The Sword of Moses (51 page)

Thinking back, she realized her phone must have been on the table in front of them at the time, where she usually put it when she was indoors. The white image was her ceiling, which the phone’s camera had been pointing at.

Then there was her voice again.

“
Except the word comes from the name of the seal attached to the document
—
the bulla, from the Latin word meaning to boil.
”

Outrage rising, she tried another file.

Again, it was her voice.

“And why do you think Christ rises from the dead every year at the time of the spring equinox—exactly the moment when winter is over and the sun begins to be dominant again, bathing the earth in warmth and life. It’s the oldest religious celebration of all.”

Although the screen was blank, the conversation was unmistakably the one she had with Cyrus and Ferguson in Cyrus’s projection room.

She kept opening files until it became apparent all of them were videos of her conversations over the last few days.

It was clear her phone had been recording her.

Some of the files just showed blank or dark screens. Occasionally there was an image—usually of a ceiling or the inside of a bag or pocket. She guessed her phone was rarely pointing at something interesting when she was having a conversation. But the audio was invariably of her discussing something.

Suddenly it made sense.

Prince was tapping into her phone to hear what was going on. If it was interesting, she was recording it, and then sending herself a copy of the file.

That explained why there were so many files, and also why her battery had been draining so fast, like the afternoon of her run-in with Malchus at Stockbridge House, when she had tried to call Ferguson from the pub afterwards, but her phone had been flat.

Furious, she strode through into the sitting room, and saw to her relief that Ferguson was now awake

His face was crumpled, and she could see the last few days had taken their toll on him. She felt a fleeting pang of guilt for having given him the slip at Stonehenge.

From the quizzical look on his face, he had clearly caught on that something was wrong.

“You’re not going to believe this,” she fumed, tossing the phone to him, “Prince bugged me.”

“What?” He looked bewildered.

“My phone. She’s been remotely activating the video.”

Ferguson sat up, fully awake now. “How can she do that?” He looked at the list of files on her screen, and scrolled down through them. “Jesus,” he muttered, “I didn’t even know you could do this on an iPhone.”

“Clearly you can.” Ava was incensed.

How dare she!

“I don’t get it.” Ferguson was tapping individual files, bringing up the videos. “How do you hack an iPhone? Did she send you an executable file?”

Ava shook her head, angry with herself. “She got me to do it for her.”

Ferguson looked perplexed. “You hacked your own phone?”

Ava sat down, and breathed a long sigh as she realized just how easily Prince had played her.

“Before we went down to Stonehenge, she gave me a flash drive with the photos of Malchus and a CX file. I attached the flash drive to my phone so I could read the files.”

“And you uploaded a hidden suite of spyware at the same time.” Ferguson shook his head. “I’m impressed. We always underestimate her people.” He put the phone down on a table beside the sofa. “Have you got the flash drive?”

Ava shook her head. “It splintered into a thousand pieces under one of your front wheels.” She felt livid. “I had to destroy the files she passed me.”

“Clever,” he nodded grudgingly. “So she even got you to clean the evidence, too.”

Ava let out another long slow breath. “It would seem so.”

She had been half wondering whether he may perhaps have been in on it with Prince. Or at least aware of it. But from his reactions and expression, it was clearly all news to him.

“There’s no need to look so impressed.” She stood up. “It means we have to assume Prince knows everything we know. About Malchus, the Menorah, and even the Foundation. About every discussion we’ve had since I got back from Dubai.”

Ferguson shook his head grimly. “This is going to complicate things.”

“Well there’s only one thing for it.” She had reached a decision.

She stood up, and threw him his jacket, which was lying over the back of one of the armchairs. “Our American friend is in London. She said she was going to coordinate the U.S. angle from here. It’s time you played the dutiful employee and met up with her to give her an update of our progress—and more importantly, to find out exactly just how much she now knows.”

——————— ◆ ———————

Regent
’
s Park

London NW1

England

The United Kingdom

At exactly 7:00 a.m., Ava slipped through the wooded Avenue Gardens gateway into Regent’s Park.

The sweet smell of the flowers was heady, and the vibrant colours filling the manicured horticultural beds around her shone in the clear sunlight.

It was one of those days when the park was looking at its best.

Even though the various gates had already been open for two hours, there was barely anyone about—just a few determined joggers taking the opportunity to stretch their muscles before spending the day anchored to one of London’s millions of desks.

She remembered once reading that in medieval times the parkland had belonged to Barking Abbey. It had been part of the monastery’s possessions at Tyburn—a name infamous for the royal gallows which had operated there for six centuries, barely a mile to the west of where she was standing.

She shuddered at the recollection that Queen Elizabeth I had swapped the simple gallows there for the ‘Tyburn Tree’—a large triple-posted scaffold for efficiently executing batches of up to twenty-four people at a time.

So much for
‘
Good Queen Bess
’
, she thought, as she moved further into the still park. It was a dark period in England’s history, and Elizabeth deserved the title ‘Bloody’ equally as much as her half-sister, Mary.

Turning left and rounding a small ornamental stone fountain spraying cool clear water into a lichen-coated basin, she spotted a sign declaring Regent’s Park to be one of the Royal Parks—eight square miles of nature that breathed as London’s lungs, bringing greenery and air into the heart of the congested metropolis.

Prince had readily agreed to Ferguson’s suggestion of meeting in the park. It was located centrally, and offered hundreds of places where they could walk and talk in privacy among its anonymous lawns, formal flower gardens, dense woods, and sprawling lakes. They were all largely secluded, and free from the risk of electronic surveillance or observation from vehicles.

Prince and Ferguson had arranged to rendezvous at 7:15 a.m., so Ava had a quarter of an hour to find a hidden observation post and get herself into position.

She headed across the springy green lawn in the direction of the Inner Circle.

Prince and Ferguson were due to meet by the small gate in the hedge opposite Park Street West, so Ava wanted to place herself in the trees about two hundred yards north-west of them. She had calculated that from there she would get a clear view of their meeting, and whichever path they chose to take.

Heading quickly to the other side of the lawn, she arrived at an area of dense trees that led eventually to the sunken open-air theatre. She settled herself down on a tree stump in a clump of evergreen bushes, and took out the compact military binoculars Ferguson had lent her.

Training them on the small gap in the hedge agreed for the rendezvous, she saw Ferguson arrive first.

She and Ferguson had split up a few hundred yards before entering the park, so he had walked the remainder of the Outer Circle by himself, just in case Prince or any of her colleagues were watching.

Ava wanted to stay well out of the way. This was to be Ferguson’s meeting.

Prince did not need to know how closely he and Ava were now working together.

“Maybe we should go to the zoo when we’re finished here?” he suggested jovially, looking around to try and spot Ava.

She heard him clearly though the small flesh-coloured receiver inserted into her left ear. It was undetectable to any passer-by, as was the direct audio signal it was receiving from the sensitive mini-microphone embedded into the winding crown of Ferguson’s otherwise unremarkable black metal sports watch.

He had snapped the watch onto his wrist and given her the earpiece and binoculars before they had left the house. “Welcome back to the Firm. I’ll need you to sign for these.” he had joked. She could not help but smile. There were some aspects of the job she still missed—like the camaraderie of these operations.

Watching him now from across the park, she thought perhaps if circumstances were different she might quite like to go to the zoo, which was in an adjoining section of the park, not far from where she was sitting.

Or, she wondered, questioning herself more closely, was it that she would quite like to go to the zoo
with him
?

She immediately pushed the thought out of her mind.

Her life was complicated enough already.

Besides, she lived in Iraq. It had been her decision to move there, away from family and friends. She had taken it gladly, and would do so again in an instant. But just now, sitting in a calm and sensuous English park on a bright summer morning, it was tempting to think of what life might be like if she lived in England again. There was always her family’s house in Somerset. She had long thought one day she would return there permanently.

“I’ve got eyes on.” It was Ferguson’s voice in the earpiece again. He was speaking softly now.

Ava looked back to where he was standing, as a tall woman entered the small gateway into the park.

She checked her watch. It was 7:15 a.m. exactly.

She recognized Prince immediately. Her long auburn hair was, as usual, tied back into an austere bun, and she was wearing a crisp white cotton shirt under a sober grey jacket and calf-length skirt. She had an elegant navy blue rain mac slung over one arm.

“So what have you got for me?” she asked Ferguson, nodding a greeting at him and shading her eyes from the sun. Her tone was businesslike. She was clearly in no mood for pleasantries. “What has our friend Dr Curzon found out about the Ark?”

“She needs more information on Malchus,” Ferguson replied matter-of-factly. “He’s not an easy man to find.”

Prince started walking west, along the narrow path hugging the inside of the park’s outer border, giving Ava a clear view of their route, only obscured every now and then by a tree. If they headed beyond the Wildlife Gardens and towards York Bridge, she might have to move, but that would be fine. The trees and bushes provided her with plenty of cover.

“Not even in Rome?” There was a heavy note of sarcasm in Prince’s voice. “Do you want to tell me what that little jolly was about?”

Ferguson set off alongside her so they were walking abreast. “She knows he’s collecting biblical artefacts. But she’s in the dark about where he’s keeping them. Or even why he wants them.”

There was a pause, in which Ava could only hear the sound of their shoes on the hard dirt. “So you’re not going to share with me what you’ve been working on, then?” Prince was clearly not happy at being given the brush-off. “There’s nothing you want to tell me, for instance, about a group calling itself the Foundation?”

Ava smiled to herself.

That was good news.

Prince must have heard them discuss the Foundation, but clearly lacked further details.

“She didn’t find any leads to the Ark in Rome, if that’s what you’re asking.” Ferguson was playing dumb, as they had agreed.

“Look,” Prince stopped walking and turned to face Ferguson, the trees casting a dappled shadow onto the two of them. “There are an increasing number of organizations joining this particular party.” She paused, her voice striking a more sombre tone. “Dr Curzon is going to need friends like us if she’s going to navigate her way successfully through this mess.”

What happened next was so quick that if Ava had blinked, she would have missed it.

Without warning, Prince’s body lifted a few inches off the ground, spun ninety degrees in the air, then slammed to the ground in a spray of red mist. With a split second delay, Ava heard a high-pitched zipping sound through her earpiece, ending abruptly in a wet thudding noise

She gasped in horror as she heard Ferguson’s voice coming over urgently. “She’s down!”

Ava could see that.

Prince was lying on the grass, her face in the dirt, her torso twisted at a right angle to her legs. But more disturbing than the odd position of her body was the six-inch gaping hole in the middle of her back, along with the sprays of blood and shreds of soft tissue spattered over her neat grey jacket.

It looked as if a tank shell had passed straight through her.

The American’s expression was glassy and still. She had not had time to register any shock or pain before her entire system had comprehensively shut down.

Ava had never seen anyone killed by a sniper before, but she knew that only a round from a high-powered sniper’s rifle made that sound and inflicted that kind of damage. One well-aimed shot was all it took, leaving behind the massive telltale injuries of a supersonic high velocity round that had torn and tumbled its way through soft body tissue.

As Ferguson’s shout faded in her ears, Ava instinctively dived for cover, hitting the mossy ground as hard and fast as she could.

Until she knew what the situation was, she had to assume the sniper was still out there, and potentially taking aim again. For now she had no information on whether it was a targeted hit on Prince or a disgruntled Londoner taking out his rage on the public. In a big city, all options were open.

But whoever the sniper was, he clearly knew what he was doing. This was no Hollywood attempt to hit Prince between the eyes. It was just one well-aimed shot to the centre of the body mass. It was as professional as it got—and the results were visibly devastating.

Ferguson clearly had similar thoughts. Ava saw him reach down with lightning speed, then zigzag the five yards to the nearby fence separating the park from the Outer Circle. He was over it in an instant, and gone.

Ava glanced around, praying no one had seen him beside Prince when she had dropped. Although the park was virtually empty, he absolutely did not want to be connected to the murder of a senior U.S. intelligence officer.

Still on her belly, she rapidly scanned the south-east corner of the park where the shot must have come from, peering through the binoculars for any clue to where the sniper was hiding.

As she swivelled the binoculars around the park’s periphery, she suddenly saw it—a tiny glint reflecting in the early morning sun.

Zeroing in the binoculars, she could see a grey ice cream hut in an empty children’s playground. It was not yet open and serving refreshments, but she had definitely spotted something flash in its window.

Focusing her eyes back on where Prince was sprawled, she could make out a clear line of sight from the hut to the body.

She pulled out her phone, and punched Ferguson’s number.

He answered immediately.

“Something moved in the ice cream hut, children’s playground by the Avenue Gardens,” she panted.

“I’m on it. You stay put.” Ferguson hung up.

His watch was still transmitting, and she could hear the sound of him running. She could not see him yet, so figured he was approaching the hut from the back.

In under a minute, she heard his breathing quieten, then the slamming sound of a door being shoved open hard.

There was a moment’s pause before his voice came over her earpiece.

“He was here. It reeks of cordite. But he’s gone now.”

Ava picked herself up off the ground and began jogging around the perimeter to Ferguson. It would have been quicker to go straight across the open lawn, but she had no way of knowing if the danger had fully passed.

She sped up, running faster, trying to work out who would want to kill Prince.

Malchus?

Unlikely, she reasoned. She was not even sure if Malchus had ever heard of Prince.

The Foundation?

They certainly had the skill and resources to pull it off. It would have been child’s play for Max and his
L
é
gionnaires
. And the Danquah affair showed the Foundation seemed unafraid to intervene in international affairs when it suited them.

But she could not think of a single good reason why the Foundation would want to kill Prince, still less in such a public, high-profile, and risky way.

Arriving at the ice cream hut, she found it was, in fact, a solid flat-roofed metal caravan on wheels, although it looked as if it had not been moved for many years.

The door was usually locked, but the dull chrome hasp was hanging open, and the padlock was gone. Whoever removed it had probably sheared it with bolt-croppers, then had the sense to take the evidence away.

Pushing the door open, she doubted very much anyone who was that careful would have left any traces or fingerprints.

This had been a professional job.

The hut would almost certainly be forensically clean.

It was warm inside, and stuffy from the hot air being expelled by the three chest freezers lining the back wall. From the tattered and faded stickers on their lids, it was clear they housed the stock of multicoloured ice creams and lollies dished out on sunny and rainy days to the capital’s children and their long-suffering parents.

The rest of the hut was cramped, making it difficult to move. The wooden shelves on the walls overflowed with cardboard boxes of crisps. And most of the floor space was piled high with shrink-wrapped palettes of fizzy drinks.

She breathed in deeply. Ferguson was right. A gun had undoubtedly been fired inside the hut within the last few minutes. The smell was unmistakable.

He was looking at the small window, which was open a few inches, giving a clear line of fire to where Prince’s mangled body lay about three hundred yards away. “I’ve already notified HQ she’s been hit. They’re sending a clean-up team, which will hopefully get here before the parkies find the body.”

Ava pulled the miniature receiver from her ear and put it into her pocket.

“What did you pick up from the ground beside Prince?” She had been baffled to see him waste precious seconds reaching down, when all instinct and training would have told him to get as far from Prince’s body as fast as he could.

“This,” he answered, holding out a slim silver mobile phone. “It fell out of her pocket as she went down.” He already had it flipped open, where he had been scrolling through it while waiting for Ava. “I thought it might tell us something about why she was monitoring you.”