The Camelot Code (39 page)

Tess Wilkins puts the jerry can in the RV and returns to the shack. Her hands stink of gasoline. She goes to the sink, soaps and scrubs.

She dries on a hand towel, tosses it on the floor and walks to the grubby sofa. She picks up a stained cushion and wraps it around the muzzle of her pistol.

Less than two feet from her, Jade Fallon is curled up against the other arm of the furniture. The kid’s hands are still tied behind her back, her mouth taped and head hooded. She’s so motionless that Tess guesses she’s asleep.

Or dead.

Maybe she suffocated. Tess watches the youngster’s chest and sees it slowly rise and fall.

Pity.

If the girl had been dead, she’d just burn the place and be gone. In the last few minutes, she’s been growing squeamish. Even gotten to wondering if she could let the kid live. The proposal still appeals to her conscience. But not her sense of self-survival. And Tess Wilkins is ruled by self-preservation.

She swallows hard, lifts the muffled gun and looks away as she shoots Jade in the head. It’s louder than she expected. Like an echo. The recoil more powerful than she’d imagined.

Then the pain and realization kick in. She’s not only fired a shot, she’s been shot.

Fire spreads through her chest and back. Tess stumbles and sees a small, thin woman in the doorway, hands outstretched and a gun clasped between them.

She must have got a round off at the same time.

Tess Wilkins coughs blood as she hits the floor. At least she killed the kid. It’s one less witness against Chris.

Eleonora Fracci follows the screams.

She finds two lone cops in X-ray playing King Canute with a tidal wave of panicking patients. She flashes her shield at the older police. ‘I’m looking for Amber Fallon, a teenage girl, daughter of a colleague.’

He shakes his head. ‘She’s in ER – they’re operating.’

‘What happened?’

‘Guy busts into here, shoots a nurse, chases the girl down the corridor and pops her before he cracks a fire exit and disappears.’

‘How badly hurt is she?’

He shrugs. ‘I dunno. Bad, I guess.’

Eleonora notices blood pooled in the doorway to the X-ray room. As she gets closer she sees the body of the nurse. It’s been turned. There are smears on the floor where someone tried to save her. Bloody footprints lead away. They’re small. A woman’s, not a man’s. No doubt made by someone professional enough to have known that once death was certain the body would have to be left in situ for the cops and ME.

Eleonora looks at the gunshot wound. It’s left of chest and looks like it was made from no more than three feet away. It takes a special kind of animal to kill like that. One that’s killed before. One that feels nothing when he looks into the eyes of another human being and takes their life.

She makes the sign of the cross and says a quick and silent prayer for the dead woman’s soul, then she heads back to the cop. ‘Did anyone get a description of the gunman?’

He points to a camera above the reception desk. ‘We’re searching the tapes. That little baby should have a clean shot of him.’

‘That’s what I want,’ says Eleonora. ‘A clean shot at this bastard.’

‘There’s a queue,’ says a tall, dark-haired man who has appeared just a few yards from her.

She looks at him suspiciously.

‘I’m Ross Green and I guess you’re Agent Fracci.’ He jabs a thumb over his shoulder to the corridor. ‘Can we talk outside?’

SSOA agent Eve Garrett drags the woman’s body off the sofa so she can get to the girl.

Blood seeps from the black hood pulled tight over Jade’s head. She grabs the drawstring, unties it and carefully pulls off the cloth.

Jade is unconscious and unresponsive. Her mouth still taped.

Eve guesses there’s a wound around the temporal or parietal bones on the left side of her head. She pulls off the tape, puts her fingers into a river of red and feels for a pulse.

There isn’t one.

She puts her hand to Jade’s mouth and can’t feel any breath. Eve’s not ready to give up. She presses the button on her radio. ‘I need paramedics and I need them Superman fast.’

Control has her coordinates so she doesn’t waste time waiting for a reply. Eve digs out a Swiss Army knife from her pocket and uses the blade to sever the thick plastic band around the girl’s wrists. She picks her up, lays her on the floor and checks her airway before she starts CPR.

Two beats in, Eve spots the muzzle-flash burns on the cushion. She can’t help but wonder what kind of woman could execute a young girl like that. Death was too good for the bitch.

She checks again for a pulse. There still isn’t one.

‘Goddamn it, come on!’ She starts another cycle of chest compressions. ‘Don’t give up on me, girl.’

Eve knows that the statistics are stacked against her. CPR seldom saves the lives of people shot and bleeding like this.

But there’s always a chance.

The wound is fresh, less than five minutes old, and that means there’s a slim hope of saving the brain from damage and keeping the heart pumping.

Sweat pours down Eve’s face. Muscles in her wrists and arms ache. But she doesn’t stop.

The door to the shack has been hanging open ever since she walked in. Through it she hears the thwack of helicopter blades. ‘They’re coming, honey,’ she whispers to Jade. ‘The paramedics will be here any minute.’

Dust blows in the doorway. The hum of rotors makes the floor vibrate.

She looks up and sees two medics. One has a defib machine, the other an oxygen kit and medicine case.

Inside the church of Our Lady of the Taper, one of the dog handlers respectfully calls an
all clear
. A watching inspector gives a thumbs-up. Another handler and his sniffer dog weave in and out of rows of seats.

Owain leaves them to it and walks the building on his own. He knows everyone is going to be searched and no one can get in here without prior vetting and electronic scanning. But he has a bad feeling – the kind Myrddin taught him never to ignore.

The service is being filmed, relayed to crowds outside and broadcast live to the world, but only three camera points have been allowed and none are on the altar. Covert but armed police are stationed at all three points and at the sound control desk. All the televisual crews have been thoroughly validated and will be body-searched each and every time they pass through the church.

Owain walks outside and watches officers direct onlookers to strategic areas behind street barriers. There are two cordoned-off sections specifically for photographers, journalists and camera crews. Over his head a trio of police helicopters circle high, wide and near.

Carrie Auckland walks through a checkpoint. She’s now more suitably attired for a church service, in a knee-length blue dress with high neckline.

As soon as she reaches him she breaks the news. ‘The Vatican helicopter has just touched down and the Guard are making the transfer to the Popemobile.’

‘How long?’

‘Ten minutes. No more.’

Eleonora makes Ross Green stand outside her car while she checks with Donovan that he is who he says he is, some PI from a hotshot international company she’s never heard of with special clearance from the FBI director to work on the case.

She rings off and shrugs. ‘My boss says you can help.’

‘Glad I passed the test.’ The SSOA operative leans against Eleonora’s Crossfire. ‘The shooter is called Chris Wilkins, aka several other false names. We believe his real identity is Charlie Wood, an unspectacular name for a very special breed of killer, kidnapper and all round bad guy. He’s married to an equally obnoxious waste of human DNA called Theresa Wood, née Tobin.’

‘And how do you know this?’

‘It’s my job to know it. Like I said, we’re on the same side. My colleagues are trying to help your colleague, and right now Wilkins is getting away.’ Ross dips into his jacket pocket and pulls out a fold of paper. ‘He’s booked on a flight out of Stockton in an hour. My betting is that after all this heat he’s going to skip it.’ He sees her going for her phone. ‘I’ve already got someone at the airport. And at Byron and Livermore Tracy and Camp Parks. Then I’m blown. Fresh out of personnel.’

‘And you want me to fix cover at the other airports?’

He nods. ‘I have a feeling he’ll try for a small private plane out of the state, then go international for a while.’

‘I can do this. I’ll call my office again.’

‘Good. Then give me your cell number and I’ll get moving. I see anything I’ll call you.’

She pulls a card from her jeans. ‘Where are you going?’

‘South.’

‘Mexico?’

‘Uh-huh. If he drives hard and straight, it’s six hours, max. I have to cover all bases.’

The airlift from Mount Diablo to the John Muir Hospital helipad takes only a few minutes.

Eve Garrett flies with Jade. She stays until paramedics roll her into the ER. As the surgery doors shut a mortuary crew trundles past with a gurney to pick up the corpse of the female kidnapper.

The SSOA agent cleans up in a washroom and is about to make herself scarce, when a stubble-faced young medic in scrubs catches her arm. ‘You best hang on; the sheriff is going to want a word with you.’

She shakes him off. ‘Don’t touch!’

‘My bad.’ He lifts a hands apologetically. ‘Just doing my job.’

The brunette dips into her pocket and produces a false ID. ‘I’m a PI. His office already has my number.’ She starts for the exit.

‘Wait!’

She turns and scowls.

‘
Please.
Is there anything you can tell me about the shooting – anything that might help us treat the victim?’

She stops and gives what little she’s got. ‘You’re still well within the Golden Hour. I was there when the shot was fired.’ She mentally chastises herself. ‘If I’d been seconds earlier the kid wouldn’t even have been hurt.’

He eases up on her. ‘Paramedics said you did a good job. Gave her a fighting chance.’

‘Did my best.’

He clicks a pen and prepares to write on a clipboard. ‘How long did you have to work her heart?’

‘Five, six minutes. Felt a whole lot longer.’

‘It always does.’ He makes a note. ‘How soon before they got oxygen to her?’

‘Less than ten. I was still working her when they arrived.’

‘That’s good. A lack of oxygen to the brain is always our biggest fear.’

‘You said fighting chance – you think she’s gonna make it?’

He weighs up how to respond and in the end goes for honesty. ‘Usually a head wound is the kind of trauma you don’t get over.’

Her face falls.

‘That said, the shot wasn’t straight on.’ He bends his wrist to demonstrate. ‘The kid has lost a lot of scalp and bone but no brain.’

‘So she’ll be okay?’

‘I can’t say that. Giving CPR and getting oxygen to her so quickly are big pluses though. At the moment, they’re dealing with shock and swelling, so she’s a long way from okay. That said, she’s hanging in there and if she’s a fighter then anything’s possible.’

‘She’s certainly that. We done here?’

‘We’re done. Thanks.’

Eve takes her cue and hightails it out of the main entrance.

She spots a taxi rank and grabs a ride back to the shack. With any luck, there’ll be something there that gives her a clue as to where the other kidnapper is.

The plate on the uniquely customized Mercedes Benz M Class reads SCV 1 –
Stato della Citta del Vaticano
– and even by the pace of country traffic, it’s moving disruptively slowly.

Slowly, but perfectly on time.

It takes exactly ten minutes for the armour-plated Popemobile to make the journey from the improvised helipad off the A487 into the crowd-packed streets of Cardigan.

The Holy Father watches the adoration from behind four walls of bulletproof glass and warmly acknowledges as many onlookers as he can.

Invisible rings of security are already in place as the famous white vehicle stops. The Vatican’s Swiss Guards are closest, the British secret service next and then Owain’s SSOA operatives. There’s a deafening cheer as the new Pope appears at the back of the vehicle and descends hydraulically operated steps into the cool Welsh air. He smiles and looks around before kneeling and kissing the earth.

As the pontiff rises, the cheering reaches a new crescendo. He walks towards a prearranged spot where a seven-year-old boy and eight-year-old girl are waiting in newly bought school uniforms.

The Pope bends to talk to them. There’s an explosion of camera flashes. He accepts a bible from the boy and a bouquet of flowers from the girl. More camera flashes. A tidal wave of cheers. Clapping sweeps him along a red carpet and into a protected entrance.

Owain takes out his phone and calls his wife.

She doesn’t pick up.

He leaves a message. ‘Hi, it’s nothing special. I’m at the church and about to go in, so will have the phone turned to silent.’ He pauses, then adds, ‘I love you, Jenny. Love you more than you’ll ever know.’

‘Touching,’ says a voice behind him.

Owain’s blood runs cold.

He turns, and sees Josep Mardrid barely a yard away. ‘What are you doing here?’

The suntanned face oozes a gleaming smile. ‘I wouldn’t have missed this for the world.’ He makes the sign of the cross. ‘I’m a very religious man.’

‘You’re the personification of evil.’

Mardrid looks pleased. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’ He studies the ambassador’s face. ‘I love churches and graveyards, don’t you? So much history and ritual. Secrets buried beneath ground. Hidden but so close to disclosure. You understand what I’m alluding to, don’t you?’ He smiles generously. ‘I have one of your knights’ crosses, Gwyn. The first of many that I plan to collect.’

‘I’ll take that as an admission of theft, though that’s the least of your crimes. By the way, they won’t let you keep a cross where you’re going.’

Mardrid laughs and fastens the middle button of his jacket. ‘Sorry I can’t stay and chat but I have things to do – history to make.’ He tips his head. ‘I’ll be sure to return the cross. When I bury you.’

Owain calls Carrie Auckland as he watches his old enemy drift towards a party of Spanish diplomats. ‘Josep Mardrid is here.’

‘What?’

‘He’s with the Spanish contingent around the front of the church.’

‘I’ll have eyes on him in a minute.’

Owain signs off and joins the flow of dignitaries filing into the church. As he walks down the centre aisle, he recognizes English, Welsh and Italian ministers, the deputy head of MI5 and the
Oberst
, the Commandant of the Swiss Guard. There are TV celebrities that he can’t put names to and by the look of it, there’s also a small block of local parishioners.

Mardrid.

He can’t take his mind off the man. He’s here to ‘make history’. He’d sought him out to brag about it. And mention the cross. Owain looks around and can’t see him.

He takes his place on the front pew. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Carrie Auckland briefing two of her undercover operatives.

The temperature in the church is becoming uncomfortably warm. He glances at his watch. Five minutes until the start of Mass. His attention drifts to the big bronze statue of the Virgin Mary and baby Jesus. When Pope Benedict blessed it, back in 2010 during his visit to London, it was designated as the Welsh national shrine. Today the new Pope will follow in the footsteps of Pope John Paul II by blessing a candle and inserting it in the taper holder in the Virgin’s right hand.

The phone in his pocket silently vibrates with a text message. He slides it out and discreetly reads the screen.

‘Jade Fallon shot in head. In surgery. Suspect Tess Wilkins now dead. Eve.’

Owain returns the phone to his pocket. The doors at the back of the church clunk closed. Organ music strikes up. People stand and straighten out their best clothes.

The greatest Mass that Wales has ever witnessed is about to begin.