Douglas Preston - The Obsidian Chamber

“Yes. Do be honest.”

“If I had the name, then I could pretend to have known it all along, and simply dismiss it as a matter of complete indifference. That’s all. I wish to… salvage what little pride I have left.”

“I understand. Yes, I do. You’re a wealthy man, I take it?”

“Very.”

“And she’s going to try and get your money?”

“Without doubt.”

“No pre-nup?”

“I was so young and naive. Oh, what a fool I’ve been!”

A long pause. “All right. I understand precisely where you’re coming from. I myself know that kind of humiliation, when all your friends are talking behind your back, the whole world keeping it from you. And you— always the last to know.” A bitterness had crept into her voice.

Pendergast raised his eyes. “I’m so glad you understand. It means a great deal to me… Barbara .” He tentatively took her hand, giving it a slight pressure.

She gave a little laugh, let him hold it for a moment, then withdrew it. “Now, Aloysius, let me just go into my computer here and see what we have. But mind you: don’t approach him. Stay away. And you didn’t get this from me.” She plucked the receipt from his fingers, sat down, and hit the keys, rapid-fire. “All right.” She pulled a piece of paper from a notepad on her desk, wrote on it, and handed it to Pendergast.

In a lovely, schoolgirl hand was written a name: Morris Kramer.

He felt her keen eyes on him. He put on a suitable series of expressions: shock, disdain, contempt. “ Him? The bounder. The little shit. My old roommate from Exeter. Well, I should have known.”

She held her hand out and he gave her back the paper. She crumbled it up, dropped it in a trash can, and looked at him intently. “As I said, Aloysius, the world is full of women to love.” She glanced at her watch. “Oh, it’s time for elevenses. There’s a lovely teahouse just around the corner. Care to join me?”

Pendergast bestowed on her another smile. “Delighted,” he said.

At thirty-five hundred square feet, the Grande Suite of Miami’s Setai Hotel was, Diogenes reflected, larger than most houses. It boasted not only killer views of the Atlantic, but also a media room, expensive statuary, original framed oils on the walls, a walk-through Sub-Zero kitchen, and bathrooms with black granite appointments. But unlike most five-star hotel suites, it was decorated with impeccable and understated taste: a sensory barrage of refinement and luxury. Diogenes hoped that this would have the desired effect, because the object of the barrage did not always have much use for the finer things in life.

That object was at present sitting on the wraparound leather couch in one of the suite’s two living rooms. As he entered, a glass of Lillet Blanc in each hand, he bestowed on her his warmest smile. Flavia Greyling looked back at him. She was dressed in torn blue jeans and a T-shirt, along with the omnipresent fanny pack, and she was not smiling. Instead, a look he couldn’t quite parse was on her face: part uncertainty, he thought, mixed with hope, curiosity… and something bordering on anger.

“Here’s your dividend,” he said as he placed the glasses on a table before the sofa. “So: that was the last item on your agenda?”

Flavia left the drink untouched. “Yes. I sent you that note through the remailing service, then left Namibia and stowed away on a tramp steamer headed for Sierra Leone and the safe house there. Your arrangements for the plane ticket here all came together yesterday.”

“Excellent.” Diogenes took a sip of Lillet. For the purposes of his visit to the Setai, he was in his Petru Lupei identity, with the charming European manners, clean-shaven and scarless face, exquisite bespoke suit, faint trace of an unidentifiable accent, and the one contact lens concealing his milky eye. “But I must ask: was it necessary for you to handle the owner of that automobile dealership, Mr.…”

“Keronda.”

“Keronda. Yes. Was it necessary to deal with him so, ah, definitively? Given the circumstances, I mean.”

“Absolutely. He deviated from the script. Your script. Instead of business as usual, he left the auto agency in a bloody mess. This interested the police, which you said was the last thing you wanted.”

“True; it was.”

“We left no trace behind us. Keronda was the only loose end. He had panicked; sooner or later he would have talked. I didn’t think you wanted that. Did you want that?”

As she said this, she looked at him, her expression abruptly piercing. Despite himself, Diogenes felt a tickle of concern. She had a way of staring at people that was almost like being physically stabbed by one of her many knives. He had seen her use it on others — and had noticed the effect it produced. He did not like having it used on him.

“No, of course not,” he said quickly. “You did what had to be done.” Diogenes reflected that this was another example of why he needed to get rid of this girl once and for all. Only too well did he recognize in her the sheer pleasure of killing. “I owe you my thanks,” he said, in the warmest tones he could muster. “My deepest, most sincere appreciation.”

The look on Flavia’s face softened. And now she took a sip of her Lillet, replaced the glass, and tucked her legs beneath her in what — for her — passed for a feminine gesture. “So what now? You know, I really enjoyed Exmouth. It wasn’t like the other assignments you’ve given me — we had a lot of free time. Free time to get to know each other. You’re not like anyone else I’ve met. I think you understand me, understand why I do what I do. I think you’re not afraid of me, either.”

“Not at all, my dear Flavia. And it’s true — we understand each other very well.”

She flushed. “You’ve no idea how important that is to me. Because I think it means… well, that you’re like me, Peter. The way you think, the things you enjoy… like what happened with that houseboy in Brussels last year! Remember how he tried the badger game on you? You, of all people!” And here she dissolved into laughter, took another sip of her drink.

Diogenes recalled the houseboy in Brussels — but not with nearly as much amusement as Flavia did. He concealed this with an indulgent smile.

“So what’s next for us — boss?” Flavia added an ironic emphasis to the final word.

“An excellent question. And it’s really why I asked you to come here. As I said, the job you did was masterful. I couldn’t have asked for better work — or more complete. In fact, as a result, there’s really nothing else to be done at present.”

Flavia stopped in the act of picking up her glass. “Nothing else?”

“Nothing that I need your assistance with. I believe I told you from the start of our partnership, Flavia, that I work on a number of projects simultaneously.”

“I remember. I want to help you do that.”

“But you must understand: there are some things I have to do on my own. I’m like a conductor: I can’t always step down off the podium and mingle with the orchestra.”

“The orchestra,” Flavia repeated. “Are you saying I’m just an instrument? One of many? To be picked up and played when it suits you, and then set aside?”

Diogenes realized that the simile had been a bad one. He also realized that he had misjudged the depth of her paranoia and obsession. She had been so aloof when they first met; so proudly alone and self-reliant. She was everything he’d been looking for in an “assistant”: quick-witted, absolutely loyal, fearless, ruthless, and cunning. When he first met her, his strong impression had been that she hated all men. It had not occurred to him that she would fall in love with him. Thank God he had kept so much about himself — his true name and his other main identities, for example, or his estate at Halcyon — from her. The situation was intolerable. In an earlier incarnation he would have rid himself of her in the simple way. But that was no longer his way… especially in this identity, which, as the owner of record of Halcyon, he intended to occupy for the rest of his — very long — life.