by D. N. Leo
She nodded. “Oh God, oh no, my phone . . .” Madeline pulled out her prepaid phone from her pocket. She had totally forgotten about it and had taken it through the scanner.
“Don’t worry, it happens all the time,” he said quickly and opened a small cabinet containing lots of cell phones. He picked one up, activated it, and gave it to Madeline. “Take this. It’s prepaid. You can throw it away when you no longer need it. You’ll have to reload your address book. You can log in online to change your username and password and put more credit in if you want to use it longer. At the moment, the password is your name. The credit is enough for normal usage for about a week if you call internationally, and a month for domestic calls.”
He was staring at her face again and she was doing her best to hold back her tears.
“Oh, for pity’s sake, can you tell me what’s going on? What is the bloody game? What exactly is your friend looking for?”
“Could you please take me home?” Madeline murmured weakly. She hated the sound of her voice at the moment. She just didn’t know what to do next. She needed time to think. There was nothing Ciaran could do to help. Right now, she needed her space.
Ciaran said something else to her, but she couldn’t register the information.
In front of her apartment, Ciaran kissed Madeline good night. “I guess I should say good morning. It’s two a.m.”
“Oh . . . I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kept you that long. Thanks for all your help.”
“This is my direct number. I’ll be in France for a couple of days, in and out of meetings. I’d appreciate it if you’d be discreet regarding to my whereabouts. But please call if you need anything.”
She looked at him. The magnificent Ciaran LeBlanc from the most mysterious— and possibly the richest—family on the planet was giving her his phone number just like any guy looking for a second date.
And she had used him this evening. She’d just given him a load of big fat lies. She wouldn’t even do that to a pseudo-acquaintance.
Tomorrow, she would be watching her friend die because she could not get the lousy names of some computer-game fanatics. Yet she was proud of herself for being a good journalist. This had to be fate’s biggest joke on her yet.
“Is there anything you want to tell me? Anything that I can help with?”
She couldn’t get a word past her lips. She seriously need her space right now, and she needed to crash.
“You’re tired. Get some sleep,” Ciaran said in response to Madeline’s silence.
Madeline nodded slightly. “Thanks. Bye, Ciaran.” As cliché as it sounded, that was all she could say.
Chapter 11
The next morning, as expected, Zen called. Madeline let the phone ring ten times before she picked up.
“What’s with the new phone number?” Zen asked.
“Dropped and broke the other one. Put the video on—I want to see Jo.”
Zen obliged, tilting the phone so that Madeline could see her friend. She was so pale and still drugged. But she knew that the second Jo was able to get free of her shackles, Zen wouldn’t stand a chance.
“I expect some good news, Maddie,” Zen threatened.
Madeline grabbed her cup of coffee, glancing at a painting on the wall of her apartment. After a sip of coffee, she spoke calmly into the phone.
“Samuel Kandinsky, that’s the name.”
Zen’s eyes widened.
Jo stared at Madeline. Even with all the physical restraints and the effects of the sedative, the half-conscious Jo knew that Madeline had lied. She looked at Madeline, questioning her with her eyes, but said nothing.
“Give me contact details so I can talk to him.”
“That wasn’t the deal, Zen. The name is all I’ve got. Getting that name out of the LeBlanc headquarters was hard enough. I have seen the guy, so I can draw him out as we agreed. But he didn’t exactly hand me his CV and contact details.”
“You were inside the LeBlanc headquarters?”
“Impressive, huh? I spoke to Ciaran LeBlanc myself. I’m sure Samuel is your dude. He’s probably off work by now. Do you want me to talk to him, or do you want to do it yourself?”
“No, no, I’ll do that myself.” Zen’s eyes sparked with anticipation.
“When will you let Jo go? You want to talk to the guy yourself, so as far as I’m concerned, my task is finished.”
“No, no, there’s a step two. We talked about this.”
Madeline clenched her teeth. “The last one?”
“Yes, and this one’s easy. There is an alchemist named John Dee. He died in the 1500s and is buried in Mortlake. You go there and get me an artifact that was buried with him. It’s only an hour or so outside of London. Piece of cake. The guy died a long time ago. Nobody will pay any attention to what you’re doing.”
Madeline stared at Zen for a long moment and raised an eyebrow. “Say that again?”
Zen exhaled to calm himself. “John Dee was . . .”
“I heard that part—you don’t have to repeat it. You really want me to dig up the grave of some dead alchemist?”
“Well, it’s not exactly tomb raider. All you need is a shovel.”
“Why don’t you do it yourself?”
“I could, but it wouldn’t be very efficient. I’ll have to get Jo to London to negotiate with White Knight. Then once he agrees, the artifact has to be available for him to work on. I can’t be in two places at the same time!”
“Alchemists are those who squeezed gold out of steel, right? If you’re after gold, wouldn’t it be easier just to rob banks or jewelry stores?”
“Just like most ordinary people, you’re very short-sighted, Maddie. Get me the artifact, then we’ll talk. I might even give you some gold dust if you cooperate!”
Madeline rolled her eye exaggeratedly so that Zen could see it. “Yeah, right. So what’s the ‘artifact’? And when will you need it?”
“You’ll know it when you see it. I don’t know exactly what it is. It had to have been something of great importance to John Dee. I’ll need it within twenty-four hours.”
“You’ve—”
“No, I’m not kidding. I’ll get the plane tickets now. We’ll be there in twenty-four hours. I need you to have the artifact ready and locate the White Knight for me.” He paused and stared at Madeline. “The timing here is very critical. If you mess me up, I’ll have no mercy for you and your little friend here.”
Madeline stared back at him sternly. “Jo can’t travel long distances without her meds. If you paid any attention at all and stopped drugging her, she’d tell you that she’s diabetic and is probably overdue for her doses right now.”
Zen scratched his head in frustration. Madeline could hear him cursing to himself. “All right, I’ll get her the meds she needs. Do you know where she gets them?”
“Ask her yourself. If I remember correctly, it’s somewhere in Midtown—between Park and Madison.”
Zen nodded and noted it down.
Madeline smiled. “I can dig up an old grave. I’m sure the dead people won’t mind. And I can get one ready for you, too—and bury you with pleasure.”
Zen grinned crookedly. “See you soon,” he said and hung up abruptly.
As soon as the screen went black, a tear trickled down Madeline’s face. She quickly brushed it away and found her hand shaking. She couldn’t afford to be shaky right now. She needed to focus.
She had flirted with fire.
Chapter 12
Madeline took a deep breath. She gazed at the phone for short moment and quickly sketched a plan in her head.
Then she dialed. At the other end, Stephen’s sleepy voice came across the line.
“You’re sleeping at this hour, Stephen?”
“Madeline? Where’ve you been? I stopped by your office, and Paul said you’re on vacation! You? Taking a vacation? Sounded almost as unlikely as breaking news of an alien invasion.”
“I’m in London.”
“Wow. You’r
e really on a vacation.”
“Listen, I need your help.”
“Sure.”
Madeline pulled hard at her ponytail as a form of self-punishment. “Really, Stephen? You don’t even need to know what I’m asking you to do?”
“No, really. Okay, yes, so tell me what you want me to do.”
“You know Zen, Jo’s boss, right?”
“Yes, I saw him once at Jo’s office. What about him?”
“This is going to sound weird, but it’s serious, so please bear with me. Zen kidnapped Jo because of some role-playing interactive game Jo developed. He wanted me to come to London to find the guy who played a character in Jo’s game. Zen beat Jo, and he’s threatened to rape her if I can’t find this guy.”
There was a long pause. “And you didn’t think calling the cops should be your first course of action?”
“How fast do you think the cops can pull their acts together in this case? Zen didn’t ask for money or anything that the cops can leverage on. He wanted me to get information about a computer geek. Getting information is what I do for a living, Stephen. He sent me Jo’s necklace and said if I make one wrong move, he’ll kill Jo.”
“And you didn’t even think of calling me? Not as a cop, but as a friend?”
Madeline had never heard Stephen raise his voice before. They had been friends for more than five years. He’d asked Madeline out once, and she hadn’t budged, so they’d settled on being friends. There were countless times Madeline had asked herself why she’d rejected Stephen and couldn’t find a good answer.
“Stephen, I’m telling you now.”
“I’ll have him in jail within an hour.”
“Be careful, Stephen. He came close to raping Jo yesterday. He’s going crazy. He’d cut her throat if I said one wrong thing. I gave him what he wanted to hear. I told him I got the guy, and now Zen’s on his way to London.”
Another long pause from Stephen’s end. “You don’t sound like you’ve got the guy.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Right. . . Okay, I’ll find an excuse to detain him, legally or not. How does that sound?”
“Uhhhmm . . .”
“I’ll beat the shit out of him and get Jo back then. How does that sound?
“Be careful, Stephen. I don’t want you to get hurt.”
Stephen snorted.
“Zen would have made up an excuse to Jo’s family about her disappearance. She took off to write her games all the time. He wouldn’t be stupid enough to hide her at his place. I tricked him by saying that Jo needed diabetic meds. She was half unconscious, but I think she understood. If she can fool him, he’ll be at a drugstore in Manhattan for the medicine.”
Stephen said irritably, “I’m a cop, Madeline. I can track this guy down, all right? Plus, Zen’s record isn’t exactly spotless. I ran him once. But I can get Jo out, okay? Don’t you worry.”
Madeline felt a wave of relief. “I should have called you earlier.”
“You’re telling me now. That’s good enough.”
Madeline closed her eyes and still couldn’t figure out why she hadn’t given Stephen a chance before. Then she saw the blue dots hovering in the corner of her room. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she muttered.
“Huh?”
“No, not you. I’ve got to go now, Stephen. Would you call me back and let me know what happens?”
“I’ll call you when I’ve got Zen.”
Madeline hung up the phone.
She slowly approached the dots. They swiveled, did a little dance, and grew to the size of soccer balls. She had never seen them this close before—so close she could feel the vibration they emitted. She reached her hand out to touch them. The closer her hand came to them, the stronger the suction felt. It intensified until she felt nothing but an explosion of blue.
Chapter 13
Ciaran glanced around the boardroom at the twelve directors sitting at the long shiny table. While they were busy taking notes on what he just said, Ciaran scanned the agenda in front of him. He frowned at the last two items and looked up.
“It’s too premature to discuss the last two points on this agenda. That means the meeting today is concluded. Any questions?”
There was a murmuring in the room, brief discussions here and there, and then everyone seemed to be eager to move on with the day. Ciaran dismissed the meeting. As soon as the last person left, he turned on the video call. An image of a man in his sixties flashed on the screen.
“Doctor Thomas, how’s Mother?” Ciaran asked.
Doctor Thomas smiled. “Ciaran, your mother is fine. It was just a mild flu. She is as stubborn as you are. Didn’t want to take any medicine. . .”
Ciaran raised an eyebrow, and the corner of his mouth quirked waiting for Doctor Thomas to finish.
“. . . She loves her organic vegetable garden and refuses to eat anything that’s not from there. She’s never questioned how those vegetables survive in the Dublin weather. You’ve done a good job, Ciaran.”
Ciaran smiled. “Thanks for looking after my mother, Doctor Thomas. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Don’t exaggerate, Ciaran. You always know what to do. Are you well?”
“Yes. Why do you ask?”
Doctor Thomas sighed. “I was there when your mother introduced you to this world. You don’t think I’d know how you look when you’re well?”
Ciaran laughed. He liked Doctor Thomas’s gentle voice, especially when he tried to put on that authoritative tone. Most of the time, it didn’t work for Ciaran, but he loved to hear it anyway. Ciaran realized that he was squeezing the pen in his hand a bit too hard, and he put it down on a pile of papers. A long, long time ago, he would hear that same authoritative voice from his father, and it always worked on him.
Ciaran ignored his pounding migraine and smiled. “I’m fine. Really.”
Doctor Thomas nodded. “Fine. Go take the painkillers. I’m sure they’ll fix it. Would you like me to send your regards to your mother?”
Ciaran stared at the screen. Doctor Thomas sighed again. “I guess not. Goodbye for now, son.” He smiled and turned off the call.
Ciaran grabbed the desk phone, and when his assistant’s voice came across, he said, “Could you cancel my meeting this afternoon, please? I’ll get Lily in the London office to notify you with the reschedule.” He then grabbed his jacket and his coat, and headed out of the room.
Half an hour later, Ciaran stood in front of a dusty steel door. He stared at it for a long moment, then punched in a code.
The door whined and squeaked as it opened. The lab light automatically lit up, and the musty air greeted him. Ciaran threw this coat on a steel bench.
He entered a security code on a keypad beside a cabinet and opened it. Inside was a row of medicines in colorful jars. He took a small tube from the end of the row and placed it on the bench. He stared at the tube for a long moment as it glared back at him in challenge.
The migraine had come back in the last two weeks, and it was unbearable. It was pounding in his head right now.
A soothing female voice echoed in his head, “I made this for you. Why put up with the pain, Ciaran? Just take it.”
His vision blurred with the pain, his body swayed, and he braced his hands on the bench top to keep his balance.
“You don’t know how much pain I can endure. I deserve this,” he muttered to himself.
He grunted as the pain intensified. Beads of sweat began to trickle slowly down his forehead. The sharp pain pierced through his brain and before he knew it, he passed out on the cold dusty floor.
Chapter 14
Madeline scrambled up from the floor, the sensation of the blue suction still pounding in her head. “What the hell?” she muttered. Then she recalled the vision. “Okay, stupid blue dots,” she muttered, “Guide me if you’re any good.”
An hour later, she followed the blue dots into the British museum where a gold plate that had once used by John Dee to co
mmunicate to spirits stared at her from a display cabinet. Madeline shook her head and rolled her eyes. Based on her research, John Dee had been an astrologist and advisor to Queen Elizabeth I. In some capacity, he was an alchemist, but it didn’t seem as if alchemy was how he had gained fame.
She muttered to herself, “If you knew how to make gold, you wouldn’t have died poor.”
Her research suggested that John Dee had died in poverty. He couldn’t possibly have made—or had known how to make—gold.
The blue dots disappeared. “Right, just reappear whenever you feel like it.” Madeline cursed in frustration and noticed that the people standing next to her turned to look. She shrugged and scurried outside the museum.
She wasn’t out of the woods yet—not until Stephen let her know he had gotten Zen, and Jo was safe. Just in case Zen turned up, she had to come up with some artifact. She figured she’d better go digging now. She shook her head, not sure what to feel. Next, she had to do something about the fictional character Samuel, who played the fictional character White Knight in some fictional computer game Jo had created!
Madeline hired a car and headed out of London. Hearing the shovel rattling in the trunk of the car, she shook her head in disbelief about what she was about to do.
The blue dots were no longer directing her, so she was going to have to rely on technology. The portable GPS, called Tom, that she had requested with the car was blurting out the instructions in a monotone female voice. She had to remember to drive on the left-hand side of the road. After a couple of wrong turns, she started to scold the machine, “You’re female, why in world do they call you Tom? Is that why you don’t understand that I have to not only get from A to B in one piece but also have to drive on the opposite side of the road?”
The machine didn’t answer her.
While trying to dodge a black cab that was honking at her, Madeline heard the machine instruct, “In 200 yards, turn left.”
“So much for English manners,” Madeline muttered to herself, thinking of the black cab.