20
Petr Ulster, a round man with a thick brown beard that covered his multiple chins, sat at his kitchen table, scrutinizing the actions of his personal chef. As Ulster nibbled on a hunk of cheese, he heard the private line ringing in his office. With a glass of wine in hand, he lumbered down the long hallway, trying to reach his phone before it stopped ringing. It took most of his energy to get there in time.
‘Hello,’ he blurted, completely out of breath. ‘This is Petr.’
‘Hey, Petr, it’s Jonathon Payne.’
Ulster beamed. Even though he was in his mid-forties, he came across as boy-like, due to the twinkle in his eye and his zest for life. ‘Jonathon, my boy, it’s wonderful to hear your voice.’
‘Yours, too.’
‘If I recall,’ he gasped, still fighting for air, ‘it’s been nearly a month.’
Payne grimaced at the wheezing. ‘Did I catch you at a bad time?’
‘No, not at all.’
‘Are you sure? Because it sounds like you’re having a heart attack.’
‘Sorry,’ he apologized, ‘I ran to the phone.’
‘How far did you run?’
‘From the kitchen.’
‘Wow. No comment.’
‘I assure you, it’s not me… It’s the altitude.’
Payne laughed at the explanation, realizing Ulster’s shortness of breath was more about the size of his belly than the elevation of Küsendorf, a small village in the southernmost canton of Switzerland. But Payne was willing to cut him some slack. As director of the Ulster Archives, the finest private collection of documents and antiquities in the world, Ulster spent most of his time sitting down, studying important books and relics, not exercising in the Alps.
During the early 1930s, Austrian philanthropist Conrad Ulster, an avid collector of rare artefacts, sensed the political instability in his country and realized there was a good chance that the Nazis would seize his prized library. To protect himself and his collection, he smuggled his possessions across the Swiss border in railcars, using thin layers of coal to conceal them. Though he initially planned to return to Austria after World War Two, his new home in Küsendorf eventually became his permanent residence. When he died in 1964, he expressed his thanks to the people of Switzerland by donating his estate to his adopted home town — provided they kept his collection intact and accessible to the world’s best academic minds.
For the past decade, the Archives had been run by his grandson Petr. Petr had befriended Payne and Jones a few years ago when they had sought his expertise during one of their missions. Since that time, their friendship had evolved into a mutually beneficial partnership.
After making their startling discovery in Greece, Payne and Jones realized an outside expert should be brought in to catalogue the massive treasure, someone they could trust to protect their personal interests. Thanks to his sterling reputation in the academic community, Ulster was approved by the Greek government. He had been handling their affairs ever since.
‘Petr,’ Payne asked, ‘do you have a moment to talk?’
Ulster took a gulp of wine. ‘For you, my boy, I have all night.’
‘If it’s okay with you, I’d like to put you on speakerphone with DJ.’
‘Yes, of course, put him on.’
Payne handed the phone to Jones, who pressed the appropriate button on the unit. As he did, Jones asked, ‘Can you hear me, Petr?’
‘Hello, David, what a pleasant surprise! It’s been far too long.’
‘I couldn’t agree more. How were things in Greece?’
‘Wonderful, just wonderful! I will be sending you another cheque in January. I know how you Americans are. Always deferring your money until next tax year. Isn’t that correct?’
‘You got that right,’ Jones said.
‘One of these days,’ Ulster suggested, ‘perhaps you’ll wise up and allow me to deposit your funds directly into a Swiss bank account. It can be our little secret.’
Payne smiled. ‘Millions of dollars is never a little secret. Especially on something this visible. If we don’t do everything by the book, Uncle Sam is gonna get pissed.’
Ulster chuckled. ‘Perhaps you’re right. However, if you change your mind, I have several connections in the banking world. Rest assured, my friends are known for their discretion.’
‘Great. We’ll keep that in mind.’
‘Speaking of discretion,’ Jones said, ‘there’s something that Jon and I would like to discuss with you, but only if you’re willing to keep it confidential.’
‘Colour me intrigued,’ Ulster whispered as he closed his office door. ‘What have you fellows stumbled onto now?’
Payne spoke next. ‘Just so you know, there have been two attempts on our lives during the last twenty-four hours. If you don’t want to be a part of this, we’ll completely understand.’
Ulster trembled slightly. ‘Now you’ve done it; I’ve got goose bumps!’
‘We’re serious, Petr.’
‘I am, too. You guys are so much fun!’
Payne grinned. He knew Ulster would react this way. ‘Consider yourself warned.’
‘Yes, yes, I’ve been warned. Now tell Uncle Petr all about it.’
Jones glanced at his computer screen and clicked the SEND button on his e-mail. He had been so confident that Ulster would be interested in the project he had already scanned in the document and typed his message. ‘I’m e-mailing you a one-page letter that we were given yesterday. The woman who gave it to us was shot and killed a short time later.’
‘How unfortunate! Did you get the bugger who did it?’
‘Kind of,’ Payne admitted. ‘He was hit by a bus while I was in pursuit.’
‘Did you say a bus? That must have been messy.’
‘You have no idea.’
Ulster took another gulp of wine. ‘And attempt number two?’
‘It happened this morning. A gunman ap proached me from behind and asked for the letter. When I declined, he opened fire.’
‘Did a bus get him as well?’
‘No bus. Just me.’
Ulster cackled with delight. ‘You are such a brute. I love it!’
‘What’s the status of the e-mail?’ Jones asked.
‘It’s coming through now.’ Ulster stared at his screen as his computer downloaded the file. ‘While I’m waiting, please provide me with pertinent information.’
Jones answered. ‘It is written in a mixture of languages that I can’t translate. According to the woman, one of the languages was Middle French.’
‘If I may enquire, how old is this letter?’
‘No idea. Unfortunately, that’s part of the problem. The woman who gave it to us was less than reliable. She used a fake name and made up several details about her life.’
‘Yet you believe this document — whatever it is — is important?’
Payne nodded. ‘The gunmen who attacked us seemed to think so.’
Ulster clicked on the e-mail and smiled at the image that filled his computer screen. ‘Interesting, very interesting. I see Latin, and Greek, and Middle French, too. Not to mention a few other dialects that are no longer spoken.’
‘Then you can help us?’ Jones wondered.
‘Of course I can help you. I love academic puzzles, and this one is a doozy. May I call you later with my results?’
‘Later is fine.’
‘Wonderful!’ Ulster said as he glanced at his watch. It was a few minutes past 6 p.m. in Switzerland. ‘I’ll tackle it before dinner, then get back in touch.’
21
Randy Raskin sat in his basement office, surrounded by next-generation computers and paper-thin digital screens that would be the envy of every hacker in the world. Unfortunately, due to his classified position at the Pentagon, he wasn’t allowed to mention anything about his work or his equipment to his friends. As far as they knew, he was nothing more than a low-level programmer, working a dead-end job in the world’s largest office building, because that’s what he was required to tell them. But in reality, he was a high-tech maestro, able to track down just about anything in the world of cyberspace.