by Scott Bergin
"Songs by what group?" He asked.
"The Monkees, of course." Hector said, looking at Thomas as if he should have known.
"Can I ask you a question about the Monkees?" Thomas said.
"Shoot." Hector replied.
"Not a bad idea." Thomas mumbled, picking up the harpoon gun, but keeping it out of Hector's view."
"What was that?" Hector asked. "I couldn't hear over the ocean."
"Nothing." Thomas assured him. "Nothing at all."
"Then what was your question?" He asked.
"Who was the drummer for the Monkees?" Thomas asked.
"That's easy." Hector replied. "It was Davy Jones."
"Exactly." Thomas said, raising the harpoon gun into view.
"What are you going to do with that?" Hector asked, his voice starting to tremble.
"This." Thomas explained. "This is a one way ticket for you to visit his locker."
Thomas aimed to the right of Hector, and fired. Hector was relieved to see Thomas aim the gun off to the side before firing. He was certain that Thomas was pulling some kind of sick joke. Hector was stunned to see the harpoon flying straight at him. The harpoon struck Hector in the belly. It passed straight through him, due to the close range. The line pulled taut, and the harpoon fell onto the ship. Hector turned around, after hearing the clank. He thought that somehow the harpoon had missed him, and hit the ship instead. Hector followed the line with his eyes. He didn't scream until he saw that the rope passed right through his stomach, and out his back. Even when he did scream, it wasn't out of pain. Shock covered up all feeling in his abdomen. He screamed simply because he realized that he had been shot.
"What have you done to me?" Hector asked, turning to face Thomas.
"I shot you, you idiot." Thomas replied.
"I see that." Hector said, looking at his belly.
Thomas lifted the anchor, and set it on the side of the ship. He checked once again to make sure that he was not tangled in the rope. This time he was glad he checked. He had one foot caught in the rope. Leaving the anchor balanced on the side of the ship, Thomas gathered the bundle of coiled rope. He threw it half way to Hector, then picked up the anchor again. Thomas threw the anchor over the side of the boat.
"Good thinking." Hector said. "We'd better stop this boat until I get fixed up."
"What?" Thomas asked in disbelief.
"Shouldn't you shut off the engines if we are going to stop?" Hector asked.
Thomas couldn't believe Hector was asking such dumb questions. He had no response for Hector. Part of Thomas felt like laughing at him for being such a fool. The rest of him felt like pitying Hector for the same reason. In the end, all Thomas could do, was watch. He could not bring himself to say a word.
Hector watched as the rope quickly uncoiled, and headed over the side of the boat. A feeling of relief passed over him. He was glad that Thomas was going to stop the boat and help him. When he realized that Thomas was not making any effort to slow the boat, he started to get concerned. Hector didn't know what would happen to the ship if the anchor caught on something before they slowed down. Finally, horror swept over Hector. He realized that the rope in the coil was the same rope that passed through him. The coil ended, and the rope began to put back through Hector. The harpoon slapped him in the back of the legs, then tried to pass back through him. Somewhere inside, the harpoon could go no further. Hector was pulled forward, and off the side of the boat. Thomas waved to him as he flew off the deck. Hector managed to grab the side of the ship with one hand. It was enough to hold him until he could grab on with the other hand. At first, Thomas was disturbed with this development. Then he noticed what a small threat Hector posed, and he walked closer to where Hector was hanging on.
"That looks like a bad wound." Thomas remarked, seeing the harpoon sticking out of Hector's back as he bobbed up and down.
"Please help me." Hector begged.
"Okay." Thomas replied. "I'll give you some advice. Let go before the sharks taste that blood. It would be much more pleasant to drown before they eat you."
"No!" Hector shouted. "I mean, take my hand!"
"Now there I can accommodate you." Thomas replied. "I promise."
Thomas pulled out his knife, and stuck it deep into Hector's left wrist. The blade passed through flesh and bone, and stuck into the wood below. Thomas worked the knife back and forth. Blood sprayed down onto Hector's face as fast as the sea water could wash it off. Hector's screams were interrupted only when he choked on a mouthful of water, and blood.
"What are you doing?" He shouted.
"Keeping my promise!" Thomas replied, yanking Hector's hand free of his wrist.
Thomas held the severed hand in front of Hector's face. He didn't know what he hoped to accomplish. Hector was already in as much pain as he could be. Even if he could experience more pain, Thomas wouldn't be able to notice the difference. Realizing this, Thomas tossed the hand overboard. He was amazed that Hector could still have such a death grip on the side of the boat, considering all the pain he was going through. Thomas pulled his knife from the side of the ship. He swung the blade at Hector's right hand, and Hector fell beneath the ocean's surface. All except his fingers, which still remained on the side of the ship. One by one, Thomas knocked them into the water, while making a mockery of the 'This Little Piggy' rhyme.
When it was all over, Thomas regretted what he had done. He realized that he no longer had rope to tie the ship to the docks, upon returning to France. The closest things to rope he still had were Hector's shoe laces, and the small piece of rope that he had used to tie the wheel off with. Neither one was long enough, nor strong enough, to hold the ship to the docks. Thomas did not regret his decision to kill Hector. He had been planning that for days. With France only a day or two away, Thomas was certain that he would not need Hector anymore. Thomas hoped to stay awake most of the time, and he would simply tie the wheel off when he needed a cat nap. As far as Hector helping to solve the riddle of the page, he had done all that he could. Hector had gathered the information together in France. As far as helping to sort through the information, and make sense of the page, Thomas was certain that he would not require the assistance of an idiot like Hector Bishop.
Chapter 46
April 19
1:10 p.m.
Nice, France
The rented black Mercedes pulled to the curb at 15 La Rue Catherine. Alex parked the car, and looked around. There was no one in sight. It was a pleasant looking neighborhood, whose residents were obviously all still at work.
"Why are we stopping here?" Gabrielle asked.
"We don't want to look suspicious." Alex replied.
"Well, this makes us look more suspicious." She assured him.
"Just get out of the car." Alex said. "From here we walk."
Alex and Gabrielle got out of the car and locked it. They crossed the street, and began walking down it. The numbers on the houses started dropping. In no time at all, they reached number four. It was a bland looking one floor townhouse, not what they had been expecting.
"Now what?" Gabrielle asked.
"Now we casually go around back, and break in." Alex explained.
"And what if this is the wrong house?" She asked. "What if Thomas doesn't live here?"
"I know this is the address." Alex assured her.
"What if this is not his address?" Gabrielle asked. "What if it is just one of his contacts?"
"All right." Alex said. "We'll go to the door first."
"What if he's there?" She asked.
"I already told you. He could not beat us here." Alex replied.
The two went to the front door. They rang the bell twice, no answer. They knocked on the door, no answer. Satisfied that no one was home, they went around back and forced open a small window. Gabrielle crawled through first, then Alex. They found themselves in a large study. On the room's only desk was a computer. Next to that was a filing cabinet with four drawers. To the left of the filing cabinet wa
s a sliding glass door. Through the glass they could see a long hallway. On the wall adjacent to the sliding glass door was a small wooden door, open only a crack. Alex walked over and swung the door wide open. Beyond the door was a full bath.
"Come on." Alex whispered, noticing that Gabrielle was still back at the window.
Gabrielle reluctantly followed him through the open sliding glass door, and into the hallway. Immediately on their left was an archway into the kitchen. Further down they could see a doorway on either side, and the front door straight ahead. They cautiously walked down the corridor. Alex peered his head around the left doorway. It was a small bedroom. Gabrielle looked into the right doorway. It was the living room. The house was empty. Alex was glad he was right about Thomas not being able to beat them back to France. He was glad that Thomas had obviously told the truth about being afraid of flying.
"How do we know that this is the right house?" Gabrielle asked.
"In here." Alex replied.
Gabrielle followed Alex into the small bedroom. On an end table next to the head of the bed was a small picture. The photograph was at least ten years old, but it was clearly of Thomas with his family. Alex removed the picture from its frame and read the back. The words 'Sanchez Family Portrait' appeared on the back. The name Sanchez had been crossed out, and LaRue was written above them. Alex showed the back of the photo to Gabrielle.
"I guess this is the place." She replied. "Now what?"
"Now we take a better look at that study." Alex said, leading her back down the hallway.
"What do you make of that?" Gabrielle asked, stopping just shy of the sliding glass door.
"Make of what?" Alex asked, stepping back out of the study.
Gabrielle stood staring into the kitchen. At first, Alex didn't know what she was looking at. Then he spotted the clock above the counter. A clear clock hung on the wall, backwards. It's only hand spinning counterclockwise, faster than that of a second hand. All Alex could think of was what Maria had said to him on the plane, in his nightmare. He heard her voice again, as if she were standing in Gabrielle's place.
"You didn't see how it is all connected?" Maria said. "This is not over! We are not through! These spirals are not through! When you get to France, you'll understand. Nothing is over until you let it be."
Alex could see that she had been right about one thing. The spirals were not through, not after he spotted the clock. That had made him think back to the nightmare of the plane crash, and back to Thomas' ritual in the jungle. As for the rest of what she had told him, he passed it off as just a bad dream.
"I guess he was trying to turn back time." Alex finally replied, trying to make light of the situation.
"Let's go." Gabrielle said, leading the way through the sliding glass door, and into the study.
Gabrielle switched on the computer. After the initial start up completed, two words appeared on the screen: Enter Password.
"Looks like the computer will do us no good." Alex replied, seeing the words.
Gabrielle switched off the computer, and focused on the filing cabinet. She opened the top drawer. The first item in the filing cabinet was a newspaper. It was all in Italian, so she couldn't read a word of it.
"This is turning out to be worthless." She said, tossing the newspaper to Alex.
"Holy Shit!" Alex replied.
"You speak Italian?" Gabrielle asked.
"No." Alex said.
"Then what's the big deal?" She asked.
"This." Alex replied, handing the paper back to her with his finger on a picture.
"What is that?" Gabrielle asked.
"That is the book I saw in the museum in Cameroon." Alex said.
"Look down here." Gabrielle said, pointing to the text below the picture. "It says something about Leonardo Da Vinci. You don't think he could have written that book?"
"It looked old enough." Alex replied. "But why only steal one page, when the entire book is obviously extremely valuable?"
Before Alex even gave her a chance to answer his question, he was digging through his coat pockets for the answer. He grabbed the packet of pictures that he had gotten developed in the morning, which was the reason why they had not reached Thomas' house until the afternoon. Alex began to rifle through the photographs. Finally he found the picture he was looking for. It was the shot of Thomas holding up the page. Alex had regretted zooming in so much, because it left him with no proof that it was actually Thomas holding the page. If he had gotten one that showed Thomas in the museum, that would be all the proof he would need to show that Thomas was responsible for the bombing. Alex was left without any proof that it was Thomas, but what he was left with made up for that fact. The shot was clear enough to make the page legible.
To my friend, the Salamander:
Place this, my greatest gem where
the four are one. I fear that I will
not have that chance.
Leonardo Da Vinci
"What is that?" Gabrielle asked, noticing Alex was looking through some pictures.
"This is the shot I got of Thomas stealing the page." He replied.
"What do you think it means?" She asked.
"I think it means that the book was written by Leonardo Da Vinci." Alex said.
"I can see that." Gabrielle said. "What do you think that page means?"
"I think it's some kind of puzzle." Alex replied.
"If we can solve it, we can find out where Thomas was heading." Gabrielle said.
"Right." Alex said. "Hopefully, there is enough information in these files to help us."
"Well." She said. "What could be important enough to kill thousands of people over?"
"What are you talking about?" Alex asked.
Gabrielle searched through her belongings, until she found her own photographs. She quickly sorted through them, and showed Alex the ones of interest.
"These were taken at the dam that was destroyed in Cameroon." She explained. "The one that caused the gas cloud."
"So." Alex replied.
"So look at this." Gabrielle said, pointing out the small satellite dish under the tarp. "Don't you recognize that?"
"Yeah." Alex admitted. "Thomas had one just like that at the hotel in Benoué."
"Exactly." Gabrielle said. "What are the chances that it was just a coincidence?"
"There is no such thing as coincidence." Alex said, then remembered that was basically what his vision of Maria was telling him on the plane.
"And look at this one." Gabrielle said, showing him another picture.
The picture was the one she had taken when she trespassed into the museum after the bombing. The plaque was easily legible, and it read: 'The personal diary of L'.
"If there is no such thing as coincidence, then there can be only one explanation for what was on the rest of that plaque." Gabrielle said.
"You agree that it had to be the diary of Leonardo Da Vinci?" Alex asked.
"I think it's the only reasonable answer." Gabrielle replied.
"At least we're still in agreement." Alex said, still staring at the photographs.
"So, what is worth killing thousands of people over?" Gabrielle asked. "What gem?"
"Where did you get these photos?" Alex asked, ignoring her questions. "You couldn't have had time to make it to that dam, and still beat me back to Europe."
"No." Gabrielle replied. "You were gone for a while, but not that long."
"Then where did you get them?" Alex repeated.
"From Robert." She replied. "The guy with all the money, and the plane, who just happens to be Dana Barlow's husband."
"Everything really is connected." Alex mumbled, still thinking of Maria.
"Okay." Gabrielle said. "So how do we go about solving this riddle?"
"First we have to find out when this was written." Alex replied. "Then we can go about finding out who the Salamander was."
"And how do we find all that out?" She asked.
"Pick a drawer." Alex said, mot
ioning to the filing cabinet. "It doesn't matter which one. We will probably end up having to go through them all."
"But there are thousands of files here." Gabrielle complained. "This is going to take forever."
"Then we'd better get busy." Alex replied, opening the bottom drawer and removing the first file.
Chapter 47
April 19
7:08 p.m.
Paris, France
Dana Mason sat on the sofa drinking her red wine, though this time she did not bother with a glass. She drank it straight from the bottle. With Christine away at her friend's house, Dana could find no reason to hassle with being proper. Robert was always getting upset with her for behaving rash, and that just served to hasten her decision. She took another sip, and the bottle was half gone.
"Slut." Dana mumbled underneath her breath.
"What was that?" Robert demanded, coming in from the kitchen.
"I said why don't you go back to your slut?" Dana replied, taking in another swig of wine.
"At least she's not an alcoholic." Robert said.
"It's only one drink." Dana said. "It just happens to be a large one."
"You can't even admit that you've got a problem." He replied.
"Of course I have a problem." Dana said. "You're sleeping with that whore, that's my problem."
"Don't even try to tell me that I drove you to drink." Robert insisted.
"No." She replied. "Actually, I had the bottle delivered."
"That isn't what I meant." Robert said.
"I can't believe you're not even going to try denying it." Dana said.
"It's not worth the effort." Robert replied. "I know how you are once you've gotten these crazy ideas into your head."
"Is that your way of admitting guilt?" She asked, taking another sip from the bottle.
"Is that your way of dealing with a problem?" Robert asked. "Just suck on a bottle."
"What would you rather I suck on?" Dana asked. "I'm not one of your little sluts."
"Gabrielle is not one of my little sluts." Robert replied.
"Then you admit that you have little sluts." Dana said. "Who are they, if Gabrielle isn't one of them?"