King's Crusade (Seventeen) (22 page)

‘Keep working on it,’ said Reznak curtly. ‘I’ll speak to the First Council. We have to decide what to do about the
Rose Croix
sect’s potential plans. We also have to clear things with the Vatican. Your faces have already made it into Interpol’s criminal database.’

A buzz rose from the speakers after he disconnected.

Having operated below the radar of the human authorities for almost three centuries, Alexa was not pleased to have achieved this level of notoriety in so short a time. But she was hardly surprised after their actions at the Vatican; they had not exactly been subtle. Nonetheless, the fact remained that this latest development could lead to unnecessary complications. She did not want to have to hurt the human agents who might get in her path. Her irritation with the
Rose Croix
sect rose another notch.

She looked at the monk. ‘What was taken from your monastery?’

‘A relic bestowed on us by an immortal,’ said Yonten calmly. He closed his eyes and assumed a meditative pose once more.

Alexa suspected that was all he was going to say for some time. She turned her attention to the CCTV footage. Though she did her best to try and ignore the most recent revelations imparted by Reznak, the image of the trishula mark on the monk’s palm kept flashing through her mind.

Was it a coincidence that she had chosen to carry a pair of sai daggers even before she became an agent for the Crovir First Council?

Alexa could recall with crystal clarity the first time she had ever laid eyes on the weapons as a child. They had seemed strangely familiar even then, like they belonged in her hands. And there was no doubt that she fought with them like they were extensions of her very being.

She frowned and concentrated on the recordings.

It was another hour before she found something useful in the films. Her fingers stilled on the keyboard.

A frozen screenshot showed Lorenzio’s killer getting into a van on the Via della Conciliazione moments after he had fled St. Peter’s Square. She zoomed in on the grainy picture. Half of the vehicle’s registration number was visible. The image had also caught the reflection of a face in the side mirror of the van.

A thrill ran through Alexa when she recognized the coarse features of Boyko Dragov. She picked up the phone and called the Crovir techs.

‘There’s no vehicle matching that description and partial number plate?’ she said into the handset a couple of minutes later. Somehow, this fact did not surprise her. ‘I want you to run that combination through every number plate recognition software we have. Call me if you get any hits.’ She disconnected and turned to look at Jackson. ‘Have you got anywhere with those yet?’ she asked, indicating the documents on his lap.

‘I’m not sure,’ he replied with a frown. ‘The folder contains reports of the sect’s suspected deeds, as well as the minutes of the meetings Lorenzio’s commission had with the Pope. There’s also another drawing by him.’ He removed a thick, yellow sheet from the pile and placed it on the table between them.

Alexa stared at the watercolor painting on the faded parchment.

‘I know I’ve seen it somewhere before,’ said Jackson, frustration evident in his tone.

The sketch was of a pretty, small flower with five petals. Lorenzio had shaded the corolla a pale blue and the center golden.

Yonten opened his eyes and glanced at the illustration. ‘
Myosotis scorpioides
,’ he murmured and closed his eyes once more.

There was a noise behind them. Carrington strolled down the aisle from the direction of the cockpit. ‘We cleared Italian airspace a while back. Fawkes wants to know where we’re headed.’

Alexa ignored the immortal and gazed unblinkingly at Jackson.

The Harvard professor was staring at the monk with a glazed expression. ‘What did you say?’ he whispered.

‘
Myosotis scorpioides
,’ repeated Yonten calmly. ‘The—’

‘Forget-me-not flower!’ Jackson interjected feverishly. His ice-blue gaze glinted as it moved to her face. ‘The Freemasons.’

She watched while he rifled frantically through the contents of the document wallet. Seconds later, his fingers stilled on a file.

‘In December 1995, there was a major incident at the Freemasons’ Grand Lodge of Scotland,’ said Jackson. He glanced at her while he spoke. ‘It resulted in several deaths and was thought to have been a botched robbery by the local police. Lorenzio’s commission concluded that it was probably a failed attempt by the
Rose Croix
sect to steal something of value from one of the private Freemason collections held at the Lodge.’

Alexa drummed the fingers of her right hand on the table. ‘Have there been any other incidents involving the Freemasons since then?’

‘No,’ he replied. He stiffened suddenly, his gaze locked on a distant memory. ‘But I know where security has recently been heightened in the Freemasons’ world; the United Grand Lodge of England in London. Just last month, a friend told me he had great difficulty gaining access to their old records.’

‘What are you saying?’ she asked carefully.

‘There’s a good chance the Freemasons would have moved whatever object the
Rose Croix
sect was looking for in Scotland around their numerous Lodges across the globe. But none is more sacred or well guarded than the Freemasons’ Hall, the headquarters of the United Grand Lodge of England. Even if the item the
Rose Croix
sect was after is no longer there, their archives may hold more information on the group.’

Alexa looked at Carrington. ‘Ask Fawkes to set a course for London.’

Chapter Eighteen

R
ain was falling in gray
ribbons across the darkening sky when they landed at Heathrow Airport an hour later. Carrington opened the Gulfstream’s cabin door and was doused with a shower of drops carried by the cold wind coursing across the tarmac.

Lights flashed in the gloom ahead. A black Mercedes SUV splashed through puddles and rolled to a stop a few feet from the aircraft. A familiar, suited figure climbed out from behind the steering wheel.

Alexa grew still as she studied the man by the vehicle. ‘What’s he doing here?’

Carrington shrugged. ‘He was in London on Crovir business and asked Reznak whether he could tag along. The boss thought it might be a good idea.’

Frank Schmidt, the Crovir Hunter she had delivered Abraham McIntyre to six days ago in Las Vegas, watched with an unreadable expression while they strolled down the steps toward him. ‘Alexa,’ he said with a brief nod. His eyes shifted beyond her shoulder. ‘And these would be?’

Jackson straightened. ‘Zachary Jackson,’ he said carefully. Schmidt was a couple of inches taller and heavier in the shoulders than the Harvard professor.

Alexa watched the two men exchange wary stares.

‘And the monk?’ said the Crovir Hunter, his gaze moving to the robed Asian man.

‘My name is Yonten, oh great warrior,’ said the monk. He bowed formally.

‘Is he kidding?’ Schmidt said dully.

‘Just be grateful he greeted you,’ said Carrington. ‘All Reznak got was “Mr. Crovir”.’

‘Does that mean they—’ Schmidt started.

‘Know about the existence of immortals?’ Jackson interrupted. ‘Yes. We do.’

Schmidt stared at him stonily for a moment before climbing behind the wheel of the SUV. The whine of the Gulfstream’s engines rose behind them as they followed him inside the vehicle; Fawkes was leaving on another assignment for Reznak.

Her godfather had insisted Carrington accompany them this time around. Alexa suspected he had agreed to Schmidt’s request for similar reasons. Reznak was being overly cautious.

‘Is something wrong?’ asked Schmidt as he headed toward the M4 motorway. He glanced at her guardedly. ‘You look like you’re gonna kill someone.’

She unclenched her teeth and forced her facial muscles to relax. ‘It’s nothing,’ she said.

Despite the heavy traffic clogging the arteries of the city, they made it to the outskirts of London in record time. Only Yonten’s giggles and the occasional sharp intake of breath from Jackson punctuated Schmidt’s wilder driving antics.

Night was descending on the capital when they drove past Hyde Park. A flurry of snow fell from the sky and melted almost instantly under the feet of the crowds swarming Trafalgar Square. Minutes later, they took a left off Kingsway and drove down a one-way road.

The Crovir Hunter continued past the art deco façade of the Freemasons’ Hall and parked the SUV on a side street around the corner. He turned the engine off. ‘So, what’re we doing here?’ he asked.

Alexa reached into the bag by her feet and removed the slim hardback case that held her field computer. She brought up the floor plans sent by the Crovir techs during the flight to London.

‘These are the blueprints of the Hall,’ she said briskly. ‘Besides the main doors, there are several side entrances to the building. They’re all reasonably well guarded, and there are CCTV cameras covering pretty much every square foot of the complex.’

Schmidt went still. ‘We’re breaking into the place?’

‘Yes,’ she replied.

‘Those cameras can easily be disabled,’ said Carrington from the rear seat.

‘Yes, they can,’ said Alexa. A faint frown marred her brow. ‘We could storm this place with a squad of Hunters if we wanted to, but not without causing a major scene.’ She scrolled through the plans and images on the screen. ‘Underground access is possible but would take hours, require heavy drilling equipment, and be too noisy. Our best bet is the roof. We can get to it from here.’ She tapped a shot of a building at the rear of the Freemasons’ Hall.

‘What are we looking for when we get inside?’ said Schmidt.

‘We want access to their private archives and collections,’ said Jackson. ‘We suspected they might be in the Library, but then—’

‘We found this,’ interrupted Alexa. She brought up a three-dimensional, infrared image of the Hall and zoomed in on a section of the frame.

Twenty-three thousand miles above the Earth, a network of private satellites owned by the Crovirs orbited the planet and contributed vast amounts of information to the databases held by the immortal race. They had been updated with the latest in ground-penetrating radar technology several years ago and had provided clear, in-depth pictures of the Freemasons’ building.

Thirty feet below the Lodge and directly underneath their Grand Temple was a small circular chamber that did not feature anywhere on the original blueprints. The array of heat signals around the enclosed space indicated the presence of an elaborate security system. The walls were three feet thick and made of concrete. It was almost certainly a vault.

‘Our techs can override the cameras in the Hall as well as any alarms they may have on our signal,’ said Alexa. ‘That should buy us time to make it to that room.’

‘Can they disable the security network in the chamber?’ queried Jackson, indicating the frozen image on the computer screen.

‘No,’ she replied. ‘The alarm system for the vault is on a separate internal framework. It’ll be up to us to figure out how to get inside when we reach it.’

‘And the guards we might come across?’ said Schmidt carefully as he studied the multiple heat signals that dotted the interior of the building. Each one corresponded to a living body.

As Jackson had anticipated, there were a lot of sentries patrolling the Hall.

Alexa gazed steadily at the Crovir Hunter. ‘This is a strict no-kill assignment.’ Her eyes narrowed slightly at the expression that flashed in his gaze.

‘Yeah,’ said Jackson in a hard tone. ‘We don’t want the slaughter of innocent humans.’

Yonten shook his head solemnly.

Carrington sighed. ‘Seriously, Reznak and you take all the fun out of our missions.’

Alexa left the hardback case on the floor of the SUV, grabbed her backpack, and followed the men out of the vehicle. They stuck to the shadows as they headed toward the Freemasons’ Hall. A narrow alley off a side road brought them to the goods entrance of the building that abutted the rear of the headquarters of the Grand Lodge.

She slid the blade of a sai inside the gap where the two doors met and jimmied the lock. The metal panel opened with a loud groan. They slipped into the darkness inside just as a couple of women strolled down the passageway toward them, voices raised in conversation.

Schmidt took a pen torch out of his suit jacket and flicked the bright beam across an empty, tiled corridor. The place was as silent as a tomb. They moved quietly into the gloom and went in search of the service stairs. Moments after they entered the building, they walked out onto a rooftop terrace.

After the stillness of the last minute, the sounds of the city hit them like a wall. An icy wind ruffled Alexa’s hair and brought a small burst of snowflakes that melted rapidly on her face. She strolled to the west end of the terrace and studied the drop before her. She removed a small grappling hook attached to a sturdy, nylon rope from her backpack, secured the iron claws to the low parapet, grasped the rope, and stepped off the edge of the building.

Seconds later, her feet touched down on the roof of the Freemasons’ Hall. The four men followed swiftly.

Soft light shone through skylights and stained glass ceilings, casting their shadows briefly on the rooftop as they ran over the canted surface toward the outline of the Grand Temple. An access door soon appeared in the gloom. They stopped outside it.

Carrington took his cell out and made a call. ‘We’re good to go,’ he said once the Crovir techs acknowledged his caller ID. He listened briefly before disconnecting. ‘Their security system will be offline in five seconds.’

Schmidt picked the lock on the door. Alexa glimpsed Yonten’s small, enigmatic smile while she watched the Hunter work.

‘I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this,’ murmured Jackson when Schmidt pulled the door open moments later.

‘Everything will be all right, Mr. Harvard,’ said Yonten brightly. The monk stepped past them and followed the Crovir Hunter through the opening.

Carrington stared at Yonten’s back. ‘How the hell can he know that?’ he muttered.