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I stared down at the papyrus, the lines of red and black hieroglyphics blurring into each other. “Something about heavenly fire and power?”
“Exactly.” Wesley beamed. “The alloy is harmless on its own, but adding the red tarnish and performing these rituals imbues the metal with power.”
“How much power?” West queried.
“As much as you want, in theory, though here’s the interesting thing. The more surface area the metal item has, the quicker the power can release.”
We all looked at him blankly and he rolled his eyes.
“That’s why there are discs everywhere. Instead of using one big piece of metal to gain the desired effect, he used discs. It increased the surface area like crazy, meaning all the power contained within could be released very quickly and spontaneously.”
I stared at him. “The discs were part of the bomb?” I asked.
“They were the bomb,” Wesley corrected, pointing at the papyrus again. “Hundreds of metal discs put in a container, maybe a bag of some kind, all full of latent power and released with one command.”
“That explains why the bomb squad was struggling to find remnants of anything,” West remarked. “They were looking for regular explosives like C4. They did find the remains of a mobile phone though.”
Wesley nodded. “The reason they’ve never been used as explosives is that they only respond to a spoken command, and therefore would blow up anyone who stood close enough to speak the command.”
“But with a mobile phone, the attacker could plant the weapon then set it off from anywhere in the world,” West surmised.
“It is genius,” Zayn murmured, scanning the papyrus. “It’s not foolproof though. There’s no one there to answer the phone, and I don’t think a recording of a voice would work. You would have to have the phone already on a call when you left it at the target and hope the connection didn’t break until you were ready to set it up.”
“So, we know how, but we still don’t know who,” I said, leaning back against the chair.
“Well, no, but red tarnished gold silver alloy isn’t a particularly common thing in the twenty-first century,” Wesley replied. “It would have to be custom made, unless the guy is a metal worker himself. Or herself. Anyway, I did a search on businesses in the area that might be able to complete this kind of commission. I thought you might be able to dig up a list of their customers through your contacts,” he offered, looking at West.
West took the sheet and scanned it, nodding. “Yeah, I’ll pass it along.”
“You know, if you find a list of customers, you can see if any of them have any connections to printing presses too,” I suggested. “Though the best bet is probably one that’s gone out of business.”
“Who’s gone out of business?” Tory reappeared, clad in a pair of white skinny jeans and a soft white fluffy jumper.
Her feet were bare, and she was still blotting her hair with a towel. The soft pale jumper reminded me of her lioness form, and I reached up and grabbed her, pulling her over the back of the sofa and into my lap. She shrieked and nearly kicked Wesley in the face.
“Jack! What the hell are you doing?”
“Sorry,” I muttered, pulling her under my arm and nuzzling into her neck. “You just looked so... soft, and I wanted a snuggle.”
I ignored the snorting noise that came from West’s direction. She didn’t, glaring at him before cuddling closer to me. “I’m good for snuggles,” she replied quietly.
I smiled, stroking her back and staring at Wesley. I caught the look of pure jealousy and sadness on his face before he masked it quickly, taking off his glasses and pulling out his hanky to clean them. I felt for him. He was always so painfully shy, and although I wouldn’t describe Tory as shy by any means, I didn’t think she had much experience of leading in this regard. We really needed to think of a way to get them together.
“We’ve got a couple of leads to the group we think orchestrated the explosion at your house,” Wesley explained, placing his glasses back on his face. “I can fill you in on the details later, but basically we’re looking for someone who has connections to purchasing a rare alloy somewhere local, but also someone involved with printing presses. And yes, as Jack said, it would have to be one that went out of business, because they’d have had to have these particular inks especially made.”
Tory was nodding along, and then she straightened up. “Oh, we should ask Jasper.”
“Why Jasper?” West asked. “Did he used to have a printing press?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, but his father is friends with Lord Fallon, who used to own a small newspaper, though I’m sure it was back in the eighties. He might know of some others you could check.”
“Lord Fallon... as in one of the main contributors to the dig in Bubastis?” Wesley queried.
“Yes, him. Hang on.” She wriggled around on my lap—not a totally unpleasant experience—and dug her phone out of her pocket. A couple of taps, and she held it up to her ear, listening. After a few moments, she shook her head. “Voicemail. Damn.” She tapped out a quick text to him then laid her phone on her lap before snatching it back up again. “Jabari is in London to see Lord Fallon. Maybe he can get me in.” She tapped the phone again, lifting it to her ear before West reached down and smoothly extracted it from her hand, ending the call before it had really started.
“What the hell, West?”
“Sorry, my lady, but none of us know this Jabari very well, and I just think we’re better playing it safe.”
