Book of Nathan (27 page)

If Doug was looking for someone to commiserate with, he was
in bad company. I had too many problems of my own. “You’re telling me Arcontius
and some others high up in Silverstein’s organization are keeping him boxed up
because he’s—”

“Old, unpredictable, delusional, and a boozer. That sew it
up for you?”

“Not enough to back me off from trying to meet with him
again.”

“Why?
Even
if you could get to him, what’s so important about looking him in the eye?”

“He stuffed twenty grand in my pocket and thinks he bought
himself a slave. I intend to renegotiate the deal, but that won’t happen if
Arcontius keeps fending me off.”

Doug switched on his please-don’t-do-this face. “Can’t you
handle this some other way? You could end up screwing me and the entire United
Way organization.”

“Won’t happen. Arcontius knows Doc Waters and Maurice
Tyson—met them when we paid Silverstein a visit. If he spots two residents from
the Gateway working the Ellis Island crowd, Arcontius is going to be distracted
just long enough for me to get to Silverstein.”

Doug sighed. “Seven hundred fifty people will be at that
dinner. Seven hundred fifty very rich people!”

“Yeah, yeah. I get the point.”

“And you’ve read stories about how Silverstein is ninety
percent recluse—and that was before
he
started falling off the deep end. He’ll hole up somewhere until it’s time to
make a cameo appearance. Even if Arcontius isn’t there to protect him, sneaking
into Arthur’s world won’t be easy.”

“I’ll find a way.”

“I want a guarantee the two oddities you want to bring with
you won’t cause a problem.”

“Sounds reasonable.”

“This is no joke, Bullet. I don’t want them wandering around
on their own. Give me a flat-out promise the nutty professor and the other
idiot won’t hassle anyone at the dinner.”

“Hassle” was a broad term that came with a lot of leeway.
“Done.”

“All right, then. So, you need to get Twyla on the road by—”

I held up my right hand. “The bargaining’s not over.”

“What?”

“One more thing.”

Doug blinked. “God in heaven.”
 

“The doctor at Overlook Hospital who was the attending the
night Arthur Silverstein’s kid died.”

“What about him?”

“I want to know if he’s alive. If he is, I need you to
contact him and get him to agree to a phone call or a visit.”

“How the hell am I supposed to make this happen?”

“Use the same kind of line you threw at Arcontius,” I
proposed. “The Ruth Silverstein Trust is under review. The directors are
revisiting the funding guidelines so donations made by the trust go toward
solving the medical problems that messed up Arthur’s daughter. You’ve asked me
to call the doc for a short interview to get his recommendations.”

“But why
do
you want to talk to this guy?” Doug moaned. “What’s the point?”

I didn’t have a convincing answer, only that I was working
on a hunch that wouldn’t go away. Ruth Silverstein’s portrait kept popping out
of my memory bank, and the sketchy medical records that Doug had faxed to my
office were nudging me toward the doctor. Then there was Doug’s comment about
Silverstein’s obsession with his dead daughter. Maybe someone familiar with the
family’s medical history could help me understand if I were onto something or
just chasing my tail.

“Those are my terms,” I said.

“All this because that lunatic in an Orlando jail cell has
turned you into Inspector Clouseau.”

“He’s not a lunatic. Do we have a deal?”

Doug got up and emptied his tray into a waste bin. “Yeah,
but so help me, if you turn that dinner into a fiasco—”

“Not to worry,” I said as Doug trudged out the door.

My
GE phone and answering machine were leftovers from a juvenile diabetes silent
auction. Like a few other items that hadn’t drawn a bid, the equipment needed a
home. The gifts were appreciated, but never got much use. Residents weren’t
allowed to make outgoing calls unless I gave them the okay, and incoming calls
were rare—at least they were until about three hours after my lunch with Doug.

Five messages were stored in the answering machine when I
drifted into my office around four o’clock. Three were from Abraham Arcontius
who asked, then demanded, and then commanded that I call him. I was now long
past due in getting back to Silverstein’s scrawny sentry who wasn’t accustomed
to being ignored. Finding ways to aggravate Arcontius was a pleasure, which is
why I didn’t dial his number.

The fourth message was from Judith Russet who also insisted
I call her. Unlike Arcontius, her voice was level, but intense, which told me
she had something important on her mind. Yigal Rosenblatt left the fifth
message that ended with a callback number. Twyla’s room at the Hyatt, where
Yigal was apparently spending his last day and night in New Brunswick before
heading south to Florida. I called him first.

“Morty Margolis just called,” Yigal proclaimed.

“And?”

“The paint samples matched.”

“He’s sure?”

“Yes, he is.”

Morty Margolis’s lab results would probably never hold up in
court. Nevertheless, the information still might help save Zeus’s hide. The
burned-out sedan the cops found in Kissimmee was the same car Zeus saw the
night it ran a white van off the road and into an Orlando bridge abutment. Juan
Perez, the well-cooked Venezuelan discovered inside the car, was probably one
of the men who battled it out under the overpass where Benjamin Kurios died.

I finished with Yigal and dialed Russet.

“What didn’t you understand when we met in Princeton?”
Russet asked. “If you value your safety, give us the computer disk.”

I came back with a counterpunch. “I’ll tell you what I
value. I value not having some fanatic turn into my shadow.”

“What are you talking about?”

“One of your
Quia
Vita
faithful. The man you paid to keep me in his video camera viewfinder.”

Russet hesitated. It wasn’t a long pause but long enough to
tell me I had struck a vein. “As I said, I don’t know—”

“People who have a foot in the grave don’t tend to lie. A
couple of Conway Kyzwoski’s last words were Quia and Vita.”

“Kyzwoski? I
had
nothing to do with Mr. Kyzwoski.”

“But your organization did?”

“As difficult as this may be for you to grasp, I’m trying to
do you a favor. So let me be as clear as I can. Kyzwoski wasn’t directly
connected to
Quia Vita
.
But he was involved with a pro-life fringe element that is extremely
dangerous—a fringe group that’s not
happy with what you’re up to.”

Trying to make sure a homeless man accused of murder got a
fair shake is what I was up to
.
That
fact seemed to have been buried under the misimpression that I was hawking
Henri Le Campion’s computer disk. Of course, I could have done more to let the
“fringes” know I didn’t belong at the top of their hate list. But proving that
I was being wrongly accused would mean an end to the information people like
Russet and Arcontius were feeding to me. Information that could prove weighty
enough to convince the law enforcement community to apologize to Zeusenoerdorf
for his wrongful detention.
 

“What do you know about a Venezuelan named Juan Perez?” I
asked.
 

“Damnit,
Bullock.
You’re not getting it. You’ve stepped over the line, and now you’re in deep
trouble. So much so that your life may be in jeopardy.”

“I do get it. Who’s Juan Perez?”

“I don’t know anyone named Juan Perez,” said Russet and I
believed her.

I jumped to a different question. “Who’s involved with this
ultraradical fringe group you’re talking about?”

“That’s not something I’m going to discuss. Just know that
your problem isn’t
Quia Vita
.”

“Maybe my problem’s with the Order of Visio Dei. Isn’t that
the dangerous fringe group you’re talking about?”

Russet laughed. “Hardly. Visio Dei is a part
of
Quia
Vita
.
A very important and morally sound part of our organization.”

“At the Visio Dei meeting the other night, you warned that
Quia Vita
was going to be challenged like never before,” I reminded her.

“If it falls into the wrong hands, the
Book of Nathan
disk might be used to discredit us. We need Visio Dei’s financial help to beat
back those attacks. We’re not signing up thugs to help us do battle.”

“Juan Perez was a thug. Seems he was paid to steal the
Book of Nathan
disk
and apparently Benjamin Kurios got killed in the process. You’re telling me
none of Visio Dei’s money was used to buy Perez’s time and services?”

That stopped Russet for a few seconds. When she resumed, her
tone was sharper than ever. “Visio Dei’s members are decent people. If you knew
them, you’d realize what you’re saying is not only absurd but insulting.”

“You want Le Campion’s disk, but you’re worried it might end
up someplace else. Besides
Quia
Vita
,
who do you think has made an offer for the CD?”

“You, of all people, know the answer.”

“Do I?”

“I told you—auctioning off the disk would be a mistake.
Possibly even a lethal one. By playing
Quia
Vita
against another party, you’ve infuriated a lot of people.”

I decided to lay down my cards. All of them. “Time out. I
don’t have the disk. I never did. If I’ve led you to believe otherwise, it’s
because I’m trying to help a poor schmuck locked up in an Orlando cell block.”

Dead silence. Then: “I don’t believe you.”

“I can understand why you wouldn’t. Truth is, I’ve been
leading you on.”

“Why?”

“Like I said—to get as much information as possible that
could help Miklos Zeusenoerdorf.”

Russet chewed on what I said. “Are you telling me you know
absolutely nothing about the disk?”

Since Russet had given me a lot more information than I’d
expected, I had an odd urge to reciprocate. “I know a little. The disk was
found beneath an overpass where Kurios was killed.”

“Who found it? Who has it?” Russet was breathless.

“I’m not going to say anything more until you tell me who’s
on the fringe in the pro-life world.”

“I want to remind you that even if you’re telling the truth,
there are those who think it’s you who’s brokering the sale of the
Book of Nathan.
As
long as that disk is in play, your life is in danger. If you work with
us—cooperate fully with us—
Quia
Vita
can help you locate the CD. We have a large and influential constituency.”

“Some of those constituents could be over-the-edge
extremists who’d love to see me cremated. So thanks, but no thanks.”

Judith Russet growled—actually growled. “Think about the
benefit of joining forces, Mr. Bullock. Then think about what will happen to
you if you don’t.”

I tried to sort out whether Russet was handing me an
opportunity or sending me a warning. Maybe she was sincere. The events of the
last few days proved I could use backup and a lot of it. Then again, maybe she
was telling me that if I didn’t get in line with her organization, she’d
unleash holy hell. Either way, I wasn’t going to board her train.
Quia Vita
and its fuzzy “fringes” still came with a label that read “danger.”