The Chaos Code (8 page)

And almost at once he realised there was no mystery at all. Of course the young Julius Venture was there, in most if not all of the pictures. He must be the photographer. It was his camera, that was why he never appeared.

Pleased with himself for working it out, but also disappointed at the simplicity of the solution, Matt turned out the light. The wind rattled the window and whispered round the casement. But Matt didn't listen to what it said.

The bedroom was bathed with warm summer sunlight when Matt woke. He saw from his watch that he'd slept in till mid-morning. He must have been more tired than he thought. Aunt Jane had left him a note on the kitchen table, saying she'd gone up to the manor house and hoped Matt could look after himself. She had obviously thought he needed his sleep. She was probably right, he decided while yawning at cereal packets.

There must be buses from the village to somewhere worth spending the day, Matt thought. Gloucester or even Cheltenham weren't that far away. In the other direction there was a castle at Berkeley, wasn't there? What he needed was a bus timetable. He couldn't see one lying around in the cottage, but he could probably print one
out from the Internet. Or he could walk into the village and look for a bus stop – there'd be a timetable there.

But all thoughts of buses were put out of Matt's mind by the arrival of the helicopter.

He had barely left the house when he heard the thwock-thwock-thwock of the rotors. Far off in the steel-grey sky, above the trees to the side of the manor house Matt could see the tiny shape of the helicopter as it approached. He ran out on to the main drive for a better view as it grew closer and larger.

The rotor blades were a blur in the air above the machine itself, which was dark and angular like a brutal insect. It tilted back slightly as it paused over the lawn beside the drive in front of the house, then started slowly to descend.

There were leaves on the drive and at the edge of the woods, blown down by the strong winds of the last few days. The leaves were whipped up by the downdraft. They spiralled upwards in a kaleidoscopic flurry – all the shades of the trees mixed into a maelstrom. Just for a moment, as the helicopter settled on the lawn, it looked as if the mass of leaves were taking on a shape – picked out in variations of green. Like seeing animals made out of clouds, Matt thought. A face – eyes, nose, mouth. Just for a second. Then the engine noise died down, the rotors spun slower and slower, the wind dropped, and the leaves fell formless to the ground.

Beyond the now motionless helicopter, Matt could
see Julius Venture and Robin standing outside the porch, watching. Robin waved. Matt waved back. Then immediately he felt stupid – she was probably waving at the people in the helicopter, not at him. Embarrassed, he almost turned away.

He stopped at the sight of the man who jumped down from the helicopter and started walking purposefully towards the house. There was something familiar about him, Matt thought. He watched the man all the way up to the house. He was a big man – tall and broad, wearing a long, expensive-looking coat. His hair was as dark grey as the cloud-heavy sky. He shook hands with Venture, and together they went into the manor house.

Robin stayed where she was, outside on the drive. She waved again, and this time Matt was sure she was waving to him. He started quickly up the drive towards her.

She waited outside the porch, watching him with that slightly mocking half-smile of hers. Matt smiled back. It was just her manner. He was pretty sure that she wasn't really mocking him. Almost pretty sure.

‘Who was that?' he asked. ‘I recognised him from somewhere.'

‘Atticus Harper,' Robin told him.

‘Really? Dad's mentioned him. The millionaire.'

‘Billionaire, more like. He called my father late last night, asked if he could come and see him.'

‘What about?'

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Like it's any of your business?'

‘Sorry. Just asking.'

‘That's OK.' She opened the door and he followed her inside. ‘I don't know anyway. He just said he wanted to discuss something.'

‘You know much about him?' Matt asked.

‘Do you?'

He shrugged. ‘A bit. He's rich. He's an archaeologist – a “hobby archaeologist” Dad called him. Owns about a dozen businesses from oil to computer systems to an ice hockey team …'

‘It's a start.' Robin was leading him through the hall and down the corridor towards the library. ‘Let's look him up on the Internet.' She paused, turning to face Matt. ‘Unless you have other plans?'

‘No,' he said, all thoughts of bus timetables dismissed. ‘No other plans.'

There was an abundance of information about Atticus Harper on the web. The problem wasn't finding a site, it was deciding which of them from the search engine's list would be of most use.

They started with one of his companies. It made computer components and silicon chips, and the site included a page about its founder and owner. It didn't tell them much they didn't already know between them. In fact, the more sites they looked at, the more detail they got but the less Matt felt he knew about the man.

Atticus Harper was in his fifties. He had been a young
computer genius when Bill Gates rose to fame, founding a similar software company. But being in Britain his rise to fame and fortune was less spectacular or obtrusive. He seemed to be a private man. There was lots about what he owned or where he had been, very little about what he thought or did in his spare time.

‘Probably doesn't have any,' Robin said. ‘These people work all the hours God sends. And then some. Obsessive. That's why they're so successful of course. That and intelligence and good business sense.'

‘And luck,' Matt said.

‘And arrogance,' Robin added. ‘We've got a helicopter pad behind the house, but he still landed on the lawn. He obviously likes to make an impression.'

‘Like, in the grass you mean?' Matt joked. Robin smiled.

Harper's interest in archaeology seemed always to have been there, beneath the surface of his corporate work. They found a brief biography from a respected history journal that mentioned that Harper had insisted his companies donate funds to several research projects in the 1980s. Since then he had taken a more active – and financial – personal interest. He had funded archaeological digs and projects all over the world as well as donating to libraries and institutes.

‘Look at this,' Matt exclaimed in surprise at one web page, though he knew Robin was reading it with him.

She laughed. ‘If it's true.'

Matt was still impressed. ‘He tried to buy Stonehenge. Wow.'

‘He owns loads of ancient sites,' Robin pointed out. ‘Most of them not so high profile though. There's that Inca village, and the prehistoric caves in the south of France.'

‘Yeah, I know. And he's saved loads of others by personal intervention in out-of-the-way countries where they could have been destroyed. It's more than a hobby – it's an obsession. He collects old stuff from coins and trinkets to castles and estates … Hey!' An idea had occurred to Matt.

‘What?'

‘I bet that's why he's here. He wants to buy you out.'

‘No way.' Robin closed the browser and shut down the computer. ‘Dad would never sell. We've been here for …' She stood up. ‘The family's lived here for centuries. We'd never sell.'

He was teasing really. He didn't think that was why Harper had come, but he was amused to see how it unsettled Robin. ‘He might offer your dad millions.'

‘Dad's got millions,' she said. She said it quietly, matter-of-fact. So probably, Matt thought, it was true.

‘Maybe some particular relic then,' he suggested. ‘Plenty of those round the place, after all.'

She was still serious. ‘They're not for sale.'

‘Not even the pictures?'

The half-smile was back. ‘Don't tease me.'

‘Sorry. But I bet he wants something.'

‘Everyone wants something,' she told him. ‘I'm going for a walk. Coming?'

Matt paused in the corridor, beside the table with the photograph on it. ‘I saw some old pictures yesterday,' he said.

‘How interesting,' Robin said sarcastically.

‘It was, actually. Aunt Jane's got a scrapbook. There's pictures of her and my Dad, when they were kids. About our age, I suppose.'

‘Yes?' She sounded bored. Or wary.

‘There are pictures of them playing in the grounds.'

‘They grew up here. In the village.'

‘I know that.'

They had reached the hall. The sound of Julius Venture's voice was a low murmur from the other side of a door that wasn't quite shut.

‘They were playing with another girl,' Matt said. He felt the blood go to his cheeks as he said it, though he wasn't sure why he should be embarrassed. ‘I think it must have been your mother.'

‘Why do you think that?' There was no emotion at all in her voice.

‘Because she looked just like you.'

Robin nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, she would have done.'

‘Sorry.' Matt turned away. ‘I guess maybe you don't like to talk about her.'

‘I can hardly remember my mother,' she said. ‘It's not a problem.'

‘She seemed very happy,' Matt said, turning back to face her. ‘They all did. In the pictures. They were having fun.'

Robin nodded. Her reply was so quiet it was almost a whisper: ‘The girl that broke your father's heart.'

As she said it, another voice cut across the low murmur of Venture's. The voice was louder, deep and resonant. It carried, the words reaching Matt clearly:

‘Which still leaves us the problem of what to do about Arnold Stribling.'

Robin and Matt stared at each other.

‘Dad?' Matt mouthed, feeling suddenly cold and empty inside. Why were they discussing his father? He again wished he had spoken to Venture about Dad when they met the day before. The man knew something – perhaps Dad had tried to tell Matt that.

‘No, Matt,' Robin said. ‘Wait.'

But he was already turning, walking quickly to the half-open door without pausing to think about it. Pushing it open wide and stepping into Julius Venture's study. Finding Venture and Atticus Harper turning in surprise to look at him as he stood in the doorway.

‘This is Doctor Stribling's son, Matthew,' Venture said, standing up and gesturing to Matt to take a seat. ‘Do join us, Matt. I think you'll find this … interesting.'

He was aware of Robin coming into the room behind him. ‘What about my father? Do you know where he is?'

Venture and Harper exchanged a look. ‘Not exactly,' Harper admitted. ‘But in a sense it's because of your father that I'm here. Tell me, have you ever heard him mention the lost treasure of the Knights of St John of Jerusalem?'

Matt shook his head as he sat down. ‘I don't think so. What's it got to do with my dad?'

‘I employed your father to find it for me,' Harper said.

Venture sent Robin to find Aunt Jane. ‘She should hear this too,' he explained to Harper. ‘She is Doctor Stribling's sister.'

Harper raised a grey eyebrow. ‘Quite a family gathering.'

‘Indeed.' Venture offered no further explanation. Instead he turned to Matt. ‘Please forgive me, I knew nothing at all of this when we spoke yesterday or I would have told you. I didn't realise you came here to your aunt because he is missing. You must be very worried about him – I'm sorry. Arnold has been a dear friend of mine for many years.'

Matt nodded, unsure what to say to this. While they waited, he looked round Venture's study. Avoiding the man's deep, blue gaze. Venture himself was seated behind a large desk made of dark, polished wood. The top of the desk was clear apart from a computer screen and a large
leather-bound notebook. Behind the desk, the wall was shelved from floor to ceiling and the shelves were packed with books. Two of the other walls were panelled with wood up to about chest height, then shelved. Matt could see DVDs, video tapes, CDs, computer discs … The fourth wall was dominated by a large window that gave out to the front of the house. Matt could see the black shape of Harper's helicopter standing silhouetted on the lawn. Making an impression.

Harper himself was sitting in front of the desk, a metal briefcase standing close to his feet. He was a big man – tall and broad-shouldered, but not overweight. He seemed to be composed entirely of greys. His hair was steel grey, his suit was dark grey. His long face seemed somewhere between the two. Even his eyes were a blue-grey. His bloodless lips twitched faintly, but whether into the ghost of a smile or a sneer it was difficult to tell.

He angled his chair so he could speak to Matt as well as Julius Venture. There were a couple of other upright chairs against the wall beside the door. One of them, Matt could see, was hinged at the back and he guessed it opened out to form a set of library steps. Robin sat on that when she returned with Aunt Jane, who took the slightly larger chair. For Aunt Jane's benefit, Venture introduced Atticus Harper, and they all waited expectantly for him to speak.

Sitting in front of the desk, Harper had looked almost like an animated corpse – devoid of colour or
much expression. But as he spoke, he seemed to come to life and Matt saw something of his own father's enthusiasm and excitement rise to the surface. He felt that he understood the man's passion, what drove him, and he found himself caught up in the story and the mystery and the emotion of it all.

‘Forgive me if you know something of this,' Harper said, his voice rich and deep, ‘but a story needs its background and beginning. And the start of our tale is in the Fourth Crusade, when in 1198 Pope Innocent III called for the Christians to invade Egypt … But he had a problem, because the Crusaders couldn't afford to pay for transport. So it was agreed that the ships for the enterprise would be provided by Venice. Which was all well and good, except that the Venetians traded with Egypt. So they weren't too keen on attacking their business partners. Given the choice, they'd far rather have attacked their biggest rivals – the Byzantine Empire.