The Khufu Equation (14 page)

Howard Slaiker, Private Investigator

Phone: 248 261111

Jeanette picked up the phone and dialed the number, but at the moment of connection somebody rang the bell at the front door. She put down the receiver and went to see who it was. To her surprise, nobody was there, only . . . a white envelope. Upon examination, she saw that it had neither postage nor an address. She opened the envelope and read with interest.

"Jeanette, don't make decisions on your own. I have your disc. If you want to know about Andrew's death, direct to Cambodia. I will find you. Your well-wisher, Jean-Pierre Lefebvre. P.S:. No police. Tete-a-tete."

Jeanette closed the door and leaned against it, thinking.

"Jean-Pierre! Oh, that's the Frenchman. It is he who took the disc out of my handbag. What's with the game-playing, though? Have I called the detective in vain?" Again the doorbell interrupted. Intending to catch Jean-Pierre, she threw open the door.

A tall man stood before her. He was dressed in a colored shirt, white crepe trousers and hand-made sandals, the leather of which proved that God had a purpose in creating the crocodile.

The Anglo face, of regular form, projected courage and nobility. Besides, only a newcomer would possess such inner strength that it would impossible to feign sheepishness.

"Good day," he said. "Are you Jeanette Krishelje?"

"Yeah," she replied, sensing the vortex of approaching events.

The man held out a certificate to the young Creole, whereupon she was amazed to read "The Blue Coral Agency; Howard Slaiker, Private Investigator." Jeanette stepped aside, motioning for Slaiker to enter the foyer. True to his past as an intelligence officer-cum-saboteur, he quickly began to absorb information about the house and hostess.

A preliminary reading of Jeanette's dossier gave only dry facts but nothing about a clean, orderly life. As a rule, it wasn't polish that Slaiker encountered in women since the death of his wife. Certainly he couldn't fail to notice that the Creole woman was hiding an envelope behind her back. Its reflection in the mirrored door of a closet revealed that little secret. Slaiker even noticed a trace of nail polish on the corner of it.

"I was likely very unexpected," he thought. "Ultramodern polish dries within a few minutes."

The detective took off his leather sandals, placed them in the corner and asked without embarrassment:

"Are there slippers in the house?"

Jeanette opened the door of a wardrobe, in which three pairs of slippers, like frightened pets, could be found hiding on the lower shelf. One pair had belonged to Andrew, a gift from Jeanette. Now she was sorry she hadn't put slippers away in some nook. To pull out slippers for guests she had to turn and bow, which would reveal what she was hiding.

A few minutes earlier, she had wanted to ask for the detective's help. She had even dialed the number. However, the letter under the door changed all that. However, she gave no sign of curiosity upon the unexpected appearance of the detective. Jeanette looked into the stranger's eyes and spoke calmly.

"Any slippers you want to choose."

She was begging the heavens that he wouldn't take Andrew's, but there was more important business in the heavens at that moment and Slaiker chose the husband's. Jeanette sobbed inside. The world began to crash in, digging her into recollections. Andrew, as a memory almost too real, caressed her shoulders and whispered, "Thank you for the gift, honey."

Slaiker's voice, quiet and hypnotic, returned the Creole to reality.

"What did you say?" she asked.

"I'll be grateful to you for a cup of tea," he repeated. Jeanette, surprising herself, smiled sweetly like a schoolgirl hiding a report card with poor grades. She pressed the letter to her back.

"If you like the slippers with rabbit fur, they'll show you the way to the kitchen. After you, Mr. Slaiker."

He didn't wait for another invitation but intuitively went to the end of the hall and turned left.

Jeanette, following like a shadow the mighty figure of the strange guest, felt as if she was a dinghy in the path of a warship.

"How can it be," Jeanette wondered as she hid the envelope in a suit pocket. Only some minutes earlier, she was going to meet this man for the first time, but ironically he came right to her doorstep.

Suddenly she understood: "I don't know what he's here for, and he doesn't know anything about my problems. What does he need?" The kitchen, spacious and comfortable, seemed to absorb so much sunshine that it was ready to remove the borders of the universe and let in everyone of innocence and purity. Jeanette's eyes met those of the visitor. There was something unusually strong and calm about them, and it coincided with her mood. The afternoon breeze played with the curtains in the wide-open windows. Snow-white clouds, like bleached yacht sails, recalled a Claude Monet painting. Jeanette found a butterfly, beating its wings against the glass, caught it gently and set it free. It was a momentary idyll. Only now, Slaiker noted the emotional background of walls around. Here everything shouted pain and melancholy. Each item shouted forth, like part of a riddle, leaving the house devoid of laughter.

Taking a seat behind the kitchen table, the detective virtually covered the two-story building with a thin net. With an unnoticeable pass of hand, let out a fiery spider absorber into the layer beneath the reality. The spider sensed the stream of negative energy, nested in the house, and started to work. Inwardly, Slaiker understood its burning process. Then, he came back to the world of solid matter and turned to Jeanette.

"I'm sorry to say that this visit could possibly embarrass you, and knowing your grief I would postpone the meeting for some time. But the case, concerning you, is of great importance."

The tea was strong and the talk was long. In detail, the detective went through the events of the past two weeks. Jeanette told him all she knew, but she failed to mention her encounter with Jean-Pierre and the envelope he'd left on the porch. Slaiker, however, had a picture of what was happening, and in turn the conclusion was evident. The Beast, being a certain demonic essence, is attempting to entice Jeanette to Cambodia. But there's one more question: Why? He had Jeanette promise not to leave the island, wherewith he appreciated the work of the spider-absorber. The negative energy disappeared, and emotional background was normal. It should be mentioned, that created in Slaiker's imagination the spider-absorber not only served as a "cleaner" but also expedited other important tasks. The detective had to leave Jeanette for the meantime, but he didn't want to. Still, time was pressing. He had more to learn about the Creole's business. Besides, if he had rung Jeanette's doorbell a minute later, his son would have landed in trouble.

The madcap ten-year-old Jeffrey Howard had been without a mother for the past four years. She was killed in a car accident. The boy didn't remember her sweet words or her voice. Only the pretty face in pictures could call forth the days when they were together. The father tried to compensate for whatever he thought the boy was missing. They were great friends, but little Jeff was a despotic and cocky kid. He quarreled with other boys, fought a few of the older ones, and had a habit of teasing girls. There was more to him that that, however. Being much cleverer than his classmates, he was growing colder and more indifferent to the people around him. He opposed the interpretation of the world to which he had been acculturated. He tried to have his own opinion.

His father understood that and never made him do the same senseless, silly tasks. The mind of a pre-teen child is generally occupied by sports and computer games. He was keen on hiking the Three Brothers with his dad, sailing to the far islands of Aldabra, and diving in coastal waters. The boy emulated his dad in many way: He never put his nose up in the air, he was witty, and he refused to let anyone see him cry. He was also popular among the boys as a ring leader and a joker. Jeff liked to poke fun at his friends in a harmless way, and this idea came to his mind on that day.

At 6 p.m. a freckled boy Jeff gathered local kids not far from the Beau Vallon tourist center. He led them to the beach of the famous bay known as Bel Ombre. It is known by the fact that about a quarter-century ago an English clerk from Kenya named Reginald Cruise Wilkins dug through the beach and coast rocks in search of gold. According to the local legend, the treasures of the notorious French pirate Olivier Lavasseur were hidden there. The pirate had even tossed a treasure map into the crowd of spectators just before he was hanged. The plan showed the location of the treasure. Olivier also cried out the last words, "Find it who can." It happened in July 1730 on the island of Bourbon, but the rush about it still continued.

It took a lot of effort for Jeff to gather a group for the beach expedition. Each of them was eight or nine years old. There were the twins Clark and Serge, the redheaded coward Johnny, the doll-like sisters Bessie and Laura, the cross-eyed but rather clever boy Frank, and the Chinese boy Lee. They knew that Jeff had collected them on some important business. The company encircled Jeff under an old palm. Being interested in buried treasure, soon they could see the ancient map itself. Jeff had spent half a day drawing it, first on a computer, after which he printed it out on a piece of old, oil-stained paper. The effort was flawed, but the bait was swallowed.

"How did you find this map?" asked Frank, suddenly doubtful. He had one eye on Jeff and the other on the map.

"The map is here!" said Jeff angrily, as he tore it from the boy's hands. "For those of you whose ears are full of chocolate milk, I repeat: I found the map in the pantry, under some rotten floor planks! Anyway, my dad had already told me about the treasure. They say it's worth thirty million, if it hasn't been found and divvied up."

"Thirty million?" said Bessie and Laura in perfect unison. "No way!"

"He's pulling your leg," said Frank, again trying to stir up the water. "The beach was dug up long ago."

"Yeah, you'll orientate badly on this map. Your eyes will get even more screwed up. Tell the truth, Frank! You really don't see anything here? The crowd mentality and peer pressure did their work, as Jeff knew they would. Frank was reproached from all sides.

"You'd better be quiet," Clark advised.

"Otherwise, we'll nail you," said his brother Serge.

"If your eyesight is bad, don't open your mouth," contributed Bessie.

"Go home, then. We'll get someone else," said Laura. She fully believed Jeff and was beginning to feel bearish on the plan.

"Why are you attacking him?" said Lee, stepping up to defend Frank. "I don't care if he's cross-eyed I'll help him."

Only Johnny, with his innate reticence, voiced no opinion and kept silent. It wasn't enough, though.

"And what does Johnny say?" prodded Jeff. He needed one more voice in his favor.

"Me? What do I think?" Johnny shot a look down at his feet, quietly wiped his nose against his shoulder, and said, "I'll go along with the rest."

The company cheered up and got down to business.

"So," began Jeff, "the gold is in four places. We have to separate into groups. Here are some copies of the map." He started handing them out. "Here is yours." Jeff gave one to girls. "And this one is yours." He gave another to the twins. "And this one's for you." Lee and Frank took a copy. "I'll take Johnny."

"Okay. – Frank agreed. "But first, we'll see how you and Johnny manage."

Jeff was ready for that, and he answered right away."

"Come on, then. Let's get going."

For twenty minutes Jeff rode friends among rocks, rolled in one place, defined the parts of the world and at last stopped at the cleft near a big stone. He instructed that the stone be moved, but it was very heavy. Then Jeff found a stick and began to sap the stone.

The ground was soft, but none of Jeff's friends noticed that. He knew that in two minutes he'd find a little clay pot full of various coins his father had collected. The silver ones didn't amount to much, so he'd placed some copper ones at the bottom of the pot. Jeff was ready to express the storm of delight, but what happened next could hardly be described as delight. Jeff took the pot and opened it. He rolled his eyes, and his mouth opened wide. Instead of silver coins, out from the pot came gold ones. The spilled onto the sand, gleaming in the sun for all to see.

"Oh! This is really true!" said Frank in utter astonishment. The next moment, Jeff had Johnny take off his shirt, and they poured the coins onto it. The copper coins at the bottom had turned out to be gold, too. Jeff looked around: His friends had disappeared in search of their own share. Nobody suspected that it was simply a well-planned joke. They had no reason to think the other pots would be filled with sawdust and fat souvenir figs.

Johnny stayed with Jeff. He was the partner, and the pot was common. Johnny counted the coins.

Jeff was sitting on the stone and following the other boy's quick fingers. He just couldn't believe it. It was impossible for copper money to turn into gold. Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by the beam of attention from one who was watching the story unfold. The boy looked up to see a man with eyes unlike any he had met before. They radiated magnetism, power and absolute force of will. Johnny watched Jeff jump off the stone and drag after the man with a plait down the ravine toward the beach. He was more interested in the contents of the mysterious treasure, but to his limitless surprise he then discovered only copper and silver coins in the shirt.