The Book of Lost Fragrances: A Novel of Suspense (38 page)

Lan, who’d noticed the exchange, shyly took Xie’s hand for a moment. With her quiet eyes, she too smiled.

“Can you imagine what it would be like to be an artist and live here?” she asked.

Xie shook his head.

“What it would be like not to go back? To run away. Now. This minute. Just take off. Stay in France. Paint?” She was breathless with the idea.

“Dangerous thoughts, my dear,” Wu said.

Before Xie had a chance to concur, something caught his eye.

Not far from them, standing to the right of a group of kids, Xie saw Ru Shan.

There was only one reason he’d be there, hovering in the background.

He was following them.

Forty-nine

6:08 P.M.

The intruder wore goggles and a helmet with such a strong light that when he turned, it momentarily blinded Jac.

When she could see his face, it was smeared with dirt—either on purpose as a disguise or by virtue of the machinations he’d taken to get here—and his features were indecipherable. But Asian, Jac thought. Like Ani.

No one moved.

Griffin continued holding Ani down. From her expression, the pain was intense, yet she didn’t utter a sound.

Robbie stood beside Jac, his arm around her protectively.

The intruder remained at the far entrance to the room.

“I told you to let her go,” his voice boomed out across the expansive space.

Griffin didn’t move.

“I’ve got a gun,” the intruder said.

“Yes, you do. But so do we,” Griffin said. “And if either of us shoots in here, we’re going to cause a major collapse. Maybe more than one. We’re in a series of fragile mines. A loud noise could cause a cave-in.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“Try me.”

A drop of sweat dripped down Jac’s back.

The man came toward her and her brother. Ignoring her, he focused on Robbie. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you face to face,” he said, “so I could give you this.” He spat. A thick wad of spittle landed on Robbie’s cheek. “For what you did to—” He hesitated. Thought. “Fauche.” Then he smacked Robbie on the side of the head with the gun.

Jac tried to hold Robbie as he fell, but he came at her at the wrong angle. He grazed his face on the rock wall, and his cut reopened. Blood welled almost instantly. It dripped down his neck, onto his collar. Disappeared into his jacket.

“Don’t hurt him anymore,” she said as she dropped to Robbie’s side.

“Shut up. Or you’ll get the same gift.”

She cradled her brother’s head. “Robbie?”

He answered with a groggy grunt. “I’m okay.”

“Touch either of them again, and I’ll take it out on your friend here,” Griffin called out. He jerked Ani’s arms tighter behind her back. She swallowed a scream.

“Hurt her all you want. I don’t care about her. I’m here to collect the pottery.”

“And you’re willing to let her die to get it?”

The intruder ignored Griffin. He squatted beside Robbie. “So,
Monsieur le Parfum,
where is it?” His voice was gentle, almost soothing.

When Robbie didn’t answer, the robber used the gun like a hammer and struck him.

“Stop!” Jac shouted, reaching for his arm. The intruder shoved her away. In doing so, he’d turned his back on Griffin, who let go of Ani and jumped him.

Ani screamed out a warning. “William!”

“Keep her down!” Griffin yelled to Jac.

The nun was struggling to her feet. Jac reached her in two strides. As strong as Ani might have been, her pain was debilitating. She tried to fight Jac, and almost won. But Jac managed to grab hold of her injured shoulder. For the first time, Ani wailed. Blinked back tears.

Jac threw herself on of top of the woman and held her down.

Immediately she was assaulted by Ani’s smells. Such intimate odors. Perspiration, skin, breath. Jac could identify black tea and juniper berries. Cotton and talc. A hint of salt. Something else.

The stench of a man coming at Marie-Genevieve. To rape her. To laugh at her. He was talking about how her God couldn’t save her from this. That man. This woman. Their smells were identical.

No. Not now. Jac could not allow her mind to fracture. Not now.

She looked up, searched for Robbie. Her helmet illuminated the corner, where it looked like the ground opened up. He wasn’t there. Then she caught sight of him crawling toward Griffin. Probably to help. But drunk with pain, Robbie was unsteady and moved slowly.

Griffin struggled with the intruder. The men’s helmet beacons created an insane light show on the chamber walls as they rolled around on the floor in the bones and debris.

Then the intruder maneuvered his right arm loose. “Watch out,” Jac shouted as the man raised his arm.

Griffin moved just in time. The gun missed him. Griffin held on tighter and pushed them into the next roll.

They were in the farthest corner of the crypt now. Hidden in the shadows.

Jac couldn’t see what was happening. She heard a grunt. Was it Griffin? Then another.

A swipe of strong light zigzagged through the chamber.

The intruder was standing. Griffin was down. “That’s enough of that. Where is the fucking pottery?”

Griffin looked across at Jac. “Okay Jac, give him the pouch.”

She was about to say she didn’t have it, but he knew that. What was he doing? What was he asking of her?

“Throw it over here. Let him have it. We don’t have a choice anymore,” Griffin ordered.

What was she supposed to do?

“To you?” she asked.

“Not to me, give it to him, Jac.”

Griffin could mean only one thing. He wanted the man distracted. Jac grabbed the skull that Griffin had used before, which was lying next to Ani. Trying to aim, not at the intruder, but just beyond his reach, she threw it. Close enough so that he’d think he could catch it, but too far for that to be possible.

The dark object sailed across the room.

The intruder lifted his hands up. Realized it was higher than he’d anticipated. Reached.

And in that moment, Griffin pushed him toward the ledge.

It was such a simple thing. A push. One shove. The man wearing the goggles disappeared. Only the glow from his helmet remained. Shining up toward the vaulted ceiling.

There was a millisecond of silence. Then a splash of water. Then angry cursing.

Griffin leaned over the edge of the chasm. “Hope you didn’t hurt yourself. That’s at least a twenty-foot drop.”

There was no response.

Griffin and Jac bound the nun’s hands together with the rope Jac found in Ani’s robes. Then they tended to Robbie, who had an egg-shaped bump on the side of his head but otherwise was all right again.

“Now. Let’s deal with her,” Griffin said to Jac.

“What are we going to do with her?”

“Help me get her up.”

Once they had the nun on her feet, Griffin nodded toward the far end of the chamber.

Together they moved her across the room.

At the edge of the abyss, Jac leaned over. The man in the goggles stood in mud or water—Jac couldn’t tell—up to his waist in one of the deep wells so prevalent in the catacombs.

“Okay,” Griffin said to Ani. “Jump. It’s water. Our goal isn’t to hurt you. Just take you out of commission for a while.”

She didn’t move.

He nudged her closer to the edge.

“If you don’t jump, I’m going to have to push you. And if I push you, I might mistakenly touch your shoulder.”

Ani launched herself off the edge.

Seconds later there were two sounds: the splash of her landing and what Jac guessed was a swallowed scream.

“The two of you can keep each other company.” Griffin grabbed his knapsack and returned to the edge of the well. He unzipped the flap and stuck his hand in. “Here’s some water to keep you alive.” He threw in one bottle and then another. “Once we’ve delivered our package, we’ll let the police know where you are. In the meantime, enjoy yourselves. Especially you, Sister. It looks like a peaceful place to meditate.”

Fifty

8:15 P.M.

The L’Etoile living room never seemed so lovely to Jac as it did now. The old faded fabric and worn rugs, strains of Prokofiev, and the scent of sweet tea welcomed Jac home.

Malachai stood as they walked in.

“What happened? Are you both all right? Is Robbie all right?”

“My brother is fine.” She shook her head, remembering the argument. Robbie had insisted he remain underground, assuring her that he knew a hundred hiding places. They planned to rendezvous in two hours, which would give Griffin time to get to the Buddhist center and see if he could arrange for the meeting Robbie was willing to risk his life to keep. “But he wouldn’t come up.”

As Griffin explained what had occurred in the catacombs, Jac sank down on the couch. Her hand brushed the book Malachai had been reading, and she looked down at it. One of the Moroccan-leather-bound books from her grandfather’s library:
Tales of Magic in Ancient Egypt,
part of his extensive collection devoted to magic.

When she was growing up, they had a ritual. The first of every month, he’d handpick a new title for her to read and give it to her after dinner with great ceremony. As if it were yet one more step in an initiation into a secret society. Religiously, each evening after she’d done her schoolwork, she’d go down to the library and read a section with him.

Some of the books were very old, and she needed to be especially careful not to rip the pages. He’d noticed how cautious she was. “Yes, the books are rare, Jacinthe,” he’d said—he and her father were the only ones to ever use her full name—“but the real value is the knowledge they hold.”

She read sitting at a fine mahogany and brass partners desk, in the light cast by a Daum Nancy art glass lamp—rose flowers against a light-green background. Then she and her grandfather would sip hot chocolate from the family’s antique Limoges china and discuss the passage.

Grand-père was very serious about the lore on those pages. Believed there was an important science buried with the Egyptians that needed to be rediscovered.

Her favorite book, the one she’d asked to read again, was about Djedi, the ancient Egyptian magician renowned for bringing the dead back to life. It had been written in 1920, when the world was obsessed with Egyptology and the great archaeologist Howard Carter’s finds. The book was heavily annotated. She studied her grandfather’s notes as well as the text. He’d marked every mention of an herb, oil, spice or flower—as if he might figure out the soothsayer’s life-reversing formula himself.

Jac remembered something else: Grand-père’s black calfskin notebook. It was filled not just with Djedi’s possible magical formulas but also all kind of alchemical possibilities. Formulations from all of ancient history. There was a heavy glass inkwell on the desk. She could picture him filling his fountain pen with its coal-black ink. His hand crawling on the page, leaving spidery possibilities. Where
was
that notebook?

Griffin was still explaining what had happened in the underground maze.

“Are the woman and her accomplice dead?” Malachai asked.

“Not dead. Not even hurt,” Griffin said. “Except for a dislocated shoulder.”

“They were willing to kill you,” Malachai said solemnly.

Jac shivered.

Malachai turned to her. “I’m so relieved you’re all right.” Then, almost as an afterthought, he asked, “And what happened to the pottery?”

“Robbie wouldn’t let go of it,” she said. “He has it still.”

Malachai leaned toward Jac. Put his hand on her wrist. Felt for her pulse and then concentrated. His touch was welcome. She didn’t mind at all that someone was concerned about her and wanted to take care of her. She could still feel Ani struggling beneath her, still see the random images of their trek through the tunnels. The shifting bones. The wall of names.

Letting go of her hand, Malachai said, “You’re still stressed.” He stood and walked toward the kitchen. “Let me get you some hot tea laced with some of your brother’s fine brandy.”

“My father’s brandy,” Jac corrected. “Robbie likes wine.”

“Well, your father has excellent taste in brandy.”

Jac didn’t answer.

As Griffin watched Malachai leave the room, he was frowning.

“What’s wrong?” Jac asked.

“Nothing.” He shook his head.

“I wish we hadn’t left Robbie down there alone. Are you sure they can’t get out of that well?”

“I can’t imagine how they could. But even if they did, Robbie’s long gone. Hiding deep in some cavern. He’s safer there than anywhere else.”

“Because of you. Because of what you did. You saved our lives down there.”

Jac still felt the ache across her torso where Ani had held her. The woman would not have hesitated to kill her. Jac knew that without doubt. From the way she’d looked at her. Talked to her. Strangely, from the way the woman had smelled. She’d had no humanity. Her scent was cold. It was the same scent as the rapist’s scent.

The nun’s accomplice would have killed them, too. Thinking of him, she remembered something else. Wincing, she pulled her knapsack off the floor and up on the couch. She took the napkin from beside Malachai’s cup and saucer, reached into her bag, and pulled out the gun. She held the butt carefully away from her. As if it were alive and might spring back on her and strike. “There are fingerprints on this that could help the police figure out who was following us.”

“The police?” Malachai said as he came in carrying the tea things and a bottle of brandy. “Are you going to call in the police?”

“There are fingerprints here. Clues to who those people are.” She got up and walked to the bombay by the fireplace. Opening the top drawer, she placed the gun inside.

“If only Robbie would sell me the pottery. We could bring this dangerous adventure to an end.”

“After tonight? I’m convinced nothing is going to change his mind. The closer he gets to delivering it to the Dalai Lama, the less likely that becomes,” Jac said. “He believes so strongly in what he’s doing.” She heard how wistful her voice sounded. “I’m afraid you came all the way here for nothing,” she said to Malachai.