The Camelot Code (31 page)

Mitzi hangs up.

Owain and George Dalton stare expectantly at her.

She’s almost in a trance as she talks. ‘I have to hand over the codex within twenty-four hours or they’ll kill one of my girls.’ She almost breaks down. ‘But hey, I get to choose.’

The ambassador guides her to a nearby sofa. He knows there’s no point lying about the dilemma she’s in. ‘What you decide to do now is critical. Unfortunately, as you have two daughters, they
will,
if necessary, kill one of them, to increase their leverage.’

Mitzi stares at her hands. It’s a long time since she’s seen them shake. She looks up at the tall Welshman. ‘Once these sons of bitches have got what they want, they’re most likely going to kill them both, aren’t they?’

He knows she’s right. ‘What instructions did they give you?’

‘Said again not to phone the cops. I’m gonna get a call within the hour telling me where to go. I told them I was in England and they said they knew that. Then they hung up.’

‘You said England?’

‘Yeah. Why?’

‘You’re not in England. You’re in Wales. It means they know you crossed the Atlantic and came to London, but not that you came out here to see me.’

‘Or,’ adds Dalton, ‘it means they don’t know they are separate countries.’

Owain sees tension on Mitzi’s face. ‘I’ll stand down the helicopter. Given the developments, you’re better off here than anywhere. Certainly, there’s no point flying you back to the US.’

‘I’m not sure about that.’ She becomes visibly more nervous. ‘I want to be as close to the girls as possible.’

‘I understand. But what if by travelling you miss vital contact with the kidnappers?’

She sees his point. ‘I don’t know. I’m not thinking straight. Give me a minute.’

‘What are you going to do about the FBI? Are you going to tell them about this call?’

‘I have to.’

‘Keep in mind that we’re better placed to help than they are. If they make one slip, then you know this gang will kill your daughters and flee.’

Mitzi chews a nail. ‘The bureau have a standard trace on my phone. They’ll have picked up that I received a call.’

‘They haven’t. There’s a communication shield around the castle. It makes it impossible for anyone to track your location or listen in.’

A thought hits her. ‘Were
you
? Were you recording and tracking that call?’

‘We were, but the kidnapper’s location is masked. There are anti-trace software programs that make it look like calls are coming from hundreds of miles away from where they are made. We can break it down, but it’ll take time.’

She looks desperate. ‘I don’t have time.’ Her phone rings. She looks down and sees that it’s Donovan’s direct line. ‘This is my boss. I have to take it.’

‘It’s up to you.’ He touches her arm. ‘You have to decide whether to trust the FBI, who’ve been dealing with kidnappers for decades – or us – an organization that’s been doing such things for thousands of years.’

Sandra Donovan explains that she’s with Fracci and is putting her on speakerphone.

‘Mitzi, it’s Eleonora.’ The Italian leans over her boss’s desk and talks into the spider-shaped conferencing unit. ‘We’re going to do everything to get your children back, I promise.’

‘I know you will. Has anyone called the local precinct?’

Donovan answers. ‘No. They’re in the dark and we’re keeping them that way. Have you fixed a flight?’

She hesitates. ‘I thought I might stay here for a while and see if the kidnappers make contact. I don’t want to be mid-air if they call. Have you got any breaks?’

‘Not yet,’ says the assistant director. ‘We’re figuring this woman who approached your sister was working with at least one man, probably more. Eleonora’s just spoken to Ruth and she said she thought she had a Californian accent.’

‘Ruthy is smart on accents; she used to be a teacher and could pick out exactly where every kid came from.’

‘We’re going to work on a sketch too. We can do a lot over a secure video link to Ruth’s home computer. It’s not as good as being there with her, but it’s close.’

The Italian leans towards the mic again. ‘We got a trace on your husband. He’d been in a bar brawl and spent the night in a cell in Oakwood. The custody sergeant knows you from way back and is about to kick him out without charge.’

Mitzi huffs in exasperation. ‘Alfie never changes. I’ll give him half an hour, then call. Can you have someone look out for him?’

‘We will,’ confirms Donovan. ‘We’ve met with the Child Abduction Response Department and they need to go through your case. I’ve asked Eleonora to get the files from Vicky and bring them up to speed. I know this is tough but can you think of anyone who might bear a grudge and be behind this – guys you’ve locked up, gangs you’ve crossed?’

‘I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure this is down to whoever killed Sophie Hudson for the memory stick she took from Goldman’s store.’

‘Which you’ve still got?’

‘Yeah, I’ve got it all right.’ She can feel Owain’s eyes on her. ‘It’s in a place where no one’s gonna find it.’

‘If you’re right,’ says Donovan, ‘this stick is what you’re going to have to trade for your girls.’

‘I know. And to be clear, evidence or no evidence, if it means I get the girls, I’ll trade it in a blink.’

Eleonora senses the call’s about to wrap up. ‘Can you have Bronty call and bring me up to date?’

‘He’s not here. He’s following some religious leads on Lundy.’

‘Lundy? Where is that?’

‘Off the west coast. I’ll have Bronty contact you.’

‘No, leave it. I’ll call him. You have enough to deal with.’

‘Thanks.’ She finishes the conversation and looks around.

Dalton and Sir Owain have left the room.

In their place is the tall, thin, white-bearded man she saw in the garden.

The storm the weathermen predicted is now battering the tiny island.

Most of the thirty people who live here are holed up inside cottages in the south, but Bronty is braving the elements, in an all-too-thin waterproof borrowed from the tavern.

So far, he’s come across the remains of a granite quarry, scattered farm buildings, a small camp site, a couple of dozen holiday cottages and that’s about it.

To many people Lundy would be hell, but not him. The peace and seclusion bring a spiritual satisfaction he’s not felt outside of the seminary.

As well as the Giants’ Graves where skeletons up to eight feet tall were said to be found, Old Dan listed other places with rich historical or religious connections. They come with exotic names, like Needle’s Eye, Devil’s Slide and Shutter Point, but for now he’s making do with a rain-lashed walk along the low stone walls of Beacon Hill Cemetery. Like many graveyards, it’s been built on the highest available peak, the point ancients thought closest to the gods and the heavens.

Bronty takes a slow look around. He gazes out over the sodden green pastures to the endless miles of surrounding waves. Somewhere out there is the confluence of the Bristol Channel and the Celtic Sea, a mixing of great waters and stirring of untold myths and legends.

As the minutes pass, he becomes aware that all that separates him and his homeland in America is water. He looks around and remembers the ferryman’s remarks that to ancient Celts this must have looked like the end of the world.

The rain stops. Grey clouds shift. Shafts of sunlight warm his face. There’s a glorious wind-free silence. Then comes the sound of screaming birds, flapping high and wheeling across the brightening sky. He makes a visor out of his hand and picks out herring gulls, starlings and blackbirds.

He lowers his gaze to the glistening grass and spots the graves. Four isolated standing stones you wouldn’t give a second glance if you didn’t know their history.

He walks closer.

The severely weathered pillars remind him of the Celtic crosses that adorn Cornish and Welsh churchyards. He struggles to read the inscriptions. On one, he makes out the letters
OPTIMI
, which is similar to the Latin male name Optimus. Another looks like
RESTEVTAE
or
RESGEVT
, which could be the female name Resteuta or Resgeuta. The third and fourth are even harder to discern. One looks like
POTIT
, or it could be
PO
TIT
and the other
IGERNI
,
TIGERNI
. He wonders if it was originally Tigernus.

‘If only the dead could tell their tales.’

Bronty turns to see a redheaded woman in a yellow anorak and black waterproofs studying him. ‘I’m Geraldine Brummer.’ She puts out a hand. ‘And I’m guessing you’re Mr Tomlinson, from the National Trust?’

‘No. No I’m not.’ Bronty shakes her hand anyway. ‘Jon Bronty. I’m – err – just an American visiting the island.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. My mistake. I’m from Natural England. We manage the marine conservation and I’ve come out for the diving.’

‘I guess if you’re a diver then the rain doesn’t bother you.’

‘Actually, I love the rain. Makes me feel more alive.’

Bronty’s phone rings. ‘Excuse me for a minute?’

‘Sure.’ She smiles understandingly. ‘You’re lucky to get a signal.’

He smiles back and turns away to take the call. ‘Hello?’

‘It’s Eleonora. Can you speak?’

‘Hang on.’ He walks away from the woman. ‘Go on.’

‘Mitzi’s children have been abducted.’

‘What?’

‘They were taken from their aunt’s home in San Mateo. I’ll go into everything afterwards. Right now, I need you to give me a full brief on her case, everything you and she found and anything you think might help us.’

Mitzi almost loses it when Myrddin appears barely a yard from here. ‘Hellfire, Mervin, where did you come from? You shouldn’t go creeping around like that.’

The old man approaches her, his face full of kindness. ‘I have come to give you strength.’

‘Excuse me?’

He takes both of her hands before she can back away. Holds them as intensely as he holds her stare.

She feels a strange sensation in her fingers. It rises into her arms and chest like a deep bass note. Mitzi tries to remove her hands from his, but they’re locked there, as heavy and immovable as her feet were in the garden. A deep warmth spreads through her.

‘Close your eyes for me.’

Normally a guy would get a crack for a line like that, but Mitzi doesn’t feel as though she can stop herself doing as he asks.

‘Slip back in time. Think of the moment you gave birth to your daughters. Remember how in your weakest physical time you created the greatest of all things. Remember their first breaths and cries. How they felt when you held them. How you felt, when you kissed their faces and touched their skin. Remember that magic.’

Myrddin takes her hands and places them behind her back as though they are cuffed together. ‘See your children. See them as newborns entering the light of the earth for the first time, being carried towards you, about to be placed in your arms for the first time.’

Mitzi wants to speak but she can’t. Her mind is flooded with the exaltation of motherhood.

He puts his leathery hands on her shoulders. ‘Kneel.’

Her legs bend and the cold, hard floor touches her knees.

‘The ground gives you strength. It renews you, absorbs your fears and from it you grow.’ He pushes a little harder on her shoulders. ‘Lie.’

Mitzi slumps the rest of the way, conscious now of the floor, of the cold against her side and face.

‘The ground gives you energy and protection. It feeds you when there is no food and hides you when there is nowhere for you to be hidden. Those looking at you will see only your physical form. Your spirit will be below ground, protected and nourished like the roots of a thousand-year-old tree.’

Mitzi feels like she’s having an out-of-body experience. She knows she’s being subjected to some form of hypnotism but at the same time it feels so empowering she has no urge to fight it.

‘When you get up you will be strong. So strong that no man alive will ever be able to cut you down. When you stand and hear your name, you will not remember that you spoke to me or even recall that I was here. But when the time comes, when you are bound or pained, you will remember your power. Now unclasp your hands. Feel the ground. Thank it for becoming your friend. Kneel on it and worship it. Stand proudly upon it, as the greatest tree in a forest stands, and then open your eyes.’

A white flag with the red cross of St George flutters against the blue-grey rain-soaked sky. Beneath the square stone tower upon which it stands is St Helena’s church and at the foot of it, the forlorn figure of Jon Bronty.

The former priest has just finished briefing Eleonora and is trying to get through to Mitzi. All his calls are tripping to her voicemail. An economical recording tells him for the third time, ‘It’s Mitzi; leave a message and a number and I’ll get back to you, thanks.’

‘Hi, it’s Bronty. I just heard the news. I’m so terribly sorry. I’m going to finish up here and get back to the mainland as quickly as possible, but I don’t think the next ferry is until tomorrow. I wish you much strength and I shall pray for you and your girls.’

He hangs up and slips inside the church to deliver on his promise.

The church is much grander and more impressive than the grey slate and harsh stone exterior had hinted at. The warm red brick of the interior and old dark wood pews feel familiar and welcoming to him.

There’s a quaint chancel with a transept vestry to one side, Purbeck marble colonnettes with alabaster carvings depicting the Last Supper. In front of him is a large lectern carved from wood in the shape of an eagle, an old stone pulpit and square baptism font. A modest red-clothed altar stands near a stained-glass centre window depicting the crucifixion. He walks over and kneels before the god he walked out on. It wasn’t a loss of faith in the Supreme Being that saw him quit, but a lack of belief in himself and his worthiness to wear the cloth.

He prays that Mitzi’s children will be safe and quickly reunited with their mother, that the experiences will leave none of them scarred and that she and all her family will have the strength and belief to get through the ordeal without any lasting damage.

It’s a lot to ask for.

He opens his eyes, looks up at the gleaming brass crucifix on the red altar cloth and feels at home. The church. The island. The people. Everything feels right to him. He could live here. This tiny land, of apparently so little, offers so much more than people can easily see.

As he gets to his feet and turns around to leave, he sees Geraldine Brummer praying quietly at the back. For a moment, he realizes he came to Lundy with a head full of questions and he’s going to leave with answers – but maybe not the ones he was looking for.