“I appreciate your interest, but I’m afraid if this was the sole purpose of your trip to London, you’ve made a journey for nothing.”
“My late father once said everything has a price. Everything.”
Edward wondered what this was all about.
“I’m sure your father was a wise man, but I really have no interest in selling. I have a thriving business here and the charm of this ancient street adds a lot to my particular niche of retailing. I’ve been told a real estate transaction requires a motivated buyer and a motivated seller. Sadly, I’m not the least bit motivated. All that said, I’d be curious to know why your client’s interested in this particular property and why he’d send a representative all the way from Switzerland to approach me about it.”
“I’d be happy to explain everything. I can see how busy you are at the moment. Perhaps I could buy you a drink later?”
They agreed to meet at Philippe Lepescu’s hotel, The Stafford, in a fashionable area of west London near Piccadilly. At seven they were comfortably settled into a booth at the hotel’s American Bar, a small, interesting place with knickknacks and memorabilia hanging from the walls and ceiling. The waiter brought a gin and tonic for Edward and a dry martini for Philippe. After a toast and a drink, Lepescu began talking.
“Our firm is solely owned by my partner. One of his trusts is the client who’s interested in your building. My partner’s a wealthy man with investments around the world. He owns a few corporations whose names the public would recognize, but most of his assets are in real estate, oil and gas, and the mining of precious metals. He also has a passion for ancient things. He has a very extensive private collection of artifacts from around the world.”
Lepescu paused to take a sip and then continued.
“You mentioned the charm and medieval nature of the two blocks that comprise St. Mary Axe Street. Those very things are what interests my partner as well. We see a tremendous opportunity for the real estate in your area. We envision a boutique hotel, a pub, more shops like yours – in short, we want to develop St. Mary Axe into a mini-destination within the City of London. It could become a step back in time to the Middle Ages, right here in the hustle and bustle of one of the world’s great cities. Our company currently holds an option on the vacant building next to yours, and I’m hoping I can convince you to consider an offer.”
Edward listened closely, satisfied this new offer had nothing to do with the shady Gordon Foxworth. What Lepescu was saying made sense on the surface, but they didn’t have a clue what really ancient things lay beneath his particular parcel of real estate. The crypt and its sarcophagus would put this period theme idea over the top. It would be incredibly interesting to a developer. Despite the problems inherent in ever selling the property, Edward wanted to hear more.
“Why would you divulge your plan to me? Don’t you think that would make me raise my price, especially when you’ve told me you want to buy up the entire two blocks? Why wouldn’t I hold out until the end, presuming I was ever willing to sell. Which I’ve already said I’m not.”
“An excellent question. The particular trust that’s interested in the St. Mary Axe properties is one of the wealthiest private institutions in Europe. I hesitate to use the cliché ‘money’s no object,’ but in this case, I’m authorized to pay far more than what the property would otherwise be worth in order to achieve its goals.”
“What’s the name of this partner of yours? Have I heard of him?”
“His name is Roberto Maas and he’s the chairman. I seriously doubt you’ve heard of him – he maintains a low profile, as do many people in his position. He’s originally from Luxembourg and now lives part of the time in Lucerne.” Edward had never heard the name.
Edward was an intelligent individual – he was a PhD times three, after all. He took a moment to think. With a little advance notice, the bodies could be dealt with. Moving them would be difficult but not impossible. What was wrong with hearing this man’s offer?
“What’s your price?”
“May I assume then that you’re interested?”
“No,” Edward responded with a slight smile as he stroked his scraggly beard. “But you may assume I’m listening.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Roberto listened with interest as Philippe explained what had happened in London. The quirky Edward Russell apparently wasn’t motivated to sell, but Philippe’s initial offer of five million dollars had gotten his attention. It might ultimately require even more money, Philippe surmised.
One thing had to happen next. Before anything else, Roberto had to be certain this was the right bookstore. If it were, he’d pay whatever it took to buy the property.
Over the years Roberto had spent tens of millions acquiring ancient things, the more unique and rare, the better. He’d learned about the bookstore in St. Mary Axe from Curtis Pemberly, a man he’d never met who vaguely described the location, but that had been enough. Cleverly attempting to conceal its location, Curtis bragged that he knew about an occult bookstore. It was on an ancient street in London, and down below were a medieval sarcophagus and a heavy, locked wooden door from the Middle Ages. He wouldn’t say how he’d gotten Juan Carlos’s number, but Roberto assumed it came from the recently deceased Gordon Foxworth.
He tried to call Curtis Pemberly back, but there was no answer. After a few days Roberto gave up. It was strange the man who’d seemed so interested in speaking further suddenly was unavailable.
Thanks to the Internet, Roberto quickly learned there were only a few occult shops in London. Most were in the posh West End on major avenues; another catered to tourists and was smack in the middle of one of London’s busiest places – Trafalgar Square. The Necromancer’s Bookshop was the only one in a quaint sixteenth-century street called St. Mary Axe in the old City of London. Bingo.
Sight unseen, Roberto paid two thousand dollars for a six-month option on the empty building next to the bookshop. The absentee owner jumped at the chance for income from the decrepit structure that hadn’t had a tenant in ten years. He hoped against hope this Swiss real estate person, whoever he was, would come through after the option period ended and buy the damned thing. When he’d spoken with Roberto Maas by phone, it seemed all the man wanted to know was how large the building was – how many floors, did it have a basement, all that. When Roberto learned it was about four thousand square feet total, three floors aboveground and an old basement that was musty and damp, for some reason he was still interested.
“The building … uh, well, it would be fair to say it needs a lot of work.” The owner tried to be honest without scaring off the prospect. And Roberto Maas apparently wasn’t scared. He offered an option – two thousand dollars to tie up the property for six months – sufficient time for Maas, a busy real estate investor, to send his people over to evaluate the site. That was Maas’s story, and the owner accepted it without question, thanking his lucky stars there was a glimmer of interest from someone. The building had been for sale for years; taking it off the market for six months was no problem. Papers were signed, money transferred, and a key mailed to Lucerne.
Roberto’s first move was hiring a locksmith to rekey the doors. It would have been a problem if the owner casually dropped by one day to check the premises. There would be questions about all the activity in the basement that would begin soon. The six-month option period gave Roberto plenty of time to finish his work and put things back like they were today. Or to buy the building if he hit pay dirt.
In the meantime we’ll see how things go with my new next-door neighbor, one Edward Russell. Hopefully he’ll be reasonable. If not, maybe Juan Carlos will have to pay him a visit.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
“Good morning, Mr. Russell.”
As he turned to see who was behind him, Edward shuddered involuntarily.
Inspector Dalton laughed. “I usually don’t have that effect on good people! Only the bad ones tremble when they see me coming!”
E
dward tried to appear nonchalant. “Oh. Oh, I’m sorry. You startled me, that’s all. What are you doing here? I mean … why did you come to the store?” He stumbled on his words.
The policeman’s demeanor changed from frivolity to concern. “Are you all right? I really didn’t mean to alarm you. I just thought I’d come by and see how things are going. I was wondering what you’ve decided about the secrets in the basement.”
“The secrets?” Edward blanched and stuttered.
“My God, man. You look like you’ve seen a ghost! Do you need to sit down?”
“Perhaps a glass of water. Give me a moment.” Edward walked behind the counter, through the curtain into the back room and composed himself. He knew what the officer was referring to and had jumped to the wrong conclusion. That was a mistake, acting like that right in front of the policeman.
“My apologies, Inspector. My mind was a million miles away and I was surprised, that’s all. The things in the basement. I really haven’t done anything. There’s been no time for much research…”
“So you’re following your grandparents’ decision not to inform the antiquities people?”
“Yes, at least for now. You can see how busy we are.” Edward waved a hand around the store. “Between walk-in customers and the Internet, we’re up to our eyeballs in work. I won’t disrupt the business with a lot of interference from outsiders right now. Perhaps later.”
“Understandable. Well, I’ll leave that to you, then. It’s not my call to make although I do think the things in the crypt would make interesting research, don’t you? Speaking of which, if you have a moment, would you mind if I took another look down there? That old sarcophagus fascinates me.”
Edward’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he swallowed. “Well, I appreciate your interest…”
The front doorbell tinkled and another three people walked in. His female assistant waved at him from across the room where she was assisting two men. “Can you help those customers?” she mouthed.
Saved by the bell.
“I’m afraid I don’t have the time, Inspector. I do appreciate your interest. At some point we’ll try to make it happen.”
“If it would help, I could just pop down myself…”
Edward answered more quickly than he’d wished. “No! That won’t help. Not today!”
“I see. No problem at all. Thanks for your time and good luck with your shop, although it doesn’t look as though you need luck!” The inspector turned and left. Edward breathed a sigh of relief as he approached the customers who needed assistance.
Amazing how jittery Edward was. I suppose he’s got a lot on his plate now that nice old couple has passed on and left the store to him. But it feels like he’s hiding something. All three of them certainly were protective of that crypt. I wonder. I just wonder if they found something.
At his desk in Scotland Yard the policeman soon forgot about Edward Russell. There were cases to investigate, people to interview. He had more to do than wonder about what was going on at the bookshop. But there was still that little something in the back of his mind.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Ten days after his visit, Philippe called Edward Russell.
“I’m just following up on the offer I made when you and I met. I wondered if you’d had time to make a decision.”
Edward had enjoyed Philippe’s company, but this time he didn’t mince words. “I’m not interested in selling. Your offer was generous, but as I told you when we met, I’m not motivated to sell. Quite the opposite, in fact. For my business, this old building in this particular street is absolutely perfect. To be frank, your group might come in, buy the two blocks, and spiff the place up with new façades, hotels, pubs and the like, but selfishly I’d like my occult bookshop to look exactly as it does today – like part of a film set. And it does, I think you’d agree.”
Lepescu responded cordially. “It certainly does, and I understand your thinking. Regardless, we’re going to continue working on a plan to revitalize St. Mary Axe. I hope you’ll allow me to stay in touch.”
“Certainly. I just don’t want to lead you on. If you buy the entire area, you may find The Necromancer’s Bookshop the last thorn in your flesh.”
“Understood. Thanks for your time.”
When the call was finished, Philippe looked across the office, where Roberto had listened in on the conversation.
“I’d say he truly isn’t interested. And for a valid reason.”
“I’m not so sure. Even someone with valid reasons wouldn’t summarily dismiss a ridiculously high offer. It might not come along again. I wonder…” Roberto stopped short. He hadn’t told Philippe anything about the phone calls from Gordon Foxworth or Curtis Pemberly. Lepescu incorrectly believed his partner truly was planning a redevelopment project for the St. Mary Axe area, a real estate plan that could generate a massive profit once it was finished. He had no idea this entire exercise was a personal matter. He didn’t know his partner was chasing a rumor of ancient things in a crypt that might not even exist.
Like every other man, Edward Russell had both a price and a place one could apply pressure. Roberto first had to find out if Curtis Pemberly’s information was accurate. If there really was an old crypt below Edward’s store, Roberto Maas wanted to see it. Then he’d decide how to handle the bookstore’s owner. Edward would eventually give in. It might take money; then again it might take pressure. Every man had something to hide. Roberto was very good at finding out secrets.
A few days later Roberto told his partner he was taking a couple of weeks off, heading to the Greek Isles for a cruise on a private yacht he’d chartered. Lepescu was highly capable of managing things and Roberto was a mere phone call or text message away should something come up.
The day of his departure Roberto flew west, not east. Instead of Swissair to Athens, he flew British Airways to London, eagerly anticipating the work ahead of him. He’d spent much of his life as a paid operative for shadow groups within or without governments. More recently he’d been a businessman and investor. But this trip held the first tangible excitement he’d felt in years. It was an expedition, a treasure hunt. Roberto was looking forward to this exercise more than anything he could remember.
He checked in at The Liverpool, a new five-star hotel less than a quarter mile from St. Mary Axe. That afternoon he strolled down Bishopsgate, pulling a rolling suitcase, and turned into a narrow block-long lane called St. Helens. He looked at a map then kept walking. The street dead-ended at an old church, devoid of people but with doors wide open. He exited out a back door, walked through its graveyard and a rusty iron gate that led into St. Mary Axe Street.
The Necromancer’s Bookshop was the busiest of maybe a dozen shops situated there. He joined strolling tourists who were experiencing a brief trip back in time to the Middle Ages along this charming, slightly shabby street. Roberto passed the bookstore and glanced inside. The shop was full of customers. He didn’t see Edward; although he hadn’t met him, Philippe had described the forty-something man with an odd stringy gray beard. Like Gandalf the Great, he’d said.
Pausing in front of the abandoned, dirty building that was his for the next six months, Roberto looked first one way, then the other. No one paid him the slightest attention. He unlocked the door, quickly stepped inside and closed it. Rays of sunlight here and there pierced dirty, cracked windows. Dust an inch thick covered everything. Broken pieces of discarded furniture – old desks and chairs left by the last tenant – lay in disarray here and there.
In the back he took rickety stairs to the dark basement. He opened the suitcase and pulled out a bright lantern. He donned a jumpsuit over his street clothes and put on a headlamp. Next came an entrenching tool – a handy combination shovel and pickaxe. Roberto began to examine the floor stones at the south end of the basement. Finding one that was somewhat smaller than the others and therefore lighter in weight, he dug around it. It loosened easily and soon the stone was ready to remove. Roberto t
ook out a contraption consisting of four hooks connected to one strong wire. He worked his hands down around the stone, inserted a hook beneath each of its four sides and began to pull the wire straight up.
Although it was heavy, the stone moved almost immediately. Several strong tugs later it was out. Only a hole full of dirt remained.
Now came the reason Roberto had paid two thousand pounds for an option on the building. If he were correct, his gamble would pay off. If he wasn’t, he’d have wasted a little money and time.
He pulled a hammer and a two-foot piece of rebar a half inch in diameter out of the bag. He put the bar in the hole where the stone had been, held it upright and hit it hard with the hammer. The dirt was compact but gave way an inch or so as the rod went into it. Roberto gave it another solid whack, then one more. Suddenly it slid through the dirt and disappeared. He heard a muffled clang somewhere below.
Roberto smiled. There was a hollow place below the basement floor.
Late in the day, his phone dinged an alarm. He’d set it for five p.m., and the hours had flown by. It was time to go; it would be dark soon and he didn’t want to call attention to himself or the building by leaving in the night like a burglar.
A lot had been accomplished. He had removed five stones total; it was difficult, laborious work, but he loved it. He could literally feel anticipation in the air. The damp old basement, the ancient rock floor – he was close to the exciting next step.
Roberto left the suitcase and its contents in the basement with his jumpsuit and walked to the front door. He opened it, glanced both ways and saw no one. He stepped out to the sidewalk and locked the door. As he walked in front of the bookshop, its door suddenly opened and a thin man with a gray beard emerged, ready to lock up. They were the only two people on this block, and there was no avoiding contact.
The Crypt Trilogy Bundle Page 11
