woman at the door.
A loud voice sounded in the security guard’s earpiece. He recognized it instantly.
“Where are you?” demanded Crowe.
The guard raised his right hand to his face and spoke into the mike strapped to his wrist.
“Eighteenth floor. Hotel corridor. Madison and Nguyen just ran onto this floor from the stairwell.”
A burst of expletives boomed from the guard’s earpiece. Then a moment of silence.
“Report immediately to the atrium level. I want officers posted at every exit.”
“But sir, they’re on this floor. We were right behind them.”
Another voice broke into the transmission.
“This is Dante Giovanni. You will break off your pursuit and report immediately to the atrium. There are hotel guests on that floor. The last thing I need is for a guest of the hotel to become alarmed and phone the police.”
The guard shrugged his shoulders.
“Yes, sir. We’ll be right there.”
After the security officers had left the floor, Madison released his grip on the scared maid. She took a step back away from him in fear.
Madison held up his hands.
“It’s okay. They’ve gone. We’re not going to hurt you.”
He reached into a pocket and removed his wallet, fishing out a hundred-dollar bill from the billfold.
“Can you help us get to the subbasement?” he asked.
“Why the basement?” asked Grace.
“We need help. Quiz’s office is on the subbasement,” said Madison. He turned back to the maid.
“Is there a maintenance elevator you use to take linens and things to the basement?”
“Sí,” said the woman, taking the crisp bill from Madison’s fingers.
“The laundry service pick up the linen from the alley behind the storeroom. I take you there.”
Thirty-six
Quiz’s Office
Subbasement, Millennium Tower
Manhattan, New York
Madison and Grace descended to the subbasement in the service elevator. Madison’s shoulder ached and his jaw throbbed with pain.
“Let’s just go,” said Grace.
“Not yet. I want to see what Quiz has found.”
“Are you going to tell him about Crowe?”
“No. I don’t want to involve Quiz any more than we have to.”
Quiz was hunched over his keyboard, stuffing a Twinkie into his mouth whole, when Grace and Madison reached his office.
Madison wiped the sweat from his forehead and slowed his breathing. He ignored the throbbing pain in his shoulder.
“Hey, Quiz.”
“Mphgrph,” said Quiz, choking down the Twinkie. He washed it down with a swallow of Diet Coke.
“What are you guys doing here?” he asked finally.
“We wanted to check in and see what you’ve found,” said Madison. “Did you locate Ambergris’ journal?”
“You betcher ass,” said Quiz. “And Christian, the first entry is addressed to you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Here, see for yourself.” Quiz turned the flat-panel monitor so that Grace and Madison could read the text on the screen. He scrolled back to the first entry in the journal. Grace and Madison quickly read through the lines of text.
“Jesus,” said Madison. He turned to Grace. “Did you have any idea?”
“No, Christian. He was so withdrawn. We never talked about personal things.”
“Go to the next one,” said Madison. Quiz scrolled down the page. Together, they continued reading.
8 March—
I have spent many hours exploring the thousands of volumes in my father’s library—tomes, texts, and treatises he collected during his travels around the world. The breadth of his knowledge and the range of his interests were truly impressive. His collection is most remarkable. I have found manuscripts and scrolls from ancient Egypt, Mesoamerica, the Fertile Crescent, and the Far East.
One of his prized acquisitions was the original manuscript of a rare kabbalistic text, the Sefer Yetzirah . It is the oldest book in the Hebrew occult tradition, also known as the Book of Creation . Its fragile pages rest in a leather folio in my father’s study, alongside an English translation
A loud voice sounded in the security guard’s earpiece. He recognized it instantly.
“Where are you?” demanded Crowe.
The guard raised his right hand to his face and spoke into the mike strapped to his wrist.
“Eighteenth floor. Hotel corridor. Madison and Nguyen just ran onto this floor from the stairwell.”
A burst of expletives boomed from the guard’s earpiece. Then a moment of silence.
“Report immediately to the atrium level. I want officers posted at every exit.”
“But sir, they’re on this floor. We were right behind them.”
Another voice broke into the transmission.
“This is Dante Giovanni. You will break off your pursuit and report immediately to the atrium. There are hotel guests on that floor. The last thing I need is for a guest of the hotel to become alarmed and phone the police.”
The guard shrugged his shoulders.
“Yes, sir. We’ll be right there.”
After the security officers had left the floor, Madison released his grip on the scared maid. She took a step back away from him in fear.
Madison held up his hands.
“It’s okay. They’ve gone. We’re not going to hurt you.”
He reached into a pocket and removed his wallet, fishing out a hundred-dollar bill from the billfold.
“Can you help us get to the subbasement?” he asked.
“Why the basement?” asked Grace.
“We need help. Quiz’s office is on the subbasement,” said Madison. He turned back to the maid.
“Is there a maintenance elevator you use to take linens and things to the basement?”
“Sí,” said the woman, taking the crisp bill from Madison’s fingers.
“The laundry service pick up the linen from the alley behind the storeroom. I take you there.”
Thirty-six
Quiz’s Office
Subbasement, Millennium Tower
Manhattan, New York
Madison and Grace descended to the subbasement in the service elevator. Madison’s shoulder ached and his jaw throbbed with pain.
“Let’s just go,” said Grace.
“Not yet. I want to see what Quiz has found.”
“Are you going to tell him about Crowe?”
“No. I don’t want to involve Quiz any more than we have to.”
Quiz was hunched over his keyboard, stuffing a Twinkie into his mouth whole, when Grace and Madison reached his office.
Madison wiped the sweat from his forehead and slowed his breathing. He ignored the throbbing pain in his shoulder.
“Hey, Quiz.”
“Mphgrph,” said Quiz, choking down the Twinkie. He washed it down with a swallow of Diet Coke.
“What are you guys doing here?” he asked finally.
“We wanted to check in and see what you’ve found,” said Madison. “Did you locate Ambergris’ journal?”
“You betcher ass,” said Quiz. “And Christian, the first entry is addressed to you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Here, see for yourself.” Quiz turned the flat-panel monitor so that Grace and Madison could read the text on the screen. He scrolled back to the first entry in the journal. Grace and Madison quickly read through the lines of text.
“Jesus,” said Madison. He turned to Grace. “Did you have any idea?”
“No, Christian. He was so withdrawn. We never talked about personal things.”
“Go to the next one,” said Madison. Quiz scrolled down the page. Together, they continued reading.
8 March—
I have spent many hours exploring the thousands of volumes in my father’s library—tomes, texts, and treatises he collected during his travels around the world. The breadth of his knowledge and the range of his interests were truly impressive. His collection is most remarkable. I have found manuscripts and scrolls from ancient Egypt, Mesoamerica, the Fertile Crescent, and the Far East.
One of his prized acquisitions was the original manuscript of a rare kabbalistic text, the Sefer Yetzirah . It is the oldest book in the Hebrew occult tradition, also known as the Book of Creation . Its fragile pages rest in a leather folio in my father’s study, alongside an English translation
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