising her arms in triumph like hundreds of tourists do every day. But for Payne’s needs, it was perfect. He needed a photo he could casually show to people, and her driver’s licence photo and mug shots were a little dated.
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