Payne smirked. ‘That wasn’t an answer.’
Jones laughed. ‘I know it wasn’t. But like Nostradamus, I’d like to remain mysterious.’
Megan glanced at Payne. ‘And what about you?’
He shrugged. ‘Like DJ, I think some of his verses have been distorted to fit certain world events. That being said, I’ve heard enough stories about him to think maybe he had a gift that can’t be explained in simple scientific terms.’
‘Such as?’
‘Did you hear the one about Nostradamus and the Pope?’
‘Is this a joke?’ she asked.
Payne shook his head. ‘No, it’s not a joke — although my setup made it seem that way. This is a story I’ve read many times over the years. Obviously I don’t know if it’s true or not, but if it is, you’ll have to admit it’s pretty freaky.’
She smiled. ‘Cool. I love freaky stories.’
‘While travelling through Europe, he came across a group of lowly Franciscan monks in Italy. Despite his advancing years, Nostradamus immediately threw himself on his knees and kissed the feet of one of the monks, a man named Felice Peretti. When asked why he was doing this, Nostradamus said one must kneel before His Holiness the Pope. Peretti, who was much younger than the prophet, was deeply embarrassed by this and helped the old man to his feet. Amazingly, more than thirty years later, Peretti was named Pope Sixtus V.’
‘Are you serious?’ she shrieked.
Payne shrugged. ‘Like I said, I don’t know if it’s true or not, but I’ve heard it from many different sources.’
‘I’ve heard it, too,’ Jones admitted. ‘But that story pales in comparison to the one about his burial. If you want freaky, that shit is freaky!’
‘Wait! Is this the one about the French soldiers?’
Jones started laughing. ‘Yeah! Ain’t that some crazy shit?’
‘I forgot about that one! You’re right. That blows the Pope out of the water!’
‘Tell me,’ Megan said excitedly.
Jones launched into his story. ‘When Nostradamus died in 1566, he was buried in a cemetery near his home town. Back then, he was fairly well known, but not the celebrity he is today — mostly because the bulk of his prophecies were just starting to come true. Anyway, somehow a rumour got started that said anyone who drank from Nostradamus’s skull would be able to see the future, but would die shortly thereafter.’
She grimaced. ‘They had to drink from his skull?’
He nodded. ‘More than two hundred years later, during the French Revolution, three drunk soldiers stumbled upon the grave of Nostradamus. Wanting to know how the revolution would turn out, they decided to dig up his body to see if the stories were true. Under the cover of darkness, they grabbed some shovels, and started digging. Several minutes later, they finally got down to the wooden coffin and pried that sucker open. Once they did, guess what they saw?’
‘What?’ she demanded.
‘Hanging around the skeleton’s neck was a simple sign that said ‘May 1791’ — the exact month and year of their excavation.’
‘No way! Are you serious?’
‘I’m serious, but I’m not done. Obviously, this sign freaked them out, but they’d been drinking so much they decided this was actually a good omen. They decided Nostradamus was expecting them, so the rumours must’ve been true. With a simple drink, they’d be able to see the future. Anyway, the bravest of the bunch stepped forward and poured a bottle of wine into the prophet’s skull. Getting swept up in the moment, he mumbled a drunken toast in the dead man’s honour then took a big gulp from the hollowed-out head. Just then a bright light flashed in the distance! His friends assumed it was the spirit of the prophet returning from the great beyond, but it wasn’t Nostradamus. Instead, it was rifle fire from a nearby skirmish. Unfortunately, one of the stray bullets sailed through the night and pierced the drunken soldier right between the eyes. The poor sucker dropped dead on the spot before he had a chance to reveal the future.’
‘Come on! The guy died?’
Jones shrugged. ‘According to legend, the guy actually fell into the grave. Of course, that’s the beauty with most stories about Nostradamus. Who knows what to believe?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said, ‘that one seems pretty far-fetched.’
Payne smiled. ‘Actually, I think it’s a lot easier to accept than Nostradamus writing a poem about you, but what the hell do I know? I’m not a historian. Or French.’
She laughed. ‘To tell you the truth, I’m still doubting that one myself. I guess we’ll know a lot more once Petr tests the ink and parchment.’
Payne nodded. ‘Tests like that would normally bore the hell out of me, but in this case, I can’t wait to hear the results. Personally, my gut’s undecided, but not my heart.’
‘Meaning?’
‘I think it would be pretty cool to know what’s going to happen in the future. Especially if we’re given a chance to change it.’
‘You think we can change the future?’ she asked.
Payne shrugged. ‘Who knows for sure? But let’s be honest, it’s a philosophical debate that is bound to rage on for centuries. However, some of the greatest thinkers of our time believe that we control our own destiny. Not God. Not the stars. And certainly not Nostradamus. It’s our decisions — and nothing else — that influence our lives and future. I’m normally not the kind of guy to quote literature, but Shakespeare wrote something that’s always stuck with me. He said, “Men are masters of their fate.” That’s something I do believe.’
53
Payne, Jones, and Megan had departed Pennsylvania on Monday evening and arrived in Geneva on Tuesday morning. Although the temperature was below freezing and flurries of snow fluttered through the sky, the plane was able to land on a Swiss runway far from the French sector. One of Ulster’s associates met them as they hustled across the tarmac and led them into a nearby hangar where a silver Mercedes SUV and a black Mercedes sedan were waiting for them.
The sight confused Payne. ‘Why two vehicles?’
The associate, whom he had met several times, explained, ‘One is for your time in Geneva. The other will deliver the document to Küsendorf where the testing will be done.’
Payne pointed at his choice. ‘If it’s okay with you, we’ll take the SUV.’
He nodded. ‘Petr assumed as much. That is why he is waiting inside.’
Jones overheard the comment. ‘Petr’s here? He didn’t tell us he was coming.’
‘I believe he wanted it to be a surprise.’
‘Great! I haven’t seen him in a while.’
Jones went over to the late-model SUV, admiring its heavily tinted side windows. Peeking through the windshield, he saw Ulster sound asleep in the front passenger seat. A drop of drool oozed from the corner of his mouth. Jones grinned at the sight and decided to play a trick on his friend. He put his face next to the windshield then rapped loudly on the glass, hoping to scare him. The loud noise spooked Ulster, who tried to leap from his seat but was restrained by his seatbelt. His arms flailed wildly and spittle flew in all directions like a broken sprinkler. Due to Ulster’s girth, the entire SUV shook as though a small earthquake had just hit Switzerland.
Payne noticed the movement as he approached. ‘What the hell was that?’
‘It wasn’t me,’ Jones claimed as he slowly backed away.
‘For some reason, I don’t believe you.’
Jones picked up his bag. ‘You can drive. I’ll sit in back where it’s safe.’