The Excalibur Codex (27 page)

Phase Two would follow when he was ready.

Strong, decisive leadership. Clarity of thought allied to purity of purpose. The first step to a Greater Britain.

But before that faltering step could be taken the way must be cleared.

The tall man interrupted his thoughts. ‘Our man reports that the Duke was drunk yesterday. Drunk and talkative.’

An involuntary sigh escaped the chairman’s lips. ‘Did he say anything indiscreet?’

‘It seems he is on the cusp of a change of circumstances. A change that makes him nervous, but for one thing—’

‘He didn’t name it?’

‘No.’ A moment of hesitation. ‘You said there had been a setback?’

‘It was not something we could have predicted. Our international connection should have prevented the attack. I remonstrated with them, but they weren’t in the mood for discussion. It seems they lost someone.’

The former SAS man raised an eyebrow. ‘You should have let me arrange the security.’

‘Perhaps, Gerald, but, as you’re aware, that would have created its own problems.’

‘Should we be concerned about the Russians?’

‘They appear to be an unfortunate relic of Saintclair’s
past and they did us a favour in cleaning up the mess.’

‘I would feel better if I knew who they represent.’

‘Very well, see what you can do.’

‘We have less than a month.’

The chairman stared hard. ‘I don’t need reminding, thank you. A new avenue of investigation has opened up. Our people are on it now. I want you to check it out and be ready to exploit any opportunities it provides.’

‘His name is
Marmaduke
Porter.’ Charlotte’s lips twisted to avoid smirking as she read the name from her notes. Thin Warsaw sunlight highlighted the flesh-toned plaster and carefully applied make-up that disguised the injury to her forehead. ‘He’s English and what used to be called a fixer, but now prefers to be known as an international communications consultant.’

‘Bully for him.’

She ignored Gault’s interjection. ‘They wouldn’t have found the name if it wasn’t for a letter from the Friends of the Teutonic Knights, would you believe, to one of the English-language newspapers in Warsaw. Outraged of Elblag wrote demanding an investigation into the loss of Nortstein Castle. The letter mentioned a development company that may or may not have paid kickbacks to the Communist state governor of the time. Adam’s people tracked down the company to somewhere in Jersey and with the application of a little financial
force majeure
a name was forthcoming.’

‘Do we have an address?’ Jamie asked.

‘We do.’ She looked triumphantly at Gault. ‘He lives on the sun-kissed Greek Island of Corfu. Adam is arranging for the charter of a private jet to fly us direct from Warsaw. By us, I mean Jamie and me. While we are topping up our suntans, Mr Gault is to return to England to give Adam a briefing.’

The former soldier grimaced. ‘I’ll call him. He needs to know that you two lovebirds shouldn’t be let out on your own.’

‘You weren’t much help at the Wolf’s Lair,’ she pointed out tartly.

‘I—’

‘Whatever Adam decides is fine with me,’ Jamie interrupted. ‘We’d better get packed. If Steele is sending us a private jet, he must be getting impatient.’ He threw his satellite phone on the bed beside Gault. ‘Use this, it’ll save time.’

‘I prefer to use my own – in private.’ The SBS man got up and stalked from the room.

‘What was that about?’ Charlotte demanded.

‘I don’t think he appreciated being reminded that he hung us out to dry.’

‘Well, bugger him,’ she sniffed. ‘He’ll do what he’s told like the rest of us. The whole point of having him along was to prevent something like that happening. Don’t you think it’s a bit suspicious that he walked away more or less without a scratch?’

‘So did I,’ Jamie pointed out.

‘Yes, but you saved my life and you were lucky. Maybe there was more than luck to Gault’s great escape?’

He wondered what she was implying, but decided that for the moment it didn’t matter now that they were parting company with the former SBS man. Something to worry about later.

They left Gault in the international departure lounge at Warsaw Chopin while a guide escorted them to the airport’s general aviation terminal where the Beechcraft private jet waited. Two hours later they were approaching Corfu airport at a height so low they seemed to be skimming the sun-dappled wave tops and when they landed people were looking from their hotel balconies down onto the plane. A waiting limousine carried them to the hotel, an elegant wedding-cake-shaped edifice overlooking the anchored yachts in Garitsa Bay. Charlotte dealt with reception and returned with an arch look and a single key. ‘After what happened in Poland, I thought it would be more secure if we shared a room. You’re not shy, are you?’

‘Secure?’ He turned away to hide his confusion. What could he say? No was the first thing that came to mind, but that wouldn’t be gentlemanly. It implied that she was … Anyway, he was too tired to argue. Of course he was attracted to her, but that didn’t mean anything would happen. He tried to laugh it off with a lame joke. ‘I always sleep on the left.’

‘Don’t get any ideas.’ She grinned. ‘It’s a twin room. We’re here on business.’

In the room on the third floor there was the usual awkward moment after their luggage arrived deciding whose clothes went where. Charlotte took the chance to freshen up while Jamie opened the curtains to the balcony. He’d been vaguely aware of the view as they’d arrived, but now, from his elevated position, it was truly spectacular. The bay curved in a shallow crescent, from a magnificent towering castle on the left to a tree-shrouded headland a mile distant on the right. In front of him a band of aquamarine a hundred yards wide hugged the shore, before gradually turning to a deeper, more intense cobalt scattered with shiny floating gin palaces that must have cost a million apiece and more. In the far distance, softened by a slight haze, lay the coast of Greece – or possibly Albania? He formed a map of the island in his head. According to Adam Steele’s sources, Marmaduke Porter lived on the west coast in a villa close to the tourist resort of Paleokastritsa. The ‘consultant’ would undoubtedly have the information they needed, but, given his profession, was unlikely to be willing to give it up freely. As an incentive, Jamie had Steele’s authorization to draw a substantial sum from a bank in Corfu Town. If that didn’t work he’d need to find his own way to get the information.

He felt Charlotte at his shoulder. She placed a cold glass in his hand and he took a sip. ‘Cheers.’

‘It’s beautiful,’ she said, so close he could feel her breath on his ear.

‘Mmm.’

‘We can’t do anything today. We might as well make the most of it.’

He shuddered at the touch of her lips on the back of his neck.

‘I thought we were here on business.’

Her hands reached over his shoulders and he could feel the firm roundness of her breasts against his back as she began to unbutton his shirt. ‘Hotel rooms bring out in the worst in me.’

‘That’s odd.’ He slipped round to face her, so their lips were an inch apart. ‘I always think they bring out the best in me.’

She drew him hard against her. ‘Good,’ she said.

And it was.

The shadows of the yacht masts were lengthening on the waters of Garitsa Bay as Jamie sat on the balcony, still not quite certain how what had happened had happened, or how it made him feel about himself. He could hear Charlotte shifting under the covers of the bed they’d shared and he tried to rationalize his feelings for her without any particular success. His mobile phone twittered on the table beside him and he picked it up, automatically going to the far end of the balcony so as not to disturb the English girl.

‘Saintclair,’ he answered.

‘Did you kill her?’

The raw fury in the voice froze the blood in Jamie’s
veins and his heart began to pound as if it were trying to escape his rib cage.

‘I said, did you kill her?’

A male voice, and something familiar about it, English with a slight inflection. He looked in on Charlotte. What the hell was going on? ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘You were the last person to see her alive.’

‘This convers— What did you say?’ A realization was dawning, but he couldn’t – wouldn’t – allow it to fully form.

‘I don’t think you understand your situation. Look down at your chest. Slowly.’

Jamie allowed his eyes to drift down to the front of his shirt and the red spot of the laser sited directly over his heart.

‘It would be wise not to move.’

‘I wasn’t planning to.’ Jamie understood perfectly that out there on one of the boats a sniper had him in his sights. A pro, armed with something like a Barrett M98 chambered for a 33.8mm magnum round that would blow a hole in him the size of a dinner plate.

‘Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kill you.’

‘I didn’t … No, I won’t believe it.’ He remembered their last moments together. The soft touch of her lips. The slim figure disappearing into the trees, so vibrant and alive and invulnerable. But of course, this wouldn’t be happening if it wasn’t true. Grief threatened to
overwhelm him the way it had when he heard of Abbie’s murder. ‘She saved my life.’

‘They found her face down in the wood with three pistol bullets in her. She was executed.’

‘I didn’t kill her.’

‘Maybe that doesn’t matter.’ The voice was very familiar now, but harsher than he’d ever heard it. ‘Maybe all that matters is that she died because of you.’

The red spot seemed to brighten and he tensed for the strike of the bullet. ‘That’s for you to decide, David. I’d rather—’

‘Do not demean yourself by suggesting you would rather have died in her place, Mr Saintclair. She was worth ten of you.’

Suddenly anger overwhelmed sorrow; a great up-swell of heat and fire that started in the guts and filled his entire body. ‘Don’t fucking lecture me,
old boy
. I loved her, and she’d still be with me if you hadn’t lured her back with whatever lies you came up with. You deceive people for a living, but don’t think you can deceive yourself. Your organization pimped itself out to a politically connected multi-millionaire, or she wouldn’t have been there. You
knew
those men were following me, yet you still let her walk into that forest alone …’

‘That was a mistake.’

‘Some mistakes cause harm.’ He spat the words into the phone. ‘Your mistakes kill people.’

‘Jamie?’ The drowsy voice came from beyond the sliding windows behind him.

He lowered his voice. ‘I can’t bring her back. Tell me what you want?’

‘You owe us, Mr Saintclair. You already owed us, but now you owe us a life. Remember that. If on your travels you encounter anything that might be of interest to the State of Israel, you will contact me directly.’

‘And if I were to tell you to fuck off?’ Even as he said it, he knew how pathetic the threat was. Their fates had become entwined during the quest for the Sun Stone, and the Mossad spy knew there was an Estonian art dealer and Nazi war criminal whose death in London wouldn’t bear close investigation.

Without warning David’s tone lost its threat and became businesslike. ‘Tomorrow you will speak to a man called Marmaduke Porter?’

‘Perhaps. Why?’

‘You will ask him about a shipment of canned goods originating in Volgograd on 24 May 2008 and destined for the port of Baku in Azerbaijan, but which made an unscheduled detour in the Caspian Sea, which took it further south. We wish, among other things, to know the final destination of this shipment.’

‘And why should he tell me?’

‘I doubt he will, but you will further ask him how the facilitation of this shipment would be seen by his former business partners in the light of certain items of information channelled through the CIA Head of Station in
Kuwait City. Again, he will prevaricate and dissemble, but all you need to do is tell him his
new
partners will be in touch.’

‘That’s all?’

‘That is all.’

‘You really are a bastard, David.’

‘Tell me that the next time your country is fighting for its survival, Mr Saintclair. And one other thing you should know … If I discover you had anything to do with her death I will hunt you down to the ends of the earth and you will not escape me, whatever stone you attempt to hide under.’

He rang off before Jamie could reply. When he returned to the room, Charlotte sat up naked in bed rubbing her eyes. ‘Who was that?’

‘An old friend.’

Next morning, they headed north in their hire car. For the first few miles, Jamie kept to the coast, but after the tourist hotspot of Gouvia he turned off into the less populated interior and a road that crossed the mountainous spine of the island. The narrow highway twisted through endless groves of olive trees and villages too tiny to be worth a name, where leather-featured men and women sat in the shade outside their houses selling home-grown oil, oranges, lemons and peaches. Eventually, they reached a towering height where they could view the sea again and began to descend in ever more precipitous turns. As he drove, Jamie attempted to keep one eye on the rear-view mirror, but the constant braking at every corner and the way the local truck drivers treated the narrow roads as if they were the sole proprietors made it impossible. He contented himself by pulling in two or three times where the road permitted and allowing the traffic behind to overtake. David’s
threat was reason enough to be careful. The Mossad agent was out there somewhere and Jamie wanted him to know he knew. But there was more. Whoever killed Sarah Grant was out there too: a deadly threat without face or form.

He glanced at Charlotte, lying back in the passenger seat with her face to the sun, mirrored sunglasses covering her eyes. Should he have told her? The scar on her forehead was still visible beneath the make-up. Safer for her not to know, he’d decided. There were things he didn’t yet understand, niggling questions that needed answers. Adam Steele’s aide had unbuttoned her shirt to allow the sun to reach the soft curve of her breasts and they brought back a memory of the day before. Jamie felt a wave of affection for the English girl until a supermarket truck almost forced him off the road and into the ditch. He shook his head ruefully. Keep an eye on the road, you silly bastard, haven’t you got trouble enough?