“I’m not sure. There was a mention of a man named Arturius. And Morgan le Fay.”
“She never existed,” Denton spit out. “She’s a fictional character.”
“Who says?” I pointed out.
Denton shook his head. “You can’t be serious. You’re delusional from the effects of whatever is in that bottle. That’s all.”
But I saw Madame St. Benedict did not agree. So I asked her, “What did you see in your visions?”
“Things that were so real, so immediate, that they could not be dreams.”
“And they happened when you and Denton were . . . interacting?”
She nodded. “I smelled from one of the bottles too.”
“Madame St. Benedict,” Denton said. “This is ludicrous. I implore you to call the security detail and have these people removed.”
“Why are you here?” St. Benedict asked me.
Images of the dream were fading, but some of the memory lingered. “You’re in danger.”
“Enough of this.” Denton darted toward the door.
Antoine cut him off with a tackle to the floor. The two brothers wrestled before Antoine planted a fist into his brother’s face and Denton went still. St. Benedict did not move, allowing the fight.
“He’s working for the other side,” I told her. “He was filming you in the dungeon. I assume he’s going to release the video sometime between now and the election next week.”
St. Benedict seemed confused. “He’s worked hard for me. Most of my success is attributed to him.”
“What better way to gain your trust?” I said.
I could see that she agreed.
“Is that why you began a personal relationship,” I asked.
She nodded. “I did trust him. Totally.”
I heard the betrayal in her voice. A deep, visceral hurt that reached down to her core. She obviously believed what I was saying.
“Search him,” I said.
Antoine rifled through his brother’s pockets and found two cell phones.
One I recognized.
“It’s the silver one,” I said. “He used it in the dungeon.”
Antoine swiped the screen. “It’s password protected.”
No surprise.
“We can only hope he’s not turned anything over to the Casimir campaign yet,” I said.
“I doubt he has,” St. Benedict muttered. “We were scheduled to return to the country house later today for another . . . private session.” She paused. “They relax me. I thought the experience would help before the debate. I imagine he would have filmed that too.”
“Do you have any memory of what happened?”
She shook her head and pointed at the Sabbat Box. “He had me smell one of the vials. Like you just did. I was leery but, I have to say, the experience was marvelous. I had such vivid dreams. Images that worked their way into what he was doing to me. The combination of the drug and the domination totally soothed my nerves.”
I realized her dilemma. Only the four of us knew about the video. I’d not told Marcher, revealing only that I knew something extremely damaging. The three of us would keep silent. But Denton? No way. I pointed toward him. “He’s working for Casimir. He won’t keep your secret.”
She nodded, agreeing with the assessment.
“But you have it wrong. He’s not trying to embarrass me,” she said, her voice low. “It’s more complicated than that.”
I understood. “He wants something?”
The conflict within her eyes seemed to resolve itself. “I have damaging information on President Casimir. Proof that Casimir accepted fifty million euros from Libya, money he used to finance his first election. It came straight from Muammar Gaddafi, when he was still in power. He was buying EU protection through France.”
“Is there proof?” I asked.
She nodded. “The man who delivered the money is willing to come forward. We’ve taken a sworn statement from him. We then traced the money, following the trail he provided. Casimir took the payoff personally and we’ve found the accounts in Liechtenstein and Switzerland. That amount would be twice the legal limit of twenty-one million euros allowed for any campaign. It also violates our foreign financing laws and campaign disclosure rules. This is way beyond a few dirty tricks or some character assassination. We were planning on revealing the information during the debate.”
Which explained Denton’s timing.
“Casimir, after winning five years ago, brought Gaddafi to France for a state visit and treated him like a respected leader. Most thought it odd at the time, but excused it as part of diplomacy. Ultimately, Casimir turned on his benefactor and allowed France to participate in NATO-led airstrikes that helped rebels overthrow Gaddafi. Of course, Gaddafi being killed during the Libyan revolution silenced him forever. But witnesses remain. The money was circulated through Casimir’s campaign. People knew. Now I know.”
“So Denton was looking for something Casimir could use as leverage?” Antoine asked.
St. Benedict nodded. “Your brother knew I was going to reveal this at the debate. So I imagine there would have been a trade. My secret for Casimir’s. Mine is a bit more benign, but I need the right and the far-right to win this election, and my sexual proclivities would make their support hard to cement. The revelation on me would be as devastating as the one on Casimir.”
“I can deal with Denton.” She seemed interested in my declaration. “Only the two of you are aware of your private situation?”
“That portion of my house is known only to me, and those I allow inside. Which have been few. Four, to be precise. Three of whom I would stake my life on their discretion. Denton was the fourth.”
“That means it’s containable.” I closed my eyes and tried once again to envision the dream. Particularly, the workshop. The racks of bottles. The three lined on the table. Everything seemed foggy. Unclear. Difficult to recall. Then clarity arrived. I moved toward the Sabbat Box and found the same three bottles, lying them on the coffee table.
“I need a glass.”
St. Benedict brought one to me. I uncorked the bottles and poured a small amount of each into the glass, not worried about the fumes. I knew these worked in a different way, or at least that’s what happened in the dream. I swirled the contents into a mixture.
“Open his shirt,” I said to Antoine.
He ripped the buttons clear and exposed his brother’s chest. I poured the contents of the glass onto his skin. The sensation awoke Denton with a start. He stared at us hard, unable to speak, then his eyes rolled skyward and his head fell to one side.
Like Kaz in the bath.
Antoine held him upright.
“Lay him down,” I said.
I moved away, still holding the glass. We all watched as Denton lay still.
“How did you know about the mixture,” St. Benedict asked.
“I saw it in the past.”
“What if you’re wrong?” she asked. “What if it kills him?”
“It won’t.” I knew that for sure, which was strange.
St. Benedict sat in a chair. “This is all too much. You say there’s a video on that phone of me. I suppose this is my own fault. I seemed to have misplaced my trust.”
“Denton is good at exploiting other people’s weaknesses,” Antoine said.
“He was so charming. So smart. He’s been a great asset. But, I assume, that was all part of the act.” St. Benedict paused. “I’m not ashamed of what I find enjoyable, but that’s a private matter. Only for me. It hurts no one. But my children. I would not want them to see any of that. They are far too young to understand.”
The change in the timbre of her voice signaled sadness.
“I want to lead this country. I’m the best choice to lead this country. Sadly, though, this could cost
me the chance. Denton was right about one thing. It won’t take much to alter the results.”
“It’s under control now,” I told her.
“You seem so sure.”
“I need to rinse this glass out.”
She pointed to a door and I found a bathroom. There, I washed out the inside, then filled it with water. I returned to where Antoine lay and did exactly as Morgan had done with Kaz, splashing the water onto Denton’s face and chest.
He stirred, groaning.
Antoine bent down to help his brother sit up.
Denton returned to reality, blinking his eyes into focus. “Antoine. What’s going on?”
Brother faced brother.
“What do you remember?” Antoine asked.
Denton seemed to consider the question hard. Then, he said, “That we need to be at the estate. There’s work to be done. Where’s Father?”
The tone was totally different. Nothing threatening, nor arrogant. Much more like Antoine. Now for the ultimate test.
“Do you know who I am?” I asked him.
Denton shook his head. “I have no idea.”
“And this woman?” I pointed to Lydia St. Benedict. “Do you know her?”
He shook his head. “Should I?”
Chapter 18
I parked at the bottom of the mountain in the public spots reserved for visitors to Eze, back where it all started. The candidates’ debate happened last night and Lydia St. Benedict had shown herself as presidential, especially when she dropped the bomb about Casimir’s Libyan connection. It had come in reply to a question about competency for office and Casimir had denied the allegation, which only fueled speculation. The media had exploded after and continued all night. The Casimir campaign was in a free fall. Prosecutors had already publicly stated that an investigation would be opened. Both candidates were headed back out on the campaign trail today, but Casimir’s task had become much more difficult.
Marcher had taken charge of the silver cell phone and found an expert who was able to break through its password. Denton, changed by the potion, was no help as he had zero memory of anyone or anything for the past decade. The video from the dungeon had been stored on the silver phone, with no record of it being sent to anyone. Apparently St. Benedict had been right and Denton was waiting a little longer before springing his surprise. He’d assumed that I was no longer a threat, dead from the bottle in the Sabbat Box. No evidence existed that the Casimir campaign had the video, proven by the fact that no mention of it had been made at the debate or after.