The Windchime Legacy

by A. W. Mykel

  Justin followed the old man in.

  The house was still furnished exactly as it had been when he and Ted had searched it after the killing.

  “This is a lovely house,” Justin said. “Does the furniture come with it?”

  The old man nodded. “As ya see it.”

  They approached the study.

  “That in there is where he died,” the old man said as they walked in. “In that closet over there,” he said, pointing to the bathroom.

  The splintered door had been replaced.

  He walked over and looked in. It was clean. All the pock marks had been repaired, and the toilet had been replaced.

  “You mean somebody killed him in the bathroom?” Justin asked.

  “Blew his dinkin’ head off, they did. Never been solved, either,” the old man said.

  “Jesus,” Justin said, shaking his head. A chill passed through him as he thought about the stalker again.

  Justin walked to the center of the study. “That’s a lovely desk.” He walked to it and sat in the chair. He swiveled in the chair as he ran his hands across the dustless top of the handsome desk. It was exactly as he and Ted left it.

  He looked up at the wall library and immediately noticed something out of place. There were books missing. Maybe a hundred of them. His eyes played across the stack, as his stomach filled with a nervous flutter.

  “Where are the rest of the…” He caught himself. “I mean… eh…those books.” He got up and walked to the stacks. “Some of these sets look like they have volumes missing,” he recovered quickly, pointing to an obviously incomplete collection.

  “That would be the brother,” the old man said.

  “Brother?”

  “The man’s brother. He come here from America about a month after it happened. Come in here and said to sell it like it was. Except for some books what he took with ’im,” the old man said.

  “How many books?” Justin asked too fast.

  “Fifty, maybe twice that. That’s all he took. Just the books.”

  The books. It had been there all the time. But how could they have missed it? he wondered.

  Wait a minute! He walked back to the desk and opened the drawer that had contained the old broken lamp. It was still there.

  He took out the dusty old lamp and turned it over to look at the bulb. There it was. They had missed it. It was an ultraviolet bulb. They had seen it, but missed it.

  Ultraviolet-sensitive ink could have been used. Invisible to the eyes, it would illuminate brightly when under the UV. It was too simple.

  He sat in the chair, the old man watching him perform these strange actions.

  Justin looked across the desk. His eyes swept past the old fluorescent lamp, the humidor, the acrylic-and-penny paperweight—the humidor. His eyes shot back to it.

  He reached up and touched the familiar coat of arms on its top. He opened the box and stuck his hand in. His hand found one of the cigars. He pulled it out and brought it close for inspection. He took the cigar ring from his wallet—and felt his stomach sink.

  The cigar ring was the same as the one taken from the cigar that Fanning had given him—before they had come to England.

  His mind raced back to the night they had tried for Ten Braak, to the “Runt,” the shotgun. A shotgun had killed Spartan.

  Justin’s face was white and wet from perspiration. It couldn’t be. Nothing like this had even crossed his mind.

  “Nothing is what it seems to be…nothing is real,” Ted had told him once. “Never make friends in this business. It makes your job and staying alive a lot easier.”

  Nothing is real. Don’t make friends in this business. “Because you might have to kill one of them someday,” Justin said, thinking to himself.

  “What was that ya said? I didn’t hear it,” the old man said.

  “Oh, nothing. Tell me, where can I reach this agent?”

  THIRTY-FIVE

  In the midst of our joy, deep sadness came. Constantine was murdered in South Africa, despite our efforts to protect him.

  The South African steering center was closed. There was no need to maintain it any longer.

  Entry No. 76 from the partially

  recovered Wolf Journal

  “Do we go for the books now?” Elizabeth Ryerson asked a pensive Honeycut.

  “No,” Honeycut graveled back. “We can’t. Spartan’s brother has had those books too long. It would be unrealistic to think that the journal hasn’t been transcribed. Even if we got all of the books, we’d still have that transcribed copy to worry about. And you can bet that it’ll be well hidden.

  “No, I think our best chance will rest with Pilgrim. He’ll go after it. He’ll go to the brother, and, if he’s convincing enough, he may even get the copy for us. Then we can take care of all the loose ends at once.”

  “Do you really think that a significant danger exists from a hidden copy? Even if somebody did find it, who could understand its real meaning without the specific background information?” Elizabeth asked.

  “We don’t know what the rest of that journal contains,” Honeycut said. “It may tell enough to cause a lot of trouble, if it fell into the wrong hands.” SENTINEL’s analysis had yielded fifty-five percent of the journal from the ashes.

  “We could handle it,” Elizabeth said. “Nothing could stop us now. Nothing in this whole world.”

  “Don’t be so sure,” Honeycut said. “Bridges almost threw a monkey wrench into the works. Do you know what could have happened if the Soviets had gotten those schematics and built their own version of SENTINEL?”

  It didn’t have to be said, they both knew.

  “Besides, it’s not a matter of anybody being able to stop us,” Honeycut began again. “We’ve come so far. We’re so close to the final realization of the dream. We can’t jeopardize the program now and risk a reversion to the old way, a way that we know doesn’t work.”

  “But I don’t trust Pilgrim,” Elizabeth objected. “He’s a dangerous man. There’s no telling what he could do, once armed with that information. He’s bound to make the same connections that Spartan did. And we shouldn’t underestimate his abilities.”

  “We’ve got nothing to fear from Pilgrim. We’ll know every move he makes. Rainmaker and Gemini are staying close. And as a last resort we can always detonate his implant. But for now he’s useful. We’ll keep him well under our control,” Honeycut said.

  “I think it’s a mistake,” Elizabeth insisted. “I’m afraid of that man. Put him naked in a cage with lions, and I wouldn’t bet on the lions,” she said.

  Honeycut laughed. He liked and admired Justin very much. He had hoped that his prediction of Justin’s going after the journal would prove to be wrong. He didn’t want to lose an agent of his capabilities.

  But Justin’s actions left little doubt that he intended to learn more about the journal. Honeycut knew that Justin’s curiosity and persistence would eventually lead him to it. And he was counting on that.

  “We’ll give him plenty of latitude. Let him find it for us. Then we’ll settle it,” Honeycut said.

  He got up from the chair and walked toward the door of the Alpha situation room. He stopped short of the door and turned to face Elizabeth. For a few moments he looked around the room. Then he spoke. “I want arrangements made to close down Alpha.”

  “Close down Alpha?” Elizabeth asked in weak disbelief.

  “Have SENTINEL review all personnel records and decide who to take and who to leave behind. I want all operations being conducted here to be transferred to Sigma within the next thirty days. Those people being left behind are to be moved upstairs into the Aztek operation. See that they all get substantial pay increases to keep them happy.

  “Once we’ve closed down Alpha, I want it sealed permanently. Arm all automatic intruder control systems. I want it as tight as a drum.”

  Elizabeth was in shock. She would have never expected Alpha to be closed, but she could understand Honeycut’s reasonin
g. The Bridges affair had jeopardized the security of the entire complex. Once sealed and closed down, there would be no potential danger from Soviet attempts to develop another contact for another try at the goods.

  The Impala pulled off at exit eight of the New Jersey Turnpike and headed into Hightstown.

  Spartan’s brother was a physician living in East Windsor, New Jersey, just outside of Hightstown. With the whole world for it to be hidden in, the journal had been only about an hour’s drive away. Dr. Jack Priest was associated with a medical group with an office in Princeton. Justin aimed the car for Princeton.

  On the drive over he began planning his approach. It wouldn’t be easy, depending on how much Priest might know. He decided that a very direct approach would be best.

  There was no doubt that he was entering onto dangerous ground. But all the things that had bothered him were now starting to come together. The journal was the key. And he had to have the answers after his discoveries in England.

  Justin pulled the car into the parking lot of the office and checked out the cars. There were two with MD tags. SENTINEL could have told him in a second whether either of the cars was registered to Priest. But, right at this time, Justin didn’t want anybody to know what he was up to.

  Justin parked the car and went into the office.

  A stern-looking woman with close-cut, graying hair sat by the sliding-glass window of the reception area.

  “Doctor’s office,” she said, picking up the buzzing phone as Justin approached.

  “No, I’m sorry, but Dr. Roth will be out of the office for the day. Yes, he’ll be back tomorrow.”

  Justin looked down at the appointment book. Priest was in. The book looked well filled. Several early names were crossed out. There was a little morning time available. He’d try for it.

  “Wait a second and I’ll check,” the woman said into the phone, turning the page that Justin was trying to read.

  “No, nothing in the morning,” she said. “I have an opening at one thirty and another at three. Three? Okay, I’ll just put your name in here,” she said, scribbling it out.

  “That has it, then. We’ll see you tomorrow. Good-bye,” she said, and put the phone down. She turned the page back to the day’s appointments, and Justin’s eyes were on it immediately, trying to read the abominable handwriting.

  “Yes, can I help you?” she asked.

  She reminded him of a teacher he had once had in grammar school. He felt like a schoolboy who had come to school without his homework completed and was now being asked for it.

  “Eh…yes. I’m afraid I don’t have an appointment. I was wondering whether Dr. Priest could see me this morning,” he said.

  She wrinkled her face disapprovingly. “I’m sorry, but appointments are required.”

  The personal angle. Use it.

  “I was a close friend of Dr. Priest’s brother. My reason for wanting to see him is personal and not related to any medical problem,” Justin explained. “I’ll only need a few minutes of his time,” he added.

  “I’m sorry, but appointments are required,” she repeated.

  “Could you just tell the doctor?”

  “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to—”

  “Will you just ask the doctor, please, if he’ll have a few minutes to see a friend of his brother?” Justin said in a firm but low voice. “My name is Justin Chaple.”

  She let out a huff and rose from her chair. “I’ll ask. Please be seated,” she said.

  He could hear her muttering under her breath as she disappeared from the reception office.

  A moment later she returned. “The doctor will see you in a few minutes,” she announced.

  Justin breathed an inaudible sigh of relief. “Thank you. I really appreciate it,” he said.

  “You’re welcome,” she returned. “The doctor will be with you shortly.”

  “Thank you,” Justin said, and went to take a seat in the waiting room.

  About ten minutes later a very pretty face poked around the corner.

  “Mr. Chaple?” the nurse called.

  Justin rose and walked toward her.

  “Follow me, please,” she said.

  Good ass, Justin thought. He’d follow her anywhere. She led him to a comfortable lounge area that looked like a converted kitchen. She pointed to the coffee on the stove. “Help yourself, if you’d like. The doctor will be right with you.”

  “Thank you,” he said with a smile, and walked in.

  Justin walked around the small room, looking at the various plaques and charts. A few moments later he heard voices outside in the hallway.

  Dr. Priest continued talking to someone in the hallway and laughed. Then he came into the room.

  He was a tall, thin man, with longish, neatly styled hair. He was in his late thirties, Justin guessed.

  “Yes?” Priest said with question in his eyes, a smile on his face.

  “Dr. Priest, I was a friend of Billy’s,” Justin lied. In a way it was true.

  Priest continued to look into Justin’s eyes, waiting.

  “I know why he was killed, Dr. Priest. And I’ve come to help you. I’m here for the journal.”

  Priest’s face tensed. “Journal? I’m sorry but I don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Chaple,” Priest said and turned toward the door.

  “I wouldn’t walk out of here just yet, Dr. Priest. Not until you’ve heard what I’ve come to say.”

  Priest stopped, his back toward Justin.

  “They killed Billy for that journal. And they’ll kill you for it. I know that it was in the books you brought back from England. And, if I know it, there’s a strong possibility that they know it, too.”

  Priest turned, shaken and white.

  “I don’t know anything about a—”

  “They won’t stop with just you, Dr. Priest. It’ll be your whole family, your wife and children. Even close friends that they think might know about it. They won’t take any chances,” Justin warned him. “They’ll kill everyone with the remotest possibility of knowing about it. Everyone.” Fear would work, Justin sensed it.

  Priest was sweating now.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Chaple. I still don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ll have to excuse me, I…I have patients to see.” He turned and walked out of the room.

  He handed a folder to the pretty nurse in the hallway. “File this, would you, Peg?” Then he disappeared through another door.

  Justin walked out of the office.

  About thirty minutes later, Priest left the office in a great hurry. He pulled out of the parking lot and headed for Hightstown.

  The Impala pulled out a safe distance behind and followed.

  Twenty minutes later Priest pulled into the long driveway of his luxurious house. He got out of his car, as the Impala pulled into the driveway behind him.

  Priest stood in the driveway and watched, as Justin got out of his car and walked toward him.

  The two men stared at one another.

  “You do persist, don’t you, Mr. Chaple?”

  Justin nodded slowly.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Chaple, I wish I could help you, but there is no journal—”

  “They’ll come for it, Dr. Priest,” Justin interrupted.

  “And just who are they?” Priest asked.

  Justin remained silent for a moment. Then he gambled on something he remembered from the twenty-fifth page that he had recovered at Bridges’s apartment.

  “Operation Raptor, Dr. Priest. Does it mean anything to you?”

  The facial reaction of Priest told him that he had struck a nerve.

  Priest frowned and looked down at the ground. “Let’s walk,” he said.

  The two men walked to the side of the huge house and to the backyard. They stepped onto a long, shady porch.

  Priest stopped and looked out across the low, rolling hills of turf farm behind his property. A high, narrow tower stood on a distant hill.

  “There’s a small
cemetery out there by that tower,” he said, pointing. “He’s buried up near it. He always liked it there. We used to walk out across the turf farm when he’d come over. We’d go through the cemetery and talk about things. I thought he’d have liked it that way.

  “I go up once a week to put flowers on the grave,” he said. “And to think about Billy. How much of a waste it was.”

  “It could be a waste, if nothing is done about that journal,” Justin said.

  “You keep going back to a journal that doesn’t exist,” Priest said.

  “It involves a matter of national security, Dr. Priest. I’m not at liberty to give you any of the details, other than that your brother and I shared the same line of work.

  “He knew what he had found and what was in store for him. He also knew the importance of that journal getting into the right hands.”

  “Then, if he was your friend, why didn’t he give it to you?” Priest asked, realizing that pretenses would no longer work.

  “I was on the other side of the world, Dr. Priest. If he knew how to contact me quickly, he would have. Do you think that he wanted to involve his own brother and his family in something that could kill them?

  “No, Dr. Priest. But he was out of time. He did the only desperate thing he could think of. He put it into those books using an ultraviolet-sensitive ink, in a code that he knew you’d understand.

  “But he also got off a message to me, that he knew I’d eventually get,” Justin lied. “He explained what he had done and what I was supposed to do. And now I’m here to help him the way he would have helped me.”

  Priest looked into Justin’s magnificent, lying eyes for a long time, reading them.

  “I can’t help Billy anymore,” Justin began, “but I can try to help you, and to get that information into the proper hands. I said they’d come, and they will—soon. And no one will be left alive when they go.

  “It’s important that you give me the books and the transcribed journal. I know you’ve transcribed it. Your only chance is to give it to me. Will you do that? For yourself, for Billy?” Justin asked.

  “I can’t answer that right now,” Priest said. “I haven’t even finished decoding it, yet. There are eighty-three books, each one containing a single entry. I’ve only finished sixty-four. It takes a long time—”