Chapter 12

Annabeth met Jhon at the back door of the building, and they went outside together. A strange car was parked near the door, and a pair of gentlemen stood waiting.

“Good evening, sir. Might I have two moments of your time?”

Jhon glanced at the gentleman.

Hand-made shoes, tailored suit, expensive fabric, pocket watch… very rich.

He glanced at Annabeth. She was watching the man, but with interest not malice.

Not a physical threat.

“Of course, sir. Jhon Bonga, Director of the Bureau of Antiquities, at your service.” Jhon offered his hand.

“J. Wellington Birchway,” he bowed deeply, but did not take Jhon’s hand.

Snob, germaphobe, perhaps racist?

“Ah, Lord Birchway,” Jhon said, “pleased to meet you. How may I be of assistance?”

“Lord Birchway is my elder brother, sir. Most people call me Sir Wellington to avoid confusion.”

Jhon frowned. “Is your brother’s name not also J. Wellington Birchway?”

“It is, sir, in his case J is for John. In my case it is Jason.”

“I did not realize House Birchway had two sons, my deepest apologies,” Jhon said, inclining his head toward Sir Wellington.

“It is a sensitive matter, sir, you see I am a bit of a bastard.”

I know the feeling.

“You may depend on my discretion, and the discretion of Agent Toy as well,” Jhon said, nodding toward Annabeth.

“A woman dogsbody? Fascinating.” Sir Wellington nodded to Annabeth. She frowned.

He seems friendly. He must not realize the insult.

“Agent Toy is my driver when we travel, and my personal assistant in the field. She sees things that I miss. Her presence is critical to my success.” Jhon said.

And she can overpower a charging rhino.

“In that case, you may remain here with us, Agent Toy.”

He did realize the insult, but felt it warranted. Sexist, elitist, or perhaps just overly concerned with privacy? Probably all of the above.

Annabeth looked at Jhon, and he nodded, encouraging her to accept the olive branch.

Olive twig, and a pretty sorry one at that.

“Thank you, sir. The Director and I stand ready to assist you with…” she raised her eyebrows, encouraging him to speak.

“Perhaps you would like to go inside, where we can offer you a refreshment and a seat?” Jhon asked.

“Thank you, sir, but I would prefer to take you to my office. It is somewhat urgent.” His gentleman’s veneer cracked a bit when he said urgent.

“We’ll follow you over,” Jhon turned to head back to the car.

“Perhaps you could ride with me, and Agent Toy could bring your car?” Sir Wellington raised a hand, and his driver opened the passenger door.

“She also hears things that I miss. We will both ride with you,” Jhon said. Sir Wellington opened his mouth, then closed it again and nodded.

Sir Wellington’s driver seated Annabeth in the front and put Jhon and his master in back. “Leave the window down,” Jhon said. The driver glanced at Sir Wellington, who sighed and nodded.

Jhon glanced around the car.

Shell cordovan leather, sandalwood trim, ivory appointments…he likes fine things and values rarity.

He inhaled deeply, slowly, through his nose and mouth, tasting the air.

The air in here is… aligned? They have wards on this vehicle.

The driver started the engine and pulled away from the bureau. They drove north which would take them out of the industrial area soon.

“I know that a man in your position understands the necessity of secrecy,” Sir Wellington said, “nevertheless, I must impress on you the importance of absolute containment for this problem.” He clenched his fists and waited.

He hates needing me. Probably hates needing anyone.

“You may depend on my discretion, and Agent Toy’s as well,” Jhon said.

“He speaks for you?” Sir Wellington asked Annabeth.

“Yes, sir. In all things,” Annabeth said.

“All things?” Sir Wellington’s, eyebrows raised.

“All things,” Annabeth said.

“I see,” Sir Wellington said.

Why do people say that when they clearly do not see?

The driver turned west, and the city transitioned to progressively older trees, and more opulent buildings.

“The problem, sir?” Jhon was getting nervous about all the subterfuge. He didn’t much care for clients who added theatrics and thought that made the job interesting.

“Money is disappearing from the bank,” Sir Wellington said.

“Can you be more precise than simply ‘disappearing’?” Annabeth turned around in the front seat to peer through the window.

“No, and it is that inability that makes me willing to approach a stranger for help.”

Halfhall is losing money, and apparently not in the profits and loss sense.

“How much money?” Jhon smiled at Annabeth, seeing the gears turn in her head.

“We know about five hundred thousand, plus some change,” Sir Wellington said. “We are also quite certain that there are discrepancies we have not found yet.”

“What do you know so far?” Jhon turned back to Sir Wellington. “Please take care to separate that list from the list of things you suspect.”

Sir Wellington nodded to himself, and the corners of his mouth relaxed.

He likes that distinction, a man obsessed with precision, and he is running a bank that loses track of money. I see the desperation.

“We know that someone or something is altering records within the bank. No one has seen a change occur, but they do occur. If a number is adjusted in one record in the bank, all corresponding records change to match. This process does not affect people’s memories, nor does it affect records that are stored off the premises.

“I send a great many letters every day, and I have taken to copying important figures on regular stationery and sending them to my residence by courier. So far, I have discovered two alterations this way, but I have only been doing this for eight days.

“If I bring one of these letters back to the bank, the figures on it will adjust to match the records on the premises. However, if I make a copy of the letter while at my residence, and bring the copy to the bank, the figures remain stable.”

Methodical, organized, clever. He is probably well on the way to a solution.

Jhon rubbed his chin. “How many people know about this?”

“My wife, her assistant, and Badluck here,” he nodded at the driver.

“Badluck?” Jhon didn’t like that nickname for someone actively driving him around the city.

The driver nodded. “That’s right, sir. It’s an occupational name, like Smith or Cooper. You should read my family history.”

“I would like that very much,” Jhon said, then turned back to Sir Wellington. “Do you have any qualms about the loyalty of any of your people?”

“No.”

“Is there a chance that any of them have been compromised, and are betraying you against their will?” Annabeth cocked her head, a playful smirk on her face.

“No. That is the first thing I checked,” Sir Wellington said.

“Is there any chance that you missed something while you were checking?” Annabeth rolled her eyes.

“Yes, but it is a miniscule chance. When you get to know me better, you will find that I do not often make mistakes.”

A simple statement of fact. He is not bragging.

“The records change, but not when anyone is looking,” Jhon said. “How long do you estimate this has been happening?”

“I had suspicions last month,” Sir Wellington said. “We went through our yearly audit, and everything added up to the penny.”

After a pause it seemed clear that he didn’t intend to go on. “Perhaps I have unrealistic expectations for your profession…can you elaborate?”

“An entire year of records does not add up to the penny,” Sir Wellington said. “Not even my personal records go that long without some sort of error, and my staff is somewhat worse in this regard, though I assure you Halfhall has the highest standards for bookkeeping in the world.”

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“Your audit showed no errors, nothing to research, nothing to fix?” Jhon nodded, seeing the flaw in the perfection.

“Exactly,” Sir Wellington said.

“Any signs of forgery?” Annabeth’s eyes belied her interest in solving this unique problem.

“None. All records are in the hand of myself or my staff. There are no signs of untoward modifications of figures, no replaced pages. I went so far as to put an invisible fingerprint on all of the pages for the main ledger. No one knew that mark was there. I can show you my copies of changed lines from the notes I’ve been mailing home. The changes are not edits. I have a keen eye for forgery, and these are the original pages, written in some cases in my own hand, and yet somehow the figures are different than they were when I wrote them.” He shook his head. “I believe in deductive reasoning, and I believe in facts. I am…baffled.”

Badluck pulled the car up to a reserved parking spot. Annabeth reached for the door handle, and the driver stopped her with a stern clearing of his throat. He then proceeded to help his master disembark, then Annabeth, and finally Jhon.

They have been together for some time, and they trust each other because each of them strives to do things correctly at all times.

Halfhall was a grand four-story structure, granite outside and marble, wood, and leather inside. Jhon inhaled, sorting through smells.

Mahogany, polishing wax, leather…not a hint of dust.

A tall man in gray slacks and a black suit coat stood with his legs apart, one arm bent behind his back, and his chin down beside a door at the back of the first floor.

Sir Wellington headed that direction, and Jhon followed, with Annabeth a step behind as she turned this way and that, cataloging as much of the space as possible. Badluck brought up the rear.

As Sir Wellington approached, the security guard snapped to attention and opened the door. Sir Wellington passed through the doorway, but when Jhon made to follow, the guard put a hand on his shoulder.

“Excuse me, Sir. Perhaps you would like to wait out here with me.”

Jhon turned his head to Sir Wellington, who had a small frown. “This is Jhon Bonga, Director of the Department of Antiquities, and my guest. Pray tell why he should wait outside.”

The guard flushed and stiffened his spine. “Perhaps I made a mistake, sir. At my bank it is policy that…uh…that blacks do not leave the main floor.” Annabeth took a deep breath, and Jhon met her eye and gave her a tiny shake of his head.

“That is not the policy at this bank, Mr. Price,” Sir Wellington said.

“No, sir,” the guard said. “I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t know…didn’t think--”

“I applaud your sense of duty, Mr. Price. I shall make certain that Director Bonga does not feel slighted by the time he leaves the premises. For your piece, please enforce the policies of this bank, and only this bank,” Sir Wellington said.

That is very interesting. I had the impression that Sir Wellington didn’t like blacks either.

“Sir Wellington?” Jhon asked. “I know this is delicate, but would you permit me to ask you a personal question?”

“You may, Director.” He nodded toward Jhon, then turned and continued through the doorway into the records vault.

“I pride myself on reading people,” Jhon said. “It was my impression when we met that you do not like black people either. Did I misread you?”

Wellington flinched and paused in mid-stride.

Ah. I did read him correctly.

“I have flaws that I am working to erase. I am sorry you were able to detect that one.”

Well, that was refreshing. Not at all what I expected.

“Thank you for the honest reply, sir.” Jhon nodded at Sir Wellington. “It is the decisions we make that define us, not our baser instincts.”

Sir Wellington relaxed visibly, took a breath, and resumed walking. “If all of us could be so reasonable, Director, humanity would reach heights we cannot currently imagine.”

They reached a large worktable in the center of the vault.

Six paces long, polished like a mirror, and very, very old. That table would be the centerpiece in some palaces.

“A few records are always out, Director,” Sir Wellington said. “Various officers of the bank will have them locked in their offices. But generally, all bank records belong here. Any record that is not needed for current activity is required to be returned here.”

Annabeth tapped Jhon’s arm and nodded at a space above the table. Jhon looked at her, then at the ceiling, then back at her. He stepped left, then right. She sees something.

“Director?” Wellington cocked his head to one side.

“There is something up there, above the table,” Jhon said.

“Truly?” Sir Wellington said, holding out his hand. Badluck handed him an umbrella.

“Please don’t reach up there,” Annabeth motioned for him to put the umbrella away.

“I bow to your expertise,” Wellington said, returning the umbrella to Badluck. He stepped back from the table.

Jhon reached into his vest pocket and extracted his pen, then pulled the handle, telescoping it to the length of his arm.

“Sir,” Annabeth’s voice held the slightest twinge of concern.

“Take my arm, and hold the rod close to it, but not touching,” Jhon said. She swallowed and nodded, then stepped up onto the table. Jhon climbed up beside her, and she took his hand and held the rod up.

A charge went through him. Every hair stood on end. He could see the fine hairs on Annabeth’s wrist stand out as well. He struggled to reach the thing, to learn the secrets it held. Try as he might, her grip remained solid. Jhon growled and tried to trip her, and Annabeth pivoted and sent him tumbling from the table.

Badluck helped Jhon to his feet, dusted him off and straightened his jacket. “Are you quite all right, sir?”

Annabeth stepped down lightly and worked her tongue around her mouth.

I agree. My mouth has probably never been this dry before either.

“Did I hurt you?” She coughed as she spoke.

“No,” Jhon croaked, then worked his tongue around, trying to get a bit of saliva going.

“Do you still want to touch that thing?” Annabeth stepped back and cracked her knuckles. He glanced that way, then shook his head.

Sir Wellington set a pitcher and some glasses on the end of the table. When he reached for the pitcher, Badluck stepped in. “Here, sir, please let me do that,” he very carefully slipped his fingers around the pitcher handle, displacing Sir Wellington’s grip.

Annabeth took the proffered glass of water and downed it in a swallow, then held it out again. Badluck handed Jhon a glass and refilled Annabeth’s. Jhon mustered all of his self-control and managed to make his glass of water last for two slobbering gulps.

My hands are shaking. Not many things get to me.

“I thought I saw something, a bit of a ripple, when you had your…wand…close to it,” Sir Wellington said, eyeing Jhon. “How do you feel? You look ragged.”

“I feel ragged,” Jhon said. “Annabeth?”

“I’m alright, sir,” she said. “Thirsty, obviously, but recovering quickly.”

She always does.

“I am going to stay here with Sir Wellington and Badluck, can you please fetch the archbishop?” Jhon asked.

Annabeth’s eyes flicked to the space above the table. “You’re not going to investigate further, are you, sir?”

“No, no I am not,” Jhon said. “Sir Wellington, if I try to climb up on that table again, please have Badluck and your security men tie me to a chair.”

“Of course, Director,” Sir Wellington said. “Let’s all vacate this room and close the door.”