Chris Kuzneski - The Prophecy

‘Maybe so,’ Jones admitted. ‘But the text message said something about her fortune . It seems to me that a bank would be a perfect place to stash it.’

‘If that’s the case, what does 1566 stand for?’ she wondered.

‘Don’t ask me. I’ve done my heavy lifting for the day. What do you guys think?’

Ulster shrugged. ‘It can’t be an account number. It’s way too short. Besides, unless Megan’s name is on the account, she wouldn’t be able to access the funds.’

Ulster shook his head. ‘He was an apothecary and an author, not a duke or a king.’

‘In other words, he wasn’t rich.’

‘Comfortable, but not rich.’

‘If that’s the case, what’s his fortune?’ Payne asked. ‘It can’t be cash or jewels. It has to be something else.’

‘Like what?’ Megan wondered.

‘I don’t know. Maybe something he cherished. Something priceless.’

Ulster gasped softly. ‘His journal.’

‘What journal?’ Payne asked.

Paranoid, Ulster glanced in both directions. ‘During the past few days, I’ve come across several rumours about a secret journal that Nostradamus might have been keeping. Although he never admitted to its existence, it was widely believed that he wrote all his prophecies in a single notebook and stored it somewhere safe. Since it was never intended for publication, his visions were written in simple, straightforward language. No puzzles, or codes, or verses of any kind. Nothing but his most vivid predictions, all compiled in one journal.’

Payne frowned. ‘What happened to it?’

‘And what do you think?’

Ulster smiled. ‘If the man could see the future — and that’s still a very big if — then he didn’t die without a plan. If Nostradamus was a prophet, I’m sure he realized that future generations would cherish his work, not condemn him for it.’

Payne continued the thought. ‘If that’s the case, then he definitely figured out a way to get his journal into the hands of someone he was connected to. Perhaps a distant relative.’

Megan gasped in understanding. ‘Someone like me.’

55

The four of them strolled past Capital Savings, giving Payne and Jones an opportunity to inspect the exterior of the nineteenth-century building. Made of tan stone, the bank was four storeys tall and equipped with modern security. Cameras had been mounted above the main entrance, which gave the guards a panoramic view of Quai du Mont-Blanc and the waterfront. Unlike most of the taller buildings on the street that housed several businesses and residences, the bank was a stand-alone structure, designed to be impregnable.

‘What do you think?’ Payne whispered.

Jones answered. ‘I think any facility with that type of camera on the outside is going to have even better technology on the inside. Maybe even facial-recognition software.’

‘In other words, we can’t go inside without risking detection.’

‘Not only that, but my lock-picking skills would be useless. I’m sure their safe-deposit vaults are equipped with digital-scan security.

‘Yes,’ Ulster assured them, ‘the security at Capital Savings is top-notch. Although I don’t have a box in this branch, I’ve seen customers entering that section of the bank. First they enter a password into a computer system, then their entire hand is scanned. Fingertips, palm, everything. After that, they go downstairs to the vaults. Who knows what kind of system they have down there? They might even take DNA samples.’

Jones smiled. ‘Somehow I doubt that, but you’d know better than I. You’re the one who has been bragging about the Swiss banking system for as long as we’ve known you.’

Ulster patted him on the back. ‘I brag because I care. I want my friends to have the best.’

‘Speaking of friends,’ Payne said, ‘do you have any buddies who work at this branch? Maybe someone in management who can provide us with some inside information.’

‘What type of information?’

‘For instance, does this bank have a safe-deposit box with the number 1566? And if so, what’s the name and address of the person who rents it?’

Ulster chuckled. ‘You’re joking, right? Swiss

Jones leaned in and whispered. ‘Ironically, Jon and I pride ourselves on making people talk. If push comes to shove, whose side do you think will win? The bankers, or us?’

Payne forced a laugh to diffuse the tension. ‘He’s kidding! Just kidding! No one’s going to make anyone talk. Tell him you’re kidding, DJ.’

‘Sorry, Petr. I’m cold, and I’m cranky. I promise, no torture today.’

‘And what about tomorrow?’

Jones shrugged, unwilling to commit. ‘Depends on the weather.’

Slightly concerned, Ulster glanced at Payne. ‘Is he joking?’

Payne put his arm around Ulster’s shoulder and led him away from the others. ‘Petr, you need to keep something in mind. We’re not here because of Nostradamus. We’re here because people are trying to kill us. For the time being, we’re off the grid, but our status can change at any moment. The last time we were spotted a cop was killed in Philadelphia, and we were lucky to get away. Next time, we might not be as fortunate.’

Slowly but surely, Ulster nodded his head

‘What do you need me to do?’ he asked.

Payne answered. ‘If you have a friend, call him. If you have a connection, use it. I don’t care what rules they have to break, but I need all the info you can get on box 1566.’

Ulster looked him in the eye. ‘Give me one hour, and I will get your information.’

While Ulster did some digging inside the bank, Payne, Jones, and Megan killed time at the Hôtel Beau-Rivage where they ordered hot beverages and homemade pastries inside the L’Atrium Bar. Located next to the five-floor atrium, the bar continued the same theme with its chandeliers, mirrors, candelabras, and sculptures. High stools filled with guests lined the long marble bar, but the trio preferred a more private setting, commandeering the plush loveseat and upholstered armchairs near the roaring fire.

Halfway through a mug of authentic Swiss hot ever . There’s no way in hell that blonde chick on the Swiss Miss box is actually from Switzerland. Because compared to this stuff, her cocoa tastes like shit.’

Payne smiled. ‘Next time I see her, I’ll be sure to mention it.’

‘Please don’t piss her off. For some reason, I still want to bang that chick. I think it’s her cartoon ponytail.’

Megan laughed at the absurdity of the comment. ‘Welcome back, David.’

‘Welcome back?’ he said, confused. ‘Oh, you mean my crankiness? Sorry about that. In case you haven’t figured it out, I’m not a fan of the cold.’

‘Don’t worry, I figured it out. Helen Keller could have figured it out.’

Payne nodded in agreement. ‘DJ’s the best soldier I’ve ever met from forty degrees to one-hundred and forty. Never bitched. Never moaned. Never needed sunscreen or extra fluids. The guy was like a black Terminator. But thirty-nine and below? He was a pouty little princess. Thankfully, during Hell Week — the roughest part of Special

Jones smirked. ‘No comment.’

‘Nowadays, he’d be screwed. All candidates are forced to live in the mountains of Kodiak, Alaska, in near-arctic conditions to prove their worth. They’re tossed from tiny boats into the coastal waters and have to swim to shore. Over the next three weeks, they climb cliffs, traverse gorges, rappel down mountains, and sleep in the snow. All in hopes of preparing them for extreme conditions like Afghanistan.’

Jones sipped his hot chocolate and sighed. ‘I don’t know about screwed , but I’d be pretty damn cranky. If I had to guess, I’d say the odds are fifty-fifty that they’d feed me to a bear, just to shut me up.’