The Road to Omaha by Robert Ludlum Read Free Book Online Page A

shut off from the rest of us with its own entrance and facilities—two bedrooms, office, kitchen—the usual amenities. Even his own cleaning service—oddly enough, they’re Muslims.”
    “His own apartment, really.”
    “Yes, and he thinks he has the only keys—”
    “But he doesn’t?” asked Aaron quickly.
    “Good heavens, no. The insurance people insisted that Cora and I should have access. Cora stole his key ring one morning and had duplicates made.… Aaron
Pinkus
!” Eleanor Devereaux looked into the attorney’s deep-set eyes and saw the message in them. “Do you really think we might learn something by … by going through the château’s lair? Isn’t that illegal?”
    “You’re his mother, my dear lady, and you’re justifiably concerned about his current state of mind. That’s a calling beyond any law. However, before you make that decision, one or two more questions.… This house, this grand old house, has had many splendid things done to it over the past years. From the outside alone, I judged the expenditures to be in the neighborhood of a hundred thousand dollars. Now, seeing the inside, I’d have to place the figure at many times that. Where did the money come from? Did Sam tell you?”
    “Well, not in so many words; that is, not precisely.… He said that while he was in Europe on this very secret mission after his discharge, he invested in some works of art, newly discovered religious artifacts actually, and in a matter of months the market exploded and he did enormously well.”
    “I see,” said Pinkus, the knot in his stomach tightening, but nothing clear, only the rumbling of distant thunder in his mind. “Religious artifacts.… And this ‘Lady Anne’ you say he talked about. What
did
he say?”
    “It was all pure rubbish. In my son’s delusions, or deliriums, if you will, this Lady Anne, this fantasy of his that he calls the perpetual love of his existence on earth, left him and ran away with a Pope.”
    “Oh, dear God of Abraham,” whispered Pinkus, reaching for his teacup.
    “We of the High Church of England can’t really accept that connection, Aaron. Henry the Eighth aside, the apostasy of any pontiff’s infallibility simply doesn’t wash. He’s a reasonable, if somewhat pretentious, symbol, but not a scratch more.”
    “I think it’s time you made your decision, dear Eleanor,” said Pinkus, swallowing the rest of his brandy, wishing the spreading pain in his stomach would go away. “To glance over the château’s lair, I mean.”
    “You really think it might help us?”
    “I’m not sure what I think, but I
am
sure that we’d better.”
    “Come along, then.” Lady Devereaux rose from the couch, a touch unsteadily, and gestured toward the double doors. “The keys are in a flower pot in the foyer. ‘Flower pot in the foyer,’ that’s a hell of a mouthful, isn’t it? Try it backwards, Aaron.”
    “Foyer, flowerflot, flowernot, floyer,” attempted Pinkus, getting to his feet, not entirely sure where they were.
    They approached the thick, heavy door of Samuel Lansing Devereaux’s château’s lair, and Sam’s mother inserted the key with the gentle assistance of the man who was now her attorney of choice. They entered the sanctum sanctorum, walking down a narrow corridor that opened onto a wider hallway, the rays of the afternoon sun streamingthrough an imposing, seemingly impenetrable glass-paneled door on the left, which was the apartment’s separate entrance. They turned right, and the first open door they came to revealed a darkened room; the Venetian blinds were securely down and closed.
    “What’s in here?” asked Aaron.
    “I believe it’s his office,” replied Eleanor, blinking. “I haven’t been up here since I can’t remember when—probably when the construction was finished and Sam showed me through.”
    “Let’s take a look. Do you know where the lights are?”
    “The switch is usually on the wall.” It was, and three floor