Matt Drake 14 - The Treasures of Saint Germain (5 page)

“No prison can hold me.” She shrugged.

“Be nice to test that.”

“How are you, Matt?” Mai asked nicely.

“Am fair t’middlin’,” he answered, then added, “That’s Yorkshire for ‘ok’.”

“I know.”

Alicia stepped around him. “What? Am I friggin’ invisible?”

“We can wish,” Kenzie said.

Alicia rounded on her. “With you, bitch, there’s no
we.
Only
I.
Don’t think you’ll ever fit with this team.”

“Still sore ’cause I kissed ya? Or just sore?”

Alicia clenched her fists, but Hayden had already seen it coming and jumped off the table. Her words doused all the rising tempers.

“The new Secretary of Defense is about to be announced.”

“Already?” Dahl said. “That’s great.”

“The President’s office says they’ll be up to speed in a couple of days.”

“We don’t have a great track record where secretaries are concerned,” Smyth said gloomily. “Probably best to keep him at arm’s length.”

Drake saw a fleeting expression of hurt twist Hayden’s face and wished there was a way to turn Smyth off sometimes, knowing how close she had been to Jonathan Gates, the man who’d originally had vision enough to create and support the SPEAR team. That made him think of other people they had lost along the way. Ben. Sam and Jo. Romero. Kennedy Moore. And Komodo.

Just to name the first few.

He saw the same distant looks in several of his colleagues’ eyes, including Dahl’s, and wondered if it was always a soldier’s lot to keep departed loved ones alive by remembering them, day after day, night after night, year upon year. If so, that was fine and right.

The best we can all hope for is that somebody remembers us when we’re gone.

Mortality concerned everyone. It was hard to believe the world would just carry on after you died, people living their lives, dawn breaking, the same trees and the same buildings standing uncaring, the same worries and fears and sheer delights being visited upon a new generation.

Alicia put a hand on his arm, perhaps guessing where he was. And her own motto stood forward in his thoughts once more:
One life, live it.

He broke the introspective silence. “He have any plans for us?”

Hayden flicked a switch that turned the screens and all communications on. “I don’t know. But new officials usually change it up, so expect him to come up with something you least expect.”

“I hope that’s not a bloody omen,” Dahl said.

Kinimaka walked carefully over to the coffee machine. “I’m pretty sure it will be, brah.”

“Shit,” Smyth vented. “You should know better by now.”

Hayden calmed them with a steady cough. “All right. Quit it, boys. Let’s all get a little focus here.”

“On what?” Lauren piped up. “You called us all in here for this? Nothing’s happening.”

“Hooker’s got a point,” Kenzie said.

Now Smyth sized up the Israeli. “You wanna push that a little further?”

Lauren clicked her fingers. “I can fight my own battles, Smyth.”

Alicia picked up on that. “You still call him Smyth, eh? Dude, do you even
have
a first name?”

“When we’re alone we don’t talk overmuch,” Lauren said.

“Same for most soldiers,” Yorgi reflected.

Hayden finally managed to get herself heard over the chit-chat. “Updates!” she yelled. “As you know we’re kept informed of what’s going on in the world. Now, let’s start with Syria . . .”

As Hayden ran through the various new incidents around the globe, none of which were deemed serious enough for SPEAR to get involved with, Drake wondered if their patched, rag-tag crew was starting to fray. Was fatigue setting in? Did they all need to go and do something different for half a year?

Kinimaka came around with coffees, a bold Kona blend which Drake knew would keep him awake later but it was so bloody nice. Also, it was both hard and dangerous sleeping with a frolicsome Alicia bouncing around your groin. He’d slept in war zones that worried him less.

Dahl wandered over to him. “If I were you two I’d be a bit more discreet. The dynamic here is shaky enough as it is.”

Alicia frowned. “And yet I’m always there, aren’t I? Pulling you out of the sea after you couldn’t handle a little nuclear explosion. Flying to Barbados to join your busman’s holiday? What’s next—babysitting?”

Dahl looked horrified, as intended, and Drake let out a good chuckle. “Personally I’d love to see Alicia babysit your kids,” he said seriously. “Imagine the aftermath.”

Dahl shuddered. “Fine. I’ll shut up.”

“Good idea.”

Hayden cocked her head as an internal line started to ring. It wasn’t surprising that someone knew the team were here late, evaluating. They did work for the government after all.

Hayden flicked a button. “Yeah?”

“Hey. Interpol’s flagged up something you guys might be interested in. I’m sending it over to your inbox now.”

Hayden thanked the tech and tapped at a nearby screen. She threw the information up onto a large screen with a flick of her wrist, enjoying the standard Pentagon technology. What appeared to be an official email sat, scanned, virus-tested and cleared, ready to be opened. Drake noticed the sender’s name.

“Armand Argento,” he said. “Remember him? Good guy. Good agent. He was Aaron Trent’s inside man at Interpol.”

“The Disavowed crew?” Beau said. “I remember them too from Niagara Falls, though never had the pleasure of . . . bumping into them.” He gurgled, clearly remembering the skirmish where he’d inflicted several bruises upon the SPEAR team. “I know Argento too, from some European travels. A smart guy.”

Hayden opened the message, taking time to digest the information. “All right. It seems they sighted Tyler Webb.” She spoke the name as if she’d gotten a bad taste in her mouth. “But it’s over a week old. In Transylvania.” She shook her head.

Nobody spoke out with the expected flurry of bad jokes; instead focusing on Argento’s text and further information.

“Nothing concrete. Just a sighting by a local cop,” Hayden went on. “Reported too late to act upon. They believe he may have been visiting the local castles in the area.”

“It’s all guesswork. There are many castles in the vicinity, not to mention hundreds of homes, churches, villages . . .” she tailed off.

The team were all processing the email simultaneously.

“But then much later in Versailles,” Dahl said.

“When?” Alicia asked quickly.

“Just six hours ago.”

“The world’s most wanted man,” Smyth grumped. “And the French let him slip through their hands.”

“As did the Americans,” Beau said. “And most other countries.”

“He hasn’t slipped away yet,” Hayden continued to read. “They backtracked and say Webb boarded a Paris-bound train a few hours ago. It seems he was being chased through Versailles, at least, which is probably why he broke cover.”

“And it was not just a random robbery,” Yorgi pointed out. “Shots were fired, cops injured.”

“But they were
defending
Webb?” Dahl’s voice was laced with incredulity. “Why?”

“One thing’s for sure,” Smyth growled. “We won’t make the same mistake with Webb that we made with Nicholas Bell. This one ain’t comin’ back alive.”

“We will need to identify the chasers,” Dahl said.

“And why Webb has popped up in Versailles.”

“They backtracked his movements to a break in at the palace.” Another observation, this one from Mai. “Webb’s on the trail of something.”

“That’s why he let the Pythian organization destroy itself and then wither away,” Drake said. “His obsession with this Saint Germain character.”

“It must be a heck of a treasure,” Alicia said, “to so readily relinquish his entire privileged life for. What prize could be worth all that?”

“We have been lax,” Kinimaka said. “We should have been researching. But I guess that was Karin’s forte.”

“Not long now,” Drake put in. “She’ll be back.”

“The big question is . . .” Dahl added softly. “It seems by the wording at the end there, that Interpol are inviting us over?”

“Appears so,” Hayden replied. “So they can take on board our recent dealings with the world’s most wanted man. And Argento knows us.”

She made a call. “Wheels up in thirty. I’ll call Argento and then the State Department. Make your preparations. We should arrive in Paris by 4 a.m., local.”

The team took a common, deep gulp of air. This was how it always began. Planning for the new job, calling relatives to give them the news, not even time to slip back and grab a hug. Their lives were about to change once more, for better or worse.

Drake wished they could leave all the uncertainties and discontentment at the door, but this team had changed. Whether it was for the better was about to be determined.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The Baconian cipher was a relatively simple cryptogram, but one that could still be tricky without respect and concentration. Webb had given it both, and figured out a location for the next clue on the train to Paris. The address was particularly interesting. Not a museum or church or palace this time, but a residence of sorts. Maybe this time he’d become one of the few individuals throughout history to be privileged enough to stand in one of the Count’s many laboratories. Maybe certain alchemical secrets would be revealed.

Webb had found his excitement rising. He’d better quell it before giddiness took hold and made him careless. No doubt the authorities would eventually track him from Versailles to Paris—that was unavoidable thanks to the gun-toting goons back in Versailles, but once he left Gare du Nord, Tyler Webb would wholly and completely vanish once again.

When the train slowed and the famous station loomed closer, lit up in the dark and recognizable to Webb, he had risen out of his seat and readied to disembark, face down. Every little helped, of course. Quickly then, he’d escaped the station, breathing a sigh of relief at the lack of police presence and knowledge that he hadn’t yet been recognized on CCTV. Time passed, and he melted away, using his stalking skills to avoid cameras, busy areas and tourist hot spots where surveillance would be at its highest. The residence sat exactly where he expected it to be, so he’d made a fast reccie, then paid cash to sit in a hotel room not too far away.

Waiting for the night.

Webb now had other problems, bigger complications. Never in his decades of research had he come cross a group that might already be on the path to Saint Germain, or perhaps guarding it. But that appeared to be the case. Investigations had revealed that the group dogging his footsteps were secretive, largely unidentified and unfamiliar. Webb reasoned that they must be Saint Germain nuts, purists, keeping their criminal ardor only for the Count, otherwise they’d be red-flagged by now and easier to research. Of course, he hadn’t embarked upon this trip unprepared—he had contingencies upon contingencies. Ways of escape and backup plans and worse, much worse, if it seemed somebody might be about to catch him.
The years of meticulous planning will pay off.

Chase me all you like,
he thought.
I have so many ways prepared.

The room was tiny, comprising of a single bed with a coffee-stained top sheet, a wardrobe with enough room for two T-shirts and a shower that might just be large enough for a dog. Webb thought of the grand hotel rooms he’d stayed in, the sumptuous suites and world-class service. Oh, to fall so low in the name of the Count. The fever burned bright within him. Twenty four hours had passed since he came here and he hadn’t even embarked upon the dark prowl. But as he looked out the window, plenty of candidates showed their true colors.

It didn’t matter though. With the lab almost certainly discovered all else could wait. The problem remained though . . . this so-called
group.
Would they be
observing the lab?

Of course. If they had seen him at the castle and the palace, they’d obviously be at every stage. But how did they know about these places without access to the scroll? Was there another tributary in existence that led to the vast pool of mystery surrounding Saint Germain? Or was it something else . . . ?

Webb made dire instant coffee and sat again, patient as the sun lowered across the skies. Enquiries were still ongoing but, so far, the group appeared to be well funded protectors of Saint Germain’s greatest treasures. Probably wanted them all for themselves.
Assholes.
But they wouldn’t stop him now. Nobody would. Webb remembered the attentions of Hayden Jaye and her mountainous boyfriend, of Matt Drake and his vulgar girlfriend, and of the highly capable Beauregard Alain. It wouldn’t take them long to jump on the trail. Webb had lingered thus far, enjoying the freedoms and joys of the quest, but could afford to do so no longer.

To the end.

The sun sank lower. Webb could see the Eiffel Tower if he leaned at an awkward angle across his grime-spattered window. The Champs-Elysees was within walking distance. More information had trickled down to his tablet now regarding the organization he now thought of as “the group”. It seemed there were several societies or bodies or cults around the world who believed in the existence of beings called Ascended Masters. Webb had yet to be informed of the exact meaning, but this group believed Saint Germain was a member of that ultra-exclusive set. As he waited, though, and perused the new information, time ran out.

Darkness fell.

Not at all deterred by the events in Versailles or his almost-certain public reveal to the authorities, he collected everything he would need to break into the residence and search for what he was sure would still be there. The ironic thing was, the group’s presence so far only confirmed and strengthened his resolve. It showed he was on the right track, from reading the scroll to deciphering the codes and clues.

Thank you,
group.

Webb exited the room, taking all his belongings and not expecting to return. The street outside was quiet and dark, and he turned in the direction of the Champs Élysées, knowing his route and not too concerned yet about concealed eyes. The building in question had been transformed many times during the last two hundred and fifty years but was currently a vacation rental home, upper scale, set around a small courtyard filled with trees, benches and a paved, meandering path. It took Webb eight minutes to walk there.