The Khufu Equation (11 page)

Why am I here? What should I do? Twenty years have passed, and suddenly I appear. I'm just an old dolt.

Kreis, seeing the nonsense of his position, turned round just as the door opened. Onto the porch stepped a youthful, pretty woman. She had a slender waist and noble bearing. She wore a blue sarong, and Kreis felt as if that New Year's night was about to be repeated. The same outline of the lips, the same fall of jet-black hair . . . . Oh, how it smelled. It was enough to bring the Lord down from the heavens.

Kreis held the flower to the woman and broke the silence.

"True beauty doesn't belong to time. You are the same." Kreis looked down.

The woman inhaled the aroma of the flower, and then she fixed her eyes on those of the stranger.

What familiar eyes!

Suddenly she understood it all.

"Maksim . . . . You!?" She touched the snow-white bristles on his cheek, and tears streamed forth from her eyes.

"What have you done with your face?" whispered Uch Tana, after which she lost consciousness.

Victoria, Seychelles: 2:00 p.m.

Jean-Pierre was seated in a small cafe in market square. Tables were on the terrace and, having taken one of the chairs, he pondered the decision.

Saint Paul's Cathedral, overarching in its severe British style at the start of Revolution Avenue; the Catholic Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception; and the old trade center between them had a definite influence on Pierre's sullen mood. The trade center, which had once consisted of Chinese and Indian rows, now included some modern supermarkets. Just there, Jean-Pierre's wife Lucien Emanesky appeared. Jan had said something about a headache, but surely he was lying. Lucien had been absent for about an hour, which was sufficient to meet with a representative of the local crime organization. Now, at the bottom of his bag, there was a newly acquired revolver. When one is warned, one is better armed.

As for Lucien's plan, he was to be killed at two o'clock that night. Her accomplice, Christian, would cut Jean-Pierre's throat like a lamb at the sacrifice. Her scenario was hardly original; in fact, it was recklessly naive. At half past ten, she and Jean-Pierre would go down to the hotel restaurant, where a splendid blues singer named Bridget Nilsen was set to perform. The performer was charming enough to draw a crowd, so there would be enough witnesses of Luci's presence. She couldn't possibly have anything to do with the criminal act. At least Luci was sure of that. At two o'clock, she would suddenly become worried about an iron or a fan left on in the room. Jean-Pierre would have to go and take care of it. Christian would await him there. After half an hour, the increasingly worried Lucien would also go up and, upon the discovery of her husband's lifeless body, would call the police. Further, according to the scenario, there would be tears, a fitful sob over the corpse, and the story of their deep, eternal love. Then would follow the recording of evidence, possible witnesses and so forth. Lucien, however, would overcome this little inconvenience and become fabulously, deliciously rich. However, Jean-Pierre, assuming a certain scenario, had decided to alter it. He wouldn't let Lucien go out by two o'clock. Instead, he would stun her and meet Christian, break his skull with an iron and shoot Lucien. The revolver, bought on the black market, would play an important role in order that Lucien could then queue up to Lord and take a ticket to paradise . . . with a bit of luck, of course. Pierre would call the police after placing the revolver in Christian's hand. He had foreseen everything and imagined the explanation he'd give at the police station:

"Taking a shower . . . heard a shot in the room . . . ran out and saw the wife on the floor in blood . . . . Some guy is rummaging through the suitcases . . . I sneak up from behind and hit him over the head with an iron."

He mustn't forget to throw Luci's things around, wet his hair and position the revolver.

His thoughts were interrupted by his wife's languorous voice:

"Was I too long, dear?" She took a seat next to him. Pierre was ready to smother her right then and there, but instead he forced himself to smile.

"No, dear. It was only an hour"

"How did you busy yourself while I was away?" she cooed. "Tell the truth, baby . . . ."

Jean-Pierre sipped his coconut nectar.

"I was sitting, waiting. It's really a nice view."

"Well, if you don't like to go shopping, that's your problem."

"I would rather unload cement than go shopping with a woman," he said sarcastically.

Lucien looked down and patted his hand with a finger.

"Don't be offensive. I've found such a blouse. But I spent the money you gave me.

"How much?

"Two thousand."

"What! Does it come with a microwave too!?"

"No, but it's too pretty. Don't you want your kitty to be the most beautiful? Well, don't be such a tightwad." Jan held out some money to Luci. It disappeared into her bag like a moth into a frog's mouth.

"Will you go with me?"

"Dear, I have a bad headache. I'll just wait for you here."

"Sure, honey. Whatever you say."

Lucien turn toward the aisles of shops, swinging her hips. She should have figured that the men at the next table, who sat there drinking their beers, were undressing her in their minds. She liked it. "You rascals!" she smiled. "But oh, Jean-Pierre, such a gentleman you are! Be patient till night, and I'll have a remedy for that headache. You filthy swine."

Jean-Pierre watched her as she sauntered off. "What a bitch. You'll look nice in a coffin, wearing that new blouse. It's your last big buy. Idiot!" Then he started to cry. Huddling up like an elderly person, he bowed over his glass of juice and dropped tears into it. The sudden realization of the fact that he loved the woman and would never harm her made him cry out. The world, for others so multi-colored and enormous, had grown dim. It had been reduced to nothing more than a dark reflection on the surface of his juice glass. Jean-Pierre gripped the glass in his hand, as if he might lose it too.

"It's Fin," said a voice in a faint whisper.

"Right you are, brother. It's Fin." Someone's velvety voice answered him.

Pierre looked up. Before him was a man of forty-five, with a medium build. Neither the pleasant smile nor the snow-white shirt attracted Jean-Pierre's attention, but instead he was bewitched by the man's eyes.

"I have seen them somewhere," said the man.

A long silence ensued, after which the stranger continued.

"When I get up, you will follow me. Clear?"

"Yes, I'll go," said Jean-Pierre obediently. The words seem to come from his lips but not from his mind.

"Well, good for you." The stranger gave a cunning smile. "I promised we would meet again.

An evil green spark gleamed in the stranger's eyes, and Pierre found he was unable to resist. Then the man rose to his feet, and Monsieur Lefebvre obeyed him. Only then, he remembered where he had seen those eyes: It was in the airport.

Victoria: midday.

The Blue Coral private detective agency was located on Francis Rachel Street in the Victoria House building, which was also home to trading groups, a capital bank, travel agencies and an embassy operation or two.

The avenue begins at Victoria House, which is situated at the very cross section where the clock tower stands. To the north is the Long Pier, and to the south is Francis Rachel Street, with its supermarkets, TV companies, law offices and the Center of Applied Art and Handicraft. Eventually the street becomes the coast highway, leading to the international airport and then the island's interior, after which it leads toward the southern borders. The office of the detective agency was on the first floor of Victoria House. Anyone coming in now could catch the detective, Howard Slaiker, under strange occupation.

The detective sat at a desk with an array of playing cards before him. The deck-- specially made by one Chinese master for two--contained exactly thirty-six cards. The idea of making such cards came to Brett and Slaiker's minds while their service in the U.S. naval force. Each card had a particular phosphorescence in its finish so that, by touch alone, even a blind man could tell its suit and place in the hierarchy.

The system of communication by cards helped the friends to talk about common matters at a distance, even at night. Certainly there was something negative in the system, but generally the idea justified itself, such as in cases where radio interceptors were on the alert or when time was limited. The habit of talking with cards became the part of their life as friends. Even under ordinary conditions they didn't talk for weeks. The cards would flash in their hands with such speed and virtuosity that any high-class card player would envy them. Still, a lot of water had passed under the bridge since their time in the navy, so now the two men used the cards only in special cases.

The salt of card communication could only be understood by one so dedicated. Each card suit had its own meaning. Spades warned about danger, clubs were indicative of motion, diamonds were responsible for digital information, and hearts served to augment the information from the other three suits.

The system was banal at first sight, but it required immediate response, mental flexibility and a good memory. These three components were the guarantee of a hundred percent luck in war conditions for both, not to mention survival in life. However, this time the cards meant something else to Slaiker.

The door opened abruptly and the detective looked up, whereupon Homicide Department Chief Brett Li entered with some case paperwork in hand. He took a seat at the desk, opposite Slaiker.

"Just so you know, in another situation I wouldn't apply to you. I have my own experience, but in this case something might slip past, and I don't want that. But, I won't snivel. I'll tell you what we've dug up."

The detective switched on the coffee pot and placed an ashtray in front of the commissioner.

"So, we've identified the victims. The first, as we supposed, is the owner of the house: a guy named Giordano Crufo. The second is a certain Mexican named Salvaro de Balboa. Giordano worked at the "Kings of Reefs" bank as the chief guard. Salvaro was part of the local crime syndicate.

"Now, here's the interesting part. An hour ago, some boy brought a packet as the testament of Crufo. In it there was a computer disc and a taped record.

Slaiker sprang to his feet.

"What's there!? Have you decoded it!?

"Yes. Out of the recorded conversations, certain things have become clear: Giordano was being blackmailed by a man called Kreis, and de Balboa was mentioned in that regard as well. Giordano liked to open the safes of wealthy gentlemen, and in one instance he happened to steal a computer disc belonging to a Miss Jeanette Krishelje. The copy of the disc was added to the record. Kreis left for Thailand at night. I have applied to Interpol for help with the search.

The detective nodded.

"I can hardly believe Kreis would have disemboweled anyone. I was suspicious of his presence on the island, but I wouldn't have guessed he'd get involved in something like this. A reserve cartridge is never extra. Kreis is a swindler, but is he a murderer? I don't believe that.

The coffee had come to a boil, so Slaiker switched off the pot and poured two cups. He handed one to Brett.

The commissioner took a swig, at which the burnt quality of the brew became evident.

"So, tell me what you think. The first murder occurred at 11:40 p.m., and the second came forty minutes later. The neighbors heard terrible shouting and screaming. However, at twenty minutes past midnight Kreis was seen at the airport. So, he has an alibi. But that's not all. We found a more courageous witness who stated that he had seen a man leave Giordano's house after all the noise stopped. He wasn't similar in appearance to Kreis. We're working up a sketch of the man now.

"What's on the disc?

"It's nonsense: just a bunch of lines and circles. By the way, here's the disc" He held it out to Slaiker. "Now I'll send my men to see Ms. Jeanette Krishelje. I hope they can clear up that part of it, anyway.

"No. I'll go myself," said the detective. "Your men are rude in cases like this. You want someone who can treat the matter with precision. Give me the address.

Brett handed Slaiker the file folder.

"Here's all the info."

Slaiker pulled a package of cookies from his bottom drawer and handed one to his friend.

"Was anything else strange about it?"

The commissioner leaned in toward the private eye. His voice became a husky whisper:

"Today, just an hour before I got here, we found the body of a man in a dumpster behind the commercial bank where this Jeanette person works. The body was completely dehydrated and empty of blood. You could call it a mummy. There was no documentation in any of the clothing, but we found the name 'Michel Arno' embroidered in the back of his shirt collar.