13

“An awful lot to absorb,” Jack said as he exited the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel and took the ramp to the southbound BQE.

He’d degaraged his own car for this trip, and the big black Crown Victoria moved easily into the flow. Traffic on the dreaded Brooklyn-Queens Expressway wasn’t bad at the moment, but come 4 P.M. it would start to thicken into motorized sludge.

In a way he wished it were later. He knew a couple of good Russian restaurants out where they were headed. He could treat Weezy to some primo borscht. Wouldn’t mind a little himself.

But she looked too dazed to eat. He felt sorry for her. What he’d learned in an incremental process over the past two years had been dumped on her in a matter of an hour. She slumped in the passenger seat with the Compendium-laden backpack clutched against her chest like the handbag of an Omaha matron crossing Times Square.

“Yeah, a lot,” she said after a bit. “I’ve been accused of having wild theories, but they’re flat-out nothing compared to the reality you three just laid on me. Even though this doesn’t contradict anything I’ve assumed or conjectured, it’s going to take a while to sink in. I knew the truth behind the Secret History was big, but I never dreamed it was this big.”

“Big as it gets.”

“Who’s this ‘Adversary’ Mister Veilleur was talking about?”

“He’s the Otherness’s point man.”

“Does he have a name?”

“He does.” Rasalom. “But we don’t speak it.”

“Why not?”

“Because he hears, and then he comes looking for whoever’s taking his name in vain. So why don’t we just call him ‘R’?”

“Is he as scary as you’re making him sound?”

“Ohhhhh, yeah,” Jack said as memories flooded back. “I’ve seen him walk on water and float in the air, and he can paralyze you with a look.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Weezy looked at him. “No, I can see by your face you’re not. He did it to you, didn’t he.”

He nodded. “Twice.”

“So he had you in his power and he released you. That doesn’t make sense, unless he doesn’t know you’re the Heir.”

“Oh, he knows. The first time, he let me go because he said killing me then would spare me the pain that lay ahead in my life, and he didn’t want to do that.”

“Pain? Did he mean your father? I heard about that. What a terrible thing to happen to such a nice man.”

“That was just the tip of the iceberg.”

“It gets worse?”

“Much. Someday I’ll tell you about it. The creep feeds on human death, pain, fear, misery, degradation. He had a feast with me.”

“I wonder if he was here for nine/eleven?” she said. “He would have had a smorgasbord of fear, panic, grief, and misery. You could literally feel the panic in the air.”

“Tell me about it. I live about four miles uptown from the Trade Center and—” A startling idea flashed to life. “Do you think he could have been behind the attacks?”

“You mean, could R be bin Aswad? I’ve never seen him. Does he resemble the man in the photos?”

“Hard to say, what with the graininess and the beard. But Sheikh did say he wanted maximum death and terror, which would be right in line with R’s tastes.”

“But that’s what every terrorist wants. That’s why they’re called terrorists. And although I can’t tell you exactly why, my gut tells me there was more than just a gourmet feast for R behind those attacks. But I still don’t understand why, when R had you at his mercy, he didn’t eliminate you.”

“I doubt he’d admit it, but I think he’s afraid to harm me.”

“Why? You have some hidden powers you haven’t told me about?”

He barked a laugh. “I wish!”

Traffic was light. They’d zoomed along the Gowanus and were now segueing onto the Belt Parkway. The monstrous, looming towers of the Verrazano Bridge ruled the landscape ahead.

“No,” he said. “He’s afraid of Veilleur.”

“An old man?”

“Except R doesn’t know he’s an old man. He thinks he’s still young and powerful and immortal, like himself. Back in the fifteenth century, Veilleur—R knows him by another name—tricked him and imprisoned him for centuries. I think he’s wary of another trap. Since his reincarnation he’s seen no sign of Veilleur, but he knows he’s out there. Probably thinks he’s waiting for a misstep, then he’ll pounce. So he’s keeping a low profile. Killing me would tip his hand . . . or maybe he thinks I’m out here as bait. Whatever, he seems to be leaving me alone.”

Weezy sat silent a moment, then said, “I don’t know how many years Mister Veilleur has left, but it can’t be too many. I mean, he’s old, Jack. What happens when he dies? Will R know?”

Jack found the prospect unsettling. That was the day he’d assume the Defender role.

“He might, he might not. Remember, he has no inkling that the Ally released Veilleur. In R’s mind, Veilleur is immortal. So, if he stops sensing his presence, he has more reason to suspect that he’s found a better way to conceal himself than that he’s up and died.”

“But what if he does sense his death? What happens then?”

“Then all hell breaks loose, because I’ll be the point man and I haven’t the faintest idea of how to stop him.” He looked her in the eye. “You’d better get to reading, sister, and put that subconscious of yours into high gear. Find us something.”