Chris Kuzneski - The Prophecy

if and when he needed assistance. Until then, he didn’t want to be disturbed. Glancing at his Vacheron Constantin watch, he discovered it was time to make his call. First, he would handle his business in America, and then he would order dinner and a nice bottle of wine.

Dubois dialled the number from memory and waited for his intermediary to pick up. This was standard procedure for Dubois, who preferred for his subordinates to get their hands dirty any time they were operating outside the letter of the law.

The phone rang three times before Haney answered.

‘Hello,’ he said in English. Haney wasn’t his real name, but it was the one they used when they were talking on the phone — even though their phones were encrypted.

‘Where do things stand?’ Dubois asked.

‘I’m afraid we’ve had some trouble.’

‘What kind of trouble?’

‘We’ve had some… interference.’

‘Please explain.’

This was a moment that Haney had been dreading. Up until now, he had let his boss believe that everything was under control in Pennsylvania.

‘The girl from Philadelphia passed the document to two outsiders before we got to her. Since that time, we have been unable to retrieve it.’

His nose flared with anger. ‘Why not?’

‘Unforeseen circumstances.’

‘Meaning?’

‘The outsiders have a special set of skills that we weren’t anticipating.’

‘What type of skills ?’

‘Special Forces, sir.’

Dubois snatched the napkin from his lap and flung it against the window. His bodyguards, who were positioned a few tables over, scanned the room for an impending threat, but they quickly realized Dubois’s outburst was related to his conversation.

‘When did this happen?’ he demanded.

‘Saturday night.’

‘You’ve known about this for two days, yet you’re telling me now?’

‘Define failed .’

Haney cleared his throat. ‘My associate silenced the girl, but died in a traffic accident shortly thereafter. I sent a replacement to retrieve the document, but he failed as well.’

‘Another accident ?’ he said sarcastically.

‘Actually, sir, it was. He fell off a cliff.’

Dubois shook his head, the anger building inside him. ‘Two associates in two days, yet not an utterance from you. May I ask why?’

‘I… um…’ he stuttered. ‘I’m sorry, sir. I should’ve called earlier.’

‘You’re sorry ? Well then, I guess all is forgiven. Haney is sorry , so everything is okay!’ Dubois took a deep breath, trying to control his temper. ‘Don’t tell me you’re sorry. Tell me what you’re going to do to fix this! Where are these men now?’

‘In Philadelphia.’

‘And what are they doing there?’

‘They’re protecting the girl.’

Dubois furrowed his brow. As he did, his eyes looked like slits. ‘What girl?’

‘We’re still figuring that out, sir. We think maybe the document belongs to her.’

‘Who is this we you keep referring to?’

Dubois smirked. ‘An intermediary who ended up dead . It’s funny how that happens on occasion.’

Haney gulped at the implied threat. ‘I sent an associate to investigate her, but her guardians intervened. They killed him in broad daylight. A cop also got killed in the crossfire.’

Dubois stood abruptly and walked towards the door. He flung it open with a violent push. ‘The news keeps getting better and better! I ask you to retrieve a single document, and you turn it into World War Three. How many people have died so far? Five, maybe more? Do we even know the names of these interlopers?’

‘Yes, sir, we do.’

‘And?’

‘And we’ll find them soon. I promise.’

47

Jones walked into the tiny room, shaking his head. ‘Bad news on the phone.’

Payne looked at him. ‘How bad?’

‘The mystery text came from a prepaid cell phone. It was purchased last week at Charles de Gaulle Airport. The buyer, who obviously paid in cash, could have been arriving in Paris or flying to just about anywhere in the world when he bought it. Also, according to computer records, only one text was sent from the phone — the message sent to Megan.’

‘How about phone calls?’

‘Nope. Not a single call to anyone.’

Megan frowned. ‘In other words, someone bought the phone to text me.’

Jones nodded. ‘It sure seems that way.’

‘Why not call from a payphone? Or send me an e-mail from a public terminal? Buying a cell phone seems pretty extreme.’

Jones smirked. ‘If you think that’s extreme,

She conceded his point. ‘You’re right. I guess I need to change my standards.’

He glanced at Payne. ‘Hey, Jon, it’s your lucky day. If she lowers her standards, you might have a chance with her.’

She snickered at the comment, which brought an immediate reaction from Payne. ‘Please don’t encourage him. If you laugh at his wisecracks, he simply won’t stop.’

She smiled. ‘You have to admit, it was kind of funny.’

‘No,’ Payne said, ‘I’ll admit nothing. One time back in the mid-nineties he said something mildly amusing, and I barely cracked a smile. The guy hasn’t shut up since.’

Jones stroked his chin, as if deep in thought. ‘You know what? I remember that day. That was during my Eddie Murphy phase. First I made you laugh, then I picked up a transvestite prostitute in West Hollywood.’ He paused for effect. ‘No, wait, that was Eddie who did that, not me. Come to think of it, that was actually the day my Eddie Murphy phase ended.’

Payne shook his head as he looked at Megan. ‘See what you did? You got him started. Now I have to listen to him for another decade.’

‘Anyway,’ Payne said, trying to change the subject, ‘it’s pretty apparent that someone is going to great lengths to send you a coded message. If it weren’t for the violence, my advice would be to ignore them until someone picked up the phone and called you like a normal person. However, since people keep trying to kill us, I think it’s probably best to play his little game and figure out the meaning of the letter.’

Megan frowned. ‘I thought we already did that. The poem is about me.’

Payne shook his head. ‘Actually, we figured out half of the poem. You’re from the city of brothers, and you’re a filly with no mother. But what about the other two lines? What do they mean?’

She asked, ‘What were the lines again?’

Jones walked behind the desk and wrote the poem in black in the centre of the dry-erase board, allowing them to examine it as a group.

Payne immediately grabbed a red marker from the tray and wrote asterisks on both sides of lines one and three. He did it to signify they had already figured them out. ‘If we’re correct, these two lines are about you. Now all we have to do is decipher the other pair.’

From the city of brothers,

A lover from the lost line.

A filly with no mother,

Chosen for her place in time.

Megan nodded in understanding. ‘I’m pretty good with word games and puzzles. If you ever feel like losing, challenge me to Boggle or Scrabble.’

Jones looked at her. ‘Decipher now, talk smack later.’

She gave him a mock salute then focused on the words. ‘How confident are you with the translation? Do you trust the person who did it for you?’

Payne answered. ‘Do we trust him? Definitely. He’s a good friend of ours. Are we confident in his ability? I’d say 90 per cent sure. In his original translation, he had the word mare instead of filly . Not a grievous mistake, but a mistake nonetheless.’