To say the least.
Simon stood. “Interesting that the man would not use his given, Christian name.”
He wondered why that would matter.
“Instead he sketches out these letters. To this day, no one knows what he meant by it. There are many interpretations, none of them persuasive. Some say it’s a combination of Greek and Latin. Others say Hebrew. One thing we do know: He wished his heirs, after his death, to continue to use this triangular arrangement of letters as
“What does this have to do with anything?”
“Everything. The book you bought contains the mark of the Admiral. Open your package and I will show you.”
That he could not do, since the book was long gone.
Simon stared at him. “Your trick in the bathroom fooled no one.”
He wasn’t going to be bluffed that easily.
Simon raised a hand and gestured. The man called Rocha appeared down the path and walked their way.
Holding the book from the auction.
A way of alarm swept through Malone.
Simon seemed to enjoy the moment and said, “I have Yann Dubois.” Rocha handed the book to Simon. “He is my prisoner, and will remain there until you do something for me.”
Simon opened the old volume. “By and large these words are worthless. But there is one page that is not.” He seemed to find what he was looking for. “Here.”
Malone saw a smooth cut at the edge nearest the binding, where a page had been surgically removed.
“On this missing folio was the mark of the Admiral and a message from Columbus. When I first found the book I saw it, but was not afforded the opportunity to translate the page. The writing is in Old Castilian, a language that only a few today can adequately understand. Unfortunately, Herr Brown knew all that. I wondered why he returned the book. Now I know. He removed the most important page, pocketed the reward money from the owner, then wanted to sell the page back to me.”
“But you don’t buy from people who steal from you.”
“Sends the wrong message. Don’t you agree?”
Malone gestured at Rocha. “So your lapdog killed Scott.”
“As he will Yann Dubois if you do not bring me that page.”
“What if I don’t have it?”
“I am betting you do. I suspected that Brown was not working alone. Your appearance here seems to confirm that.”
“If that is true, why would I buy the book?”
“I don’t know. But I am sure that you and Herr Brown are connected. Bring me that page.”
Interesting, this man who thought himself so careful made mistakes, too. But things were happening too fast for the right prep work. He was improvising, snatching Dubois the fastest way to generate a reaction.
“Tomorrow, Herr Malone. Bring me the page and Dubois will be unharmed. I have no argument with him. But, if not, then he will never be seen again.”
He thought of Elise and the two children. No way he could allow that to happen, so he asked, “Where and when?”
“I assume you want a public place. One with limited access. Preferably one way in and out.”
“I see you’ve done this before.”
Simon smiled. “More of that delightful southern America wit.”
“It’s a gift.”
Simon pointed south. “The Citadelle Laferriere.”
He knew the spot, had seen it from the air earlier before his flight landed. The fortress sat atop a mountain, built by Henri Christophe two hundred years ago.
“Ten AM,” Simon said. “That should give you plenty of time.”
No point arguing. He had no choice.
“
The two men started to walk off.
“Oh,” Simon said. “I nearly forgot.”
Something was tossed his way, which he caught.
Keys.
“To Herr Dubois’ vehicle. I assume you will need it to make your way around. He, of course, will not be using it.”
