The Memorist Read Free Page B

sophisticated equipment the technicians hadn’t been able to identify. Now, secluded behind the locked door, Jeremy Logan was about to find out what it was.
    Taking off his oatmeal-colored cardigan sweater, he threw it on the chair and pushed up the sleeves of his navy turtleneck. He plucked his reading glasses out of his tousled salt-and-pepper hair, settled them on the bridge of his nose and examined the box. Now that he knew what he was looking for and was using a magnifying glass, Jeremy could see that behind the letter B , there was a constellation etched faintly into the background. This was the only aspect of the box that Meer had never included in her drawings. Studying it, Jeremy was astonished to realize he was looking at the Phoenix constellation, named after the ancient mystical bird that symbolized reincarnation. Along with Malachai Samuels, he’d always thought reincarnation was at the heart of his daughter’s crisis, maintaining that she was haunted by bleeds from a previous and troubled life.
    He passionately believed in reincarnation and that circles of souls reincarnate with each other over time, which both makes it more difficult to come into contactwith people we’ve had problems with before and easier when we reconnect with those we’ve loved. Family, friends, lovers and those you work with were all part of your soul group; he wished that he could convince Meer to have faith in those around her, to lean on him and Malachai and let them help her find her karmic way. But she was as stubborn a nonbeliever as he was a believer.
    He picked up the box, which, like a recalcitrant child, had held on to its secret for all these weeks, and laid it on its back on a felt pad. Inlaid circles of various sizes, carved from different kinds of rare fruitwoods, were set in a random pattern.
    The expert he’d met with yesterday in Prague had shown him a similar chest made by the same designer in 1802. It had looked equally enigmatic—a puzzle without a solution—until he’d pointed out the Taurus constellation etched into that box top’s medallion and demonstrated how, when the circles on the bottom were manipulated to match the star pattern, the hidden drawer opened. As if by magic.
    Judiciously, Jeremy worked the circles on the Brentano box, as it was referred to in the auction catalog. The first glided easily into place. By nature impatient, Jeremy struggled to go slowly, moving on to the next circle and then the next. He’d been studying the Kabbalah for the last twenty-four years and one of the most important lessons he’d learned was that his impatience resulted from his not being able to tolerate what the present moment had to offer. In the Kabbalah, every letter of the Hebrew alphabet has several layers of meaning. In life, he had learned, every moment did, too. And in every past life.
    Taking a deep breath, Jeremy moved the last piece into place and heard a tiny mechanical click as the box’s falsebottom slid open. What had been impenetrable before was offered up without quarrel now and as he looked down on a folded sheet of paper that had likely been hidden there for almost two hundred years he was both exalted and, suddenly, frightened.

Chapter 4
    New York City
Thursday, April 24 th —11:34 a.m.
    T he intercom buzzed to life and Special Agent Lucian Glass frowned at the interruption as he looked over to check the building’s closed-circuit monitor. People thought nothing of ringing random apartments to get into the building because they didn’t want to search for their own keys, were trying to leave takeout menus on every welcome mat or were hoping to get in so they could roam the halls and look for unlocked doors. Even in New York it was surprising how many people were burgled due to simple negligence. But this time Lucian recognized the heavyset man standing in the vestibule peering up into the camera.
    The rented fourth-floor studio was sparsely decorated with a battered card table and four