Two men, lying on the floor at the far side of the bed.
“They thought me stupid,” Thorvaldsen said.
He did not particularly enjoy being caught in a trap. The mouse never did have much fun. “Is there a reason I’m here?”
Thorvaldsen lowered his weapon. “You’ve been away.”
“Personal business.”
“I spoke to Stephanie. She told me. I’m sorry, Cotton. That had to be hell.”
He appreciated his friend’s concern. “It’s over and done with.”
The Dane settled onto the bed and yanked back the covers, revealing only pillows beneath. “Unfortunately, that kind of thing is never done with.”
Malone motioned at the corpses. “Those the same two who attacked the bookshop?”
Thorvaldsen shook his head, and he spotted pain in Thorvaldsen’s tired eyes.
“It’s taken me two years, Cotton. But I finally found my son’s murderers.”
TEN
“NAPOLEON STRONGLY BELIEVED IN ORACLES AND PROPHECY,” Eliza told her flying companion. “That was the Corsican in him. His father once told him that fate and destiny were written in the sky. He was right.”
Mastroianni did not seem impressed.
But she was not to be deterred.
“Josephine, Napoleon’s first wife, was a Creole from Martinique, a place where voodoo and the magical arts flourished. Before leaving that island and sailing for France, she had her fortune told. She was assured that she would marry young, be unhappy, widowed, and would later become more than the queen of France.” She paused. “She married at 15, was extremely unhappy, became widowed, and later rose to be not queen, but empress of France.”
He shrugged. “More of the French way of looking backward to find answers.”
“Perhaps. But my mother lived her life by this oracle. I was like you once, a nonbeliever. But I now have a different opinion.”
She opened the thin book.
“There are thirty-two questions to choose from. Some are basic. Shall I live to old age? Shall the patient recover from illness? Have I any or many enemies? Shall I inherit property? But others are more specific. You spend a few moments formulating the question, and are even allowed to substitute a word or two in the query.” She slid the volume before him. “Choose one. Something that perhaps you may already know. Test its power.”
A shrug and a wink conveyed his amusement.
“What else do you have to do?” she asked.
He surrendered and examined the list of questions, finally pointing to one. “Here. Shall I have a son or daughter?”
She knew he’d remarried last year. Wife number three. Maybe twenty years younger. Moroccan, if she remembered correctly.
“I had no idea. Is she pregnant?”
“Let’s see what the oracle says.”
She caught the warning of suspicion in a quick twitch of his eyebrow.
She handed him a notepad. “Take the pencil and mark a row of vertical lines across the page of at least twelve. After twelve, stop where you please.”
He threw her a strange look.
“It’s how it works,” she said.
He did as she instructed.
“Now, mark four more rows of vertical lines, one line each, under the first. Don’t think about it, just do it.”
“At least twelve?”
She shook her head. “No. Any number you like.”
She watched as he marked the page.
“Now count all five rows. If the number is even, place two dots to the side. If it’s odd, one dot.”
He took a moment and made the calculation, ending up with a column of five rows of dots.
She examined the results. “Two odds, three evens. Random enough for you?”
He nodded his head.
She opened the book to a chart.
“You chose question 32.” She pointed to the bottom and a row marked 32. “Here, at the top of the page are the dot possibilities. In the column for your chosen combination, two odd, three even, for question 32, the answer is R.”
She thumbed through and stopped at a page with a capital R at the top.
“On the answer page are the same dot combinations. The oracle’s reply to the two odd, three even combination is the third one down.”
He accepted the book and read. A look of astonishment came to his face. “That’s quite remarkable.”
She’d allowed herself a smile.
“‘A son will be born who, if he receives not timely correction, may prove a source of trouble to thee.’ I am, indeed, having a son. In fact, we only learned that a few days ago. Some prenatal testing has revealed a developing problem that the doctors want to correct while the baby is in the womb. It’s risky to both mother and baby. We’ve told no one the situation, and are still debating the treatment.” His original dismay faded. “How is that possible?”
“Fate and destiny.”
“Might I try again?” he asked.
She shook her head. “The oracle warns that an inquirer may not ask two questions on the same day, or ask on the same subject within the same lunar month. Also, questions asked under the light of the moon are more likely to be accurate. It’s what, nearly midnight, as we head east toward the sun?”
“So there’s another day soon coming.”
She smiled.
“I must say, Eliza, that is impressive. There are thirty-two possible answers to my question. Yet I randomly chose the precise one that satisifed my inquiry.”
She slid the pad close and flipped to a clean page. “I haven’t consulted the oracle today. Let me try.”
She pointed to question 28.
Shall I be successful in my current undertaking?
“Does that refer to me?” His tone had clearly softened.
She nodded. “I came to New York specifically to see you.” She leveled her gaze. “You will make an excellent addition to our team. I choose carefully, and I chose you.”
?
?You are a ruthless woman. More than that, you’re a ruthless woman with a plan.”
She shrugged. “The world is a complicated place. Oil prices go up and down with no reason or predictability. Either inflation or recession runs rampant across the globe. Governments are helpless. They either print more money, which causes more inflation, or regulate the situation into another recession. Stability seems a thing of the past. I have a way to deal with all those problems.”
“Will it work?”
“I believe so.”
His swarthy face seemed as strong as an iron, his eager eyes finally conveying decisiveness. This entrepreneur, affected by the same dilemmas that she and the others faced, understood. The world was indeed changing. Something had to be done. And she might have the solution.
“There is a price of admission,” she said. “Twenty million euros.”
He shrugged. “Not a problem. But surely you have other revenue sources?”
She nodded. “Billions. Untraced and untouched.”
He pointed to the oracle. “Go ahead, make your marks and let’s learn the answer to your question.”
She gripped the pencil and slashed five rows of vertical lines, then counted each row. All even numbers. She consulted the chart and saw that the answer was Q. She turned to the appropriate page and found the message that corresponded.
She resisted the urge to smile, seeing that his passions were now thoroughly aroused. “Would you like me to read it to you?”
He nodded.
“‘Examine strictly the disposition of thy intended partner and, if it is in accord with thine own, fear not but happiness will attend you both.’”
“Seems the oracle knows what I’m to do,” he said.
She sat silent and allowed the drone of jet engines to sweep through the cabin. This skeptical Italian had just learned what she’d known for all of her adult life—what her Corsican mother and grandmother had taught her—that the direct transmission of provenance was the most empowering form of knowledge.
Mastroianni extended his hand.
They shook, his grip light and sweaty.