Time and Again(51)

Arthur had to use his deft touch; he sensed Andre going off script. This wouldn’t do. He needed to press just the right button. “You care, because ‘The Falcon’ cares, and because this time, you will win and show the bastard who is…” he paused briefly for effect, “…king!”

Andre said nothing.

Arthur stood up. “Boss, don’t let me hear you talking like this. We have worked too hard and are far too close. It will be the crown jewel in one of the finest collections ever amassed. It will be your legacy.”

There was a slight spark behind the defeated eyes. “Arthur, you have been a dear friend. I know you are right. I don’t know where my head was, but tomorrow we will continue on. As you said, we are too close to let that bastard, Falcon, best us, again.”

There wasn’t the same fire in his words, but at least he wasn’t giving up. Arthur didn’t need him for much longer.

Andre walked out of the study and made his way up to his room. The upstairs maid, sleeping in a chair in the corner, still wearing her ridiculous uniform, stood at attention when she heard his heavy feet climbing the stairs. “Shall I get your robe, monsieur?”

“Yes, please.” He followed her into the bedroom. She helped him off with his dinner jacket, then he said, “I will be fine. You may go.”

“Oui monsieur, are you sure? I haven’t gotten your robe.”

“It is fine. I am done torturing you for the day. In fact, I have been just horrible to you and the others. I am sorry. Tomorrow, I will make amends.”

The stunned look on her face and the gawking silence, when she opened her mouth, would have normally caused an outburst, but Andre said, “It's okay, I know, I am not my normal self. But maybe that is a good thing. My normal self isn’t very nice. I'll see you in the morning. Please, tell everyone they can go to bed, and that we should all sleep in a little tomorrow.”

She backed out of the room with a simple, “Oui.”

The rest of the staff, except for Arthur, was in various states of slumber around the kitchen table. When she told them what he had said, there was a collective look of disbelief. There was also a general feeling of relief that the storm had passed. They all said good night to one another and went off to their rooms, each wondering what tomorrow would bring. None of them would guess what was in store.





Chapter Forty-Two



Henry, lying on his side, opened his eyes with great effort. The room was filling with a new day's light, and it stung. The watch on the nightstand appeared a bit blurry, but seemed to indicate it was after 7:00 a.m. Henry rolled to his back and noticed he was alone. It was curious that Katarina should be up so early. He hoped she was making coffee. A deep breath told him she wasn't. He reached over to the other side of the bed; it was still warm. She hadn't been gone long – always the detective.

Henry could sense his brain moving, but just barely. He listened to the noise of the city, sure that the pounding drum beat was just for him. His hangover lacked rhythm. The bed was warm – that, he was sure of – but the world outside still seemed cold. He missed his friend.

A little chuckle snuck out as he lay there recalling the stories from the wake. Mickey would have loved it, as he always enjoyed a reason to drink and tell stories. He thought about how Mickey would be further along with the case. There was a honking horn, then another. Yellow Cabs, thought Henry.

He flipped off the covers and swung his legs out of bed. Running his hands through his hair and over his face, Henry made a quick mental checklist. Shower, coffee, eat, more coffee, go to work, repeat steps two through four. He needed to dig into the names on the list. Who was this “Falcon”? Henry made his way to the shower, turned on the cold, and pulled his body into the shocking water. It helped. Henry was just buttoning up his shirt when the phone rang.

“Hello.”

“Henry, I am sorry for calling so early, but it's important.”

“It is okay, Professor, what have you got?”

“I spent the day deep in the bowels of the library yesterday. I found nothing. Not even a whiff of mention of the Eye of God. My skepticism grew considerably, so I called a friend at Oxford. I couldn’t find anything about another Antikythera mechanism, so I thought I would see if I could dig up something on this mysterious group who found and protects it. My friend is an expert on secret societies like the Ordo Templi Orientis…”

The fog was slowly lifting. “The what?”

“The Ordo Templi Orientis is a mysterious group which started in the 12th century, but that isn’t important. I was saying that there are lots of groups – The Freemasons, The Black Hand, and even The Thule Society – which had in their membership Rudolf Hess, Arthur Rosenberg, and it is rumored, Hitler. So, I asked him if he knew of a relatively new group in Greece, protecting some artifact. I was careful and tried to speak only in broad terms."