Destiny

SIXTY-NINE

Marcus looked at his reflection from the one-way glass on the far wall of the interrogation room. He sat at a small table, alone. For more than two hours police detectives and members of the French DGSE came and went, each asking the same questions in a different way.

The door opened and a man walked in the room. “Good afternoon, Mr. Marcus. My name is Andre Juneau.” He smiled, took a seat across the table from Marcus, leaned back and crossed his legs as if he were getting ready to watch a football game. He wore wire-framed glasses, his greying hair parted. Trimmed mustache. His body telegraphed a candidness that Marcus felt was an open trap, manufactured and hard as steel.

“Mr. Marcus, I’m aware that you have been asked many of the same questions more than once. Some of my colleagues believe you are lying.” Juneau didn’t blink — his light brown eyes unreadable.

“I was trying to save a life! Why the hell would I lie?”

“You also are a man of many talents — a winner of the Nobel Prize…and most interesting to me is your background as a cryptographer. NSA wouldn’t even tell us you work there.”

“I don’t work there.”

“Then for whom do you work?”

“No one.”

“Is that a fact? Regardless, France has a reciprocal arrangement with the NSA. So their absolute silence about you is more than curious to me.”

“Look, Mr. Juneau, I told the rest of your entourage that I’ve been researching biblical codes and prophecies. Up until today, I had no idea if any of it was real. I had suspicions that there might be an attempt on the prime minister’s life. But I didn’t know how real it would be until it happened.”

“What were you doing at the ceremonies?”

“Trying to prevent an assassination.”

“I see. Mr. Marcus, have you been contacted by anyone…perhaps someone who had information about this horrible event.”

“No.”

“So you saw it foretold in passages from the Bible, correct?”

“No, I decoded information from ancient texts and information from…”

“From where?”

“Biblical studies conducted by Isaac Newton.”

“So, am I to understand that you have a crystal ball into the future?”

“No, I have a glimpse into probabilities of some future events…ones that I think can be changed with intervention.”

Juneau tilted his head, his eyes changing from a passive gaze to amusement and then impatience. “Intervention? Then why did you not intervene to prevent the killing?”

“I tried. I contacted authorities in Israel, America and called your police department right here in Paris.”

“Who did you speak with here?”

“Inspector Victor Roux.”

Juneau nodded. “Are you certain?”

“Yes, why?”

“Because the Paris police department does not employ an Inspector Roux.”

Marcus stared at Juneau for a few seconds. “I don’t believe you.”

Juneau shrugged, his shoulders raised, hands turned palms up. “There is no Inspector Roux here. Mr. Marcus, did you speak with Roux?”

“No.”

“Then who did?”

“A woman I met.”

“What is her name?”

“Look, she has nothing to do with anything. Her grandfather had possession of the remaining Newton papers. She’d donated them to the Hebrew University Library in Jerusalem. I’d found a reference to a weeping angel. She knew of a statue like it in the UNESCO Garden of Peace. After she showed me the statue and the Rabin Memorial near it, I asked her to alert the Paris police.”

“What is her name?”

“Gisele Fournier, and she’ll tell you the same story.”

“How long will you be in Paris?”

“I don’t know.”

Juneau smiled. “Unlike you, Mr. Marcus, I cannot read the future. But I can promise you that your future will be quite dark if we find you are complicit in the murder of the prime minister. As a courtesy, please stay in Paris for forty-eight hours.”

Marcus took a seat at an outdoor café table across the Seine from the Cathedral of Notre Dame. He turned his collar up in the slight chill. A waiter with gelled hair and stubble on his face approached. “Bonjour, monsieur. Déjeuner?”

“Bonjour. No lunch. Parlez-vous l’anglais?”

“Yes.”

“Grey Goose, ice and a slice of lime.”

“Very good, sir.” Marcus called Gisele. The phone rang and went to her voice-mail. “Gisele, the police are going to contact you. They’re saying the guy you spoke with, Inspector Roux, doesn’t work there. Something’s wrong. Be careful. Don’t let anyone see the letter your grandfather wrote. Call me and I’ll tell you where we can meet that’s safe.” He disconnected, called Jacob Kogen and said, “I’m done with the research on the Newton papers and the Bible—”

“Thank God you’re okay, Paul. This is so tragic. I can’t put it into words.”

“I will! Preventable! How does that sound, Jacob? Your government brings me here to help its cyber terrorism, you toss me a bone called the Newton papers, and I chew on it and find real terrorists. But what the hell does Nathan Levy do about it? Nothing! And your prime minister has his head blown off. I find information that indicates a possible assassination, and no one does anything to stop it.”

“What could we have done?”

“Cancelled the prime minister’s appearance!”

“Paul, listen to me. He was informed, warned again about your prediction, and he decided he would not hide from threats.”

“Well, now you have your damn proof-of-concept. This experiment you had with me the last few weeks put the camel’s nose under the tent and now he’s coming inside.”

“What do you mean?”

“What I mean is this could be the beginning.”

“The beginning of what, Paul.”

“The beginning of the end.”

“Dear God, what do you mean—”

“I don’t know. I have to go.” Marcus disconnected. The waiter brought the drink to the table. “Merci.”

“Avec plaisir.”

Marcus squeezed a lime over the ice while, on the screen of his phone, he read updated details of the assassination. The news story said the assassin had taken two shots from the third floor of the UNESCO building. The shots came from an office used by a consultant who’d only been there for three days. The suspect or suspects were still at large.

A text message arrived from Alicia: Paul, I just caught the news. This is so frightening. My flight lands in the morning at 9:36. Can you meet me at de Gaulle Airport? I have some important information for you.

Marcus sipped the vodka. He looked at Notre Dame across the Seine while the bells tolled for five o’clock mass. A mist drifted from the river and met the horizon of tarnished silver, settling a grey overcoat on the back of the city of light. The cathedral bells sounded far away, as if the ringing were soft echoes in a dream. He closed his eyes and tried to remember the last time he prayed hard.