The Serpent's Curse (9 page)

“All right, then,” said Wade. “It would be totally amazing if we think we've already figured out who the Guardian might be. But I'm getting nowhere on what the double-eyed relic is—”

Julian's cell phone buzzed. He swiped it on and answered it. He nodded once, ended the call, and stood up. “We have to go right now.”

“Did the Order find us?” said Darrell. “Are they here? Why do we have to leave?”

“For brunch,” Julian said. “Our dads are meeting us in half an hour!”

A
s a precaution, Lily, Julian, and a guard left the Morgan from the old entrance on Thirty-Sixth Street, while Wade, Becca, Darrell, and another guard exited the brownstone through a pair of glass doors at 24 East Thirty-Seventh Street. They met one another a block east of the museum, on Park Avenue, where a brown four-door Honda sedan was idling at the curb. Dennis, the Ackroyds' driver, sat behind the wheel. He smiled and unlocked the doors, the kids climbed in, and the two guards trotted back to the museum.

“Dennis, how are you feeling this morning?” Julian asked.

“Fine today,” he said. “Where to?”

“The Water Club.”

“I hope they have food, too,” said Darrell.

Wade laughed. Darrell was feeling good. They all were. In a couple of short hours, they had gained a solid idea of who the second Guardian was. That was real progress.

Ten minutes later, after zigzagging from block to block across streets and down avenues, they arrived at a broad, low restaurant overlooking the river. Julian thanked Dennis, who drove off to park nearby.

“Your father will arrive in . . . seventeen minutes,” said a man at the desk, checking his watch. “Your table is ready for you now.”

The dining room smelled deliciously of hot coffee, fried eggs, bacon, and pastries, and Wade's stomach wanted all of them. They crossed the floor to a large round table by a wide bank of windows. Snowflakes, heavier now, were falling gently and dissolving into the river outside.

Becca took a seat next to him. “What's this river?”

“The East River,” said Julian. “You can just make out the Williamsburg Bridge.”

“Oh.” She shivered. “Better to look at it than be on it.”

As soon as they were all seated, Wade drew the star chart from his backpack and unfolded it. “The constellation is here, somewhere,” he murmured. “The double-eyed beast has got to be one of Ptolemy's original forty-eight constellations. But which one?”

“There are a dozen or so ‘beasts,'” Lily said, making air quotes around the last word. “And I'm including dogs, birds, Hydras, dragons, and bears.”

Wade nodded. “But some are profiles. Not all of them have both eyes visible.” As he looked at his antique sky map, Wade imagined Uncle Henry's kind, old face, and he felt something shut off in his brain. The table, the windows, the snow vanishing into the river, even Becca and the others around him, seemed to fade into the background. His talent for blocking out noises and distractions—so tested lately—came forward.

He mentally ticked off the constellations that couldn't for an instant be considered “double-eyed.” That still left a number of water creatures, centaurs, a lion, bears, a dragon, a horse, and more. Studying the golden and silver constellations, he remembered what his father had taught him about stars, and a small thought entered his mind.

Could
double-eyed
refer to the astronomical phenomenon known as a double star? “Huh . . .”

“Huh, what?” asked Lily.

“Well, maybe Copernicus meant that there's a double star in the constellation's head.”

“What's a double star?” Darrell asked. “And don't say two stars.”

Wade laughed. “Well, they kind of
are
two stars—”

“I asked you not to—”

“Which is why I did. A double star is really where two stars are so close together that they sometimes appear like one really bright star. It's only when you observe them for a long time that you discover that there are two of them. Lily, can you cross-check double stars against Ptolemy's forty-eight constellations?”

“Smart,” she said, her fingers already moving over the tablet's screen, “for a non–intelligence officer, that is. I'm searching, searching, and . . . oh.”

“You found something already?” asked Julian.

“Actually, no. There are a ton of double stars in the constellations and a bunch where the eyes could be.”

Darrell leaned over Wade's notebook. “Well, then, what about this ‘unbound' beast? What does that even mean? A wild beast? A beast out of control?”

“Right,” said Julian. “Or maybe it's loose somehow? Not together—”

“You mean like Wade?” said Darrell.

“Good one,” said Julian. “I mean like in a bunch of different parts? Is there a constellation,
one
constellation, in more than one part? That
also
has a double star in its head?”

Wade studied the star chart carefully before ruling out one constellation after another. Then he stopped, shaking his head. He ran through the constellations a second time. He felt a smile coming on that he couldn't hide. “You got it, Julian. There
is
one constellation that has two stars in its head, and it
is
in two separate parts,” he said. “Just one . . .”

They waited.

“Wade. Seriously,” said Becca.

“And they call the name of that constellation . . .”

Lily narrowed her eyes at him. “Tell. Us.”

“Serpens,” he said, tapping the chart directly on the constellation appearing in the northern sky. “Serpens. Which stands for—”

“The Serpent, yeah,” Darrell said. “We figured it out. Let's go find it.”

“Except . . . look at it,” said Wade. “The Serpens constellation really
is
in two parts. In the west is the serpent head and in the east is the body. In between is the figure of the guy who's wrestling it—Ophiuchus—and he's got his own other constellation. Serpens is actually divided into two parts. It's odd that way.”

“You're odd that way,” Darrell said, squinting over the chart.

“I get it from you,” Wade said. “I'm just hoping the relic isn't in two pieces, each one hidden in a different place.”

“We'll still find it,” Darrell said. “Both of it.”

Wade was wondering what it might really mean if the relic was split and hidden in two places when his father and Terence Ackroyd entered the restaurant. They both wore cautious smiles.

“Paul Ferrere is already on his way back to Paris, certain that Sara is in Europe, probably southern Europe,” said Terence. “All other destinations for the two jets have been ruled out, and the detectives are paying particular attention to Madrid's several municipal and private airfields.”

“Which is very good,” Wade's father added. “Their extensive team of investigators is fanning out across the continent.”

“Really good!” said Darrell. “This is soooo good!”

“From this moment on, I will be the go-between for the detectives and you,” Terence said. “Now, what did you learn at the Morgan?”

“Maxim Grek.”

“Serpens.”

“Russia.”

That's what Wade and the others told his father and Terence. Both men countered their arguments here and there, and the kids countered back. This went on during their three-course brunch, until both men agreed that, given the evidence, they were very likely on the right track.

“Russia,” Roald said finally. “As soon as Galina finds out, and she
will
find out, she'll bring Sara to Russia, too. If we have no other leads, then Russia is a start. Don't travel visas take several days to get?”

Julian glanced at his father. “Are you thinking what I'm thinking? Comrade Boris?”

Terence seemed strangely reluctant, then nodded. “I think so, yes. There is a man. A Russian fellow. His name is Boris Volkov. He's lived in London for the past few years. I think you should fly there first and see him. He can likely be of help to you.”

“Likely?” said Becca.

“Volkov is a scholar of languages and a historian of Russia's medieval period,” Terence said. “I met him when I was writing a book about the treasure the Crusaders brought back from the Middle East. He knows a lot about the Order, perhaps the Guardians, too. Whether he is an agent of one or the other, I can't say. He's quite cagey about what he reveals. But he may be able to help you get into Russia quickly and aid you while you're there. Boris Volkov seems to have . . . connections.”

“Well, we can't afford—” Wade's father began.

Terence waved his hand to stop him. “Think no more about that. I told you, my resources are yours. Since you don't have the authorities on your side, the Ackroyd Foundation will bankroll your continued travels. I'll do everything in my power to help you get Sara back safely and find the relic.”

“Awesome,” said Lily, smiling at both Ackroyds. “Thank you, again.”

Wade's father took a breath, then raised his eyes to the two girls. “There's . . . something else,” he said. “Becca, I called your mother this morning, and Lily, your dad, about you going home or going on. You both need to call your parents, not at home, but on their cell phones.”

Becca's face fell. “What is it? Oh, I should have answered when I got the call last night. I didn't want to. What's happening—”

Roald held up his hands. “Everyone is fine, they're fine, and in fact Paul Ferrere has already alerted his people in Austin. But there was an incident at Maggie's school the other day, and Lily, your father was followed home from work. Nothing happened, nothing at all, but as of this morning, both of your families have been relocated temporarily.”

Lily held one hand over her mouth as she dug furiously for her phone.

Becca did the same. “Maggie, Maggie, I should have answered!”

For the next few minutes, both girls were sitting at different tables, glued to their cell phones, deep in conversation with their parents, while Terence filled in the details.

“The stinking Order,” Darrell grumbled.

“Dad—” Wade started.

“I already talked to your mother,” his father said, assuring him. “She's fine and traveling in Mexico. She doesn't appear to be on their radar at all.”

A weight had been lifted, but Wade realized it had been days since he had spoken with her. “I'll call her right after this.”

“Basically,” Terence said, “it's best for none of you to return to Austin until we're sure of what we are dealing with. The Order could simply be flexing its muscles. I have no doubt that whatever they are doing comes from Galina herself, but my feeling is that she won't want to spread herself too thin with actions as intimidating as doing anything to the girls' families. Her empire is huge. She will need to focus it.”

Wade shared a look with Darrell, who muttered something about Galina that Wade knew he probably shouldn't repeat. That was when his father produced a narrow silver tube from his pocket. It was the size of a fat ballpoint.

“It's a stun gun,” he said. “A miniature Taser. Totally legal. The investigators gave one to me.”

“Do we each get one?” asked Darrell.

“Absolutely not. And it's for defense only.”

“A little something,” said Terence. “It can be handy in tight quarters, without being a dangerous weapon.”

Minutes later, Lily returned, wiping her cheeks. “They're all right. Way upset, with, like, a million questions, but they don't think I should be there right now.” She started crying again behind her hands. “I'm sorry.” Darrell put his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into him.

Becca came back to the table looking like a zombie, blinking tears away from her eyes, unable to sit down. “Maggie's okay, worried like crazy. My parents, too, but they said I should stay with you. I never even thought of going home, and now I really want to, but I guess I should stay. I don't know.”

Lily pulled away from Darrell and put her hand on Becca's wrist, and Becca sat. It was like that for a long while, everyone quiet, eyes down, not knowing what to say.

Wade once more remembered his dream of the cave: Becca lying lifeless on the floor. Then the way Markus Wolff had stared at her in San Francisco. He suddenly feared that Becca might be in some particular kind of danger, but he still didn't know how to express it. He just gazed at her, then at Lily, then at Becca again.

Finally, dishes were removed and dessert came, and that seemed to reset things.

“Is Boris Volkov a friend of yours?” Roald asked over a final coffee.

“No, not a friend,” Terence said, waving a waiter over and asking for the check. “But he's useful. Listen to what he has to say. He knows many people in Russia who may be able to help you. However, I wouldn't entirely trust him. Boris doesn't do anything for nothing.”