The Excalibur Codex (29 page)

‘I’m sorry,’ Jamie interrupted. ‘But we didn’t come here for a history lesson.’

‘Of course,’ Porter acknowledged airily with a smile towards Charlotte, who sat back with her legs crossed, sipping at a glass of iced water. ‘I am merely setting the scene in the manner of the gentleman who introduces one of Shakespeare’s plays at the Globe. You are offering a great deal of money, you deserve a little entertainment. So, in nineteen eighty-seven the men who ran Poland and Poland’s administrative regions were nervous and already looking to the future; a Communist-free future. In the August of that year I was approached by a certain party by way of another certain party. The certain party was a foundation, endowed with considerable means, which had an interest in Polish culture and heritage. Its benefactors feared for the well-being of certain aspects of that heritage under the current, and possibly future,
Polish regime and wished to purchase for shipment to its home country an example that could be protected and studied at leisure.’

‘A castle?’

‘Indeed. I’m sure you’ll understand, Mr Saintclair, that I am a man who is often asked to provide unusual items and unusual services, but even I was surprised at this request. More so when I was told that they wished to purchase a
specific
castle, and, dare I say rather fortunately, an insignificant one. The export permit was surprisingly easy to arrange. Not many people in Warsaw were interested in a small German castle up near the Kaliningrad border where they have castles to spare. The good citizens of the Olzstyn region were another matter. German or not, the castle was part of their heritage.’ A rumble heralded the departure of a jet from Corfu Town and it crossed the mountains behind the house with its afterburners straining. Jamie looked up to see the white underbelly etched against a sky of pristine blue and as Marmaduke Porter waited for silence, Spiros appeared with a third – or possibly fourth – bottle of the Meursault. The consultant took a long drink before continuing his story.

‘Fortunately for me, the party chairman of the administrative region was a man of the old school, a dictator in all but name. He was also one of those preparing for their future I mentioned earlier. I was able to ensure he could look forward to a long and happy retirement with regular holidays in Switzerland, where
most of his money is now held. As for the good burgers of Olzstyn, thanks to a hefty injection of zlotys to build a new school and a hospital in Ketrzyn, they discovered their feelings for the castle were not quite as passionate as they thought. The goodwill this bought also allowed me to use a local labour force, which might not have been possible had there been significant community opposition.’ He sat back in his chair with a satisfied smile and a soft burp. ‘We trucked the entire castle, right down to the curtains and hangings, to Gdansk and shipped it in containers to its eventual destination.’

‘And that destination was?’

‘Client confidentiality.’

‘And the client’s name?’

Porter didn’t even deign to answer the question and in the silence that followed Jamie pondered what he’d been told, and the implications it raised.

‘The client must have given you very specific instructions if you were paying attention to the curtains and wall hangings of a six-hundred-year-old castle – the window glass and wood panelling too, I’m sure – that must have been looted when the Russians over-ran East Prussia?’

For the first time a defensive note crept into Marmaduke Porter’s voice. ‘I think your question answers itself.’

‘All I’m trying to elicit from you is the level of detail involved.’ Jamie smiled. ‘For instance, I believe the hangings may have included certain items related to a
former occupier of the building from the time of the Teutonic Knights? You were aware of the association with the Teutonic Knights?’

‘I’m not a student of the history of the Baltic regions, Mr Saintclair,’ Porter said dismissively. ‘And now I think we must bring this interview to a close. I may have said more than I intended.’ He sniffed. ‘I’m aware that your client is unlikely to be satisfied with what I have been able to divulge, but I believe I have given enough quite specific information to have earned, let us say, half of the agreed amount?’

‘I’ll have to discuss that with my client.’

The fat man’s face relaxed. ‘Of course, but I’m sure he will see my point of view.’ He sat with the smile fixed on his fleshy features, waiting for them to rise from their seats. Jamie didn’t move and Charlotte, though she wasn’t certain she understood the undercurrents of what was happening, took her lead from him.

‘I have one further question about the castle.’ Jamie broke the silence. ‘Were you given specific instructions about the safeguarding of certain artefacts that may not have been in their natural position in the castle, but were nevertheless part of its fabric, or that of its out-buildings?’

He had to admire Marmaduke Porter. His expression didn’t alter. Only the slightest flicker of panic in the deep-set eyes signalled that the next words he would say were going to be a lie.

‘No. Now I really must insist, Spi—’

Jamie raised a hand. ‘That really wouldn’t be wise, Marmaduke, not for a man who doesn’t take risks.’

Porter heaved himself out of his chair, his whole body quivering with outraged dignity. ‘I will not be threatened in my own house. I really must ask—’

‘A shipment of canned goods left Volgograd on 24 May 2008,’ Jamie quoted. ‘It was destined for the port of Baku in Azerbaijan, but it made an unscheduled detour in the Caspian Sea, which took it further south. Some friends of mine wish, among other things, to know the final destination of this shipment.’

The blood drained from the big man’s face and he slumped back in the chair, his features a mask of dismay. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘I think you do, Marmaduke. And I have to insist that you answer my questions. What was the destination of the castle and who was your client?’

‘You know I can’t tell you that. My reputation would be destroyed.’

‘The only people who will ever know are the people at this table.’

‘And my client.’

‘Your client is a foundation – a faceless entity carrying out an act of laudable cultural preservation. The people who run it would have no incentive to broadcast who had provided us with its name.’

‘You don’t understand,’ Porter choked. ‘It is more than my life is worth to tell you.’

He was pleading now and Jamie had to suppress a
twinge of compassion that wasn’t helped by the glare of disappointment Charlotte directed at him. He took a deep breath and twisted the knife.

‘My friend said to ask you how the facilitation of the Volgograd shipment would be seen by your former business partners in the light of certain information channelled through the CIA Head of Station in Kuwait City?’

Marmaduke Porter groaned and began to shake as if he was having a seizure. ‘No, Christ, no. You can’t, they’ll—’

‘Give me the name, Marmaduke. The name and the destination and we’ll be on our way.’

‘Please, no.’

‘Do you want to know what else my friend said?’

A few mumbled words spilled from the fleshy lips. Jamie signalled Charlotte to get her notebook ready. ‘Could you repeat that please?’

Charlotte scribbled the name and darted a puzzled look at Jamie.

Jamie rose to his feet. ‘I know you won’t believe it, Marmaduke, but I’m truly sorry it had to be like this. If it’s any consolation, fifty thousand pounds in Swiss francs will be couriered to you in the next few days.’

It appeared the money didn’t mean much to Marmaduke Porter, because he didn’t even look up as they left. Jamie hesitated at the door and looked back with a pang of regret at the broken man sitting with his head cradled in his big hands. ‘Er, there’s just one more thing, old
chum. Your new partners will be in touch soon. Do you understand that, Marmaduke? Your new partners will be in touch soon. I’d be a bit more forthcoming with them.’

They left the room to the sound of frantic, chest-tearing sobbing.

‘Why would something called the Bialystok Foundation transport a demolished Polish castle to New York?’

‘I don’t know,’ Jamie admitted. Back in the hotel he still felt guilty about what he’d done to Marmaduke Porter. Maybe he could justify it by telling himself that if he hadn’t passed on the message, the Israelis would have got someone else to do it, but he knew that was lily-livered hogwash. On the one hand he wished he’d never got involved with Adam Steele, but on the other was the tantalizing possibility that it was true. That Excalibur existed and he, Jamie Saintclair, hitherto purveyor of other people’s second-rate daubs, was the man who might discover it. He thrust the thought from his head and tried to concentrate. ‘I’m certain the five swords were part of the shipment, but there are easier and less expensive ways to smuggle them to the States. Maybe this isn’t about the swords at all. The answer could be something to do with the castle itself. Remember that
the Teutonic Knights based themselves on the Templars. When the Order was disbanded and Philip of France had their leader Jacques de Molay burned at the stake, they were said to have gathered a great treasure that later vanished. Who’s to say they didn’t hand it over to their brother knights in the East for safe keeping? Perhaps Nortstein Castle was the repository of that treasure? I think we need to go back to London to talk to Adam.’

Charlotte nodded. ‘I’ll let him know once I’ve checked out the foundation.’

‘That’s all right. I’ll call him now.’ Jamie reached for the sat-phone, but she laid her hand on his.

‘Leave it until we reach the airport. We have better things to do with our time.’

David Van Buren III closed his eyes as he lay back in the Jacuzzi on the after deck of the MV
Diana,
a beautiful classic motor yacht, the loan of which was the three-week gift of a grateful Italian industrialist to the United States ambassador to NATO. A satisfied smile wreathed his face as the squeals of his children drifted up from the bathing platform where they played at the port side. He knew he needn’t worry about their safety because the au pair and one of his five bodyguards would be with them. His ever-beautiful wife, Maryanne, was reading as usual up on the sun deck.

Christ, he’d needed this break, and the offer of the yacht had come just at the right time. Things had gone quiet in Afghanistan, or as quiet as they ever
did in that benighted country, after a start to the year that had stretched him to the limit with multiple IED casualties, helicopter crashes and the usual European pissing contests and threats to pull out their military contingents. He’d managed to calm things, but it had worn him down to the point where he felt fifty going on ninety. Later in the year there’d be the running sore of Kosovo to consider and the negotiations over missile defence. But, for now, he could relax, even if his cell phone was never more than two feet away.

They’d flown down from Brussels to Venice and boarded the yacht after two wonderful nights at the Cipriani. MV
Diana
could carry up to twenty-six passengers in complete luxury, but her crew of twenty-four were having it easy with only eleven on board. She sure was a beauty, a real Sophia Loren of the seas, all sophistication and sleek lines, with the polished brass and glowing mahogany that came with her pedigree. She’d been launched way back in the twenties, before the Crash had given her kind of extravagance a bad name, but she’d been refitted in the last decade and kitted out with the kind of modern amenities no self-respecting super-yacht would be without: the pool, the cinema, the sauna and the gym. Two hundred and sixty feet long, with a beam of thirty-nine and a top speed of ten knots from her quadruple steam engines, she was a floating home from home, with the added benefit that the sun was guaranteed to shine every day. Not that they’d only spent their time sunbathing. On
the way south they’d marvelled at the opulence of the Roman Emperor Diocletian’s Palace in Split, walked the walls of ancient Dubrovnik and only yesterday they’d wandered the narrow streets of Corfu Town, visiting the New Fortress while the
Diana
was resupplying. To cap a perfect day, the kids had been able to watch a crazy cricket match in the park from a restaurant on the Liston Arcade.

Later, there’d be reports to read – you couldn’t totally escape the job. But for now he was happy to enjoy the tranquillity of Agni Bay after a lunch enlivened by the proximity at the next table of the crew of the Russian oligarch’s yacht moored about two hundred yards off the starboard bow. The way they’d eyed up his security detail reminded him of stags at the beginning of a rut, but a round of drinks and a few toasts had ended that particular Cold War.

He was still smiling at the memory when he noticed a curious phenomenon. The world turned first red, then blue and he seemed to be spinning above what had once been the yacht, but was now a spreading ball of fire. A dream, surely? The reality only became clear when gravity regained its grip on the body of David Van Buren III, minus both legs and one arm, and he plunged back into the flaming wreck of the
Diana
with a scream that the waiters at the Taverna Agni would have nightmares about for a very long time.

Even before the echo of the explosion died, Stefano, who ran the boat taxi business from the jetty, had
cast off. He gunned the boat out towards the pool of flame surrounding the sinking boat and plucked three children and the nanny from the waters. The tender of the Russian billionaire’s yacht picked up most of the crew, but it would be days before divers from the Greek navy recovered what was left of the ambassador and his wife.

Two hours later Al-Qaida claimed responsibility for the attack for its Albanian wing in a phone call to an Athens news agency. They cited brotherhood with the Taliban and justice for the indiscriminate slaughter of Afghan civilians by NATO forces.

‘This will harden attitudes in the United States against Islamic extremists,’ Adam Steele predicted, waving the rolled-up newspaper as if it was a conductor’s baton. Jamie and Charlotte had flown in from Corfu the previous evening and the banker had insisted they come to a breakfast meeting in the vast dining room of the Mayfair house. ‘The Senate is already calling on the President to authorize drone strikes in Albania and extend those against Al-Qaida targets in Somalia and the Yemen to camps in Uganda and even Kenya—’