The Prophecy

6

Payne was known for his gut feelings. Sometimes they went against empirical evidence, and often they defied common sense. But he had learned long ago to trust his instincts, even if he couldn’t rationally explain them. Sometimes he just knew when something was wrong.

And this was one of those times.

From the moment he had spotted her in the back of the crowd, Payne knew she was there for him. For what purpose, he didn’t know. But he planned to find out as soon as they found her.

Trying not to draw attention, he walked calmly but quickly down the long corridor. He passed the Irish, Lithuanian, and Romanian Classrooms, nodding to several guests along the way, then made a sharp right. The English Classroom, the last place the woman had been seen, was at the far end of the hallway. In between were dozens of people, multiple classrooms, and plenty of places to hide.

This would be harder than he had thought.

In a hostile situation, Payne would’ve had a weapon in his hand and would’ve been ordering everyone out of the corridor, possibly firing a warning shot to stress the urgency of his directive. He had a lot of experience with urban warfare, and the minimization of civilian casualties was priority number one. His current objective was a lot less dramatic, yet challenging nonetheless. The woman wasn’t a criminal, a suspect, or a terrorist. So far, her only transgression was wearing jeans to a formal gala. Outside Muslim countries, dress-code violations were rarely a punishable offence, although fashion critics in Hollywood were notoriously vicious.

Payne continued to move forward, his eyes scanning everything in the corridor, looking for the slightest hint of green or blue — the colours of her coat and jeans — in the black and white world of men’s formal wear. Some of the women wore colourful gowns, often complemented by lavish jewels and designer accessories, but none of them fitted the criteria he was searching for.

‘Shit,’ he mumbled to himself, realizing she had probably left the hallway for the sanctuary of a classroom or the freedom of nearby stairs. But first things first. Before he concerned himself with other floors, he knew he had to search the nearby rooms, starting with the one on his left.

The door to the Swedish Room was wide open, and several guests were standing inside. The walls were built with 200-year-old handmade bricks coated with multiple layers of whitewash. The sloped ceiling and back wall were covered in murals, many of which showcased the subtle humour that Sweden was known for. A fresco depicted the Three Wise Men, dressed as cavaliers, riding to Bethlehem in opposite directions. In another image, Lady Justice used her blindfold to hold a scale that appeared to be balanced but actually had an off-centre fulcrum.

Ignoring the scenery, Payne focused on the people. A quick scan of the room proved that the mystery woman was not there.

A few seconds later he stepped next door and visited China. Inspired by a reception hall in the Forbidden City, the Chinese Room was dedicated to the memory of Confucius and his democratic model of education. Teachers and students sat at the same level around a moon-shaped teak-wood table. Above it, the ceiling contained a golden five-clawed imperial dragon, the symbol of nature’s energy. Surrounding squares portrayed the dragon as a guardian of the pearl of wisdom and the phoenix as a symbol of cultural wealth. All the walls were painted red, which reminded Payne of his last trip to the Far East, a gruesome mission where he and Jones had been asked to investigate a cave bathed in blood on the tiny island of Jeju, South Korea. During his military career, he had witnessed and inflicted his fair share of carnage, but something about that cave still haunted his dreams.

Thankfully, the room was small and practically empty, allowing him to move onward.

The Greek Room represented classical architecture from the fifth century BC. The marble columns and pilasters had been made at a stone quarry near Mount Penteli, the same quarry used to build the Parthenon. They had been transported on the last ship to sail to America prior to the occupation of Greece in World War Two. Two Greek artists came from Athens to paint the marble, the doorway, and the coffered ceiling. Instead of using stencils, they drew each line by hand. To highlight the colours, they applied beeswax and twenty-four-carat gold leaf, rubbing it in with a polishing bone. The entire process took them over seven months to complete.

A half-dozen people sat in the white oak chairs round the table. The backs of student chairs were carved with the names of Greek islands and towns. Meanwhile, the guest professor sat in a chair bearing the name of Socrates. In front of him were a number of books written in English and Greek. He pointed to them often as he told a story about John Travlos, the architect who had designed the room. Because of World War Two, Travlos was unable to leave occupied Greece. Hidden under a blanket in his closet, he listened to a banned BBC broadcast in which the citizens of Pittsburgh dedicated the Greek Room to his native country.

During the anecdote, Payne walked round the perimeter of the room, casually studying the faces that surrounded the table. The windows were flanked with gold-coloured curtains that hung from sturdy wooden rods. He ran his hand over the coarse material, making sure no one was hidden behind them, before heading back to the door.

Jones was having similar luck on his side of the Cathedral. He walked the entire length of the hallway, then turned and started searching rooms. The Russian Classroom was first, followed by the Norwegian. Although both were impressive in design, neither contained the woman he was searching for.

Getting more frustrated by the minute, Jones ducked into the final room in his corner of the building. The French Classroom, which sat next to the English Classroom, was designed in French Empire style, inspired by the ancient worlds that had been rediscovered during the Napoleonic campaigns in Egypt, Greece, and Italy. The walls were lined with classic wood panelling. Carved ornaments of Egyptian griffins and rosettes accentuated the panel divisions. Crystal and metal chandeliers, simplified versions of those found in the Palace of Versailles, hung from a grey plaster ceiling. A mahogany professor’s chair and table included bronze ornaments that were replicas of the originals from the Louvre, and the student armchairs were mahogany and upholstered in royal blue.

Nearly all the chairs were empty, as was most of the room. A few people were hanging out by the chalkboard, discussing an upcoming trip to France, but all of them were older men, including a French tour guide who blabbed on and on about wine and cheese. Jones did his best to ignore the rambling as he searched for his prey in the back of the room.

Gold damask drapery, bearing the Empire wreath and lyre design, framed the window and its splendid view of the Heinz Memorial Chapel, which sat on the far side of the spacious Cathedral lawn. An example of French Gothic architecture, the chapel seemed to be an extension of the French Room itself, albeit an elaborate one. Patterned after the Sainte-Chapelle in Paris, its steeple stood 253 feet above the ground. Similar to the Cathedral, its exterior walls were made out of Indiana limestone. Four thousand square feet of stained-glass windows lined the building, including a 73 foot high transept window that was among the tallest in the world.

As snow continued to fall, coating the chapel’s facade in the steady glow of its spotlights, Jones shifted his gaze to a solitary figure who was trudging across the slush-covered sidewalk. At first he thought he was imagining things, his mind playing tricks on him, but after wiping the frost from the classroom window and taking a closer look, he smiled in victory.

Only one person was out there, braving the ice and cold.

And she was wearing a green coat.