by Nancy Madore
“That’s because you’re not wearing any makeup,” said Isabella. “With the right makeup and that exquisite dress and mask, people won’t be able to take their eyes off you.”
Isabella had been right about that. Heads were turning and Beth even heard a few gasps. Several people nodded their approval. Beth felt terribly exposed without her hair and only the pale, filmy dress covering her body. She wasn’t sure that she would’ve been able to pull it off without the mask.
But the event itself surpassed anything Beth had ever seen before. And the Plaza! Was there ever a more beautiful room? Even Isabella was in awe. The ballroom was lit up with what appeared to be thousands of tiny lights. The tables glimmered and shone with fine china and colorful flowers that filled the air with fragrance. There was a full orchestra and champagne. Beth noticed that many of the costumes were realistic enough to be used in a blockbuster movie, and she was suddenly glad that she’d made that last minute adjustment to her costume. It truly had elevated it to the level that the occasion deserved. Not only was she suitably attired for the event, but she had managed to go just enough over the top to inspire admiration in the other guests. She felt like Cinderella at the ball.
“Now comes the hard part,” said Isabella, who was all business as usual. “And there’s no time to waste.”
Beth dragged her gaze away from all the amazing sights to look at Isabella. All she could see behind the Guy Fawkes’ mask were Isabella’s eyes. It didn’t matter, because she could imagine Isabella’s determined expression by the tone of her voice.
“Okay,” said Beth, preparing herself for the night ahead. “Let’s go find Jeremy Nasterson.”
Chapter 51
Nadia was going out of her mind. It was almost time to start seating everyone for dinner and Nasterson still hadn’t shown up. Or she was pretty sure he hadn’t shown up. It was hard to tell who was who in the throng of costumed faces. In retrospect, a masquerade ball might not have been the wisest choice for carrying out an abduction. But then again, they, too, had the advantage of being concealed.
She looked around the room at the many Chewbaccas. Even she couldn’t tell which ones were Gordon and Clive, although she was pretty sure that they were still working admissions. She had set up a crew of Chewbaccas to welcome guests and direct them to their tables. If Nasterson had arrived, they certainly would have told her by now.
She glanced at Nasterson’s empty table, which she had intentionally set apart from the others in a prominent position near the stage. Nasterson would be pleased, but Nadia was thinking about more than just his pleasure when she placed him there. That table was near one of the more obscure exits that led to an extra set of restrooms behind the stage. Clive would be among the Chewbaccas serving Nasterson’s table. Moments after the featured entertainment began he would slip a strong diuretic in Nasterson’s drink. Within minutes, Nasterson would be looking for the nearest restroom which Clive, by this time, would have discreetly pointed out—and where Gordon would be waiting. Meanwhile, all the other guests and personnel were being directed away from that restroom with the claim that it was out of order. When Nasterson got up to go, Clive would be hot on his heels to ensure that no one else was around. In fact, it was Clive’s primary function to keep an eye on Nasterson at all times.
Guests were slow in finding their tables. Everyone was laughing and talking—and ‘oohing’ and ‘aahing’ over the many magnificent details. The minute a guest sat down, one of the Chewbacca’s appeared to fill their water glasses and take their drink orders.
The room was filling...but where was Nasterson?
Will leaned in closer. “You seem anxious,” he said. “Is anything wrong?”
“No!” replied Nadia a little too adamantly. She tried to smile. “I’ve just got pre-event jitters. I’ll be fine once the meal gets underway.”
“Everything’s done though, right?” said Will. “Why not have another drink to help you relax?”
“I still have one very important detail to attend to,” she said. “I have to say a few words after dinner. It’s just a brief speech—and I’ve arranged to have it put on a teleprompter, so all I’ll have to do is read it—but I was only allowing myself the one glass of champagne until after that.”
“Can I get you anything else?” he asked. “A soda?”
Just then Nadia saw him. It had to be him. It was a tall man with white hair, wearing a Phantom of the Opera mask. Only instead of wearing the mask on the right side of his face, as the true Phantom does, this guest had a mask created especially for the left side—no doubt to hide his own disfiguring condition. On his arm was a beautiful, young brunette dressed in the stunning white wedding gown of the opera singer, Christine. Her dark curls cascaded down her back. The sight of them left Nadia a little breathless.
Nadia realized that Will was waiting for her to answer. “N…no,” she said, getting up. “You go ahead and have another drink. I have to check on something.”
She made her way through the crowded room as casually as she could. The closer she got, the more certain she was that it was him. She recognized the sly smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Brilliant!” she exclaimed when she reached him. The costume did suit him.
He bowed respectfully. “And one might say that you stand out like a beacon in this crowded room,” he said.
“What a clever choice of words,” Nadia gushed. Nasterson seemed in rare form this evening. She hoped that meant that he was letting down his guard. Glancing at his date, she paused a moment to allow him the opportunity to introduce them. He didn’t.
“May I have the pleasure of showing you to your table?” she asked.
“You have outdone yourself this evening,” said Nasterson, taking Nadia’s arm while his date followed behind them. “Everything is magnificent. And I see you’ve given me the seat of honor.” He seemed genuinely moved as his eyes rested on Nadia’s face. “I am truly humbled,” he said.
“As am I,” she replied with a little sigh. “To be in the presence of such distinction…it is a very special night!”
“Indeed it is,” he replied.
One of the Chewbacca’s met them at the table. “Can I get you a glass of champagne Mr. Nasterson?” he asked. It was Clive.
“This is a very special guest,” said Nadia. “Please see that he and his lovely date want for nothing all evening.”
“I certainly will, Ms. Adeire,” said Clive in a surprisingly deferential tone. Nadia’s lips twitched. She wondered how much it cost him to address her thus. She directed her smile at Nasterson.
“Enjoy your evening,” she said.
She felt a twinge of uncertainty as she walked away. Who would imagine that a man as charming as Jeremy Nasterson could be plotting to kill millions of people by setting off a fault in Japan? But according to Poseidon, that’s exactly what he intended to do.
But Nadia suddenly recalled something Will said, back when they were discussing Armageddon with Ornias. He had said that not everything the djinn told them was necessarily a fact. While a captured djinn was compelled to speak the truth, much of what they said reflected their opinions, which were tainted by their prejudices and experiences, just like those of humans.
When Poseidon insisted that Wessler’s ten would never stop until they had set off that fault in Japan, was he stating a fact or an opinion? Really, how could he possibly know a thing like that? He would have to be a mind reader.
What if Wessler’s ten had abandoned their plan after Wessler’s death?
So as not to draw attention to her conversation with Nasterson, Nadia paused, occasionally, to speak to other guests on her way back to the table, to inquire if everything was all right. Of course, it was. Everything was perfect. The night was going exactly as she’d planned. She accepted the accolades from her distinguished guests without feeling a shred of satisfaction.
Was she doing the right thing?
With the encouragement of the Chewbaccas, people were finally finding their way
to their tables and sitting down. Nadia did the same.
“You look so beautiful out there, flitting from table to table like a butterfly,” Will murmured in her ear.
Nadia’s eyes met his and held. She was having second thoughts.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
She shook her head and looked away. “Nothing. Nerves.”
His hand reached for hers. “Let me help you,” he said. Nadia froze. It was a just whisper—so soft she wasn’t even sure that she heard him right. It seemed a strange thing to say. She looked at him again. His expression was one of concern. He smiled and squeezed her hand.
Soup was being served. It was a lobster bisque that would tempt even those guests with an allergy to shellfish, but Nadia’s stomach lurched at the sight of it. She glanced at the conductor, and saw that he was alert and watchful. She knew that he was waiting for precisely the right moment, when the Chewbaccas had served all the tables and discreetly moved back against the wall, and the lights dimmed the slightest bit. Still, even knowing what was coming, it was like a jolt to Nadia’s system—and everyone else’s’ as well, if the gasps of delight were any indication—when the orchestra burst into the first stanza of The Arrival of the Queen of Sheba, accompanied by twenty dancers that flew into the room from the various doorways and flitted and twirled their way around the tables toward the stage.
In planning that evening’s entertainment, this had seemed a fitting kick off to the festivities. It was one of Nadia’s favorite pieces, but it was also a tribute to the opera called Solomon, which honored the biblical king that had been little more than legend to Nadia until a few months ago. Now, he was one of the many personas that her father had taken on. The music, the dancers, the lights and the heady aroma from the flowers were all working together to make Nadia feel a little lightheaded.
Later, they would lift their glasses in a toast to California. This was when Nasterson would get his diuretic. The room would grow dark as all eyes turned toward the brightly lit stage. No one would want to miss the main event. But Nasterson would have no choice but to get up from his seat and move quietly toward the restroom, where Gordon would be waiting for him—with Poseidon. One man would go in and Poseidon would come out. The new Nasterson would make his way to the back entrance of the Plaza and leave the building. That entrance led out to the dumpsters. In the third dumpster from the right, Poseidon would find a briefcase. From there, he would call the driver of his limousine to take him to his private jet, which would fly him directly to T.D.M.R.’s landing strip in Fort Greely. As Nasterson, he would have no trouble getting into the building. He would enter through building D, where the computer room was. Even if another djinn spotted him at this point, it would not have the opportunity to warn anyone. The minute he was inside, he would pull one of the emergency fire drills to clear out the building. Once the building was clear, he would open the briefcase and activate the bomb. Once Nasterson’s body was killed, Poseidon would return to the ring.
Halfway through The Arrival of the Queen of Sheba, Nadia was interrupted by one of the Chewbaccas.
“Excuse me, Ms. Adeire,” he said. “But you’re needed in the kitchen.”
This was the code phrase she had set up with Gordon and Clive if they wished to speak with her.
Nadia glanced at Will. “What is it?” she asked, trying to appear irritated. “I wasn’t supposed to be interrupted.”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Adeire,” he said. “They said it was urgent.”
Nadia turned to Will apologetically.
“You’d better go,” he said.
Nadia followed the waiter out of the ballroom. “I’ll handle it from here,” she said once they were in the hallway.
She went into the kitchen and was approached by another Chewbacca.
“We might have a problem.” It was Gordon, and he was speaking with the Indian accent again.
Nadia held her breath and waited. “What is it?” she snapped when he didn’t automatically continue.
“There’s a woman by the name of Elizabeth Timmons on the guest list,” he told her.
Nadia thought about this for a moment and then shook her head. Was the name supposed to mean something to her?
“Wayne Timmons,” Gordon added meaningfully, dropping the accent.
Nadia suddenly remembered the security guard who had been involved in the first conspiracy to destroy T.D.M.R.. He was the djinn that Poseidon had warned to get away quick. But he had not gotten away. He had died of a ‘stroke.’ There were only a handful of people who knew what really killed him.
“Could it be a coincidence?” she asked. “Timmons sounds like a pretty common name.”
“Maybe,” said Gordon. “We’re gonna check it out when we get a minute…see if he had a sister, or a wife. But there’s one other thing.”
“What?”
“Her date,” he said. “It’s a woman. Isabella something. Name means nothing. But follow me out.”
He led Nadia back out to the ballroom. “Table fourteen. Shaved head.”
Beth recognized the woman he was pointing out. She’d noticed her costume earlier. “The V for Vendetta couple?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Gordon. “Interesting choice of costumes, wouldn’t you say?”
Nadia moved her gaze from the striking woman with the shaved head to her partner and gasped. That hair! And the petite frame. “Oh my God!” she said.
“Do you think that could be Lilith?” asked Gordon. “I remember you said she was about five-three and she had dark, wavy hair.”
“It could be her,” she said noncommittally. But inwardly she was certain of it. Her heart was suddenly pounding in her chest. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. This was no time for a panic attack!
“Are you all right?” asked Gordon.
Nadia didn’t answer. If that woman was Lilith, then where was her father? Had the ring failed after all?
“What’s she doing here?” she asked. “Should we talk to her?”
“No,” said Gordon. “For now we’re just keeping an eye on her.”
“But what if she’s planning something?” asked Nadia. “She could be intending to blow us all up!”
“Everyone had to go through a metal detector,” Gordon reminded her. “There are no bombs in this building.”
Nadia didn’t say anything. She felt like she was going to be sick. She closed her eyes again.
“If it is her, it means she saved her body after the Georgia incident,” said Gordon. “That means she’s comfortable. She’s not going to do anything that stupid. Anyway, it’s probably not her. You know what a longshot that would be, her turning up here?”
The nausea passed and Nadia opened her eyes. She felt mildly better. “Okay, I’m alright.”
“Let’s just keep with the plan,” said Gordon firmly. “How’s Will doing?”
“He seems fine,” she said. “I better get back there before he gets suspicious.”
Chapter 52
Beth fought her urge to glance at Nasterson again. Isabella had the advantage with her mask. And she had selected a seat that put Jeremy Nasterson right in her line of vision.
They had discovered his identity by loitering about the entryway and listening to the names of the guests as they entered the ballroom. It was clever of Nasterson to have chosen the Phantom of the Opera costume. The mask covered just the upper half of the left side of his face.
The evening was magical. It was hard not to become distracted by the food and entertainment—not to mention the other guests. The orchestra was playing music from famous plays and movies throughout the long dinner—which was really more of a feast—while dancers accompanied them, on and off the stage. Everything was perfectly timed—the music, the entries, the dancing—it all seemed to be choreographed with the precision of a machine. The central theme, of course, was Hollywood, and the orchestra meandered joyfully through such soundtracks as Titanic, James Bond and Citizen Kane. Even the most famous guests were imp
ressed.
“Asmund’s daughter must be quite a remarkable young woman to have put all this together,” whispered Beth.
“But of course,” replied Isabella. Beth noticed that her eyes never strayed from the table of Jeremy Nasterson. “Any child raised by Asmund would have to be remarkable.”
Beth smiled. Isabella was hard to figure out. She was not what Beth would call ‘sweet,’ but she was certainly not the cold blooded killer that Beth had initially thought her to be either. It was clear that she loved Asmund.
“Do you know her?” persisted Beth.
“I’ve only spoken to her twice,” replied Isabella. “And both times were very brief.”
Dinner was winding down. The Chewbaccas were clearing away the last of the dishes. The orchestra stopped playing and the room burst into loud applause. The conductor bowed and a thick, red curtain fell to the floor. The curtain hid the orchestra while still leaving plenty of the stage in view. The lights dimmed.
The young woman they had just been speaking about—Asmund’s daughter—stepped onto the stage. Her costume was that of a sixteenth or seventeenth century queen—Marie Antoinette was Beth’s best guess. The woman was greeted by another thunderous round of applause. She waited composedly for the applause to stop.
“Good evening,” she began in a cultured voice. “I would like to thank everyone in this room for their very generous contributions to this event. And I would like to thank all of you at home, who have tuned in to share it with us.
“It is difficult to know the right words or acts when disaster strikes. How can we express our sorrow? How can we best help? What is appropriate and what is not?
“A dear friend recently said to me, ‘life goes on.’ As harsh as this statement seemed at the time, it’s true. Life does go on, with or without us. The most we can do is to try and make it a little better for those who remain. For those of you who have suffered the greatest loss of all, please accept our sympathy, our love and whatever gifts we have to bring. Let us share the burden of your loss. Let us offer comfort and support. Let us help your life go on.