The Prophecy

49

Although Payne and Megan’s work on the first half of the verse was impressive, Jones wasn’t going to let them steal all the glory — especially since Payne had figured out ‘Philly’ the day before. If Jones didn’t start pulling his weight soon, he knew he’d never hear the end of it.

‘So,’ Payne taunted Jones as he took a seat next to Megan, ‘I vaguely remember you saying something about understanding the significance of “the lost line”. Or was that just bullshit?’

Jones smirked, enjoying the added pressure. Over the years he had developed a friendly rivalry with Payne in just about everything they did, whether that was golf, bowling, or guessing the names of total strangers. Neither man liked to lose, which was one of the reasons they had worked so well together in the MANIACs. Their drive to be the best made everyone better. ‘No, I’m pretty sure I know what it means. In fact, your discovery actually strengthened my case.’

‘Glad we could help. Now quit stalling.’

Jones grabbed a tissue from the desk and erased everything on the board. Once it was clean, he wrote the second line in black marker and underlined the last three words.

Jones asked, ‘What’s the first thing that comes to mind when you read this line?’

Payne shrugged. ‘Something to do with Megan’s ancestry.’

‘That was my first guess, too. Line stands for lineage. Pretty simple, right?’

‘Right,’ Megan agreed.

Jones continued. ‘Furthermore, if you think about the final word in lines one and three — brothers and mother — they have to do with family as well. Which fits in nicely with the theory that the first three lines are connected. Remember, none of them have verbs.’

Payne nodded. ‘We’re all in agreement. Those lines are talking about Megan.’

Jones smiled cryptically. ‘And yet we’re still missing a key piece of information. How does Megan’s lineage fit into all of this? What has actually been lost?’

‘I’m guessing you have a theory.’

‘Of course I have a theory.’ Jones grabbed the black marker and wrote the four lines of the text message on the board. ‘I think the information we’re searching for is in the second poem.’

Payne skimmed the quatrain. ‘Care to narrow it down for us?’

‘I could,’ Jones said, ‘but I think it’s pretty obvious. Only one line talks about family.’

Megan pointed at the board. ‘The fourth one. It mentions someone’s wife.’

‘Not only that,’ Jones said as he underlined three words: waits, protect, and shall. ‘It’s the only line in this poem that doesn’t have a verb.’ He paused for a moment, then glanced at Megan. ‘How about that? I guess they do teach grammar at the service academies.’

She smiled, remembering her earlier wisecrack. ‘Touché.’

‘Okay,’ Payne admitted, ‘you make a pretty strong case. The fourth line seems to connect with the first three lines from the other poem. But unless I’m mistaken, you still haven’t solved the mystery of what’s been lost.’

‘Don’t worry. I was just getting to that.’

Jones erased the first three lines of the poem. When he was done, only two lines remained on the board:

Wasting no time, Jones explained how they were connected. ‘As soon as I saw the word line, my mind jumped to bloodline. I mean, when you’re discussing someone’s lineage, that’s what you’re actually referring to: their bloodline. Then it dawned on me that “line” ended one verse and “blood” began another. That led me to believe that the two statements could be combined. All you have to do is tweak the word order a tad, and you get the following…’

Jones grinned in triumph. ‘Not too shabby, huh?’

Payne nodded. ‘Not bad at all.’

Jones turned his attention to Megan. ‘Of course, now the ball is back in your court. We know nothing about your family tree, so whose first wife are they talking about?’

Megan shrugged as she read the line. ‘I have absolutely no idea. My adoptive parents were high-school sweethearts, so they weren’t married beforehand. And as far as I know, neither were my biological parents. Then again, I never met either of them. My mom died in childbirth, and my father split right after conception. At least, that’s what I was told.’

‘Although you never met them, do you remember their names?’

She nodded, as if the memory was a painful one.

‘Then I can probably help. Let’s go into the other room and run some data searches on my laptop. I’ve tracked down several deadbeat dads over the years. If we’re lucky, we’ll find something useful.’

She stood from her chair. ‘Sounds good to me.’

Jones walked towards the door. ‘Please tell me their names weren’t Jesus and Mary. Because if this is some kind of Da Vinci Code bullshit, you’re on your own.’

She laughed at the suggestion. ‘I drink water. I don’t walk on it.’

He shrugged. ‘That’s too bad. I’d pay big bucks to see that trick.’

Payne knew Jones and Megan didn’t need his help, so he sat behind the desk and used his encrypted cell phone to contact the Ulster Archives. Even though it was night time in Küsendorf, Petr Ulster answered the call in his private office.

‘I’m so glad you called,’ Ulster said. ‘I was beginning to worry about your safety.’

‘Don’t worry. We’re fine.’

‘No more run-ins with gunmen?’

‘Only one, so it’s been an easy day.’

Ulster laughed at the comment. ‘Oh, Jonathon, you slay me!’

‘Ironically, that’s what he was trying to do to us. I’m not quite sure where they’re coming from, but they’re persistent.’

‘So,’ Ulster said, ‘we’re you simply checking in, or did you need further help?’

‘Believe it or not, I was calling to give you an update. We put our heads together and figured out these poems. As you suggested, the author was pretty clever.’

‘Did you say poems, as in plural?’

Payne rubbed his eyes. ‘That’s right. I haven’t told you about the text message. Sorry about that. My days are starting to run together.’

He took a few minutes to explain everything to Ulster, starting with Megan’s text and ending with the solutions to the puzzles. During the explanation, Ulster said very little, but he wrote all the deciphered codes in a notebook so he could re-examine them later.

‘What about the letter? Did you find the original letter?’

Payne nodded. ‘Sorry, I should have mentioned that, too. I’m looking at it right now.’

‘Tell me about it,’ Ulster said excitedly. ‘What type of paper?’

‘I don’t know. I’m not an expert. Some kind of parchment, I guess.’

‘Does it look old?’

‘Yep. Pretty fancy, too. It’s held up well over the years.’

‘Tell me, do you have a black light on your person?’

‘Excuse me?’

‘A device for seeing bloodstains and such.’

Payne laughed at the possibility. ‘Why in the world would I have a black light? I make bloodstains. I don’t examine them.’

‘Yes, of course, how silly of me. In that case, are you near a police station? Or maybe a discotheque?’

‘A discotheque? No, Petr, we’re at an airbase, not Studio 54. Why?’

‘An airbase might work! Do they have war planes? Perhaps something from the forties?’

Payne furrowed his brow at the line of questioning. ‘Police stations? Discotheques? War planes? What in the heck are you rambling about?’

‘Your letter,’ Ulster explained. ‘I have a theory about its author, but I need a black light to prove my hypothesis.’

‘Tell me what you have in mind, and I’ll see what I can do.’

Ulster leaned back in his office chair. ‘Since 1282, papermakers have been using watermarks to identify their products. The first technique was called the Dandy Roll Process, a pressure roller developed in Bologna, Italy. In time, governments started protecting their products as well, using special paper for stamps and currency in order to discourage counterfeiting.’

‘And what does that have to do with the letter?’

‘Eventually the art world followed suit. Painters protected their works by using special types of canvas, marked in ways only they knew about. And writers often used their own personal stock as a way to guarantee the authenticity of a piece.’

Payne grabbed the corner of the letter and held it up to the light, searching for a watermark of any kind. ‘Sorry, Petr, this letter is watermark-free.’

‘Wonderful! Just wonderful!’

‘Are you being sarcastic?’

‘No, Jonathon, not at all. In fact, I’m thrilled with the news. As I mentioned, I have a theory about the puzzle maker. If the author is who I think he is, the only way we can be sure is with a black light.’

‘Wait. Who do you think it is?’ Payne wondered.

Ulster shook his head. ‘For the time being, I’d rather not say. But if my hypothesis is correct, I can understand why people are willing to kill for that letter.’