“What’s this? I thought you loved a good chopper ride.”
“Right now, all I’m thinking about is how nice it is to be on terra firma, but no, back we go bounding back up into the air.” But she hopped into the seat, put on her headset, and pulled her seat belt very tight.
The British Royal Air Force was true to their word, and thirty-five minutes later, they were buzzing the Thames, ready to set down at RAF Northolt.
As they watched the copter lift off back to its base in Wales, Nicholas said to Mike, “Remind me to send a thank-you note to our friends at the National Air Traffic Services.”
“Let’s send flowers, too. And chocolates. Maybe my firstborn—and yours, too.”
A black eyebrow went up.
She gave him a manic grin. “I didn’t mean it to come out quite like that, sorry.”
“Whatever, interesting idea.”
There was a modified black 5 Series BMW waiting for them on the tarmac. Against it leaned Hamish Penderley, detective chief superintendent of the Metropolitan Police’s Operational Command Unit. Since there’d been distance and time between them, looking at him now Nicholas would swear Penderley could billboard the benign grandfather. Penderley even smiled at them, a warm smile, something Nicholas couldn’t remember ever seeing, but then boom—“The prodigal returns. Did you have to do it with such a splash, Drummond?”
“Not a splash, sir, we managed to make it to land.”
Penderley shook his head. “What a cock-up.”
“No, sir, it wasn’t my fault.”
Penderley gave a bark of laughter, shook Nicholas’s hand.
“Of course you remember Special Agent Michaela Caine.”
“Yes, of course.” Penderley shook her hand. “I still remember that hat you wore the day of Elaine’s funeral. Welcome back, Agent Caine. I see you’re still walking and talking, quite a feat in this chap’s company.”
Mike said, “Good thing I come from hardy stock. But you know, sir, around Nicholas, you’re certainly never bored.”
A grizzled eyebrow flew up. “I’m still recovering. I still can’t get my head around the fact that he’s now an American FBI agent. And he thought I was strict.”
She’d liked Penderley when she’d met him at Elaine York’s funeral back in January. “We’re lucky to have him, sir. His mind would be a terrible thing to waste.”
Penderley laughed heartily. “Right. You’re welcome to it, all it ever did was cause me trouble. Come along.”
Once the BMW moved into traffic, Penderley got down to business. “We’ve blanketed Leyland’s house in Notting Hill. It appears no one’s there, and we’ve had eyes on the house for the past two hours. No one’s heard from Leyland, either. His people said he had a meeting at noon today and hasn’t been seen since.
“I’m beginning to worry. Special Branch is making all sorts of noise, wanting in on this. We won’t be able to put them off much longer, especially now that they know about this phantom submarine and Loch Eriboll, is it? Near the North Sea?”
“That’s right. Loch Eriboll. I have the exact coordinates for the sub.”
“Bringing up a sub isn’t something just anyone can do. The planning has begun, but they won’t be able to be in place to raise it until tomorrow at the earliest.”
“A problem with that plan, sir. Havelock is surely making his own preparations to raise this sub, if he hasn’t managed it already. He needs Adam Pearce for the final coordinates, so we need to find this kid before Havelock gets his hands on him.
“It’s scary stuff. With Havelock’s assembling polonium, going off the grid, and this unknown weapon, there’s no time to waste. Adam Pearce told us to meet him at Leyland’s. Hopefully he’s there now staying out of sight. Then we’ll head to Loch Eriboll, locate the sub and find this mythical key everyone’s searching for.”
“What’s the key to?”
“Possibly to something created by Madame Curie way back in the early part of the twentieth century. Something that can go with the polonium Havelock’s been gathering. Putting together the two supposedly will make a very powerful weapon. We need Adam Pearce and Sophie. They’re the only ones who know the whole story.”
Well, also all the members of the Order knew, but his father’s request, no, more a plea, sounded in his head. Protect the Order, keep the police away from them. Very well, he would remain quiet for the time being. But if everything went arse up, he himself would arrest every last member he could find, and be damned what happened to the Order.
Mike was watching him. He had the odd sensation that she knew what he was thinking.
Nicholas said, “Any sign of Havelock?”
“His plane landed in London, then departed again. We have no idea where he is.”
His mobile rang. He glanced at the screen. “Who’s this, 01856? That’s the Oxford code, isn’t it?”
Mike said, “Answer it. Maybe we’ll get lucky, and it’s Adam Pearce, calling to say he’s saved the day.”
“Perhaps.” Nicholas put it on speaker and answered. “Hullo?”
A woman’s voice, low, frantic. “Agent Drummond? It’s Sophie Pearce. You have to help me.”
61
West Park
Oxford
3:45 p.m.
She had to get out of this room, out of the house, back to London, to find Adam. She looked toward the fireplace, looked again, and knew what to do.
She picked up a poker, two and a half feet of solid, tempered iron, and hefted it in her hands. She went to the door, took a deep breath, and screamed.
“Help me! I’m sick, help me! Something’s wrong with me. I’m going to vomit. Please, you have to let me use the bathroom.”
The guard was still out there. Good. He yelled, “Shut up.”
“Please. I’m so sick. Something’s wrong. You don’t want to get in trouble for—ooh!” She started making gagging noises.
She heard the guard curse, then the jangle of keys.
As he opened the door, she shoved hard against it, knocking him off balance, and struck him in the chest with the poker as hard as she could. She slammed the poker into the top of his head.
He was out cold. She hit him again for good measure, then ran down the long, wide hall, nearly dark because all the doors on either side were closed. She was almost to the stairs when she heard voices from below. Someone must have heard her yelling about being sick, or they’d heard the guard. No time. She ducked into the nearest room, pulled the door closed behind her, and threw the bolt.
She was in a private study, oak floor covered with antique carpets, bookshelves climbed the walls, dark as the paneling. A computer on a large mahogany desk, and a phone.
She grabbed up the phone and started to dial Adam’s cell. No, better, the FBI agent, Nicholas Drummond. It didn’t matter that she’d lied to him, and he’d known it, that he’d taken her father’s SD card and now knew about the Order. But what if he hadn’t come to England, what if—no, she knew he’d come. What was his number? She forced herself to calm, pictured the card he’d handed her with his cell number scrawled on the back. She let the image coalesce—as she did when learning a new language—and the letters and numbers took shape, rearranged themselves into patterns—and there it was. She dialed. Please, please, know where I am, please be able to find me.
“Hullo?”
“Agent Drummond? It’s Sophie Pearce. You have to help me. Please tell me you’re in England.”
“Sophie? Yes, we’re here. Are you okay? Where are you? We’ve been looking for you.”
“I don’t know. North of London, but Alex made me pull a hood over my head near Weymouth. I think it was about fifteen minutes later when we stopped. There was a long gravel drive and the house I’m in is big, and there are gardens and acres and acres of land. I’m on the third floor. Oh, no, I hear people coming.”
>
“Don’t panic. You must stay on the phone, keep talking to me. We’ll triangulate the call.” He spoke to someone out of her hearing, then came back. “Do you know who ordered you kidnapped?”
“It had to be the Order, to protect me, Alex said, but I don’t think it’s true. Have you found Adam? Is he okay? Do you know about the sub?”
“We’re looking for Adam right now and, yes, I know about the sub.”
“They want to find out where the sub is, and Adam’s the only one who knows. Unless you managed to decode the SD card?”
Drummond said, “Yes, I did and I know exactly where the sub is. Describe the gardens for me, tell me about the grounds of the estate. Maybe you’ll see something helpful.”
She left the phone and ran to the window. The view was slightly different here, she could see more of the house, more of the land. She was back on in an instant. “It seems like it’s in the middle of nowhere. The long driveway, there are trees on either side in two perfect rows. I’m facing west, there seems to be some sort of big turret to my right, and the house is sand-colored stone.”
“Well done. Where’s Alex?”
“I don’t know. His name isn’t Grossman, it’s Shepherd.”
“We know. He’s MI Five.”
“No, that can’t be right. He was working undercover to protect my father, that’s what he told me, but now I don’t know. MI Five?”
“He does both. However, he hasn’t acted like a man with your best interests at heart, has he?”
“He spent the whole plane ride telling me the Order was going to protect me, but then he brought me here, locked me in a room and put a guard on the door. I managed to trick the guard into opening the door and I bashed him with a poker.” She heard footsteps outside the study door. “They’re here—please, find me soon!”
“Keep the line open.”
She heard his words even as she looked around the study. No place to hide. She watched the deadbolt slide back.
The door opened, and a tall, lean, middle-aged man in a beautiful gray suit stepped in. He was handsome, objectively, but when he smiled at her, she felt fear slam into her.
“Hello, Sophie.” His voice was smooth, his accent odd, some British, some German. “Ah, I see you’ve made a call. Hang up the phone now.”
“No. I won’t do it.” She ran back to the desk and grabbed up the phone. “Please, help me!”
He crossed the room in three strides and slapped her, hard across the face, slammed the phone down into its cradle, and yanked the cord from the wall. Still smiling, he threw the phone across the room. It crashed against the marble fireplace.
He turned back, grabbed her hair, and hurled her toward the bookcase. She landed hard on the floor, her back hitting so hard two books fell off the shelves to land beside her.
He came down on his haunches in front of her, grabbed her hair again, forced her face up. “Don’t ever disobey me again. Do you understand?”
His hand was so tight in her hair she could barely nod.
“Good. Now you will stand and walk over to that chair. You will sit down and then we will have a conversation.”
He gave her his hand, a long narrow hand, long, thin fingers. She felt her heart pounding, fast and hard, felt her brain blur, and she wanted to run and scream and scream—hysteria. No, she had to get herself together. Her scalp hurt and her back was sore from striking the bookcase, but she could move. She took his hand and wanted to scream again. His flesh was dry and cold. “Who are you?”
“Dr. Manfred Havelock, of course. I’m looking forward to our getting to know each other.”
He pulled her to the desk, shoved her down into the chair.
62
West Park
4:00 p.m.
Sophie was sitting backward in the chair. Havelock jerked her arms behind her, making her groan with the pain, and bound her wrists together. He tied a thin gag in her mouth. He straightened and stood for a moment, looking down at her. He picked up the letter opener, lightly glided the sharp edge along her cheek, and laughed softly. Then he was behind her slashing the letter opener down, ripping her shirt to her waist, and he spread the fabric apart. He sliced through her bra strap, and looked with pleasure at the flawless expanse of white skin. He touched a fingertip to the slight mark from her bra, rubbed it away.
“Tell me the coordinates of the submarine.”
“I don’t know. I swear to you I don’t know!”
“Of course you do, dear heart.”
“No, no, I don’t. Adam wouldn’t tell me. He said it was better I didn’t know, it’d be safer.” Now, that was a joke. She waited, so terrified she could scarcely breathe.
He said no more, merely looked down at her. Oh, her back would mark so beautifully. But he had to be careful and not get carried away. What was important now were the coordinates to the submarine. März was already on the Gravitania with Adam Pearce, and the damned boy was refusing to tell him anything. März wanted to beat it out of him, but Havelock knew März didn’t have the talent to do it properly. He’d fall into a rage that turned his world red and he wouldn’t be able to stop and the boy would be dead. So it was up to him. He knew exactly what to do.
He looked up to see Elise slip into the room. “Come here and look at her, my dear. Her eyes—can you see the fear in them? I have asked her the coordinates. I have been polite. She swears she doesn’t know. So I will move on. Watch what your master can do.”
Sophie pulled and jerked her wrists. Havelock said, “Go ahead, Ms. Pearce, struggle to your heart’s content.” He ran his hand down the length of Sophie’s spine, his eyes on Elise the whole time. Ah, now she was thrashing about, making frantic yipping sounds. Elise ran her tongue slowly over her bottom lip and he stilled, but only for a moment.
He hit a button on his cell phone. While it rang, he said, “Now, Ms. Pearce, we’re going to play a little game.” The call connected, and he spoke into the cell.
“März? Do you have the boy close?”
“Yes, he is here. He is listening.”
“Then by all means let’s allow them to speak to one another.”
Havelock punched the speaker button and set the phone down on the desk, close to Sophie. He smiled as he reached inside her shirt and caressed one breast. Then he slapped her hard on the back. She rewarded him with a muffled groan through the gag. Havelock walked around to the side of the chair so she could look at him.
“Very good, very good. Now I want you to cry for your brother.”
Her dark hair tangled in her face and he pushed it out of her eyes. He saw fear, panic, but, alas, determination.
“Stubborn, are you? I think a little added incentive will make all the difference.”
He took Elise’s favorite cat-o’-nine-tails, the one with small lead weights on the ends of the soft suede, perfect for leaving marks on the flesh without opening a wound, moved into position, and struck.
Not terribly hard, he didn’t want her to think this was the worst it could possibly be, not yet.
The whip whistled through the air and landed against her back. She jerked, her breath heaved out, and she grit her teeth.
He did it again.
“Your father told the Order he’d found the sub. I’ve been waiting for this to happen, you see. I’d been watching him, watching the communications between your father and your brother. I’ve been waiting for so long, so many years, so much planning.”
He struck her, but she made no sound.
“Yes, I had to identify exactly who would help me, how I could get into the Order.”
He struck again, harder, and then again. She was crying behind the gag, low, retching sobs.
“Your father wasn’t supposed to die. It was incompetent bungling and I regret it. He had so much knowledge, and it was a true waste, losing him.” He hit her twice more, once from
each direction. “Ah, Elise, the stripes are rising, a lovely red, and there is bruising beginning over the ribs.” He leaned forward and jerked the gag from her mouth and struck her again.
She yelled. It was delicious, too delicious. He had to keep himself focused, couldn’t allow himself to enjoy this the way he’d prefer. Pay attention, pay attention. “Perhaps you’re an exceptional liar, sweetheart, perhaps you don’t know the coordinates after all?”
He grabbed her hair and pulled her head back. “Tell me, come on now, tell me.”
“I don’t know the damned coordinates!”
He paused. “Yes, I believe you. So now you must tell your brother to give März the coordinates, or we’re going to move on to the real show. You believe I’ve already hurt you? You have no idea what I can do.”
He held the phone to her lips. “Tell him.”
She was breathing hard, pain choking her. Her back was on fire. She met his eyes and slowly she nodded. He put the cell phone to her mouth and Sophie yelled, “Don’t tell him anything, Adam!”
Havelock shook his head at her like a mournful parent. “That was a mistake, my dear.”
He set the phone next to her head, selected the smaller of the three whips he had with him, the leather one studded with small iron rivets. He knew from personal experience the pain was extraordinary, when applied correctly.
The first blow brought round welts out on her skin. The second drew blood. And she screamed and screamed for him. He paused, breathing hard, and picked up the cell phone.
“Do you hear that, Adam? She’s bleeding now. I’ll move on to other, more persuasive methods if you do not tell me the coordinates immediately.”
He heard sounds of a struggle, März’s curses, then Adam Pearce’s furious voice spoke in his ear. “I’ll tell you, you sadistic bastard. Don’t touch her again, swear to me you’ll let her go.”
Havelock slowly slid the whip down Sophie’s spine, smiled. “Of course I swear. Where is the sub? I want to hear the coordinates myself.”
The Lost Key Page 25
