The Book of Names (14 page)

Hutch must have his hands full
, he thought, scanning the stairwell before he began the climb.
If he has them.

He has to have them.

The sound of voices from the other side of the hotel room door stopped David cold. He leaned closer, heard a male voice, and thrust the card key into the lock. He shoved open the door and found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

VILLA CASA DELLA FALCONARA, SICILY

The prime minister's butler stepped onto the terrace where DiStefano and his wife tarried in their silk lounging robes over their usual breakfast of small cookies and espresso.

“Scusi, Signore e Signora.”
He turned to the prime minister with a slight bow, his tone apologetic. “A young man from the village has begged to see you. He is most insistent. He claims his mother worked in the kitchens here when you were in the army and I do remember the woman. It is his belief that you are the only one who can help him.”

DiStefano snapped his newspaper closed and set it beside his plate as his wife sipped her espresso. “You may show him in, Carlo,” he said with a shrug.

Mario Bonfiglio burst onto the terrace, urgency etched in his swarthy face. The muscles of his laborer's body were bunched cords of tension, reminding DiStefano of a mountain cat primed to pounce.

“Mi displace
—I am sorry,
Eccellenza
, I would not come to you if I were not so desperate. The police, they do nothing, know nothing. My fiancée's family and I
live in daily torture.” He swallowed thickly and continued, sweating beneath the keen gaze of the prime minister and the cool inspection of his wife.

“Your fiancée?” The prime minister prompted.

“Si
, my Irina, my love, my heart. We were to marry last week. But she disappeared. Her father sent her on an errand to the post office and she never returned. We have searched, signore—the farms, the fields, everywhere. The police shrug and do nothing. They laugh and tell me she probably eloped with someone else. I know this is not true, my Irina and I were sworn to each other. We could not wait to get married and start a family.”

“What is it you think I can do that the police can't?” The prime minister regarded him quizzically.

“You could order the police to investigate her disappearance, Eccellenza—and to notify the surrounding towns. It's been three weeks since she vanished and we've lost precious time. Please, if you order them, they will help us look for her.” He stretched out his hands, beseeching the prime minister's wife as she set down her cup.

“Signora, you know what love is like. It is glorious and painful all at the same time. I need my love back. Something terrible has happened to her. She would never leave me.”

Mario searched the woman's face for sympathy, compassion. He saw only the coolness of her steely blue eyes and upswept golden hair. She set down her napkin and rose with a smile as thin as a razor blade.

“Ah, but sometimes love is fickle, young man. And sometimes love flees. Perhaps your Irina does not wish to be found.”

Anger flashed in Mario's face. His eyes burned like two obsidian coals, but he restrained himself from speaking with disrespect.

As Flora Dondi swept past him and into the house, he turned the power of his gaze to her husband. “Never,” he said in a low tone. “Never would my Irina leave me willingly.”

“I am sorry for you.” The prime minister leaned forward and Mario was relieved beyond words to see the concern on his dignified face. “If you will write down your name and your fiancée's and her father's and the date she disappeared, I will demand the police investigate fully—and leave no vineyard or village unsearched.” DiStefano held out a pen and called for the butler to bring paper.

“You did well to come here, my son,” he said, after Mario scribbled the information and gratefully pushed the paper across the tablecloth.

DiStefano stood to offer his hand. Mario pumped his benefactor's beefy palm with joy. Hope surged through him and he silently thanked the Madonna for giving him the courage to come here.

“Bless you, Signore. Bless you.” He nearly toppled a chair as he spun from the terrace and toward the butler who ushered him out.

DiStefano plucked up the paper and glanced at the thickly written words. A moment later he pulled a silver monogrammed cigarette lighter from the pocket of his robe. He glanced for a moment at the double ouroboros engraved upon it before he ignited the flame and incinerated Mario Bonfiglio's hopes.

 

David's hand clamped the barrel of the gun as he tried to twist it aside. But the gunman had an iron grip, belying his short stature. Before he could pull the trigger, David thrust a shoulder into the man's broad chest, knocking him off-balance. They went down together, grappling for control of the gun as the bakery bag went flying and David's duffel slammed into his back.

“Lo
Avi!” Yael shouted in Hebrew. “No, don't shoot, it's David!”

David's fist paused in midair as her words registered.
Avi.
The adrenaline that had been charging through him at the sight of the gun ebbed, but his heart was still racing.

Shit.
He relaxed his hold on the weapon and heaved himself to his feet. His opponent staggered up, also scowling.

“What the hell kind of greeting is that?” David demanded, glaring at the short, wiry-haired Israeli before him.

“In my line of work, it's the way we stay alive,” the man rejoined in calm, accented English.

Yael bolted the door and picked up the bakery bag. “If
you're done trying to kill each other, can we catch David up on what you've told me?”

Avi extended a hand. “You handle yourself well.” The Israeli had reddish hair, sideburns, and the darkest eyes David had ever seen. There was a toughness in his stance and Ashkenazic features, an air of confidence and strength.

“Self-preservation makes a quick teacher,” David rejoined.

“Did you get your passport?” Yael asked him.

He shook his head. “I never got to see Wanamaker. The UN's in lockdown. Power's still out everywhere.”

“So I've noticed.” She dabbed at the perspiration filming her face. The room had to be at least eighty degrees.

“But there is some good news, David. Avi has a passport for you. I don't know how he manages,” she added with a small smile at the other man, “but he always does.”

David caught the admiration in her tone and it annoyed him for some reason he didn't understand. He had to admit though, the passport the Israeli handed him was perfect. Totally indistinguishable from the one he'd left in his bedroom, the one that had disappeared.

“Sign it.”

Imperious, isn't he?
David thought as Avi handed him a pen from the desk.

“Now all we need is for JFK to reopen,” Yael said.

“And for the damned cell phones to start working again.” David tucked the signed passport into his duffel. “Did your second team reach my daughter yet?” he asked Avi.

The Israeli took a seat in the room's only chair, next to the table where he'd set down his gun. “Not yet. They should reach Flagstaff sometime early tomorrow. My last communique said that Newark was closed—it seems the power failed in New Jersey first—so they had to take the
longer route, from Tel Aviv to London and then to Phoenix, at least a twenty-one-hour trip.”

David's heart contracted with frustration. “And then they still have to make the drive to Flagstaff?”

“Yael told us your man out there is pretty competent.”

“Very.” But David was wondering if Hutch could fend off a descending flock of Dark Angels.
They don't know where Stacy is
, he reminded himself. But then, he'd thought they didn't know where he and Yael were either. He took a turn around the stifling room, feeling as if his veins were going to explode.

“David.” Yael seemed to have been reading his thoughts. She touched his arm. “Your job right now is to complete your book of names—and ours. We don't have all the names. There are numerous fragments of Adam's Book still missing, buried in the caves and the desert. But if those same names are locked in your brain, we can get them out.”

“It's the only way to defeat the Gnoseos,” Avi added, his dark eyes boring into David like a laser. “We have to keep as many Lamed Vovniks alive as possible. And only you can tell us who they are.”

David stared at the floor. All he wanted to do was get out of New York and get to Stacy. But he couldn't chance leading danger right to her. He felt sweat dripping down his ribs and it wasn't from the sweltering room.

Yael continued softly, as if sensing his dilemma.

“Once you're in Safed, the mystics can help you remember everything you were told. You need to try to focus. That's your best way to help Stacy. The world hasn't come to an end yet, David, so you have to keep believing that your daughter is still alive.”

There was a short silence. Avi broke it, picking up the bakery bag, rustling the paper as he pulled out a chunk of
crumbled blueberry muffin. Popping it into his mouth, he passed the bag to Yael.

“What about Percy Gaspard?” David challenged, staring down at Avi. “What did you find about him?”

“Very little so far. Only one has turned up—a male born in Montreal in 1939. That's all the information our sources gathered before the power fizzled. By now they might know more. I'm leaving here and driving to Pennsylvania, or as far as I need to go to reach civilization, otherwise known as a city with a working cell tower. We should have a lot more to go on once I've reestablished contact with my colleagues.”

“Then you should get going,” Yael suggested.

Avi nodded, rising from the chair. “One more thing,” he said, walking toward David. “The gemstones. I'll be taking them now.”

“Why?” David demanded.

“They'll be safer with me, even if you two get to Israel first. They are vital to the Jewish people, and they've been stolen from us for too long.” He glanced at Yael. “Did you tell him that we suspect the Gnoseos' elite Circle has already captured several of the gemstones?”

His gaze flashed back to David. “They'll stop at nothing to get their hands on them. They've coveted the gemstones almost as much as the thirty-six names because of the stones' innate power to tip the balance.”

David flashed back on Crispin all those years ago—holding the agate aloft, promising David and Abby they wouldn't fall. How had Crispin known the stone was magical? And how in the world had he gotten his hands on it?

“Explain that last part to me,” David spoke tersely. “About tipping the balance.”

Avi pulled his damp khaki shirt away from his chest.
“The sages taught of the stones' mystical properties. Each gem in the high priest's breastplate bears the name of one of the twelve tribes, and its color is the same as the banner which flew outside that tribe's camp. The high priest wore the breastplate whenever he entered the Holy of Holies. Do you know why?” Avi answered his own question before David could venture a guess.

“Because it represented the Jewish people, reminding God of the twelve tribes, invoking His mercy. And there's more,” Avi said.

“Do you know how a Ouija board works?” Yael interjected. As David nodded, she went on. “The high priest's breastplate was like ancient Israel's Ouija board, a way of communicating with God. When the Jewish people found favor with God, the stones would shine brightly. When Israel was at war, and the stones glowed, it was an auspicious sign of victory.”

“Here's an example for you.” Avi holstered his gun as he spoke. “Yael mentioned the Ouija board. Here's how it worked in Biblical times. People would bring the high priest questions to ask God. After Aaron voiced them, he would stare into the stones on his breastplate and meditate on God's various names. While he did so, the letters on the stones would glow radiantly, spelling out God's answer.”

David went still. He remembered the moment when he'd found the stone after the snow thawed. It had glowed so brightly it hurt his eyes. He'd thought it was a reflection from the sun. Now, as Avi's words sank in, he withdrew both stones from his pocket and studied them.

An agate and an amber. Napthali and Levi. They looked so ordinary. They weren't glowing now, and yet, what if . . .

“I'll take them back myself,” he said, closing his hand around them and meeting Avi's eyes.

“No, you won't—” the Israeli began, but David cut him off.

“If we're talking mystical happenings, I think I have a bit more experience than you do. I found this stone, and based on everything I've been hearing, there's probably a damned good reason for that. Not to mention that Rabbi ben Moshe entrusted both of these to me just moments before he was murdered.”

“I think he's right, Avi.” Yael stepped between the two men. “He found Napthali shortly after the fall that led to his vision. It lay
waiting
for him. I don't believe that's a coincidence. It's been in his possesion all these years. He was meant to hold on to it,” she insisted. “Perhaps for some reason we don't yet know.”

Avi stared from one to the other, his mouth clenched in a frown. At last he shrugged. “I suppose you could be right. Fine, then.”

He extended his hand to David. “As soon as the power returns, I will let you know about your stepdaughter—and about Percy Gaspard. Pray that the airport reopens within twenty-four hours. Time is not on our side.”

LOS ANGELES

Alberto Ortega was displeased. And that had Raoul LaDouceur pissed off.

It wasn't often Raoul lost his cool, but he was sweating and furious as he peeled away from the Sofitel in the yellow Firebird convertible he'd rented earlier from Avis. His first impulse had been to simply ditch the white van, but he'd thought better of that after realizing it would disappear more neatly back at LAX in the National lot. And now he had a new set of wheels under a different name. The cops would never connect him to Stacy Lachman.