Matt Drake 14 - The Treasures of Saint Germain

by David Leadbeater

  “Webb’s mercenaries did not hold back and even though he only seemed to have three or four of them it was enough to help block the roads with police cars and make his escape. Luckily for us he has Sabrina with him.”

  “She stayed?” Alicia looked impressed.

  “She did. I have faith in her. And her information matches the merc’s list. Despite having the chance to escape, she remained with Webb. We have Interpol searching, but given Webb’s proclivity for disappearing, I believe she is still our best chance.”

  “What did we learn about Webb’s trip?”

  “Very little,” Dahl admitted. “Saint Germain helped found Freemasonry here, so maybe their secret chants or handshakes are what he needs to progress, but Sabrina intimated that it may well be something to help pave his future. An introduction to a million open doors, or something. Who knows? The point is—he’s on to the next place now and Sabrina already told us where that is.”

  Drake cracked open another bottle of water. “My guess is Europe. The Count seems to have traveled further than bloody Boeing.”

  “And you would be right. The next stop for Webb is London, and the Haymarket Theatre. Lauren is no Karin when it comes to computers but she did find that Germain composed songs, and performed there.”

  Hayden scratched her head. “So now he’s a composer and actor too? Jeez, who the hell was this guy?”

  “Interesting,” Beau spoke up. “You’re on the side of the ‘dead’ camp.”

  “Whaa . . . say again?”

  “You believe he is dead.”

  “Of course he’s friggin’ dead. The man was born in 1712!”

  Beau said nothing. Alicia looked like she wanted to get a huge and sarcastic comment off her chest, but reined it in as she met Drake’s eyes.

  “Is it because you’re French?” Smyth rumbled bluntly. “You know, the romance of it all, the nostalgic passion and whatever?”

  “Aye,” Drake nodded. “The French sure love a weepie.”

  “What happened over there in Dubai?” They heard Kinimaka’s voice.

  “We lost ’em,” Hayden said very simply. “But the guy has at least six primary followers and can’t handle weapons. I don’t know yet how he ended up obsessed with Germain but he is a fanatic, a crusader dedicated to his cause. Amari is different again though—pampered, affluent, out of touch. Believes everything happens at the click of a finger, probably because all his life, it has. I truly believe the man has no grasp of the consequences of his actions and no sense of human life. Of course, that doesn’t help us much.”

  “Anything at his home?”

  Hayden clucked. “Another mistake. We cleared out of there in fast pursuit and now the cops have the house cordoned off. Must have traced the trouble back to him already. Bottom line is—we can’t access the house.”

  “So what next?” Dahl asked, more of a rhetorical question because everyone knew the answer.

  “So we’re heading for London,” Hayden said. “We’ll meet you there, guys. But just remember, everything has changed now. It’s sped up. Grown more dangerous. Amari and his cult know they’re being hunted, but my guess is they’ll still stop at nothing to protect their precious Count and all his treasures. He’s totally invested now. This is where it really begins. This is where the shit really starts to happen.”

  Drake nodded and rose to his feet. “Webb will follow his set of clues all the way to the end. If need be he’ll raze everything in his way. Same for Amari. At the very least we need to catch up with them.”

  “See you in London,” Dahl said.

  “See you, Torsty.” Alicia said with a smile. “And don’t forget—Kenzie’s a bitch. Don’t get on her sharper side.”

  “Yeah, thanks. I think I’m already there.”

  “Believe me,” Alicia muttered. “You’re nowhere near.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

  London was dismal the following morning, drizzle falling constantly from a gray slate sky. A cold wind whipped the lackadaisical Scotch mist to and fro, all over London Town, making the residents and the tourists miserable, cold and wet. Drake remembered thinking this kind of weather was “just for the sake of it”, something his mother used to say during the long, usually cold autumns north of Woolley Edge. The mood all around was dour, and wasn’t helped by the fact that Dahl’s team had been waiting for hours.

  Piccadilly Circus buzzed with activity; its flashing signs grabbing what attention they could; its statues standing tall, hard and cold, as leaden as the skies; its bright stores and restaurants standing closed, a non-tourist hour this, allowing its residents brief respite so that they might take a breather from a relentless life.

  Alicia looked up from underneath her hood. “You’ll have to wait for me,” she said. “I never, ever, pass a Cinnabon without opening my purse.”

  Drake tried but couldn’t restrain a healthy guffaw. “Purse? As if.”

  Alicia sniggered. “Yeah, that didn’t come out right. Chuck us a fiver, love.”

  In the end, Hayden managed to fish some crumpled English money out of a zippered pocket, leaving Drake wondering about the last time he’d made a personal purchase. In truth, he couldn’t remember. Their lives did not revolve around comfort and belongings. As Alicia came back, lips covered in cinnamon-dusted icing, he wondered what it would be like to lick it off.

  “C’mon guys,” Hayden interrupted his fantasy before it grew too intense. “Incredibly, we go down this road here called Haymarket.”

  “Just shows how important the theater is,” Dahl said.

  “Ah, but what was here first? The road name or the showhouse?”

  The Swede laughed and paused at the wide curving junction where cars and buses appeared to have full leave to aim at the scuttling road-crossers and slow-moving older people. The team waited for the lights to turn green, feeling a little out of place in traveler’s London, standing among the drifting crowds.

  As they waited, Hayden’s cell rang and she directed them all into a shop doorway. “Sabrina,” she said, then answered.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I am now,” came the hushed but still fiery Italian tones. “So long as you keep that sword-wielder you have away from my face. Many times she almost cut me. I am traumatized.”

  Kenzie grinned and leaned forward to say something but Hayden cut her off with a stare. “Sorry, she’ll never do that again.”

  Dahl held his hands out, palms up. “You weren’t there. We couldn’t have done it without her.”

  Drake nudged him. “Sorry to break it to you, pal, but you did fuck all except cleave a bunch of monks.”

  “Ah. And how did Dubai go?”

  “Better than your vacation, for sure.”

  Dahl looked ready to take it further, looking beyond disgruntled now, but Drake’s attention was grabbed by Sabrina.

  “We came by jet some time ago and ever since have been prowling the Haymarket Theater. Webb talks to me of his quest, how important it is and he is. How I might be invited to worship his glory in the future.” The thief sounded sick. “He is a vile man. But he knows no better. Wait . . .” Moments passed as she moved to a better position, the phone rustling in her pocket.

  “I am back. First, Webb already knows where the next and penultimate clue will be found. He has not explained further but I think I remember his words as being ‘at the place of his death.’ So now, this Saint Germain has a connection to the London theater scene. The greatest philosopher who ever lived, who always looked forty five, no matter at which country house, treaty, or party he was spotted, also had an extraordinary proficiency for the arts. The violin. Harpsichord. He was an improviser, an inventor in all walks of life.”

  “You memorized all this?” Smyth barked.

  “No. I have had it drilled into me for many, many hours,” Sabrina sighed back. “Torturous hours. I’m sure that I will dream of this long-dead Count tonight.”

  Hayden chewed her lower lip. “Better than dreaming of Webb, believe
me.”

  “So, he was a composer, this Count. His works were given to Tchaikovsky and Lobkowitz whilst at least two others were played at and gifted to the Haymarket. In 1745 and 1760, it seems. Webb says the next clue is in the composition, the words or notes of the song.”

  Hayden looked up through the drizzle, to the top of the highest buildings. “Of course. He would hide vital information in something that would live long after he was gone. I guess, if a follower has gotten to this point, the Count may already believe he is worthy.”

  “I can’t talk much longer and will then be unavailable for some time, as we’ll be moving on to . . . wherever. I do not know. Webb says our next stop is our penultimate prize. I suggest you move quicker.”

  “Does he have backup?” Hayden asked quickly as Drake gauged the road ahead and their path to the Haymarket. “Men? A trap? Anything?”

  But Sabrina was gone, called away by Webb himself it seemed. The team took a long look around.

  “Busy as all hell,” Smyth said. “And getting worse by the minute. But if Webb’s there right now . . .”

  “Worth a shot,” Drake said. “Or two.”

  Hayden headed out, followed by Kinimaka and Dahl. Drake came next with Alicia, Mai and Beau and then a final group traipsed along—Kenzie, Smyth, Lauren and Yorgi, watching the rear. A tour bus rumbled by as they passed shops almost covered in scaffolding. A steak house and signs for Dover Street Market. Lauren pointed out a Planet Hollywood across the street for Kinimaka, but the Hawaiian turned his nose up at it.

  “Not the same. I like rock with my burgers.”

  “How is the shot glass collection going?” Drake asked as they walked and reconnoitered.

  “Growing,” Kinimaka admitted. “My buddy Nigel posts them from all over the world. Either he’s better traveled than us guys, or has lots’a friends.”

  A theater, another burger place, and then Drake could see six white pillars and multi-colored banner advertisements hanging down across the sidewalk and guessed they were nearing the Haymarket. Again the group slackened off, taking the time to scrutinize the area. Drake saw no threats and picked up nothing on his trusted inner radar. Within a minute the team were attempting to gain access to the theater, calling up the locals for clearance and then waiting for some to arrive. All the time the clock ticked and Webb grew closer to his goal. By mid-morning the team and half a dozen skeptical looking coppers were entering the sacred innards of the Haymarket Theater.

  They spread out, searched the place. They asked the manager to open locked doors and old, unused rooms, archives. They searched for an hour and found no clue that anyone else had been there.

  Drake paused at the balcony of the first tier, looking below at the seemingly small stage surrounded by gilded fittings, drapes and mirrors. To see it empty like this, embellished and adorned with finery but desolate, lacking the one thing that filled its rafters with life, was a little unsettling. He just hoped to God that Alicia didn’t take to the stage and break out in song. That would really bring the place down.

  He leaned with hands clasping the tiny rail, staring into the distance. Had Sabrina ever been here? Was she playing them? Where in the world was Tyler Webb? More importantly—when would Mai actually come out and say she was unhappy with how things had gone?

  And what then?

  The last thing Drake wanted was two of the deadliest women in the world fighting over him. Hayden took that moment to use their comms system to admit there was no sign of Webb or Sabrina—or anyone else for that matter—and called the manager to the stage.

  Drake headed that way himself, seeing Dahl and Beau and Kinimaka also striding toward the rendezvous. Hayden waited. The theater’s manager was an indeterminate man, tall, gangly and wearing a jacket that was too tight and a watch that was too big. Oddly, he also sported a ponytail too, which maybe he thought was rakish.

  Alicia’s eyes were on it the moment she arrived. Drake warned her off with a raised brow. Hayden gained nothing from quizzing the man, not so much as a shifty sideways glance. Drake knew she believed he’d probably allowed Webb unfettered entry in exchange for a hefty paper wad—it was her CIA training—but saw no deceit in the man. After several minutes she altered her line of questioning.

  “What do you know of the history of this place?”

  “The last twenty years? Most of it. I have been manager a long time.” He looked happy with himself.

  “Further back,” Hayden said. “I was thinking more mid-eighteenth century and a dude called Saint Germain.”

  “Nah, I definitely wasn’t manager then.” He tried a smile that fell flat, then rubbed the back of his neck. Again Alicia’s eyes lit up as the ponytail started to bounce.

  “But you know this place wasn’t the Haymarket then, surely?”

  Hayden frowned. “It wasn’t?”

  “Nah, the original building is a little further north. Same street, but redesigned in the early 1800s.”

  “And its . . .” Hayden struggled for the right words. “Works of art. Paintings. Compositions. Songs.”

  The manager creased his entire brow. “Well, those are always sent to the British Museum. In particular, if they were donated to the theater.”

  “Saint Germain donated the songs,” Lauren affirmed.

  Drake took it in. “And, my friend,” he moved closer. “You’ve told nobody else this in let’s say . . . oh, the last hour?”

  “Umm . . . no. But if I did does it mean I’m in trouble?”

  “Was he alone?” Hayden rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration.

  “No. He came with a young woman, his daughter I thought at first. But not so. They were entirely different.”

  “No . . . bodyguards?”

  “Nah.”

  At that moment Hayden’s phone chirped. She held up the message for all to see.

  Breaking into British Museum right now. Come quick!

  “She is useful,” Alicia admitted.

  Hayden spun to one of the local cops. “How far to the British Museum?”

  “You can run it in less than fifteen minutes. Unmarked cars might take almost as long.”

  “Then let’s go. And call for backup.”

  “What kind?” The cop was running and digging his radio out at the same time.

  “Everything. All of it. There’s no telling what this bastard has up his sleeve this time. Not to mention his enemies.”

  “Look on the bright side,” Drake said. “This time we have guns.”

  Kenzie huffed softly. “Mere curios. I’d do better with my katana.”

  “Your world—” Dahl winced at her “—is not ours.”

  Drake caught Alicia reaching out for the ponytail even as she started to run. “No,” he growled. “Do you have to tug on everything that dangles before your eyes?” The he cringed and started to sprint. “Don’t answer that, for God’s sake.”

  Out into the drizzle they ran and then ran even harder; the man who would rule the world only minutes from their grasp, his wild and devastating plans on the brink of fruition; the men who would destroy him at any cost no doubt concealed and planning an attack.

  Lives and livelihoods; war and peace; death and destruction:

  It all hung in the balance.

  CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

  Hayden followed the lead cops out into the eternal drizzle and cast a glance at the gunmetal skies. The low-hanging clouds matched her mood, and she could see no change coming in the near future.

  Alicia jogged along beside her. “Having fun?”

  “What? No. For some time now life has been about as much fun as a bullet in the back.”

  “Well, you would know.”

  “I feel that I don’t know my own mind, can’t trust decisions that I make.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because every big decision I make is wrong.”

  “So this is you. Running beneath a gray sky. Physically and emotionally.”

  Hayden sent an inquisitive glance
across. “Is that really Alicia Myles?”

  “New and improved. I’ve changed, or rather I’m trying to change but it’s a lot harder than you think.”

  “I get that you’ve stopped running. But you’ve found what you’re looking for. I haven’t.”

  “Ah, bollocks. So I have.” She stared at Matt Drake for a moment.

  “Maybe I’ll never find it because of the job we do.”

  Alicia nodded. “Fighting. Running. Chasing. Never stopping. I guess I got lucky.”

  Hayden managed a smile. “So I get the next pick of the bunch, huh? Who’s that? Smyth? Beau? Yorgi?”

  Alicia whistled. “All damaged goods.”

  “Yes,” Hayden whispered. “We don’t know the half of it. We’re all damaged goods. Once that childhood innocence lifts away—we’re all damaged goods.”

  She put her head down as they passed the National Opera and then cut past the tube station at Leicester Square. Here, droves emerged onto the sidewalk with little care for those already walking past and the area turned into a free-for-all. Dahl found a way via the road and zipped between slow-moving cars. Hayden’s cell reverberated at that moment and she fished it out automatically whilst on the run.

  “Jaye.”

  “Hi, Miss Jaye, this is Bob Todd calling from the President’s office. Is this a good time?”

  Hayden pulled the phone away to stare at the screen, doubting her ears. The number was not identified.

  It could be better, she thought and said, “Sure, we’re good for now.”

  “I’ll be brief then. The President feels this business with Robert Price has opened a few doors.”

  Hayden’s thoughts flicked back over the recent ex-Secretary of Defense and his betrayal of the United States. “It has?”

  “Well, first there’s a new Secretary of Defense. And Price’s . . . bad decisions . . . give us opportunity to change.”

  “They do?” Hayden was concentrating as they passed the Cambridge Theater, Foyles and then hung a sharp right down Denmark Street. She heard Kinimaka grunting something unintelligible about the old Forbidden Planet store, but tuned the Hawaiian out.