Expiration Date (54 page)

Asgoth circled Henna’s bedroom on Lovelake Road. Although he’d been comfortable at the downtown apartment, this was a safer option. Since Clay’s intrusion, that place had become a hot zone.

“With the Scandi-Fest opening tomorrow, it’s better not to take any risks. Not when we’re so close to our goal. Even now, Monde is fine-tuning the plans, and one of the Consortium will be arriving in the next day or two.”

“Will I have a chance to meet them?”

“I’m sure you will.”

“Well,” Henna said, “you know they’re welcome here. With me.”

“Right this minute I need you to make a trip over to Harrisburg.”

“Now? It’s almost midnight.”

“It’s only a few minutes away, a quick trip across the bridge and back. It’ll be an opportunity to see Mr. Clay Ryker. Doesn’t that stir your little heart?”

She pulled herself up. Ran self-conscious fingers through her hair.

One hundred and eighty seconds to go
.

“Relax, Ryker.” Digs shook his head. “Pizza’s on its way.”

“I’m fine.”

“You been checkin’ that clock like a man sittin’ in Ol’ Sparky.”

“Say what?”

“The electric chair.”

“Oh.” Clay grimaced.

“First piece o’ pizza’s all yours. How ’bout that?”

“Appreciate it, but it’s not necessary.”

One fifty, one forty-five, one forty …

“Probably be about ten minutes till the food’s done,” Digs said. “Think I’ll take me a walk down by the river, get some fresh air.”

The river? Death could be prowling anywhere along its banks.

“I’ll go with you,” Clay said.

“Nah, gimme coupla seconds alone. Been quite a night.”

If only you knew. Just two minutes left!

Digs set down his billiard bag. “Mind keepin’ an eye for me?” He turned to go.

“No, wait!”

Clay was beyond the point of worrying about appearances. The old guy could think what he wanted, but Clay needed one hundred and twenty seconds. After that, Digs could swim across the river in concrete boots. Whatever. Just so long as Clay could see him through to the stroke of midnight.

“You don’t last long without food in your belly, do ya?”

Clay shrugged. “It’s a weakness of mine.”

“Noticed you laid off the bottle tonight. Good man.”

“A slow learner, but I’m tryin’.”

“Not much for the booze myself,” Digs said. “Used to have me a li’l drug problem, but that’s been behind me for years. Which is why, Ryker, I like gettin’ a bit o’ fresh air every now and then. Bein’ alone for a spell.” He patted his case on the table. “Back in a few.”

Ninety-nine seconds, ninety-eight, ninety-seven …

Clay thrust out his hand. Grabbed his work partner by the arm.

The presence of numerals on Digs’ hairy skin was no surprise, but the fact that they had changed rocked Clay back on his mental heels. He jerked his arm away. Shook out his hand as though to rid himself of this new data.

“Wait!” he exclaimed. “This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen!”

“Whatcha rattlin’ on about?”

“I can’t believe this.”

“Do I get an explanation?”

Clay closed his eyes, inhaled. “Sorry. Go on, I’m not stopping you.”

“You need to get somethin’ off your chest, you let me know. Be back in a jiffy. If the pizza shows up, don’t wait on me. You jump right in.”

Clay nodded, peeked at the clock. Digs had made it to day’s end. Only problem now was the old guy’s expiration date had shifted to this coming Friday.

The door chimed as Digs headed outside. Clay stared at his palm.

8.1.3.0.4 …

Friday the thirteenth.

“Midnight. We made it without losing a single one.”

“Thank you, Officer Kelso. I appreciate all you’ve done.”

“Had a close call, but otherwise it was a routine day for four relieved officers in plain clothes.” In Clay’s cell phone, Kelso’s voice was buoyant with celebration. “I’m not certain the threat was genuine in the first place, but either way, we did our duty. And more important, it worked. We thwarted the accuracy of your psychic touch.”

“It’s not psychic—”

“Call it what you will.”

“And I don’t think we thwarted it. Not totally.”

“Come again, Mr. Ryker? Line’s breaking up.”

“I think, uh … well, I think I was off. I think the numbers were off.”

“Or you were simply wrong.”

“That’s not what I’m saying. I think something changed.”

“How so? Has that happened before?”

“Uh, no.”

“Listen, nobody died. That’s a good thing. Who knows, maybe their survival shifted everything. Were you conjuring all this up for attention? I don’t know. Frankly, I don’t care right now.”

“Why would I conjure it up?”

“You tell me.” Kelso cleared his throat. “Here’s my suggestion. Go home, prop up your feet, rest in the knowledge of a job well done. That’s what I’m going to do. Sure, the chief’ll want some justification for the monies assigned to our shenanigan. But after what happened to Detective Freeman, I feel better about it. Don’t you?”

“Officer, don’t shut me off. Digs’s date is this Friday.”

“Digs? The one you work with?”

“I touched his arm a moment ago, and that’s what the numbers matched with.”

Kelso paused. “But that’s not right. Add ’em together, and they equal sixteen.”

“I know, but—”

“What happened to your unlucky thirteen theory?”

“Don’t you see?” Clay tried to keep his voice below a shout. “Friday the thirteenth. There it is. The rules’ve changed, but it’s the same game.”

“Mr. Ryker, go get some sleep. This is one game I’m done playing.”

“Shouldn’t I check the others? What if—”

“No. We’re not doing this. At some point fate steps in, don’t you think? Are we intended to run around obeying your every whim, saving people’s lives until they’re well into the hundreds? What if our attempts at intervention are the very things that trigger a fatal chain of events? Have you considered that?”

“Yes, Officer. But these numbers were as clear as ever.”

“You sound like that guy Jonah.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not a religious man, but isn’t he the one who predicted everyone would die? Then when God had mercy, Jonah whined and moaned about it.” Officer Kelso found humor in the story. With laughter still trickling from his words, he said, “Go home, Mr. Ryker. It’s been a long day.”

“Just this one last time. That’s all I ask.”

“Good night.”

“Just this Friday.”

“Good-bye.”

Oleg dabbed a cloth at his facial cuts. Even days later these wounds stung, and he suspected a glass chip remained buried in his cheek.

Dmitri Derevenko was dead. The newspapers had confirmed it.

What did Oleg care? Dmitri had been duped; he had failed to secure the Fabergé egg. Oleg, bloodied and sore, had escaped from the scene only moments before the first City of Florence Police vehicle caromed into the lot.

He bandaged his wounds and settled onto the bed of the Portland hotel.

The world was no place for idealists. Decades ago the Brotherhood of Tobolsk had pursued dreams of a restored monarchy. A dead cause. In this era of pragmatic realities, it was no wonder the globe’s longstanding monarchies
had fallen within a short time of each other—the kaisers, the Tsars, the royals of Great Britain.

Times had changed. The world’s citizens were more urbane than in days of yore. They expected to rule themselves. And why shouldn’t they? The heavy-handed abuse of sovereigns had gone on far too long.

A righteous ruler? A fair ruler? A loving ruler?

Bah. Such a one does not exist
.

Of course Lenin had been right, destroying churches and murdering acolytes by the thousands. Religion was the “opiate of the masses.” Those who clung to their ancient customs and guilt-driven beliefs were the ones standing in the way of progress.

Da. That’s why it’s a good thing Dmitri is dead
.

Oleg bandaged his wounds and returned to his late-night research.

The more he studied, the more he was convinced Gertrude Ubelhaar did not have a biological son. She had claimed one as her own, a man named Karl Stahlherz. Stahlherz, however, had died last year, and according to documents recently recovered by Sergeant Turney and made part of the public record, the man was the brother of Marshall Addison—both of them genetic offspring of Virginia Addison.

All this gave substance to Oleg’s theories. He believed Gertrude Ubelhaar, ward of the Coffee Creek Correctional Facility, was after Rasputin’s fortune. She, too, wanted to slap the world into awareness. She wanted the reins to the riches represented by Josee Walker’s Fabergé egg.

In other words she was hungry for money, power, and control.

Oleg liked Ms. Ubelhaar already. He would have to pay her a visit.

“Mind if I join you, Clay?”

“Henna?” He stared up from the table. “Surprise, surprise. Don’t tell me it’s coincidence to find you tramping in here after midnight.”

“Is that a yes? I was hoping you’d be pleased to see me.”

Clay took a steaming pepperoni slice from the deep-dish pizza on the table. “Sit down. But the pizza’s off-limits.” He took a bite.

“You should be glad that none of your precious charges was harmed. In fact, we had to divert one of them from a dangerous situation. Just in case.”

“Am I supposed to thank you?”

“Would you rather they had died?”

Clay’s eyes shifted toward the front counter. “Can you keep your voice down?”

“You’re in no position to ask favors, dear heart. Do you know where your wife and son are at this moment? Asleep in their beds at a Holiday Inn off I-80.”

Clay slammed down his pizza slice, causing red plastic cups of Coke to jump.

“You leave them outta this!”

“Please.” She winked. “Can you keep your voice down?”

“Henna. Forgive me. You were a underclassman, and I’m sorry I didn’t notice you more, but that’s the way life goes. You brought trouble to Mylisha and Shanique. You tried to manipulate things in your favor. Real love doesn’t work that way.”

“And you’re the expert, Mr. I’m-Going-Through-a-Divorce?”