Paris Time

by D. B. Gilles

  Text me the target’s phone number.

  Henri texted back Ursula’s number. As he set down his phone, he began to doubt the practicality of having Luger confront Ursula. The more he thought about the situation, the more he was certain the person evaluating the object had to be Proctor Newley.

  He pondered the idea of calling Proctor to catch him off guard. He would tell him that he knows he has The Brimstone;that Ursula told him what’s going on. But that could be risky. It would alert Proctor. He could take The Brimstone and hide it anywhere. If it were The Brimstone, now would be the best opportunity to take it.

  He decided to stick to the plan. He could be patient.

  Chapter 11

  As Dalton and Juliet headed to The Morgan Café, she said, “Was that for real? Going back to eighteen-eighty-nine to find my sister? I mean...?”

  “It’s also about proving a point. My father believed that the best fact checkers had to be relentlessly curious and even fearless in their search for information. Once I understood what he did for a living, I wanted it too. I loved going with him to old libraries, museums and bookstores, and taking trips to find out a long lost piece of minutiae about some obscure topic. He would take on private clients, wealthy people who would subsidize trips. He and I would see the world on someone else’s dime. I idolized him. His criticism was that I had a good work ethic, but that I wasn’t fearless enough to handle the big jobs.”

  “You’re not a soldier of fortune. What kind of fact checking jobs require fearlessness?”

  “My father once went to Borneo and was almost killed in the jungle looking for an explorer who’d written on obscure book on headhunters. Another time he had to interview mercenaries in Rwanda. He even spent time with a Hell’s Angels chapter to double check the facts of a novel a client had written. Things like that. He didn’t think I had it in me.”

  “You were a kid.”

  “I know, but look what he did for your sister. That took fearlessness.” He paused for a moment. “The way I see it, if I do for you what he did for Eliza seven years ago, I can prove him wrong about me.”

  “Even if you got to Paris, where would you look for her?”

  “The key is to follow her notes in the sketchbook. I’ll bring it with me. With a little luck, I’ll be able to track her down.”

  “A little luck? In a city the size of Paris? I’d say you’re going to need a lot of luck. A helluva of lot of luck!”

  Chapter 12

  After thirty minutes Proctor couldn’t stop obsessing on who helped Peter Hillyer learn how to use The Brimstone. If he and Dalton were going to make a practice run, he wanted to find him and ask him questions.

  Who was it, Peter? he asked himself repeatedly. You had to have help!

  He racked his brain trying to think of names that Peter might have reached out to. Besides himself, there were a half-dozen bona fide authorities on enchanted artifacts, three in New York City alone, and they all knew each other. Over the years they had shared information when an intriguing new artifact was discovered. Had one of them had access to The Brimstone seven years ago, that information would’ve been shared, even if surreptitiously.

  Proctor made a mental list of the six people who would be as knowledgeable about The Brimstone as he.

  Quincy Nepher

  Ignatius Eustache

  Richard Darlotte

  Gilbert Ollen

  Nanette Kelmar

  Ricardo Bellio

  He turned to his computer, looked at the QWERTY

  Keyboard and began making configurations using the first and last name of each person. After twenty minutes Proctor felt it pointless to guess configurations. Instead, he took a leap of faith and decided to look closely at the six names.

  He knew Peter Hillyer well enough to suspect that he was too proud a man to seek information from the most respected experts on enchanted artifacts. He would’ve felt undignified contacting someone on something as farfetched as traveling through time. He would more than likely go the other way and find someone off the radar.

  That ruled out Gilbert Ollen, Nanette Kelmar, Richard Darlotte and Ricardo Bellio. Like him, they were curators at museums or universities with impeccable reputations.

  That left Ignatius Eustache and Quincy Nepher. Because of the first two letters of his name, Quincy Nepher was the obvious choice. Peter’s finger could’ve easily meant to type in Qu and instead hit Qi.

  He reached for his phone and called Dalton. “Please return to my office.”

  “On our way.”

  Before Dalton and Juliet even had a chance to sit, Proctor spoke. “Dalton, do these names mean anything to you. “Richard Darlotte?”

  “No.”

  “Gilbert Ollen?”

  “No.”

  “Nanette Kelmar?”

  “No.”

  “Ricardo Bellio?”

  “No.”

  “Quincy Nepher?”

  “No.” His eyes lit up. “But Quincy? Qu is pretty close to qi?”

  “My thoughts exactly. But unfortunately, the name doesn’t resonate with you. Can you think of any reason why your father would tell you to ‘call’ Quincy Nepher?”

  Dejected, he said, “None.”

  “It would have to be someone you could relate to.” Proctor sighed, “I have one more name. Ignatius Eustache. Anything?”

  Dalton thought hard for several seconds, then in a deflated tone, said, “Never heard it before. Who are these people?”

  “The first four are much like myself, lifelong aficionados of enchanted artifacts. Museum curators all. Quincy Nepher fancies himself a scholar on the subject. Wrote several books, all badly written. As for Ignatius Eustache, by all rights he shouldn’t even be on the list because of his lack of formal education and shady past, but over the years he has brought much to the table.”

  “What do you mean ‘shady’ past?” asked Juliet.

  Proctor chuckled. “Ignatius is a bit of a rogue in the enchanted artifacts field. Black magic was his cup of tea. He could be ninety years old. Many decades ago, he started out as a magician in Trinidad.”

  Dalton perked up. “I’ve never heard of anyone named Ignatius Eustache, but my father knew a magician from Trinidad. He was my father’s specialist in voodoo and black magic.”

  “Voodoo? That was also part of Ignatius’ history.

  He had a particular trick that was quite ingenious. Made people disappear. Unfortunately, some never came back. That’s why he got out of Trinidad. Traveled the world studying magic, curses and everything under the sun. Wound up in New York about twenty-five years ago. It’s interesting that your father sneered at enchanted artifacts, but worked with an authority on voodoo.”

  “They played poker too. That’s how I knew him. There was a weekly poker game at our house. Everybody called him Tash. He would do magic tricks for me. And he had these unbending opinions about off-the-wall stuff. The guys in the poker game would kid him, especially my father.”

  “What kind of off-the-wall stuff?”

  “The usual. Conspiracy theories, the moon landing, ghosts, reincarnation.”

  “Enchanted artifacts?” said Juliet.

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Call qi,” said Proctor. “Call Tash.” Proctor looked at the QWERTY keyboard. “In the heat of the moment, your father could have easily hit the Q instead of the S, then the I instead of the T. Let’s give him a call. I know him as Ignatius. Haven’t talked to him in several years.”

  Proctor reached for a telephone/address book on his desk and thumbed through it until he found a phone number, then dialed it.

  A craggy voice with a strong Caribbean lilt, said “Hello?”

  “Ignatius, it’s Proctor Newley.”

  “Proctor, you old dog. You’re not callin’ because I owe you money, are ya?” He let loose a hearty laugh. “How long has it been?”

  “I have some astonishing news to share with you. It’s imperative that we talk. I can come to you or you
to me, whichever is more convenient for you.”

  “Slow down, man. Proctor, you don’t sound like yourself. What’s this all about?”

  “The Brimstone. I have it here.”

  In a less cheerful, ominous tone, Ignatius said, “Where did you get it?”

  “From Peter Hillyer’s son, Dalton. It was with Peter the night he died. His son has had it all these years without knowing its significance. We think you helped Peter figure out that Cleopatra’s Needle was the portal.”

  There was silence for a few seconds. “What do you want from me, Proctor?” he said coolly.

  “The girl made it through. Her name was Eliza.”

  “I think you’re confused.”

  “Peter sent his son a message moments before he died. He was telling him to call someone. We think it was you.”

  “At our age the mind plays tricks on us. Eighty-seven is creeping up on me. Impending death has its own kind of portal, eh?”

  “Besides Peter’s son, I’m with Eliza’s sister. Peter’s son and I are going to go to Paris on the same date in eighteen-eighty-nine and try to find her. I know you helped Peter find the portal and how to use The Brimstone. I need your help. I’m sure you had your reasons for remaining silent, but it’s time to speak. Please.”

  “That thing killed Peter. Man was not meant to travel in time.”

  “Let me talk to him,” said Dalton. Proctor handed him the phone. “Tash, it’s Dalton.”

  “How are you, son?” he said gently.

  “Not good. All I want is to know what we have to do.”

  “This is a road you don’t want to go down. Your father had his concerns. Grave concerns.”

  “For seven years I’ve wondered why he died where he died. Why he was dressed in clothes over a hundred years old? Why he had francs from eighteen-eighty-seven in his pocket? Why The Brimstone was next to his body? Today I think I found out, but I need to know I’m right. Will you help me, Tash?”

  There was a long pause.

  “I’m begging you, Tash.”

  “Maybe I’ve kept this secret long enough.” He sighed deeply. “Tell Proctor I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  Chapter 13

  Henri stared at his phone hypnotically, tapping his fingers nervously, bouncing his right leg up and down. He was about to call Luger when the phone rang. The caller ID said Blocked. “Yes?”

  “The seminar just ended,” said Luger. “She’s left the podium and is trying to get away, but people in the audience are stopping her to talk. I can’t approach her until she leaves the auditorium and she’s alone.”

  “If she tells you that Proctor Newley at The Morgan Library and Museum has The Brimstone, go there and get it by any means. He’s in his seventies. He won’t resist. Has a full head of white hair. Text me, of course, either way.”

  “Understood.”

  Luger kept his eyes on Ursula. Now that she was off the podium and in plain view, he got a better look at her figure. She wore a simple, loose-fitting brown skirt that came down to mid-calf and cowboy boots. He wondered what she would look like in an apron.

  Two minutes passed when the last person talking to Ursula said goodbye. Handbag slung over her right shoulder, she headed out of the auditorium and seemed to be going towards the elevator bank. Luger observed that the bulk of the audience that had attended Ursula’s panel was gone. There were only a handful of people.

  He stayed ten yards behind her. She pressed the Down button. He punched in her phone number. She reached into her bag for her cell. “Hello?”

  “I’m calling on behalf of Henri Arpin. About The Brimstone.” He moved closer to her.

  “Who is this?”

  “Don’t turn around. I’m standing right behind you.”

  She started to crane her neck, when Luger said, “Do not move and you won’t be hurt. Look straight ahead.”

  Suddenly uneasy, Ursula complied. She recalled Proctor’s warning about The Duchess’s dark side.

  “Answer two questions and this will be over. Who is the person evaluating The Brimstone?”

  “Proctor Newley. What is this about?”

  “Where is he doing it?”

  “His office. What is your connection to Henri Arpin?”

  “Is anyone with him?”

  “Dalton Hillyer.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “Not that I know of. Who exactly are you?”

  “When the elevator opens step inside. Do not turn around until the doors close and you’ll never see me again.”

  “What about my finder’s fee?”

  The question caught Luger off guard. “What finder’s fee?”

  “From The Duchess. For bringing her The Brimstone. Proctor should know by now if it’s real.”

  Luger knew little about The Duchess other than that she was Henri’s biggest client.

  “How much?”

  “Five million Euros.”

  Luger rarely showed any emotion, but the amount staggered him.

  “I’m supposed to let Henri know if it’s the real thing,” said Ursula, her normally confident voice, tentative. “Had you not stopped me, I was about to call Proctor to find out.”

  The elevator doors opened.

  “Step inside. Don’t turn around. You can put your phone down. It’s with him now at The Morgan?”

  “Yes.” She entered the elevator, facing forward, feeling exactly the way she’d felt when she was mugged a dozen years ago, helpless and frightened.

  “Why would this thing be worth so much?”

  “What did Henri tell you?”

  “Answer my question!” He roughly nudged her in the center of her back with his right index finger, causing her to moan in pain. Her back ached.

  “It can send people back in time,” she said. “We don’t know if it’s real yet.”

  “Don’t play games with me.” He nudged her again, this time harder, causing her knees to buckle. The middle of her back burned.

  “Why are you hurting me? It’s the truth and it’s worth a fortune. What about the finder’s fee? Will you be talking to Henri?”

  “Yes. I will.”

  Ursula heard the elevator doors close. She felt a hand on the back of her neck, and then a quick snap and she was dead.

  Luger slid her body to the floor, then pressed the Stop button. He reached up and pushed out two ceiling tiles, then lifted Ursula’s body up and into the crawlspace above. He pressed the Lobby button, and then called Henri.

  “I have your information. Proctor Newley. At his office.”

  “Excellent. Go there and take it by any means necessary.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about the finder’s fee, Henri?”

  Henri froze.

  “Time travel? Really, Henri?”

  “Yes. If it’s the real thing.”

  “If it is, I want the money. Your friend, Ursula, thought she would be getting it, but that’s no longer an issue. How will I know if it’s real?”

  “You won’t. You need to bring it to me. I’ll arrange for a private plane to bring you to Paris.”

  “Is The Duchess the only buyer?”

  Henry’s lips and hands started to tremble. “I won’t lie to you, Luger. There are others who would pay for it, but finding them would be difficult for you and there would be questions. Give it to me and it will be clean and fast.”

  “I’m leaving for The Morgan Library now.”

  Chapter 14

  Henri leaned back in his chair. He remembered seven years back, the day he lost The Brimstone.

  He’d received a call from Serge, one of his assistants, who was convinced The Brimstone was at a stall at Les Puces flea market.

  “Buy it and bring it to me. Take a taxi.”

  “I have only six Euros.”

  “Surely there’s an ATM nearby.”

  “I’m tapped out except for twenty Euros.”

  “How much is it?”

  “He’s asking a hundred. You could probably ge
t him down to seventy-five.”

  “Wait for me. Where will I find you?”

  There were a number of markets within Les Puces and numerous stands within each market.

  “Le Monde du Voyage, Alley three, Stand nineteen.”

  “I’m leaving now. Make sure no one goes near it.”

  Serge hovered near the stand in case someone attempted to purchase the item.

  For the next twenty-seven minutes Serge hovered near the stall. Not a soul even stopped. The elderly man sitting behind it was reading yesterday’s edition of Le Monde. Had Serge not seen the tanned, sexy blonde wearing the Juicy Couture T-shirt, tight denim jeans and six-inch heels he wouldn’t have turned his attention away, but in the forty-five seconds he ogled the girl a woman had made her way to the stall and was holding in her right hand what he felt sure was The Brimstone.

  Charlotte Twill went to Paris every spring for the antiques. For fun she went to the flea markets, her favorite being Les Puces. She had picked up the unusual-looking object and asked the vendor, “Is this a chatelaine? I’ve never seen one quite like this.”

  He peered at the object. “This is different. Half- chatelaine, half-something else.”

  “How much?”

  He thought to himself that this was the second person asking about it in the last half hour. He pretended to study it for a few seconds. “Hundred-and-fifty Euros.”

  “I’ll give you eighty.”

  The man smiled. “C'est fait.”

  Serge knew Henri would be incensed. As he pondered Henri’s rage, Serge looked up and saw him walking swiftly towards him.

  “Where is it?” Henri asked, out of breath.

  “There’s a problem. Not thirty seconds ago a woman bought it on the spot.” He gestured to Charlotte.

  “Why didn’t you stop her?”

  “There was no time.”

  Henry stared at Charlotte. “Lose yourself in the crowd. I’ll talk to her. If I can’t convince her, it will be in your hands.”

  Serge nodded, understanding.