The Prophecy paj-5

by Chris Kuzneski

  For two ex-MANIACs, home-field advantage made little difference.

  Wearing dark clothes, Payne and Jones parked the van in the nearby woods and hiked a half mile to the edge of Dubois’s property. His fourteenth-century castle sat in the middle of several acres of land, most of which was overgrown with trees and bushes. In the summertime when everything was in bloom, passage would have been difficult without a machete. But in the wintry cold, the trees were bare and vegetation was at a minimum. The only thing slowing them down was the snow on the ground and their desire for stealth.

  Built from red brick that had faded over the years, Château Dubois was an impressive medieval structure. Standing four storeys tall with spires that climbed even higher, the peaked roof was covered with grey tiles that appeared pale green in a certain light. Under the cover of darkness, the roof couldn’t be seen from the ground.

  It was unlike any building they had scouted before.

  The château’s security system had not been activated and wouldn’t be until after ten at night. There were too many people (Dubois’s personal chef, his butler, and his cleaning staff) working inside for alarms or motion sensors. A few armed guards patrolled the outer perimeter and another was stationed at the front gate; otherwise, Dubois had very little protection. His reputation as a cold-blooded killer was what kept rivals at bay.

  Fear was a far more effective deterrent than a barbed-wire fence.

  Payne and Jones crept around the castle’s periphery, searching for cameras or dogs or anything that might be a threat, but the only thing they saw was the bastard who had tried to kill them. Dubois was sitting in his library, reading a book near a roaring fire. He was smaller and more civilized than Payne had imagined. For some reason, he had pictured the devil incarnate — blood dripping from his fangs, horns thrusting out of his skull. Instead, he saw a well-dressed

  Dubois looked more like a CEO than a crime lord.

  However, years of training had taught Payne never to be fooled by appearances. During his time in the MANIACs, he had seen baby carriages filled with bombs and kids carrying automatic weapons. He had witnessed terrorists dressed as holy men and monks strapped with homemade explosives. He had even read a story about a war criminal getting arrested in Miami while wearing a bathing suit and flip-flops. The guy had slaughtered thousands of Jews in a Nazi concentration camp and had never been caught. Ironically, he got busted stealing a corned beef sandwich at a local delicatessen. Not surprisingly, the Jewish owner showed no sympathy and decided to press charges.

  Simply put, there was no way in hell Dubois’s fancy clothes and upper-crust ways were going to conceal the type of man he was. Nor would it prevent Payne and Jones from doing what they needed to do. The truth was they weren’t there to kill Dubois in cold blood. If they had been, they could have shot him through the bay window and scurried away before they were even spotted.

  By 6:55 p.m. Payne was back at the van checking his equipment and going over last-minute details with Jones via a flesh-coloured earpiece concealed in his ear. Each of them knew what they needed to do, and both men were confident they would survive. Otherwise, they would have come up with a better plan.

  Like Colin Farrell’s movie, neither man wanted to die in Bruges.

  The call came at precisely 7:00 p.m. Payne let it ring a few times before he answered Keller’s phone. When he did, there was no pretending. He didn’t disguise his voice or claim to be someone else. For their plan to work, Dubois needed to know who he was dealing with and what they were capable of doing.

  ‘Hello,’ Payne said.

  Dubois paused for a moment. ‘To whom am I speaking?’

  ‘The man you’ve been trying to kill.’

  ‘You’ll have to be more specific.’

  ‘Please, call me François.’

  ‘Sure thing, Frankie.’

  ‘Ah, one of the Americans,’ he said smugly. ‘As crass as I had expected.’

  ‘Crass, yet well-informed. How’s that book you’ve been reading? You seemed pretty en grossed when I was watching you in your library. That fire looked mighty toasty.’

  Dubois cleared his throat, slightly unnerved. ‘Are you watching me now? How many fingers am I holding up?’

  ‘I’ll answer your question if you can guess which finger I’m holding up.’

  ‘The vulgarity continues.’

  ‘What can I say? When a man tries to kill me, I get slightly pissed.’

  ‘Touché.’

  ‘So,’ Payne said, ‘what do you want? Remember, you called me.’

  ‘Actually, I rang Monsieur Keller, not you. But why quibble over details? Since you have his phone, I will assume you also possess his artefacts.’

  ‘Wow. That’s pretty impressive. Are you psychic or something?’

  Dubois ignored the sarcasm. ‘If you have the

  ‘We didn’t come to Bruges for Brussels sprouts.’

  ‘Shall we say, my château in twenty minutes?’

  ‘Sorry, Frankie, my snipers are getting cold. Let’s make it your château in twenty seconds. In fact, I’m pulling up to your gate as we speak.’

  66

  After receiving instructions from Dubois, the guard at the front gate didn’t talk to Payne or search him for weapons. He simply opened the gate and waved him through.

  Payne wasn’t the least bit surprised. He had dealt with men like Dubois before. Whether it was hubris or lunacy, they believed they couldn’t be caught or conquered. They felt their intellect, or their strength, or their personal god would help them overcome every obstacle they encountered, and in the end, they would emerge unscathed.

  Payne’s goal was to make sure that didn’t happen.

  As he drove the van along the stone driveway, he spotted Dubois on the steps outside the main entrance to the château. He was simply standing there, waiting for his arrival. He even gave Payne a friendly wave, as if they were long-lost friends who were about to catch up over cocktails. Payne ignored him. He was far too occupied with the positioning of the van.

  thump, followed by a scream. After that, Dubois would have been out of their lives for ever.

  Unfortunately, Payne’s conscience prevented him from doing it.

  He was more than willing to kill, but not without provocation.

  Some people might argue that Dubois had provoked him by sending assassins to Pittsburgh, Philadelphia, and Geneva. However, as far as Payne could tell, those men had been sent to retrieve the Nostradamus artefacts, not to kill him specifically. Obviously they had been told to eliminate everyone who got in their way, but Payne had no proof that his life (or his friends’ lives) would be in danger after Dubois acquired

  At least, that was the way it seemed to Payne.

  Before he was willing to kill a man he had never met, he needed to look him in the eye and decide whether or not they could come to an agreement. If they could, that was great. Payne and his friends could walk away feeling safe, and they would happily allow Nick Dial and his team at Interpol to build a case to put Dubois away for the rest of his life — using the gunman they had captured as a witness. On the other hand, if they couldn’t come to an understanding, Payne would do whatever he needed to do to protect the people he cared about.

  All he needed was five minutes alone with Dubois.

  After that, he would know how this would end.

  Dubois studied Payne as he opened the van door and climbed out. The first thing he noticed was something in the nearby field. Maybe it was advanced surveillance, or maybe he had been eliminating the château’s guards, one by one.

  Either way, Dubois realized Payne was a worthy adversary.

  ‘Welcome to my home,’ he said in a friendly tone. ‘One of many, I must admit, but certainly my favourite. Any trouble finding it?’

  ‘No trouble at all. The satellite knew exactly where to look.’

  ‘Come now, Mr Payne. There’s no need to threaten me with snipers and satellites. By now, I am fully aware of your military background
. I am also aware of your personal wealth. A man who can’t be fought or bought is a rare man indeed.’

  ‘Apparently, we have that in common.’

  Dubois placed his hand on his heart and bowed slightly. ‘Finally, a kind word. Perhaps we won’t be enemies after all.’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘what have you brought for me today? May I take a look?’

  Dubois opened the cargo doors and stared at a slatted wooden crate in the back of the van. Made out of pine, it was 24 inches long, 10 inches wide, and 10 inches deep. A box, wrapped in several layers of bubble wrap, sat inside the crate.

  Smiling at the possibilities, Dubois noticed a plastic pouch had been attached to one of the front slats. He peeled it open and pulled out the shipping manifest that had been stamped at the airport. Holding it up to the light, his eyes scanned the document. The puzzle box was listed first, followed by two carrying cases that contained ‘miscellaneous parchments’.

  Payne said, ‘I won’t even pretend to be an expert like you, but I was warned we shouldn’t open this stuff in the cold. Something about permanent damage.’

  Dubois nodded, never taking his eyes off of the crate. ‘That is correct. The elements have ruined their fair share of antiquities over the centuries, which is why I keep mine in an optimal environment. If I may be so bold, may I offer a temporary solution to our problem?’

  ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘Instead of leaving the artefacts in the cold while we conduct our business in the warmth

  ‘I don’t know about that.’

  ‘Obviously we won’t carry it ourselves. A member of my staff will do that for us.’

  Payne paused, pretending to give it some thought. ‘Fine, I’m willing to allow it under two conditions. Number one, the crate never leaves my sight. I go wherever it goes.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, ‘I wouldn’t have it any other way. And number two?’

  ‘We conduct our business in your library.’

  Dubois raised an eyebrow. ‘That can be arranged, but why there?’

  Payne smiled. ‘As you know, that’s one room I’ve already scouted.’

  Despite his aversion to the cold, Jones lay on a blanket in the snow, staring through the scope of an M24 sniper rifle. Dead brush and leaves concealed his position on the outer edge of Dubois’s property where he was just beyond the reach of the château’s outdoor lights. An earpiece, similar to the one that Payne was wearing, allowed him to listen to Payne’s conversation with Dubois. And if the situation required it, he could also speak to Payne.

  Jones, who had trained at the US Army Sniper School at Fort Benning, slowly inched his rifle to the right, waiting to reacquire his target through the library’s window. Less than a minute later, Dubois’s head was once again in his crosshairs, where it would remain at all times.

  Although Jones had been an ‘average’ sniper in the military — mostly because his appointment to the MANIACs had limited his advanced training — he was still one of the best in the world. That’s how deadly American snipers are. According to figures released by the US Department of Defense, the average number of rounds fired in the Vietnam War to kill one enemy soldier with an M-16 was 50,000. The average number of rounds fired by US snipers to kill one enemy soldier was a staggering 1.3 rounds. That’s a cost-difference

  Nowadays, American weaponry is much more advanced than it had been in Vietnam, but the current figures are still shocking. According to the US army, the average soldier will hit a man-sized target 10 per cent of the time at 300 metres using the M16A2 rifle. Graduates of the US Army Sniper School are expected to achieve 90 per cent first-round hits at 600 metres, using the M24 sniper rifle — the weapon that Ulster had acquired in Geneva for a small fortune.

  To Payne and Jones, the rifle was worth every penny.

  From where Jones was currently positioned, less than 200 metres away with virtually no wind to speak of, the odds of him missing were about the same as hitting the lottery.

  It could happen, but Payne was willing to bet his life that it wouldn’t.

  67

  Dubois’s butler placed the crate on a table in the middle of the library, and then waited for further instructions.

  ‘You may leave us,’ Dubois said dismissively.

  ‘And close the door on your way out,’ Payne added.

  Unsure of what to do, he looked to Dubois for permission.

  ‘Hey,’ Payne said, goading his host, ‘I had the balls to come to Bruges. The least you can do is talk to me in private.’

  Dubois smirked at his guest, and then nodded his consent. A few seconds later, the door was pulled shut with a soft click. The two men were finally alone, just like Payne had wanted. Knowing full well Jones would watch his back, Payne turned away from Dubois and admired the leather-bound books that lined the shelves. Most of them were in French, but there were a few foreign titles. A German book named Arcanum caught Payne’s eye. He picked it up and thumbed through the pages.

  Payne laughed. ‘Trust me, Frankie. If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.’

  ‘Perhaps. Of course, you realize the same applies to you.’

  Payne smiled and returned the book to the shelf. ‘Are you sure about that? It seems the first fifteen guys you sent weren’t very effective.’

  Dubois waved off the comment. ‘Merely pawns in the grand scheme of things. Although not lethal, they were quite effective in some ways.’

  ‘Really? How do you figure?’

  ‘Well, you are here with the artefacts. Ultimately, that is all I cared about.’

  Payne turned and looked Dubois in the eyes. He needed to size him up. ‘I kind of figured as much. Meanwhile, my agenda is a lot less materialistic than yours. I’m here to talk about our personal safety. Are you familiar with the concept of MAD?’

  Dubois furrowed his brow. ‘I’m afraid I am not.’

  ‘It stands for Mutual Assured Destruction. It’s a military doctrine that was developed during the Cold War. Simply put, it means when two adversaries have reached a certain level of strength –

  Dubois nodded in understanding. ‘This is a term I did not know, but one I shall remember. You are America, and I am France. We should not fight.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘In my country, we would call this détente. Do you know this word?’

  ‘Actually, I do.’

  Dubois smiled. ‘We were at war. Now we’re at peace. This is reason to celebrate.’

  ‘I don’t know about that.’

  Dubois ignored the comment. ‘Are you a connoisseur, Mr Payne? My cellar is filled with some of the finest wines money can buy — and a few money can’t. Shall I send for a bottle?’

  ‘I appreciate the offer, but there’s still business to be discussed.’

  ‘Ah, yes, the quaint American tradition of not mixing business with pleasure. I don’t know whether to applaud or complain. Perhaps some other time then.’

  Payne walked along the shelves, looking at relics. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘I didn’t until recently, but the last few years have opened my eyes to ancient cultures. Slowly but surely, my interest is starting to grow.’

  ‘I read about your discovery in Greece. Well done.’

  Payne smiled. ‘And I heard about your obsession with Nostradamus.’

  ‘Obsession is too strong a word. I think curiosity would be sufficient.’

  Payne stopped and turned. ‘Come on, Frankie, don’t downplay your fixation on my account. A man who merely has curiosity wouldn’t go to such lengths to add to his collection.’

  ‘Perhaps not.’

  ‘Speaking of which, I have to admit I’m kind of disappointed. I was fully expecting to see your collection on display. That was one of the reasons I was willing to fly to Bruges. I’ve heard amazing things about the items you’ve assembled.’

  Dubois stared at him, trying to determine if Payne was being sarcastic. ‘If your interest is sincere, I will happily appease yo
ur curiosity. If not, I’d rather not waste our time.’

  A smile crossed Dubois’s face. ‘In that case, it would be an honour.’

  Jones prided himself on many things, and multitasking was one of them. Whether it was shaving while driving or downloading music while answering e-mail, he had the ability to do two things at once without a drop in performance. Therefore, when his phone started to vibrate in his pocket, he didn’t hesitate to answer it even though he was staring through his scope at his target. He simply hit the mute button on his earpiece, which prevented Payne from hearing what he was about to say — but still allowed Jones to listen to Payne and Dubois.

  ‘Hello,’ he whispered, not bothering to look at the caller ID.

  ‘Mr Jones, this is Butch Reed calling. Did I catch you at a bad time?’

  Reed was head of security at Payne Industries. An ex-Marine who had lost a foot in the Gulf War, he had been hired by Payne’s grandfather as a security guard and quickly moved up the ranks, impressing everyone with his intelligence and work ethic. Now he was in charge of all security

  ‘Kind of,’ Jones whispered. ‘Can I call you later?’

  ‘Actually, sir, this can’t wait. It involves your safety, and potentially Mr Payne’s.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I’m afraid I’ve got bad news, sir. Someone tried to burn down your house.’

  Jones blinked, suddenly distracted. ‘My house?’

  ‘The blaze has been contained, but I’d estimate the damage at 60 per cent. It would have been worse if not for the snow. As it melted, it helped put out the flames.’

  Jones took a deep breath, trying to keep his emotions in check. ‘Arson?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Someone threw a Molotov cocktail through your front window, according to a neighbour. By the time the authorities arrived, the man was long gone.’

  Jones connected the dots in his head. To him, there was no doubt who was responsible. Just as Dial had warned, Dubois wouldn’t stop. No matter what.