The water was lovely, dark and deep, and Vitus Bethel indeed had promises to keep. But the cold bay waters enticed him to sleep, for what one sews, one must also reap.
But fate had other designs on Vitus. When he was pulled from the water, the lips of the woman he loved pressed against his own, and her next breath became his. Vitus sat up, and water trickled from his mouth. But the immediate pain he felt came from his right shoulder, which was now wrapped his several layers of thick gauze. While he was regaining consciousness, Philip had taken the opportunity to swab the wound with pure grain alcohol. The bullet had passed clean through, fortunately, so once cleaned, the hole in the antique-dealer's shoulder was dressed with just enough pressure to stop the bleeding.
"Am I dead?" Vitus immediately asked. The others were standing around him, so he naturally figured that either he had survived or they had all perished. As always, Vitus chose the most pessimistic of those possible answers.
"Not yet anyway," said Jenn. She hugged him, and Vitus noticed that they were both still soaking wet. His socks felt suddenly uncomfortable.
"The bullet grazed your shoulder. You'll be fine as long as you don't move it too much," said Hayes.
"How did we do?" Vitus asked.
"We did well," said Philip. "It isn't much, but we have enough to send a message. As soon as we get back to Côte Verte, Big Mike will take it the rest of the way."
"And the warehouse?"
Philip held up a small detonator. "No longer there," he said.
"So what do we do now?" Jenn asked.
"I don't know," said Philip as the others all turned to him for the answer, and he was being completely honest. His momentary revenge had certainly made him feel a smidgen better, but he knew that this was only the first step in reaching Ivanovich. There was still a long, long way to go.
"How about we take us a well-deserved break first and figure the rest out later," suggested Hayes.
"Like a vacation?" asked Jenn.
"I'm not sure one can take a vacation while running for one's life," said Vitus.
"But we aren't running," said Philip. "Not anymore. Not now that we're taking the fight to them."
"Then let's call it shore leave," said Hayes.
"I can live with that," said Jenn.
"Then we'll go back to Côte Verte and finish our business there," said Philip. "As soon as everything is taken care of, we'll leave, find somewhere safe to recoup. Any suggestions?"
Vitus spoke up, almost reluctantly. A small bell that he alone could hear rang in his ears, reminding him of a place he had left and had almost completely forgotten about. It was a place he once called home. "I know a place," he said. "It'll be safe, and it isn't too far away."
"Where's that?" asked Jenn.
"It's the place where I grew up."
Immediately, Jenn knew she had to go there, had to be there to see what made Vitus the man he was. She wanted to know everything about him, everything that he never spoke about. She wanted to know about his family, his friends, the pretty girl she was sure must have lived next door, how old he was when he experienced his first kiss--everything.
"Great," she said. "Let's go!"
Vitus grumbled under his breath.
Once the crew returned to Côte Verte, they immediately set about finishing up this particular job. A medic examined Vitus' shoulder, leaving his arm in a loose sling while Philip and Hayes loaded their meager haul into the trailer of Big Mike's truck, and then, with the salute of a massive hand, Big Mike left the manor and set off toward the secret meeting place Bezoar had chosen for their business transaction to take place. Quite honestly, the crew very much needed the money. Though they had a great amount of resources at their disposal, they no longer had the cash they would need in the field now that Jacobi was gone. Philip was briefed by a lawyer representing Aristotle Jacobi's estate who revealed that very little of Jacobi's wealth was liquefied. Rather, most of it was tied up in the antiquities he had collected, all of which had been left to Philip in the last will and testament.
Philip was humbled by this discovery. He knew that Jacobi had cared for him like a son, especially since his father was killed in the line of duty, but he never expected to be left everything. There was only caveat--with his newly acquired wealth and power, Jacobi requested that Philip do, in his words, great things. Though what great things implied was left up to interpretation.
Philip conferred with Vitus on what should be done with Jacobi's vast collection. There were several pieces that he knew Jacobi would have wanted him to keep, including the settee, but the rest, he imagined, could be sold or traded for the right price. Vitus took a rudimentary inventory of the part of the collection that was kept at Côte Verte (unfortunately, the part that was kept at Costa Verde was already lost) and determined that Jacobi's obsession with the past made the displays Ivanovich kept at his warehouse look like a bored housewife's weekend hobby. More than anything, what Vitus learned by looking at this collection was that Jacobi loved the human spirit above anything else. There was an entire room filled with early printing presses and telephones--the first technological advances that brought humans, from those who lived next door to those on the other side of the world, closer together. Another was decorated with athletic memorabilia, every piece of which was labeled with an imprinted metal marker that bore its significance. Vitus found himself marveling at Jack Dempsey's first pair of boxing gloves, the set of golf clubs Bobby Jones used to win the 1923 U. S. Open, and an entire wall of medals from the Olympic Games--all the things that represented man at the height of physical achievement. The garage contained a Ford Model T and a circa-1880 Marcus Car. In the library across the hall from the art gallery was an entire wall of well-read first edition novels, each one showing wear from multiple readings, the way old books should look.
Vitus wandered through the manor from top to bottom like a child on his first trip to the zoo. Everything was so magnificent, something to be admired and gawked over. This was not just a collection of antiques and antiquities; this was a monument to the progress of mankind. Yet somewhere along the way, Aristotle Jacobi believed that this progress had gone awry--that though man was ever reaching outward and upward, he was also losing the very things that made him human in the first place.
"So what do you think?" Philip asked as Vitus finished his tour.
Vitus shook his head. "Philip," he said vacantly.
"Can we get much money from this? What do you think it's worth?"
For the first time ever, the antique-dealer saw more than dollar signs and tropical vacations. He saw something that could not replaced. Many things in this world are labeled priceless; so much so that the word tends to lose all meaning. Its usage had always irritated Vitus to no end, yet at this very moment, it slipped from his tongue.
"This is priceless," he said. "Philip, this is worth more than money."
"What do you mean? What can we do with it?"
"This--all this--it belongs in a museum. Philip, if you really want to do great things, give this to the world, let them see what man is capable of doing. I can't claim to know even a small fraction about Mister Jacobi, but if this is what he wanted--if this is the revolution he wanted to spring on the world--let it happen. Just look for yourself. Go through this house and look."
"But the money..."
"We'll get it some other way," said Vitus. "I still have connections. I can turn one dollar into a hundred overnight, but this cannot be touched. Please."
Few things had ever meant as much to Vitus Bethel as the manor at Côte Verte did at that moment--except, of course, for Jenn Korova, who had very little else in common with the house. It was as if the spirit of Aristotle Jacobi haunted the halls, rattling the chains of his philosophy until it was all that its victims could see and hear. Already it possessed Vitus, and it seeped into Philip's mind as he nodded.
"You're right," said Philip. "Mister Jacobi would have wanted it that way, even if he was too afraid to show it to the world before."
"I guess some kids just don't like show and tell."
"From the look on your face when you mentioned your home town, I'd say you don't either."
"Was I that transparent?" Vitus asked.
"Yes," said Philip. "Why do you think Jenn agreed to go so quickly?"
"Mainly because she loves to torture me."
"Any reason why we shouldn't go there?"
"Do bad memories count?"
"No."
"Then no," said Vitus.
"Good," said Philip. "So which town is it?"
"Tristesse. It's along the Tomsmallbee River."
Philip nodded. "It won't take long to get there, then. Anything else?"
"No. Just try not to blow anything up," said Vitus. "Though on second thought, I'm not sure I'd mind."
But fate had other designs on Vitus. When he was pulled from the water, the lips of the woman he loved pressed against his own, and her next breath became his. Vitus sat up, and water trickled from his mouth. But the immediate pain he felt came from his right shoulder, which was now wrapped his several layers of thick gauze. While he was regaining consciousness, Philip had taken the opportunity to swab the wound with pure grain alcohol. The bullet had passed clean through, fortunately, so once cleaned, the hole in the antique-dealer's shoulder was dressed with just enough pressure to stop the bleeding.
"Am I dead?" Vitus immediately asked. The others were standing around him, so he naturally figured that either he had survived or they had all perished. As always, Vitus chose the most pessimistic of those possible answers.
"Not yet anyway," said Jenn. She hugged him, and Vitus noticed that they were both still soaking wet. His socks felt suddenly uncomfortable.
"The bullet grazed your shoulder. You'll be fine as long as you don't move it too much," said Hayes.
"How did we do?" Vitus asked.
"We did well," said Philip. "It isn't much, but we have enough to send a message. As soon as we get back to Côte Verte, Big Mike will take it the rest of the way."
"And the warehouse?"
Philip held up a small detonator. "No longer there," he said.
"So what do we do now?" Jenn asked.
"I don't know," said Philip as the others all turned to him for the answer, and he was being completely honest. His momentary revenge had certainly made him feel a smidgen better, but he knew that this was only the first step in reaching Ivanovich. There was still a long, long way to go.
"How about we take us a well-deserved break first and figure the rest out later," suggested Hayes.
"Like a vacation?" asked Jenn.
"I'm not sure one can take a vacation while running for one's life," said Vitus.
"But we aren't running," said Philip. "Not anymore. Not now that we're taking the fight to them."
"Then let's call it shore leave," said Hayes.
"I can live with that," said Jenn.
"Then we'll go back to Côte Verte and finish our business there," said Philip. "As soon as everything is taken care of, we'll leave, find somewhere safe to recoup. Any suggestions?"
Vitus spoke up, almost reluctantly. A small bell that he alone could hear rang in his ears, reminding him of a place he had left and had almost completely forgotten about. It was a place he once called home. "I know a place," he said. "It'll be safe, and it isn't too far away."
"Where's that?" asked Jenn.
"It's the place where I grew up."
Immediately, Jenn knew she had to go there, had to be there to see what made Vitus the man he was. She wanted to know everything about him, everything that he never spoke about. She wanted to know about his family, his friends, the pretty girl she was sure must have lived next door, how old he was when he experienced his first kiss--everything.
"Great," she said. "Let's go!"
Vitus grumbled under his breath.
***
Once the crew returned to Côte Verte, they immediately set about finishing up this particular job. A medic examined Vitus' shoulder, leaving his arm in a loose sling while Philip and Hayes loaded their meager haul into the trailer of Big Mike's truck, and then, with the salute of a massive hand, Big Mike left the manor and set off toward the secret meeting place Bezoar had chosen for their business transaction to take place. Quite honestly, the crew very much needed the money. Though they had a great amount of resources at their disposal, they no longer had the cash they would need in the field now that Jacobi was gone. Philip was briefed by a lawyer representing Aristotle Jacobi's estate who revealed that very little of Jacobi's wealth was liquefied. Rather, most of it was tied up in the antiquities he had collected, all of which had been left to Philip in the last will and testament.
Philip was humbled by this discovery. He knew that Jacobi had cared for him like a son, especially since his father was killed in the line of duty, but he never expected to be left everything. There was only caveat--with his newly acquired wealth and power, Jacobi requested that Philip do, in his words, great things. Though what great things implied was left up to interpretation.
Philip conferred with Vitus on what should be done with Jacobi's vast collection. There were several pieces that he knew Jacobi would have wanted him to keep, including the settee, but the rest, he imagined, could be sold or traded for the right price. Vitus took a rudimentary inventory of the part of the collection that was kept at Côte Verte (unfortunately, the part that was kept at Costa Verde was already lost) and determined that Jacobi's obsession with the past made the displays Ivanovich kept at his warehouse look like a bored housewife's weekend hobby. More than anything, what Vitus learned by looking at this collection was that Jacobi loved the human spirit above anything else. There was an entire room filled with early printing presses and telephones--the first technological advances that brought humans, from those who lived next door to those on the other side of the world, closer together. Another was decorated with athletic memorabilia, every piece of which was labeled with an imprinted metal marker that bore its significance. Vitus found himself marveling at Jack Dempsey's first pair of boxing gloves, the set of golf clubs Bobby Jones used to win the 1923 U. S. Open, and an entire wall of medals from the Olympic Games--all the things that represented man at the height of physical achievement. The garage contained a Ford Model T and a circa-1880 Marcus Car. In the library across the hall from the art gallery was an entire wall of well-read first edition novels, each one showing wear from multiple readings, the way old books should look.
Vitus wandered through the manor from top to bottom like a child on his first trip to the zoo. Everything was so magnificent, something to be admired and gawked over. This was not just a collection of antiques and antiquities; this was a monument to the progress of mankind. Yet somewhere along the way, Aristotle Jacobi believed that this progress had gone awry--that though man was ever reaching outward and upward, he was also losing the very things that made him human in the first place.
"So what do you think?" Philip asked as Vitus finished his tour.
Vitus shook his head. "Philip," he said vacantly.
"Can we get much money from this? What do you think it's worth?"
For the first time ever, the antique-dealer saw more than dollar signs and tropical vacations. He saw something that could not replaced. Many things in this world are labeled priceless; so much so that the word tends to lose all meaning. Its usage had always irritated Vitus to no end, yet at this very moment, it slipped from his tongue.
"This is priceless," he said. "Philip, this is worth more than money."
"What do you mean? What can we do with it?"
"This--all this--it belongs in a museum. Philip, if you really want to do great things, give this to the world, let them see what man is capable of doing. I can't claim to know even a small fraction about Mister Jacobi, but if this is what he wanted--if this is the revolution he wanted to spring on the world--let it happen. Just look for yourself. Go through this house and look."
"But the money..."
"We'll get it some other way," said Vitus. "I still have connections. I can turn one dollar into a hundred overnight, but this cannot be touched. Please."
Few things had ever meant as much to Vitus Bethel as the manor at Côte Verte did at that moment--except, of course, for Jenn Korova, who had very little else in common with the house. It was as if the spirit of Aristotle Jacobi haunted the halls, rattling the chains of his philosophy until it was all that its victims could see and hear. Already it possessed Vitus, and it seeped into Philip's mind as he nodded.
"You're right," said Philip. "Mister Jacobi would have wanted it that way, even if he was too afraid to show it to the world before."
"I guess some kids just don't like show and tell."
"From the look on your face when you mentioned your home town, I'd say you don't either."
"Was I that transparent?" Vitus asked.
"Yes," said Philip. "Why do you think Jenn agreed to go so quickly?"
"Mainly because she loves to torture me."
"Any reason why we shouldn't go there?"
"Do bad memories count?"
"No."
"Then no," said Vitus.
"Good," said Philip. "So which town is it?"
"Tristesse. It's along the Tomsmallbee River."
Philip nodded. "It won't take long to get there, then. Anything else?"
"No. Just try not to blow anything up," said Vitus. "Though on second thought, I'm not sure I'd mind."
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