‘I was there,’ said Lola. ‘Isis went up to the Egyptian room by herself. They must have been hidden in there, but she didn’t say anything about the letters at the time.’
‘Understandable. Everything was still very raw and moving quickly. Sir Charles kept the originals in his safe. I made some copies and took a few notes.’
‘And?’
‘Too early to tell,’ said Jack, sidestepping the question. ‘Some letters are incomplete and a few of the names, dates and places, and certain passages, have been blanked out completely. But we have a starting point. In fact, it was Señora Gonzales who gave me the first clue.’
‘She did? In what way?’
‘She told me I may find the answers in the hotel on Place Vendôme.’
‘Fascinating. What does that mean?’ asked Lola.
‘Not sure yet, but I can tell you about the hotel.’
‘You can?’
‘The hotel on Place Vendôme is one of the most famous hotels in the world,’ said Jack.
‘It is?’
‘Yes. It’s none other than the Ritz.’
‘Wow!’
‘Marie-Louise and Cesar Ritz opened the doors of their lavish hotel in 1898. However, the period we are interested in is the war years, the forties, the hotel’s most notorious, deadly and infamous period. Did you know that the Germans virtually took over the hotel in 1940 and made it their headquarters?’
‘I had no idea.’
‘And that Reichsmarschall Göring lived there during the German occupation? And so did Coco Chanel, Marlene Dietrich, and later, Hemingway and a host of other celebrities. The Duke and Duchess of Windsor gave up their palatial suite at the beginning of the war and Churchill and de Gaulle stopped coming. However, during the Nazi occupation the Ritz was a hotbed of intrigue, illicit affairs, espionage, treason and betrayal. It had it all.’
‘Hold on. How come you know so much about this?’
‘I wrote a series of articles for a London paper about the Ritz a few years ago – “The Mirror of Paris”. I was a struggling freelancer at the time, but I actually made some money out of them,’ said Jack, laughing.
‘And the countess? Where does she fit into this?’
‘She will help us.’
‘How?’
‘You’ll see.’
Jack closed his eyes, enjoying the sense of speed as the train moved silently through the ‘Chunnel’ under the sea towards the French coast. The reason he had been late getting ready that morning wasn’t a sleep-in, but phone calls.
Alexandra needed help, urgently, and the only way Jack could think of helping her was to turn to Jana and Marcus. After speaking to Alexandra and reassuring her, he had called Jana Gonski at The Hague.
Jana Gonski, a former Australian Federal Police officer, and Marcus Carrington QC, a barrister, had prosecuted Sir Eric Newman, a high-profile Nazi war criminal, three years before. Jack had shared an extraordinary adventure with them, which culminated in the publication of his bestseller, Dental Gold and Other Horrors. Marcus Carrington was now a judge sitting on the War Crimes Tribunal in The Hague, and Jana, who had left the police force, was his partner. Both had accepted Jack’s invitation and were coming to the Kuragin Chateau for the weekend. We are going to be together again, thought Jack, smiling. Fate? What else? He was particularly looking forward to seeing Jana again.
Jack regretted his decision to hire a car and drive to the Kuragin Chateau almost immediately. The Paris traffic was as chaotic as ever, but luck was on his side. This time he took the correct turn onto the autoroute instead of getting lost and driving in circles around Paris, as he had done before. Two hours later, he could see the outline of the familiar chateau in the distance.
‘I almost hit a peacock right here during one of my visits,’ said Jack, as they crossed the bridge leading to the chateau. Remembering the funny incident with Rebecca Armstrong, his literary agent, sitting next to him on that occasion, brought a smile to his face.
‘Not a bad pad,’ said Lola, ‘Isis would love this.’
‘I’m sure she would like the countess as well. But you can judge for yourself.’ Jack tapped the horn twice, put his hand out of the open car window and began to wave. ‘That’s her over there at the entry.’
25
Countess Kuragin was in her element. She put the finishing touches to the splendid floral arrangement in the middle of the dining table, straightened the candles in the silver candelabras, adjusted the crisp serviettes – making sure everything was perfection – and then stood back. Excellent, she thought. As an experienced hostess, she sensed that the dinner would have far-reaching consequences.
Her guests had gone to their rooms to get ready, giving her a little time to reflect on the events of the afternoon. Jack and Lola had arrived first. Tristan was blown away by The Time Machine poster signed by Isis – a rare collector’s item – presented to him by Jack and Lola. He hadn’t left Lola’s side since and was bombarding her with questions about Isis and The Time Machine. This had given Jack and the countess an opportunity for a brief private chat.
Strolling arm in arm through the garden in the fading light of the late afternoon, Jack explained why he had invited Jana and Marcus, and outlined his plan to enlist their help in finding a solution to Alexandra’s predicament.
Jana and Marcus had arrived late. An accident on the autoroute just outside Paris had delayed them for hours. After a brief introduction – it was their first visit to the Kuragin Chateau – they had gone straight to their room to freshen up. The drive from The Hague had been long and tiring. Dinner would therefore be the first opportunity for everyone to relax and talk.
The countess was a master of reading the mood of her guests, and then making them feel comfortable and at ease. With so much riding on the success of the evening, she was determined to make sure nothing was left to chance. A glass of vintage champagne was always the best way to begin an evening, and several chilled bottles were already waiting in the silver ice buckets on the sideboard. Satisfied, the countess straightened her dress, adjusted her hair and looked at the clock on the mantelpiece. Her guests were due in a few minutes. It was time to instruct the butler to open the champagne.
Seating dinner guests strategically at the dinner table was an art the countess had perfected over many years. Sitting next to, or opposite the right person could make the difference between a great evening and – God forbid – a boring, or embarrassing one. Her soirées and dinner parties were legendary and much sought after by the social elite who frequented the chateau.
Marcus, Jana and Jack had known each other for a long time. While she had heard a great deal about Jana and Marcus, and therefore knew of them through Jack’s book, the countess had only met them in person for the first time that afternoon. Lola of course hadn’t met anyone before, and Tristan who, as a special treat would be allowed to join them for dinner, only knew Jack.
‘The people you are about to have dinner with,’ said Jack, leading Lola into the dining room, ‘are as close as I’ll ever get to having a family.’
‘You are lucky,’ said Lola, ‘and so am I. We both have families of choice. Isis and The Time Machine are my family.’
Jack handed Lola a glass of champagne. ‘You’re right. Let’s drink to that,’ he said, laughing. ‘To choice, and family!’
‘I’m sure you must all be wondering why I’ve arranged this weekend in such a hurry,’ said Jack, after the dinner plates had been cleared away. Turning to the countess, he then asked her to outline what she had found out so far about her niece’s baffling abduction and encounter with Macbeth on the Calypso. After the countess had finished, Jack spoke briefly about his surprise trip to Mexico to meet Isis, the megastar, and the extraordinary assignment to investigate the deadly attack on her parents.
‘I don’t know how you do it, Jack,’ said Jana seated next to him. ‘You must be some kind of adventure-magnet. While most of us lead ordinary lives, you find excitement and adventure around eve
ry corner.’
‘Incorrigible rascals live dangerously.’
‘Oh? Is that what it is?’
‘Do I detect a hint of envy?’ Jack was enjoying the familiar banter.
‘Absolutely.’
‘Then why don’t we do something about it?’
‘You have something in mind?’
Jack put down his serviette and looked at Marcus sitting opposite. ‘We need your help, guys. You mentioned on the phone that you are about to go to Sydney—’
‘Yes, Marcus wants to sell his house,’ interrupted Jana. ‘And besides, he desperately needs a break. He’s worked on this dreadful trial for months: war crimes in Somalia. Shocking stuff. No time off.’ What Jana didn’t mention was another reason Marcus wanted to go back to Sydney: he was planning to leave The Hague and return to the Sydney Bar to resume his career as a barrister. He missed Sydney, and wanted to visit the graves of his wife and daughter killed in a terrorist attack in Egypt three years before.
‘As you can see, I can’t go back to Sydney right now to help Alexandra,’ said Jack, ‘but as you are both going … I can’t think of two better people to counsel Alexandra and advise her on how to deal with the situation – a judge, and a senior police officer. And you can stay in my new penthouse on the harbour,’ added Jack, grinning, ‘with Alexandra, who already lives there as my guest. That should work quite well, don’t you think?’
Carrington looked at Jana. ‘What do you think?’ he asked. ‘I can’t go straight away, but you could.’
‘Would you mind?’ asked Jana, the promise of adventure lighting up her face.
‘Not at all. I’ll follow in a few days,’ said Marcus. Jana had been quite restless for some months. Marcus was well aware of the reason: Jana desperately missed her job in the police force and found life at The Hague stifling. Jack’s offer had therefore come at a good time. Marcus realised that the distraction and return to Australia would do Jana the world of good.
‘It’s all settled then?’ said Jack.
‘It is,’ said Marcus.
The countess turned to Jana sitting on her right. ‘Thank you,’ she said, patting Jana on the arm. ‘This is much more than I could have hoped for.’
The countess knew that somehow the best conversation always happened after dinner. Coffee and liqueurs for the ladies, and cognac for the gentlemen was served in the music room. Jana was talking with Lola, and Jack and Marcus had walked out onto the terrace for a private chat. Tristan had reluctantly gone to his room.
‘It’s really good to see you, Marcus. It’s been too long. And thank you,’ said Jack. ‘You asked no questions and came.’
‘You would have done the same.’
‘Let me tell you why I really accepted this assignment,’ said Jack. He took a sip of cognac, enjoying the mellow bite of the superb brandy warming his throat. ‘It had nothing to do with the things I mentioned at dinner.’
‘Oh? What then?’ asked Marcus.
‘A name.’
‘How intriguing.’
‘It’s more than that. I asked Isis to give me one good reason why I should just drop everything and accept her proposal. That’s when Señora Gonzales, her grandmother, stepped in and gave me a name.’
‘What name?’
Jack took his time before answering, letting the tension grow. ‘You’ll find this hard to believe … I still do.’
‘Go on,’ prompted Marcus impatiently.
‘Sturmbannfuehrer Wolfgang Steinberger.’
For a while, there was stunned silence. Three years earlier, Jack and Marcus had exposed and prosecuted Sir Eric Newman, a notorious Nazi war criminal turned respected banker. Jack had written a bestseller, Dental Gold and Other Horrors, about it. Wolfgang Steinberger was Sir Eric Newman’s real name.
‘Are you serious? But he’s dead. It’s all over.’
‘Is it? Evil has a long reach, even from the grave. We’ve both seen it before,’ said Jack.
Marcus nodded. ‘Did you question the lady about it?’
‘Of course. But all she said was, “Hidden corners of our lives”.’
‘What do you make of it?’
‘She has certainly read my book; she said so herself. As for the rest – don’t know yet, but there has to be a connection. Obviously, it’s all about Steinberger and his Nazi past.’
‘Any ideas?’
‘A few, but it’s early days.’
‘But you intend to find out?’
‘Of course. That’s what this assignment is all about.’
‘Is that why you were approached in the first place, do you think?’
‘I’m sure of it.’
‘And you couldn’t resist?’
‘Could you?’
Marcus raised his brandy balloon. ‘Perhaps not.’ They touched glasses. ‘Good luck!’
‘And then there was this,’ said Jack. He pulled his iPhone out of his pocket, called up a photo and handed the phone to Marcus. ‘What do you make of this?’
‘Wow! That’s an Aztec crystal skull. Very rare. Did you take this?’
‘I did.’
‘Where?’
‘Isis’ solicitor showed it to me last night in his office. It belonged to Lady Elms, Isis’ mother.’
‘Amazing.’
Jack knew that Marcus, an amateur archaeologist specialising in Egyptology, was a fountain of knowledge when it came to religious practices, artefacts with mystical powers and the occult generally. ‘What can you tell me about it?’ he asked, carefully watching his friend, who couldn’t take his eyes off the skull in the picture.
‘A number of these skulls have surfaced over the years, especially during the nineteenth century. They are all quite famous, and some of them even have names like the Paris skull, the British Museum skull and perhaps the most controversial of them all, the Mitchell-Hedges skull. At first, they were thought to be genuine pre-Columbian Mesoamerican artefacts with mystical powers—’
‘Thought to be?’ interrupted Jack.
‘Yes. Unfortunately, all the skulls that have actually been scientifically tested turned out to be fakes, most likely manufactured in Germany in the nineteenth century or even later.’
‘How disappointing.’
‘Perhaps, but fascinating nevertheless. Any more photos?’
‘Yes. Just keep scrolling.’
‘Ah. Is the jaw detached? You can’t tell from the pictures.’
‘Yes it is.’
‘That narrows it down considerably.’
‘How so?’
‘The Mitchell-Hedges skull is the only one I know of with a detached jaw, and this one looks remarkably like it.’
‘What do you know about it?’
‘Anna Mitchell-Hedges was the adopted daughter of F.A. Mitchell-Hedges, a famous British adventurer. She claimed to have discovered the skull in a temple in Lubaantun in British Honduras, as it then was, in the nineteen twenties. It had a colourful life after that, I can tell you. Full of extravagant claims and controversy surrounding it, it became known as the Skull of Doom. Anna managed to make a good living out of it for years.’
‘How did she do that?’
‘She toured with the skull, gave interviews and charged a viewing fee. She also claimed to have been told by the few remaining Maya that the skull was used by the high priest to will death.’
‘A snake oil saleswoman?’ said Jack, laughing. ‘Peddling the Skull of Doom?’
‘A bit like that, I suppose.’
‘What a story. This one here in the photo must have a story too.’
‘Sure, and all you have to do, my friend, is find it,’ said Marcus, raising his empty glass.
‘I intend to.’
‘But for now, why don’t we find the bottle and have another brandy?’ said Marcus.
‘What a splendid suggestion.’
26
‘How do I look?’ Isis asked, casting a critical eye over her reflection in the dressing room mirror. The concert was due to start in ten
minutes and a hundred thousand excited Mexican fans were waiting in the stadium for their idol to take to the stage.
‘There is only one word for it, cherie: spectacular,’ said Jean-Paul, who had designed the fabulous costume. ‘You look like an Aztec princess.’
Isis adjusted the long feathers in her headdress and, satisfied with what she saw, turned around and began the breathing exercises she did before every performance.
‘Five minutes,’ said one of the technicians operating the sound system. Isis nodded, and started doing her squats.
Sensing the imminent start of the performance, the crowd began to chant: ‘Isis; Isis; Isis!’ Moments later, The Time Machine began to play the opening number, drowning out the roar of the crowd. It was time for Isis to get into her glass coffin.
Lying quite still and with her eyes closed, Isis waited for the coffin to rise. These were the moments she cherished most: the muffled roar of the crowd, the guitars screaming on the stage above and the throbbing, monotonous beat of the drums making her whole body tingle with excitement like a hit from a powerful drug, only stronger. It was a feeling like no other. A transfer of energy from adoring fans waiting for her arrival, to their idol about to deliver something none of them would forget.
Usually, Isis felt elated and could barely wait for the coffin to rise, her muscles tense and charged for her spectacular somersault entry, like a tightly coiled spring ready to explode into action. This time, however, she found it difficult to focus and was unable to shake off a feeling of dread. This was something she had never experienced before. Cold sweat began to pour down her face, smudging the elaborate make-up and her breathing became laboured. Feeling suddenly very cold, Isis opened her eyes. A panic attack? she thought, unable to stop her teeth from chattering. Control yourself!
Feeling a little better, Isis went through her breathing exercises once more to calm herself, her iron-willed discipline and self-control coming to her aid and serving her well. With only moments to go before the lid of the coffin was due to open under the spotlight, Isis felt suddenly dizzy and her head began to spin. ‘Something is wrong,’ she whispered, barely able to move her lips as The Time Machine launched into ‘Resurrection’, her signature number indicating her entry. Then the coffin began to rise.
The Hidden Genes of Professor K Page 15
