‘That is the crown jewel of my collection. It is the earliest known edition of Les Prophéties, handwritten by Nostradamus himself. The first public instalment was not published until 1555, a full two years after his last entry was dated.’
‘Wow, that must have cost you a lot.’
‘Actually,’ Dubois said as he backed away, ‘it didn’t cost me a cent.’
‘How’d you manage that?’
‘Quite simple, really. I took it.’
‘You took it?’
Dubois pulled a pistol from the small of his back. ‘Allow me to demonstrate.’
Payne turned around slowly. He was fully expecting to see a gun in his rival’s hand. ‘I admire your confidence, but that’s not going to happen you know, considering the circumstances.’
‘The circumstances? I’m not stupid, Mr Payne. I’m fully aware that Mr Jones is lurking in the darkness. Why do you think I pushed for this meeting to be held inside?’
‘I thought maybe you wanted to cuddle.’
Dubois couldn’t help but smile. ‘Hardly. I did it so we could have a conversation without interlopers.’
‘And you think you’re safer in here?’
‘All the windows in my château are bulletproof. They were made by the same company that outfitted the White House. Sniper fire won’t even leave a mark.’
Payne shrugged. ‘Oh well, I guess we’ll have to kill you some other way.’
‘I guess so. In the meantime, tell me about the girl.’
‘Sorry, you’re not her type.’
Dubois ignored him. ‘Why is she involved in this? What’s her significance?’
‘She has no significance,’ Payne lied. ‘The only reason she’s involved is because your men killed her neighbour.’
‘Her neighbour was a thief.’
‘Coming from a thief, is that a compliment or an insult?’
Dubois smirked at the comment. ‘I’m getting tired of your insults.’
‘Then why don’t you come over here and do something about it?’
‘There’s no need, Mr Payne. I can silence you from here.’
A moment later, Dubois lifted his gun and fired.
Jones was on the move long before he heard the gunshot in his earpiece. In fact, he had abandoned his position in the yard as soon as he got off the phone with Butch Reed.
Dubois had burned down his house. The bastard needed to pay.
While hiding his sniper rifle in the undergrowth, Jones told Payne what had happened and told him he was on his way to the château. It was the main reason Payne had been willing to go inside the Dragon’s Lair. He knew his backup would be there soon.
But not soon enough.
The first shot hit Payne squarely in the chest, catching him by surprise and knocking him off balance. But that wasn’t good enough for Dubois, who fired two more times at close range. The second shot struck Payne in his abdomen, and the third tore through his left trapezius, just missing the arteries in his neck. The bullet, after passing through skin and muscle, shattered the display case behind him and imbedded itself in the stone wall.
Payne slumped to the floor, stunned. Blood leaked from his wounds as shards of broken glass fell upon him, cutting his hands and face.
Wasting no time, Dubois reached into his pocket and pulled out a chatellerault — an antique French switchblade with a distinctive S-shaped cross guard. With a skilled hand, Dubois flicked it open and plunged its tip into the bubble wrap that protected the package. Payne, who had been paranoid about leaving it in the library, had been kind enough to carry it inside the lair. Now the last image he would see before he bled to death was his rival opening the box.
Dubois grinned at the thought.
And from the floor, Payne grinned as well.
The instant Dubois cracked the inner seal of the package, a large ball of flame erupted in his face, and his hair, skin, and clothes caught fire. The homemade explosive, which had been rigged by Jones in the back of the van, was their insurance policy in case something happened to them before they confronted Dubois. They figured if they were dead, it was the only way they could stop him from killing Megan and Ulster.
Dubois howled in agony as his skin blistered and bubbled like cheese on a pizza. He tried in vain to smother the flames by dropping to the floor and rolling around, but all that did was spread the fire. In a flash, one of his bookcases ignited, filling the room with thick, noxious smoke that blinded Payne and made it impossible to breathe.
Alive because of his Kevlar vest, Payne reached his right arm over his head and snatched the edition of Les Prophéties from the shattered case. The blood from his wounds stained the book’s cover as he pulled it against his chest and started crawling towards the doorway. Choking on the fumes and coughing loudly, Payne moved closer to the exit he couldn’t see. It was up ahead somewhere — that’s all he knew. And if he didn’t reach it soon, he would be burned inside the Dragon’s Lair.
Suddenly, from the darkness behind him, Payne felt a bony hand brushing against his lower leg. At first it felt like a dog nipping at his heel, but it quickly turned into a hound from hell as Dubois latched onto Payne’s foot with all the strength he could muster. The flammable fluid that had ignited the blaze quickly spread from Dubois to Payne’s clothes. Seconds later, his lower leg was engulfed in flames.
‘Jon!’ Jones screamed as he burst into the library.
‘In here!’
Jones ran towards the sound as Payne rolled over and kicked Dubois several times, trying to free himself.
‘Where are you?’ Jones demanded.
‘He’s got my leg!’
As flames climbed the walls and ignited the ceiling above, Jones dived to the floor and crawled towards the screams of his best friend. He blindly grabbed the first thing he could find, which happened to be Payne’s left arm, and pulled it with all his might. The sudden force freed his foot from Dubois’s grasp. It also saved Payne’s life.
Lightning bolts of pain shot through his ruptured trapezius as Jones dragged him into the fresh air of the library. But Payne’s agony paled in comparison to Dubois’s as the bastard burned to a crisp alongside his prized collection.
Ironically, his search for the future had ended his own.
69
During the long drive to Küsendorf, Megan had pondered everything that had happened over the past seventy-two hours. Prior to Sunday night, she had never heard of Payne and Jones, had never been to Europe, and knew very little about Nostradamus. Now the ex-MANIACs were risking their lives to save hers, she had been smuggled to the Ulster Archives in the Swiss Alps, and she had found out she might be a blood relative of the famous prophet.
Other than that, it had been an uneventful three days.
After unpacking her suitcase and showering, Megan changed into a clean pair of jeans and a sweater. She didn’t know how long she would be sequestered at the Archives, but as Ulster had promised back in Geneva, her stay wouldn’t be uncomfortable — not with a gourmet kitchen, a private suite, and one of the best research libraries in the world. While she was there, she fully intended to do her part, whether that was running errands, cooking meals, or researching her family tree. She didn’t have the academic background to translate ancient texts or carbon date the parchments, but she wasn’t the type to sit around all day. Having lost her parents at such an early age, Megan had developed an extraordinary work ethic not only to impress the various foster families she had lived with, but to learn as much as possible before she was forced to live on her own.
With an hour to kill before dinner, she got permission from Ulster to examine the puzzle box in one of the research labs. After lining the table with a sterile sheet of plastic laminate, he placed the box on a soft cloth to protect it. Then he gave her a pair of latex gloves to reduce the fingerprints and oil residue on the wood.