Chris Kuzneski - The Prophecy

‘Did you like my questions about the Americans?’

‘Those were sweet! There’s no way he’ll ever suspect it was us.’

64

Wednesday, 16 December

Geneva, Switzerland

As the morning sun climbed above the Alps, Payne and Jones decided a quick trip to Geneva made a lot more sense than a long drive to Zürich. Not only were they familiar with the airport, but Ulster had multiple connections there that would come in handy. With a few phone calls, they were given access to the same hangar as the day before. Ulster also arranged a mid-morning charter flight to Ostend-Bruges International Airport.

One of the security guards at the hangar unlocked a small office. It resembled the one Payne and Jones had used at NASJRB Willow Grove. It was a windowless room with cinderblock walls that hadn’t been painted in years. As far as they were concerned, it was perfect because it gave them a chance to examine their recent acquisition in private.

To protect the document, Ulster waited to

Keller had stored the document in a plastic case roughly the same size as a laptop computer. The case had been sealed in several layers of bubble wrap. Thankfully, Ulster was willing to open it with a knife since the parchment was safely ensconced in hard plastic. Once he had sliced through the wrapping, he placed the case on the desk and opened it like a book. A single sheet of parchment had been sealed inside a clear plastic sleeve. Although the sleeve was designed to hold an oversized photograph, it was large enough to house the document.

‘What’s it say?’ Megan asked as she peeked over Ulster’s shoulder.

From his seat at the desk, he glanced back at her. ‘Patience, my dear. Give me a chance to read it first.’

She blushed slightly. ‘Sorry.’

Payne and Jones smiled from the other side of

‘Good news,’ Ulster said as he scanned the four lines of text which had been written in the centre of the page. ‘This quatrain is in Middle French, not a series of ancient languages. Give me a moment or two, and I should be able to translate it.’

‘Is it the same handwriting as before?’ Jones asked.

‘To my naked eye, it appears so. Of course, we won’t find out for sure until I take it back to the Archives and put it through its paces. But give me a moment, and I shall know more.’

While they waited for the translation, Megan played with the puzzle box, testing the combination Keller had revealed to Payne and Jones. She entered seven, two, fifteen, sixty-six — the date of Nostradamus’s death — and a secret panel opened inside the centre compartment.

Megan smiled. ‘It would have been even cooler if the parchment was still inside, but I guess I shouldn’t complain. Thanks to you guys, we have it in our possession.’

‘Speaking of the parchment, how’s it coming?’ Jones asked.

Ulster didn’t even hear the question. He was too focused on the document itself. Every once in a while he grunted with surprise, but at no point during the process did he actually say a word. After that, neither did anyone else. The last thing they wanted to do was ruin his concentration.

Nearly five minutes passed before he translated the final word.

‘Goodness,’ Ulster muttered as he read the verse to himself.

‘What is it?’ Megan demanded. She moved to the front of the desk so she could stand next to Payne. ‘Does it mention me?’

Ulster nodded, still not ready to speak.

She grabbed Payne’s arm. ‘Oh, God. Is it bad?’

‘Honestly, I’m not certain… But it is surprising.’

Payne stared at him, trying to figure out why someone who rarely shut up was suddenly at a loss for words. Whatever it was, it had to be monumental. ‘What’s surprising?’

The comment intrigued Payne. ‘What do you mean? Who else is mentioned?’

Ulster looked him in the eye. ‘You.’

Payne blinked a few times. ‘Excuse me?’

‘You and David. Both of you are mentioned.’

‘It mentions our names?’

‘No, but I’m fairly sure he’s describing you.’

‘Read it,’ Jones ordered, suddenly excited.

Payne nodded in agreement. ‘Read it.’

Ulster glanced at the verse and read it aloud. Although the quatrain had been written in Middle French, the English translation followed the same rhyming scheme as Megan’s letter.

The fortune belongs to my heir,

Who will be chased ’til out of breath.

Hidden in ink inside his lair,

Where black and white shall conquer Death.

As soon as Ulster was done, he handed the paper to Payne so he could examine the translation in closer detail. Megan and Jones leaned in next to him and read it at the same time.

Several seconds later, Jones made the first that is some freaky shit. I’m talking Merlin the Magician, Wicked Witch of the West kind of—’

‘Enough,’ Payne said, cutting him off. ‘We get your point.’

‘Good! Because that shit is freaky.’

Megan smiled at Payne. ‘You have to admit, this verse is rather specific. You guys are black and white, and you’re flying to Bruges to find Frankie Death.’

‘And apparently we’re going to kill the bastard,’ Jones added.

‘Sure,’ Payne said, ‘that’s one interpretation. But there’s another.’

Jones snatched the paper from Payne’s grasp. ‘If we’re going to die, I don’t want to know. I want it to be a secret. Like a gift from Santa.’

‘Actually,’ Payne said, ‘the other interpretation has nothing to do with us. It has to do with a book.’

Ulster stared at him. ‘A book?’

Payne grabbed the paper and handed it back to Ulster. ‘Read line three.’

He did as he was told. ‘Hidden in ink inside his lair.’

‘Didn’t you tell us that Nostradamus might have been working on a book of prophecies

Ulster nodded. ‘I read several rumours about it. Nothing certain, but a lot of speculation.’

‘And if he wrote it in ink, wouldn’t it be in “black and white”?’

‘I guess it would, but—’

Payne continued. ‘And if someone finds it and reads his words after all this time, wouldn’t his journal be beating death? After all, Nostradamus has been dead for several centuries.’

Ulster groaned. ‘I suppose so, yes.’

‘What about the first two lines? Are they about me?’ Megan wondered.

Payne shrugged. ‘Maybe. Of course, we still don’t have any proof that you’re related to Nostradamus. Despite the letter you received, we don’t have verification that he’s actually talking about you. Maybe he is, maybe he isn’t. But as I’ve said all along, that’s the beauty of Nostradamus. Everything is ambiguous.’

‘I have to admit, I’m kind of relieved. When I read that “out of breath” part, I thought it meant I was going to die.’

Jones grinned. ‘I thought you were a goner for sure.’

Payne shook his head. ‘Even if she is the heir, it might simply mean that people will always be

‘Which brings us to the fortune,’ Jones said.

‘What about it?’

‘It’s been mentioned more than once.’

‘True,’ Payne said, ‘but something dawned on me while reading this poem. What if the fortune isn’t monetary? After all, Petr told us that Nostradamus wasn’t a wealthy man. So maybe he’s not talking about money. Maybe he’s talking about the type of fortune that he was known for. Maybe he’s leaving his heir information about the future.’

‘Oh,’ Megan muttered, disappointed. ‘Maybe he’s right.’

‘Or maybe I’m wrong,’ Payne admitted. ‘For all I know, Nostradamus might have been talking about a giant treasure in your future, and he might have been talking about DJ and I killing Frankie Death. Or maybe we’re just seeing things in his words that aren’t really there. The truth is we don’t know what’s going to happen — who’s going to live and who’s going to die. For that reason alone, I need to approach this thing like any other mission.’