Alexa snorted. “Please. Tyler’s not going to get hurt.”
Brielle was unexpectedly miffed, interpreting the response as a suggestion that she meant nothing to him. “What do you mean by that? I’m not good enough for him?”
Alexa looked at her in confusion and then her eyes widened. “Oh! No, that’s not where I was going. No, I’ve seen the way Tyler looks at you. He likes you, but I know about your religious incompatibility. I just meant…well, Tyler’s a resilient guy. After what he’s already been through in his life, I think he can handle anything. He’s the strongest man I know.”
Brielle’s hackles lowered. “And I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He’s a proud big brother. There’s one thing that would destroy him, and that would be losing you.”
“How much farther?” Tyler yelled out. They’d fallen behind the fast pace that Brielle had set, so she and Alexa waited for them to catch up. She could see Grant pushing himself. The Nazi poison was taking its toll.
“Just a few more blocks.”
They turned onto the Royal Mile, the inclined road that connects Edinburgh Castle at the top of the hill to Holyroodhouse, the palace that serves as the UK monarch’s official residence during stays in the Scottish capital. After a short walk, they made another left and arrived at the National Museum of Scotland.
The museum wasn’t yet open for visitors, but Brielle had pulled a few strings with a professor she knew and arranged an audience with the keeper, or head curator, of the department of Scottish history and archaeology.
A tiny woman with gray hair and an angular face met them at the door.
“Ms. Cohen?” she asked in a chirpy voice that crammed Brielle’s last name into one syllable.
Brielle nodded and introduced the rest of the group.
“Pleased to meet you. I’m Audrey MacNeil, keeper of the Scottish historical collections. Do come in. When Professor Campbell called and mentioned that you had an emergency, I was only too happy to help.”
She led them through several galleries and onto a lift.
“The nineteenth-century artifacts are located on level three.”
“Dr. MacNeil,” Tyler said, “what do you know about John Edmonstone’s relationship with Charles Darwin?”
MacNeil raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s an interesting question. Edmonstone lived very close to Charles Darwin and his brother Erasmus while Charles was here at the medical college. We believe Darwin may have learned some of his methods for preserving specimens from Edmonstone.”
“Do you know if they ever went to Loch Ness together?”
The door opened and she ushered them out. “What an odd thought,” she said as she walked. “Why would you ask that?”
Alexa jumped in. “We have reason to believe that Mr. Edmonstone wrote a journal about a trip he took with Darwin. It’s possible the trip took them all the way to the Scottish Highlands.”
“I don’t know of any journal like that. Where did you say you saw it mentioned?”
They walked into an airy gallery labeled Kingdom of the Scots and stopped just inside.
“We haven’t seen it yet,” Brielle said. “You acquired two stag heads three months ago from an estate sale in Glasgow.”
MacNeil brightened at that. “Oh, yes. Magnificent pieces. Both ten-point bucks. Although we haven’t been able to confirm it, we suspect John Edmonstone mounted them.”
Grant snickered at that but quieted when he realized no one else was laughing.
“How do you know?” Brielle said.
“A small plaque on the back of the trophy mount is etched with his initials.”
“Would he have had these in his home?” Tyler asked.
“We don’t know, but I wouldn’t think so. Trophies such as these would be quite expensive in the early eighteen hundreds. Whoever shot the deer might have hired him to stuff them, but it’s unlikely the owners would have given them to him.”
“They would make good advertisements, though,” Grant said. “What if he bagged them himself?”
“I suppose it’s possible, but that meant he would have poached them. Why all these questions about the stag heads?”
“Because we think Edmonstone may have hidden something inside one of them,” Tyler said. “Did you take them apart when you restored them?”
“There was no reason to. They were maintained in excellent condition, and the wooden mounting board showed no rot. A thorough cleaning was all that was required. If there were some kind of secret panel, I assure you we would have seen it.”
“I know this is asking a lot,” Alexa said, “but may we take a look at them?”
MacNeil frowned. “You certainly are asking a lot. Those trophies are artifacts of great historical significance, both because of the possible connection to Edmonstone and because of the royal ownership. I would need more evidence than simply your theory before I allowed you to inspect them.”
“Dr. MacNeil,” Tyler said, “this is truly a matter of life and death.”
“How so?”
“That’s hard to explain.”
“Try me.”
“Please. We won’t touch them. We just want to see them. Maybe we’ll notice something you overlooked. If we do spot anything, we’ll point it out to you and let you decide how to proceed.”
MacNeil tapped her finger against her lips. “Since this is a favor for Professor Campbell, all right. But it will take a few days to arrange.”
Brielle choked. “A few days? We need to see them right now.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible.”
“Why?” Tyler asked, putting his hand on Brielle’s shoulder in a calming gesture.
“Because they aren’t here. We moved them last week to temporary exhibits.”
“Plural? Where?”
“We’re putting on two special exhibitions as promotions to get the tourists who might not otherwise know about us to visit the museum, and we thought the stag heads would be spectacular additions. One exhibition is at Holyroodhouse. The other is at Edinburgh Castle.”
THIRTY-TWO
Thanks to the extensive research she’d done for Laroche, Dunham knew exactly where to find the two stag heads. At the time she had done the research, she had no idea why the old man was so interested in the trophies. She figured he was hoping to add another odd display to his menagerie, but he knew all along that they were the key to finding the Loch Ness monster and the antidote to the Altwaffe chemical.
On the drive up, Zim proposed separating into two teams to destroy the contents of the trophies within minutes of each other. Once one of the exhibits was tampered with, the other location would be on alert, making the task much more difficult.
The unique settings required different approaches. Zim would take two men and go for the one at Edinburgh Castle, while she and a man whom she now knew as Cooper, posing as her boyfriend, would go to Holyrood Palace. Since the tourist attractions both opened at 9:30 in the morning, their operations could be synchronized.
Parking in the Old Town section of Edinburgh was a nightmare, so Dunham and Cooper, whose scruffy beard and long stringy hair made her feel as if she were slumming it with a reject from a grunge band, were dropped at the entrance to the palace by Hank Pryor. He would be in charge of the six men in reserve in case anything went wrong at either location.
The entry building at the front of the palace served as the gift shop, café, and gallery for traveling exhibitions. The gallery was currently closed in preparation for a new exhibit, so the stag head had to be somewhere in the palace itself.
She and Cooper would have brought weapons with them, but some vandalism incident at Windsor Castle had tightened security at all royal installations. Before they were allowed in, they were frisked by attendants looking for spray paint cans.
Once they were cleared, they stood in line with the early birds waiting to be the first people inside that day. As they paid for their tickets, Dunham asked the woman, “I understand you have some items from the National Museum of Sc
otland on display. I hear they have some fascinating objects. Where would we find those?”
“In the Great Gallery. It’s a long hall toward the end of the self-guided palace tour. You can’t miss it. Here’s a map. Would you like an audio guide?”
“No, thanks. The map will do fine.”
Dunham took Cooper by the arm and led him out of the building into the vast open-air forecourt, where she got her first good view of the palace. The weathered stone façade was flanked by two turrets on either side. The ruins of an abbey abutted the left edge of the square building, which wrapped around a central quadrangle. Though she imagined that the pomp and circumstance of a royal visit would give the building a certain majesty, Dunham recognized the pragmatic Scottish temperament in its design.
They crossed the forecourt and entered through the door at the center. Numbered placards indicated the direction of the tour. Dunham consulted her map and saw that the gallery was located on the left side of the building. With the security personnel situated in every room, there would be no hurrying there directly. They had to seem as if they were simply tourists taking in the grand appointments of the palace.
She pretended to gawk at the furniture and décor, prompting Cooper to do likewise. As they strolled, she rehearsed the plan in her head.
Once they reached the gallery, they would see how the stag head was displayed. They’d step aside and pretend to look for something in her purse while they decided on the final details of the plan. In addition, she would be handing him one of the two small bottles she was carrying. Although the liquid was clear and in disposable water bottles, it was actually a highly flammable form of alcohol they had bought at a local pharmacy.
When they were ready, Cooper would wander away from her in the gallery and place his open bottle on the floor in a location far away from the trophy. Then he would knock over the bottle so that the liquid spread across the floor. He would drop a lighter on it to ignite it, sending the security people running for a fire extinguisher.
While they were distracted, Dunham would search for the latch on the stag head. Failing that, she’d cut it open with the ceramic knife she had hidden in the lining of her purse. If she found the journal and it was small enough, she would pocket it and leave. If it was too large to carry inconspicuously, she’d have no other choice but to destroy it right then, no matter how curious she was to see what the journal’s contents revealed. Dunham would douse it with her bottle of alcohol and burn it, incinerating any chance of ever finding the monster.
* * *
After Zim was patted down, a pretty attendant pointed him to Edinburgh Castle’s outdoor ticket counter, but it was obvious where to go by the crowd shuffling ahead of him. Two of his men, Smith and Creel, were ahead of him in line. Both were medium height and build, though Smith was blond and wore glasses while Creel had a thick brown mop and a mustache. He would keep an eye on them, but the three of them wouldn’t interact until they put their plan into motion.
Zim got his ticket and map and walked past the gift shop through the portcullis gate, its spikes aimed ominously downward. His two men lagged until he passed, and then trailed him discreetly.
The castle was actually a mighty citadel, containing a huge complex of stone buildings surrounded by a series of stout walls. The grounds consisted of a church, barracks, the governor’s house, a prison, the National War Memorial, the crown jewels, royal residences, administrative offices, and museums. A central driveway wound through the complex until it ended atop the plateau where the oldest buildings were situated.
There was no need to stop and ask anyone where the stag head was being displayed. Smith and Creel had done reconnaissance in Edinburgh before Zim and the rest of them arrived. Holyrood turned out to be too small for the more elegant tactic they’d be using at Edinburgh Castle. In preparation for today, the two men had followed one of the male employees to his flat after the castle closed the previous night.
He turned out to be a Spaniard, one of the many foreigners the castle hired to interact with tourists from other countries. It didn’t take much persuasion at all to get him to reveal that Edmonstone’s trophy was on display inside the Great Hall on the castle complex’s top plateau. More importantly, he also provided them with information about the operation of the castle and the names of key managers.
The Spaniard also had several uniforms to borrow, black pants and sweaters with the castle’s logo, plus name tags that could be altered easily. Zim was too muscular to fit into the outfits, but Smith and Creel matched his size. The sweaters were on underneath their zipped jackets.
When they had all the information they needed, Creel smothered the Spaniard with a pillow while Smith held him down. Although the castle might wonder about the absence of the missing employee, Zim was sure the body wouldn’t be found until after their mission was complete.
Zim followed the path as it curled through the massive complex, impervious to the breeze whipping flags atop several of the buildings. Tourists posed for photos next to ancient cannons lined up along one of the outer defenses. Next to an outdoor café was a modern howitzer pointed at the northern part of the city. According to the map, its gun was fired at one o’clock every day except Sunday. One less soldier to worry about today.
The operation wasn’t without risk. The castle was one of the few in Britain that still maintained a military garrison, although it was largely ceremonial. However, the presence of the crown jewels of Scotland made security at the castle a prime concern. The Great Hall was positioned adjacent to the old Royal Palace, which housed the jewels. They’d have to complete the operation quickly before anyone realized what was happening.
On the castle ground’s top plateau Zim passed the National War Memorial and walked into Crown Square. He stopped in the center and acted like he was checking his map. Smith and Creel wandered past without looking at him. They headed to the bathroom next to the café, where they would dispose of their jackets and come back out in the guise of employees.
Zim strolled into the Great Hall’s antechamber, then into a long room with a vaulted hammerbeam ceiling high above. Chandeliers hanging from the timber crossbeams lit up the dazzling array of weaponry and armor lining the walls. Swords, knives, pikes, axes, and flintlock pistols hung from the ornate carved paneling that ended at a huge stone fireplace illuminated with the fiery red glow of an electric simulation.
Two employees, a man and a woman, stood behind a velvet rope, chatting and observing the visitors to make sure they didn’t touch the displays.
The stag head was to their left. It was among a dozen items supported by pedestals and identified by placards stamped with the National Museum of Scotland logo. The deer peered forward with a glassy stare, as if it were still on the lookout for the hunter who had felled it, the rack of antlers at the ready to defend itself.
Zim dawdled at the midpoint of the hall and saw Smith and Creel enter wearing their uniforms. They headed straight for the two employees, and Zim could overhear their conversation.
“Douglas,” Smith said, using the man’s name, “Mr. Cobham wants to see you at the information desk.” He used the name of a manager that the Spaniard had told them. The “Canada” label under Smith’s tag meant his American accent wouldn’t seem strange.
“Me?” Douglas said, nonplussed. “What for?”
“Not just you. He wants both you and Mary down there now. He said he may be a few minutes, so you should wait for him if he’s not there when you arrive.”
“That’s odd,” Mary said. “Did he say why?”
“No,” Smith said. “But he asked us to cover for you while you’re gone.”
“This can’t be good,” Douglas said. “All right.” He and Mary hurried away, never questioning the fact that they hadn’t seen Smith and Creel before. Zim had counted on the castle being big enough that the employees wouldn’t all know each other.
Smith and Creel stepped behind the rope. They needed to give Douglas and Mary a little time to clear the
square. Then they could start herding the tourists out, claiming the hall was being closed for maintenance. A “Closed” sign that they’d purchased would keep the curious at bay long enough for Zim to tear open their prize.
And if Douglas and Mary did return early, they wouldn’t get a second chance. Given how easily Smith and Creel had dealt with the Spaniard, Zim had no doubt that the two of them could kill a couple of lowly security guards with their bare hands.
THIRTY-THREE
Grant was glad Brielle had finally talked him into taking a taxi. He leaned his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes for the short ride to Holyrood Palace.
Although Dr. MacNeil was making inquiries about getting access to the stag heads after hours that evening, Tyler thought they should split up to see if they could spot anything unusual about the trophies with a visual inspection. Tyler didn’t want to separate from Alexa, so he took her to Edinburgh Castle while Grant and Brielle paired up to explore Holyrood.
Even though MacNeil told them that no one else had inquired about the stag heads, they were worried that Zim and Dunham had some inside knowledge that they weren’t aware of. It would be bold of them to try anything in such well-trod and protected places, but boldness hadn’t been a problem for those two so far. All Grant and his group could hope to do was scare them off until they could see if there was anything to the taxidermy book’s tale.
The cab came to a stop and Grant opened his eyes.
“We’re here,” Brielle said. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather check into a hotel and get some rest?”
Grant straightened up and forced himself to keep from yawning. “Why? I’m fine.”
“Bollocks. You don’t have to pretend with me. I know what’s going on. I’ve noticed you creaking around like an old man when you think no one’s looking.”
“I’ve felt worse.” Which was true to a point. During his wrestling days, he once wrenched his back so hard that he couldn’t move for three days. This pain was a slightly lower grade, but it was attacking every joint in his body, as if he’d been stretched out on a rack. He knew it was the advanced symptoms of arthritis, another indication that the Altwaffe was doing its work, aging his body beyond his years and making every movement a chore. No one had mentioned the gray hairs he was shaving from his chin and scalp every day. Combined with the constant fatigue, muscle weakness, blurring of vision, loss of hearing, and inability to focus on a task for longer than a few minutes, he could tell that he didn’t have much time before he wouldn’t be able to power through it any longer.
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