He took out his notepad. “Sometimes rumor is true. I’m ready.”
“He said that he heard one of their donors, Alberto Berretti, had died. This guy lived in Italy and had a big collection of swords and armor, but it had been whispered for years that he also collected torture items. His family put his collection up for auction recently, but less than half of the swords and none of the rumored torture items were offered up for sale. Etienne said he’d heard a few people discreetly inquired, but the family denied finding anything other than what they auctioned.”
“Did your teacher believe the family?”
“He said he didn’t know them, and wouldn’t speculate. But the important thing is, there are some artifacts out there, somewhere. They may or may not relate to your case. Sorry, Vito, that’s all I know.”
“You’ve helped a great deal,” he said. “Sophie, about Brewster.”
“I need to go now,” she said tightly. “I have work to do. Good-bye, Vito.”
Vito looked at his phone for a full minute after she hung up. He should listen to her. The last time he’d pursued a woman, it had gone so wrong. It could go wrong again.
Or it could go right and he’d get the only thing he’d ever wanted. Someone who waited for only him at the end of a long day. Someone to come home to. Maybe that would be Sophie Johannsen and maybe it wouldn’t. But he’d never know unless he tried. And this time he’d have to make sure it went right. Into his cell he punched in a number with single-minded intent. “Hey, Tess, it’s Vito. I need a favor.”
New York City, Tuesday, January 16, 10:45
A.M.
“Wow.” Van Zandt’s eyes never left the computer screen as his character battled the Good Knight, sword in one hand, flail in the other. Van Zandt’s knuckles were white as he gripped his game controller, his face a study in concentration. “My God, Frasier, this is amazing. This will put oRo right up there with Sony.”
He smiled. Sony was the company to catch. Sony games were present in millions of households. Millions. “I thought you’d like it. This is the final fight. By this point, the Inquisitor has become all-powerful and has stolen the queen herself for his own. The knight will die trying to win her freedom. Because he’s… you know, a knight.”
“The wonderful myth of chivalry.” A muscle in VZ’s jaw twitched as he struggled. “Artificial intelligence is superb. This knight is damned hard to kill. So die already,” he said through clenched teeth. “Come on. Die already. Die for me. Yes.” The knight collapsed to his knees, then onto his chest as VZ dealt the killing blow with the flail.
VZ frowned. “But it’s… so… anticlimactic. I was hoping for a little more…” He gestured broadly. “Pah.”
Expecting just such a reaction, he pulled a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and tossed it across Van Zandt’s desk. “Here. Try it this way.”
His eyes sparkling like a kid’s, Van Zandt entered the code, opening the alternate gameplay he’d created. “Yes,” he hissed when the Good Knight’s head sheared away, sending bone and brain flying. “This is what I was hoping for.” He glanced from the corner of his eye. “Pretty smart, making it an Easter egg. If the gamers haven’t guessed the code within six months after release, we’ll let it ‘slip.’ Within two hours it will be all over the ’net and we will have ourselves some very effective, cheap publicity.”
“Then mothers and preachers and teachers will get whipped into an uproar, objecting to the senseless violence pervasive in our society.” He smiled. “Which just makes their kids go out and buy more copies.”
Van Zandt grinned. “Exactly. You could throw a few nude scenes in, too. If the violence does not whip them into frenzy, a little nudity will. Explicit sex is even better.”
He considered the scenes he’d constructed using Brittany Bellamy. She was fully nude. There was no sex, but the violence was so raw, he knew VZ would be pleased. He hadn’t planned to show the dungeon to Van Zandt today, but the time seemed right. He pulled a CD from his laptop case. “You want a peek at the dungeon?”
Van Zandt stuck his hand out, greedy anticipation all over his face. “Give it to me.”
He leaned forward with the CD and VZ snatched it from his hand. “This is the way the dungeon will look by the end,” he explained as VZ inserted the CD. “The Inquisitor starts out small, accusing landowners of witchcraft, then taking their assets once he’s arrested them and killed them with conventional weapons, his sword, dagger, et cetera. With the money, he buys bigger and better torture toys.”
As the sequence started, the camera wound through mist, coming to the cemetery on the grounds of a church, a perfect copy of a French abbey outside Nice.
Van Zandt shot him a surprised look. “You put the dungeon in a church?”
“Under it. A medieval ‘up-yours’ to the establishment. Which was the Church.”
Van Zandt’s lips twitched. “I do not want to stand next to you in a lightning storm.” The camera entered the church and passed through the crypt. Van Zandt whistled softly. “Very nice, Frasier. I especially like the tomb effigies. Very authentic.”
“Thanks.” The plaster casts had given him a nice model to work from. Except now he needed to order more lubricant for his leg. He’d gone through Claire’s stash and had to use some of his own. The camera descended the stairs into the cave where Brittany Bellamy awaited her fate. “This woman is Brianna. She’s an accused witch. But the Inquisitor knows she really is a witch and wants her to share her secrets. She will be a most stubborn captive.”
“Be quiet. Let me watch.” And he did, his expression changing from amusement to horror as the Inquisitor placed the screaming woman on the inquisitional chair. “My God,” he whispered as Brianna’s screams tore the air. “My God.” Like Warren, Brittany Bellamy had suffered well, her screams a beautiful thing to hear. He’d simply imported the sound file of her screams into his computer-generated animation.
When the Inquisitor put a flame to the chair, Brittany shrieked in pain. Van Zandt actually paled. When the scene ended on a close-up of Brianna’s eyes at that moment of death, Van Zandt collapsed back in his chair, sweat beading on his forehead. He stared at the screen which had faded to the oRo dragon.
When a full minute of silence had passed, he drew a breath, prepared to defend his art. “I’m not going to change it, VZ.”
Van Zandt held up his hand. “Quiet. I’m thinking.”
Five full minutes passed before Van Zandt swiveled to face him. “Split the scenes.”
He could feel his temper start to boil. “I’m not cutting up my scenes, VZ.”
Van Zandt rolled his eyes. “Have you no patience? We will include the chair scene with the main release, but keep it hidden. We will release the code for the more gruesome knight scene as free publicity. We will follow that free publicity by announcing the availability of the execution code for the chair… but at a price. Unlocking this part of the dungeon will cost our customer another $29.99.”
The base release was priced at $49.99. Van Zandt’s plan would add more revenue with no extra cost, increasing profits by four hundred percent. “You capitalist, you,” he murmured and Van Zandt lifted his eyes, his gaze piercing.
“Of course. That is why the R is the biggest letter in oRo.”
He remembered the small print on the logo below the dragon’s claws. “Rijkdom?”
Van Zandt’s smile was razor sharp. “It is Dutch for ‘wealth.’ It is why I am here. It should be why you are here as well.” He stretched out his hand. “Give me the rest.”
He shook his head, suddenly hesitant. “I gave you enough for the Pinnacle show.”