The Camelot Code (28 page)

The display cases sink into armoured recesses until they are flush with the stone floor. Red lights flash. An alarm sounds.

Sir Owain walks calmly to an archway and holds his hand against a fingerprint scanner. ‘This room is protected,’ he explains to Mitzi. ‘But sadly, you are not. I can give you security, the best in the world, but only if you return what is rightfully mine and you understand the causes that I am involved in and respect the reasons to keep them secret.’

He types a code on an alphanumeric pad below the scanner and the middle display case disappears below floor level. Lights flicker in the dark space and Mitzi sees stone steps leading down below ground.

Sir Owain walks over to her. ‘Lieutenant, the threat to your life and those of your twins and your sister Ruth is not from me. It is from people who seek to hurt me and those who work with me for the greater good.’

‘And who exactly are those people working for the greater good?’

‘I hope, in good time to have you meet them – even become one of them. From what I know about you —’

‘You don’t know anything about me apart from a few names you’d find online and quite honestly, I’d like to keep it that way.’

‘I know you’ve worked more than a hundred homicides, three of them serial killings. You’ve been lead detective on sixteen rapes and five child sex abuse cases, all of which resulted in successful prosecutions. In your earlier days, you cleared up more robberies than any other detective on the force.’

‘Okay, you’ve had some private dick pull my service record. Big deal.’

‘Your beautiful twins, Amber and Jade – they were born five minutes apart. From what I’m told, they were not your first pregnancies. You lost a child, a boy, during the first trimester. You hadn’t told anyone about the pregnancy, so you didn’t tell anyone about the loss. I believe you were back at work twenty-four hours after leaving hospital.’

Mitzi feels violated. Only her confidential medical and employment records could have shown him those facts.

‘Your ex-husband Alfred has been unemployed since you had him sent to prison for the last in a long line of assaults on you. And he will probably still be out of work a year from now. Jack, the man your sister Ruth has thrown out of her house, yesterday engaged one of San Francisco’s most aggressive divorce solicitors and right this moment he has investigators searching for easy ways to make sure she gets the worst settlement.’

‘How do you know these things?’

‘Knowing things is my business.’ He gestures, palm open, to the staircase running below the library.

‘You’re joking, right?’ She gives him a wary look. ‘No way am I going down there with you.’

‘You are not in danger from me, Mitzi. Far from it. You came here because of questions about an iron-age cross and a series of deaths. The answers are down there.’

‘I’m still not going.’

Owain reaches into his jacket and produces a gun.

Mitzi backs off.

‘Don’t be alarmed. It’s for you, not me.’ He holds it by the short barrel and extends it. ‘It’s loaded.’

She snatches it and checks the magazine. It’s a Glock 23 packed with .40 rounds. ‘I thought hand weapons were banned in Britain.’

‘They are. I have a special licence for that, and for many other weapons.’ He turns his back to her and starts to descend the staircase. ‘Please be careful; the steps are steeper than you might imagine and I don’t want you to trip and shoot me accidentally.’

Mitzi watches him disappear and feels her heart pound. She looks around the sealed-off library, takes a deep breath and steps down into the darkness.

The stairs from the library lead into a long and wide stone tunnel dimly lit by recessed amber lights. Everything is watched over by innumerable ceiling-mounted surveillance cameras.

To Mitzi’s surprise, there is what looks like a glass and metal security lodge ten yards ahead of her. Sir Owain is stood there, talking to two men in black uniforms. They are almost as tall as the ambassador and have holstered guns on their belts and automatic weapons racked on a wall behind them.

She stuffs the Glock he gave her into the band of her slacks. There’s no point carrying it. It would be as much use as a peashooter against the level of firepower down here.

‘Mitzi.’ He calls for her to hurry up.

The men in black give her a polite smile as she walks past them and through a shuttered door they’ve opened for their boss.

To her surprise, there’s a second set of stairs beyond the checkpoint leading to what at first glance looks like a chapel. A raised, candlelit altar covered in a white cloth stands thirty yards ahead of her. Behind it, a large wooden crucifix, complete with the sagging wounded body of Christ. As her eyes become accustomed to the light, she notices the cross is identical to the one she saw in Irish’s drawing.

Now she sees the tombs.

Dozens of them. So many, that at first she they look like stone benches. Each of the sarcophagi is three feet high and topped by a marble sculpture of a knight in armour, complete with sword and shield. His arms are folded across his chest and lying over his heart is a small replica of the cross behind the altar.

‘What
is
this?’ asks Mitzi. ‘Some kind of family crypt?’

‘It’s a knights’ mausoleum.’ He walks towards her. ‘Not the only one in the world, but undoubtedly the most secret and secure.’ He runs his hand over the smooth marble head of a carved figure. ‘This, here, is my father. All down this side of the crypt, is my bloodline. Along the opposite side is my wife’s.’

Mitzi surveys the rows of carved sarcophagi. ‘And the rest – the ones in the middle?’

‘They are the bravest of the brave. Centuries of men and women who secretly served their countries and gave their lives in the battle against evil.’

She walks around the back of a tomb and sees an inscription dating back to the thirteenth century. ‘So all these dead folk, they’re what, some religious militia?’

‘I’ve never heard it called that before. We like to think of our movement as a circle of people who, like yourself, are dedicated to keeping the world safe. In medieval times they were called knights. These days we don’t like anyone to know we exist, let alone call us anything. Anonymity is our strongest shield.’

‘But what do
you
call yourselves?’

‘Arthurians. We follow codes and principles close to those historians have attributed to King Arthur.’ Owain walks on and Mitzi tails him until they stop just before the altar.

Four of the stone tombs have had their ornate lids removed and bodies are visible. As well as skeletons, each coffin contains photographs, jewellery, letters and mementos of the individual’s life.

‘This is all one family,’ he explains. ‘Son, father, grandfather and great-grandfather.’

She looks closer and sees they are all laid out in the grey tunics and tights she imagines knights wore beneath their armour. Three red lions run over cloth where hearts once pounded. Across the ripples of bony rib cages lie iron crosses of the exact type that started her investigation.

‘The old gentleman who ran the antiques store in Maryland was killed by people trying to plunder and destroy the tombs of our knights in America. Three crosses like those you are looking at were stolen from our mausoleum near Glastonbury, inside the Meshomasic State Forest in Connecticut. I can take you there and show you, if you wish me to validate what I’m telling you.’

She looks across the bodies. ‘No need. I believe you.’

‘The man who robbed those tombs was once one of us. A trusted member of our group. Now, he seeks to destroy everything we stand for.’

‘Why such a change of heart?’

‘Money. Greed. Weakness and desperation. All the usual factors in the downfall of a man like him.’

‘But how can a couple of stolen crosses represent so big a threat to you?’

‘The people who are paying him want to destroy us. To do that they need to prove we exist. Exposing the graveyards is laying our history bare to the world. We cannot allow them to name the knights. Our order would die.’

Mitzi begins to see the dangers. ‘So I guess you got injunctions on Professor Mallory because you feared he was also about to expose you?’

‘Let’s say that some of the links he was making were too close for comfort. He could have begun a chain reaction that we might not have been able to stop.’

‘And the murders I’m working on…’ – there’s scepticism in her voice – ‘are they all down to this mysterious grave-robbing ex-knight of yours?’

Owain knows he’s being tested. ‘Not all. George Dalton will be here in the morning and he will be able to discuss in detail the homicide you have connected him to.’

‘And you think by bringing me down here, showing me all this and telling me those things, I’m going to view his answers – perhaps his admissions – in a different light?’

‘That’s exactly what I hope you’ll do.’

‘Then I’m afraid that despite all your research, you really don’t know me at all, Sir Owain. In my book, murder is murder. No excuses. No escape. Not if you’re a petty crook who made a mistake, or if you’re a finely educated diplomat who really should have known a whole lot better. Now can you get me a ride home? My stomach thinks my throat’s been cut and you don’t want to see what happens when I get any hungrier than this.’

It’s gone midnight by the time Mitzi gets back to the guesthouse.

The night manager, a greasy-haired thin man, says there’s no chance of anything to eat before breakfast.

‘What kind of freakin’ country is this? Life doesn’t run nine to five any more – you should know that yourself.’

‘I’m very sorry, madam.’

‘Sorry doesn’t fill my goddamned stomach.’ She stomps upstairs to her room.

Everything in the minibar is ridiculously expensive.

She guiltily opens two packs of candy and a small bottle of white wine. Her completely unsatisfactory supper costs twenty English pounds. She daren’t even convert it into dollars.

By the time she gets into bed, she’s calm enough to call her sister. To her surprise, Amber is beyond excited because Ruth’s promised to take them to the Bay Aquarium tomorrow, which apparently is made up of more than three hundred feet of underwater tunnels where you can see more than twenty thousand fish.

Mitzi would kill to see a fish. A big juicy trout. Grilled with a slice of lemon and maybe sides of fries and vegetables.

She finishes the call and turns off the phone and looks up to the heavens. ‘You listening, God? I really need your blessing and some deep and decent sleep.’ Just to make sure, she takes the last of the painkillers the hospital gave her and hunkers down beneath the sheets.

Owain Gwyn pours a glass of Vieux cognac and carries it from the walnut cabinet at the back of his office to his desk.

On his monitor is an icon marked
NIGHTBRIEF
. For once, he finds the intel hard to digest. His mind is on other matters. Not just the Californian cop and her homicide crusade but also Mardrid, Marchetti, the terror attacks in the US and UK. Jennifer’s pregnancy. Her relationship with Beaucoup.

His own mortality.

Time is running out. His time. He has to make sure the Order is in good shape to run without him.

The secure phone to New York rings and breaks him from his thoughts. ‘Hello.’

‘I hoped I’d catch you before you turned in.’ Gareth Madoc’s voice is raw from working days without sleep. ‘Our girl got a tracker on Khalid Korshidi.’

‘Well done.’

‘It gets better. He led us to a safe house out in East Flatbush. We got ears on the place, and it was a good job we had. There were already three other people in the basement. One of them was Imam Yousef Mousavi.’

The name is enough for Owain to put down his cognac. ‘You’re certain?’

‘We’ve run voice recognition software on the recordings. We’re ninety per cent sure.’

‘Did anyone use his name?’

‘No. But Nabil Tabrizi was there and he referred to him as Imam. Antun always believed Nabil reported to Mousavi.’

‘Who was the other person? You said there were three others.’

‘We don’t know, but the imam was in overall command. He led the conversations and was most reverently spoken to.’

‘The CIA and CTU would sell their souls just to get their hands on Mousavi, let alone anyone above him. Please tell me they spoke about something more important than the price of halal meat.’

‘Trinity.’

‘What?’

‘That’s what the “unknown” said. Hang on; I’ve got the transcript here. He said, and I quote: “
In forty-eight hours’ time the Trinity will be no more.
” Then the “unknown” asked if they all understood what was being demanded of them. They said they did. After that everything quickly slid into prayers.’

‘I’m just trying to make sense of this Trinity reference. Did the Americans get anything helpful from the men they locked up after the raid on Nabil’s body shop?’

‘I spoke to the CIA about an hour ago. They’ve got nothing so far.’

‘Pity. Trinity sounds religious but it could mean three of anything. Remember that intelligence we had about al-Qaeda targeting sports stars?’

‘I do, it was a hit list based on Forbes top earners.’

‘See if we’ve got three stars together anywhere soon.’

Gareth makes a note to himself.

Owain has another thought. ‘I’ll get some of our analysts to draw up a matrix that shows the movement of all leading politicians, sports heroes and religious leaders over the next twenty-four hours.’

‘At least you know the new Pope will be safe.’

‘I hope so. I’ll be with him in Wales for the first papal visit for more than thirty years and not even the Devil himself will be able to get through security down there.’

‘I’m sure you’re right.’

‘Any developments with the Korshidi girl?’

‘A little. I’ve pushed her to fit the recorders while her father is out. If he’s as important as she says he is, then we may get lucky.’

‘We need to.’ Owain takes a long pause before continuing: ‘Gareth, I sense that the next few days will shape our destiny – mine, yours, Lance’s and the Order’s. If for some reason it turns out that I cannot –
how shall I say this?
– be around, then you and Lance must guide our members until the next of my line is ready to step forward.’

‘Owain, I —’

‘No, please let me finish. You have been like a brother to me, and I love you deeply for all your support, your friendship and loyalty. Consider me foolish and this unnecessary, but I just want to say thank you.’ He leaves no opening for discussion. ‘Now let’s talk no further on this matter; I have cognac to finish and a bed to go to. Goodnight, dear friend, goodnight.’