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By Root 1204 0

it. His was a different order of mind. Nikola had never tried to hide his intelligence but had attempted never to show it off or point it directly at anyone. Lesser intellects immediately felt threatened, and his equals didn’t need the advertising; they recognized it at once. Nursing a great intellect was like owning a precious watch, he’d often thought. When Elisabeth Schwarzkopf, probably the twentieth-century’s grandest coloratura soprano, was arraigned before a court of victors at the end of World War II to answer charges of collaboration, she had been heard to state that she performed only for the elite. “For whom else could I sing?” she answered to the panel of judges. Indeed. Only the elite could understand the breathtaking beauty of her voice as she caressed Mozart’s lieders.

An avid reader since the age of two, according to his long-deceased mother, Nikola had never understood the habit of hoarding books, except dictionaries and perhaps an encyclopedia. Books were made to be read and stored in the vast repository of a mind, to be revisited at leisure when attending a boring lecture, waiting, or traveling through uninteresting scenery. The few visitors he’d ever entertained in any of his sundry homes through the years must have assumed he didn’t read, judging by the lack of books on display. Only one person ever remarked, “Your books gather no dust in the library of your mind”: the late Eve Morse, a Supreme Court judge who could accurately quote Cicero, Wittgenstein, and the three books of the major religions.

“Well, hello, Mr. Masek! It must have been … what, two, three years?”

William Stearns, the branch director, rolled from behind his desk and maneuvered his vast anatomy toward Nikola, propelled by short legs. With a shiny dome capping a rotund face, he suffered more than a passing resemblance to Humpty Dumpty.

Nikola faked a smile, shook the blubbery hand once, and nodded, fighting the urge to reach for a handkerchief to mop his palm after.

“Please, make yourself comfortable.” Stearns nodded to a leather sofa. “Can I offer you coffee? Something stronger?”

“No, thank you.” Nikola detoured to occupy an easy chair.

Stearns turned to his secretary, who stood by the door. “That will be all, Mrs. Chapman.” With that, he turned, edged to the sofa, and collapsed on the leather, the cushions groaning as air sighed through the seams. “Well.” He opened his hands as if to part the waters, cradled them over his distended belly, and composed a beatific smile. “What can the bank do for you?”

Nikola considered how to play the forthcoming scene. He had met Stearns a few times over the years, always on issues of little relevance but complex enough to preclude using the Internet. Although he had mentally rehearsed several approaches, Nikola didn’t know if Stearns would be accompanied by other bank officials. The man could have been sick or chosen to conduct their business in one of the open offices outside. Now that his choice had been settled, Nikola decided to lose no time with niceties.

“Mr. Stea—”

“Please, call me William. We’ve known each other … what, twenty years?”

Like most people marshaling their thoughts, Stearns repeated formulas to keep a section of his brain on automatic pilot while the analytic part did its bit. Now he must be debating the reason behind the visit. His porcine eyes darted, trying to evaluate Nikola’s body language. Regardless of his ludicrous physique, Mr. Stearns owned a first-class brain—one that was, according to Nikola’s file, in perfect working order.

“I need a small service.”

Stearns jiggled his triple chins. “That’s what the bank is for.”

“I didn’t mean the bank. I need a personal service from you.”

whatever doubt Nikola harbored about Stearns’s intellect evaporated before his neutral reaction. He didn’t move a muscle, and his cupid smile didn’t falter.

“If it’s within my power, consider it done.”

More formulas. Nikola reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew two dulled brass keys that he deposited neatly side by side on the polished surface of the low table. Then he fished