The Fatal Tree

  “Of course,” replied Tony.

  Bayer nodded and continued, “I will also issue a formal communications lockdown. All information coming into and leaving this facility—as well as all private communications—will be subject to official NSA protection protocol and will require official approval for dissemination.” He paused, thought for a moment, then added, “I will draft the notice within the hour and post it to all relevant parties. Any questions?” He did not wait for a reply, but pushed himself away from the table and stood. “Good. Thank you all for your contributions. Back to work.”

  Dr. Segler joined Chief Bayer for a short conference. Finding himself temporarily on his own, Tony Clarke seized his opportunity—ducking out of the conference room and hurrying down to the Desert Rats. He found Brother Becarria right where he had left him a few hours earlier—hunkered down before a computer monitor surrounded by a mass of papers, many covered with obscure calculations he had made.

  “Gianni, thank God you’re here,” Tony said. “We have to talk.”

  The priest glanced up into his friend’s worried face. “What has happened?”

  “Chief Bayer has decided to invoke a communications lockdown—no doubt he is on the phone to the Powers That Be even as we speak. He plans to issue a formal statement—probably within the hour. It will be a complete information and communication lockdown. All contact with the outside world will be monitored and nobody will be allowed to leave. But I think we need to get word back to the others about what’s going on and what we’ve learned so far.”

  Gianni removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “Damascus?”

  “No, not Damascus. Cass, Kit, and Wilhelmina—you might be able to catch up with them in Prague. I’d go too, but obviously we can’t both just disappear, and in any case I feel I should stay here and do whatever I can to help.”

  “Capisco,” said Gianni. “Say no more.” He stood. “I will go.”

  “You’ll have to leave at once, I’m afraid—right now, this instant. Once the lockdown is in place, no one will be allowed in or out of this facility. You’ve got to get out while you can. Do you think you can find your way back alone?”

  The priest smiled. “I was making ley journeys before you were born, mio amico.” He rubbed the lenses of his glasses on his shirt, then replaced the frames on his face. “I am ready. I will go now.” He stood and pushed in his chair. “What was decided upstairs?”

  “Nothing much,” Tony told him. “The meeting went nowhere—no conclusions, no insights . . . They were waiting for a phone call and even that failed to happen.”

  “No surprises at least,” sighed Gianni. He gestured to the pages scattered around him. “None here either.”

  “In other words, it is as bad as we thought,” Tony concluded. “Weeks, not months.”

  “If that.” Gianni raised his eyes toward heaven. “I am not optimistic.”

  “Me neither,” Tony told him. “I’ll go ahead with the Cepheid marker report—it might prove useful.” He looked at his friend for a moment and could think of nothing more, then added, “I’ll see you out.”

  The two walked casually from the room and rode the elevator up to the main floor. As the elevator doors slid open, Tony said, “I’ll have to leave you here. Otherwise the cameras will see us together and I don’t want to get involved in a fabricated explanation.”

  “I understand.” Gianni stepped close and embraced his friend quickly. “God be with you, Anthony. Until we meet again.”

  “Good-bye,” Tony said. He reached out and touched Gianni on the arm. “One more thing. Please tell Cassandra that I love her and that my last thoughts . . .” His voice caught and he struggled to continue. “Tell her my last thoughts will be of her.”

  Gianni inclined his head in acknowledgement of the request and stepped from the elevator. He approached the reception barrier, waved his plastic ID card at the young lady behind the desk, and then swiped it against the electronic pad. The little gate opened, and Gianni walked across the room and out the entrance. No one save the receptionist saw him leave. Fifteen minutes later the official order was issued to lock down the facility to all traffic and to reroute all communications through the director’s office. The front gate was locked and the security guards placed on high alert.

  But by then Gianni was in a car miles away and speeding west across the New Mexico desert toward Sedona.

  CHAPTER 26

  In Which the Past Continues to Haunt

  Burleigh!” shouted Kit. He charged into the kitchen. “Get your hands off of her, you bastard!”

  He bowled around the corner of the counter and drove headlong into the man bending over Wilhelmina, who lay at his feet on the kitchen floor.

  Leading with his shoulder, Kit launched a flying tackle, striking Burleigh in the stomach with a blow that doubled him over. Burleigh crashed against the oven and collapsed onto the stone tiles. Kit fell on him and began pummelling him with his fists, punching again and again, battering the earl about the face and head amidst a ferocious wailing.

  Kit only ceased when he realised that Burleigh was not resisting and he was the one making all the noise. The next thing he knew, strong hands were pulling him up and away from his victim, and Engelbert’s big friendly face was gazing at him with an expression of shock and alarm. Wilhelmina, on her knees beside him, called, “Kit! Enough! Stop it!”

  He looked around—as much stunned by his own actions as by finding Burleigh standing over Wilhelmina’s body. “Mina? Are you okay? Did he hurt you?” He tried to struggle out of Etzel’s grip, but the baker held him fast.

  “I’m fine, Kit. It’s not what you think. Burleigh didn’t attack me. I got a little light-headed is all,” Mina said. “I’m all right, really.”

  Kit turned his attention once more to the earl, who was still lying on the floor hard up against the oven. Burleigh’s eyes were closed and he was not moving. “What’s he doing here?” Kit thrust out an accusing finger and turned to Etzel.

  Engelbert turned to Mina, and the two exchanged a few brief words. Mina replied, “He says that Burleigh has been in prison—”

  “Good!” sneered Kit.

  “And that he still has charges against him that must be answered in the magistrate’s court—”

  “Serves him right. What else?”

  “Kit, please, if you’d shut up for a minute and let me finish—”

  “Okay, fine,” huffed Kit, glaring murderously at his enemy. “Go on.”

  “Etzel says that until the earl has his day in court, he is living here and helping in the kitchen.”

  “He’s what?” Kit shrugged off Engelbert’s hands and turned on him. “Are you crazy?” To Mina he said, “Ask Etzel if he is crazy, taking in that murderer!”

  “No, Kit.” Mina put out a hand to prevent him from attacking Burleigh again. “You don’t understand. Just calm down.”

  “Calm down! That scumbag killed Cosimo and Sir Henry. He shot Giles and he tried to kill me,” Kit shouted. “And you tell me to calm down?”

  Cass, who had been looking on from the doorway, came to Kit’s side. “Come here, Kit. Come with me.” Taking him by the arm, she pulled him forcefully aside. “They are trying to tell you something, but you’re going to have to cool off a little so you can hear what they have to say.” She held his eyes with her own. “No, don’t look at him. Look at me. Did you hear what I said?”

  Under Cass’ coaxing, Kit finally relented and allowed himself to be gentled into a more reasonable frame of mind. She had one of the serving girls bring him a cup of sweet coffee and made him sit down and drink some. His rage ebbed away slowly as he sipped his coffee; he gave Cass a nod to show he would try to control himself. “Okay,” she said, “now let’s just sit here and find out what this is all about. Can we do that?”

  Kit nodded again and then glared across at Burleigh, who was just then levering himself up onto an elbow. Engelbert hovered over him with a wet cloth to sponge away the blood from his split l
ip and the cut above his eye.

  Leaving Kit to one side, Cass pulled a chair from the corner of the room and quickly carried it to Mina and sat her down. “Sie braucht einen Arzt,” she told Engelbert in clipped German. “Can you get a doctor for her?”

  “Sind Sie krank?” he asked, stooping beside Mina’s chair.

  Wilhelmina shook her head. “Nein, ich bin verletzt.” She pointed to the makeshift sling. “Mein Arm.”

  Engelbert turned on his heel, dashed to the counter, and summoned one of the servers. He spoke a brief command that sent the girl running from the shop. “Danke, mein Schatz,” Mina told him, then asked him to tell her how Burleigh came to be staying at the Grand Imperial.

  Etzel nodded and replied, “He had nowhere else to go, you see—and no one else to speak for him. It is our Christian duty to help those in need.”

  “Speak for him? I’m a little lost,” she said in German. “I think we must start at the beginning.” She reached for Etzel’s hand. “Slowly. You tell me, and I will tell the others.”

  While Kit and Cass looked on, Engelbert began to tell how Burleigh had come to be in his care. Mina translated as he went, and the story that unfolded was remarkable, to say the least. Burleigh, still pressing the damp cloth to his face, sat sprawled on the floor and listened impassively to the account, never objecting or contradicting anything Engelbert said about him. Kit, on the other hand, interrupted several times to question the account, but he was waved off by Wilhelmina, who was asking questions of her own.

  “Vielen Dank, Etzel,” said Burleigh, speaking up for the first time. “Es ist in Ordnung.” To the others, he said, “You must remember, I spent months in prison with no hope of release. I had great violence in my heart—violence stored up to avenge the hurt and injustice I imagined I had been made to suffer. I meant to make someone pay!” Burleigh pushed himself up into a sitting position, but made no move to stand. “I fully intended harm to Etzel, but when it came to the crux, I realised the person who must be made to pay was myself.”

  “What did you do?” asked Wilhelmina, struggling to maintain her composure in the presence of the man so roundly despised and distrusted.

  “What did I do?” echoed the earl. “I hardly know. I remember going into Engelbert’s room while he slept. Burning with hatred, intent only on destruction, I stood beside the bed of my good and faithful friend, and in the light of his virtue I saw myself for what I was—a vessel worthy only of destruction.” He glanced around at his listeners, willing them to understand, then looked to Engelbert beside him. “I saw that gentle face in the moonlight and understood that he was beyond touch of any earthly power, while I was a slave to all manner of worldly evils. There was but one solution,” concluded Burleigh, “and that was for me to drown myself forthwith, to kill the evil thing that I had become and rid the world of my own vile presence. I went out—right then and there. I made the decision and acted on it at once lest I change my mind.”

  “Really?” Kit could not believe what he was hearing. The man who had caused such great and terrible pain to so many on the quest was confessing his crimes—confessing fully and freely, his voice drenched in remorse. Still, he was determined not to be taken in. “You were going to kill yourself?”

  Burleigh repeated his intention and continued, “I went out, as I said, but I do not remember leaving the kaffeehaus, crossing the square, or anything else. You see, I was utterly consumed by the solitary thought that I must die. That alone compelled me. I was a mindless automaton—seeing nothing, hearing nothing, feeling nothing—seeking only the release of death.”

  “You managed to avoid it, I see,” sniffed Kit derisively—and earned a reproachful glance from Engelbert.

  Burleigh only nodded. “I came to myself at the city gate. It was closed. It was the darkest hour of the night and the gate was locked. The night watch was nowhere to be seen. I must have stood there for some time, gazing at the iron bolt and the heavy beam that barred the door. How was I to open it?

  “That door was all that stood between me and the river—between me and my destruction—and I could not open it.” Burleigh raised his face. A single tear trickled down his grizzled cheek. “That was it, you see—the final revelation. I was nothing, possessed nothing, could change nothing. I lacked even the power to do away with myself!

  “I stood helpless before that gate, and whatever solidity was left of me simply melted. I collapsed upon the cobblestones and wept for the futility and littleness of my pitiable, crabbed life and the hateful thing I had become. I was a lost and destitute soul—beyond hope, beyond redemption. There were no words to describe the desolation I felt at that moment. Lying in the street like a heap of refuse, like filth cast off to be trodden underfoot . . .” Burleigh fell silent, contemplating again that moment—only days removed, but already a lifetime ago.

  When he did not speak again, Cass asked, “Is that where Etzel found you?”

  The earl glanced up, smiled sadly, and shook his head. “No—it was in the church.”

  “The church?” wondered Mina. “Our church?”

  “I don’t know how long I lay in the street. The only thing I remember is that I cried out, and the next thing I heard was the tolling of the church bell. I didn’t even know they did that at night.”

  “It rings only twice during the night,” Mina confirmed, “the last just before dawn.”

  Burleigh nodded. “In any event, I heard that bell and I stood up and took myself to the church. I do not know why—unless, perhaps, I fancied that I might hide there. I stood at the door and I remembered something I’d heard somewhere: ‘Knock.’ I gazed at the door and I remembered more: ‘Knock and the door will open.’ Where those words came from, I cannot say. But I raised my hand and knocked, and the door simply opened and I went in—that door, at least, was not barred to me.

  “The church was dark. There were only a few candles burning on the stand before the icon, and I fell into a seat in the back. There I sat, knowing neither what I expected, nor what might happen next.” Burleigh closed his eyes, reliving the memory. “I was still sitting there when who should come in but Engelbert?”

  “He does that,” Wilhelmina offered, looking across to Etzel, who was still hovering over his charge. “He sometimes goes to early mass before opening the shop for business. What did he say when he found you there?”

  “Nothing.” Burleigh allowed himself a wan, wistful smile. “He said nothing. He simply slid into the seat next to me and waited for the service to begin.” He raised grateful eyes to his benefactor. “The thought that I might be there for any reason other than to attend mass would not have occurred to him.”

  “Go on,” said Kit. “Then what happened?”

  Before Burleigh could answer, two things happened almost simultaneously: first, the physician appeared to examine Wilhelmina, who was forced to adjourn the story. The doctor had just begun his examination when another face appeared over the counter and a voice was heard to say, “You’re all here! Thank God I am not too late.”

  Kit turned. “Gianni!”

  The priest stumbled around the counter and entered the now-crowded kitchen. He seemed to stagger and catch himself as he lunged toward the table. Kit took one look at Gianni’s filthy clothes and the dull grey pallor of his face and darted to his side. “Here, let me help you,” said Kit and motioned for Cass to bring another chair. “Etzel—get him some water. Quick! He’s dead on his feet.”

  Mina translated the request, and Gianni sank heavily into the offered chair. The physician attending Wilhelmina glanced up from his examination of Wilhelmina’s arm and called a command to Engelbert, who disappeared into the larder at the back of the room. “The doctor has ordered schnapps for him,” Mina said.

  “Ah, mio cuore, a thousand thanks.” Gianni closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.

  “You look like you’ve been dragged through a rat hole,” remarked Kit. The Italian’s elegant black suit was not only travel-stained, it was torn in seve
ral places and one sleeve was all but ripped off. “What happened to you?”

  Engelbert appeared with a bulbous bottle of crystal-clear liquid; he pulled the stopper and dashed some into a cup. “Trinken—das ist gut für Sie.” He put the cup into Gianni’s hand. The priest took a sip of spirit and grimaced, then took another and coughed.

  “In all my experience, never have I endured such difficulty. I was forced to resort to lines I had forgotten years ago.” Gianni took another swig of schnapps. “The worst of it is, I fear our troubles are only beginning.”

  Kit, Cass, and Wilhelmina exchanged a worried look. “Like Damascus?” asked Cass.

  Gianni finished the schnapps with another grimace and placed the cup on the table. He stared at it a moment before he spoke again. “Signorina, is this not what I have come to tell you?” Raising his eyes, he glanced around the room at the anxious faces looking back at him. “Mio amici, we have to talk.”

  CHAPTER 27

  In Which the Gaolbird Sings

  So far, Prague seems to be stable. We haven’t noticed any cosmic weirdness here,” Wilhelmina said. “But we’ve had a pretty rough time of it in other respects.”

  Gianni had bathed and changed into clean clothes—if old-fashioned and oversized—and they had all eaten a somewhat subdued supper of beans, ham hocks, and onions. As soon as the dishes were cleared away, the talk began. Burleigh, having disappeared shortly after Gianni’s arrival, was nowhere to be seen; and Engelbert, who had to rise early to start the baking, went up to bed, leaving the questors to their discussion. They now sat around the kitchen table by candlelight, reviewing what they had learned so far.