Countdown (37 page)

“Next I call Eve and Joe and let them know what’s going on,” Jane said. “Then after we leave the hospital we head for the airport and get the first flight out. We have to go back to MacDuff’s Run.”

Brenner glanced at the window. “It’s snowing like hell. I wouldn’t be in too much of a hurry to go to the airport.” He held up his hand as she opened her lips to protest. “I know. You want out of here. Okay, I’ll see about a charter. But no sane pilot is going to take off until it’s safe.” He took out his phone and started dialing.

“Safe,” Jane murmured. “Did we stop them? Are we all safe, Trevor? I’m afraid to believe it.”

“I don’t know. There are still too many loose cannons to worry about.” Trevor took her hand in comfort and support. “We’ll have to wait until we hear from MacDuff.”

M
acDuff didn’t call for twenty-four hours and his tone was curt when he did. “I’m through here. Venable smoothed the way, but they didn’t let me leave until he arrived six hours ago. He wants to see you but I stalled him. I said you’d call and give him a statement within forty-eight hours. He didn’t like it. But he agreed.”

“The suicide bombers?”

“No action taken by them. Without Reilly the job was evidently like a snake without a head. There were a few notes in the personnel folder that might lead the CIA to identify those particular suicide bombers. We did find reference to the targets, and they were put on alert.”

“Thank God.”

“I’ll be at the airport within two hours if I can get there through this damn blizzard. It’s got to stop sometime.”

“No hurry. The flights are grounded anyway.”

“The hell there’s no hurry. I’m going to be there when the airport opens.”

“I’m? Not we?” Her hand tightened on the phone. “Jock’s not coming?”

“Not now.”

“Venable? He has Jock in custody?”

“No, though he wants him damn bad. Jock took off before the police showed up last night.”

“Took off? Where?”

“Into the woods. I tracked him for six hours but then I lost him.”

“He could die out there.”

“He won’t die. That bastard Reilly taught him to operate in fair or foul weather. We just have to find him. And right now Venable has half the local police force looking for him. I’ll come back here when I’m not stumbling over everyone.” He hung up.

Jane hung up the phone. “Jock’s on the run.”

“So I heard,” Trevor said. “Is MacDuff worried?”

“He won’t admit it if he is.” She frowned. “I’m worried. I don’t care how good he is at living off the land. Maybe he doesn’t want to live. He tried to commit suicide before. MacDuff’s safe from Reilly now, and that gives Jock one less reason to live.”

“Perhaps he’s far enough along that self-preservation has kicked in.”

“Maybe.” She looked out the huge glass windows at the planes parked at the gates. “We’ll have to wait and see.”

“You can’t do anything for Jock now. Focus on what you can do.”

“Finding Mario’s translation.” He was right. If MacDuff had abandoned the search because he didn’t want to find Jock and reveal his presence to the other searchers, then she was even less likely to be able to help Jock right now. She glanced down on the chair beside her at Reilly’s briefcase containing the copies of his Herculaneum documents. “And afterward I’ll go through these and see if I can find out anything that Reilly knew about Herculaneum. He mentioned that one of these documents made him look at Cira in an entirely new way. . . .”

M
acDuff was right. The guards at the gate of MacDuff’s Run challenged them at once, and only when MacDuff got out of the car and they recognized him did they let the car go in to the courtyard.

MacDuff waved at Trevor to go on without him and turned back to talk to Campbell, the guard.

“We’re in,” Trevor said. “I was wondering if we were going to have a problem with MacDuff honoring that commitment.”

“He was just playing with us. He’s not stupid. This place and his family name mean too much to him to risk being accused of not keeping to a contract.”

“You seem very sure.” He parked the car in front of the castle. “But then, you’ve gotten to know him pretty well through Jock.”

She did feel as if she knew MacDuff. He was tough and hard and he’d never been either easy or tolerant with her. Hell, who wanted tolerance? Tolerance was degrading and made her want to punch someone in the nose. She’d always wanted to be accepted on level ground with all her merits and faults. “He’s hardly an enigma.” She got out of the car. “Like the rest of us, he does what he has to do to get what he wants.” She wrinkled her nose. “He just happens to want a bloody castle.”

Trevor changed the subject as he followed her into the castle. “Do you know where you’re going to look for the translation? Did Mario give you any hint?”

“Not much.” She started up the stairs. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’ll have to think about it.”

“I’ll be up to help you as soon as I finish checking with Venable on their progress in finding Jock. He brought in some trackers from Special Forces. They’ll probably be able to locate him.”

“You think so? Who is it that compared him to Rambo? I’m not so sure.”

“And you don’t want them to find him.”

She stopped on the stairs to look down at him. “Do you?”

He shook his head. “But even though MacDuff destroyed Reilly’s records about him, there could still be a backlash. Jock showed how dangerous he could be. It might be a good idea for him to get hospital care.”

“The hell it would. Do you want him to try to commit suicide again?”

“Maybe he’s healed enough to not—” He shrugged. “Okay, it would be a chance.” He headed down the hall. “But I don’t want him dying in a snowstorm either.”

It was what she had been worrying about too. “I believe he’ll be all right.” Jesus, she hoped he would be. “He’s tough. And maybe Reilly’s training will save his life. God knows, he deserves some payback from that bastard.” She started up the stairs again. “If Venable’s men don’t corner him and make him react instead of think.”

Trevor had already gone into the library and didn’t answer.

She opened the door of Mario’s study and stood there looking at the familiar room. The desk piled high with papers. The statue of Cira by the window. The chair in the corner where she’d spent so many hours. Everything was the same and yet everything was different. Nothing was as she’d perceived it to be.

Snap out of it.

She straightened her shoulders, threw the briefcase containing Reilly’s Herculaneum papers on a chair by the door, and strode toward the desk. Finding Cira’s letter was first on the agenda. She started to go carefully through the papers on Mario’s desk. Ten minutes later she gave up and went to his bedroom.

Nothing there either.

Dammit, he hadn’t had that much time to hide that translation. Maybe he’d destroyed it. . . .

No, it had meant too much to him. Even if he hadn’t considered the translation a bargaining coin, there had been a part of Mario that had been proud of his work, and he’d been thoroughly engrossed in the Cira legend. He’d even insisted that Trevor give up—

She stiffened. “Christ.” She left Mario’s bedroom and went back into the studio and over to the Cira statue by the window.

“Did he give it to you?” she murmured.

Cira stared back at her, bold and unflinching.

“Maybe . . .” She carefully lifted the bust and set it on the floor.

A few sheets of folded paper lay on the pedestal.

“Yes!” She took the sheets of paper, replaced the statue, and dropped down in the easy chair. Her hands were shaking as she unfolded Mario’s translation.

My dear Pia,

I may die tonight.

Julius is behaving strangely and he may have found that the gold is missing. Though the guards I persuaded to do my will are still serving Julius, he may be trying to disarm me until he can find where I sent the gold. I will not send this to you unless I think it safe. Take no chances. You must not die. You must live long and enjoy every minute of it. All the velvet nights and silver mornings. All the songs and laughter. If I don’t survive remember me with love and not bitterness. I know I should have found you sooner, but time flies by and you can never get it back. But enough of this gloominess. It is staying with Julius that is making me think of death. I need to talk to you of life, our life. I will not lie. I cannot promise you that it will be either—

22
                                                                                          

W
here are you going?” Bartlett asked Jane as she tore down the stairs. “Is everything okay?”

“Fine. Tell Trevor I’ll be back soon. I have to see MacDuff. . . .” She trailed off as she ran out the door and down the front steps. No, not MacDuff. Not yet. She flew across the courtyard and into the stable. A moment later she was lifting the trapdoor, grabbing a flashlight, and starting down the steps that led to the sea.

Cold. Wet. Slippery.

Angus’s place, Jock had called it. And later also Angus’s room. She had thought it odd when there was no room. . . .

Not where she was.

She had reached the narrow passage that doubled back to lead to the hills instead of the cliffs. She started down the passage.

Darkness. Suffocating narrowness. Slick stones underfoot.

And an oak door about a hundred yards down the corridor.

Locked?

No, it swung open on oiled hinges.

She stood in the doorway, the beam of her flashlight shining into the darkness.

“Why are you hesitating?” MacDuff asked dryly from behind her. “Why not one more trespass? One more invasion of privacy?”

She stiffened and turned to face him. “You’re not going to make me feel guilty. Hell, I may be entitled to know why Jock said you spent so much time here.”

He didn’t change expressions. “Trevor isn’t leasing this part of the estate. You have no right to be here.”

“Trevor’s invested a lot in trying to find Cira’s gold.”

“You think it’s here?”

“I think there’s a chance.”

His brows lifted. “I’m supposed to have found Cira’s gold on one of my trips to Herculaneum and hidden it here?”

“Possibly.” She shook her head. “But that’s not my guess.”

He smiled faintly. “I’ll be fascinated to hear your speculations.” He gestured. “Let’s go into Angus’s room and you can tell me all about it.” His smile widened as he saw her expression. “Do you think I’m going to indulge in foul play? I might. Cira’s gold is a great instigator.”

“You’re not a fool. Trevor would tear this place apart if I disappeared.” She turned and went into the room. “And I came here to see what was in this room, and now I have an invitation.”

MacDuff laughed. “A reluctant invitation. Let me light the lanterns so that you can have a good look.” He moved across the room to a table against the wall and lit two lanterns, illuminating the room. It was a small room that contained a desk with an open laptop computer, a chair, a cot, and a number of cloth-draped objects leaning against the far wall. “No chest overflowing with Cira’s gold.” He leaned lazily against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. “But you don’t really care about the gold, do you?”

“I care about everything connected with Cira. I want to
know.
”

“And you think I can help you?”

“You were very eager to grab Reilly’s Herculaneum files. You didn’t like it at all when I wouldn’t let you have them.”

“True. Naturally, I was concerned that they might give a clue to where the gold was.”

She shook her head. “You were concerned that there was a ship’s log written by a merchant captain Demonidas among those documents.”

His gaze narrowed on her face. “Was I? Now, why?”

She didn’t answer. “I didn’t realize myself how important that log might be until I read Mario’s translation of Cira’s last letter.”

“You found it?”

She nodded and reached into her pocket. “Would you like to read it?”

“Very much.” He straightened away from the wall and held out his hand. “You know I would.”

She watched him unfold the pages, and she tried to decipher his expression as he read the words that were engraved in her memory.

I need to talk to you of life. Our life. I cannot promise that it will be either easy or safe, but we will be free and answer to no one. That I can promise you. No man crushing us beneath his heel. Achavid is a wild land, but the gold will make it tamer. Gold always soothes and comforts.

Demonidas still has not agreed to take us past Gaul, but I will persuade him. I don’t wish to waste time finding another ship to take us farther. Julius will be on our heels and he will never stop.

Let him look. Let him venture into those rough hills and confront those wild men that the emperor calls savages. He’s not a man who can survive without his fine wines and soft life. He’s not like us. We’ll live and thrive and thumb our noses at Julius.

And if I’m not there to help you, then you must do it yourself. Be bold with Demonidas. He’s greedy and you must never let him know that we’ve hidden the gold among the boxes that we’re taking with us.

By the Gods, I’m telling you how to handle him, yet I hope with all my heart that I’m there to do it for you.

But if I’m not, you will do it. We are one blood. Anything I can do, you will be able to do. I trust in you, my sister.

All my love,
Cira

MacDuff folded the letter and handed it back to her. “So Cira did manage to get the gold out of the tunnel.”

“And put it on a ship captained by Demonidas sailing to Gaul.”

“Perhaps. Often plans go awry, and she wasn’t sure she’d even live through the night.”

“I believe she did. I think she wrote that letter the night the volcano erupted.”

“And your proof?”

“I don’t have proof.” She reached into her pocket. “But I have Reilly’s translation of Demonidas’s log. He refers to a Lady Pia who paid him well to transport her, her child, Leo, and her servants to Gaul and then to southeastern Britannia. They left on the night of the eruption, and he brags about his bravery in the face of calamity. They wanted him to take them on to what he called Caledonia, the place we call Scotland, but he refused. The Roman army was warring with the Caledonian tribes, and Agricola, the Roman governor, was launching ships to attack the northeast coast. Demonidas wanted no part of it. He left Pia and company in Kent and returned to Herculaneum. Or what was left of Herculaneum.”

“Interesting. But it refers to this Lady Pia, not Cira.”

“As you read, Pia must have been Cira’s sister. They were probably separated as children and Cira was too busy surviving to search for her. And when she did find her, she didn’t want to involve her in her battle with Julius and put her in danger.”

“And then Cira died and Pia sailed away with the gold.”

“Or Pia died in the city and Cira took her name and identity to escape Julius. It was the kind of thing she would do.”

“Any mention of the names of the servants who accompanied her?”

“Dominic . . . and Antonio. Cira had a servant, Dominic, a lover, Antonio, and she’d adopted a child, Leo.”

“But wouldn’t her sister have taken care of Cira’s family if Pia was the one who survived?”

“Yes. But, dammit, Cira
didn’t
die.”

He smiled. “Because you don’t want it to have happened that way.”

“Antonio was Cira’s lover. He wouldn’t have left her and gone sailing off.”

“My, how certain you are. Men leave women. Women leave men. It’s the way life is.” He paused. “And why did you run over here after reading those documents and break into Angus’s room?”

“I didn’t break—well, not technically. But I was prepared to do it.”

He chuckled. “I do love that honesty. From the moment I met you, I knew that I—”

“Then be honest with me. Stop playing word games.” She drew a deep breath and then went for it. “You knew what Demonidas had written in that log.”

“How could I know that?”

“I don’t know. But Reilly said that you’d almost stolen a document from him. It had to be this document. Because Reilly tracked and took Jock for a reason. You told me that Reilly probably thought you’d discovered something about the gold on one of your trips to Herculaneum. That Jock was in and out of your castle and that he might know something more.”

“Isn’t that reasonable?”

“Absolutely. That’s why I didn’t question it. Until I read Cira’s letter and Demonidas’s log. Until Reilly told me that after reading the document he’d come to new and different conclusions regarding Cira.”

MacDuff looked at her inquiringly.

“Don’t play with me. You knew that Reilly had that log.”

“How could I?”

“You went after Demonidas’s log at the same time Reilly did. But Reilly got his hands on it first. And after Reilly had it translated, he remembered that you had wanted it too. Very badly. He became curious. But Jock wasn’t able to tell him anything, so he put you temporarily on the back burner. He was busy trying to get hold of Cira’s scrolls and manipulating Grozak.”

“Not quite on the back burner,” MacDuff said. “He had me followed and once sent one of his trolls to try to knock me on the head and kidnap me.”

She stiffened. “You admit it?”

“To you. Not to Trevor or Venable or anyone else.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is between the two of us. I’m still going to get that gold and I don’t want interference.”

“You don’t have it yet?”

He shook his head. “But it’s there and I’ll find it.”

“How do you know it’s there?”

He smiled. “You tell me. I can see you’re working your way through it.”

She was silent a moment. “Cira and Antonio left Kent and came here to Scotland. It was a warring, savage country and she was still on the run from Julius. They decided to go inland, deep into the Highlands. They could lose themselves there and bide their time until they could become more visible and set themselves up in the style Cira had always wanted.”

“And did she?”

“I’m sure she did. But she had to be careful, and a little gold would have gone a long way in such a primitive place. It wouldn’t have taken much of her store of gold to set herself and Antonio up quite comfortably, even luxuriously by the standards of those wild Scots. Isn’t that right, MacDuff?”

His brows lifted. “It sounds reasonable. I’d think you were right.”

“Don’t you know?”

He didn’t speak for a moment and then he slowly nodded and smiled. “It would have taken only a mere pittance, and Cira was very, very canny.”

“Yes, she was.” She smiled back at him. “And she stayed there and prospered and she and Antonio changed their names and raised their family. Their descendants must have liked it there, because they never moved to the coast even when it was safe. Until Angus decided to build this castle in 1350. Why did he do that, MacDuff?”

“He was always a wild man. He wanted to strike out on his own and carve his own niche. I can understand that, can’t you?”

“Yes. When did you find out about Cira’s background? Was that another old family secret?”

“No. Cira must have turned her back on Herculaneum when she settled in the Highlands. There are no tales of Roman revelry. No stories of Italy passed down from father to son. It was as if they sprang from the ground there and made it their own. Angus and Torra were wild and free and, on occasion, as savage as the people surrounding them.”

“Torra?”

“It means
from the castle
. A good name for Cira to choose, and it exactly mirrored her intentions.”

“And Angus?”

“He was the first Angus. It’s not too far from Antonio.”

“If there weren’t any family stories, then how did you know about Cira?”

“You told me.”

“What?”

“You and Eve Duncan and Trevor. I read the story in the newspaper.”

She gazed at him incredulously.

He chuckled. “You don’t believe me? It’s true. Shall I prove it?” He grabbed one of the lanterns and moved across the room toward the draped objects leaning against the far wall. “Life is strange. But this was a little too strange.” He pulled the drapery off to reveal a painting—no, a portrait, she saw, as he turned the painting to face her. “Fiona.”

“My God.”

He nodded. “It’s a mirror image.”

He stepped back and held the lantern high.

The woman in the portrait was young, in her early twenties, and dressed in a low-necked green gown. She wasn’t smiling but gazing out of the portrait with impatience. But there was a vitality and beauty that was unmistakable. “Cira.”

“And you.” He began stripping the draperies off the other paintings. “There’s no other similarity as close as Fiona’s but there are hints, traces of resemblance.” He pointed at a young man dressed in Tudor clothing. “His mouth is shaped like Cira’s.” He gestured to an older woman with a lorgnette, and hair in a bun. “And those cheekbones were passed down in almost every generation. Cira definitely left her stamp on her descendants.” He grimaced. “I had to take down every portrait and hide them here when I knew I was leasing the place to Trevor.”

“That’s why there were so many tapestries on the walls,” she murmured. “But you don’t bear any resemblance to her at all.”

“Perhaps I take after her Antonio.”

“Maybe.” Her gaze was moving from portrait to portrait. “Amazing . . .”

“That’s what I thought. I was only curious at first. I began to probe a little and did start to do a little intensive research into family history.”

“And what did you find out?”

“Nothing concrete. Cira and Antonio covered their tracks very well. Except for one old, tattered letter I found buried with some papers Angus had brought from the Highlands. Actually, it was a scroll in a brass container.”

“From Cira?”

“No, from Demonidas.”

“No way.”

“It was a very interesting letter. You’ll be glad to know it was addressed to Cira, not Pia. It was couched in flowery terms but it was basically a blackmail letter. Evidently when Demonidas returned to Herculaneum he heard about Julius’s search for Cira and decided that he’d see if he could get more money from her than he could from Julius for telling him where she was. He was agreeing to meet with Cira and Antonio to receive his pound of flesh.” He smiled. “Big mistake. Nothing was heard from Demonidas again.”