The Lost Key

by Catherine Coulter

  Mike’s cell phone beeped. She ignored the request to uncuff Brown, and instead answered her phone. Nicholas listened with one ear to the conversation until he saw Mike tense. She said, “Channel two? Okay,” and hung up, pulled out the walkie-talkie she carried in her pocket. She adjusted the walkie to the right channel, handed it to Nicholas. “The man they saw casing the store earlier is coming. He’s a block away.”

  Sophie said, “Who’s coming?”

  Mike quickly uncuffed Brown and gave him a little shove toward Sophie. “You two go to the back office. Now. And lock the door.”

  17

  Ariston’s

  12:20 p.m.

  Sophie knew they had to hurry. She slammed the door to the office, threw the deadbolt, and ran to the circular stairs. When they were safely belowground, she faced him.

  He’d grown some more, at least a couple inches. Now she had to look up at him. But right now she was so mad at seeing him, so afraid for him, that she didn’t know whether to hug him or hit him.

  “You’re supposed to be in California. Caltech wasn’t to your liking? Did the brains there catch on to who you really are? Tell me the truth now, why are you here?”

  “You know why I’m here, Sophie. We have a major problem. Someone in the Order has betrayed us.”

  She slammed her fist into his shoulder. “The grand search again? Adam, when will you and Dad give that up?” Her voice caught. She looked stricken. “Oh, no, no, Dad’s dead.”

  Adam Pearce ran a hand through his too-long hair. “I know, I’m sorry, Sophie. But this is so important, the most important thing in Dad’s life. And now that they killed him, I’ve got to keep on with it.

  “Sophie, listen to me, I found it, I found the sub. I called Dad last night and told him, and he was going to share the news with a few members of the Order. And today he’s dead. Either the Order has a traitor or there’s something even worse going on.”

  “Really? You actually found the sub, after all this time? Nearly a hundred years? You actually found the Victoria?”

  Adam nodded. “I’m ninety-nine percent sure this is it. But now, Dad . . .” His voice trailed off and he simply stood there, looking at her helplessly, tears trickling down his cheeks.

  Sophie pulled her brother against her and held him, crying with him, and let the pain come.

  Their lifelong search for the lost World War I U-boat was really over? She said, “Was it worth Dad’s life?”

  He shook his head against hers. “No, no.”

  She said against his neck, “The FBI agents asked me if I knew who EP was. I didn’t tell them anything.” She slowly pulled back, took her brother’s young face between her palms. “You did it, Adam, if anyone could find it, you could. I’m so proud of you. Dad was, too, wasn’t he?”

  “Oh, yes. But you know Dad, he said something like, ‘Well, it’s about time.’” Their father had known his son would find the sub when Adam’s genius had burst forth at the age of eight, and he’d hacked into their bank’s checking-accounts system. He’d been caught that one time and everyone had marveled and laughed and given the little genius a pat on the shoulder. It was the last time he got caught. Soon he’d been able to dig deep into computer networks, circumvent firewalls and other security measures. At fifteen, their father had given him the mission: find the Victoria.

  She tried to smile, seeing her father speaking, but she couldn’t. “The FBI agent said Dad had some satellite specs on his computer that were classified. I take it you know how he got those?”

  He swiped away the drying tears on his face, waved his hand. “That’s irrelevant.”

  “Adam, it is not irrelevant. The FBI are pissed, and looking in to who sent the info to Dad. I think they knew I was holding back. Those two, they’re not going to go away. I know they’ll keep after me. And they want Adam Pearce very badly. And they saw a photo of us as kids, you know, the one in Dad’s bedroom.”

  “I look different. Don’t worry, I’m Kevin Brown—quick thinking, sis. I’ve put hundreds of layers in to protect us both.” He grabbed her shoulders, made her look him in the eye. “I narrowed down the location of the sub last week. Last night I took command of a private satellite that was passing over Scotland to take a look. Dad and I always thought the Victoria was lodged deep somewhere, under an outcrop of rock or land. It’s only been in the last year that the satellite technology is to the point where it can see past underwater shelves. I mean, it can see right through the land under the water. And that’s where I found it, nestled up under a huge rock ledge in northern Scotland. Like I said, I told Dad last night, and we were supposed to meet today so I could show him. I couldn’t tell him where it was over the phone, it was too dangerous.”

  “Why didn’t you show him last night?”

  “Because I was still in California. I took the red-eye from L.A. I got here as quickly as I could. And then this morning, when I got the text, I headed straight from JFK to meet him here.”

  Sophie sat down on the floor, taking it all in, trying to make sense of the story. “You’re telling me Dad was killed because you found the sub? Why? Isn’t that what the Order wanted? I thought they’d be thrilled at the news, not homicidal. They’re supposed to be united on this matter.”

  Adam’s lean face was etched in misery. “They are. That’s why I need Dad’s phone, so I can see who he called last night. At least we can narrow it down. But there’s more, Sophie. I told you Dad texted me this morning and told me to meet him down at Wall Street. I did, even though I thought it was weird. But when I got there, he was already dead. So—I knew before you told me upstairs.” His throat clogged with tears. “I knew.”

  “Why Wall Street?” she asked. “Why there? It makes no sense.”

  “Because it’s away from Dad’s territory. I think the man who killed Dad sent a text to me from Dad’s phone, and one to Dad from mine. To draw us together.”

  “So the murderer was after both of you.”

  Adam nodded, chewing on his lip. “Yeah. Maybe. The minute I saw what was happening, I got out of there, headed up here. I was careful, took a couple of cabs, the train, to make sure I wasn’t followed.”

  “You weren’t followed. At least not by the man who killed Dad. The FBI got him, he’s dead.”

  Adam’s voice was hard. “Good. That’s good. I’m glad the bastard’s dead.”

  Sophie asked, “How would he text you and Dad? Did your phone get stolen?”

  “No, not mine, but it’s possible to spoof a phone number, you know that. Kid’s play. If someone broke into Dad’s and got their hands on his cell, they could do it easily.”

  He reached out a hand, squeezed hers. “Your hands are like ice.”

  “It’s all right, it’s nothing.”

  “Don’t shut me out, Sophie. Please. Not again.”

  “I’m not.” She began to pace, winding around the vitrine case in the middle of the room. “I’m trying to figure all this out. The two FBI agents are acting really strange, like there’s something they know but aren’t telling me. And they don’t trust me, not that I blame them. I’m not a very good liar. But you know I couldn’t tell them the truth, it’s far too dangerous, and since every cop in the known universe is after you—” She paused, then added, “They showed me a picture of the man who killed Dad.”

  “Did you recognize him?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you know as well as I do there’s lots they aren’t telling you. If they found Dad’s hidden SD card, then it won’t take them long to figure everything out. They haven’t had time yet. I have to get out of here before they come back, see if it’s too late to access Dad’s files remotely and delete them. I already got into his e-mail account. I didn’t see anything unusual, no outgoing messages.”

  “Could he have sent an e-mail, then deleted it?”

  “Yes, but I’ll have to brea
k into his e-mail client’s server to see what they have, and we’re running out of time. Soph, get me Dad’s phone. Whoever he called, whoever he wrote, that’s who had him killed.” His voice cracked, and suddenly he was a little boy, and she his big sister, there to protect him. “I can’t believe he’s dead.”

  Again, she held him close for a moment. Could he, nineteen years old, barely a man, could he fix things? She didn’t know. “Adam, if the Order killed Dad and want you dead as well, then you’re in danger. I don’t want you hurt.”

  “You know we can’t stand by and wait to see what they’ll do, Sophie.”

  “I know, I know, we have to find out who did this. I’ll see if the FBI will give me Dad’s phone, or at least tell me who he called last. You need to disappear.”

  His face was pale in the red-tinged light. “Now that I think about it, I don’t understand why they’d want to kill me, since I’m the only one who knows where the sub is located and could tell them. And they want that sub. Yeah, if they got that info, then I’d no longer be necessary to them, and whack.”

  They would kill him, but she didn’t say it aloud, no need. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, lose Adam, too.

  “Tell me where the sub is. Exactly.”

  “No, no way, not until we figure out what’s happening. You didn’t know yesterday, and you don’t know today. It’s safer that way.”

  She saw he wouldn’t budge. He was more stubborn than she was. “Fine. We have to get you out of here. Use the back door, out into the alley. I’ll contact you if I find anything out, and you do the same. But don’t come back here, and don’t go to the house. You hear me? And watch your back.”

  He thought for a moment, then nodded. “I’ll be in the Village for a while with Allie. You know how to reach me.” He turned to go, but she grabbed his arm.

  “Wait, wait. There is something else. Dad said something before he died, they have it on video. It’s nonsense, really, but maybe it will make sense to you. ‘The key is in the lock.’ Do you know what that means?”

  “Well, sure I do, but—”

  She heard the voices of the FBI agents and cut him off. “Damn, they’re coming back, you have to go. Now.”

  She opened the fire door and waved him away, but he stopped, looked back, and gave her a rakish grin. “‘The key is in the lock’—it’s not what you think, sis.”

  “Adam, where’s your wallet? Really?”

  “In my shoe.”

  Then he was out into the alley, up the stairs, and out into the bustling New York streets.

  18

  Nicholas and Mike waited for Sophie and Kevin Brown to disappear into the office, safe, out of harm’s way, then Mike grabbed the walkie from Nicholas and moved to the right, to the nearest stack, so she’d be hidden from sight. Nicholas melted into the first stack on the left, and together they waited to see if the man came through the door. Mike clicked the button on the walkie so they could hear everything being said outside, but turned the volume down so the intruder couldn’t hear anything at the store’s door.

  Nicholas listened to the surveillance team intently until they suddenly went silent. He nodded to Mike, who whispered, “What’s he doing, what’s he doing?” into the walkie.

  Nicholas recognized Special Agent Ben Houston’s voice. “He stopped two doors down. We’ve got a loose box around him so he won’t get away. He’s watching the street, probably looking for us. Hang in there, let’s see what he does. Okay, he’s moving now, coming toward the door. Bald, about six feet, wearing jeans and a Windbreaker. Young, rangy guy, looks buff, real strong.”

  Nicholas said to Mike, “I’m half tempted to let him come in, see who he is and what he’s after.”

  She duckwalked to his position. “Too chancy. He could come in guns a-blazing.”

  Ben’s voice came through the walkie. “He means business, people, he’s being deliberate now, not looking around or watching for a tail. Okay, here he is, at the door. You should be able to see him now. He has something in his left hand, I see metal, might be a weapon—”

  Nicholas grabbed the walkie from Mike’s hand, said, “Take him. Take him now.”

  Nicholas and Mike stepped out into plain view, weapons raised, and watched the surveillance team converge on the suspect. They saw his head was shaved and he wore a black goatee. He took one look in the glass door, met Nicholas’s eyes, saw the weapons pointed at him, and threw his arms up in the air.

  “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!”

  Ben appeared behind him, shouting, “FBI, FBI. Put your hands on your head, get down on your knees. Do it, do it now!”

  The man went down on his knees, no hesitation. Ben wrenched his arms back behind him and cuffed him as Mike opened the shop door.

  She stood over him, hands on her hips. “FBI. Who are you?”

  The man looked confused. “Whoa, whoa! FBI? What’s going on here? What in the world is happening?”

  Mike slipped her Glock back into its clip at her waist. Nicholas very nearly smiled. She looked as tough without the Glock in her hand.

  Nicholas stepped forward. “Tell us your name.”

  “I’m Alex Grossman. I have a lunch meeting with Jonathan. He’s got a book I ordered; he called me last night. My phone’s in my pocket, you can check.”

  “What else? Maybe some needles, a weapon?”

  “No, man. Only my keys, my wallet, and my phone. What do I look like, a terrorist?”

  Mike said, “That isn’t funny, sir. Not at all.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m a little freaked out here, okay? Can I put my hands down?”

  Nicholas frisked him quickly and retrieved Grossman’s wallet, phone, and keys.

  He said, “Where were you this morning, Mr. Grossman?”

  “Asleep. I own the Bullet Pub. It’s also a restaurant. We had a private event last night, the group stayed way later than planned. I didn’t get home until after three a.m. I caught some sleep, then headed over here to meet Jonathan. Please, tell me what’s going on.”

  Nicholas nodded at Mike, flashed the small cell phone. “Pearce called him last night at eight-thirty p.m.”

  Mike nodded. “Tell me what Mr. Pearce said, exactly, Mr. Grossman.”

  “That the book had come in. That’s all. He always called when an order arrived. We chatted a bit, caught up. It’s his personal touch, why everyone likes doing business with him. What’s happening?”

  “Mr. Pearce was murdered this morning,” Mike said, then nodded at Ben to unlock the cuffs.

  “Jonathan’s dead?” Grossman sounded blank-voiced with shock. “But how? Why? I mean, it doesn’t make any sense.” Then he became very still, going inward, Mike thought, accepting his friend’s death as fact. He whispered low, “God rest his soul. Jonathan’s a great guy. Please, tell me you know who did it.”

  Mike ignored his questions, leaned against the counter, crossed her arms. “How well did you know Mr. Pearce, Mr. Grossman?”

  “Well enough. This can’t be happening. I don’t feel well, can I sit down for a minute?”

  Nicholas heard the back door open. Sophie stuck her face out, pale, scared. He waved for her to come to the front.

  Nicholas said, “This man says he’s here to pick up a book. Do you know him?”

  Sophie let out a big breath. “Oh, yes, I know him. He’s a very good customer. Alex, Mr. Grossman, how are you?”

  Grossman looked at her pale face and pulled her against him. “I am so sorry, honey, I’m so sorry. What can I do?”

  She gulped down tears. “Nothing, at the moment. Did you have an order in?”

  “Yes. Your father called me last night.” He glanced over at the register. “That’s it right there—the Tiffany blue cover. Auden’s Poems. Inscribed by Dick Grossman on the half-title.”

  Mike saw Sophie was frowning at Grossman, upset t
hat he’d spoken to her father. But she said, “Agent Drummond, may I? It’s already been paid for.”

  “I’m sorry, he’ll have to come back another time.”

  Sophie glanced at Grossman, then back at Nicholas. She stood straight, in good control of herself. “Agents, please. I’m going to have to close the store for the time being, until I can get caught up on everything. There’s no reason to hijack Mr. Grossman’s book. It’s already paid for. Please, my father wouldn’t want his store or his customers to suffer because of him.” Her voice stayed strong and steady, and Nicholas gave in.

  “Fine, but we need to get moving, so be quick about it.”

  Sophie packaged up the small book, wrapping it in several layers of brown paper and twine, as if it were glass and easily breakable. Nicholas had to resist telling her to hurry up, but again he had the feeling she knew more, and now she was using the time to get herself calmed and in control. He could be wrong, but he thought something about Grossman, about the phone call, had upset her. If so, why? They’d take a closer look at Alex Grossman. As Sophie wrapped the book, Grossman gave his information to Mike. If he owned a nearby business, he wouldn’t be hard to track down.

  Finally, Sophie handed the wrapped book to Grossman. He rested a hand on her shoulder. “I’m really sorry, Sophie. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call. I’m sure you won’t be interested in cooking for a while; stop by the pub, I’ll feed you. It’s the least I can do.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Grossman. I—thank you.”

  She turned away from him. Grossman watched her for a moment, then nodded to the agents and went out the door, the bell tinkling behind him.

  Mike asked, “Out of curiosity, how much was that book worth?”

  Sophie glanced at the small sales slip her father had tucked into the register the night before. “Forty-eight hundred dollars.”