The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [119]
“What about the gun?” she said.
Anders gave her a sheepish look. “I was supposed to keep that a secret, too. I told Nakamura that, after carrying one for ten years, I'd feel a little naked without it. Since I've got the training to use it, he's letting me keep it. For the moment, anyway, until final word comes down from the Philosophers.”
Deirdre searched his face for any hint that he wasn't telling her the truth. She didn't see it, but that could simply mean he was a good liar.
You can't live like this, Deirdre. Anders's story is completely plausible, and no doubt Nakamura can verify everything. You can't be suspicious of everyone around you. It will drive you mad if you do.
As it had driven Farr mad? Except the light in his eyes that last time she had seen him had been anything but crazy. No, Farr had been perfectly sane, and that was what terrified her.
Deirdre made a decision. “You can't keep any more secrets from me, Anders.” She smiled, hoping the expression was more reassuring than it felt. “Not if we're going to be partners. We have to be able to depend on each other. Understood?”
Astonishment flickered across his face, followed by a broad grin. “You've got it, mate.”
“So, is there anything else I should know?”
He scratched his chin, looking uncomfortable. “Well, only that you've still got a bit of your lunch in your teeth. I've been trying not to notice it, but frankly it's driving me bonkers. That was why I rushed us out of the pub.”
Deirdre slapped a hand to her mouth. “Thanks a lot,” she muttered through her fingers.
Ten minutes later—after a trip to the rest room, toothbrush in hand—Deirdre sat at her desk. Anders was already typing away on his computer, and she supposed the best way to calm her mind was to try focusing on the task at hand. She picked up a pen and started going over the facsimiles from the 1619 case, reminding herself that, four centuries ago, people had had an annoying habit of writing F's that looked like S's, using Y's instead of I's, and putting E's on the end of pretty much everything.
It wasn't until hours later that she noticed the folder. Anders had gotten up to brew another pot of coffee. Deirdre leaned back, rubbing her neck. She had made good progress on deciphering the pages from one of the old Seeker journals and was ready for more. She shifted one of the towering stacks of papers on her desk.
Unlike the manila folders she used, this folder was red, its flap tied shut with a string. She glanced up at Anders, but his back was still turned as he worked on the coffee. Quickly, she unwrapped the string from the clasp and opened the folder.
Inside was a single black-and-white photograph. It showed what looked like a fragment of a clay tablet covered with two rows of writing. The top row looked vaguely familiar. She had seen writing like that before but couldn't remember exactly what it was. Sumerian cuneiform? No, not quite. Phoenician? Maybe. Then her eyes moved down to the second row of writing, and her breathing ceased.
She recognized the lines of queer, angular symbols. She had stared at them so long, how could she not? They were the same as the symbols on Glinda's ring and the keystone.
“More coffee, Deirdre?”
She stared at the photograph. Anders's back was still turned.
“Deirdre?”
“Yes,” she said, managing to breathe again. “Please.”
She shoved the photograph back into the folder. As Anders turned around, mugs in hand, she slipped the folder into one of the stacks on her desk.
“Found anything interesting yet?” he said, handing her a steaming mug.
“Not really.”
She clutched the hot cup; it burned her fingers, but she didn't let go. I thought you said partners weren't supposed to keep secrets, Deirdre.
“Well, keep trying,” Anders said with a wink.
He returned to his desk. Deirdre ached to pull out the folder again to study the photograph, but she didn't dare. And she didn't need to look at it again to know what it was.
It was her Rosetta Stone.
30.
Travis huddled in the blue shadow of an alley a block from the downtown Denver police