The Hypnotist

FIFTY-SIX

Elgin Barindra had seen Reed Winston at the Phoenix Foundation before. Based on his description, Lucian Glass and Matt Richmond had established that Winston was an ex-operative and instructed Elgin to be especially vigilant about what he and Malachai discussed.

So on Monday, while the broad-shouldered, good-looking man sat next to Malachai, poring over the letters from Frederick L. Lennox to Davenport Talmage, Elgin was on full alert. He attempted to appear uninterested when he was trying to catch every word, even though he knew they weren’t going to discuss anything important in front of him.

Malachai Samuels was reading out loud:

“My Dear Davenport,

I’ve heard about an ancient artifact that might be of interest to us-the Memorist Society in Vienna is in possession of a copper sheet of ancient Sanskrit that so far has been impossible to translate. It originally came from a group of Indian monks in the Himalayas. It was discovered by their founder and brought back to Vienna in 1813. I’m quite sure it’s a list of the legendary Memory Tools, and I’m hoping you can contact your colleagues there and find out if there’s any more information about it we can obtain.

Yours,

Frederick L. Lennox

“And then we found a second letter, dated six months later, also from Frederick Lennox to Davenport Talmage, about a piece of sculpture he’d recently purchased.”

As Malachai picked up the next letter, Elgin nudged a pile of books off the edge of his desk. They crashed on the floor. Both men looked up.

“I’m sorry,” Elgin said. As he leaned over to pick up the books, his pen fell out of his pocket. He grabbed the pen, put it back on his desk, and then stacked the books and returned them, too. “Unless you need me,” he said, “I’m going to get some lunch now.”

“Please, feel free. Reed is as interested in the historical significance of these letters as I am, and I want to show him more of the fruit of your labors. Take your time.”

Once again Elgin noticed how the reincarnationist’s smile never quite reached his eyes. Everything about Malachai was deliberate, he thought as his boss’s studied and erudite voice followed him out. It was a letter Elgin had found the week before.

“Dear Davenport,

I am fairly certain that I have found the pot of gold at the end of the proverbial rainbow. It turns out to actually be made of gold and silver and ivory and several kinds of precious stones. Serge Fouquelle, an archaeologist who has been working for Marcel and Jeanne Diolafoa in Persia, specifically in Shush, on the ancient site of Susa, has just completed his first excavation on his own and has made a curious discovery; he’s found a cache of Greek treasures that date back to the time of Pythagoras and might have connections to the great philosopher. All the signs point to it…”