She searched his face. In the eternal twilight of the maze it was impossible to read his expression. But, then, it had never been easy to tell what Nick was thinking, she reminded herself. He could be as enigmatic as the sea. Slowly she sank back down onto the cold stone bench.
“He’s got your father’s journal.” She looked at the neatly wrapped package that lay beside her on the stone bench. “He stole it from poor Morris Fenwick and then murdered him. He had already hired Wilkes to create the duplicate and a fake note for Polly and Omar to find. He thought if you accepted the fraud, you’d stop looking for the original.”
“I know.” Nick looked at Duncan. “And you tried to implicate my uncle in both the murder of Fenwick and the forgery.”
Duncan’s empty hand swept out in a what-can-you-do gesture. “I tried to put you off the scent or at least distract you by leaving one of your uncle’s cufflinks at Wilkes’s house.”
“How did you get the cuff link?” Nick asked.
“Oh, that was simple. He and I were meeting regularly to discuss business. I made certain that he lost one link after he’d had a few too many scotch-tinis. I really did not want to have to kill you, Chastain. I was afraid it would draw too much interest, not only from the police, but from your circle of lower-class associates.”
“His associates, as you call them, are not nearly as low class as yourself, but you’ll certainly get their attention if you kill him,” Zinnia said fiercely. “You’ll never get away with it.”
“I’ve found a way around that little problem,” Duncan murmured. “By the time anyone finds his body in this charming country garden, there will be very little left. It will be assumed that he and Demented DeForest argued about the fate of the Third Expedition and both of them ran afoul of these damned meat-eating plants.”
“It will never work,” Zinnia said.
She was hoarse from repeating the words. She had been saying them over and over for the past hour while they waited for Nick.
Duncan had been just as certain as she that Nick would show up eventually. She had deliberately refused to respond to the familiar probe of Nick’s strong talent in an attempt to discourage him from entering the maze. But he had found her, anyway. Typical matrix.
Nick looked at Duncan. “Your father went to a lot of trouble to rewrite history. He murdered several people and he faked the bankruptcy of his own company in an effort to blur his tracks. But even a paranoid matrix-talent couldn’t wipe out every piece of evidence that related to the Third Expedition.”
The flash of rage that had appeared in Duncan’s eyes vanished as if it had never existed. He assumed his familiar warm, charming, open-faced expression. “My father certainly tried hard enough. Got to give the old bastard credit. In all the years I knew him, the only thing he ever cared about was that damned journal. He didn’t even bother to come to my mother’s funeral because he was so busy working on it.”
“Why didn’t he get rid of DeForest years ago?” Zinnia asked.
Duncan chuckled. “There was no reason to do that. In his own bizarre fashion, Demented DeForest made an unwitting contribution to the plan.”
“He helped turn the truth into a legend,” Nick said.
“Precisely.” Duncan smiled. “Thanks to his silly theories about alien abductions, no serious scholar ever paid any attention to the subject. It became the kind of story that only the tabloids covered.”
“Which was just what Marsden Luttrell wanted,” Nick said.
Duncan nodded. “The Third Expedition was receding very nicely into the mists of legend on schedule. But unfortunately, things got complicated after my father jumped out that window a year ago. The Chastain journal disappeared within hours of his death. It was stolen by his mistress. She apparently guessed that it had value, and she decided to make her fortune with it. Sold it to a book collector in New Portland.”
Zinnia raised her chin. “I suppose you murdered her, too?”
Duncan chuckled good-humoredly. “She very wisely disappeared before I realized what she had done. I spent months and a great deal of money searching for her, but I still hadn’t found her by the time the New Portland collector had a stroke and died. Morris Fenwick was called in by the family to evaluate his book collection. Fenwick found the Chastain journal and knew he had something important.”
“But he didn’t know how important it was, did he?” Nick said.
“Of course not,” Duncan scoffed. “He couldn’t break the code. He didn’t even realize that it was encoded. But he knew that the family-history angle would be of great interest to a Chastain.”
“So he contacted me.” Nick moved slightly, causing another sigh of anticipation in the leaves of the nearby shrubbery. “He also notified my uncle, Orrin Chastain. The rumors must have started up immediately.”
“Yes.” Duncan pursed his lips in mild disapproval. “By the time I heard them, Fenwick had already made arrangements to sell the journal to you. He refused to turn it over to me.”
Zinnia narrowed her eyes. “So you threatened him. You forced him to give you the journal and then you murdered him.”
“I really couldn’t let him live.” Duncan sounded dryly apologetic. “He knew too much, you see.”
“You mean he had read enough of the journal to know that your father was the sixth member of the expedition team.” Nick watched Duncan with expressionless eyes. “And he knew that the expedition had not been canceled. It had departed on schedule.”
“So you figured that out, did you?” Duncan gave him an approving look. “Very clever. Dad thought he had erased all traces of the fact that there had been a last-minute addition to the team.”
“He tried.” Nick’s eyes were the same hard green as the grotto plants. “Marsden Luttrell murdered my father and the other members of the expedition team, as well. What kind of poison did he use?”
“Do you know, I never thought to ask him,” Duncan said. “One of his own creations, no doubt. Something slow-acting and extremely subtle, I imagine. He was always tinkering in his lab.”
“Poison?” Zinnia’s mouth fell open in shock. “He poisoned the expedition team?”
“Marsden Luttrell was the founder of Fire and Ice Pharmaceuticals,” Nick explained. “He was a brilliant chemist. He funded the Third Expedition through the University of New Portland. Anonymously.”
“Oh, my God,” Zinnia whispered.
“The legal agreement was that his company would have first crack at developing commercial products from any promising botanical specimens that were discovered,” Duncan said. “Nothing odd about the arrangement. Just business as usual.”
“Not quite,” Nick said. “Your father was a matrix.”
Zinnia winced. “So much for business as usual. Matrix-talents never do anything in the usual manner.”
“That was especially true with Marsden Luttrell.” Nick kept his gaze on Duncan. “He had probably been getting increasingly flaky for years, but he must have been a full-blown paranoid by the time he funded the Third. It’s amazing that he was able to conceal his mental state from the university officials.”
“I doubt they would have cared, even if they had guessed that Dad was getting a little weird,” Duncan said. “After all, money is where you find it and the university needed the cash very badly for the venture.”
Nick looked thoughtful. “Marsden was so paranoid by then that he convinced himself that he had to join the expedition in order to protect his investment. He didn’t trust anyone.”
“Least of all your father,” Duncan retorted. “He suspected that Bartholomew Chastain was a strong matrix. He figured Chastain would plot to steal or conceal any valuable discoveries.”
Zinnia frowned. “When Luttrell showed up at the last minute in Serendipity, Bartholomew Chastain had no choice but to accept him on the team.”
“No choice at all,” Duncan agreed. “After all, Dad had paid for the whole damn expedition. He gave the orders.”
Zinnia took a deep bre
ath. She wondered if it was her imagination or if the air in this section of the garden was becoming thick and heavy. It occurred to her that the plants were not the only predatory species in the vicinity. She was sitting on a bench between two very dangerous carnivores, one of which, the one who appeared the most normal, was clearly crazy.
The only thing she could think to do was buy time. Fortunately, Duncan seemed quite willing to talk.
“What’s the big secret?” she asked. “What did the Third Expedition find that was worth so many lives? Was it a botanical discovery?”
“Actually, Dad did bring back a rather interesting plant specimen,” Duncan said. “He spent a lot of time working with it after he returned. He synthesized one of the active compounds. He was certain that it held the potential to allow him to use his talent without the assistance of a prism.”
“But instead, it just made him crazier,” Nick said.
Zinnia looked from one to the other. “What are you talking about?”
“Crazy-fog.” Nick did not take his gaze off Duncan. “Marsden Luttrell fiddled with it until it finally put him over the edge. He took too much of the stuff one afternoon about a year ago and walked out a window which happened to be twenty-two stories above the sidewalk.”
“It was his mistress’s bedroom window,” Duncan explained. “He had spent the day with her, working on the journal and dosing himself with fog. That’s why she was able to grab the damned book and get away before I learned what had happened.”
“But Marsden Luttrell killed himself a year ago,” Zinnia said. “The police and the newspapers claim that crazy-fog only recently became a problem on the streets. Where has it been for the past thirty-five years?”
Duncan winked. “Dad never saw the real potential for crazy-fog. The crazy old coot kept it for himself. All he could think about was finding a way to decode the Chastain journal without using a prism. He was so paranoid by that time that he was afraid to even create a focus link with another person.”
“But you saw the financial implications of crazy-fog, didn’t you?” Nick said. “After your father’s death, you started producing it in large quantities and selling it to drug dealers.”
Zinnia stared at Duncan. “That’s how you financed the recent expansion of SynIce and the development of your new generation of software, isn’t it?”
“Indeed.” Duncan gave her a patronizing smile.
“In business, money is blood. You get it from any source you can.”
“You arranged for those two men to attack Nick with crazy-fog last night,” she accused.
“I knew what a large dose of the stuff had done to my father,” Duncan said. “I assumed it would have the same interesting effect on Chastain. But something must have gone wrong. No matter, I’ll take care of tidying up the loose ends tonight.”
Zinnia clenched her hands around the edge of the bench on either side of her thighs. “I still don’t understand. You said your father tried to use the crazy-fog to decode the Chastain journal. So the drug wasn’t the big discovery that the Third Expedition made?”
“No, of course not.” Duncan glanced at her, impatience simmering in his eyes now. “The fog was only a means to an end as far as my father was concerned. What he wanted was the real secret that Bartholomew Chastain concealed in his journal. And that is what I want, also. What I’m going to get very soon.”
“What was that secret?” Nick asked in his softest voice.
“The location of the alien tomb,” Duncan said.
Nick said nothing.
Zinnia was flabbergasted. “Alien tomb? You’re saying that the Third Expedition discovered an alien burial site?”
“Yes.”
She spread her hands. “I don’t believe it. You sound like Demented DeForest.”
“Why do you find it so impossible to believe, Zinnia?” Nick said seriously. “Lucas Trent discovered those alien artifacts that are now housed in the museum. It stands to reason there might be other relics scattered around the world. Why not a whole tomb?”
“In point of fact,” Duncan said, “your father didn’t believe that the structure was intended as a burial site. He thought it was probably meant to be a sort of temporary storage facility for the aliens and their equipment. His theory was that the Curtain had opened and closed more than once in the past, you see.”
Zinnia sat very still on the bench. “And the aliens came through during one of those earlier openings? When the Curtain created a gate between their world and St. Helens?”
“Precisely. And when it closed, they were stranded, just as the First Generation Founders were a thousand years later,” Duncan said.
Nick shifted slightly. Leaves rustled nearby. “But instead of adapting to St. Helens and learning how to survive on this planet, the aliens decided to try to hibernate until rescue arrived.”
“But it never came,” Duncan concluded. “The equipment that was supposed to keep the aliens alive failed. Chastain figured it had simply run out of fuel after several hundred years. Whatever the case, the alien tomb is a treasure trove waiting to be opened.”
“Who knows what might be inside?” Zinnia tried to adjust to the vision of a tomb full of alien machines.
Duncan laughed softly. “I see you’re beginning to get the full implications. Weapons, incredibly advanced technology, medical and scientific data that could make a fortune for the company that controls it. The list of possibilities is endless.”
“It might contain nothing more than a few mummified bodies and some pieces of equipment made out of the same weird alloy as the artifacts that Trent found,” Nick said prosaically. “Interesting, but not especially profitable. Not worth so many lives.”
Duncan’s expression transformed itself from good-humored to enraged in the blink of an eye. “My father believed it was worth untold millions. I’m stronger than he ever was. I’m going to do what he was unable to do. I’m going to find the location of that tomb.”
Zinnia looked at him. “I don’t understand. Why did your father spend thirty-five years trying to decode Bartholomew Chastain’s journal? Marsden Luttrell was a member of the expedition. He was there when the tomb was discovered. He knew where it was.”
“Ah, therein lies the crux of the problem.” Duncan shook his head. “Unfortunately, Bartholomew Chastain was alone when he discovered the tomb. He left the expedition camp early one morning to do some surveys. He was supposed to return by nightfall. But he didn’t show up until late the following day.”
“What happened?” Zinnia asked, desperate now, to keep Duncan talking.
“The team was organizing a search when Chastain walked back into camp with the story of the tomb.” Duncan’s jaw tightened. “But he refused to give anyone else the coordinates. He said he would turn the information over to the university officials and no one else. He claimed the discovery was too important to be left in the hands of any one man.”
Nick’s brows rose. “My father obviously had a few suspicions about Marsden Luttrell at that point.”
“Apparently.” Duncan shrugged. “Dad was furious because Chastain would not lead them back to the tomb or give him the coordinates. Dad had a real problem controlling his temper. There was a violent storm that night. Things were chaotic for a while. Dad took advantage of the confusion to slip the poison into some portion of the food supply. They were all dead by the time breakfast was over the following morning.”
Nick gazed at him with an unwavering stare. “In the process of covering his tracks, Luttrell also killed my mother.”
“And a number of other people over the years,” Duncan said, unconcerned. “It’s surprisingly easy for a good chemist to kill, you know.”
“But all the killing didn’t do him any good,” Nick said. “Because Bartholomew Chastain had encrypted the information that referred to the location of the tomb.”
Duncan’s eyes darkened with sudden rage again. “Not just the location of the tomb. The whole damned journal is in code.”
r /> “Typical matrix,” Zinnia whispered.
“My father was a strong matrix,” Duncan snarled. “But he was unable to break Chastain’s code for thirty-five years because he was too paranoid to employ a trained prism to focus his talent. But I’m not going to make the same mistake.”
“What do you mean?” Zinnia asked.
Duncan’s eyes glittered feverishly. “I have my prism. A very special one who can work well for long hours with a powerful matrix-talent.”
“I’m not going to help you,” Zinnia said.
“Oh, but you will, my dear. Because if you don’t I shall begin putting holes in Chastain. I shall start with his legs so that he won’t be able to move. I expect the blood will soon excite the plants. It will be interesting to see what comes creeping out of the bushes to nibble on him.”
Nick looked bored by the conversation.
“No.” Zinnia leaped to her feet for the second time. “You can’t do that.”
“Chastain lives as long as you oblige me with a focus,” Duncan said.
She looked into his friendly open face and saw the madness in his eyes. She knew that he had no intention of allowing Nick to live while she focused for him. For one thing, even a powerful matrix such as Duncan would find it impossible to do three things at once. He would not be able to maintain the psychic link for an extended period, unravel a complex code, and keep an eye on another very clever matrix at the same time.
It was easy to second-guess Duncan’s real plan. He intended to try his hand at playing psychic vampire. As soon as she gave him a prism he would try to jump it and hold it captive.
And based on what her friend, Amaryllis, had told her about her own experiences with a real-life vampire named Irene Dunley, it was conceivable that Duncan could do just that if he was sufficiently powerful.
She recalled the way Nick had impulsively tried to seize the prism she had instinctively created for him that first night in the casino. His psychic strength had been almost overwhelming but she had not burned out as did most prisms when faced with an aggressive talent.