With each ring his feeling of desperation increased, and by the time the line connected Harker was ready to explode.
‘Hello,’ a weary voice answered.
‘Doggie, it’s Alex. I need help.’
‘Alex, where on earth have you been?’ Dean Lercher asked groggily. ‘Do you have any idea what I’ve been through?’
‘Yes,’ Harker replied, glad to hear the dean’s familiar if somewhat irate voice. ‘I was worried about you too.’
‘Bugger worried – that’s not the half of it. I got interrogated by someone from the Security Service, for God’s sake. A man in my position!’
The dean’s reference to John Shroder had Harker smiling. ‘It’s fine, Doggie. He’s a friend and was only trying to find me.’
‘Fine!’ Doggie yelled. ‘He threatened me with a charge of conspiracy to murder.’
The dean sounded seriously pissed off but, given what Harker was about to say next, it was only going to get worse. ‘I know and I’m sorry. However, it was a threat and nothing more. We have another more pressing problem at the moment.’
There was a pause, and when Doggie spoke again he sounded merely nervous and perhaps a tad concerned. ‘Go on.’
‘OK, you know the Templars?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I might have had a bit of a falling out with them.’ This of course was a major understatement, but Doggie already sounded nervous enough without revealing to him that the entire Templar organization was now after Harker.
‘OK.’
‘I probably should have told you about this before, but it’s been a ridiculously crazy few days and I doubt anything serious is going to happen. But you may be paid a visit by some of them looking for me.’
When Shroder had told Harker how he had sent William Havers on a wild goose chase to the UK, he had reasoned that the last person he would go after for information was Doggie. But he needed the dean to be feeling unsettled if this was going to work.
‘Go on,’ Doggie demanded in an uncharacteristically calm tone.
‘OK, well, I need you to call this number and speak to one Tristan Brulet, who is the head of the Knights Templar, and tell him that I contacted you in need of your help. And you are now extremely worried about me, and don’t know where else to turn.’
‘Why don’t you call him yourself?’
‘Honestly, Doggie, I’m not sure he would believe anything I told him right at the moment, but coming from a concerned friend with no obvious involvement in ongoing events, he might be willing to listen.’
‘How would I know his number?’
‘Just tell him I gave it to you in case of an absolute emergency.’
‘OK.’
Doggie was sounding far too calm and Harker couldn’t help wondering why his friend was not howling at him for getting him so involved in such trouble. Perhaps events over the past few years had finally cured him of his cowardice. ‘Are you sure you’re all right, Doggie?’
Dean Thomas Lercher gripped the handset of his telephone tightly as he stared into the menacing gaze of the Templar William Havers with hands trembling. A number of bruises on his cheeks bore thin cuts where the man’s punches had torn the skin, and a line of dried blood ran down from one nostril to his lips. ‘I’m fine, Alex. It’s just a lot to take in, that’s all. Where are you anyway?’
‘On a private jet, believe it or not, and heading for the same location I want you to pass on to Tristan Brulet.’
‘Not a problem. Let me just write it down.’
‘Don’t bother. I’m going to text it over. I just hope the Templars can reach me in time.’
‘Oh, I’m sure they will.’
‘You’re a good friend, Tom,’ Harker replied as the connection began to fade. ‘I owe you.’
Doggie stared down the barrel of the smoke-blue metal Colt 45 in Havers’s hand and nodded, trembling. ‘Yes, you do, Alex. Yes, you do.’
Chapter 36
‘What do you mean, they’re jamming us?’ Harker demanded, edging closer to the cockpit as a patch of turbulence hit the jet and forced him to grab hold of the pilot’s seat.
‘I mean everything’s down: no radio, no tower, nothing,’ the pilot explained, tapping at his mic button. ‘I can’t even get the worldwide emergency station.’
‘Who would do that?’
‘Someone who doesn’t want visitors.’
Communication had gone down within eleven kilometres of the island, and the closer they got, the worse the static had become. With no idea where or if there even was a runway, the pilot was beginning to experience serious doubts.
‘I can’t see a landing strip, Mr Harker, and there is no way I am putting her down on a strip of grass. She’s just not designed for it.’
Dawn had broken twenty minutes earlier but, with no map references, they were flying by visual sight only, meaning all they could do was wait to get close enough and take a good look at the area. Now within only kilometres of their destination, both Harker and the pilot were scanning the approaching landmass intently.
The island itself was small, maybe six kilometres by three, with high craggy cliffs surrounding its shoreline and thick green forest covering its entire surface between. Towards the far side, the terrain rose upwards to form a small mountain peak blocking any view of the other side, and it was this region that caught Harker’s attention immediately.
‘If there is a runway, it has to be on the other side of that mountain.’ He pointed to the rocky outcrop. ‘Can you bring us around?’
The pilot said nothing but with a nod began to turn towards it, then he made a sudden correction and pulled the jet back to a straight and level position. ‘There,’ he said, pointing down to the nearest edge of the island. ‘It’s a landing strip.’
Nestling amongst the trees was a modest tarmac runway with two hangars at one end of it, cut into the forest floor and difficult to see because of the surrounding high trees.
‘Can you get us down there?’ Harker asked, assessing its length.
‘Should do,’ the man replied, and he was adjusting their trajectory towards the quickly approaching shelf of land just as a voice crackled from the radio.
‘Golf Charlie India Tango India, this is ground control. You have entered private airspace, please change your heading. Over.’
The pilot glanced over at Harker, who was now shaking his head fervently, and with barely a pause he cleared his throat and pressed down on the mic button. ‘Negative, ground. We are experiencing engine failure and therefore request clearance for an emergency landing. Over.’
He eased back on the throttle and now lined up towards the runway as the aircraft began to descend. They were landing whether the go-ahead was given or not, but it wasn’t until the jet’s undercarriage was fully down that a reply came back.
‘Understood, India. We have no emergency services here but you will be met upon landing. Please remain in the cabin until further notice. Over.’
The pilot shot Harker a grin and then tapped on his mic button again. ‘Roger, understood. Over and out.’
‘No one ever turns away a request for an emergency landing,’ the pilot explained, as he began to lower the Cessna onto the tarmac. ‘Although how they behave when they greet us is another matter altogether.’
Harker dropped into the co-pilot’s seat just as the tyres hit the ground, and with a light bump the jet began to slow when its brakes were applied. He was already scouring the hangars at the far end for any signs of life. As the Cessna’s reverse thrusters kicked in and they came to a full stop just a hundred metres from those two buildings, he was already out of his seat.
‘They’ll be here soon, so I have to get going. Will you be all right?’
The pilot gave a confident nod, then took off his headphones and undid his seat belt. ‘The flight plan I filed indicates no passengers, in case they have access to it, and I’ll play for as much time as possible. But when they realize there’s nothing wrong with the engines, I cou
ld be sent on my way immediately.’
‘I understand,’ Harker replied, already making his way to the exit hatch. ‘I’m heading for the other side of the mountain – it can’t be more than a kilometre or so – but if meanwhile you have to go, then just go. I’ll figure something out and…’
Harker unlocked the metal-handled door hatch and then paused to look back at the pilot, who was still staring in his direction. ‘I never asked your name?’
‘It’s Frank,’ the pilot replied, ‘and in my position I never enquire why I’m being asked to fly to any location. I’m just the pilot, but I have to ask you, Mr Harker, what the hell are we doing here?’
Harker clicked the hatch and let the door fall slowly open before he checked outside for any approaching vehicles – of which there were none so far. ‘It’s Alex,’ he replied, ‘and that’s exactly what I am hoping to find out.’
Chapter 37
The soggy, humid atmosphere of the forest felt stifling as Harker pressed on, making his way around the mountain’s base to the far rim of the island. Since leaving the airstrip he had cleared the three-kilometre hike in a little over twenty minutes, which was a bit of a miracle given the uneven terrain. The forest was far denser than it had looked from the air and his attire was proving totally unsuited to the venture at hand. It had taken him only fifty metres into the woodland before he had to discard his suit jacket, and with each new rip in his white Oxford shirt, due to sharp protruding branches, he now appeared every bit a Robinson Crusoe lookalike.
Apart from the swarms of flies and mosquitoes, and the unidentified snake that had lunged out at him minutes earlier after he’d almost stepped on it, the place was beautiful, in a lost-paradise kind of way. But everything was in mini form since the entire island could not be more than eighteen square kilometres in total, yet included all the features one would expect in a perfect tropical landscape. Brooks and streams extended out through the forest like life-giving arteries, and Harker had so far come across two clearings containing waterfalls, but with drops of only twenty metres or so. It was all very quiet and tranquil.
The four-hundred-and-fifty-foot ‘mountain’ Harker was now making his way around was like everything else, a mini natural wonder, and as he approached the clearing visible ahead he couldn’t help but think it was all too perfect. Had this whole island been deliberately landscaped to someone’s particular wishes? And if that man was not Jacob Winters, then Harker was in the wrong place and, more importantly, in some serious shit, because it was the only lead he had.
With sweat pouring off him, he passed out of the trees and came to an abrupt halt as he found himself on a narrow rocky outcrop with a tight muddy path leading down a fifty-metre drop to the forest floor, and allowing him his first glimpse of the other flank of the mountain. Compared to the rest of the island, the area below him looked a virtual paradise, and Harker sank down on one knee not just to recover his breath but also so as not to be spotted from the hive of activity going on down below.
The lower part of the mountain had been stripped of trees, and a luxurious six-thousand-square-foot Spanish Churrigueresque-style mansion, on three separate floors, sprawled outwards from its base. In front of it extended a wide patio adjoining an Olympic-pool-sized pond with oversized lily pads floating on the surface and dark metal fountain spouts pouring fresh water into it constantly. Beyond this, and encompassing the estate, was an eighty-hectare garden composed of various lawns all protected by the surrounding forest. There were even two tennis courts and an outdoor swimming pool surrounded by Waikiki huts and a long open-air bar with stools, which only added to the luxurious appearance of what could only be a rich man’s leisure retreat… Or so it would have been except for the twenty or so uniformed guards patrolling the front of the mansion, armed with black SIG Sauer MPX semi-automatic submachine guns with extended barrels.
Harker lowered himself to rest onto his stomach and continued to peer over the edge, as a feeling of desperation crept into him. That number of guards would make it bloody difficult to even get into the mansion, and he had originally planned to have at least Shroder at his side, who was far more skilled at this type of thing. Christ, he didn’t even have a pair of binoculars.
Down below, a commotion on the patio near the entrance to the mansion now caught his attention, and he focused in on a group of guards dragging a woman along. At first he didn’t recognize the captive, but when she wrestled an arm free from one of the men and then slapped him across the face, he knew instantly who it was.
Chloe Stanton landed a stinger of a slap before the guard grabbed the free arm and restrained her. Then she was pulled forcefully in through the mansion’s main door, and out of view. The spectacle had Harker instinctively rearing up onto his hindquarters, but then he forced himself back onto his stomach even as one of nearest guards glanced up in his direction. The man must have been over one hundred metres away but had obviously noticed movement up by the trees. However, after a few moments of inquisitive peering, he turned back and resumed his patrol of the grounds.
Shit! Harker thought as he now realized how his white shirt would stand out against the greenery of the forest. He slowly edged back behind the trees and, in a momentary flash of genius, scooped up large handfuls of wet soil and began covering his shirt until most of the linen was stained a dark brown. Unfortunately this method of camouflage was not as clever as he thought, and within seconds he was being assaulted by hordes of excitable mosquitoes, which appeared to come from nowhere. Undeterred, and swatting constantly at the annoying insects, he headed back along the small plateau and began to carefully make his way down a thin, precarious mud path.
The descent was easier than it looked, and by the time he reached the bottom the mosquitoes had thankfully lost interest. Crouching down while moving as fast as he could, Harker slunk furtively over to the edge of the patio, then ducked down behind a waist-high hedgerow lining its perimeter. With his head lowered flat against his right shoulder, he slowly edged himself upwards and peered over the foliage with one eye.
The guard who had shown interest earlier was still moving away from him, and distant enough not to present a direct problem. But as Harker stared over at the mansion’s entrance, he found himself facing two main holes in his intended plan. Firstly the white and pale terracotta colours of the house’s walls would make his newly contrived camouflage shirt stand out like a sore thumb if he made a dash directly for the entrance. Secondly, and more troublingly, he didn’t actually have a plan in the first place.
Throwing caution to the wind, he stayed put until the nearest guard was comfortably far away, then he nimbly jumped over the hedge and swiftly tiptoed towards the mansion’s outer wall, where he then slid, with his back pressed against it, all the way to the entrance.
Harker gingerly stole a look inside and, finding the coast was clear, he entered through the open double doorway into the cool, air-conditioned hallway beyond. Now shivering because of the ice-cold air meeting the sweat and dampness of his soiled shirt, he made his way slowly further inside and along a corridor until he paused at the first door he encountered.
Hearing no sound of footsteps, he felt emboldened to go further, and was considering opening the door and heading inside when he heard a woman’s voice somewhere deeper inside the building. Wide-eyed and alert, he continued until he reached another hallway intersected with corridors. He was about to take a gamble by heading right when he heard the same woman’s voice again. It was coming from somewhere to the left and, as he got closer, he realized it belonged to Chloe.
With a renewed sense of motivation, Harker tracked the voice as it got louder and louder, until he was sure it was coming from an open doorway just a little further along to his left. He continued, still on tiptoe, but as he approached, Chloe’s voice abruptly stopped, causing him to freeze in his tracks.
Harker held fast and steadied his breathing even as his muscles tensed in preparation to move quickly, should he need to, but still no sound came fro
m the room. He cautiously took another step forward, bringing him to within centimetres of the door frame, then slowly he craned his head further and peeked inside.
Chloe Stanton was sitting behind a desk on a velvet covered armchair, with both arms at her sides and staring directly at the open doorway. As her eyes met Harker’s there was no hint of surprise, no look of shock, but only a blank gaze as he leant in further and peered around the room. The décor was extravagant, with expensive-looking gold and black wallpaper, while on the ceiling a brass fan with four mahogany propellers spun slowly above a plush red nylon three-piece sofa with gilt trimming.
Satisfied that they were alone, Harker did the first thing that came to mind. He raised his hand and gave a friendly wave, but there was no response from Chloe, who continued to stare at him with emotionless eyes.
‘Chloe,’ Harker uttered in nothing more than a whisper. Then, as his greeting was ignored, he ventured further into the room towards her.
It was not until he got halfway inside that a movement caught his eye. He turned to see a man with rosy cheeks and a white handkerchief stuffed between his teeth and Harker suddenly felt as much relief to see the familiar face as he did despair to the state it was in.
Sitting crouched against the back wall, David Carter gazed back at him with one bloodshot eye, making no attempt to struggle against the silver duct tape wrapped around his wrists and ankles. He looked like someone had smacked him around a bit, but other than that there were no obvious signs of torture, which was at least something to be thankful for. Harker now turned his attention back to Chloe. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked her as she continued to stare at him. But it was not from her that an answer was forthcoming.
‘Finally you arrive,’ a voice spoke from behind him.
Harker whirled around to see Vlad himself standing behind the door, grasping a large wooden-handled machete in one hand, with the blade glinting as he tapped it against his thigh.
The Last Judgement Page 27
