Unknown 9 by Layton Green (e reader txt) 📗

slowly. “The source preferred to remain anonymous. But I’m afraid you’ve misinterpreted the article. I never spoke to the source firsthand.”

Dr. Corwin sipped his Scotch as the fire crackled in the hearth beside him. He enjoyed the aroma of woodsmoke, but he was uncomfortably warm. Why had Waylan chosen to sit so close to the fire on a summer evening? Dr. Corwin had the sudden irrational thought that the psychologist had an inhuman reptilian nature that needed warming.

“To be honest,” Waylan said, “I doubt if the source used a real name.”

“This is starting to sound more like a spy novel than a research trip.”

“I’m afraid there are certain resemblances.”

“Was he connected to a college or institution? If so, I can understand the secrecy, since claiming to be a disciple of Ettore Majorana might not be the best career move. My curiosity is piqued. If you didn’t meet with the source firsthand, then who did?

“A mutual acquaintance in Cartagena.”

“That’s not exactly on Main Street!”

Waylan looked distracted for a moment, lost in the past. “He’s a former curandero, who once helped me approach a shaman in the Darién Gap.”

“Curandero?”

“An indigenous healer, a witch doctor. Except this particular one is also a trained psychiatrist. Due to his unique background—not many curanderos engage with modern medicine—he has a similar interest in supplementing theories of the mind with tribal wisdom. In any event, he claimed there was someone in Cartagena, a physicist, who shared our viewpoint. Since I always seek to bolster my theories with cross-disciplinary research, I inquired about their conversation.”

“And what did you learn?”

Waylan ran the tip of his tongue over his mustache. “Something I did not include in my article. Not even the redacted portion.”

“I’d love to hear it.”

Waylan glanced at the fire. “This physicist—X—claimed to be helping Ettore Majorana conduct experiments to prove the existence of the soul.”

Dr. Corwin crossed his legs. He thought he had caught the blond German at the bar watching them, though the man had already looked away.

Where had he seen that face?

“The soul,” Dr. Corwin repeated.

“According to X, Ettore thought if the soul existed—and he believed that it did—then it must be provable by physical laws. Perhaps the soul exerts gravity at the quantum level, or in another dimension altogether.”

“How very interesting. And what did they conclude?”

Waylan rubbed a thumb against the unloosened knot of his tie. “Ettore disappeared without sharing the results of the experiments.”

“X must have been quite disappointed.”

“As was I.” Waylan’s voice grew agitated. “He also said Ettore claimed to have personal evidence of the soul, that he had seen something for himself he couldn’t explain—which was exactly why he was trying to prove it.”

“This is getting odder and odder—what did Ettore see?”

“X said he never told him. I think he might be lying.” Waylan’s eyes darted upward, a sudden movement that caught Dr. Corwin off guard. “It’s quite a coincidence that we both happen to be staying in the same hotel.”

“One might find it quite curious, I agree.”

“You don’t deny it then? That you sought me out?”

“Oh, it’s nothing of the sort,” Dr. Corwin said quickly. “Though I do not believe in coincidence, luck, or chance. In fact, I can disprove their very existence with simple logic.”

Waylan chuckled. “Is that so?”

Dr. Corwin raised his glass. “And in the same fell stroke, speak to that common source of all things I mentioned.”

A new voice startled them both. “That’s an enticing prospect, gentlemen. One which I would very much like to hear.”

Dr. Corwin had been so involved in the conversation he had lost track of his surroundings. He turned his head to find the blond man from the bar standing beside them, holding a White Russian. Though a few inches shorter than both Dr. Corwin and Waylan, the newcomer was broad-shouldered and muscular. His polyester blue pants and matching sport coat fit him snugly, and the casual beige shirt beneath the jacket had two buttons undone, exposing a thick neck and a peach fuzz of chest hair.

“I couldn’t help overhearing talk of a common source,” the newcomer said with a slight German accent, confirming Dr. Corwin’s guess. “Do you mind if I join you?”

Waylan adjusted his glasses. “And you are?”

“Dr. Hans Riess. I’m a physician in town for a conference.”

James couldn’t stop staring. He knew this man. He kept searching his brain, digging for a neural connection from the past . . . and then it hit him like a heavyweight blow to the chin.

Blond, Teutonic features.

Piercing blue eyes.

Handsome and square-jawed, with a cleft chin.

Dr. Corwin had seen a dozen photos of the infamous Stefan Kraus, the legendary leader of the Ascendants. While the face he was staring at now was fuller and less hard, as well as a few decades younger, the features were almost an exact replica.

He was sure of it.

   3   

Andie’s chest tightened in fear as the secret passage inside the Archiginnasio became so constricted that she and the others had to put their hands on the rough stone walls and shuffle sideways to pass through. Henrik was in the lead, followed by Andie, Cal, and then Zawadi. If the Ascendants found them, there would be no chance of escape.

“Where does this lead?” Zawadi whispered.

“To a side street a block from the Archiginnasio,” Henrik whispered back. “Not the most secure location.”

“They must have followed us through the canal.”

“It’s the only explanation. The courtyard entrance is secure.”

“What happens next?” Andie asked.

“We leave Bologna,” Henrik said. “It’s no longer safe.”

The floor sloped gently downward as they walked. The surface of the pitted gray walls felt as old as the foundation of the city, causing Andie to wonder who had built the ancient passage. The night before, she had read that Bologna was settled around 500 BCE. As with most European cities, the power dynamic in Bologna had shifted countless times over the millennia. Not to mention, Cal had added when they had discussed it over dinner, the murky cabals and conspirators whose names and agendas