Текст книги "The Lost Key"

Автор книги: Catherine Coulter

Соавторы: J. T. Ellison
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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 27 страниц)

70

London

5:00 p.m.

Once inside the plane, Penderley waved away the pilot. He stared at them, through them really, and he looked stunned.

“Sir? What’s wrong? Was Sophie at the location? Is she dead?”

“Our people found the location, just outside Oxford, like we thought. They’re on their way there now. Hold on to your pants, Drummond. The call originated from an estate called West Park, a country estate owned by Edward Weston.”

Nicholas stopped cold. He began shaking his head, back and forth. “No, sir, that can’t be right, not Weston.”

“I’m sorry, Nicholas. The call absolutely came from inside Weston’s house.” He reached out, laid his hand on Nicholas’s shoulder. They stood together silent for a moment.

What was going on here?

Finally, Mike said, “All right, who is Edward Weston and why are you surprised, and why does Nicholas look like he’s been smacked in the head?”

Nicholas didn’t want to tell her, and she knew it, but it didn’t matter. She laid her hand on his arm. “Tell me.”

Nicholas nodded. “Remember hearing about a small issue I had in Afghanistan?”

“You’ve never told me what that issue was, but yes, I remember some sort of problem.”

“A problem?” Penderley shook his head. “A problem doesn’t come close. Tell her, Nicholas. but be quick about it. You’ve got to go.”

Nicholas said matter-of-factly, “First you need to know that Edward Weston is currently the second-in-command of MI Five.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Mike couldn’t believe this. MI5? “Tell me what happened.”

“Weston was a special attaché to the embassy in Kabul. He saw himself as the king on the chessboard, and we young ones as pawns to move around at his whim. He sat back in the embassy, happily getting relays on what was happening outside the walls, while I was crawling around in the muck, drinking barrels of chai and passing out cigarettes to the Afghan soldiers, pulling in as much intelligence as I could.”

He shook his head, remembering the anger and frustration. “The very people our military were training would turn on us. They were actually working for the Taliban. They used the training and information we provided to attack convoys, set off suicide bombs and car bombs. Anything to hurt us.”

Mike said, “It happened to the Americans, too.”

“Yes. I was tasked with finding where the Taliban were getting their information. I heard a solid rumor one of these insurgents was a high-ranking official, one that Weston himself had recruited and ran as an asset. His name was Bahrambin Dastgir.

“On the surface, Dastgir looked clean. He was bringing us scads of information, helping us run operations on the ground. No one believed he could possibly be a threat, not with all the solid intel he’d given us. Dastgir would sit down to tea with Weston and spout the party line about wanting the Taliban and their informants out of Kabul, out of Afghanistan.

“But he didn’t feel right to me. I came to believe he was a plant. I found his mistress, and in exchange for a wad of cash, she gave him up. I went to Weston, told him what I knew, told him I wanted to bring Dastgir in and interrogate him, but Weston wouldn’t hear of it. He insisted the man was a friend.”

Mike said, “But you were right?”

“Yes. Two days after I warned Weston about Dastgir, an IED exploded very near our command post. Everyone rushed to the scene, including Dastgir, in the makeshift mobile command unit. He was well-known, they let him in.”

Nicholas fell silent, seeing it all again. “He got right into the thick of it, and flipped his switch. He was strapped into a vest filled with ball bearings and nails. The bomb not only took out our mobile command, it killed my entire team and ten civilians. I realized he knew his mistress had sold him out and he knew his time was short, and he wanted to ensure his martyrdom and kill as many of us as he could. He succeeded. The two bombs killed upwards of fifty people that day.”

“And Weston?”

“He doctored data, making it appear that I’d been the one to bring Dastgir into our midst, that I’d been too blind to see what he was doing, and what he really was, and that I’d refused to consider Weston’s spoken concerns about him. He was, of course, a fanatical Taliban member who wanted all of us to die. It was his word against mine and he held the higher rank. He had more juice than I did. And he knew I wouldn’t go to my father to get things changed. And I should have, but I didn’t.

“Truth is, I screwed up. I should have gone over Weston’s head right away when he refused to act.

“My fieldwork days ended rather quickly after that since Weston made it a point to blow my cover before he left to become the high commissioner in Rawalpindi.

“I ended up riding a desk, as you Americans put it, instead of being boots on the ground, where I belonged. I left the Foreign Office not long after, because Weston made sure I had no future there. And now you know the whole story.”

Penderley tapped his watch. “Nicholas, given Weston chose his own survival over the truth, why is he working with a madman like Manfred Havelock?”

“Unfortunately, it plays perfectly. Weston’s a lot like Havelock, unstable and unpredictable, and maybe not as mad as Havelock, at least overtly, but inside, he’s close. When I knew him he was a liar and he didn’t care who got killed, and now? He sees Havelock as a genius who can rule the world with Weston at his side.”

“Then our people will get inside West Park, see if there’s any evidence there to tell us what’s happened to Sophie Pearce. I’ll get them looking for Weston, too.” Penderley shook his head. “And this man is in MI Five.”

He clasped both their hands. “Whatever else he is, Weston’s no fool, so watch your backs. Get to Scotland and stop these maniacs. I’ll tell the PM exactly what’s on the line and that Weston is up to his neck in it.”

He left the plane, and the pilot secured the door. Moments later, they lifted into the air, banked right, and began the quick run to Inverness.

71

Gravitania

Loch Eriboll, Scotland

6:00 p.m.

Adam awoke to the sound of helicopter rotors. Helicopter rotors? Where was he? He realized he was lying on a narrow cot, his wrists tied in front of him. He seemed to be rocking. He was on a boat. But how could that be? He felt as if he had fog in his brain. He lay perfectly still, thinking. Something was very wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on it, everything was a blur. He only knew he shouldn’t be here on a boat with helicopter rotors whooshing. He was supposed to be in London with his godfather. His godfather. He saw his body, the men standing over him. It all came back to him.

Adam quickly got the knots apart, shook his hands to get feeling back, and looked around the small stark cabin. There was a bucket to his right, and to his left, another cot, and there was a person, with long, dark tangled hair.

It was Sophie, on her side, facing him. Her eyes were closed, and she wasn’t moving.

He rolled off the metal cot and stumbled over to her, afraid she was dead. Like their father, like Oliver. He looked down at her, afraid to touch her. He leaned close. “Sophie, wake up.”

She moaned and rolled away from him. Her shirt was ripped open and he saw her back, the raw welts still oozing blood. “That bastard beat you,” but of course he already knew that, he’d heard her screams over the phone while März stood over him, smiling the whole time. And he’d yelled out the sub’s coordinates to make that madman stop beating her. He remembered the needle coming into his neck, März still smiling as he plunged it in.

He leaned over her and slapped her cheeks. “Come on, you can do it. Wake up, Sophie.”

Her eyes opened. As gently as he could, Adam turned her back over onto her side to face him. She lifted her hand to touch his face. “Adam? Is that you? Really? Thank God, I thought they’d killed you.” She started to move, gritted her teeth and held perfectly still.

“Sophie, I know your back hurts. I’m sorry but there’s nothing I can do about it. No, no, you’ve got to stay with me. We’ve got to get out of here.”

Sophie wanted to scream, but she wasn’t about to, not with her brother looking so afraid. She had to keep it together. “Where are we?”

“One of Havelock’s ships. We’re also very probably in or near Loch Eriboll.”

“You gave him the coordinates.”

“I had no choice, Soph, you were screaming and I had to make it stop.”

The door opened. Adam jumped to his feet, ready to fight.

He knew the man slipping in the cabin, had known him for three years. Alex Grossman, their friend, their father’s friend. “Alex, what are you doing here? Are we being rescued?”

Sophie grabbed Adam’s wrist. “No, he’s not here to help us, Adam, he’s with Havelock, he’s the enemy. His name isn’t Grossman. It’s Shepherd.”

Alex quietly closed the door behind him. “I’m not your enemy. Don’t attack me, Adam. You must be quiet, both of you.” He looked down at her back. “I didn’t know, I swear I didn’t know. Weston is my boss, in the Order and at MI Five. I trusted him for three years. But now—” He shook his head. “I was dead wrong. I had no idea Havelock had come to West Park, no idea what he was going to do. I’m so very sorry. They wouldn’t let me take care of you.”

Adam said, “What do you mean Edward Weston is your boss? And at MI Five? Are you some sort of spy?”

“Weston is the frigging deputy director general, which is why I trusted him, but he’s working with Havelock now, maybe he was all along, I don’t know. There’s a lot to explain, but we don’t have time.

“Half the British military will be here soon. I left a note for them at Weston’s house. I heard Havelock talking about your call, Sophie, before he caught you. They’ll have triangulated it. Now I’ve got to get you two off this boat and to safety. There’s a small rescue raft lashed to the port deck. That’s our lift. Havelock’s gone down to the sub to find the key.”

He looked down at Sophie’s back. “I nicked a first-aid kit. Hold still and I’ll do the best I can to make you feel better.” He sat beside her and set to work. Since there was no water to clean her back, he uncapped a large tube of medicinal cream and lightly rubbed it into the welts. The blood made the cream turn red. He knew he was hurting her, just as Adam did. Adam took her hand.

“Done,” Alex said finally and rose. “I know that hurt.” Hurt wasn’t the word she’d have chosen, but at least she hadn’t made a sound. Alex wrapped the entire roll of gauze around her while Adam held her up. He pulled off his shirt and helped her into it.

“You’re wearing a bulletproof vest under your T-shirt,” Adam said.

“Yes, and a good thing because Havelock shot me back at West Park.” He tapped a round hole in the armor. “Now, Sophie, do you think you can walk if I help you?”

She wanted to hold herself perfectly still so the pain would lessen. She said, “Of course I can walk.”

Adam watched Alex Grossman—no, Shepherd—help Sophie out the narrow cabin door. What to do? Who to believe? He hated being helpless. He saw a wrench sticking out of some oily rags in the corner and picked it up.

Adam’s brain was near full power again. He remembered this particular ship was one of three in Havelock’s personal fleet, two hundred fifty-one feet from stem to stern, and she had all the latest technology. When they reached the deck, he saw Havelock’s helicopter tethered to its platform, but the MIR-2 submersible was gone. No one was around.

Adam caught up to Shepherd. “There should be forty hands on this ship. Where are they all? Who’s running this thing?”

Shepherd said quietly, “Havelock put the crew off on another of his boats before we sailed into the loch. He doesn’t trust anyone. Everything’s on autopilot. Only März and Weston are on board. They’re up on the bridge. I’m supposed to be bringing you water. That was my excuse.”

Adam’s hands fisted. “That man, März, he drugged me and brought me up here, after he murdered my godfather.”

Shepherd stopped cold. “What did you say? Leyland’s dead?”

Sophie was shaking her head back and forth. “No, this can’t be happening. Not Oliver.”

When Adam told them what had happened, Shepherd closed his eyes against the enormity of it. “I am the biggest idiot alive.”

Sophie said, “You didn’t know, you couldn’t know.”

Alex said, “I met Oliver Leyland when Weston assigned me to protect your father three years ago. It was Leyland who told Weston I should be in the Order. I admired him, believed he could move mountains. He was honest, an excellent man. He was my mentor and now he’s dead. Because of Havelock.”

Adam laughed. “But you want to know the big joke? Weston’s supposed to keep Britain safe.” He broke off, swallowed.

“Sophie, Adam, we have to get off this ship.”

“I don’t think so, Mr. Shepherd.”

It was März and he was pointing the same gun at them he’d used to kill Oliver Leyland. “I knew you couldn’t be trusted when I saw the look on your face. You’re betraying us because of this useless bitch. You think you can outsmart Havelock? You can outsmart me? You can’t. Now you will lose everything. We will all go back to the cabin and I will lock the three of you in. Mr. Havelock can decide what to do with you.”

Adam saw the slight nod. He grabbed Sophie, jerked her back against him as Alex Shepherd turned. His right leg came up and kicked out so fast it was a blur. The gun flew from März’s hand and skidded across the deck.

März cursed, grabbed his wrist, then came at Alex. Adam couldn’t get to the gun because the two men were fighting in front of him, the kicks brutal, both men heaving and grunting. Alex kicked März in the kidney, whirled about and sent his foot into his neck, but März was strong and fast and when he kicked Alex in the groin, he went down. He bounced up, but then there was a shot.

It was Weston and he’d shot Alex in the shoulder. März grabbed Shepherd around the neck and slammed his head against the rail. Alex went limp.

März cast a dispassionate eye at Shepherd, who was oozing blood onto the deck.

He looked at Adam and Sophie. “A taste for you of what happens if you don’t do as I say,” and he lifted Alex’s body off the deck and dumped him into the cold waters of the loch.

“No!” It was Sophie. März was nearly on her when Adam went for his throat.

Another shot. Weston called out, “Enough, Mr. Pearce, it’s over.”

März was smiling. “You two. Come with me.”

Weston called out, “März, when you are finished, come to the bridge.”

72

Nearing Inverness

6:00 p.m.

They ate crusty French bread and soft cheese and grapes, and washed it down with tart lemon-flavored Pellegrino.

Mike wiped up a last bit of cheese with a fingertip. “Isn’t it nice the PM keeps his plane so well stocked?”

Nicholas grabbed the last grape. “Maybe next time, more cheddar.” He cleared the tray off the table, then opened Adam Pearce’s laptop. “Now, Mike, if it’s okay with you, I’m going to read aloud about Marie Curie and her polonium according to Adam’s files from the Order. It’s easier that way.”

“Read away. I can’t believe you ate the last grape.”

“I’m a right pig.” He tapped the screen. “Adam left an encrypted note inside two other files with my name on it. When I decoded it, it sent a message to my server. What Adam wrote isn’t complete, but it’s enough.

If you’re reading this, Drummond, this is my take on what has happened. This I know for sure. Everything has gone wrong. Havelock is trying to get his hands on Marie Curie’s weapon.

Madame Curie was a member of the Highest Order. The Order funded a great deal of her research. When it became clear Britain was struggling in the war Curie set out to develop a weapon that would prove so chilling in its consequences that it would prevent countries from ever going to war, or in this case, stop World War I in its tracks. (I see Curie evaluating this weapon like the scientists on the Manhattan Project doubtless did—they were both committed to creating something incredibly deadly in order to bring about peace—to me this reasoning is flawed. In Curie’s situation, though, I think she really believed she could put a stop to the war with an über-weapon without ever using it, and create a world peace keeper. She obviously had too high an opinion of her fellow humans.

She herself was committed to peace and so she worked on it day and night. She discovered another variant of the radiological element polonium-210. (Of course, all of this is far too technical for me to understand completely.)

Curie somehow managed to enhance the short half-life of polonium-210, to retain its efficacy. She believed it would grow stronger over time, and she was pleased because if she could determine how to deliver it, the threat of it would stop the war. Then she discovered her new super-enhanced polonium meant death to all who even chanced to touch it and she quickly realized there would be no controlling it and she’d made a big mistake. She didn’t want to open Pandora’s box. She knew now that she couldn’t allow anything this powerful to be in England’s hands, in any country’s hands, for that matter, and so she went to the head of the Order at the time, William Pearce, 7th Viscount Chambers, and told him the weapon she’d developed didn’t work, and she couldn’t figure out how to make it work.

Though Pearce suspected she was lying, she didn’t change her story.

No doubt in my mind that Curie both hated and was in awe of what she’d created, otherwise how to account for the fact that she didn’t destroy the weapon, destroy all her notes, destroy her secret lab? But she didn’t. She couldn’t bring herself to do it. Why? Perhaps because the monster she’d created was so magnificent she simply couldn’t bear to destroy it. I think she was obsessed with what she’d found, amazed, really, and couldn’t let it go. Perhaps she was already ill from radiation poisoning, and wasn’t thinking clearly, but whatever the reason, she didn’t destroy her discovery.

Curie did the next best thing—she locked everything up, including the weapon itself and her notes on how to manufacture it. Perhaps she believed that if her lab was ever found in the distant future, her weapon could be used for good. (Not very logical reasoning, given mankind’s endless violent history. We will all suffer for her decision if Havelock finds it.)

Curie walked away from the Order and continued her research into radium. The war went on.

But Curie was betrayed. (I can only imagine what she must have felt—questioning her own decisions, so much remorse, dread, because she’d be the cause of Armageddon.) A young colleague of hers was a German sympathizer. He stole her notebook and the key to her secret lab and made his way to Germany. He gave the key to Kaiser Wilhelm and told him for the right price, he’d tell him the location of Curie’s secret lab, and the kaiser would be able to have the weapon.

Pearce found out through his spies in Berlin and immediately notified Curie. She realized she’d been betrayed. She couldn’t allow the kaiser to get his hands on the weapon, (probably she decided better the devil you know), and so she told Pearce the truth about the what she’d created and why she’d lied to him. She told him the weapon wouldn’t kill a few people, it had the capacity to kill them all.

Even though Curie no longer had the key to her secret lab, she could have figured out how to destroy it, but evidently before she could act, Pearce told her he’d arranged for a spy to steal the key and the notebook from the kaiser. All he ever told her was that the sub with her key and notebook on board sunk, and they didn’t know its location. She must have been very relieved to learn this, and thus, why destroy her lab? No point.

–

NICHOLAS LOOKED UP, his voice quiet. “That’s it. That’s all he had time to write.”

Mike said, “Mini-nukes with a new radioactive element. Here we’ve been worried about suitcase nukes. But, Nicholas, if Havelock gets his hands on the über-polonium Madame Curie developed, and makes a nano-nuke with the bigger load, creating a massive fallout, we don’t know what the results will be.”

Nicholas nodded. “And unlike dirty bombs that can be detected, these nano-nukes could go anywhere, no one the wiser. And since we don’t know the makeup of Curie’s extreme polonium, we don’t know how big a payload it can deliver.” He paused. “Über-polonium, extreme polonium, enhanced polonium—hard to know what to call it. Like Adam, I don’t understand how it would work, either, only that it does.”

“Deadly will do the job since all we really understand is the consequences would be bad.”

The pilot of the Hawker came over the intercom. “We will be on the ground in five minutes. The chopper is waiting to take you to Loch Eriboll. The Dover is looking for the Gravitania now.”

Mike fastened her seat belt. “Clearly something went wrong along the way if the Order lost the key and Madame Curie’s notes. And now Havelock is close to having it.”

“We’ll get there first, Mike. We must.”

Mike looked out the window, to the barren hills below. “I wonder where Curie’s secret lab is located.”

“We have to find Adam Pearce alive to get the rest of the story.”