“So, away from here?”
“Really away,” she says, staring out the front windshield.
“And the good news?” I ask.
She grips the steering wheel, then slowly turns to face me. “Wanna come?”
My cheek leaps into the air. Now I’m the one wearing the butcher’s dog grin.
“Waitaminute,” Rogo calls out from the back. “Before we do anything rash, do we know the full picture of their speeding ticket problems out there? Because a man with my particular practice and expertise—”
I turn back to Rogo, and the grin only gets wider. “I’m sure we can look it up.”
“And let’s not forget about lax traffic laws and the slipshod judicial system that supports it. If they’re not there? Those two are deal breakers.”
“You’re really worried? It’s California.”
“Plus,” Lisbeth adds, “in San Francisco, I bet they have crazy amounts of accidents with all those hills.”
“See, now that’s what I like to hear,” Rogo says, beaming as the car cruises up the block. “Oooh, do me a favor,” he adds. “Pull up to that old Plymouth with the ticket on the windshield? If I’m gonna pay for this move, we need us some new clients.” From his wallet, he pulls out a business card and tries to squeeze forward and lean out my open passenger-side window. “Wes, scootch your seat up?”
“Here, try—here,” Lisbeth offers, poking a button on the dash. With a whir, the convertible roof retracts, revealing the aquamarine-blue sky and making plenty of room for Rogo to reach outside.
With his stomach pressed against the interior side of the car, he leans out from the backseat and wedges one of his business cards in the seam of the Plymouth’s driver’s-side window. “Downwith tickets.com!” he shouts to the few people who’re staring from the sidewalk. “Now go back to your sheltered lives! Go! Flock! Conspicuously consume!”
Lisbeth pumps the gas, the tires bite the pavement, and the car takes off, sending an air pocket of wind whipping against our faces. With the top down, I watch the royal palms that line the street disappear behind us. Effortlessly, the car roars up Royal Park Bridge, where the polished waves of the Intracoastal are so bright they’re almost blinding. As I tip my head back and soak in the sky, the ocean wind knots its fingers through my hair, and the sweet sun bakes against my face.
Nico was wrong. The Book of Fate isn’t already written. It’s written every day.
Some scars never heal.
Then again, some do.
Author’s Note
History has always been filled with exaggerations — and so, a few words about the Freemasons. In this book, the historical details about Freemasonry are based on three years of research. All the historical figures identified as Masons — such as Voltaire, Winston Churchill, Mozart, and certain U.S. Presidents — have been documented as Masons. Throughout history, Thomas Jefferson has been rumored to be a Mason, but the evidence today, as acknowledged in the novel, does not support that assertion. Nevertheless, Jefferson, Washington, and architect Pierre Charles L’Enfant, while designing the city of Washington, D.C., did build the most famous Masonic symbol (the compass and square) and the five-pointed pentagram into the city grid. There are disagreements over who had the most influence over the final street plan, but I believe the grid speaks for itself. For over two hundred years, those symbols have been hidden in plain sight. It is also true that on October 13, 1792, Maryland’s Masonic Lodge Number 9 did lay the cornerstone of the White House in a Freemason ceremony. The same was true during the laying of the cornerstone of the U.S. Capitol Building, where George Washington himself presided over the Masonic ceremony. Washington’s Masonic trowel was also used at the cornerstone laying of the Washington Monument, the U.S. Supreme Court, the Library of Congress, the National Cathedral, and the Smithsonian. To be clear, those details are what intrigued me and inspired me to pursue further investigation.
Yet these facts in no way mean that the Masons are trying to overthrow the world’s governments, open the devil’s door, or unleash secret satanic plots.
So why parse truth from fantasy — especially in a work of fiction? Does it even matter? Well, in this world where fact so easily dances with fiction — and where, for six novels, I have prided myself on my research — it is important to me, as both author and armchair historian, to make sure I don’t add even more misinformation to whatever small section of the public consciousness I am so thankful to touch.
So I encourage you to read the historical documents yourself. Any secret fraternity that had John Wayne, Winston Churchill, Benjamin Franklin, Harry Houdini, five Supreme Court chief justices, fifteen U.S. Presidents, and my Uncle Bernie as members just has to be worth checking out. Plus, you should see what symbols they built into the street plan of Sandusky, Ohio. Really. Go to: www.bradmeltzer.com/fatesecrets.html.
Brad Meltzer
Fort Lauderdale, Florida, 2006