Solomon Key

by David Wood

  “What if it’s not a book, but a person?” Gowan asked.

  Isla rounded on him, ready to tell him where he could stick his suggestion, but she stopped short, gaping. Of course, that was a possibility. Had Haggard capitalized the word ‘stories’? She honestly couldn’t remember. If not, then Father Febland could have been a clergyman appointed to the cathedral...and Isla would be an idiot.

  “Good thought,” she managed.

  Vernon was already tapping away. “Success!” he crowed. “Father Benjamin Febland served St. James in the early twentieth century. Let me see if I can find anything else.” He worked for a few minutes. “Nothing else, I’m afraid. Not to be unkind, but it sounds as if he lived a rather unremarkable life.”

  Isla felt the sting of disappointment. So close. “Any idea what stories Febland might have told Haggard?”

  Vernon shook his head. “None. As I said, the only thing I can find about him is that he served here. There’s nothing else.”

  Isla nodded slowly and turned to tell Gowan they could leave. Something caught her eye. Someone had been peeking through the doorway. She’d only caught a brief glimpse of him, but that was enough. It was the same man who had taken notice earlier when she’d mentioned Haggard. There was no way he’d arrived in this out-of-the-way spot by mistake.

  Gowan read her expression and frowned.

  “Someone’s following us,” she mouthed.

  He nodded. “That’s very helpful,” he said in a conversational tone, apparently for the benefit of the man at the door. “Is there a back way out?” he whispered to Vernon, who nodded. “You and Isla get out of here. I’ll lead him away and make my own way back home.” Before Isla could protest, he turned and headed for the door. “I’ll check it out. I think we’re on the right track. You keep digging, just to be safe.”

  “What is going on?” Vernon asked.

  “There’s no time. How do we get out of here?”

  “This way.” He led her deep into the library, passing row upon row of books until they all seemed to blur together in Isla’s mind and she felt as if they were moving in place. “Not much farther,” Vernon whispered. “But I don’t see why I need to leave.”

  “All I can tell you is you might be in danger. If someone is following us, they’ll want to know what, if anything, you told us.”

  “But why...” Vernon shook his head. “Haggard. King Solomon’s Mines? You can’t be serious. It’s just a legend.”

  “Not to these people,” Isla said.

  “Who are they?”

  “I don’t know.” Isla heard the sound of footsteps somewhere behind them. She grabbed Vernon by the arm and hauled him between two rows of shelves. His eyes bulged but he had the good sense to remain silent. She peered around the shelves, looking back in the direction from which they had come. She could just make out Vernon’s desk in the distance. A man, not the same one who had been shadowing them, peered down at the computer screen. “He’s looking at your computer,” she whispered softly.

  “Bollocks. I left my browser open. He’ll know about Father Febland now.”

  Isla winced. The reference she’d found in Haggard’s papers was an obscure one and she doubted the clue would lead her pursuers anywhere, but still she hated losing what tiny lead she had. “Could be good news for you. They might not bother questioning you.”

  “Just the same, I think I’ll take a short holiday. Get out of the office.”

  “Good idea. Now, where’s the way out?”

  He pointed to a far corner and they took the roundabout way, staying out of sight, until they finally ended at a bookcase.

  “And this,” Vernon said proudly, “is our own secret door.” He tugged at the side of the case and it swung forward, revealing a narrow staircase that descended into the darkness. “It doesn’t lead anywhere special; only to the car park. But that is exactly where I want to be.”

  Isla nodded. “Me too.”

  Chapter 21

  Key West, Florida

  Nomi sat in the passenger seat of Constance’s rented SUV and gazed through the palm trees toward the front door of Avery Halsey’s condominium. It was 8:30 in the morning, time for any normal person to leave for work. Of course, they had no idea what Avery Halsey did for a living. At least, not since she’d left her teaching position in Nova Scotia. In fact, the difficulty in learning much of anything about her was unsettling. As was the fact that both Maddock and Bonebrake seemed to have largely been scoured from the public record, save for a few details here and there. It suggested that there was more to the three than Nomi had expected.

  “Perhaps she doesn’t hold a normal job,” Nomi said. “Works odd hours, or even telecommutes.”

  “We’ll give her until nine,” Constance said. “And then we will take steps. I will kill her if I must, but I prefer not to. Killing always adds difficulties.”

  “But the island...”

  “The island was different. Much easier to dispose of the bodies and no security cameras to worry about. There is no telling how many we drove past on the way here.”

  Nomi hated when the woman made sense. “At least there appear to be no cameras in the complex, except for the front entrance. Now we only have to hope that her brother or his friends don’t show up.” One of the details they had managed to dig up was that Avery Halsey was Dane Maddock’s half-sister. That explained how she had access to Maddock’s boat and crew.

  “Maddock is in London.”

  Nomi sat up straight. “When did you learn this?”

  “Yesterday. Two of the cousins tracked them to Williamsburg, and then on to London.”

  “And when were you planning to tell me?”

  “Whenever the information was needed or it came up in conversation. Which is now.”

  “Quiet. She’s coming out.” It wasn’t necessary to tell Constance to be quiet, but it felt good to give her an order.

  They watched as Avery locked the door behind her and headed down the stairs. She was a pretty girl, if a bit on the generic side. What some young people might call a Basic Becky. Blonde hair, blue eyes, fair skin, pedestrian taste in clothing. There was nothing special about her, as far as Nomi could see.

  “She’s in her car,” Constance said. “Go.”

  Nomi slipped out of the SUV and, keeping to the thick grove of trees that separated the condominium complex from the vacant lot in which they’d parked, worked her way around to the side of the building. She’d considered going to the back and climbing up to Avery’s deck, but that was something better attempted under cover of darkness. Walking up the front steps and knocking on the door, in short, behaving normally, rendered on close to invisible.

  She pretended to knock on Avery’s door, and then looked around. The parking lot was empty, and no sound came from the neighbor’s homes. Hastily she slipped on a pair of gloves, took out her lock-picking kit, and set to work.

  She was inside in short order. She locked the door behind her and set the deadbolt, something Avery hadn’t done. Satisfied, she looked around.

  The place was a mess. Clothing, books, and unopened mail lay all around. A few dirty dishes lay in the sink and a half-empty coffee cup sat on the kitchen table next to a crumb-covered napkin.

  “Slob.” Nomi shook her head and then began her search.

  She began with the kitchen, then worked her way through the living room, bathroom, and spare bedroom. Finally, she ended up in the master bedroom. It was, she marveled, even messier than the living area. The floor was carpeted with discarded clothing, and a stack of erotic thriller novels dominated the nightstand.

  “Where would it be?” Thinking like a burglar, Nomi went directly to the back of the underwear drawer. Wrapped in a pair of lacy black panties, she found an old locket. Although it was of no use to her, she opened it out of curiosity. Inside was a black and white close-up of a woman’s face. It wasn’t the closed eyes, stringy hair, or slight smirk that gave Nomi a disconcerting feeling. It was the fact that she knew this i
mage. L’Inconnue de la Seine, or “the Unknown Woman of the Seine.”

  In the 1880s, the body of a young woman had been pulled from the Seine River in Paris. Legend held that a pathologist at the Paris Morgue was so taken with her beauty that he had a plaster cast made of her face. In time, copies of the mask, with its eerie smile, became popular in Parisian Bohemian society. The face was even used for the head of a first aid mannequin, and was used in many CPR courses. Why the hell Avery Halsey would keep this face in a locket in her drawer was beyond Nomi. With a slight shudder, she wrapped the locket back up and replaced it in the drawer.

  Her continued search proved fruitless. Apparently Avery had nothing else of value to hide. But Nomi couldn’t give up. She was convinced Avery would not carry the artifact around with her, nor would she leave it in the care of another. It had to be here.

  “Think. Where else do people hide their valuables?” Her eyes fell on the stack of paperbacks by the bed and she smiled. The bookshelf!

  She hurried to the living area and began removing and opening all the books on the bookshelf. Inside the third book she opened, a reprint of A General History of the Robberies and Murders of the Most Notorious Pirates by Charles Johnson, she found what she was looking for. The middle section had been hollowed out, and inside lay a stone disc. Nomi knew immediately that she’d found what she was looking for. The bottom surface was covered in symbols, a code of some sort.

  She made to replace the book, but paused. Grinning wickedly, she slipped a five dollar bill out of her pocket and tucked it into the secret compartment.

  “It’s not stealing if you pay for it,” she said, putting the book back on the shelf. “I only wish I could see the bitch’s face when she realizes the artifact is gone.”

  Buoyed by her success, she veritably bounced out of the apartment, down the stairs, and back to the vacant lot. Finally, she was one up on Constance.

  Chapter 22

  St. Paul’s Cathedral, London

  “The door is just over here.” Timothy pointed to the small door Maddock had seen from high above. Set low in the wall just beyond the spot where the Book of Remembrance sat in a glass case. It was round like a portal, and appeared to be scarcely wide enough for Maddock to fit into.

  “You said workers uncovered this?” Maddock said. “How could it go unnoticed?”

  “It was covered with a thin layer of plaster and painted over. Not sure why it was hidden.”

  Maddock nodded. “I guess I’ll be the one to check it out.” He aimed a pointed look at Bones. “Somebody’s been eating too many burgers to ever fit in there.”

  “Maddock, if we weren’t inside a church I’d tell you exactly which part of my body won’t fit in that hole.”

  Timothy’s cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink. “Goodness, the two of you pull no punches, do you?”

  “Not usually.” Maddock looked around. “How about the two of you screen me from view and then close the door behind me? Once I’m in, you can wander around. That way we don’t draw unwanted attention.” Without waiting for them to agree, he took out his Maglite, clenched it in his teeth, opened the door, and crawled inside. When the door closed behind him, he clicked on the light.

  He was in a tiny passageway about three feet square. Cracked brick and crumbling mortar surrounded him on all sides. He resisted the temptation to reach up and test the ceiling. Probably best to search the area and get back out as quickly as possible.

  He crawled forward, occasionally banging his knee on the hard, uneven surface. He kept his eyes peeled, scanning every inch of floor, walls, and ceiling as he moved forward. Nothing caught his eye.

  He rounded a corner and crawled another ten feet to where the passage came to a dead end. Set in the brick wall was a hinged iron square. He took out his knife and scraped away the dirt and debris that caked it until he uncovered a small latch. He slid it to the side and swung the little doorway open. Peering through, he saw that it opened into an empty fireplace inside what was obviously an office. Disappointed, he quietly closed the small door and turned around.

  “There’s got to be something here,” he whispered. He couldn’t believe he was trusting in a ghost story, but he knew in his gut there was a find to be made here. But where?

  He turned his light up to the ceiling and played it back and forth, examining every inch. And then he saw it. Just short of the spot where the passageway made a hard left, a section of brick had been covered over. He remembered what Timothy had said about the hidden door. It was covered with a thin layer of plaster.

  “Two times lucky?” he said hopefully as he began chipping away with his knife. He was rewarded immediately as his blade broke through the plaster and into an open space up above.

  He turned his head away from the falling chunks of plaster, the swirling dust burning his eyes and nostrils. When the dust had cleared, he hastily cleared away an opening wide enough for him to fit his shoulders through.

  The open space above was sufficient for him to stand. Directly in front of him was a stone shelf coated in dust. And on that shelf lay the skeletal remains of a man in colonial garb.

  His heart raced. Could it be?

  Maddock reached out and brushed aside a layer of the dust. His fingers ran across deep grooves. He leaned in for a closer look, wiping away the dust until he could see that there were words carved there. He let out a half of breath, raising the cloud of dust. When it cleared he could read the words.

  ISRAEL HANDS

  A REPENTANT MAN

  Israel hands! Maddock had found him. His eyes drifted to the skeleton’s left hand. Something was wrong. He saw it immediately. The ring finger was missing.

  “Damn!” Someone had gotten here first. He gave the skeleton a thorough inspection just to be safe but to no avail. The ring, if it had ever been there, was gone. And then he noticed something else — words scratched roughly into the dark stone just next to where the hand lay. He trained his light on the spot.

  A RING FOR MY BELOVED SOULMATE. MY LILLY OF THE VALLEY. HRH

  “HRH. H Rider Haggard. It’s got to be”

  So he had been right about Haggard. The problem was, Haggard had gotten there first.

  “Maddock, you won the battle but you’re still losing the war.” Disappointed, he made his way back to the door. He hoped there were no witnesses around, but there wasn’t much he could do about that. He listened for a moment, heard no sounds, and pushed the door open an inch. No one seemed to be about. Hastily, he crawled out, stood and brushed the dust from his clothing. He froze when he felt the barrel of a pistol pressed against the back of his neck.

  “Remain very still and no one will get hurt.”

  Chapter 23

  The Truman Little White House, Key West

  Constance followed Avery down the street from a small parking area to her destination — the Truman Little White House. Did the woman work here? Perhaps she was a tour guide or something.

  Absently, Constance touched the spot at the small of her back where her pistol was hidden before following along. Florida’s only presidential museum, the Harry S. Truman Little White House had served as the winter White House for America’s 33rd president. Presidents Taft, Eisenhower, Kennedy, Carter and Clinton also used the house. She paid the admission fee and wandered the interior, pretending to admire the exhibits.

  When she was satisfied that Avery was nowhere to be found, she sought out help from the woman at the ticket counter. She had curly gray hair, and squinted at Constance through narrowed eyes, probably a result of not wearing the glasses which hung from a chain around her neck.

  “Excuse me,” Constance began, “I was supposed to meet a friend here. She ought to have already arrived but I can’t seem to find her. I was wondering if you might have seen her.” She described Avery and gave her name.

  The woman flashed an easy smile. “Yes, of course I know Ms. Halsey. She works here. I’ll give her a call.”

  Constance opened her mouth to tell her there was no n
eed to call Avery. The woman could simply direct her to Avery’s office. But the lady was already talking into the phone. She hung up after a brief conversation, turned and smiled.

  “She will be here in just a moment. Sorry to make you wait but we’re fussy about security even though this is a small museum.” She spread her hands as if to say, What are you going to do?

  Constance forced an easy smile, and stood, waiting.

  A few seconds later, a gruff voice said, “You are here to see Avery Halsey?”

  She knew immediately that something was wrong. She reached for her pistol but powerful hands seized her by the wrists. She drove her heel backward catching the man in the shin. He let out a grunt but his grip did not weaken. She drove her head backward, hoping to catch him across the nose, but he was ready for it, and moved aside. She only hit his shoulder.

  “None of that,” he said. “You might as well stop fighting. You’re not going to get away.”

  Rage boiled inside of her. For a moment she considered kicking him again, but she immediately realized the futility of her situation. Another man, tall and lean with short brown hair stood before her. He smiled, his demeanor relaxed, but she could tell by the way he stood, the way he held his hands, that he was ready to strike at a moment’s notice. The old woman who had sold her a ticket stood a few feet to the left, aiming a stun gun at her.

  “Who the hell are you people?”

  “My name is Greg,” the tall man said. We will discuss the rest in our office.” He glanced at the man who was still holding Constance and gave a small nod. She felt something cold pressed against her neck and then everything went black.

  She regained consciousness to find herself handcuffed to a chair at one end of a long table. It looked to be the sort of meeting room found in any office.

  To her left sat a big man with a military bearing. Greg sat on her right, and on his other side, Avery. At the far end of the table, hands folded, sat an attractive, dark-skinned woman in a business suit.