The Ghost Manuscript Read online

  “Hopefully, you’ll be safe long before that,” said Annie. “But I’m gonna stay with you as long as it takes.”

  “It’ll just be for tonight. I’ll have a plan tomorrow once I talk to Harper.”

  “I told you, I’m not leaving your side,” said Annie.

  “What about your job?”

  “I’m so far over my billable quota this month, they should give me a medal,” said Annie, smiling.

  “You need to get a life,” said Carys with a wan smile.

  Annie’s eyes flashed up at her, and she opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again and looked down at her drink.

  All Annie did was work. It was a form of atonement. Annie had quit the U.S. AG’s office several years earlier. She couldn’t stand putting dumb, small-time criminals—guys like her father—behind bars and destroying their lives and families. Annie told her that being a defense attorney felt nobler somehow. But once you’ve won an acquittal for a man who bilked retirees and pension funds out of billions, you’ve crossed a moral line that you can’t uncross.

  Sometimes, their friendship felt like one more way that Annie was seeking absolution from the universe for working on, and profiting from, the wrong side of that line.

  Carys was convinced that Annie’s affair with the cop was another form of penance. It kept Annie from embarking on a real life—love, marriage, kids, things Annie had long claimed she wanted but which Carys suspected Annie didn’t think she deserved as long as she was defending the scum of the earth.

  Carys smiled at her best friend, the woman closer to her than anyone else, a woman who would put herself in harm’s way to keep Carys safe. It was the very last thing she wanted.

  ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆

  Frank hacked through the underbrush in the forest surrounding the Harper mansion, tree branches clawing at his hair. It was drizzling—like London but without the grime. His shoes were damp. They were nice shoes, too. He didn’t have another pair. Crawling around in the woods wasn’t something he normally packed for.

  Trying to bribe the woman had been a bad idea, but he had to give it a try. He was sick of blood. The woman was terrified of him, but she’d still lied to protect that manuscript. She didn’t understand that he was doing her a favor. Must be some book.

  Reporting the incident to Gyles went exactly as he’d expected.

  “I made contact with the Jones woman. Tried to bribe her. She denied knowing anything about the book.”

  “Why the fuck did you do that?” yelled Gyles. “You’ve got a gun. Why didn’t you fucking use it?!”

  “I was hoping not to have to kill any more Americans this year,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Look, we know the manuscript is in the mansion somewhere. Just go get it. You’re an excellent B and E man, if I recall.”

  “Yeah, sure,” he said. “The place has alarms everywhere. I trip one, I’ll have coppers up my chuff in two minutes.”

  “Then don’t trip any alarms,” said Gyles. “Just get me the manuscript and the translation, and do it tonight. Then get the hell out of there and back here. Easy.”

  Frank knew better than to try to break in. That was a fool’s errand. And he was no fool, despite what Gyles seemed to think. He could see from his position in the trees that an older woman was still in the house. He’d been watching her for a while. She’d been reading until a phone call came in a little earlier, and then she began moving quickly, back and forth. She was packing, then she was putting on a coat, picking up some keys, in a hurry. This was his chance. The minute she opened the front door, he’d convince her to let him in. He could be very convincing.

  But he did hate this part. He was good at it, but he hated it. He pulled on a ski mask and leather gloves, crouched down, and began to move silently across the lawn.

  As Frank reached the edge of the stone driveway, the front door swung open. He ran across the driveway and arrived at the door just as the woman was coming out. She looked up at him with a start and began to scream, quickly backing up into the house.

  She tried to close the door, but he got to it before she could close it all the way. He jammed his foot into the doorway and pushed the door into the woman as hard as he could. The woman fell backward, smacking her head on the marble floor.

  Her large purse flew off her shoulder and skittered to rest underneath the large wooden table in the middle of the foyer. Frank entered the house, slammed the door behind him, bent over her, pulled her to her feet roughly, and marched her to the alarm panel next to the front door.

  “Disarm it,” he said. “Type in the code now. And do it right or I promise you you’ll be dead before the police get here.”

  Her face was drawn and pale, and he could feel her thin body shaking hard in his grip.

  “What do you want?” she said, barely a whisper.

  “The code!” he yelled. She jolted. Her hand slowly lifted to the panel and typed in six digits, which Frank quickly committed to memory. The panel flashed and then a synthetic voice said, “Alarm off.” He frog-marched her to the door of the library.

  “Open it,” he said.

  “I don’t have the key with me,” she said. “It’s in the bedroom.”

  “Well, let’s go get it,” he said. She was shaking so hard, it felt like she was having a seizure. He saw a tiny trickle of blood on the back of her neck. The last thing he needed now was for her to pass out.

  They climbed the stairs to the second-floor balcony and went through a door, down a long hallway, and into a huge master bedroom.

  “It’s in there,” she said. She raised a hand to the back of her head, and it came away bloody. She let out a whimper. He shook her arm.

  “You’ll be fine. Keep moving.”

  She retrieved the key from the top drawer of the bedside table, and they walked back to the library. With a shaking hand, she slipped the skeleton key into the door, unlocked it, and entered the library, flinging the door all the way open. Frank marched her to the desk in the middle of the room.

  He looked up at the second level and marveled for a moment at the walls of books.

  “Where’s the manuscript?” he said. “Get it for me now.”

  “Which one?” she said.

  He shoved her down onto the desk chair. She seemed to fold in on herself. He bent over her and put his face inches from hers.

  “You know which book,” he hissed. “The monk’s manuscript. Get it for me or I will kill you.”

  She started to cry.

  “I don’t know what book you’re talking about,” she said, tears streaming from her eyes, the blood soaking the neck of her blouse. Frank almost felt bad.

  Normally, he’d smack her around a little bit, but the head wound made that a bad idea. He needed her conscious. He picked up a reading lamp from a long table, yanked it out of the electrical socket on the floor, and walked over to one of the glass-fronted bookshelves. He covered his eyes with his arm and swung the lamp hard into the glass. It exploded into a million shards.

  He dropped the lamp and reached in, grabbed a few of the ancient manuscripts, and threw them onto the floor. He picked another, pulled it out, and let it flop open. He pulled on the pages. It wasn’t paper. It was something thicker and harder. It wouldn’t rip.

  “Stop! You’ll destroy it!!” the woman screamed as she jumped up from her chair and began to move toward him. He dropped the book and pulled out his gun in one fluid motion.

  “Sit the fuck down,” he said, barely raising his voice.

  She stopped short. Then she seemed to stagger slightly to her right. She backed up unsteadily and sat back down.

  He picked up one of the books on the floor. “These are tougher than they look, aren’t they?”

  She looked up at him, but this time, there was something going on behind her watery eyes. He could see her thinking.


  “Don’t do anything crazy, love,” he said. “Just give me the manuscript and I’ll be on my way.”

  Her face seemed to change. She was still shaking but now her green eyes were sharp, strafing him. He reached back into the bookshelf and grabbed another book, one that looked like it had paper pages.

  “You’re going to kill me,” she said.

  “That depends on whether or not you give me the fucking book,” he yelled, and ripped out several pages before throwing the book on the ground. The woman’s face hardened, and her eyes narrowed to slits.

  Suddenly, a violent grating alarm began to rip through the silence of the library. It echoed off the walls and sent daggers of pain into Frank’s ears. He spun around, scanning the walls for an alarm system keypad.

  Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement. When he turned toward it, he saw the woman running at him faster than he thought possible, a look of pure rage and determination on her face.

  Instinctively, he raised the gun. She kept coming. His finger squeezed the trigger and the gun barked in his hand.

  The bullet tore through the right side of the woman’s chest, up near her armpit. It spun her completely around and she hit the floor.

  “Fuck,” he muttered. He stood paralyzed, shoulders climbing up toward his ears. “Fuck.”

  The woman lay perfectly still. Blood started pooling underneath her immediately, shiny black against the wooden floor. Second time I’ve seen blood in two days, he thought. She was still breathing, although it sounded like a child’s rattle.

  He holstered his gun and moved quickly but purposefully out of the library, through the front door, making a mental note that he had not touched anything with his bare hands. He sprinted across the lawn and back into the woods. He’d have to come back for the manuscript later. After the cops—and the ambulance—had left.

  ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆

  Carys and Annie got a room at the hotel at the mall complex and had a bottle of wine and a plate of popcorn shrimp, which Carys barely touched. She didn’t bother getting her overnight bag out of the car. She was too afraid. Instead, she crawled into bed in her underwear, knowing full well that there would be no sleep. As Annie dozed peacefully in the next bed, she turned on the TV and muted the volume. Light flickered across the room.

  She drifted off for a couple of hours and woke with a start. She rolled over to look at the alarm clock—2:30. The TV was still on, and she sat up to look for the remote control.

  On the wall to her right, about three feet from her edge of the bed, a dark shadow formed, created by nothing. It started out as simply an area on the wall where the TV flicker seemed darker than the surrounding light, but it slowly grew more opaque. Carys watched, confused, unsure if she was awake or asleep.

  Slowly, the shadow turned solid. The dark areas transformed into nubbly woolen robes, then a rope belt appeared around them, then arms, the white of a bald head, a chin, cheeks, mouth, nose, and lastly eyes, serene, gazing down at Carys. The man had a slight smile playing across his pale face. It was the man from her living room.

  She wanted to shake Annie awake, but she couldn’t move. Her throat was clamped shut.

  I’m having a dream. It’s a dream. I don’t need to panic. Her heart bashed away inside her chest.

  “Non time, Carye,” the man said. “Tibi non nocebo. Amicus tuus sum.”

  He was speaking Latin. Her heart was now beating so fast that she could hear it pounding in her ears. She tried to focus her mind and translate the words. The concentration helped her regain some control over herself.

  He was telling her not to be afraid. That he wouldn’t hurt her, that he was her friend.

  “Te succurram. In periculum es. Debes nunc abire, eumque petere,” he continued.

  She closed her eyes, trying to process his message, though she could barely breathe. I am here to help you. You are in danger. You must leave now. You must go seek him.

  “Arcturus nunc te sperat. Eum debes invenire ante isti sic faciunt. Dux Bellorum tibi reperiendus est. Desere!” Arcturus. He is waiting for you. You must find him before they do. You must find the Duke of War. Leave now.

  Carys looked down at the covers of her bed. She glanced over at Annie sleeping peacefully. The sheets lay damp with sweat against her legs. She closed her eyes tightly, opened them again. The man stood there, still, gazing beatifically down at her.

  This is a dream. This has to be a dream. Please let this be a dream.

  “I am Lestinus,” the man continued in Latin. “I rode with him for years. He saved my life. And now I will save yours. You must not wait until sunrise. You must go now. Get the journal and leave tonight.”

  Her throat released slightly, and she inhaled enough air to speak.

  “Where?” she said.

  “Across the sea.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Dux Bellorum tibi reperiendus est,” he said evenly, without emotion. You must find the Duke of War.

  Carys could see his lips moving, moist, full, his teeth crooked and dull, his facial stubble as real and defined as the stubble on her own legs, his mouth enunciating the Latin words perfectly.

  “He was a leader and a man in a time of great fear. I hid my journal so that the evil ones would not find it and unearth his tomb. Only the learned and worthy may find him,” Lestinus said calmly. He began to slowly fade.

  When the space on the wall returned to just a dark shimmer, she found her voice and her feet and jumped out of bed.

  “Wait!” she said in a loud whisper in English.

  “Wait for what?” asked Annie sleepily.

  Carys froze. The last thing she needed was an involuntary hospitalization—although that would be one sure way of staying away from the no-neck British goon.

  “I need to get out of here,” she said.

  “We can’t do anything tonight,” said Annie.

  “I’m not going to sleep another wink.”

  “Then just lie down and try to relax. I won’t let you go back to the mansion until it’s light and we can see what we’re getting ourselves into.”

  “There is no ‘we’ on this thing. It’s me. My problem. I will not get you involved in this.”

  “Too late,” said Annie. “Whatever it is, I’m involved. I will not let some tea-drinking bastard threaten my sister.”

  “I’m not even your real sister. I’m some stray cat your mom picked up.”

  “You’re my sister. And you will now shut up and go to sleep.”

  Carys lay back down, cold to the bone and shaking. The image of Lestinus, as real as anything she’d ever seen, swam behind her closed eyelids.

  Please, let it be a dream.

  8

  Saturday, June 16

  The knock on the door startled Carys awake.

  “Relax, Sleeping Beauty,” said Annie, already dressed and at the door. “It’s room service.”

  Carys rolled over on her side and tried to slow her heartbeat as the valet brought a pot in on a tray and placed it on the coffee table next to the room’s small couch. Annie signed the bill and sent him away, then poured a mug, put cream in, and brought it to Carys.

  “You had nightmares last night,” said Annie. “You kept me up all night mumbling.”

  “I’ve gotta call Nicola,” she said as she reached for her phone. She dialed the numbers. The phone rang. And rang. The voicemail message played and the beep sounded. “Nicola, Carys here. Call me. Please. As soon as possible. Bye.”

  “I’m sure she’s fine, hon,” Annie said.

  Carys looked at the clock. Quarter to nine. “Shit,” she said. She hopped out of the bed and headed for the shower. She dressed and got back into her clothes from the night before. She and Annie checked out and walked back down to the garage. Her hand shook slightly as she put her key into the door lock.

&nbs
p; “We have to assume that they’re still following you,” said Annie. “Keep your eyes peeled for any vehicles behind. Make a few trips around the block, check in your rear-view.” She gave Carys a smile. Carys didn’t reciprocate. “I’ll follow behind you and I’ll call you if I see anything strange. I’ll call Jimmy at the precinct…”

  “No,” she said. “I don’t want you to get your damn boyfriend involved in this. Let me talk to Harper and Nicola and find out what they want to do. I don’t want to bring the police into this until we absolutely have to.”

  “A guy threatened you with a gun,” said Annie. “I’d say we absolutely have to.”

  “He didn’t threaten me with it. Just made sure I saw it. I promise I’ll call the police as soon as I talk to Nicola and Harper.”

  The two women drove around the block twice. They turned down a side street, onto the Massachusetts Turnpike on-ramp, and headed west. No one followed.

  ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆

  “Mr. Harper is expecting you,” said the nurse at the reception desk. “Doctor Frankel has cleared this visit but asked me to remind you not to do anything that might upset Mr. Harper.”

  “Of course,” said Carys, knowing this would be impossible. “Mr. Harper’s friend Nicola will be arriving shortly as well.”

  The same nursing assistant followed her down the hall.

  “I need some private time with Mr. Harper. Can you please stand outside? What we have to discuss is very confidential.”

  “I’m sorry. You know the rules,” the tiny woman answered, not meeting Carys’s eyes.

  The assistant unlocked Harper’s door and Carys knocked before opening it. Harper’s hair was washed and combed, and he was slightly less disheveled than he’d been on her previous visit. He had a half smile of expectancy on his face. It vanished when he saw Carys’s expression.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Can you please wait here in the foyer again?” she said to the assistant. “We’ll keep the bedroom door open.”

  The woman shrugged as she entered the small foyer and leaned against the wall. Carys and Harper went into the bedroom and closed the door almost all the way. She sat at his desk, and he sat on the bed. She leaned in.