The Billionaire’s Curse (9 page)

G
erald could barely open his eyes. His shoulder felt like it would dislocate. He balanced on the tips of his toes, desperate to stop the torture. But the agony was relentless, hot like a blowtorch.

“Would you like me to stop?” the voice rasped.

Gerald nodded through his pain.

“Very well. But do not make a sound or try to run. Or things will get very much worse.”

The thin man twirled Gerald around with his gloved hand, like a spider spinning its prey in a web. Gerald danced on his toes, unable to fight back. The thin man’s head was almost touching Gerald’s face.

“Do you understand?” he whispered. With each syllable his thumb twisted deeper into Gerald’s shoulder.

Gerald gasped and nodded. At last, the thin man released his grip. Gerald’s knees buckled and he stumbled forward. He grabbed at his shoulder with his right hand. His left arm hung, useless.

Gerald looked up. The thin man’s eyes were hidden behind the same sunglasses that he was wearing at the airfield a few days before.

“You are in very real danger, Mr. Wilkins,” the man said softly. “No one knows where you are. No one has seen us here. And even if they had, to a casual observer we are just another pair of museum patrons. There have been no raised voices, no outlandish struggles. I have merely been talking with you whilst laying a caring hand on your shoulder.” He paused, tipping his head. “How is your shoulder?”

Gerald peered into the sunglasses.

“Who the hell are you?” he spat. “What do you want?”

The thin man stooped and looked Gerald in the eyes.

“The same thing I wanted from your great-aunt.” His strange voice raised the hairs on the back of Gerald’s neck. “Information. The information that she refused to give me.”

The thin man stretched out a hand and ran his index finger over Gerald’s throbbing shoulder. “And look what happened to her.”

Gerald gagged. What was he saying? Was this the man who’d killed Great-Aunt Geraldine? He stepped back—thought of running. But before he could move, a bony hand shot out like a bolt from a crossbow and grabbed his shoulder again. It took only the slightest touch to squeeze a whimper from Gerald.

Lean lips drew tight across two uneven rows of yellowed teeth. “I want to know where the diamond casket is,” the thin man whispered, clenching Gerald’s shoulder hard. “And I want you to tell me now!”

A jolt of pain shot across Gerald’s back.

“I…I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he panted, his eyes awash. “I don’t know anything about any diamonds. Or any casket.”

The thin man’s face was as expressionless as any statue in the museum.

“You wouldn’t lie to me, Mr. Wilkins?” His thumb pressed deeper into Gerald’s shoulder. Gerald took a sharp breath and shook his head in an urgent spasm. The first tear rolled down his cheek. The thin man regarded it without emotion.

“Tell me, Mr. Wilkins,” he said. “Did your great-aunt leave you any messages? Any notes or letters?”

Gerald nodded. He couldn’t help it.

A corner of the thin man’s mouth curled upward, just the merest fraction.

“Most interesting,” he said. “They are at your house? Let us go then, you and I, on a little journey.”

The thin man turned Gerald around and guided him to the bottom of the staircase. Gerald, slumped and crestfallen, shuffled across the floor. He felt sick. It was like a black void had opened inside him, all his feelings draining into life’s sewer. He was thousands of miles from home, alone in a strange city and held by a man who may well have murdered his great-aunt. If he murdered Geraldine, what will he do to me?

The thin man pressed his shoulder as they rounded a corner. The exit to Montague Place at the rear of the museum was in front of them. To Gerald’s astonishment, so too was a policeman. His eyes widened when he recognized it was the same one he’d seen outside the Reading Room.

Constable Lethbridge stood in a courtyard outside the museum, on the other side of a set of glass doors. He was leaning against a large plant pot, holding his helmet in one hand and drawing on a cigarette. He must be taking a break, Gerald thought. If I can just make a run for him.

Something sharp jabbed hard into Gerald’s ribs.

“Mr. Wilkins,” the thin man breathed, “are you familiar with the stiletto blade?”

Gerald froze. His back arched as the thin man pushed harder on a long pencil-thin dagger.

“The stiletto is a marvelous thing,” the thin man whispered, his top lip curling in a tight snarl. “Much favored by assassins. The blade is very thin indeed but extremely strong. It can pierce clothing, flesh, muscle…heart. But it leaves almost no sign on the skin. The victim falls to the ground, as if in a faint. By the time a doctor arrives, the lungs have filled with blood and the target has drowned in his own vital fluids. Most effective.”

Gerald stared straight ahead. Constable Lethbridge was less than ten yards away. And there was nothing he could do to reach him.

The thin man leaned even closer, pressing the dagger right through the fabric of Gerald’s shirt until the point nicked his skin.

“We are going to walk out this door, past this policeman, and away. Who knows, Mr. Wilkins? You may live to enjoy that fabulous fortune of yours.”

Gerald pushed the heavy glass doors and he and the thin man stepped outside the museum. Lethbridge was only a dozen paces in front of them. The policeman cocked his head back and blew out a stream of smoke. His face was drawn and tired. He inspected the cigarette end, then flicked the butt onto the ground.

Gerald and the thin man were now just steps away. Lethbridge patted his pockets, in search of another cigarette. He paused and looked at Gerald’s face. Gerald’s eyes beseeched Lethbridge to do something. To stop them, to ask the thin man for a light, anything. But Lethbridge went on rifling his pockets. Gerald was pressed forward, the stiletto pricking his back.

“Tony! Tony Valentine!”

A girl’s voice rang across the courtyard. Gerald came to a sudden halt, right beside Lethbridge. The thin man bustled into the back of him. The policeman raised his head from a veil of smoke, to see what the ruckus was.

“Tony! Where have you been? Dad’s been worried sick.”

Gerald looked in surprise as a girl with short blond bangs and ponytail ran up and grabbed him by the elbow. He recognized her at once—she and her brother had been giggling at Lethbridge outside the Reading Room.

“Come on,” the girl said. “We’ve still got loads to see inside.” She turned her back on Lethbridge and the thin man and flashed her eyes at Gerald. Gerald stood stunned.

“Uh…yes,” he responded at last. “Lots to see.”

The girl tugged Gerald’s hand. The thin man still clutched Gerald’s other arm. The girl yanked harder, and before Gerald was caught in a tug of war in front of the policeman, the thin man loosened his grip. Gerald pulled free. The thin man’s lips tightened.

“My cousin,” the girl explained to Lethbridge with a laugh. “He’s always wandering off.” She strengthened her hold on Gerald. “Come along, silly.”

She wrapped both her hands around Gerald’s wrist and skipped toward the museum doors. Gerald went gladly, leaving the thin man fuming next to a confused-looking Constable Lethbridge.

The pair burst back into the museum and bolted toward the safety of the Great Court, leaving the glass doors juddering on their hinges. The place still teemed with people.

They collapsed into some chairs near the coffee shop.

“Th-thanks,” Gerald said, finally finding his voice.

“No problem,” the girl replied. “You looked like you needed some help.”

“You could say that. How did you know?”

“My brother and I were hanging around the back stairs. We saw that guy pull a knife on you.”

A fair-haired boy about Gerald’s age appeared and dropped into a chair.

“That all seemed to go to plan then,” the boy said, clapping a hand on Gerald’s shoulder.

Gerald winced.

“Oh, sorry. Sore, is it?”

The boy had a happy face, with a strong jaw and a scattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. His blond hair was short and his skin looked ready for the first tan of summer. He was shorter than Gerald and looked pretty fit.

“We figured your bad guy wasn’t going to cause a fuss if we grabbed you right in front of a policeman,” the boy said. “Lucky he was there or we’d have needed Plan B.”

“What was Plan B?” Gerald asked.

His rescuers looked at each other.

“Um, we were still working on that,” the girl said. “But Plan A seemed to go okay.”

Gerald let out a small laugh. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Do you think that guy’ll come back? Y’know, looking for you?” the girl asked.

Gerald shook his head.

“Not with all these people about. And not after that policeman got such a good look at him. Who is Tony Valentine, then?”

“Our cousin. It was the first name that popped into my head,” the girl said. “I mean, you had to be someone.”

Gerald grinned. “My name’s Gerald,” he said. Then, as an afterthought, “Stupid name, eh?”

“Only if your last name is Grasshopper,” the girl said. “I’m Ruby. Ruby Valentine. This is my brother, Sam.”

“What’s your story, then?” Sam asked, resting his elbows on the table. “Who wants to kidnap you?”

Gerald looked at the two sets of inquisitive eyes. He reached around, pulled out his wallet, and opened it. Sam gaped at the wedge of fifty-pound notes poking out.

“Who feels like hot chocolate?” Gerald asked.

Twenty minutes and two rounds of hot chocolates later, Gerald finished the tale of his holiday so far: a funeral, a fat inheritance, abandoned by his parents, chased by photographers, a stolen diamond, a possible murder, and a knife-wielding kidnapper.

Sam scraped bits of chocolate from the bottom of his mug.

“You don’t want to go to the police because your great-aunt said they can’t be trusted?” he said.

“That’s right. Why would they believe any of this anyway? I can’t even believe it,” Gerald said. He paused. “You believe me, right?”

“Why not?” Ruby said. “That guy had a knife at your back. You didn’t make that up.”

“Who’s the professor we’re trying to find? Mackelberry?” Sam said, pushing his chair back from the table and half standing up.

“It’s McElderry, but you don’t need to—”

“Oh, come off it, Gerald,” Ruby said. “Our dad had to go back to work. He left us to look around here all day. There’s only so many Greek relics you can stand in one go. Your quest sounds a lot more fun. Besides, you need some local knowledge.”

“Yeah,” Sam said, clapping Gerald hard on the shoulder again. “We’re family, remember, cousin?”

The elevator to the administration wing opened onto a narrow corridor lined with dark red carpet. A board on the wall opposite listed a number of offices. Professor McElderry’s was down the long hallway.

“You guys are twins?” Gerald said, leading the way.

“Yep,” Sam said. “I’m older by two minutes.”

“But not identical twins?”

Gerald stopped.

“I can’t believe I said that.”

“Don’t worry,” Ruby said. “We get it all the time.”

“Really?”

“Nah. Just trying to make you feel better. Identical twins! Pfft!”

Sam shouldered past his sister. “Ignore her, she’s a pain. What do you want to get from this professor?”

“He’s the only lead I have to my great-aunt’s death,” Gerald said. “He was the one who brought the diamond out from India, which seems to be the thing that got everyone excited. The thin man wanted to know about a diamond casket. Maybe the professor knows something about it.”

They stopped outside a dark wooden door with P
ROFESSOR
K. M
C
E
LDERRY
in gold letters across the central panel. As Gerald reached out to turn the handle, they heard a bellow from inside.

“I don’t care if he’s the queen’s uncle! I don’t have time to see him!”

The door opened to reveal a small reception area. A timid-looking woman sat behind a wooden desk in the corner. An enormous man leaned over her. His face was a spectacular red that outshone his thatch of auburn hair and unkempt beard. He looked like a strawberry jelly that had been dropped on a barber shop floor. The woman held a telephone to her ear, a tiny hand trying in vain to cover the mouthpiece.

“But what should I tell the prime minister’s office?” she said. “He wants a meeting.”

“Tell him I died in a mine explosion,” the man fumed. “And I’ll call him tomorrow.” He stormed into an adjoining office, slamming the door behind him.

The woman looked at the telephone receiver and took a deep breath.

“I’m afraid Professor McElderry is unavailable today. Perhaps Tuesday?”

She finished the phone call and made a note in a diary on the desk. Then she turned to the three children in the doorway.

“Yes?” she said wearily.

“We’d like to see Professor McElderry, please,” Gerald said.

The woman folded her arms across her chest and stared at him.

“The professor is busy.”

She snapped the diary shut and returned to her work.

Gerald looked at the others and shrugged.

“I guess that’s that,” he muttered. “Come on, Valentines, let’s go.”

“Rubbish,” said Ruby, who had been studying the room. “You haven’t said the magic word yet.”

“What?” Gerald said. “Please?”

“No,” Ruby replied. “Money.”

She pushed past Gerald and strode up to the desk.

“Excuse me,” she said in a clear voice. “My friend would like to see Professor Mackelberry.”

The woman lifted her head and glared at Ruby.

“As I have told your friend, Professor McElderry is busy.”

“I’m sure he is, but—”

“And if the prime minister of Great Britain can’t see him, I don’t think your friend is going to skip to the front of the queue.”

Ruby eyed the woman.

“I noticed the plaque on your desk,” Ruby said. “The one that thanks the Archer Foundation for funding this section of the museum.”

“What about it?” the woman said.