“That wasn’t my idea,” I gasped. I had a horrible headache from the knock in the car.
“I am not surprised,” he said. “That would be like drawing water from a dry well.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant by that but figured he was calling me stupid. I squinted up at his face, at the aristocratic nose and sharp chin. Why did he look so familiar? I dropped my bucket into the well, trying to figure it out.
“If you have any lingering hopes of rescue, I would suggest you abandon them now,” he said. “We’ve taken extraordinary measures to ensure you were not followed.”
We. The shadow of a man hovered near one of the tall, narrow windows. Vosch? Where were the driver and the guy who bopped me on the head? I held my breath and listened.
Someone coughed directly behind me and I thought I heard shoes shuffle on the hardwood to my left. At least four, counting the guy in front of me.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked.
“I could take a stab at it,” I said.
“Stab.”
Age: twenty-two. Citizenry: French. Marital status: single. Occupation: president and chief executive officer of Tintagel International . . .
“You’re Jourdain Garmot.”
He laughed softly like I had said something funny.
“I said it was a stab,” I said.
“I didn’t ask if you knew my name; I asked if you knew who I am.”
“You’re the boss at Tintagel International,” I said. “And you’ve been trying very hard to kill me.”
He nodded slowly. “Which has proved more difficult than I anticipated.”
“You had your chance in the Town Car.”
“I’ve decided to let you live a little while longer.”
“Not that I’m ungrateful or anything, but why?”
He smiled. There was something familiar about that smile, though I couldn’t put a finger on it. And his name. Garmot. Why did that seem familiar too? Gar-mot. GAR-mot.Gar-MOT. What was it?
“A selfish desire on my part,” he answered. “I wanted to meet you—and naturally I wanted you to meet me.”
He walked around to the other side of the table and sat down.
“And that brings us back to my original question, Alfred Kropp. Do you know who I am?”
Garmot. G-A-R-M-O-T.
“I told you what I know,” I said.
His dark eyes glittered in the weak light streaming through the high windows. He nodded to someone behind me and Vosch appeared carrying a black case about the size of a bowling bag. He set it on the table between me and Garmot and melted back into the shadows.
“What’s in that bag?” I asked.
Garmot didn’t answer. Instead he asked very slowly and deliberately, “Who ... am ... I?”
Garmot. Gar-mo. Gar-gar-mot-mot. Mot-mot-gar-gar. Sweat trickled down the back of my neck.
He stood up and now in his right hand he held a black sword. I had seen a sword just like it before. In fact, I owned one just like it. Tightly cuffed, my hands twisted uselessly behind my back as he came toward me, and all I could think was How did he get my sword?