Chapter 8

Chapter 8

B ack at the Charles Bridge, on the tower on the east side, I found what I was looking for—a number.

135797531.

The palindrome was a date, like the one in my clue. In 1357, on the ninth of July at 5:31 AM , the first stone for this bridge had been laid. A superstitious king. A mathematical advisor. A palindromic date.

It was quite a story. Jameson hadn’t been kidding when he’d said that this city had practically made his game for him.

“On a scale of one to ten, do you hate me or hate me very much right now?” Jameson said, coming to stand next to me.

That cat-eating-a-canary smile of his made me want to do things .

“Very, very much,” I told him, but I stayed on task. I was in the right place, but I still needed to find the next clue.

It took me another ten minutes of running my hands over the bridge before I hit paydirt—something caught between two stones. A very small, very delicate, metal something .

I lifted it level with my gaze to examine it further. A silver charm. The shape was unmistakable.

I flicked my gaze to Jameson. “The Eiffel Tower?”