Island of Time, page 10
‘Simeon, one thing can’t wait.’ He stepped in closer. ‘Bernard Bouchon.’
‘Yes?’
‘We need to know more about him in this new situation. Where he is, what he’s doing … Most important of all, is he a threat to our investigation?’
Simeon lost all traces of his former good humor. ‘I should have thought of this.’
‘If I go through Interpol, it has to be in the form of an official inquiry. Having Interpol check on a Talent is like poking the angry bear.’
‘No, no, that is unacceptable.’
‘Can you be discreet?’
‘I am Swiss. I am a master of discretion.’ Simeon pondered, then said, ‘Our tax authorities are notoriously thorough. They are, after all, Swiss.’
‘But magic is outlawed. If Bernard is now a Talent—’
‘Where he lives and works does not matter to the taxman. He is still Swiss, unless, of course, he has renounced his citizenship. In either case, they will have a record. And if he has failed to declare his income from these magical pursuits, my allies in the tax division will make his present existence a misery.’
‘A current photograph would help. And one more thing. Can you check through the records for the house on Rue Gambord?’
‘That is a much simpler task.’
‘Who commissioned it, who built it? Who owned the property before? What structure was there? I assume they tore down something and built that house in its place.’
‘Most certainly.’ Simeon started away. ‘I should have something for you tomorrow. Two days at the most.’
They made the return journey to Rue Gambon in nineteen minutes. The garage door was open, so Jackson pulled inside, then walked back out to thank his guides. The officers responded in easy cheerfulness. They clearly had accepted Jackson into their ranks, at least temporarily. It was a rare and unexpected reception from the clannish Swiss force. Jackson remained standing in the forecourt as they drove away, the only fitting gesture he could come up with.
When he and Krys opened the door connecting them to the kitchen, they entered a house transformed.
Gone was the hollow emptiness that made even the newest of homes a challenge. In its place was an ornate elegance.
Luca entered the kitchen through the portal leading to the dining alcove. ‘Did you succeed in identifying an artifact you can use?’
‘Several, thanks to Krys.’ Jackson sketched a look through the framed doorway into the living area. ‘You did this?’
‘I told you, Jackson. You are now a man of means.’
‘Give me a second.’ He made a slow sweep of the ground floor. Krys walked beside him. He waited for her to make some comment about Luca’s actions, but she seemed as stunned as he felt.
The furnishings were definitely not to his taste. The decor was mostly French Empire. The furniture’s spindly legs were adorned with ornate carvings and gold leaf. The sideboards and coffee tables were finished in ormolu, as were the dining table and cabinetry. The carpet in the marble-tiled front foyer appeared to be vintage Persian. He was fairly certain the oils on the walls were original. He saw Krys gaping at the parlor’s new crystal chandelier and said, ‘Luca mentioned he was rich.’
‘This goes way beyond wealth,’ Krys said. ‘He did all this in a day.’
Jackson was saved from needing to come up with a reply by the ringing of his phone. He checked the read-out and said, ‘It’s the chief.’
When he made the connection, Zoe Meyer asked, ‘Where are you?’
‘Rue Gambon. Luca has arranged for me to live—’
‘I know all that. Is this phone secure?’
‘Definitely not.’
‘You need to arrange for a new one. Home also. And daily sweeps.’
‘Understood.’
‘I’ve just heard from the Geneva chief of police. He seems to be quite satisfied with today’s events. He actually thanked me for the role you played. I thought you were just going to collect a few artifacts.’
‘Things got complicated,’ Jackson replied. ‘Maybe we should wait and discuss this in person.’
‘The office is now off-limits,’ Meyer ordered. ‘My home. One hour.’
TWENTY-FOUR
When Jackson told the others that he had to leave for a meeting with the chief, Luca asked Krys to help him inspect the new artifacts. Luca explained he would assess them in the downstairs office, one at a time. When he was done, Krys would set the item in the vault before bringing the next one downstairs. This meant each initial examination would be as free as possible from the energies and influences of the other artifacts. Luca made it sound like a request, but it was still enough for Krys to fume. Jackson watched Krys follow him down the stairs carrying an artifact, her face a sullen mask.
The internal debate was enough to effectively split him. One side said he needed to address this friction. But to do so meant confessing his suspicions and discussing the woman he suspected was tracking them. Not to mention …
The artifact he had removed from the caves.
Jackson touched the item in his pocket. He had broken a dozen Swiss laws by taking it and not making an official declaration. He was effectively placing his career on the line. And over what?
He entered the garage and selected a second artifact at random. When he reached the bottom of the stairs, he discovered that Luca stood very close to Krys, his face almost touching hers. His voice was soft, insistent. Krys’s sullen expression was gone. In its place was a hollow distress. She glanced at Jackson, then looked away.
Jackson set the item by the bottom step and returned upstairs. He unloaded the Jeep and piled the remaining artifacts on the garage floor. He then made a quick inspection of the kitchen cabinets, preparing a mental list of items he would bring over from his old apartment and another list for groceries. All the while, his internal debate seethed and roiled.
Krys entered the kitchen behind him and said, ‘Luca is ready for the next item.’
‘They’re all waiting for you in the garage.’
‘Don’t you want to know what he told me?’
‘I can guess.’ Jackson turned back around. ‘What is he, MI6? French Sûreté?’
‘CIA.’
‘It had to be something like that.’ Jackson leaned on the doorjamb and filled in the blanks. ‘He was probably placed in Interpol headquarters with a strict remit to observe only. No direct involvement in any case, no matter how critical. Witnessing your assault put Luca in a terrible quandary. If he took part in an official inquiry, it would have jeopardized four years of work.’
‘He told me that he took his request all the way to the agency’s director and was turned down.’ She stared blindly out of the kitchen window. ‘Maybe I believe him. But that doesn’t mean I trust him. And I don’t think you should either.’
Jackson knew the time had come to relate his concerns. How, on the one hand, everything Luca had told them appeared to be valid. How he was operating as one of their team. How any number of Jackson’s superiors kept a hidden agenda; that this was in many cases part of the job. Working within an international organization like Interpol required juggling many political balls. Conflict and secrecy were inevitable.
And then there was the other side. How just standing here allowed him to feed on her distrust. The tension radiating from Krys was a palpable force. He needed to tell her. Even so …
Jackson left her standing in the middle of the kitchen, arms gripped across her middle, staring at the floor. He eased the Jeep out of the garage, swung around the forecourt, and departed.
Geneva’s station chief lived in a home she had inherited from a great-aunt. It was located in a quiet suburb north of the UN headquarters and would have fetched a small fortune on the open market. Zoe Meyer’s husband was a professor of sociology at the university, and neither of them was particularly interested in housework. Jackson had been there on several occasions. The house showed both age and disrepair. Meyer greeted him in slippers and a cashmere sweater, then led him through a dining room where every flat surface held open books. ‘My husband is finishing up a paper. His office can’t contain everything he requires. I allow him use of our living space under protest, and with strict time limitations.’
Her study was exactly what Jackson would have expected of a senior officer: neat and laid out with an eye to military precision. Once he had declined her offer of coffee, she settled into the chair next to Jackson and opened her laptop. ‘Barker wants in on this conversation.’
When Interpol’s commander came on the screen, Jackson updated them in the terse manner both women preferred. He left out any mention of the artifact resting in his pocket. The internal pressure to keep things private remained very strong. Jackson knew it would all come out, sooner rather than later. But for the moment, he told himself to hold back. See where this was headed. Pretend he had a choice.
The commandant told Jackson, ‘There is still considerable pressure to dismiss Krys Duprey outright. I have resisted the demands because I don’t want to lose a good agent.’
‘Especially a Talent,’ Jackson agreed.
‘Even so, Krys Duprey used her top-secret abilities on a senior police official. She then Tasered him six times. The only factor in Duprey’s favor is that this is not the first time the deputy chief has shown such aggressive behavior. Yesterday I met with a lieutenant from the Brussels internal affairs. He has gathered testimonies from two other women, both of whom are willing to describe the events in court. But the pressure remains. Our agency has received complaints from the regional government over how one of their own was physically assaulted and publicly shamed.’
Jackson understood where this was headed. ‘It will be easy for you to say you bowed to the pressure and invited her to resign.’
Barker asked the Geneva chief, ‘What do you think of Jackson going undercover?’
Meyer did not hesitate. ‘No one at our office is carrying anywhere near a full caseload. We could easily backdate his records, show there have been rumors of black-market dealings that we have only recently confirmed. And because of his wife’s death and previous record, we were trying to keep it quiet. And then use trusted sources to reveal he’s been let go.’
‘Jackson, are you OK with that?’
‘Do it,’ he said.
‘It will be set in place this afternoon,’ Barker said. She settled her hands upon the desk in front of her. ‘Interpol’s lower levels contain a secret vault that is magically protected. It holds a select group of files, artifacts, and an evidence locker. You understand what I am saying?’
‘Cases that remain unknown to the outside world,’ Jackson said. ‘Cases that never existed.’
‘Your second file regarding Bernard Bouchon is now part of these records. We will hand-deliver a copy to the director of each national security agency with whom we coordinate.’
Jackson felt impacted by the solemnity of this moment. Even so, he had to ask, ‘Are you certain I can trust Luca Tami?’
Both women gave him the stonelike expression of leaders with years of experience fighting political battles. Barker demanded, ‘What evidence do you have to the contrary?’
He knew his response needed to start with the hospital attack and the fake nurse. Then relate how he had again spotted the woman outside Luca’s apartment. Describe the potential threat she represented. Conclude with the simple fact that if Luca’s participation added an additional risk, he needed to be reassigned back to headquarters.
‘Jackson?’
Jackson felt as though he was being torn in two. His concerns were in direct contrast to the positive impact Luca was having, the steps that were only possible because of the blind researcher’s input.
The doubt and confusion and turmoil threatened to rip him apart.
Finally he said, ‘I don’t have enough concrete evidence to make a case. Just the same, I have concerns.’
Barker said, ‘The pressures we face to include him are immense.’
Meyer agreed. ‘We need very real substantiation to withdraw him from the investigation.’
Bev Barker then took a long moment to examine him. Jackson could feel her gaze probe beneath the surface. He waited for her to demand to know what created his internal tempest. He had no idea what to say or even if he could speak at all.
But all the director said was, ‘It’s good to have you back.’
TWENTY-FIVE
Throughout a solitary dinner, Jackson toyed with the artifact he had found in the cavern. The memory of those swiftly moving figures filled him with a sense of pleasant mystery. He was still holding it as he prepared for bed. He lay down and turned it over and over in his hands, wondering at the connection he felt. Logic said such an item held huge and unknown dangers. But logic played no role in this visceral bonding. Jackson fell asleep with it still in his grasp.
For much of the night, illuminated silhouettes danced a silent ballet, choreographed by shimmering rainbow lights. An hour or so before dawn, however, the dreams took a drastic shift.
The colors faded so swiftly that it would have been possible to forget they had ever existed. In the same instant, Jackson’s reverie took on a crystalline intensity. He stood alone in a desolate cavern, carved in the rippling pattern but lifeless as a tomb. The air in his dream tasted dusty, like old bones. The stone cast a grim light, barely enough for him to see that he was alone and trapped.
Then he realized it was no longer a dream.
The turmoil and distress that had swamped him the previous day now clenched him with an impossible force. He was pulled into a hole so desolate he could not even scream for help.
He was drawn forward with ever-increasing speed. Until the woman appeared there before him. The nurse. The lady in red. The temptress.
The cavern where she waited glowed with a crimson heat. It reflected upon her body and upon him. Jackson drowned in her sexual lure, a magnetic force that trapped him in the amber of his own desire.
‘What a lovely surprise. Who do we have here?’ She leaned in tight, probing, stripping. ‘Jackson, what a lovely name. And how handsome. You’ll make a splendid addition to my collection.’
Jackson knew now that her name was Riyanna. But the knowledge brought no comfort. He could neither speak nor escape. Her power was an electric lust, and he was already captured. The enticement wrapped itself around him and dragged him to his doom.
Then Riyanna hesitated. She took in her surroundings and declared, ‘Where is it you’ve chosen for our first tryst, my new darling?’
Her uncertainty brought Jackson a brief flash of clarity. He knew he should call upon the implement he had recovered. So that he could shield himself from her insidious control and flee.
Only the implement was not there. The attachment had been lost.
‘You naughty boy.’ Riyanna seemed positively delighted with her location. ‘You have brought me to the forbidden realm. And you … What are you, an untrained Renegade? Wait! You’re Interpol! Can that be? Oh, the sisters will have fun with you, they will.’
Then a second figure lumbered into view. A red behemoth similar to the form Riyanna had taken in the hospital. But different in the sense that he was still half man. As if he had remained in this state so long he had morphed into a being that would never fully be human again.
He drew in close to Jackson, and his probing was done with the brutal swiftness of a cleaver. ‘He’s no Renegade. He’s Interpol.’
‘I know that. Now get away!’
‘We’re forbidden to be down here. Kill him and be done with it.’ He swept out one claw and would have raked off Jackson’s skull had Riyanna not caught the arm.
‘He’s mine!’ She shoved him violently away. ‘Now go away and leave me to my pleasures!’
In the instant Riyanna’s attention was turned away, Jackson sensed a fractional opening. He wrenched and convulsed, and in so doing managed to draw enough breath to scream.
The force of his yell punched at the two of them. That granted him just enough space to break free entirely.
‘Wait! I claim you! You can’t—’
Jackson woke up standing beside his bed, his lungs gasping for air. His entire body felt bruised by the grip of her talons.
Then he looked down, and there it was. The artifact lay on the carpet where he had dropped it.
Why it held such importance now that he was awake, Jackson could not say. Only that he had to reestablish the bond.
Jackson pulled out his gym bag and slipped a sweatband around his wrist. He fitted the artifact inside the band.
He pulled his chair over to the windows and sat there, watching the night, until he was certain it was safe to go back to bed.
TWENTY-SIX
The next morning Jackson showered and shaved and placed his first phone call. When Luca answered, Jackson asked, ‘Where are you?’
‘The downstairs office on Rue Gambord. I am inspecting the articles Krys brought us a second time. More importantly, where are you?’
‘My apartment.’
‘The idea,’ Luca said, ‘was to make this villa your home.’
‘When I arrived back here last night, I was so tired I struggled to get my clothes off.’
‘You will move today?’
‘Tomorrow. Right now, I need to travel to Strasbourg.’
‘Without me,’ Luca said. ‘My analysis of these artifacts will require most of today.’
Jackson lifted the artifact with the hand not holding his phone. Standing there in the morning light, the subtle bond between him and this mystery item felt even stronger than the night before. He knew he needed to tell Luca about his midnight confrontation with Riyanna. And yet …
‘Jackson?’
‘Give me a minute.’
The barrier that kept him silent was subtle, a faint whisper of force that urged without controlling. It was his choice. He could easily have broken through. And yet …
