Solomon Key

Chapter 12

Nomi answered the phone on the first ring. The number was private, but she knew it could only be one of a handful of people, none of whom she wished to speak to at the moment.

“Yes.” She tried keeping her voice steady. Theirs was a cutthroat organization, and showing any sign of weakness could permanently harm one’s standing.

“I’m in the hotel bar. Far corner table. Come down immediately.”

Nomi’s blood turned to ice. It was the last person from whom she wanted to hear, much less see in person. Constance.

“If you want to see me, come up to my room.” Too late. Constance had ended the call as soon as she’d issued her directive. Damn! Nomi now had two choices — follow directions like an obedient dog, or ignore Constance’s instructions and appear frightened. “Someday soon,” she whispered.

She checked her reflection in the mirror and was satisfied with what she saw there. If Constance had arrived an hour earlier, she’d have found Nomi in her workout clothes and without a stitch of makeup. But now, she was dressed for business, but it seemed her plans for the day would have to wait. She spared a moment to conceal a tiny .380 beneath her jacket, then checked to make sure her mace and stun gun were still in her purse where she could easily reach them.

“All right, you bitch,” she said as if Constance could hear her from five floors up, “let’s hear what you have to say.”

The hotel bar was sparsely populated at this late morning hour. A few groups of self-important men and women in cheap suits conducted business over bottles of beer and a lonely man, a pale ginger, watched a football match on the television behind the bar. An anxious frown painted his face and he held a glass of amber liquid in a white-knuckled grip.

Must have money riding on the outcome, Nomi thought. If she’d been alone and didn’t have important business, she might have joined him. He was cute in a geeky sort of way. No time for that.

Across the bar, she spotted Constance. The woman could have been carved from obsidian. Everything about her was cold, hard, and dark. Her finely chiseled features only served to add to the air of a master sculptor’s work come to life. Nomi hated her.

Constance pretended not to notice Nomi’s approach and only looked up from her paperback novel when Nomi sat down opposite her.

“Cousin,” Constance said by way of greeting.

“Cousin,” Nomi replied, her cordial tone belying the tension that pervaded every muscle, every sinew.

Constance signaled to the bartender, a small gesture that somehow managed to convey both grace and economy of motion. The woman did everything, even killed, with that same gracefulness. “I ordered you a cucumber breeze. I know that’s your favorite.”

“Thank you.”

A contemplative silence hung between them while they waited for their drinks. Their eyes remained locked on one another like prizefighters waiting to touch gloves. It was juvenile, but that was how things worked in their peculiar milieu. As if by mutual agreement they both broke off the stare when the bartender set their drinks down on the table and asked if he could get them anything else. His lascivious grin expanded the horizons of the question, but Constance dismissed him with a single flick of a finger. The corners of the man’s mouth fell, and he hurried away.

Nomi took a sip of her drink. It was a bit early in the day for alcohol, but the pleasant blend of cucumber vodka and lemonade with a slice of cucumber was the perfect remedy for the Florida heat.

On the other side of the table, Constance ignored her drink, Scotch neat. “Can we agree that the juvenile game of waiting for the other to speak first would be a waste of both our time?”

“If you say so,” Nomi said, both embarrassed and slightly pleased that Constance had been the first to get down to business.

“Whatever you found in the journal, you must share it with the family.”

It was a good thing Nomi had just set her glass on the table. Otherwise she might have spilled it. How had Constance already found her out?

“Nothing,” she said flatly. “It’s ruined.”

Constance smiled, but there was no warmth there. “Come now. You don’t expect me to believe that.”

“If you know I found the journal, that means you either spoke with Doctor Waite, hacked his computer, or both. Which means you know the journal is ruined.”

Now Constance took a drink. “You are correct, of course. But he’s a red herring, isn’t he? You wouldn’t entrust such an important find to a man who is well known on conspiracy theory sites. You knew Waite wouldn’t be able to keep such a remarkable discovery as Black Caesar’s journal a secret.”

Nomi felt her right hand twitch, itching to grab her pistol and end Constance for good. The woman was not only beautiful and deadly, but brilliant and resourceful as well.

“You give me too much credit,” Nomi said.

“And you insult my intelligence. You are among the cleverest in the family. Deception is a habit with you. You cover your tracks even when there is no need.”

“In our family there is always a need.”

Constance sighed. “I am sorry you feel that way.” She took a drink, frowned, and then her eyes brightened. “Let us set aside the question of the journal’s contents. Tell me how you found it.”

Nomi saw no harm in this. She recounted the tale of finding Caesar’s headquarters, recovering the journal, and destroying the entrance. She omitted Maddock and Bonebrake from the retelling. Those two loose ends were already tied up.

“How did you learn of the existence of this hideout?” Constance asked.

“Research. Bits and pieces here and there. Honestly, I was not confident that it actually existed, much less that I had the correct location.”

“Be that as it may, you were wrong to hide the information from the family. You know that.”

“Are you telling me that none of the rest of you has ever hidden anything from me?” Nomi asked, flaring up.

“Our private business dealings are always private, but when it comes to Caesar, we hide nothing.” Constance’s left hand disappeared from sight beneath the table. For an instant, Nomi considered reaching for her weapon, but something told her that was not what this was about. Her instincts were proved correct when Constance produced a manila envelope and slid it across the table.

“What is this?” Nomi picked up the envelope but did not open it. “My death warrant?”

“Proof that we are not keeping secrets from you. At least, I am not.”

Frowning, Nomi removed the contents of the envelope — a few papers clipped together. She recognized digital scans of portions of the journal.

“Your Professor Waite missed a few things. Here and there, legible bits of handwriting survived. In most cases only a letter or two, but my people managed to sift a few nuggets from the dross. Phrases, mostly. It’s the last sheet.”

Nomi riffled to the back sheet and scanned it. It was just as Constance described. The ring was mentioned, though no details were provided.

“This is the only new information we have about Caesar, and we are giving it to you. As you can see, there are mentions of the ring, his legacy, birthright, and his island. Piece them together and I think that is where we should look next.”

“That island has been searched before. I don’t think…” Nomi froze, the full impact of Constance’s words hitting her like a sledgehammer. “Wait. We?”

Constance smiled and nodded slowly. “Uncle no longer trusts you, but you’re far too valuable to kill.”

It was all Nomi could do not to faint. Uncle had sent her? In that case, she had no choice but to cooperate.

Constance nodded, seeing her discomfort. “It is his wish that, at least for the time being, you and I will work as partners.”