Payne had ever seen. Custom-built to protect Ulster’s massive stomach and man boobs, it had been decorated with red and blue paisley. ‘I’m ready to rock and roll!’
Jones grimaced at the sight. ‘And I’m ready to throw up.’
*
‘As soon as I got off the phone to you, I hustled to the Renaissance Room at the Archives and located a copy of
Sitting next to Ulster, Megan shook her head in disbelief. ‘You mentioned he had a son. Did you find any connections to my family?’
Ulster patted her on the leg. ‘If I had, my dear, I would have called.’
‘So where does that leave us?’ Payne wondered.
‘Actually, it leaves us in a very good place.’
Ulster explained. ‘Although I found nothing definitive about Megan’s family, I uncovered a few titbits about his family that might come in handy. First of all, his son’s name was Cesar. According to some accounts, he was named after Nostradamus’s mentor, a man named Cesar Scalinger, who was a famous philosopher and botanist.’
‘Why is that important?’ Jones asked in his rearview mirror.
‘Because his initials were C. S., just like the initials on your document.’
Payne tried to make sense of it. ‘So the letters might stand for Cesar Scalinger, and the number is the year that Nostradamus died. Any thoughts on what that might mean?’
Jones guessed. ‘Maybe there’s a statue or a plaque on Quai du Mont-Blanc honouring them?’
‘I don’t think there is,’ Ulster said, ‘but we can certainly look. As I mentioned yesterday, it’s a very short road. We can cover it on foot in less than an hour.’
‘Anything else?’ Payne asked.
Ulster nodded. ‘The last line of Megan’s text message mentioned the blood of his first wife, so I tried to find all the information I could about this woman. During my search, I found something
Megan looked puzzled. ‘How is that possible? Nostradamus was famous.’
‘Remember, my dear, this was his first wife. At the time they were married, Nostradamus was a physician, not a celebrated prophet. According to my research, they married for love, not convenience, and the couple had two children whose names are not known.’
‘What happened to them?’ she demanded, hoping one of them had carried on the bloodline of his first wife.
‘Sadly, there was an outbreak of Black Death in France, and Nostradamus was called away from their home in Agen to help heal the afflicted. While he was off helping others, his entire family caught the plague and died before he returned. Obviously this devastated him on a personal level, but it also ruined his professional reputation. Nobody wanted to be treated by a healer who let his own family die from the plague.’
‘You’re right,’ Jones said, ‘that wouldn’t look good on a business card.’
‘In what way?’ Payne asked.
‘No one knows when and no one knows why, but at some point during his travels, Nostradamus found his gift for prophecy.’
54
Ulster wasn’t exaggerating about the short length of Quai du Mont-Blanc. It ran for 2,000 feet along the north-west shore of Lake Geneva. Sandwiched between Rue du Mont-Blanc to the south and Quai Wilson to the north, Quai du Mont-Blanc was a picturesque road filled with banks, monuments, and luxury hotels. It offered a distant view of Mont Blanc, Europe’s highest mountain, which towered above the Alps on the French-Italian border.
After parking on the quay near the Geneve-Paquis ferry terminal, the foursome climbed out of the SUV and felt the cold sting of the Geneva winter. All of them were bundled up in warm clothes and Kevlar vests, but it was no match for the frigid wind that whipped across the water.
‘From now on,’ Jones mumbled to Payne, ‘we only take missions near the beach.’
Payne turned up his collar and nodded. When he was younger, he used to love downhill skiing and snowmobiling at the great resorts near
As they walked along the water, Ulster pointed towards the eastern shore, which was less than a half mile away. ‘The Jet d’Eau fountain is over there. During the warm season, it shoots water five hundred feet into the air.’
‘I find that hard to believe,’ Jones said.
Ulster stopped. ‘I’m serious, David. It shoots the water very high.’
‘No, I meant the part about a warm season. Right now I’m freezing my ass off.’
Ulster laughed and started walking again. As he did, Megan moseyed up to Jones and locked her arm in his. ‘You know, for an ex-soldier, you’re kind of wimpy.’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe so, but at least I’m not a… um… Ah, fuck it! It’s too cold to be funny.’
‘That’s fine,’ she teased. ‘No need to talk. Just shut up and look pretty.’
Jones grinned and leaned closer. ‘Same to you.’
*
Cars whizzed by as they walked past several Swiss banks and businesses on the busy street. A few blocks later, they came across the Beau-Rivage, the only privately owned hotel in Geneva and one of the most famous hotels in all Europe. It was so luxurious it served as the headquarters for Sotheby’s, the most prestigious jewellery auction house in Europe. Even from the sidewalk, the hotel overflowed with extravagance.
‘Have you heard of the Beau-Rivage?’ Ulster wondered.
Jones answered. ‘I’ve been to the Beau Rivage Casino in Biloxi, Mississippi, but I’m going to guess it’s not affiliated.’
‘Does it have slot machines in the lobby?’
‘Certainly not.’
‘Then it can’t beat the one in Biloxi.’
Payne, who considered himself a hotel aficionado, was quite familiar with the Beau-Rivage, a lavish five-star hotel. If not for the task at hand, he would have strolled through the marbled atrium and the Sarah Bernhardt Salon, soaking in the history and enjoying the decadence. Despite his personal wealth, he rarely bought expensive toys like gold watches or fancy yachts, but whenever Payne was travelling abroad, he always stayed in the grandest hotels. It was one of the few luxuries he truly enjoyed. ‘Have you ever eaten at the chef’s table?’
Ulster’s eyes widened with surprise. ‘You know of the chef’s table?’
‘Who doesn’t?’ he joked.
Megan raised her hand. ‘I don’t. What’s the chef’s table?’
‘The Beau-Rivage has a special table inside the kitchen of Le Chat Botte, its famous restaurant. Those who dine within have their meal specially created for them by its world-class chef. All done tableside.’
