The Khufu Equation by Rail Sharifov
Authors: Rail Sharifov
scanned the scene with deepening sorrow, perhaps absently flashing through the deck of cards. He always did that when there was much to consider, and he was in no mood to change the habit. Li, seeing how his friend had reacted, said, "We and the photographer are the only ones who haven't emptied our stomachs upon seeing this. So, I guess we're pretty solid."
The two left the outbuilding, and Slaiker began: "I've never seen anything like that before in my life. It doesn't look like a cult ceremony or cannibalism, though." The cards in his hand began to cycle even more quickly.
"Is that all you can say?" said Brett, somewhat surprised. "Where's the compassion?"
"Really, I'm sorry," answered Slaiker apologetically. "I won't touch food till tomorrow morning."
"I thought you were better than that, man. Well, in this case, the place under the palm is free."
"I have breakfast at seven, but you woke me up at six."
Any meeting of these old friends started with small biting remarks, but after that ritual the talk became serious.
The six of clubs meant it was time to act.
Chapter 10
The bank, Francis Rachel Street, 9:00 a.m.
Jeanette, on her way to the bank, was bothered by a question: "How could I leave the disc in the office? I really remember placing it into a yellow envelope, but now the envelope is empty. Oh, maybe it only seems to me. Since yesterday so much seems to me . . . . But this happens when you're pregnant, or so I've read.
Lines from some clever medical reference book came to her mind: "A woman in pregnancy, from the third month till the end of term, is prone to drowsiness, nervousness, forgetfulness and various other symptoms. Very seldom, however, is the process accompanied by hallucinations . . . ."
It seemed the author had some sort of medical degree, as Jeanette recalled. She looked around her office, rummaged through the drawer in her desk, looked under the table and inside the safe. Then it dawned up on her.
"Nothing simply 'seems' to me, because I remember it exactly. I put the disc in the envelope, put envelope in the handbag, and then . . . .
Jeanette remembered the handsome young Frenchman, hailing her near the clock tower and returning the bag. However, it was only this morning that the loss became apparent. Now, when she remembered everything, the mystery was becoming clear. "He stole the disc from my bag, but why? Oh, there's my notebook." Jeanette reached for it and began turning rapidly through the pages. There was the note he'd written. In cursive, it said, "Hotel Beau Vallon, Room 97, Jean-Pierre Lefebvre."
Jeanette was embarrassed.
If he had stolen the disc, why did he give his address? There'd be no reason for that. Still, so much of what had happened since Andrew's death was strange.
Her eyes were closed; she was seated in the armchair behind the desk, thinking.
The thought about her husband, the computer disc, the sudden change in Brian's behavior and the books he had instructed her to find. The more she tried to understand something, the deeper and more complex her thinking became.
Jeanette thought, "I need a vacation; some time away. Andrew's death has unsettled me. Who said work would save you from problems? Apparently, it was one mixed work and relaxation. What if I could change the scenario entirely? I should leave for Europe, without even hesitating."
Five minutes later, Jeanette entered office, which was awash in smoke. Brian Limont had lit a cigar and sat licking his lips over it as he watched the local news on a portable TV. Easily the most sensation news that morning would have been the discovery of two utterly skinless bodies. Journalists discussed the possible presence of a maniac on the island and suggested that everyone remain vigilant.
Brian, his gaze fixed on the TV, motioned for her not to speak. Jeanette, however, instinctively began to feel that the murder in Mont Fleuri was somehow connected with her. Although
The two left the outbuilding, and Slaiker began: "I've never seen anything like that before in my life. It doesn't look like a cult ceremony or cannibalism, though." The cards in his hand began to cycle even more quickly.
"Is that all you can say?" said Brett, somewhat surprised. "Where's the compassion?"
"Really, I'm sorry," answered Slaiker apologetically. "I won't touch food till tomorrow morning."
"I thought you were better than that, man. Well, in this case, the place under the palm is free."
"I have breakfast at seven, but you woke me up at six."
Any meeting of these old friends started with small biting remarks, but after that ritual the talk became serious.
The six of clubs meant it was time to act.
Chapter 10
The bank, Francis Rachel Street, 9:00 a.m.
Jeanette, on her way to the bank, was bothered by a question: "How could I leave the disc in the office? I really remember placing it into a yellow envelope, but now the envelope is empty. Oh, maybe it only seems to me. Since yesterday so much seems to me . . . . But this happens when you're pregnant, or so I've read.
Lines from some clever medical reference book came to her mind: "A woman in pregnancy, from the third month till the end of term, is prone to drowsiness, nervousness, forgetfulness and various other symptoms. Very seldom, however, is the process accompanied by hallucinations . . . ."
It seemed the author had some sort of medical degree, as Jeanette recalled. She looked around her office, rummaged through the drawer in her desk, looked under the table and inside the safe. Then it dawned up on her.
"Nothing simply 'seems' to me, because I remember it exactly. I put the disc in the envelope, put envelope in the handbag, and then . . . .
Jeanette remembered the handsome young Frenchman, hailing her near the clock tower and returning the bag. However, it was only this morning that the loss became apparent. Now, when she remembered everything, the mystery was becoming clear. "He stole the disc from my bag, but why? Oh, there's my notebook." Jeanette reached for it and began turning rapidly through the pages. There was the note he'd written. In cursive, it said, "Hotel Beau Vallon, Room 97, Jean-Pierre Lefebvre."
Jeanette was embarrassed.
If he had stolen the disc, why did he give his address? There'd be no reason for that. Still, so much of what had happened since Andrew's death was strange.
Her eyes were closed; she was seated in the armchair behind the desk, thinking.
The thought about her husband, the computer disc, the sudden change in Brian's behavior and the books he had instructed her to find. The more she tried to understand something, the deeper and more complex her thinking became.
Jeanette thought, "I need a vacation; some time away. Andrew's death has unsettled me. Who said work would save you from problems? Apparently, it was one mixed work and relaxation. What if I could change the scenario entirely? I should leave for Europe, without even hesitating."
Five minutes later, Jeanette entered office, which was awash in smoke. Brian Limont had lit a cigar and sat licking his lips over it as he watched the local news on a portable TV. Easily the most sensation news that morning would have been the discovery of two utterly skinless bodies. Journalists discussed the possible presence of a maniac on the island and suggested that everyone remain vigilant.
Brian, his gaze fixed on the TV, motioned for her not to speak. Jeanette, however, instinctively began to feel that the murder in Mont Fleuri was somehow connected with her. Although