The Billionaire's Curse

by Richard Newsome

  It was still about a hundred feet to the ground, but Gerald stalled on the ladder, marveling at what lay beneath him.

  They were at the edge of a colossal open space. Even from his vantage point on one wall, Gerald couldn’t see the top of the cavern, which disappeared into the rocky shadows. The area must have been at least a hundred yards across at its widest point, possibly more. Near the bottom of the ladder were two racks of floodlights similar to the ones they’d seen back in the crypt. Gerald reached up and patted Ruby on the ankle. He pointed to a large block of sandstone near the lights and motioned for her and Sam to follow.

  They reached the ground and scurried across to the block, falling to the ground behind it.

  “What is this place?” Ruby whispered into Gerald’s ear but he shook his head, his eyes urging her to remain silent. They poked their heads around the edge.

  Ten yards away was a tall marble column, one of several that formed a ring inside the perimeter of the chamber. Large white marble blocks capped the tops of the columns, forming an unbroken band. About fifteen yards further in was a circle of about thirty identical statues—life-sized archers, standing about fifteen feet apart, each resting a crossbow on his shoulder. They all faced the center of the chamber, where, on a mosaic floor and right at the heart of the cavern, there stood a large rotunda, its gold roof glinting in the floodlights. The roof was supported by four marble pillars that also appeared to be made of solid gold. Then they all saw it.

  In the center of the rotunda was a black marble plinth. And, even though it was a good forty yards away, clearly visible on top of the plinth was a rectangular box, maybe three feet long, glittering with jewels.

  “That’s it,” Sam whispered. “It’s just like in the drawing—”

  Gerald clamped his hand over Sam’s mouth and with a jerk of his head indicated across the chamber.

  Standing beside one of the marble columns were the major and Chesterfield. They were studying a sheet of paper. Sam’s eyes bulged.

  The major straightened up and clapped Chesterfield on the shoulder.

  “Ready, Arthur? Watch out for the snakes.”

  Major Pilkington strode between the columns toward the center of the chamber, leaving Chesterfield trotting behind. He passed the archers and without breaking stride he was across the mosaic floor and up the three steps into the rotunda. Chesterfield joined him moments later.

  Gerald craned his neck to see. One of the columns was blocking his view. He nodded at Sam and Ruby and together they scampered over to the nearest pillar. They peered around the edge but still couldn’t see what was happening in the rotunda. Gerald dropped to his belly and commando-crawled the ten yards to the nearest statue. He sat in a tight ball with his back against the base. His heart beat hard, echoing in his ears. He glanced back at Sam and Ruby, peeking out from behind the column. He took a deep breath and ducked his head to see around the corner. The rotunda was only fifteen yards away. Inside it, the major and Chesterfield stood on either side of the black plinth, staring down at the glittering diamond casket.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it, Arthur?” the major said, running his hands over the top of the box.

  Chesterfield snorted. “For what the buyer’s paying, it’d want to be!”

  The major hesitated. “Whatever’s in here must be worth a blind fortune.”

  “We’ve discussed this already.”

  “We tell the buyer we couldn’t find it and we keep it for ourselves,” the major said. “Or find a second buyer and get some bidding going.”

  Chesterfield stared at the major.

  “We’re talking hundreds of millions of pounds, Arthur. Each! Think of it.”

  Behind the statue Gerald was joined by Sam and Ruby.

  “We may as well see what’s inside,” Chesterfield said, tempted by the major’s argument. “No harm in looking.”

  The major smiled.

  “Quite right, my boy,” he said. “No harm at all.”

  The major reached into his jacket and pulled out a black velvet pouch. He loosened the drawstring at the top and tipped it up. Into his outstretched palm slipped a diamond, the size of a duck’s egg.

  “Look at it, Arthur,” the major said, holding the gem up between his thumb and forefinger to catch the light. “Noor Jehan—the light of the world—the greatest diamond in history.”

  Chesterfield reached out and took the gem.

  “One hundred million pounds’ worth. And if this is only the key, imagine what’s inside the casket!”

  Back behind the statue, Gerald whispered to himself. “The diamond’s a key?” His great-aunt had been murdered for the key to a box.

  Chesterfield cupped the gem in his hand.

  “Ready?” he asked the major. The major didn’t need to reply; his eyes said it all.

  Chesterfield placed the diamond into a recess in the top of the box. It was a perfect fit.

  The moment the gem was in place, Gerald heard a faint click above his head. He glanced up at the statue. Slowly, the crossbow lowered from its resting place on the archer’s shoulder and snapped into place. Gerald looked around. Every one of the thirty archers now aimed a crossbow into the heart of the rotunda. His eyes darted to the ground and by his hand there was a sharp piece of stone, shaped very much like a…

  A grunt from the rotunda swept his eyes back to the major. Chesterfield was trying to turn the diamond in the casket lid.

  “It won’t budge,” he fumed. “It’s stuck tight.”

  The major edged around to help. “It hasn’t been opened for seventeen hundred years—it’s bound to be a bit stiff.”

  Chesterfield twisted hard on the diamond. It shattered into a million pieces in his hand. He looked at the major, dumbfounded.

  “What the deuce?”

  In an instant Gerald swung back behind the statue and snared Sam and Ruby by their shirt collars, hauling them on top of him in a tangle of limbs, squeezing them in as tight as he could. He opened his mouth to scream a warning.

  But before he could make a sound the circle of archers let fly a volley of arrows. They flew through the rotunda and slammed into the statues opposite, sending shards of stone shrapnel into the air. Round after round of arrows dropped into the archers’ crossbows. They zipped either side of Gerald and the Valentines, just missing them. Harrowing shrieks echoed out from the rotunda, where the major and Chesterfield had been standing. Gerald clutched his friends ever tighter as they all struggled to make themselves as small a target as possible. But then, as quickly as it began, the attack was over. The screams dissipated up into the shadowy ceiling, and the deadly crossbows returned to their resting places on the archers’ shoulders, their task done.

  Gerald peeked out from between Ruby’s arm and Sam’s neck. The chamber was silent. “A booby trap,” Gerald said, his heart racing. “I saw some old arrowheads on the ground but couldn’t warn them.”

  “Not your fault,” Sam said, his eyes wide. “No way you could have known.”

  Ruby sat clutching her knees and gulping in air. “Do you think they’re d…”

  Gerald’s hands were shaking. “I’ll take a look.”

  “Don’t!” Ruby shouted, then checked herself. “D-don’t leave this spot. There could be more traps.”

  Gerald nodded. He eased his head around the corner of the statue. The ground between him and the steps to the rotunda was littered with broken stone and shattered arrows. He scanned the area at the base of the black plinth. Chesterfield was slumped on the floor, at least eight arrows in his lifeless body, a stream of blood snaking its way to the top step. Gerald looked around for the major and saw a pair of tweed-trousered legs on the floor on the far side of the rotunda. There was no movement.

  Gerald crawled back around the statue’s base and sat facing Ruby and Sam.

  “No” was all he said.

  For a moment they sat there, too shocked to move.

  Ruby still clutched her knees and stared down at her feet. Her arms quivered. S
am pulled his sister in tight.

  “Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to protect whatever’s in that box,” Gerald said. He looked around the chamber nervously. “What other surprises are in here?”

  Sam shook his head. “You heard Chesterfield. If they used a priceless diamond as the key, imagine what’s hidden inside?” He sat upright. “Hold on! I thought diamonds were the hardest things in the world?”

  “They are,” Ruby said, wiping away a tear. “So what?”

  “Then how can a diamond shatter?” Gerald said, echoing Sam’s thoughts.

  The answer came from a composed voice behind them.

  “When it’s not a real diamond.”

  They swung around to see Sir Mason Green leaning on his cane between two of the columns at the edge of the chamber. They rushed to him.

  “Sir Mason,” Gerald said. “The diamond exploded in Chesterfield’s hand.”

  “Then the arrows got them,” Sam broke in.

  Sir Mason looked at them, concerned.

  “But you’re okay? That’s what matters.” He glanced at the rotunda and frowned. “I’m afraid for the major and his young colleague, though, the news is not so good.”

  Gerald looked into the man’s face. “What is this place, Sir Mason?”

  Green ran a hand down his pointed chin and cast his eyes around the cavern. “It appears to be some form of Roman burial chamber,” he said. “I was going to say Roman ruin, but judging by the fate of the major and young Chesterfield I’d say it’s in perfect working order. The Romans often set up elaborate traps to protect objects of great value.”

  Sam shook his head in wonder. “We should go and find Inspector Parrott.”

  Green, lost in thought, gazed around the cavern. “Yes,” he said absently. “I expect so.”

  Ruby spoke next.

  “Sir Mason?” she asked. “Did you know Major Pilkington very well?”

  Green seemed surprised by the question. “Well, Miss Valentine, I expect I’d describe him as an acquaintance. Why do you ask?”

  “It’s just that you’re both members of the Rattigan Club, and seeing as there’s only three hundred members, I would have thought you’d be a bit more surprised, or even upset, at him dying like this,” Ruby said.

  Green looked sideways at Ruby. “What makes you think I’m a member at the Rattigan?”

  “The tie you’re wearing,” she said. “It is quite distinctive.”

  Green pressed his hand to his chest but didn’t look down at his tie—a rich maroon with a pattern of neat gold R symbols. He smiled.

  “Most observant, Miss Valentine,” he said. He peered at the twins. “Tell me, which of you two is the fastest runner? I expect it would be Mr. Valentine, yes?”

  Sam stepped forward. “I can beat her over any distance.”

  Green nodded. “Yes, I thought as much. Now, stand over here, please?” He ushered Sam to a spot next to one of the columns. Sam shrugged and turned back to face the others.

  “Excellent,” Green muttered. “Now—”

  In a blur of movement, Green lifted his cane and whipped away its outer covering to reveal a long silver blade. He lunged forward and slashed the razor-sharp sword high across Sam’s thigh. Sam dropped to the ground, yelling in pain. He grabbed at his leg as a thick stain of blood seeped through a cut in his jeans. His face reflected his horror.

  “Sam!”

  Ruby dived to her brother, sickened at the blood on his fingers.

  “What are you doing?” Gerald rounded on Green but the old man was too fast. In a blink he had flicked the tip of the blade under Gerald’s chin, a droplet of Sam’s blood still fresh on its point.

  Green spoke calmly, not taking his eyes off Gerald.

  “Miss Valentine, you must place pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding. I have cut your brother’s femoral artery. Unless the wound is held shut, he will bleed to death within minutes.”

  Gerald gasped. Ruby was kneeling by Sam’s side, her hands out, lost as to what to do.

  “Ruby!” Gerald cried. “You have to hold the wound shut.”

  Ruby threw her head around to Gerald. A steely resolve spread in her eyes. She tugged at the slit in Sam’s jeans and yanked hard on the cloth, tearing a larger opening to expose the wound. Then she grabbed her brother’s T-shirt and whipped it over his head, wrapping the cloth around her hand. She pressed down hard on the gash in Sam’s leg. He cried out in agony, but the pressure seemed to have the right effect. The flow of blood eased, then stopped.

  Green still stared into Gerald’s eyes.

  “Has the bleeding stopped, Mr. Wilkins?” he asked.

  Gerald went to nod, but the point of the blade dug into his throat. “Yes,” he replied.

  “That is good news,” Green said with a trace of a smile. “If Miss Valentine maintains pressure on the wound, then her brother should survive. But I suggest she doesn’t move from her position. I don’t want to kill you or your friends, Mr. Wilkins. But rest assured, if you give me cause, I will not hesitate.”

  Gerald glared back. “Sam!” he called out. “You okay?”

  Sam sat slumped against a column, his chin on his chest and his eyes squeezed tight. “I’ll be right,” he said.

  “See?” Green said. “Everyone is fine—and nicely occupied. No one is going to alert the police, and Mr. Wilkins, you are free to help me.”

  “Help you!” Gerald said.

  “Yes. It’s time to collect my bounty or, more precisely, for you to collect my bounty.”

  Gerald squared his shoulders. “Why are you doing this? You’re worth billions. Why do you need more money?”

  Green raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Why, Gerald, who said anything about money?”

  Now it was Gerald’s turn to look surprised. “But the diamond, and whatever treasure is in that box.”

  Green smirked. “This is the bit where the villain explains his brilliant criminal caper, is it? Well, I expect you deserve some answers,” he said. “After all, I couldn’t have found this place without you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Green turned the sword in his hand, its tip half an inch from Gerald’s chin.

  “When I said on the terrace that I was surprised to see you, I was genuinely surprised,” Green said. “You were supposed to be dead.”

  Gerald didn’t flinch.

  “You see, my underfed associate was supposed to make sure you secured the beacon on St. Michael’s Tower, then dispose of you.”

  Gerald gasped. “The thin man was working for you?”

  “Of course,” Green said. “A person in my position doesn’t go around monstering old ladies and setting fire to London houses—even the fashionable ones. He’s an odd fish, my slender confederate. Obsessed with hygiene. He seems to think humanity is infested with bugs, which does make him an effective killer. Though it appears removing you was a task too far.”

  “Too right!” Sam’s eyes were open and they blazed at Green.

  Green let out a sharp tut. “You are hardly in a position to be making noises of bravado, Mr. Valentine. If you value your pretty sister’s life, I suggest you shut it!”

  He whipped back to face Gerald. “My man was set the simple task of locating the diamond casket. I assumed your great-aunt would know but, sadly for her, she wasn’t cooperative.”

  “So you had her killed,” Gerald shouted in disbelief.

  Green appeared almost chastened. “No need to be harsh, Gerald. The instruction was to extract the location of the casket. The hired help just went a bit far. But what can you do? After that, my attention turned to you.”

  “How would I know where it is? I never even met my great-aunt.”

  Green smirked. “Yes, that was a surprise. Turned out you didn’t know the big family secret after all.”

  Gerald blinked. “What? The location of the casket?”

  Green laughed with delight. “Mr. Wilkins, you have no clue, do you? The casket is not the prize—it is merely a c
heckpoint along the way.” He nudged Gerald with the sword. “Enough talk, you have a task to perform.” Green motioned for Gerald to walk to the rotunda.

  Gerald stumbled as he went. “But I can’t open the box,” he protested. “Didn’t you see? The diamond shattered.”

  “Yes,” Green said, prodding the blade into Gerald’s ribs. “That diamond was most certainly a fake. But the one in my pocket is most decidedly real.”

  “You have the diamond!”

  Green smiled. “Mr. Wilkins, I have had the diamond from the day it arrived in England.”

  Gerald’s brain reeled back to the plane and the picture in Oi! magazine.

  “Of course,” Gerald said. “The photo of Geraldine at the opening of the museum exhibition—that was you with her!”

  “Well done, Mr. Wilkins. I had a replica of Noor Jehan made a year ago, the moment we convinced Mr. Gupta to loan the diamond to the museum. The fake cost me a small fortune, but it was perfect in every detail, except, of course, it wasn’t a diamond. I swapped it with the real one the night that photograph was taken.”

  “So the major and Chesterfield stole the fake one!”

  “Yes, I hadn’t banked on that. But then I overheard the major and Chesterfield talking at the Rattigan one night. Both drunk and bemoaning the state of their finances. Then the major mentioned he’d found an old book that had details about a diamond casket hidden somewhere at Beaconsfield. I saw my opportunity.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Mr. Wilkins, the diamond by itself is of no value to me. I own several diamonds. But the casket—that is another matter. I had my thin assistant contact the major and offer him a significant sum if he could locate this sacred container.”

  “You’re the buyer?”

  “I didn’t care who found it, as long as I possessed it. But I needed to retrieve the fake diamond as well. If it was exposed there would be too many questions.”