Eric Lustbader - The Testament

Bravo slipped the Zippo into his pocket. One by one, he again examined the other objects, this time in more detail-the two packs of cigarettes he had slit open, the enamel lapel pin of the American flag, the cuff links. Every so often he would nod to himself and his lips would move as if he were talking himself through a complex set of formulae. With the passage of time, the hum of the plane faded into white noise that lulled his fellow passengers to sleep. His seat light, however, remained on. At length, with a kind of reverence, he put his father's effects away. They were far more than effects, of course; each one had a purpose, and he now knew or at the very least could guess those purposes.

He kept the dog-eared notebook on his lap, however, and now he carefully paged through it. In the back, he came upon a section with the curious heading: "Murray's Ear." Curious, that is, to everyone who might stumble on the notebook, save Bravo. The words made him smile. Murray was a character his father had made up when Bravo was a little boy. Murray was a seemingly endless font of stories that fascinated the child, but by far his most wondrous characteristic was his ability to produce gold coins from his ear, a piece of magic that never failed . to delight Bravo as Dexter, in the guise of Murray, sat at the side of his bed at night.

Below the "Murray's Ear" heading was a list of four nonsense words-aetnamin, hansna, ovansiers, irtecta-each followed by a string of eight numbers. He recognized the words immediately as anagrams and at once set to work deciphering them, using the methodology his father had taught him.

When decoded, each spelled out a word in a different ancient language: Latin manentia; Sumerian ashnan; Trapazuntine Greek vessarion; and Turkish ticaret. For a moment, he sat back, studying the words. Their meaning was not readily apparent, even to him.

Then he looked back up at the heading, "Murray's Ear." Gold coins-money-of course! Now he recognized Ticaret, the last of the four words, part of Turk Ticaret Bankasi. These were the names of banks in different cities.

He set to work on the number strings. Again using his father's methodology, he printed them out backward, ignoring the numerals "0" and "6," which his father used as blanks to further confuse any would-be cryptologist. What he was left with was his own birth date and the birth dates of his father, mother, and grandfather. These, he decided, must be the individual accounts in the respective banks.

He did not know whether to be reassured or apprehensive, because either his father had thought of every contingency or, more ominously, he was expecting his son's journey to be both arduous and perilous.

Lost in thought, he put the items away and turned to the Michelin green guide to Venice he had bought at the airport bookstore. He'd been to Venice twice before, once with college friends and once during his tenure at Lusignan et Cie. As he read, he memorized pages here and there, refamiliarizing himself with the city whose history and heritage belonged as much to the East as to the West.

Beside him, Jenny feigned sleep. Paolo Zorzi, her mentor, had taught her from her very first day under his tutelage to look at the big picture. "There is a tendency, especially in high-tension situations, to narrow your focus," Zorzi said. "Of course, naturally enough, you're trying to find the smallest detail out of place. But you must never lose your sense of the big picture, because that is where your sense of right or wrong will come to the fore. If the big picture feels wrong, then you may be certain you'll find a detail out of place."

All her senses were on high alert. There was something about the big picture that felt wrong. The trouble was, she had no idea what it might be. Too, the entire operation had been designed by Dexter Shaw, and when it came to Dex she knew that she couldn't fully trust her sense of right and wrong. He'd had that effect on her-he'd always had.

Really, she was such an idiot. When he'd come to her to assign her to Bravo, she'd made not one sound of protest. What in the world had she been thinking? Working with Bravo, becoming emotionally involved, was turning out to be the most difficult assignment she'd ever been given. Certainly, it was the thorniest, filled as it was with lies, deceit and dangerous pitfalls that were sure to crop up during virtually every conversation that involved Dex. Had he known this would happen? She couldn't get that deeply disturbing thought out of her mind, because Dex had a curious talent for anticipating the future. She'd seen compelling evidence of it more than once, but when she'd asked him about it, he'd merely shrugged his shoulders. One thing father and son had in common: they held secrets.

Silently, she cursed Dex for getting her into this, then, filled with remorse, was immediately ashamed of herself. Settling deeper into the seat, she tried to will herself to sleep. Her body ached in every place it could ache and in several more she'd never even considered. Her head throbbed in sympathy, and she rubbed her temples before she realized that she was supposed to be asleep.

Beside her, she could hear small sounds, and she wondered what Bravo was doing. He was an enigma, impossible to read. Every time she thought she had a grip on who he was, something cropped up to prove her wrong. Take that photo of himself as a child, for instance. You'd think he would have been happy to know that his father carried it with him wherever he went. Instead, she had sensed his instant withdrawal. But in truth, she knew he wasn't the only one to blame. Her own secrets loomed large, feeling like a chasm she was less and less able to cross to get to him.

With an effort, she turned her mind away from Bravo, and once again took that mental step backward, struggling to gain perspective on the big picture. Yes, it was true, she didn't like that big picture, but for the life of her she did not know why.

"I'm having second thoughts about whom I assigned to the Venice task," Jordan said to his mother.

They were gliding through the glittering Parisian night in one of Lusignan et Cie's fleet of limousines. In the low light, sitting side by side, they could be mistaken for brother and sister.

"Perhaps I should use Brunner instead," Jordan continued.

"From Lucerne?" Camille said, her voice unnaturally sharp. "I'm sure that was Spagna's idea. As I've said before, darling, this man has altogether too much influence over your decisions. Besides, Cornadoro is already en route to Venice to be their protector."

Outside, the Seine glimmered beneath the cool blueish light of a half-moon, glimpsed between the sentinel rows of horse chestnuts beneath whose leafy arms Bravo and Dexter Shaw had walked and spoken in secret for almost the last time.

"I can always recall him."

"The decision has already been made."

"You're not angry, are you, Mother?"

"Certainly not."

Camille took a moment to stare out the window at the lovers strolling the cobbled banks and the ornate bridges of the river. Oh, to be young and innocent and in love, she thought. Then, as quickly as she had conjured it up, she banished the thought from her mind, and she was in full control again. Those days were long gone, part of another life, when she had been a different person. Or had she ever been different? Lately, she found it difficult to know. She did not even know whether she would want that life back again because, in the end, it had been nothing more than a cruel mirage, slipping like sand through her fingers.

"I am surprised, however," she went on. "You know Cornadoro's reputation as well as I do. He's the best we have. The very best."

"As Spagna pointed out, he has an exceptionally strong personality and can be headstrong as well as willful."

"He's also extremely clever, utterly ruthless and absolutely loyal." Camille leaned forward, murmured a location to the driver, who immediately turned away from the Seine, heading into the Left Bank's upscale seventh arrondisement. "Now that Ivo and Donatella are gone, it seems to me that he's the perfect choice."