Alan Ch. 21

Chapter 21: Resurrecting Jack (part 2)

"He said he would only meet with me, but I figure that with your abilities that wouldn't pose a problem," Karick said as the trio stood on the curb, the taxi having just deposited them in one of Paris's seedier neighborhoods. They had set out from the hotel not long after first light, after checking in and leaving their bags in the rooms.

"No, that wont be a problem," Alan agreed.

Karick rang the bell and led them in after their host buzzed them door open. Alan immediately took charge, calming the man's fears.

"I don't like it," he said quietly to Karick, who assured him Alan and Neil would be discrete. When the former Czech intelligence agent started to introduce his colleagues to the grubby document expert he was cut off. "Call me...Viktor," obviously making up a name on the spot.

"Alright, Viktor," Alan said, extending his hand out, but it was not taken.

"You have the document?"

Alan nodded, and handed it over, and the three of them followed Viktor into his work room. Viktor held it up to the light, looked at the wordless parchment wordlessly for a few seconds, and then clamped it down on a lightboard. A magnifying glass, attached to the side of the lightboard by a swinging arm, was moved into place, and Viktor took station over it. Without moving his head from the glass he reached to a side drawer and pulled out a tool that looked like a needle on a mount, and then scraped some of the parchment away at the corner. The next table over had a small-model gas chromatographer and he prepped the sample for analysis.

"What do you think?" Karick asked.

"I'll know on a few moments, but my best guess is that it is vellum. Sheepskin, probably about mid-fifteenth to sixteenth century. From the way it's been cured and treated I would guess Central Asian origin, Uzbek or Tadjik, a very small chance Armenian. Quite possibly..." he drifted off, but his eyes lit up at the last thought.

"Is there a hidden message?"

"What?" Viktor asked. "You're looking for a message? You should have said that at the outset," he grumbled as he opened some cabinets looking for something. He came back with a spray bottle and without asking permission saturated both sides of the parchment.

"Hey! What the fuck are you doing?" Alan yelled.

"Nothing to fear, nothing to fear, boy. Just watch. The solution is almost completely inert." Viktor flipped a switch and the room's light all went off, including the lightboard, and a black light flickered on from both the ceiling and from within the belly of the board. In the dim glow of the room Alan could see him beckoning for him to come closer to the parchment.

"I can state with authority, and you can ask your friend Tadeusz what kind of authority I am, that this paper is blank. You see how clean it is. No pen marks of any kind, no print marks of any kind. No kind of writing or printing instruments have impacted on the paper. A virgin, you get it? Virgin!" he laughed, a rheumy cackle.

The gas chromatographer beeped and Viktor sat down at a p.c. which was attached to it by a cable. The results meant nothing to Alan, and he watched with interest as Viktor loaded a CD into the drive and ran a comparison program. "This will take some time," they were informed by their host.

Alan and Neil went looking for a café, while Karick stayed behind to keep an eye on things.

"So, Karick, you've come up in the world, I see," "Viktor" said once the others had left.

"The Cold War is over, my old friend. I have to make a living somehow. To tell the truth, I consider myself lucky. It is a good job. No wet work."

"You never did like killing."

"No, but I did it, unhappily. And you? Now you forge passports and identity papers for the highest bidders, not for love of Lenin and Marx. More rewarding for you too, no?"

"Victor" sighed. "The more things change...most of my, ah, clientele, are Russians, fucking Russians. Mafiya scum, and kleptocrats calling themselves without a hint of irony 'New Capitalists,'" he grumbled. "The pay is better, but the more things change..." he added with a laugh.

They chatted of trivial things while the computer searched the database looking for a match to the sample; the computer was fairly ancient, and taking its time. When the match had been found Karick keyed his cell phone and called Alan and Neil back from their coffees.

"Samarkand," Viktor pronounced triumphantly. "From the workshop of the Master, I would guess early 1500s."

"The Master?" Alan asked.

It was Neil, to the surprise of the other three who answered. "The Master of Samarkand, a dyer, name unknown, who worked from about 1480 to 1515. His product was of exceptional quality." Neil pointed to the parchment laying on the lightbox. "This is the Stradivarius of paper, parchment, whatever," he said correcting himself. "If the provenance can be proven," he ventured, getting a small snarl from Viktor in response (so unused he was to having his expertise questioned), that is one valuable piece of parchment."

"Valuable, yes," Alan thought, "But that doesn't quite help us along in our quest however much it's worth."

"The bleaching process used by him," Viktor began, taking up Neil's point (and a bit perturbed at being upstaged and doubted), "Is quite distinct, decades, no centuries ahead of his time. From the finish on the document I should have pegged it off right away, but I've never seen an unused piece of his product."

Later, back at the hotel Alan asked him if that was the clue. "Do we need to go? To Samarkand? I'm willing, but that corner of the world is not exactly considered safe." Uzbekistan borders Afghanistan.

"No, Alan, there's nothing left there. The Soviets pretty much plundered the country back in the day, and the best experts about the Master are all in Russia now. I know one, he lived in Moscow. He consulted with the museum back when I worked there. Should I call him? Try to see if he's still around? He'll be terribly excited seeing an unused parchment."

"No hold off on that. Karick's team had been watching Massimo since before I even acquired my powers. So we know that Massimo was never even near Central Asia for a long time. Damn it! Somehow there's a message on that parchment, and I just don't know how to get at it. What's worse, the dreams are back, and more frequent, more powerful. It's like being here, on this side of the Atlantic, I'm closer to the solution, and Jack is trying to guide me more. This whole fucking thing makes no sense."

"Whoa, whoa, step back a minute. You getting frustrated will not help you get over this thing."

"You're right," Alan exhaled.

"Let's look at this thing from a logical point of view, OK?"

"OK," Alan responded, rubbing his temples trying to massage the stress away.

"Massimo is out there somewhere. In some form, yes?"

"Yes."

"The most important think we have to keep in mind is that HE wants YOU to find him," Neil reasoned.

"I never thought it through like that. Yes, you're right," Alan said sitting up straighter. "This is good, keep going."

"He wants you, and no one else to find him," Neil said of the top of his head. He hadn't really developed a full argument, so he was winging it. "He has to leave clues, but clues only you can understand."

"Yeah. Keep going."

"No. I'm spent. There's something we're missing.Shit. I need a vacation."

"Yeah," Alan said as he slouched back again. "You know what? We do need a vacation. It's Friday, so we'll stop for the weekend. The next two days, at the least, no work. I mean it. We need to recharge."

Swindon-Smythe and Karick made arrangements to visit their native lands, England and the Czech Republic, respectively, and neither was worried about being seen, their altered apprearences and new identity papers eliminating that problem. For the first time in a few weeks Alan was alone.

* * *

"Is anyone sitting here?"

Alan looked up from his paper, the International Herald Tribune, and saw two women standing abreast his table. It was a sunny morning as only an early July day in Paris can be light. After the dampness of Switzerland it was a welcome respite, and he took advantage of it, choosing to sit at an outside table for his morning coffee and croissant. The two young ladies before him were about his age, perhaps a few years older.

"No. Go right ahead," he allowed, signaling to the waiter to come and take a new order. After the garcon had gone back inside the café Alan introduced himself.

"Nice to meetya, Alan, I'm Margo and this is Lisa," the blonde one said, extending her hand. She was almost as tall as he, and she had, from what her could see, a very nice, curvy figure, punctuated by wide flaring hips. Lisa was slighter and darker, with a trim body and small but very attractive breasts. Both wore shorts, Margo a button-down shirt with the tails tied up to expose her tummy, Lisa a plain white t-shirt, and Alan could tell that she was bra-less.

"So, what brings you two ladies to Paris?"

"Oh, we're bouncing around Europe for the summer, Eurail pass and all. We just graduated," Lisa said. She had a slight Hispanic accent.

"Congrats! Where did you go to school."

"I went to G.W., and Lisa went to Colgate. But we grew up together and we're both going to law school at Virginia, next month. You?"

"Oh, I just finished my freshman year. Columbia." The pair was impressed.

"Are you backpacking this summer, too?" Lisa asked, though she somehow doubted it. Alan was dressed too nicely to be someone living out of a rucksack. She admired the lines of his Italian suit while waiting for his answer.

"I wish! No, I'm over here for work. Just taking a few days off. So, you grew up together. Where?"

Margo answered. "Montclair, New Jersey. Heard of it?"

"Yeah actually, I have. I'm from Westchester, so were from the same area really, and one of the guys on my hall last year is from there. Do you know Paul Sullivan?"

"The name sounds familiar," Lisa said thoughtfully. "Is his older sister Melissa? Lissa Sullivan? She was in our class, and I think she had a younger brother."

"Oh, I don't know," Alan answered. "Maybe. We never discussed brothers and sisters."

Their coffee and breakfast came and they set out sipping and chewing. Alan had his cup refilled and glanced at the paper from time to time, not wanting to seem rude. He noticed that there were a couple of vacant tables in front of the café and wondered why the two coeds hadn't taken one, but had asked to sit with him. So, he asked.

"Oh, ah, well, we saw you reading the English paper, and we've been sort of starved for conversation lately. Neither of us speak French, only Spanish, so we figured you'd be someone we could talk to," Lisa said.

"I take it," Alan said, proceeding delicately, "That Spanish is your first language," he asked Lisa.

"Yeah, that's easy enough to tell. I was born in Costa Rica, and we moved to the States when I was ten. That's when I met Margo," she said, casting a friendly glance her friend's way."

"Why did your family leave Costa Rica?"

"My dad got a research fellowship at a hospital in New York, and we never left. My mom is half-American (her mom was born there), so citizenship was never a problem, and dad's fellowship turned into a permanent position."

"Yeah," Margo piped in, "My dad's the one that hired your dad. And that's that. We've been friends ever since. Best friends."

"So let me get this straight, two doctors have daughters and they both go to law school. It must be their worst nightmare!" Alan joked. The two females giggled, and assured him that their fathers, though slightly unnerved by the career choice, were supportive nonetheless.

"What's your job?" Margo asked. Alan told them he had an internship with a multinational antiquities consulting company, and left it at that. When the comestibles were at last consumed the three agreed to spend the day together, seeing the sights Paris had to offer.

* * *

It wasn't that late, just after nine, but the three of them were relaxing in a bistro, bowls of onion soup before them, a bottle of vin ordinaire mostly sipped away. All three of them were foot-weary, and Margo was a little drunk, listing to the side, occasionally brushing against Alan. He didn't mind; she reminded him of Kate. A blond, slightly older, taller, and more confident Kate. Lisa had been less affected by the night's revels. From time to time she reached out and peeled the label from the glass of the wine bottle; it was a habit, a little bit of a compulsion, something she always did.

"Soren, my roommate back at college, does that too."

"What?" Lisa asked.

"That thing you're doing with the bottle. He does that too, though mostly with beer bottles."

"It's getting on late," Lisa commented, consulting her watch. "Shit, I wish our hostel wasn't all the way over on the other side of town."

"You could stay at my hotel," he offered. The women blushed. "One of my business colleagues went to London for a couple of days, and the other to Prague" he hastily added. "You can use their rooms, a suite, actually."

"Sure," they both said at once.

"Nice place," Lisa said approvingly, eying the sumptuous three bedroom suite. "What was it you said you did, again?"

"Oh, just a summer intern, me," Alan lied. "The room is being paid for by the company, so..." This seemed to satisfy the two of them.

Lisa went into one of the bathrooms to take a shower, and Margo took another one. Alan slipped off his shoes and suit coat, and took his tie out of the pocket and hung it up in the closet in his room. After a very short while both ladies emerged from their respective bathrooms wearing the hotel's white fluffy bathrobes.

The room service man knocked shortly thereafter; he deposited the coffee service and Alan signed for the tip. Margo and Lisa eagerly helped themselves as Alan dashed off for his own shower.

"How do you take yours?" Margo asked as Alan reappeared.

"What?" He had a towel over his head, drying his hair, rubbing it vigorously back and forth over his pate.

"Coffee. How do you take your coffee?"

"If it's good coffee, black"

Margo poured him a cup and he made his way to the couch and took it from her. As they sipped and enjoyed the view from the window Margo thought about the day just passed. They had gone out that morning looking. It had been so long since they had spent time with an English-peaking person, so they had gone to three cafés before seeing Alan. His copy of the IHT had pegged him as a probable American, and he had been reading the baseball box scores as they approached, and that clinched it.

In a word, they were lonely, and by meeting Alan they had lucked out. Not only was he what they were looking for at the basest level, a fellow Yank (even from the same part of the country as they were), but he was nice and charming and witty, and good company. Though he wasn't movie-star handsome he was OK to look at. He had a really good job, judging by the luxury of the hotel and this suite, and he dressed well.

"So. what are we doing tomorrow?" Lisa asked from the couch opposite, her mouth curled up in a small grin.

"Whatever you like, ladies," Alan answered, returning the smile.

"Cool," Margo, this time, "We'll need to head back to the hostel in the morning to change our clothes and stuff."

"Yeah," Lisa said, "I'm glad for these robes. I wasn't looking forward to getting back into my sweaty clothes, though we will have to a some point."

Margo leaned in closer to Alan, he shoulder lightly pressing into his. She had a loopy smile on her face, and it wasn't from drink. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

Alan pressed closer to her. "I do."

"What's her name?" Lisa asked, her eyes shiny. They didn't know it but Alan was increasing their arousal. He, too, had been lonely of late, his only companions a British archaeologist and a former Czech intelligence agent. He hadn't seen Kate in weeks, and he was horny as hell; just spending time with these two attractive women made him realize he had been without sex for a long a period since he had become a Vessel of the Seed.

"Kate, her name is Kate." Alan told them a few things about his raven-haired girlfriend.

"Is she pretty," Margo asked, batting her eyelashes. "As pretty as us?"

"She's very pretty. You," he said indicating Margo with a wave of his hand, "Remind me of her, though she is a little curvier, and she has this really nice head of black hair, I mean really really black, like coal."

"I bet she wouldn't be to happy to know you were spending the night in a hotel with two pretty girls like us, huh?" Lisa asked, her breathing shallow.

"We, uh, have an arrangement."

"Oh, yeah, I've heard that one a hundred times." Margo said with a dismissive snort, and Lisa agreed. Alan used his power to up the erotic feelings the two of them were experiencing. On the opposite couch Lisa began to rub her thighs together in a languid rhythm, and Margo began to tremble almost imperceptibly.

"Yeah," Lisa added, "What? An open relationship? You get to sleep with all the women you want to and she gets to sleep with all the men she wants to?"

"Not quite," he said, looking right at her. Lisa felt like this guy could see right through her, and she was turned on like she had rarely been before.

"Oh," whispered Margo at his side, her hand lightly stroking his exposed thigh, her fingertips tracing a soft pattern on his knee. "What, you get to sleep with women and she can't? You cad, you," she giggled.

"Actually, it's simpler than that. I get to sleep with all the women I want, and she gets to sleep with all the women she wants. Fair's fair, don't you think?"

Lisa sucked in her breath hard. She had never been with another women sexually, but it was one of her deep-seeded fantasies, a fantasy which had increased of late. Spending all of this time with Margo in close quarters recently had, in some small way, made her bisexual tendencies a little less latent.

For Margo's part she was completely stunned. Not only had she never had any sexual contact with another woman she had never even fantasized about girl-girl sex. She knew of it, of course, but never thought about it much. If she wasn't so turned on at this moment she would have bolted to the bathroom, dressed quickly and fled the room. Alan had scanned them during their day out together so he knew where, so to speak, the pieces stood on the board.

"You're kidding," they both said at once.

"I assure you, I am not. Kate loves me, and I love her, but she also loves having sex with women, so we decided that both of us could pursue that," he paused to think of the right word, "Avenue."

"That is so, so--" Margo was flailing mentally trying to decide what she thought of this.

"--HOT!" Lisa squeaked. She shifted position slightly, her ass grinding into the cushions of the sofa trying to deal with the tingling she felt below the waist. Her nipples were hard, pressing against the inside of the robe, stimulated by the arousal within her and the feel of the soft fabric without her.

"Lisa!" Margo objected, but her companions could sense its half-heartedness.

"It doesn't turn you on?" Alan asked, his hand against her thigh slowly moving towards the hem of her robe. She said nothing, her eyes fixed on his moving hand. She was silent as it slipped under the cloth, and she shuddered as she felt his fingers at her cleft. She moaned as she looked up at him hungrily, her blue eyes sparkly with desire. As he began to rub her slit with his fingertips she gasped and didn't fully hear him as he restated the question; she was distracted by the sight of her best friend standing up and shedding her robe before coming over to their side of the coffee table. Lisa sat on the other side of Alan and began kissing him on his neck and shoulder, but her eyes were fast on Margo, and she shivered imagining what Alan's hands were doing under her friend's robe.