The Prophecy paj-5

by Chris Kuzneski

  He nodded but refused to address the help. It was beneath him.

  She unfolded his cloth napkin and carefully placed it on his lap. Then she handed him a leather-bound menu. ‘Would you like to hear our specials?’

  if and when he needed assistance. Until then, he didn’t want to be disturbed. Glancing at his Vacheron Constantin watch, he discovered it was time to make his call. First, he would handle his business in America, and then he would order dinner and a nice bottle of wine.

  Dubois dialled the number from memory and waited for his intermediary to pick up. This was standard procedure for Dubois, who preferred for his subordinates to get their hands dirty any time they were operating outside the letter of the law.

  The phone rang three times before Haney answered.

  ‘Hello,’ he said in English. Haney wasn’t his real name, but it was the one they used when they were talking on the phone — even though their phones were encrypted.

  ‘Where do things stand?’ Dubois asked.

  ‘I’m afraid we’ve had some trouble.’

  ‘What kind of trouble?’

  ‘We’ve had some… interference.’

  ‘Please explain.’

  This was a moment that Haney had been dreading. Up until now, he had let his boss believe that everything was under control in Pennsylvania.

  ‘The girl from Philadelphia passed the document to two outsiders before we got to her. Since that time, we have been unable to retrieve it.’

  His nose flared with anger. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Unforeseen circumstances.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘The outsiders have a special set of skills that we weren’t anticipating.’

  ‘What type of skills?’

  ‘Special Forces, sir.’

  Dubois snatched the napkin from his lap and flung it against the window. His bodyguards, who were positioned a few tables over, scanned the room for an impending threat, but they quickly realized Dubois’s outburst was related to his conversation.

  ‘When did this happen?’ he demanded.

  ‘Saturday night.’

  ‘You’ve known about this for two days, yet you’re telling me now?’

  ‘Define failed.’

  Haney cleared his throat. ‘My associate silenced the girl, but died in a traffic accident shortly thereafter. I sent a replacement to retrieve the document, but he failed as well.’

  ‘Another accident?’ he said sarcastically.

  ‘Actually, sir, it was. He fell off a cliff.’

  Dubois shook his head, the anger building inside him. ‘Two associates in two days, yet not an utterance from you. May I ask why?’

  ‘I… um…’ he stuttered. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I should’ve called earlier.’

  ‘You’re sorry? Well then, I guess all is forgiven. Haney is sorry, so everything is okay!’ Dubois took a deep breath, trying to control his temper. ‘Don’t tell me you’re sorry. Tell me what you’re going to do to fix this! Where are these men now?’

  ‘In Philadelphia.’

  ‘And what are they doing there?’

  ‘They’re protecting the girl.’

  Dubois furrowed his brow. As he did, his eyes looked like slits. ‘What girl?’

  ‘We’re still figuring that out, sir. We think maybe the document belongs to her.’

  ‘Who is this we you keep referring to?’

  Dubois smirked. ‘An intermediary who ended up dead. It’s funny how that happens on occasion.’

  Haney gulped at the implied threat. ‘I sent an associate to investigate her, but her guardians intervened. They killed him in broad daylight. A cop also got killed in the crossfire.’

  Dubois stood abruptly and walked towards the door. He flung it open with a violent push. ‘The news keeps getting better and better! I ask you to retrieve a single document, and you turn it into World War Three. How many people have died so far? Five, maybe more? Do we even know the names of these interlopers?’

  ‘Yes, sir, we do.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And we’ll find them soon. I promise.’

  47

  Jones walked into the tiny room, shaking his head. ‘Bad news on the phone.’

  Payne looked at him. ‘How bad?’

  ‘The mystery text came from a prepaid cell phone. It was purchased last week at Charles de Gaulle Airport. The buyer, who obviously paid in cash, could have been arriving in Paris or flying to just about anywhere in the world when he bought it. Also, according to computer records, only one text was sent from the phone — the message sent to Megan.’

  ‘How about phone calls?’

  ‘Nope. Not a single call to anyone.’

  Megan frowned. ‘In other words, someone bought the phone to text me.’

  Jones nodded. ‘It sure seems that way.’

  ‘Why not call from a payphone? Or send me an e-mail from a public terminal? Buying a cell phone seems pretty extreme.’

  Jones smirked. ‘If you think that’s extreme,

  She conceded his point. ‘You’re right. I guess I need to change my standards.’

  He glanced at Payne. ‘Hey, Jon, it’s your lucky day. If she lowers her standards, you might have a chance with her.’

  She snickered at the comment, which brought an immediate reaction from Payne. ‘Please don’t encourage him. If you laugh at his wisecracks, he simply won’t stop.’

  She smiled. ‘You have to admit, it was kind of funny.’

  ‘No,’ Payne said, ‘I’ll admit nothing. One time back in the mid-nineties he said something mildly amusing, and I barely cracked a smile. The guy hasn’t shut up since.’

  Jones stroked his chin, as if deep in thought. ‘You know what? I remember that day. That was during my Eddie Murphy phase. First I made you laugh, then I picked up a transvestite prostitute in West Hollywood.’ He paused for effect. ‘No, wait, that was Eddie who did that, not me. Come to think of it, that was actually the day my Eddie Murphy phase ended.’

  Payne shook his head as he looked at Megan. ‘See what you did? You got him started. Now I have to listen to him for another decade.’

  ‘Anyway,’ Payne said, trying to change the subject, ‘it’s pretty apparent that someone is going to great lengths to send you a coded message. If it weren’t for the violence, my advice would be to ignore them until someone picked up the phone and called you like a normal person. However, since people keep trying to kill us, I think it’s probably best to play his little game and figure out the meaning of the letter.’

  Megan frowned. ‘I thought we already did that. The poem is about me.’

  Payne shook his head. ‘Actually, we figured out half of the poem. You’re from the city of brothers, and you’re a filly with no mother. But what about the other two lines? What do they mean?’

  She asked, ‘What were the lines again?’

  Jones walked behind the desk and wrote the poem in black in the centre of the dry-erase board, allowing them to examine it as a group.

  Payne immediately grabbed a red marker from the tray and wrote asterisks on both sides of lines one and three. He did it to signify they had already figured them out. ‘If we’re correct, these two lines are about you. Now all we have to do is decipher the other pair.’

  From the city of brothers,

  A lover from the lost line.

  A filly with no mother,

  Chosen for her place in time.

  Megan nodded in understanding. ‘I’m pretty good with word games and puzzles. If you ever feel like losing, challenge me to Boggle or Scrabble.’

  Jones looked at her. ‘Decipher now, talk smack later.’

  She gave him a mock salute then focused on the words. ‘How confident are you with the translation? Do you trust the person who did it for you?’

  Payne answered. ‘Do we trust him? Definitely. He’s a good friend of ours. Are we confident in his ability? I’d say 90 per cent sure. In his original translation, he had the word mare instead of filly. Not a grievous mist
ake, but a mistake nonetheless.’

  ‘In Petr’s defence,’ Jones added, ‘we asked him to do a word for word translation of the message. We didn’t know it was a word puzzle where we were supposed to look for puns and other sorts of twists.’

  She scrunched her face. ‘What pun are you talking about?’

  ‘Philly! I get it. Very clever. And you think there might be more puns?’

  Payne shrugged. ‘At this point we don’t know. Could be anything.’

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘at first glance I don’t think lines two and four go together.’

  ‘Why? Because they don’t rhyme perfectly?’

  She shook her head. ‘Actually, that doesn’t bother me. If you want to get hypercritical, lines one and three aren’t perfect, either. Brothers is plural, and mother is singular.’

  ‘True,’ Payne admitted. ‘Then what troubles you?’

  ‘The verb.’

  ‘What verb?’ Jones asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Megan grabbed a green marker and underlined chosen. ‘It’s the only verb in the whole poem. Don’t they teach grammar at the service academies?’

  Jones reread the quatrain. ‘You’re right. One verb. But why does that bother you?’

  She made a giant circle around lines one, two, and three. ‘I’m pretty sure the first three lines are supposed to be describing me. I’m from the city of brothers, and I’m a filly with no mother.

  ‘And the fourth line?’

  Megan answered. ‘It’s not talking about me. It’s telling us why I was selected. It’s actually giving us an explanation.’

  Payne nodded in agreement. ‘I think you’re right. The first three lines go together.’

  ‘If that’s the case,’ Jones concluded, ‘then there’s a good chance we’re missing something in the second line.’

  ‘Like a meaning?’

  ‘Well, yeah,’ Jones admitted as he removed the cap from his black marker. ‘A meaning would be nice, but I think the reason we don’t understand the line is because we’re missing a word trick. Remember what Petr told us? He felt the author of this piece was a brilliant puzzle maker, so it stands to reason the three lines that go together would utilize similar tactics.’

  ‘Oh,’ Payne said, ‘I see what you’re saying. Lines one and three used word tricks, so line two probably does as well.’

  Jones nodded. ‘Let’s hope so, because I have no idea what it’s talking about.’

  A lover from the lost line.

  Megan scrunched her face as she focused on the words.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Payne wondered.

  ‘Two things off the top of my head. I realize old guys like you haven’t been in school this millennium, but are you familiar with alliteration?’

  ‘Ouch! Why so mean?’ Jones demanded.

  Payne ignored her jab. ‘Alliteration is the repetition of consonant sounds at the beginning of a word. In this case, lover, lost, and line. What’s your point?’

  She answered. ‘For some reason, alliteration is used in this line but none of the others. That seems fishy to me.’

  ‘Bad fishy, or good fishy?’

  ‘What’s the difference?’

  ‘Wow,’ Payne said sarcastically, ‘I was beginning to think you knew everything. DJ, please tell her the difference.’

  ‘With pleasure,’ he said. ‘Bad fishy is when you get a girl naked and—’

  Payne interrupted him. ‘On second thoughts,

  She nodded in understanding. ‘In that case, I’m going to go with bad fishy.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Because there’s something about the word lover that just seems off to me.’

  ‘Off in what way?’ Payne asked.

  ‘I don’t know. It’s just a gut feeling. I get those sometimes, and I’m normally right.’

  Payne smiled at her comment. ‘Trust me, I know the feeling. No pun intended.’

  Jones sighed. ‘Awwww, isn’t that sweet? You’re both psychic. In that case, why don’t you put your freak brains together and figure out how Petr screwed up his translation? Meanwhile, I’ll focus on the end of the verse. I think I might know what “the lost line” means.’

  48

  Payne pointed to the two chairs on the other side of the desk. Megan walked over first and sat in the far seat. He gave her his notebook as he joined her. ‘Take a look at my notes. On the left are the words in English. On the right are their original languages.’

  WORDS

  LANGUAGE

  city

  French

  brothers

  Greek

  lover

  Italian

  lost

  Hebrew

  line

  Latin

  filly

  Provençal

  mother

  French

  choice

  Hebrew

  place

  Provençal

  time

  Italian

  Megan glanced at the two columns, amazed by the effort that everyone had put into this

  ‘Where should we start?’ she asked.

  ‘Let’s start with your gut feeling. You said something feels off about the word lover, so let’s begin there.’

  ‘Great. So how do we do that?’

  He shrugged. ‘Actually, I have no idea.’

  She laughed at his honesty. ‘A guy who isn’t afraid to admit how clueless he is. That’s a very attractive quality in a man.’

  ‘Really? Then you’ll love me. I don’t know squat about anything.’

  ‘Keep in mind, I didn’t say stupidity was attractive. I simply said that…’

  Payne stared at her, waiting for her to finish her thought, but she didn’t seem to notice. Instead, her gaze had shifted to the notebook she held in her hands. ‘What is it?’

  ‘What?’ she asked, not looking up at him.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong. It was just something you said.’

  She ran her finger down the left column. ‘You mentioned the word love.’

  ‘And?’

  Megan glanced at him. ‘The list is wrong.’

  Payne inched his chair closer. ‘How so?’

  ‘On your chart, you have the word choice. But in the poem, you use the word chosen.’

  Payne nodded, then explained that Ulster was forced to change the form of certain words for the poem to make sense. This was necessary because some of the languages had conflicting rules when it came to grammar. For example, where an adjective needed to be placed in order to modify the appropriate word in a sentence. ‘Does that make sense?’

  ‘Perfect sense. It also explains what’s wrong with the second line.’

  Payne put two and two together. ‘Does this have to do with love?’

  She flashed him a smile. ‘Everything has to do with love.’

  ‘Wow, my flirting must have been contagious.’

  ‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘how much Italian do you guys know?’

  Payne shrugged. ‘A few words, here and there. Mostly related to food.’

  ‘Trust me,’ she said, ‘you don’t have to be fluent to know this. When you mentioned love, it got me thinking about the second verse. What if the word lover was the wrong form of the word? What if it was supposed to be love instead?’

  Jones took his finger and erased the r from the board. Now it read: A love from the lost line.

  Payne studied the subtle change, but the solution still didn’t click in his head. ‘I don’t get it. How does that help us?’

  ‘And,’ she added, ‘what if the word was never meant to be translated? What if it was meant to be read in its original Italiano?’

  Jones wasn’t an expert, but like many people he knew the Italian word for love. He erased the English version and wrote it in its original language.

  Amore from the lost line.

  ‘I’ll be damned,’ Payne said from his chair. ‘That’s really clever.’

  �
�Certainly not you,’ Payne teased, ‘or else you’d see it.’

  ‘See what?’ Jones snapped.

  Payne smiled at Megan and encouraged her to speak. ‘Go on. Tell him why you’re so confident this line is about you.’

  ‘I don’t care who tells me,’ Jones growled. ‘Just give me the damn answer!’

  Smiling from ear to ear, Megan stood up and walked to the board. She grabbed a red marker and made a slash through the middle of the Italian word. Now it read:

  A/more from the lost line.

  ‘Do me a favour,’ she said to Jones. ‘Read this phonetically.’

  He did as he was told. ‘A more from the lost line.’

  A few seconds passed before Jones understood the pun. ‘Holy shit! They used your name in the verse. A Moore from the lost line. I have to admit, that’s pretty cool.’

  ‘It’s cool,’ he admitted, ‘but is it good news?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Jones smiled. ‘Now that we know the poem is about you, there’s no getting rid of us. You’re gonna be stuck with us until the bitter end.’

  49

  Although Payne and Megan’s work on the first half of the verse was impressive, Jones wasn’t going to let them steal all the glory — especially since Payne had figured out ‘Philly’ the day before. If Jones didn’t start pulling his weight soon, he knew he’d never hear the end of it.

  ‘So,’ Payne taunted Jones as he took a seat next to Megan, ‘I vaguely remember you saying something about understanding the significance of “the lost line”. Or was that just bullshit?’

  Jones smirked, enjoying the added pressure. Over the years he had developed a friendly rivalry with Payne in just about everything they did, whether that was golf, bowling, or guessing the names of total strangers. Neither man liked to lose, which was one of the reasons they had worked so well together in the MANIACs. Their drive to be the best made everyone better. ‘No, I’m pretty sure I know what it means. In fact, your discovery actually strengthened my case.’

  ‘Glad we could help. Now quit stalling.’