The room was about twelve feet by twenty. Against one wall was a row of tall steel cabinets where many of the conduits terminated, running down through the top. It had to be an electrical panel. Maybe the main panel for the building. More tall cabinets were grouped against the opposite wall with dark, greasy fingerprints clustered around the handles, making me think they were probably storage for building maintenance workers. Directly in front of me were solid looking double doors with panic bars. The doors were the only entrance or exit from the room. It appeared that I had been stashed away to be dealt with later.
I crawled over to the doors and pushed one of the bars. No movement—they were locked as I had suspected. The effort made my head throb and my vision go white. I sat still for another minute while the floor underneath me slowly stopped spinning. I opened my eyes again. My backpack was nowhere to be seen. I checked my pockets. No phone, they had even taken my belt. I had one hiding place they probably hadn’t noticed though. Sewn into the waistband of my pants was a secret pocket where I always kept a few small items for just this type of emergency. It was a habit of mine that I had carelessly let slide for a while but had taken back up recently after my ordeal in the cellar of Patrice Antonetti’s chateau. I was just reaching a finger into the pocket when I heard footsteps approaching. I slid back, away from the door and leaned against one of the storage cabinets. The cold metal felt weirdly soothing against my back. The steps grew louder then stopped. The panic bar on the other side of the door clanked as it was pushed in. Jutting’s security entered first—the big guy with the stone crushing sausage fingers who had been in the lobby when I visited followed by another guard, a woman who looked every bit as qualified for the job. They were both dressed in paramilitary uniforms. No weapons were visible but I was sure they had them. They took up positions on either side of the door, watching me impassively as Jutting and Victoria Butler followed them in. Jutting stopped between the guards, gazing down at me, and Victoria hovered behind him. Jutting seemed uncomfortable. His gaze kept darting around the room then back to me. He wore a black tunic and simple pants almost like a monk’s garb. It had to be his outfit for the ritual. Victoria, in a sleeveless blouse, shuddered in the damp cold, hugging her arms to her sides. I could see the goosebumps from ten feet away.
“Mister Vincent,” Jutting said, clearing his throat. “I’m disappointed.”
“So am I,” I replied.
“What have you to be disappointed about? You’re the one who has invaded my property, seeking to steal from me.”
“I wouldn’t call it stealing. I’d call it recovering stolen property. The notes you have that were used by Saint Martin to decode the enigma were stolen from a friend of mine. I simply want them back.”
Jutting’s eyes flashed with anger. “Wolhardt is a fool! He had no idea how to use the information. The one useful thing Nigel Bathmore ever did for me was stealing those notes. Of course, he didn’t intend to be doing me a service. The idiot thought I would pay him.” Jutting laughed, a short bark that echoed around the room and rang in my ears.
“Still, you can’t really call it stealing.”
“I’ll call it what I like, Mister Vincent. You are in no position to argue semantics. I’m afraid I have important business to attend to this evening. Your presence is not wanted. You will remain our guest here in this room until morning. My people will turn you over to the chief constable tomorrow along with your possessions which are rather incriminating. I understand there are quite a few tools in your backpack specifically designed for breaking and entering. Chief Constable Doyle is a very loyal friend of mine. He will know just how to deal with you.”
“Interesting. I assumed you would just get rid of me.”
“This isn’t a James Bond novel, Mister Vincent. I’m not an evil super villain. After tonight, I will no longer be interested in you. You are a speck of dust. An annoying one that keeps coming back after being flicked away. I will leave it to the earthly powers to decide your fate.”
“You actually believe your stupid ritual is going to work, don’t you? You think you’re going to call up an army of demons like Cellini supposedly did. You realize that guy made up most of what’s in that book right? He was like the Donald Trump of the sixteenth century. Every other sentence was a lie.”
Jutting took a step back, confused. He started to speak, then stopped himself. Finally, he forced his face into a placid mask. “This audience is over, Mister Vincent. I hope you find your prison cell satisfactory. Breaking and entering is a serious offense. So is assault. The condition you left my security guard in is deplorable. She will be willing to testify to the brutality of your attack.”
“I didn’t…” I began to protest but let my voice trail off, head throbbing. “You know I didn’t touch anyone.” I looked at Victoria. She stood behind Jutting, eyes unfocused. She seemed dazed. “A great man, Victoria? Do you still feel that way?”
She started and glanced my way, opening her mouth but Jutting cut her off before she could speak.
“Good night, Mister Vincent. I hope you don’t catch a cold
