goodbye.
Then beating helicopter blades rose swiftly from below as a Jet Ranger came into view, Dracco at the stick. Beckett perched next to him, a cold eye against the scope of a sniper rifle.
“Nooooo!” Heath screamed behind me. I threw Ginny to the floor as the rifle exploded. Heath clutched his punctured chest, then collapsed beside us, faceup, eyes open in permanent surprise.
The chopper stayed on the train’s tail as Beckett lowered his weapon and gestured animatedly for me to search the dead man.
I quickly removed the Dagger from Heath’s breast pocket. Next to it was a black computer disk. A corner had been shot off.
I struggled to a standing position and raised my two possessions for all of heaven and earth to see.
I sat beside her, peeled off my neatly sliced boot. The gash on my instep would also require stitching, but I knew from experience that it and the rest of my body would heal in time.
Leonardo’s notes lay under a crystal paperweight on Krell’s Victorian desk. Next to them sat two hand-tooled leather satchels, brimming with cash.
Beckett and Dracco met us at the Zurich station and quietly removed us to the Hotel Arbial. A physician arrived shortly thereafter. He worked quickly, didn’t say a word, and had the best tan I’d ever seen.
I presented the disk to Beckett. Neither of us thanked the other.
Dracco flew Ginny and me back to California, during which time we both slept like stones with the aid of pain pills and the absence of worry. Under a hazy morning sky that held the promise of sunshine, he dropped us off at the Big Bear Airport.
Ginny and I took a taxi to Archie’s house—ex-house really; it was mostly charcoal. The bushes were still green, though, and Greer’s briefcase was still buried under the cool dirt. I left it there again. The Jag was in the driveway, too, and fired right up, purring eagerly.
At the Medical Center we found Archie reading. He looked at us in stunned delight and laid the book in his lap, holding his place with his finger.
Most of his bandages were off except for a nose splint, and he looked a little puffy and purple. But his eyes were as clear as china glaze. I sat on the bed next to him. Neither of us said anything for a while.
“That really wasn’t you in Milan, was it?” I said.
“Nope.”
“Or up in the woods?”
“Sure I was in the woods. That’s where my cabin is.”
I thought back to when we lay next to each other in the hospital the morning after the fire. I hadn’t mentioned Mendocino when I’d asked if he’d been in the woods.
“Archie,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“No one could replace my father.”
“I know that.”
“But I could use a big brother.”
His eyes got watery. Mine, too.
Ginny joined us. She thanked him for taking her in when he did, and kissed him on his ear—the only place, he said, that didn’t hurt. I kissed him on his other ear and he cracked a smile that filled the whole room. He held up the book he’d been reading:
I told him about the present I’d left buried for him behind the tree. He said he liked presents.
It was four in the morning when Ginny and I pulled down the driveway to the Hollister House. We rang the buzzer at the main building and a light switched on. When the door eventually opened, Pop wasstanding there in a robe and sleeping cap. He rubbed his eyes and peered at us for a moment, his perfect false teeth gleaming in the hall light.
“By jingo, it’s Holmes and Watson,” he said. “Come on in, you two.”
We hobbled in like a couple of Yodas. He sat us down on the couch and stared at us, like we’d appeared out of a lamp he’d rubbed. We stared back, vibrating from the trip, soaking in the sight of him and the sweet stillness of the night.
Pop left the room, reappearing in a couple of minutes carrying a round wooden tray which held four stoneware mugs, drifting trails of tangerine-scented tea steam. As he handed us each a cup and took one for himself, Mona stepped into the room in a long blue robe and slippers, her face wrinkled from sleep. She didn’t say a word, just sat on the edge of Pop’s chair.
Pop pushed his hat back. “So . . .”
Even though it was damn late or damn early, it was time to tell the tale. Ginny and I pieced the whole thing together, for them and for each other. Pop and Mona listened eagerly, his old head cocked to one side, her hair draping loosely down her lapels. Pop exploded more than once with “What happened next?” and “By jingo.”
Chirping birds were ushering in the dawn as we finished.
I withdrew the Medici Dagger and presented it to Pop. He cradled it in the palms of his hands, hunching over, gazing at the spectacle. He passed it to Mona, who held it up to the light, turning it till it glinted magnificently.
