Текст книги "The Lost Key"

Автор книги: Catherine Coulter

Соавторы: J. T. Ellison
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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

42

Nicholas’s House

Midnight

The ambulance had been prompt, the EMTs thorough, and as Nicholas watched Nigel sitting up, an ice pack on his neck, arguing with the EMTs, he counted his blessings.

They wanted to cart Nigel off to Lenox Hill Hospital for overnight observation, but Nigel was having none of it. Nicholas wasn’t sure he agreed. Even though Nigel had regained consciousness quickly, he seemed a bit loopy.

But he refused to go and that was that.

The EMTs reluctantly agreed not to haul him in. The injection contained some sort of mild sedative, and it clearly wasn’t long-lasting. As a precaution, they gave him a shot of Narcan, an overdose medication that would knock whatever drug he’d been injected with out of his system, and he’d be good as new in the morning.

Nigel insisted Nicholas continue working on the case, that all he needed was a lovely night’s rest.

One of the EMTs said, “He’ll be okay. Make sure he gets plenty of fluids. If he decompensates unexpectedly—he’s not gonna, don’t you worry, but just in case—you call us right back.”

The ambulance pulled away, the neighbors shuffled inside, and the night became quiet again. The spring evening had grown chilly, and combined with the sudden silence, the air seemed oddly clear and easily breakable. Like glass.

Oh, yes, this was definitely how he wanted to introduce himself to the neighborhood, as the victim of a home invasion in his first month on the street. At least his FBI badge had calmed some of them down and no one had called the police.

Waving jauntily to one last staring woman in a thick spa bathrobe, Nicholas stepped back inside the house. They all needed some rest, some time to recharge.

Nicholas knew in his heart Grossman was long gone. He recognized a fellow operative when he saw one. Grossman had been formally trained in countersurveillance, like Nicholas. He’d slipped in, taken what he needed, and gotten out again in under five minutes. He’d only maimed, not killed; he clearly understood the level to which he could go without creating a serious problem for himself. Breaking into an FBI agent’s home was one thing. If he’d killed Nigel, or Mike, that would be a whole different story.

If Nicholas weren’t so pissed off, he’d admire the man.

Where did the Pearces fit into all of this? Adam Pearce, especially, the young hacker with clear abilities to gain access to very private information. The kid was another ghost. Where was he? How did a nineteen-year-old evade a city-wide dragnet?

By getting out of the city, obviously, right under their noses.

He walked into the house to see Mike sitting on a small loveseat inside the front door, lightly rubbing her jaw. She was still spitting mad; he was pretty sure her anger was the only thing keeping her upright.

“How are you feeling?”

“The EMTs said I had a purple bruise which would fade to a lovely lavender, my pride is pretty well trampled, but other than that, I’m fine. Do you know Nigel wanted to make me a cup of tea? I told him to make himself some tea and go to bed.”

“Perhaps you should have let him. I hate to tell you this, but you look like you need a bit of a lie-down.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and got to her feet, held her hands up in front of her. They didn’t waver. She opened her eyes. “See? Solid as a rock.”

He was dubious, but said, “Okay, then, if you’re up for it, Gray’s sent what he had of Pearce’s files to my server. Let’s go back to the library. I can access everything Grossman stole from us and maybe we’ll see exactly what’s going on here. I don’t suppose you recall what I told you when you entered the library at gunpoint?”

“No, the hit to my jaw knocked it right out.”

“Pearce and Adam were looking for a German U-boat, Victoria. It was lost at sea—on eternal patrol—in September of 1917. Adam’s been breaking into the satellite imagery from various defense contractors’ very secret LEO-synchronous satellites for the past six months, ever since the technology was developed to allow the satellites to look through land to the water beneath. It’s similar technology to Thales’s Sentinel-Two satellite—very high-resolution imaging. The files show he’d narrowed the search to the North Sea, on the northern coast of Scotland.”

“So why is this submarine so important? I mean, 1917, that’s World War One. A lot of U-boats went down, right? What did Victoria have on board that was so special, even after nearly one hundred years?”

“You may be onto something there. According to Pearce’s files, the sub was stolen from the Germans, and went down with some sort of key on board, and, of all things, some of the kaiser’s gold, though I wouldn’t count on that being accurate. No, what’s vital to everyone is this key. That’s as far as I’d gotten in the files when you showed up with our friend Mr. Grossman, and he liberated my laptop. And my Tardis, I’ll bet I never see it again. I loved that thumb drive. At least Grossman doesn’t actually have anything, either.”

“You really managed to wipe everything before he got his hands on any of Pearce’s data?”

He nodded. They reached the library, and Mike didn’t fight him when he pointed at the couch. She knew she was okay, but Nicholas seemed to like nursing her, and she couldn’t say having him hover over her was the worst thing that had ever happened in her life.

Nicholas took the beat-up leather chair opposite her. She noticed he fit into it like it had been built around him. He pulled out another laptop.

“How many computers do you have?”

“Oh, a few. You never know when an operative is going to break in and steal one.”

“An operative? You think Grossman is a spy?”

“I do. And a very good one, too. No doubt in my mind he’s had covert training. To best Nigel, who’s trained in hand-to-hand combat, and to best you, as well? To sneak in here like a thief in the night and confront us? And to put together the operation in only a few hours? He had no idea who we were until he came to Ariston’s this morning. Yes, to plan and execute this so quickly, get past my security and my butler? And you? He’s a pro.”

“Maybe you need a dog.”

He laughed. “Not a bad idea. Nigel would walk him and he’d hate that. Yes, that’s good.”

“Do you have any idea what Grossman’s real connection was to Jonathan Pearce, and to Sophie?”

“Not yet, but I’d wager there was something in that book Sophie passed him this morning. She was so adamant he receive the package. You could tell he wanted it badly.”

Mike said, “When Grossman had me around the neck, he said something I’ve heard you say—There’s a good girl. And he sounded British before he realized it and reverted back to perfect American.”

Nicholas perked up. “Interesting. No one ever checked him out, did they?”

“We had a lot of balls in the air today. I do remember he said he owned a pub. It won’t be hard to see if he was telling the truth. We’ll have to ask Ben, he can do a background on him. If Grossman’s even his real name, of course. So Sophie’s in on it since she did hand off the book to Grossman, plus she wasn’t at all anxious to help us. And Adam, of course.”

“Yes, the whole bloody family. A family enterprise.”

Mike said, “All right, so tell me this, who does Grossman work for?”

“Haven’t a clue. Not yet, anyway. This Havelock character, perhaps, or another bad guy who wants to benefit from Pearce’s sudden knowledge of the submarine’s location. Speaking of the sub, Adam’s finding its exact location seems to be the trigger.”

Mike sat forward, excited. “And once Adam told his father he’d located the sub, his father wrote to the list of fifteen men on his computer, the ones whose correspondence was sprinkled with code. You’re exactly right—finding the sub was the precipitating event. Bad guys converged on New York. And here we are.”

Both of them were thoughtful, silent. Mike said, “So we know the sub’s resting place was narrowed down to the northern coast of Scotland.”

“Correct. Actually, I know exactly where it is,” and he waved a piece of paper.

She jumped up from the couch, grabbed his arm. “Nicholas, that’s it. What Pearce said to Mr. Olympic when he was dying—The key is in the lock? That’s exactly right, only it’s not a lock on a door. It’s a loch, L-O-C-H, like a Scottish lake.”

He smiled. “You’re amazing, you know that? Even though your jaw is a deep purple.”

“Don’t you start.” But she grinned, so tickled she did a little dance, finished it off with a bump and grind and high-fived him. “Okay, James Bond, looks like I’ve done the heavy lifting—your turn now.”

43

Nice moves.” He settled more comfortably into the chair, clicked the track pad of his laptop and read. After reading for a while, he looked up. “Okay, here goes. You’re perfectly right, Mike—the coordinates Adam texted to his father match a loch in northern Scotland, a Loch Eriboll. It’s isolated, desolate, but it’s also one of the few deepwater lochs in Scotland. The Royal Navy has used it for years. Submarines go in and out, frigates, everything. It was a perfect staging area, more so in World War Two than in World War One. Brit ships would sail into the loch, anchor for the night, for the week. Whatever was needed. There’s even a spot where the sailors would disembark and use the white granite stones to spell out their boat’s name on the hillside above the western edge of the loch.”

“If it’s so active, how in the world did they miss this?” Mike said. “There’s been a German U-boat in the loch since 1917, and no one knew it? How can that be? I mean, I’ve never seen one in person, but it’s a loch. They aren’t that big, are they?”

“This loch is very deep, but you’re right, it isn’t very big. Victoria has been concealed all this time under a shelf of granite, deep under the water, but near the shoreline, and no one’s ever seen it. Pearce and his son have been searching for it for years, but it wasn’t until the satellite technology caught up that they could see through the mass to the submarine beneath. It’s been cozied up in there for nearly a century.”

“Holding a key and the kaiser’s gold.” Nicholas tossed her a bottle of water and she drank deep. “Thanks. Now, what is the key to? Is there an explanation in their files?”

“Didn’t see it, but I’ll look deep now that Gray’s downloaded his file copies.”

“Obviously it has something to do with the polonium and Havelock.”

“Yes, which is rather unsettling. An unstable man looking to get his hands on some sort of a secret weapon? But it was 1917, what could it possibly be?” Nicholas’s house phone rang. “I see Nigel didn’t toddle off to bed. Maybe he’s ill, maybe—” He answered, and relief flooded his face. He listened for a few moments, then said, “Fine, fine. I will. Yes, I swear. Go to bed, Nigel. Now.”

He clicked off, set the phone on the table beside him. “Nigel sends his best wishes for a good night’s rest, and made me promise to get some sleep myself.”

Mike nodded. “He’s a good man. A good friend, too.”

“That he is. Stubborn as a mule, though.”

“He worries for you.”

“I’m worried for him, damn it all. Bloody sod’s being a bloody hero about the whole thing.”

I wonder where he learned those moves. Mike laughed. “Relax. He’s fine. I’m fine. Why don’t you tell me the big surprise? Come, what did you just read?” She stretched and yawned. “And then we can get some sleep. This couch is very comfortable.”

“I’ll get you set up in one of the guest rooms.”

“Aren’t you going to sleep?”

He shrugged. “I will in a bit. I want to work some more first.”

Mike curled into herself on the sofa. “Then I’ll stay here. I like the sound your typing makes. It’s very soothing.”

She reached up and pulled the ponytail holder from her hair, slipped it onto her left wrist. She scratched her head and turned her head a bit, not too much, and her hair settled around her shoulders. She pulled a dark blue throw over her legs. “Tell me, Nicholas.”

He’d been watching her. Now he tapped his fingers on the arm of the chair. “I found something. This is where it gets very interesting. It’s a German sub, no doubt about it. According to Pearce’s files, it belonged to Kaiser Wilhelm the Second, which makes sense, I guess, since his gold is supposedly on board. Some say Wilhelm was crazy, whatever, he got Germany into the war, as the leader, he cocked things up royally and they lost. He ended up abdicating the throne.”

“Come on, Nicholas, what is it? You’re grinning like a madman.”

“I’ll tell you, but then you have to promise to go to sleep. It’s late, and we have an early morning.”

“That’s so not fair.”

“You need rest to heal. I want you to close your eyes and sleep for a bit.”

“No, I don’t need to—” And she yawned and yawned again, wider this time, covering her mouth with her hand. “Okay, so I’m a little tired, no big deal.”

Even as he said, “Please, Mike, rest,” she yawned again. He smiled at her. “I’ll keep an eye on you.”

She curled up against the couch pillows, settled in and closed her eyes. “Nicholas? Thank you, you saved me twice today.”

Thank goodness he’d been able to. “Go to sleep, Mike. I’ll be right here, watching over you.”

“Okay.” She opened her eyes and gave him a heartbreaking sweet smile. “But first tell me the big secret. Was Victoria important only because she belonged to the kaiser?”

Nicholas said, “No. Until Adam Pearce found her, she didn’t exist.”

But her eyes were closed again, and she was under.

He got up and pulled the throw up over her shoulders, then sat back in his chair and watched her. She looked very young asleep, open, vulnerable, that sharp brain shut down.

He was very glad she was okay.

He read some more, then set the laptop on the floor and swung his legs over the side of the chair. He glanced at his watch—1:00 in the morning. Talk about a long day. He took a last look at Mike’s still face, saw the small smile on her mouth and wondered what she was dreaming, certainly not about today. He saw Nigel’s face again, confused, disoriented after the assault, but all right, and then, finally, he saw the faces of the two men who’d died at his hands today.

“Five minutes,” he said to himself, and shut his eyes.

44

Lower Slaughter, Cotswolds

September 1917

William Pearce, 7th Viscount Chambers, was late, very late. A damnable tire of his brand-new Lagonda had given out near Burford and it had taken him nearly an hour to change it. He would have much rather traveled with his man Coombe, allowed him to handle the tire, but this was a top-secret mission, and Coombe wasn’t cleared for this level of service.

Pearce was dirty by the time he finished, but no matter. He prayed the wheels would get him to the cottage, at least.

Fifteen minutes later, he pulled into the lane, and drove up the track to the small cottage. According to protocol, he parked in the trees and walked to the cottage. And was greeted with a horrific scene.

He drew his Webley. The cottage was pockmarked with bullet holes, chips of sharp stone littering the ground. The windows were gone, shards of glass daggered from the corners. The door was wide open, hanging loose on its hinges.

His heart pounded fast and hard, and he pointed his Webley in front of him as he slowly pushed the door farther back and stepped into the cottage. He knew the smell of death from the battlefield, and it was rich and hot in his nostrils, as was the smell of rot, human rot.

He sent up a silent prayer that his enemies were dead, not his friends, but his prayers were not answered.

He counted quickly. Five men. All shot, all gone. But where was the sixth? He counted again. It was not his imagination. There were only five bodies. Josef Rothschild was not among the dead. Where was Josef?

He moved through the cottage, stepping over broken glass and the ruined bodies of his comrades. These brave men. Fighting for the freedom of their country, their families, themselves. Sorrow overwhelmed him, but there was a single spark of hope.

A terrible thought came to him. Clearly they’d been double-crossed, despite their many precautions. But by who? Not Josef, that was an impossibility. Josef Rothschild was the catalyst, the one who’d taken on the hardest role. Josef wouldn’t ever betray them, not the man who’d saved him from the battlefield at Verdun. He saw him clearly, the German soldier approaching him with his bayonet fixed. Instead of running him through, he’d taken one look at the crown and star on Pearce’s shoulders, knew he was facing a man of rank, and thrown down his weapon.

Without speaking, the German pulled him from the field and behind a screen of trees. Pearce couldn’t fight; he was wounded too grievously. He assumed the Kraut wanted to take his time, do the job properly and thoroughly, but instead of slitting his throat, the big German had motioned for Pearce to stay quiet while he’d expertly stanched the flow of blood from the wound in Pearce’s leg. He’d put a cigarette between his chapped lips and lit it for him, seemingly unconcerned that his hands and uniform were thickly covered with English blood. He sat back, lit his own cigarette, drew hard, blew out the smoke, and said in accented English, “We must stop this war, Colonel. Will you help me?”

It was an offer he could not refuse. And Rothschild was a man he’d trusted with his life, now many times over.

Pearce heard a noise toward the rear of the cottage, and rushed into the back bedroom. There was a small closet off the bedroom, and a trail of blood leading to the wooden door, not from.

There was a wounded man in the closet. Was it Josef? Pearce was a soldier. He knew what death looked like, in all its forms.

Still, Pearce was careful. He raised his Webley, stood to the side, and slowly opened the closet door. A shot came from the darkness. Thank all that was holy, he’d moved to the side.

Then he heard the cries of a child, soft, broken sobs.

He called quietly, “Who’s there? Don’t shoot. I mean you no harm.”

The crying abruptly stopped.

Pearce edged forward, speaking softly, gently, telling the child he would not hurt him. He finally risked a look inside, and the scene broke his heart.

Josef Rothschild’s broken body was inside the closet, in the arms of a very young boy. Josef’s gun lay on the floor by the boy’s hand.

–

PEARCE DID THE ONLY THING he could. He buried the men in the field behind the cottage, and took the boy home with him.

He knew the child’s name was Leopold. Josef had told him that night on the hill at Verdun, while they smoked and plotted the downfall of the kaiser.

It was good Josef had told him the boy’s name, for the child was deep in shock, the only witness to the murder of his father and five others, did not speak. He didn’t identify the assailants. He only stared mutely for several weeks after the incident.

News of Victoria never came. The gold, Marie’s key, and her book, were lost.

The war ended. Pearce and his wife, Cornelia, took Leo in as one of their own. He legally adopted the boy before the year was out. In a house populated by women, it was a comfort for Pearce to have a boy at last.

Leo was a quiet, studious child. He did well with his tutors, and though he still didn’t speak, he learned to read and understand English quickly, so that Pearce thought perhaps his mother, the kaiser’s private interpreter, had already started him on the language.

Pearce caught the boy watching Cornelia at times, when she was reading to the girls. His heart ached because the boy watched her with sad longing, but he never complained. A boy needed a father, yes, but he needed a mother even more.

Every so often, Pearce would sit down with Leo to speak to him of the night his father died. To find out who had come to the small cottage in the Cotswolds, who had dealt the deadly blow to the Order.

Leo began to speak, but never about that night.

A small time of peace was upon them. The gold, the key, and the notebook were lost, yes, but the threat had been silenced, and the Order began to rebuild.

Leo Pearce went from a shy boy to a handsome lad to a smart, educated, but very quiet man. In 1936, he met a young woman named Grace, who didn’t mind his silence. Within months, they were engaged to be married. In 1938, their first child came along, a boy they named Robert.

And in 1939, war came to them again. A war that clearly would outstrip the last one.

Soon after, Leopold Rothschild Pearce took tea with his adopted father. He carried a newspaper with him into the Carlton Club, sat down with his adopted father, pointed at a picture of a small dark-haired man, and said, “This is the man who killed my father.”

Astounded, Pearce took the newspaper, and saw a photograph of a man standing on a dock, the forty-point headline screaming—U-Boat Sinks America Freighter Ship. The caption named the U-boat commander as Ludwig Reimand.

Leo’s voice was soft and deep, his accent crisply British. “He was there. He was one of the three men.”

Pearce was dumbstruck, and what he said was “I’m very glad you’ve told me, Leo.”

Leo nodded. “I have been silent on this for too long. And you have been very kind to me.”

“You are my son. I love you. And you are my heir.”

This was said simply, and Leo swallowed back the emotion rising in him. Pearce smiled, and placed a comforting hand on Leo’s arm. “Tell me about this man. Who was with him?”

Leo handed Pearce a sheaf of papers. “These men.”

There were two more names—Dietmar Lusion and Wilfried Gobb.

“Lusion was the leader. He was the one who tortured my—Josef.”

Pearce leaned forward, took Leo’s hand. “No, no, Josef Rothschild was your father, and a very fine man as I’ve told you many times over the years, a brave man, a man who was willing to do anything to achieve an end to the war. He never gave them the information, did he?”

“No. He stayed strong throughout, but I heard his screams. I had an eye to the door, I could see the shadows of the boots passing the door as they paced, firing questions at him, trying to make him tell them where the kaiser’s gold and the key were hidden.

“I believe the pain was too much and he suffered a heart attack, because one minute they were screaming at him, and the next, nothing. I heard them leave. I waited until I heard the car pull away, then I—”

Pearce touched his son’s arm again. “And then I found you.”

“Yes. There is more, sir.”

Leo handed Pearce a letter. He read it quickly and looked up, face puzzled. “Your mother?”

“Yes. My mother was the one who stole the key from the kaiser. She was on the Victoria. She went down with them. They are somewhere north of Scotland. Jos—my father, he told me about the weapon, about the mission, the gold, about my mother’s final act of bravery.” He played with the handle of his cup. “I did not think we would see the kind of war we experienced ever again. These men know about the key. They will be searching for it. We must find these men, and kill them.”

Pearce studied Leo’s beloved face. You would be so proud of him, Josef, so very proud. “Are you ready to join us, then, Leo? Join the Order? You of all people know it will be dangerous, very dangerous. You have a family to think about.”

Leo Rothschild Pearce actually smiled. “You never hesitated, sir. My mother and father never hesitated. Even knowing they could die at any moment if they were discovered. So yes, it would be my pleasure, sir.”

Pearce stood up, and Leo did as well. “We need to bring you to the Order. Come with me.”

Leo said, “My mother’s name was Ansonia.”

“I am very sorry.” And he took Leo in his arms and held him close.

With the help of all of the Order’s resources, it took three years for Leo and William Pearce to find and kill the three men who’d killed Josef Rothschild and the other members of the Order on that long-ago night in 1917.

William Pearce, 7th Viscount Chambers, passed away in 1962. After years of distinguished service, Leo Pearce, 8th Viscount Chambers, was named head of the Highest Order in June of 1963.

In 1964, Leopold and Grace’s son Robert married Lula Harstock, only daughter of Lord and Lady Wentworth of Kent, and she soon after bore him a son. Sadly, days after his son’s birth, Robert Pearce succumbed to a fever, and died. Within a week, his wife Lula had died as well.

And so Leo and Grace named the boy Jonathan, and raised their grandson. Leo told him the stories of their family—about the kaiser’s gold, a lost key, and Madame Curie’s notebook, and her weapon, but most of his stories were about a brave and tragic young couple named Josef and Ansonia. Some of his grandfather’s stories frightened Jonathan, but he loved to hear about his great-grandmother and Leo loved to talk about her.

Jonathan was a studious boy, like his grandfather, fascinated by books, and once he’d read a rare first-edition Robinson Crusoe, his path was set.