The Secret Prophecy (18 page)

Chapter 36

“Y
ou’re . . . ? You’re with . . . ?” Em spluttered.

“Section 7? Right in one. Give that boy a fat cigar. Why the surprise?”

Em blinked. “I suppose I— I mean, I thought Section was— I mean, this is America, so I thought—”

There was a knock on the door. “That’ll be Victor, I expect,” Hilda said. As she unlocked the door, she said to Em over her shoulder, “The Knights of Themis are an international organization. Section 7 has to be international as well in order to fight them. Originally we were set up as a joint project between America and Britain, but now we’re in every country in the world. Every one that matters anyway.” She swung the door open, and Victor stepped in. He was wearing a very sharp suit.

“You made it then?” he said to Em.

“What’s going on, Victor?” Em asked. He was furious that Victor hadn’t warned him about what would happen when he reached the States. His experience with Hilda had rattled him. Even now that he knew she was on his side, she still seemed scary.

Victor said, “This place has been swept for bugs, so we can speak freely; but don’t take that for granted once we leave here. Clear on that, Em?”

“Clear on that, Victor,” Em confirmed tiredly.

“Hilda’s introduced herself, I presume? She’s one of Section 7’s best international field operatives and our initial liaison in America. She’s the one who arranged to have our friends followed when they landed in New York. I’ll let her tell you.”

Hilda picked up the story without a moment’s hesitation. “Victor called as soon as he got the news about your friend. Just in time, as it turned out—the flight was circling, waiting clearance to land. I had Air Traffic Control delay them a bit until we could put surveillance in place; and sure enough, when the plane came down, we were able to identify two Themis operatives—”

“One was your old friend Stefan Kardos,” Victor interrupted softly.

“—traveling under assumed names. They had a young girl with them I assumed was Charlotte.”

“Was she all right?” Em asked at once. “Do you think she was hurt?”

“Frankly, I think she was drugged. She wasn’t making any fuss about going with them.”

“What did you do? Did you arrest them?”

Hilda parked her ample behind on the corner of the desk. “Section 7 doesn’t have powers of arrest—it would have to have been a snatch operation, and we didn’t want to risk a run-in with the airport authorities . . . or show our hand. Besides which, we wanted to be sure they had time to interrogate her—”

“You wanted to
what
?” Em exploded.

Hilda frowned in surprise. “Victor’s orders,” she said, as if that explained something. “We wanted to know what questions they would ask her, and they wouldn’t have a chance to interrogate her on the plane. Girl didn’t seem to have been harmed, so we decided just to put a tail on them until further instructions from Victor.”

Em looked at her for a moment as the information sank in, then asked cautiously, “Does that mean you know where they went?”

Hilda nodded. “Yes. Midtown apartment the Knights use as a safe house.”

Em turned from Hilda to Victor. “Can’t we do something to rescue her?”

“Ahead of you,” Victor told him. He opened the door behind him, and Charlotte walked in.

Chapter 37

T
he Michelangelo had leanings toward red leather and thick carpets. “Posh place,” Em remarked. He was experiencing emotions that had nothing to do with the hotel. They’d started with a flooding of relief when he had seen Charlotte at the airport, the intensity of which almost frightened him. Now, looking at her across the table in the suite Victor had arranged for, he was becoming aware of an undercurrent of disappointment. It took him time to work out where it was coming from. Somewhere in his most secret heart he had wanted to be part of her rescue—heck, he’d wanted to be the hero who rescued her himself. To fly all the way to America only to discover the deed had already been done was . . . well, stupidly disappointing.

“Good coffee.” Victor shrugged in response to Em’s remark about the hotel.

Em was looking at Charlotte. “What happened?”

“They grabbed me while I was waiting for a taxi,” Charlotte said. “I didn’t know one of them, but the other was the man we saw in France, the one with the gun—”

“Stefan Kardos,” Victor put in.

“They injected me with something, and the next thing I knew, I was on a plane. It was all sort of confused until I was in a room being questioned—”

“We’ve debriefed her on that,” Victor put in again. “Absolute confirmation we’re dealing with the Knights, absolute confirmation they’re worried sick about what your father discovered.”

“Talking of which,” Charlotte said, “Victor says you’re still not sure where to find the proof of what he did discover?”

“We still haven’t cracked the whole message,” Em said gloomily.

“Maybe I can help with that,” Charlotte said. “Can I take another look?”

Minutes later they were poring over the notebook. “We got stuck on this three one point two eight seven business,” Em reminded her. “That didn’t seem to make any sense in any code.”

“My guess would be map coordinates: latitude and longitude,” Charlotte said without a moment’s hesitation.

Em and Victor looked at each other. Then they both looked at Charlotte. Could it have been that obvious? Could they both have been that stupid?

“What made you think of map coordinates?” Victor frowned.

Charlotte shrugged. “I don’t know. There were maps lying about in the house where they took me, and I was thinking about map reading for some reason when the drugs wore off. I suppose they were in my head.”

“Why didn’t he write them as numbers if they’re map coordinates?” Em asked cautiously.

Charlotte shrugged. “Not all that many numbers in a Harry Potter story I’d imagine. He had to spell them out.”

Dumb question,
Em thought. But it didn’t stop him from asking another one: “What are they the coordinates
of
?”

Charlotte gave him that long-suffering look of hers. The one that asked why she had to do all the brain work. “You’ll have to check that out on a map.”

“I’ll get the hotel to send one up.” Victor moved toward the phone. “But if he stole the documents from the Bederbeck Foundation, my guess is he would have tried to get them safely hidden as quickly as possible, especially if there was any possibility that he would fall under suspicion. He must have known what he was up against by that stage. So, now that we’re thinking map coordinates, my guess would be the location has to be somewhere quite close to the foundation itself.”

“Where’s the foundation located?” Em asked. For some reason, he thought it might be back in London. He hoped it wouldn’t be somewhere in the North or, heaven forbid, even Scotland. He didn’t have much stomach for another lengthy trip after the flight back.

“Arizona,” Victor told him tersely.

The hotel supplied one of the largest maps of North America Em had ever seen. Victor pored over it while Charlotte watched him and Em watched Charlotte, although he tried very hard not to make it obvious.

“They’re in the Sonoran,” Victor announced eventually. “Striking distance of the Bederbeck Foundation. Just as I thought.”

“What’s the Sonoran?” Em asked.

“The Sonoran Desert,” Victor told him. “Bit of a wilderness. If he hid the documents out there, nobody would find them without instructions. Sort of place where you could die trying.”

Lucky we have directions then,
Em thought. Maybe his dad really had been like Indiana Jones. Just a little.

“Is that where we’re going next?” Charlotte asked Victor brightly. “To the Sonoran to find the proof Em’s father hid?”

“
We
aren’t going anywhere, young lady.” Victor frowned. “I’ll go ahead to set things up, but you’ve been through a traumatic experience—”

Charlotte, who’d clearly guessed what was coming and didn’t like it, said quickly, “I wasn’t at all upset, not really. I mean—”

“—and the only place
you’re
going is home. We’ve told your father you’re safe, and he is flying over to collect you.”

“Yes, but Dad—”

“I may have given him the impression that you were rescued by the FBI, and I’d be obliged if you continue to let him think that. But even if you tell him differently, you won’t make it stick. The FBI is prepared to back up Section’s story.”

Charlotte actually pouted, rather prettily,
Em thought. “But I want to go with you to find the proof. This isn’t fair—you didn’t even know it was map coordinates until I suggested it.” The pout changed to a winning smile. “Come on, Victor, you know how helpful I’ve been. You know how helpful I
can
be.”

But Victor was buying none of it. “Too late for that. Your father will be landing soon.” He gave a very small smile of his own. “Besides, I’m going to have enough problems keeping one kid out of trouble.”

That would be me,
Em thought. But he didn’t really mind being called a kid. At least it meant Victor was taking him along.

Chapter 38

E
m had only the most fleeting impression of Phoenix before catching a connecting flight to Tucson. He had only a fleeting impression of Tucson as well, which was a pity, since he’d been into Country and Western in the days when he had time to listen to music and it was featured in many of his favorite songs. But he doubted he’d have appreciated it much anyway. He was unused to flying and by now had entered an unreal state of gray exhaustion that was almost worse than jet lag.

Somebody met him at the Tucson airport with the mention of Victor’s name. From that point, his trip took on an increasingly surreal aspect. He was bundled onto an aircraft that surprised him by taking off straight up until he realized it was a helicopter. Although he’d never been in a helicopter before, he actually fell asleep until a hand shaking his shoulder dragged him reluctantly back to consciousness.

“Time to get out, Em,” a voice said in his ear. So he got out and walked across the tarmac, vaguely aware that somebody had an arm around his shoulders, holding him crouched so he wouldn’t be decapitated by whirling blades.

There was a large car waiting with deep, comfortable backseats. All this, the chopper and the car, was laid on by Section 7. Must have been. Victor seemed to be able to arrange anything over here. Who was he anyway? This sort of stuff was way beyond a simple field agent surely. Or was it? Em was still wondering when he fell asleep again. He dreamed that somebody helped him check into a hotel where the room was air conditioned, the sheets were cool and clean, and the mattress was welcoming. Then the dream turned to a velvet darkness.

Em woke to sunlight, wondering where he was. It had the feel of a hotel room. There was an oversize television at the bottom of the bed, and he could see a bathroom through an open door. He found his watch on the bedside table and discovered it was almost noon. As he completed the long swim into consciousness, he saw an envelope beside the watch. His name was written in a flamboyant, open hand he recognized at once. He tore open the envelope. The single sheet of paper inside lacked any letterhead. The message read:

Welcome to Arizona! I’ve arranged a place for us, but you looked so shattered when you arrived I thought it best to let you sleep over in town before bringing you out.

I’ll collect you at the motel at 3 pm tomorrow. (Or today, I suppose, since you’ll be reading this in the morning.) Any problems, call the local number listed at the bottom of this sheet. Anything you need, call reception at the motel and charge it to the account of Harlan Benson (name I’m using here).

Yours sincerely,

V.

Em pulled himself out of bed and headed for the bathroom. His body still felt like lead, but his head was mercifully clear. There was no bath, of course—
Welcome to America!
—but the shower controls looked like they belonged at Cape Canaveral.

By the time he emerged from the shower he was feeling not just human, but lively and hungry. He lifted the phone and dialed reception. “This is going to sound silly, but where exactly am I?”

“Easy Rider Motel, sir,” a male voice told him as if guests got confused every hour of the day.

Em said, “I was also wondering about the name of the town.”

“Nogales, sir. The town’s called Nogales. Only around here folks think it’s a city.”

Em finally got to the point. “Is there somewhere I can eat? Like breakfast?”

“Motel has a fine restaurant, sir. Just follow the signs when you come out of your cabin. I can recommend the flapjacks.”

The motel restaurant was functional and clean. The waitress looked Spanish but didn’t have the accent. “Hi, honey, you on your own?”

Em nodded. “Think so.”

“You must be Harlan Benson’s boy. He told me to take good care of you.”

Em remembered in time what Victor had decided to call himself and suppressed the blank look. “Thank you.”

“My name’s Donna. Harlan’s a doctor—right?”

So Victor had passed himself off as a doctor for reasons best known to himself. Em nodded. “That’s right.” He was surprised how easily the lie came. He was getting used to thinking like a secret agent.

“I’d like to be a doctor, but I never had the brains. Don’t know what it’s like back where you come from, honey, but over here doctors make a fortune. You’ll never meet a poor one. You hungry?”

“Starving,” Em told her.

By the time Donna brought eggs, then the recommended flapjacks, Em decided he knew her well enough to ask, “Do you know anything about the Bederbeck Foundation?”

“Know it’s over thataway,” Donna said, jerking her head in an indeterminate direction. “You figuring on paying them a call?”

Em smiled. “Not today.”

“Glad to hear it. Those boys are so secretive they got machine-gun posts.”

Em’s eyes widened as he stared up at her. “Seriously?”

“Heck, no! But they like to keep themselves to themselves, and they do have a load of security. Wander too close to the facility and their musclemen turn up out of nowhere to escort you back the way you came. What’s your interest in Bederbeck?”

Em shrugged casually. “I was only wondering if you knew what they did there.”

“Sure do, honey. Is this a test or what?”

He hesitated, then said, “I think I passed a sign on the way in. I was just curious.” What the hell, he’d probably be telling a lot more lies before he finished what he had to do.

Donna laughed. “You and a lot of other people. Whole place is supposed to be a big secret, but you can’t keep nothing to yourself in a place the size of Nogales. They’re doing research into plants out at the facility; that’s what it’s all about: food crops you can grow in dry conditions, like the real bad parts of the Sonoran. Won’t talk about it because that sort of thing could be big money now that the world’s getting hotter and all.”

It was as good a cover story as any, Em thought.

He was waiting outside the motel reception at three o’clock when a battered red off-roader truck pulled up beside him and the driver leaned across to open the passenger door. It took Em a moment to realize he was looking at Victor, who’d shaved off his beard. The scar wasn’t as pronounced as Em had imagined it would be, but it was pronounced enough. It gave Victor a vaguely sinister look but made him look younger and, in an odd way, more sophisticated. Would never have mistaken him for James Bond though. He was wearing jeans, brown riding boots, and a Stetson—none of them new. “Throw your case in the back and climb in,” Victor said.

Em did as he was told. “Where are we going?” he asked as he slid into the passenger seat.

“Good afternoon, Victor,” Victor said. “Nice to see you again, Victor. Thank you for making all the arrangements to get me here, Victor.”

“I thought your name was Harlan.”

“Touché!” Victor said.

They drove south, then east, away from Nogales, then went off-road into the desert. “Couple of Border Patrol officers were shot out here the other week,” Victor remarked casually.

Em blinked and scanned the shrub and rocks around them. “Shot dead?” He knew nothing about this part of the United States, but already it was sounding like the Wild West.

Victor shook his head. “One in the leg, one in the hand. So I’m told.”

“Then why are we coming out here?” Em demanded. He would have thought they had enough problems hiding from the Knights of Themis without heading into bandit territory.

“Because two Border Patrol officers were shot here the other week,” Victor told him, face blank. “I wanted to find a base for us somewhere we aren’t likely to be disturbed.”

The old truck creaked, rattled, and bucked in protest at the rough terrain but held together until Victor somehow found a narrow dirt road heading deeper still into the desert.

“What are we going to do,” Em asked, “camp out?”

“All mod cons, actually,” Victor said. “I rented a log cabin. As Harlan Benson.” He jerked the wheel to avoid a pothole. “That’s
Doctor
Harlan Benson, by the way, in case anybody asks.”

“So I gathered,” Em murmured.

Victor threw him a quick look. “Gathered where?”

“Waitress at the motel.”

Victor gave a small smile. “Donna?”

“That’s right. You talked to her, told her to look out for me.”

“One of our best agents,” Victor said. He swung the truck sharply right onto a side road that was little better than a track.

The heat in the van had been lulling Em into a torpor despite the conversation and the bumpy road. Now he sat up with a jerk. “She’s with Section 7?”

“She’ll deny it, and you’ll never prove it,” Victor told him. He slowed the truck and let it roll to a halt on the top of a ridge. “Take a look to your right.”

Em turned. His surroundings fell away into a wasteland of shrub and cactus. “What am I looking for?”

“The fence,” Victor said. He waited a beat. “Got it?”

The fence—now Em saw it—ran along the far edge of a dip, then vanished over a rise. It looked about six feet high, composed of thick metal mesh staked by concrete posts, with a capping of razor wire to discourage climbers. He nodded. “Got it.”

“That marks the edge of Bederbeck property. The foundation bought up a huge swath of badlands to surround its facility.”

Em let his eyes drift along the visible length of the fence. No machine-gun posts, no guards; not even a sign saying
BEWARE OF THE DOG.
He reckoned that with thick gloves and a bit of care, he could have climbed over.

“It’s electrified,” Victor told him as if reading his thoughts. “Won’t kill you, just enough of a jolt to discourage intruders.” He turned the key in the ignition and the truck’s engine roared to life again. “But I’ll tell you something: if we tried to get over it, or even if we stay parked here for too long, we’ll have a couple of armed security goons from the foundation strolling over to ask what we’re doing.”

“How’d they know we were here?”

“Security cameras. They’re hidden along the fence every hundred yards, and the fence runs for
miles.
” Victor leaned toward him. “Not to mention . . .” He pointed through the window. “. . . See there, top of the next ridge?” Em followed the finger and was rewarded by a flare of sunlight on glass, although nothing else was visible. “We’ve been under surveillance since we pulled up,” Victor said. He withdrew to push the lever into drive, and the truck bumped into motion again.

As they drove off, Em discovered he was feeling uneasy. But the odd thing was, it had nothing to do with the watchers on the ridge.