“How long ago was this?”
“Maybe half an hour.”
I nodded, thinking. “Is the file system encrypted? On your laptop.”
“Of course.”
“What will I need to access the data? Passwords?”
“I’m not giving you that!” he exclaimed.
“I guess we’re done here then.” I got up to leave.
“Wait! I’ll tell you. It’s just a password.”
I copied it into a note in my phone as he gave it to me, character by character. It was long and complex. “I’m going to test this,” I said and left him, heading back down the stairs. It took me three tries but the password worked at last. “Where is the solution stored?” I called up to the loft.
“A folder under documents,” he said bitterly. “It’s called Enigma.”
I found the folder and opened it. “Which file?”
“Solution underscore final dot TXT.”
I opened the file and found strings of tabular numbers and letters. My head had started throbbing again and I was beginning to feel like I had been in the asylum for too long. I closed the laptop and shoved it in the bag with the notes. Back upstairs, I used the knife from my tool set to cut the tape binding Saint Martin’s hands to the post.
“You’ll be able to work your way out of that tape,” I said, examining the bonds. “It will take a while but you can do it. Meanwhile, I’m getting out of here.”
“Wait!” Saint Martin hissed. “I gave you the password. Take me with you. Jutting is insane. He’s planning a kind of ceremony. He thinks the solution points to some crazy magic spell.”
“I’m aware of that. I can’t take you though. Sorry. When you get yourself free, go down the hall to the right. There are stairs that let out into the grounds at the rear of the building. Get over the wall without being seen and you can cut across the fields and into town.”
“They’ll find me.”
“Sorry. I can’t help you more than I already have.”
I heard him struggling to sit up in the bed as I hurried down the stairs and out of the flat. I would need plenty of luck to get out of the building. But first, I needed to get Saint Martin’s handwritten copy of the solution from Jutting’s pocket. I didn’t want to leave him with any kind of proof that he had a solution before Wolhardt.
Chapter 21
The Ritual
July 5-6: Powick
My watch said eleven fifty-one. I had nine minutes to somehow infiltrate the ritual and get close enough to Jutting to slip the paper out of his pocket, assuming it was still there. If he was wearing a robe he must have been already dressed and on his way to the chapel so there was a good chance he would still have it. I hurried down the corridor, trying to move silently.
At that moment, I wanted more than anything else to just find the nearest exit and make my escape into the cool night air. But I knew I couldn’t go without at least trying to retrieve the last bit of evidence. I didn’t want to leave anything behind that Jutting could use to get out of paying the reward to Wolhardt.
I crept back downstairs without meeting any guards on the stairs and was in a vestibule, peeking around the doorway into the candle-lit hallway that led back to the chapel, when I heard heavy, clomping steps coming down the stairs behind me. I moved back into a shadowy corner, pulling up my hood and pressing myself against the wall. A moment later a figure emerged into the vestibule, evidently in a hurry. He paused for a moment, patting the pockets of his black robe as if checking to make sure he had not forgotten something. As he did so, he turned half around and I saw his face in profile. I remembered that face with its white goatee and florid cheeks. It was Archibald Matthews. Maggie had introduced me to him in Seattle at the symphony performance and Jutting, I realized now, had said Matthews’ name on his call with haggis face. Maggie had mentioned that he was very wealthy and he had told me himself that he was interested in the Enigma Variations. He must have been rich enough and obsessed enough to join Jutting’s black magic club. I imagined all the invitations would have gone to men like Matthews—super wealthy illuminatus wannabes.
Regardless of why he was there, he was just the break I needed at that moment. Matthews turned toward me, his vaguely annoyed expression turning to shocked surprise as I stepped out of the shadows and pressed the stun gun to his chest. His body stiffened, the expression frozen on his face, and I caught him as he fell.
The vestibule had three exits—one into the corridor, one to the stairs Matthews had just come down, and one leading back into the offices behind the lobby. “Sorry Archie,” I said as I hefted his floppy bulk and pulled him through the last of these. His heels, encased is stiff leather dress shoes, dragging along the wooden floor, sounded weirdly like one of those toy trains on a string made to delight toddlers and drive parents to distraction. The idea of a toddler pulling a train arrested my mind for a moment and I had to shake it off. Something definitely wasn’t right in my head. I sat Matthews down in an empty cubicle, and whipped the robe off of him. It was loose and came off easily. A nearby supply closet yielded a roll of packing tape. I covered his mouth
