Tell-Tale Signs

By Dr. Michael Lee

Three world-class museums... three break-ins in the same day... no charges filed. Two-dozen bodies without heads or hands turned up around Europe. An ailing old British Cop follows the perpetrators to Switzerland and hooks up with an ancient alchemist to solve the crimes.

This is the story of how a rich, perverted woman searches for blood from an actual immortal so she can control the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dr. Michael Lee
• Release date: Jan 5, 2011

Dr. Michael Lee

Michael Lee spent some time in the U.S. Army as a Paratrooper and as an administrative officer in the Army Reserve. He completed several degrees after high school, including a PhD in Academic Administration. Dr. Lee is an expert statistical analyst and is a trained historiographer. Lee is a published author and poet and holds a U.S. Patent in his own name. Motivated by dreams of adventure and fantasy and grounded by a Great Grandmother born just after the civil war, Lee’s writing journey began in the eighth grade with a short science fiction story. His experiences included paid sports writing for a daily newspaper while still in high school and eventually evolved into a passion for writing book-length works, both fiction and non-fiction. Dr. Lee takes pride in recently joining the company of other 1,000,000 word authors. He is grateful to the Florida Writers Association for their recent second place recognition of his book-length manuscript in the 2010 Royal Palm Literary Award Competition.

Book preview

Chapter 1

Number One snapped back to reality when the taxi driver let out a guttural curse. The brakes on the tiny vehicle were locked and they were sliding in the snow as the cabbie attempted to regain control. Number One quickly took inventory of his surroundings. He found one side of the seat belt and took it in his right hand while his left hand groped for the mate. The shiny cab started to spin to the right, into the slower lane of traffic.

"For God’s sake!" He was sitting on the second half of the belt. His eyes followed the bright red hood as it miraculously arched between two adjacent cars. He snapped the metal clips together at the same time the front bumper was making contact with the next car in que. There was hardly a noticeable bump. Neither the cabbie nor the driver in front even got out to look for damage.

Dr. Christopher Jewel should have known better! There was plenty of snow back in New York. More than five feet of the stuff fell on Ithaca in an average year. Here in London, on the other hand, this February just a few inches of the stuff made it the snowiest in eighteen years. Dr. Jewel should have expected something like this. He might not have allowed enough time to get to the hotel. He was supposed to be the first to arrive… at 9:00 PM sharp. He would have only 10 minutes to get to suite 410, don his ski mask and gloves and go into the connected room. He would expect Number Two by 20 past the hour. Number Three would arrive in the adjoining room at 9:30 and Number Four ten minutes after that. He thought for a moment. He couldn’t remember if there was a Number Five or not. His job depended on the execution of his own team. The others in the room with him tonight would fare for themselves. Whether or not there was a Number Five didn’t really make any difference.

The driver of the red car worked for the Black Cab Company. The driver picked the red color because he thought it was funny. Maybe he got extra tips for driving a red, Black Taxi. Dr. Jewell jumped out of the cab as it was sliding into the curb. He paid the driver the fare and added a modest tip. It was already past 9:00 and he hustled to the entrance of the Holiday Inn Express.

His mind had already prepared him for a seedy place like the students at Cornell use for casual hookups back in the states. This was a relatively new building, with solid wood trim on the outside and wood wrapped balconies on the upper floors. The hotel was located near the intersection of two major through-fares in London and just outside the busy traffic area of downtown. "Not too bad after all," he thought.

Jewell thought calling himself Number One was demeaning to a college professor with a PhD in Medieval Studies but he worried about giving his real name to the desk clerk. Still, he didn’t want to risk leaving his real name in case there was trouble later. He asked the clerk for the key to suite 410 without offering any identification. You the 9:00 guy? he asked.

Yes. I’m expected, Jewel responded.

The clerk nodded and reached around for a plastic card. He ran it through a slot in a read/writing coder. He held the plastic just out of range until Jewel reached into his pocket and brought out a 5-pound note. He exchanged the paper for the plastic and immediately turned to the interior elevator bank.

He rode an empty car to the fourth floor while putting on a pair of leather gloves. The elevator emptied him into a hallway bisecting the floor. Suite 410 was a corner suite, located down at the end of the corridor. He found himself still alone and he practically jogged to the far end. The lock immediately responded to the magnetic stripe on the card and he entered the suite at 9:08.

One step into the room and he kicked the door shut behind him. He slipped the ski mask from an inside coat pocket and yanked it into place while he crossed the room in giant strides. The door to the adjacent bedroom was unlocked and he anxiously slipped into the room. He took a seat near the bed and let out a long sigh.

The phone on the table beside him emitted a gentle, electronic ring. It should not have startled him, but he jumped, involuntarily. He picked up the receiver with a gloved hand.

Jewell had no idea what was expected of him at this moment. He just muttered, Hello?

A female voice at the other end of the connection said, Good, and hung up.

Jewell noticed he was sweating behind his mask. He suddenly had to pee. As he rose to head for the bathroom he wonder to himself if he was in over his head? He passed by a mirrored closet on the way to relive himself. The closet had an ironing board and a couple extra blankets inside. Apparently somebody had stolen the iron. He fumbled at his zipper through gloved fingers. He thought, "Fuck it!" and started to remove his glove so he could get at the zipper. He heard someone enter the bedroom. He wheeled and stuck his head out the open bathroom door.

In an obviously American accent a masked man inquired timidly,

Number One?

Jewell was embarrassed and responded, I can’t get to the damn zipper with these gloves on. You suppose it’s alright to take off a glove to un-zip?

Dr. Jewell feared Number Two would laugh at his predicament. Instead, Number Two answered seriously, I dunno. I guess.

"Permission granted," Jewel thought, and shed a single glove. He jumped again when the phone chirped.

Number Two accepted the responsibility of the phone and answered confidently Number Two.

The female voice complimented Number Two for being on time and cautioned him to not engage in conversation with Number One or any of the others when they arrived. She abruptly closed the connection.

Number Two took the upholstered lounge chair Number One had occupied earlier. Number One continued across the room and around the king sized bed to an executive swivel chair in front of a writing desk. Neither of the men spoke.

It was difficult to distinguish between the two men while they sat in wait. Both men wore ankle high walking shoes, slightly the worse for months of use. Both men wore canvas jeans and down jackets made by North Face. Number One’s gloves were tailored Isotoner leather driving gloves and Number Two’s leather gloves had a more orthopedic look about them. Their ski masks were identical. The major difference between the men was Number Two was wearing eyeglasses beneath his mask.

Their mutual stare-down was interrupted when Number Three burst just a head into the room. While Numbers One and Two both sported black, knit wool masks completely covering their heads, Number Three was very different!

First of all it was immediately noticeable that Number Three was a woman. Her mask was white neoprene and covered her forehead and all of her face except for her eyes. Small holes over her mouth and ears permitted her to talk, breathe and to hear. The top of the mask was open and allowed strait brown hair to fall down to her shoulders. Her mask also form fittingly covered her neck and throat.

Though no words were spoken, both Number One and Number Two rose to a standing position. Number Three straightened up to her full height and entered the room with increasing confidence. Am I late to the party? she quipped in another Yankee accent.

The telephone chirped an electronic response.

Its for you, said Number Two. He handed her the receiver.

Number Three took the receiver and promptly spoke into the mouthpiece. Dr. Chessa, she replied without thinking.

Everyone in the room could easily hear the voice of the woman caller. If it is too fucking hard for you to follow a simple instruction to protect yourself and to ensure the success of this project maybe you should leave right now!

Dr. Chessa, realizing her mistake immediately apologized. Please, no! I can do it! I want this project. It means so much to me. Please don’t send me away. I have planned so much already. Give me another chance. She waited through a long silence and said, This is Number Three. What would you like me to do?

After an awkward silence, Number Three leaned over to hang up the phone. Both men, fearing guilt by association, took their seats. Number Three hesitatingly sat on the edge of the bed closest to Number Two. Her posture was stiff and erect. She stared absently across the room at the door she had just used to enter the room.

A noticeable silence descended. Number One became aware of his own breathing. He found himself staring at the self-conscious woman. Her confident entry into the room and nonchalant telephone demeanor would be consistent with a person accustomed to respect of station. He was certain Dr. Chaska was a university professor, like himself. He thought he remembered a tall, thin woman from one of the Medieval Academy of America conferences. It would make sense for there to be at least one more academic in the group. Now that he thought about it, it was likely that all of the anonymous people would have similar backgrounds… and similar assignments.

Dr. Jewel had labored at Cornell University for thirty years. There were just enough articles to satisfy the tenure and promotion committee all these years but he lacked the major publication to ensure his promotion to Full Professor. He needed a book and he knew it. Recent cost cutting at the university targeted him for promotion denial. After all, he was divorced and there was no moral imperative to retain a moderately qualified Associate Professor of Medieval Studies.

Jewel was easily persuaded to accept this risky assignment. The book he needed for serious consideration for Full Professor at any prestigious University would be in his grasp! The fact this was a criminal venture bothered him at first. The promise of $100,000, tax free, and the opportunity to study obscure manuscripts while on someone’s payroll diminished the anxiety. The potential risk eventually turned his anxiety into an adrenaline filled existence making him feel young again.

His thoughts re-focused on the door as Number Four arrived. The tall man slipped elegantly into the small room as if on a fashion runway. He wore a Sherlock Holmes capelet over a tweed coat and Holmes’ famous double brimmed cap over a Phantom of the Opera mask. He selected black deerskin gloves with perforations the length of each finger along the back. Four larger holes, one for each knuckle, adorned the middle of each glove and a large cutout in the back of the hand closed with a mother of pearl snap.

Number One recognized the man at once. If there could have been any doubt about the six foot four, showman in front of them, the darkness of his skin observable through the cutout in the gloves would erase the doubt. It had to be Dr. Valentine Gray the well-known flamboyant spokesperson of the Renaissance Society of America and a member of the faculty of the University of Chicago. Jewell could not help but wonder what brought Dr. Gray into this clandestine operation?

The others could not see the smile cross the lips of Number One but did join him in clapping for Number Four. Number Four bowed deeply in acknowledgement. He took a place on the end of the bed and graciously accepted the telephone receiver when Number Two handed it to him.

Number Four, he said gently into the mouthpiece. He anticipated some sort of answer but heard merely a click, instead.

Chapter 2

The four of them waited in silent anticipation for half an hour. In the quiet solitude muffled sounds of traffic could be heard and the occasional sounds of metal crunching and loud cursing penetrated the walls.

All eyes riveted on the door when it started to open. The main suite on the connecting side was dark. The shades on the door and the windows overlooking the street had been drawn, making the room even darker. A soft female voice spoke slowly and clearly. None in the room took exception to the straightforward expectation in the voice.

We are pleased you are all here this evening, she said. This project is important to us, let there be no doubt. It is possible we can achieve our objectives if only one of you is successful. However we increase our chances exponentially if you all do your part. Having shared with you the fact we require only one team to succeed we now offer all of you the opportunity to leave. There will be no questions asked. You need only return half of your stipend and walk out the door. You can see, now, why we demanded strict anonymity for this meeting. None will be the wiser.

Does anyone wish to leave? You may do so now.

Number Three answered timidly. All we have to do is give back half of the money? What happens to our team? Have you already paid them their up-front money?

Yes.

Then it is our loss, not theirs. You need to get them together and explain to them the project is off, then leave. The woman in the darkened room waited for Number Three to respond.

Number Three now slouched on the edge of the bed, uncertainty evidenced by her posture. There is a lot of risk, she stated the obvious.

We have taken most of the risk out of your project. We know there will be no local police investigation. There is no specialized art squad in the city your project is operating. We promise no video evidence. You have a well-paid team of criminal professionals to assist you. You have received $100,000 U.S. dollars and all expenses paid to London. Your contract for your research specialization is open-ended at $100,000 for ten months each year… and with all research and laboratory materials you might need. What else could you possibly need?

We could go to jail for a long time, muttered Number Three. Number Three, you are an accomplished academician. Does the term statistical significance mean anything to you? An event is considered to be statistically significant if the event is un-likely to occur by chance. One must always examine an event for statistical significance based on sample size. Sometimes a small sample would presume the significance of an occurrence but in reality the event would be utterly unimportant. "Did you realize, Number Three, the annual dollar value of stolen art objects throughout the world? Would it surprise you to know the Association for Research for Crimes Against Art puts the amount as $6 to $8 billion U.S. dollars annually?

Such a small number of stolen artifacts are ever returned that a majority of thefts are not even reported. For example: The FBI has a team of thirteen men in the States who average 1/10 of 1% of returned objects. Most of the thefts are performed by International Organized Crime and are only prosecuted as a result of re-sale of the art objects to a new buyer. Your artifacts will never be resold. "

The voice in the darkened room continued, More than half of all reported thefts occur in Italy or Russia. Italy has more specialized art police than all other European and American countries combined. Your project will be in an area with zero art cops and outside the purview of Italian Police. To further counter balance the potential of successful prosecution, the objects you will remove for us are not located in any of the catalogued collections within the institutions where they are currently housed. Therefore, the objects do not fall under the umbrella of institutional insurance. There is a high likelihood they will never be reported missing.

Why do you want these specific artifacts? asked Number Three, defensively.

Number One fidgeted in his chair. It was clear Numbers Two and Four were also bothered by the attempted cross examination from Number Three.

Please leave, Number Three. We will call you to make sure all details are attended. You may come through this room to exit. Leave now!

The voice of the woman in control remained silent long enough to permit Number Three to remove her gloves and ski mask and to leave the hotel suite. Is everyone else ready to continue? she asked.

No-one responded out loud. While the men were as anxious as the woman had been, the men seemed comforted by the answers of the female boss. They waited for further comments from her.

We need to know if you need anything to make your projects go smoothly. Number One, what is your state of readiness? I have to admit I was apprehensive at first, but now I am excited. You can sense it in the attitude of my team. We will be ready as soon as the snow melts. We want to avoid any unforeseen complications, you know. Otherwise, we are good to go.

Number Two, how about you?

First, I want to thank you for clearing up a lot of things. I was embarrassed at first about this Number Two thing. Now I realize you couldn’t have allowed Number Three to leave the project if she could identify any of us later on. Like Number One, I can speak for my entire team. We are excited and can hardly wait to get moving. Just name a date.

The woman replied, "Five days from today, we all go on the same day to avoid alerting other museums or interpol. You will take the artifacts and manuscripts to a safe place and sort them into manageable, transportable units. We will pick you up with your special cargo at staggered times later in the evening. We will be flying by private jet and have arranged for you to clear customs in London, Paris and Vienna.

You will all be introduced to your new offices and staff the next day." Number Two wanted to ask where the new offices would be but he refrained.

Number Four, how is your resolve?

You can be sure of our success! His voice effervesced with enthusiasm. I can say I have never so much as dreamed about getting my hands on these manuscripts. It almost seems as if we are cheating you by taking your money. He caught the glances from Numbers One and Two. He continued. But we will force ourselves, somehow.

Let yourselves out at two minute intervals, she ordered. It was quiet enough to hear the door close behind her. Three sets of eyes checked their watches. Number One was the first to follow her lead.

Chapter 3

Jimmy McNutt sat in a booth all by himself. He nursed a pint of bitters. The Two Lions kept a brew on tap that suited him. The flavor was more biscuity than citrus and he preferred it that way. He sucked the foamy head and about 1/3 of the contents with the first gulp and dropped the mug to the table. There was an ominous clunk as glass hit glass. He glanced down at the table to be sure he had not cracked the thin glass top covering decades of carvings and initials in the original wood, then turned his gaze to the front door. Before he had time to drink it down completely, a kid of no more than sixteen pushed his way inside. The bartender yelled at the kid and Mick shouted over the din, He’s with me.

The bartender surrendered. McNutt was an out of uniform copper. On his blue uniform he wore corporal stripes. If he said the kid was alright, it would be O.K. with him.

McNutt was relieved. The bartender must not read the papers.

Constable McNutt was one of ten officers who were brought up on charges of using illicit drugs over the past year. McNutt resigned and was allowed to disappear. They even gave him his severance. "Good thing this new gig came up," he thought to himself.

The kid waltzed around the inebriated patrons to the booth and slid on to a highly lacquered wooden seat.

Got something for me? Mick asked.

Jeeze. Not right here, Mick. said the teenager.

McNutt grabbed his wrist and pulled him up. Together they headed for the john. They went outside to the alley where a couple of un-marked toilets were standing. They waited in spitting snow and stood in wet slush until a man exited one of the units. He zipped up as he wobbled back toward the Two Lions. McNutt hustled the kid inside and the ex-cop shoved two twenty-pound notes into a scrawny outstretched fist. The youngster fished in his pocket and came up with a carefully folded pouch made of wax paper. He gave up the pouch to McNutt and backed out of the door. McNutt wasted no time in pouring a line of white powder along the back of his arm. In a single breath he inhaled the powder. He exhaled and took two more shallow, quick drags of air into his lungs. He held the last breath and waited for the rush.

Another anxious patron pounded on the door. Its snowing out here for God’s sake, someone called.

Piss off! McNutt yelled in return. He leaned against the side of the latrine for support as the powder took over his senses. He could feel his senses sharpen, he thought. Still, he was having a difficult time deciding what they were sharpening for. After a few more seconds of gathering, he pushed the door open. The waiting man shoved past him and began urinating before the door was fully closed.

His drink was gone when he got back inside and two men were sitting