Unknown 9, Layton Green [good books to read for 12 year olds txt] 📗

Waylan sipped his drink. ‘“God does not play dice,’ I believe Einstein said.”

“No,” Dr. Corwin said. “He does not.” He could not tell where Hans himself stood in these matters, or his goal in joining the conversation. Dr. Corwin turned to Waylan. “While it may sometimes appear that two people meet out of nowhere, their union is attributable—always—to a host of factors that happened to converge in that particular location in time and space. Chance has nothing to do with causal power. Events only appear to be irrational from our limited perspective. The probability of spontaneous, chance creation of the universe or anything else with ontological existence is precisely zero.”

“Bold words,” Waylan murmured. He was now staring at Dr. Corwin with disturbing intensity. “Are you arguing against free will?”

“Just because a particular choice results from a confluence of factors doesn’t mean it wasn’t free. It just means it wasn’t random.”

“You seem to have lots of answers,” Hans said. “So what was it, then, which brought into being the whole of reality? An omnipotent deity? A simulation by an advanced society? Surely, if you’ve thought this much about it, you have an opinion.”

Dr. Corwin finished his Scotch, fluffed the collar of his shirt, and rose to leave. “I’ve no idea, gentlemen. But the popular scientific opinion that the universe came into being by sheer random chance is a myth on the order of Zeus and Mount Olympus.”

On the walk back to his room, Dr. Corwin did not feel tipsy at all. He had a high tolerance for alcohol and had only knocked back two Scotches.

Instead he felt intrigued and energized by what he had learned from Waylan Taylor.

Next stop: Cartagena. The psychologist was a disconcerting man in many ways, an obsessive man, but Dr. Corwin did not think he was a liar. The information would need to be verified, but he felt in his bones the trail to Ettore led to South America. It was, after all, the continent where the most rumors about Ettore’s appearances over the years had occurred.

In terms of finding the mysterious physicist called X who was supposedly a disciple of Ettore’s, how many native healers turned psychiatrists could there be in Cartagena, or even in all of Colombia? Rather than asking Waylan directly and tipping off Hans, Dr. Corwin knew it should be a simple matter to track down Waylan’s contact.

Now, whether the curandero or X truly knew Ettore—or where to find him—was another matter.

He had wanted to ask Waylan about the appearance of the LYS symbol in Ettore’s journal, but with Hans involved, he couldn’t risk drawing attention to the Society. He planned to ask X directly.

As Dr. Corwin exited the elevator and entered his hallway on the second floor, he saw a woman in a slinky violet dress and long brown hair parted in the middle—he had noticed her in the bar, quite a looker—hurrying down the hall in the opposite direction.

After a moment of confusion, he understood.

The Ettore files. Why didn’t I lock them in the safe?

Cursing his carelessness—he had no idea the Ascendants would strike so soon—he sprinted down the hall as the woman turned the corner.

She must be working with Hans. He realized I was leaving the lounge and joined the conversation as a diversion.

Dr. Corwin hesitated as he passed his room. Should he check to see if she stole the file? I’ll never catch her if I do. And if she did steal it, then it’s on her person.

He whipped around the corner and saw her disappear into a stairwell, which bolstered his suspicions. Guests walking alone at night, especially female, did not take the stairs. They used the elevator.

With a burst of speed, he reached the stairwell and bounded down to the first floor. He banged the crash bar open and scanned the hallway.

Nothing. No one.

Either the woman had slipped into one of the rooms—in which case she was out of reach—or she had continued down the stairs. Left with little choice, he hurried to the basement level and exited the stairwell. There she was, at the end of a short hallway!

The woman pushed through a set of double doors marked as leading to the spa. Dr. Corwin followed. The doors opened onto a carpeted hallway that spilled into a foyer with a tile floor and potted plants exposed to a skylight. Moonlight flooded the foyer, and a miniature waterfall inset into the wall emitted a pleasant trickle.

A wall of frosted glass obscured the spa from view. He tried the door and was surprised to find it unlocked. It made him wonder if the woman had set up an escape route beforehand. Wishing he had his ironwood cane in hand, he opened the door and stepped into an otherworldly scene.

Rock walls and a cavernous ceiling surrounded a rectangular basin of water with steam wafting off it. The air smelled of chlorine; the hotel must treat the water at night. Fluorescent pool lights glowed eerily beneath the water and spread shadows on the ceiling. A dozen or so alcoves, separated by stacked stone pillars, lurked in the darkness surrounding the steam basin. Except for the dim red glow of a few emergency lights in glass cases, this could have been the pleasure grotto of a Roman emperor, a subterranean hot spring illuminated by natural phosphorescence.

There had to be an exit on the far side. If Dr. Corwin didn’t find it quickly, he knew he would lose the woman. Avoiding the darkened alcoves, he stayed close to the edge of the pool as he hurried through the room, unable to run on the marble floor that was slick with moisture from the steam. Nearing the far side of the basin, he noticed a door closing, set into a wall of frosted glass. As he rushed forward, a black-clad figure jumped out of the last alcove on the left. Before Dr. Corwin had time to react, the figure slipped