Son of Perdition (Chronicles of Brothers) (14 page)

I can no longer toe their line.

I have gathered a file of evidence which is in a safe place. A file that discloses the horrors orchestrated in the dark halls of defence research: weaponized avian flu. Depopulation plans. I have detailed evidence of financial audit trails concerning the International Security Fund. Offshore bank accounts . . .

It is just the tip of the iceberg.

You and I both know that I am laying my life on the line.

I intend to divulge this to the press, Lawrence, and save both the United Kingdom and the United States of America from certain annihilation.

Two days ago evidence came into my hands. Damning evidence. Of what they have
cold-bloodedly done to my adored son.

I enclose the documents.

They have broken their pact.

Now I break mine. At the risk of my own demise.

I shall be in contact when my investigations are complete.

Your friend always,

James De Vere

The letter fell from Nick’s hand onto the table.

‘Your father was dead by the next evening,’ St Cartier said, softly.

‘It was decided that Jason was to be kept in the dark. As were you. He was never interested in the banking aspect of your family holdings and presented no immediate threat. The Brotherhood was satisfied that he would content himself running the communications conglomerate. His VOX board is made up almost entirely of your father’s closest colleagues. The Brotherhood, Nick. They have access to VOX communications at a moment’s notice whenever necessary.

‘But
you
were an irritant, Nicholas. The British paparazzi’s fixation with the inner workings of your private life drew attention to the De Vere family. Far more attention than was acceptable to the Brotherhood.’

With shaking hands, St Cartier held out a paper.

‘They had to dispose of you and your father found out.’

Slowly, Nick took the document and read it. He looked up at Lawrence, shaken to the core.

The professor took Nick’s arm, gently. ‘The needle in Amsterdam that night was a plant, Nicholas. They deliberately gave you and your acquaintances full-blown AIDS, created in one of their covert bioterror laboratories.’

Nick stared at Lawrence, nauseated.

‘When your father discovered their unspeakable act, he broke his pact. They killed him for it.’

Trembling, Nick stared back down at the incriminating document and reread it.

‘It was deliberate . . . ’ he whispered. He ran his fingers through his hair, then looked up at Lawrence through reddened eyes.

‘I’m
so
sorry, my boy.’ Lawrence stared at him, his eyes welling with tears.

‘But who would want to kill me?’ Nick said, his breathing suddenly shallow. ‘Who
are
these people, Lawrence?’ He slammed the papers onto the table. ‘It’s my
life
they’re playing with. Dammit – ’

Nick broke off in midflow as the roaring of a helicopter’s turbine drowned the conversation. They stared up at the landing lights of the rapidly descending helicopter and as it flew past the tower floodlights Nick recognized the Royal Hashemite insignia of Jordan’s ruling Family.

Lawrence frowned. ‘The Royal helicopter is not in today’s log.’

Nick stared as eight monks materialized, then scattered in three different directions. Immediately lights came on all across the monastery.

Nick and St Cartier waited in silence.

Nick’s thoughts flashed back to the past. It was more than three and a half years since he had made the greatest archaeological discovery of the twenty-first century. The entire world was oblivious to the fact – and would remain so, thanks to the royal household of Jordan.

Nick remembered how he had opened the casket of ancient cedarwood and how, after the white mists had faded, two huge golden-bound codices had become visible. He recalled his wonder at the first sight of the pulsing script. He could almost taste the moment when he first traced his finger along the title, the glowing Arabic lettering instantly transforming to English.

The angelic script.

The Annals of Lucifer.

One year later, he had come here to take photographs of the annals. He had first met her then though he had heard about her. He knew she carried an ancient name that had been borne by a princess of the royal house of Jordan two thousand years ago. And that she had had an English education, reading Ancient History and Classical Archaeology at Oxford.

But nothing of that had prepared him for his first encounter with the lovely Princess Jotapa, a young woman of no more than twenty-two dressed in modest Western clothing, her only sign of wealth the slim diamond Audemars Piguet watch on her left wrist.

‘We seem to share a similar passion for ancient artefacts,’ she had said with an amused twinkle in her eye. ‘And for old legends.’

His throat had gone dry. ‘There is a legend that King Aretas IV protected the Christ child in his flight from Egypt in this very monastery,’ he replied. ‘He and his daughter Jotapa.’

‘Legends are very powerful in the minds of those who believe,’ she said.

Now he asked himself whether it had all been worth it.

He turned the letter which Lawrence had given him over in his fingers as heavy footsteps were heard coming up the stairs.

Four muscular soldiers holding sub-machine guns materialized as if from nowhere. Their heads were clean-shaven and Nick immediately recognized the digital pattern on their uniforms. Jordan’s elite special-operations command. Jotapa’s Royal Guard.

The professor placed his napkin on the table and stood up. ‘Your Highness . . . ’ He bowed.

Nick turned. Jotapa, Princess of Jordan, stood in front of him.

‘I’m so glad I caught you, Nicholas. Professor – ’ Jotapa addressed Lawrence St Cartier. ‘Would you be so kind as to give Nicholas and me a moment? I have some pressing business.’

Lawrence St Cartier picked up his computer and papers, then put on his panama hat.

‘The privilege is mine, Your Highness. Nicholas, I’ll retire early.’ He looked down at Nick in concern. ‘I suggest you do the same, dear boy. You’ve had quite a blow. See you for breakfast. Six a.m. sharpish.’

And, bowing once more to Jotapa, he walked spryly across the roof and down the stairs.

Nick pushed back his chair, his mind still churning with the evening’s disclosures.

‘Nick . . . ’ Jotapa frowned. ‘A blow? You don’t look too good.’

Nick stared at her blankly, still toying with the document in his hands.

‘I’m okay,’ he said quietly. ‘Just some bad news that’s all. I’ll be fine by morning.’ He placed the document in the inner pocket of his leather jacket and studied her heart-shaped face.

‘You don’t look so hot yourself.’

The princess seemed somehow different tonight. On edge . . . vulnerable. The unpretentious young woman in jeans and T-shirt had disappeared. Tonight Jotapa wore a pale pink knee-length dress of shot silk that clung to her slim hips, her long svelte legs were stockinged and she wore a pair of pale pink stilettos. She looked the epitome of a young Jordanian monarch.

‘Nick . . . ’ She placed her small slim hand on his, her wrists laden with gold. ‘You know I wouldn’t have come unless it was important.’

Nick nodded. Jotapa motioned the soldiers away and they retreated to the edge of the terrace.

‘It’s my father – the king. He arrived back late last night from Jerusalem after meeting your brother.’ Tears welled up in Jotapa’s eyes. ‘He passed away at four this morning. A heart attack.’

Nick grasped her hand. He could feel it trembling.

‘I’m so sorry, Jotapa.’

‘Look, Nick, I had to tell you in person. I won’t see you again.’

He stared at her in disbelief.

Jotapa lowered her eyes. ‘I feel as strongly as you. Nicholas, you just have to trust me.’

‘But we’ve only just . . . ’

‘I’m sorry Nick.’

‘It was my relationship with Klaus Von Hausen, wasn’t it? You found out.’

‘Nick, I have “Eyes Only” files,’ she said softly. ‘I knew who you were before I ever laid eyes on you. I knew what I was getting into.’

‘Is there someone else?’

‘No, there’s no one,’ she said. ‘No one at all. I’m quite alone.’

Nick drew her nearer. He looked at her intently.

‘Are you in some kind of trouble?’

‘The entire course of my life is about to change.’

Jotapa glanced around, clearly on edge. ‘My father was my protection while he was alive. My elder brother Crown Prince Faisal will be crowned king in a matter of hours. It was not my father’s wish.’

She paced up and down in front of Nick.

‘Faisal was from my father’s first marriage. Two years ago, in front of witnesses, my father designated my sixteen-year-old brother Jibril as his heir. He knew that Faisal was both ruthless and cunning and would be a bad king to the Jordanian people.’

She stopped, fighting to maintain her composure.

‘All those who witnessed this or who are loyal to my father have already been silenced by bribes or other means. The ones who could not be bought or blackmailed were executed this morning.’ Tears welled in her eyes. ‘The prime minister, my father’s royal aides, his trusted ministers. All dead.’

Jotapa walked over to the edge of the roof and looked up into the night skies over Egypt. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

‘I told them I had unfinished archaeological business here at the monastery. I was allowed one final trip. Safwat . . . ’ Her voice choked up.

Nick frowned. He knew Safwat, Jotapa’s trusted head of security who had safeguarded her since birth.

‘Safwat had protected me since I was a toddler.’ She raised both hands in despair. ‘Executed at dawn.’ She turned to Nick, tears streaming down her cheeks.

‘Nicholas, my father was a great and noble king. Just. Courageous. Filled with wisdom. Without his protection my brother Jibril and I are in grave danger.’

She stopped, struggling to regain her composure.

‘Faisal has given my hand in marriage to Crown Prince Mansoor of Arabia. Jibril is being sent there also in exile. We fly to Arabia at dawn.’

Nick stared at Jotapa in horror, slowly comprehending.

‘But Mansoor is a criminal,’ he exclaimed. ‘His own father, the King of Saud, has renounced him publicly. The stories of his atrocities circulate throughout the Arab media. You
can’t
go!’ He caught hold of her arm. ‘I won’t let you.’

‘Nicholas, you are not one of us!’ She stared at him fiercely. ‘Our world is not like your Western world. Jibril is just and true, like my father. Faisal hates him. He will not dare kill me, Nick, but he
will
kill my younger brother – that is certain. As soon as Jibril disappears behind the curtain of black gold, his life is in danger. Jibril is the only challenge to Faisal’s throne. ‘I
have
to protect him.’

‘You’re the only one I have left, Jotapa!’ Nick cried. ‘You’ll never come out of that hellhole.’

‘He’s my
brother
.’

A bodyguard came up quietly behind them.

‘Your Highness.’

Jotapa held up her hand.

‘One minute,’ she said.

The guard bowed and disappeared.

Taking out the small silver cross that lay hidden under her dress, Jotapa hurriedly undid the clasp.

‘In Mansoor’s Palace, there is no place for this.’

She took Nick’s hand, gently opened his fist and laid the cross inside.

‘Keep it always.’ Jotapa put her hand up to Nick’s face. ‘And remember me, Nicholas De Vere.’

She walked away from him.

‘Jotapa!’ Nick shouted. He ran after her and clasped her to him.

She raised her tear-stained face.

‘You don’t understand.’ His voice broke with emotion. ‘You’re all I have left.’

She closed her eyes in anguish, then broke from his embrace and walked away.

‘Jotapa . . . ’ he cried in desperation.

She stopped after eight steps and turned, tears streaming down her face.

‘Nicholas,’ she pleaded, ‘you
must
let me go.’

And then she was gone.

Nick clenched his hand over the cross so hard that it hurt. He opened his hand, hot tears stinging his eyes and watched it slip from his grasp down onto the stone floor.