Book of Souls

“I dunno,” Will said sullenly. “Never been a problem.” He wasn’t in the mood for dinner-party chitchat, and he wasn’t trying to hide it.

Nancy had not been pleased about the auction, and in retrospect, he wished he’d kept the details to himself. She’d fumed all day that Will was allowing himself to be sucked into something that was none of his business, and she red-lined when he casually mentioned he’d offered up the apartment for a late-night meeting.

“You agreed to let these people come into my home while Philly is sleeping ten feet away?”

“They’re harmless old men. They’ll be in and out in a few minutes. I’ll make sure they don’t wake you guys.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

It had gone downhill from there.

“So how’s work, honey?” Joseph asked his daughter.

“They’re treating me like I came back from brain surgery. My assignments are ridiculous. I had a baby, not a disease.”

“I’m glad they’re acting that way,” her mother said. “You’re a new mother.”

“You must be channeling my boss,” Nancy said bitterly.

Joseph tried to inject a dose of hope. “I’m sure you’ll get back to where you want to be.” When Nancy ignored him, he tried his luck on his son-in-law. “Retirement still treating you well, Will?”

“Oh yeah. It’s a laugh a minute,” Will answered sarcastically.

“Well, you’re my hero. In a couple of years, Mary and I plan to join you, so we’re watching and learning.”

In his foul mood, Will turned the comment over in his mind a couple of times, trying to decide if there was a coded insult lurking. He let it pass.

When they were alone, Nancy fussed over Phillip’s crib, then got herself ready for bed. She was giving Will the icy, silent treatment, trying to avoid contact. The problem with relegating him to the doghouse was that the whole apartment wasn’t much bigger than a doghouse to begin with.

Finally, she emerged from the bathroom, pink and exposed in her short nightdress. She crossed her arms over her chest and glowered at him. He was watching TV. Her folded arms were plumping her ripe breasts. He thought she looked awfully good, but her curdling expression wiped away any hope. “Please do not bring these people into the apartment.”

“They’ll be in and out. You won’t even know they’re here,” he said stubbornly. He wasn’t going to back down. It wasn’t the way he worked.

She shut the bedroom door crisply behind her. If the baby hadn’t been sleeping, she probably would have slammed it. Will let his eyes drift from the TV to the cabinet underneath, where his last bottle of scotch was ceremonially stored. He opened the cabinet with his mind and poured himself an imaginary few fingers.

THE CABIN CREW was buttoning down the first-class cabin of BA 179 for its descent to JFK. Young Cottle sat expressionless throughout the entire trip, his usual inanimate self, seemingly immune to the sublime charms of British Airways champagne, cabernet, duck in cherries, chocolate truffles, first-run movies, and a seat that turned into a bed, complete with down-filled duvet.

Two cabins back, Malcolm Frazier was standing in a lengthy queue to use the toilet. He was rigid as a plank and terminally irritable from six hours wedged into a narrow, middle seat. The entire operation had been a disaster, and his masters had made it clear that he alone was responsible for pulling the chestnuts from the fire.

And now his mission had gotten considerably more complicated. It had morphed from a straightforward enterprise to secure the book into a full-blown investigation of who had paid an exorbitant sum and why. He was tasked with following the book to find the answers and, as usual, covering up his trail by whatever means necessary. And typically, everything was highest priority, and his boss’s mood was bordering on hysteria. Secretary Lester had demanded to be informed of every single piece of minutia.

All this made Frazier surly. Angry enough to kill.

At the boarding gate at Heathrow’s Terminal 5, Frazier had approached Cottle as the young man queued in the first-class check-in line. He was afraid Cottle might spot him on board and wanted to eliminate any suspicions. He also wanted to ask him a few “innocent” questions.

“Hey!” Frazier said mock-cheerfully. “Look who’s here! I was at the auction earlier.”

Cottle squinted back, “Of, course, sir. I remember.”

“That was something, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, sir. Very dramatic it was.”

“So, we’re on the same flight! How about that?” He pointed to Cottle’s carry-on bag. “I’ll bet I know what’s in there.”

Cottle looked uncomfortable. “Yes, sir.”

“Any chance I could find out who’s getting it? I’d still like to buy it, maybe make a deal with the guy who beat me out.”

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty, sir. Company policy and all.” There was an announcement for first-class boarding. Cottle waved his ticket at Frazier, and said, “Well, have a good flight then, sir,” before he inched away.