Matt Drake 14 - The Treasures of Saint Germain (25 page)

“Busy as all hell,” Smyth said. “And getting worse by the minute. But if Webb’s there right now . . .”

“Worth a shot,” Drake said. “Or two.”

Hayden headed out, followed by Kinimaka and Dahl. Drake came next with Alicia, Mai and Beau and then a final group traipsed along—Kenzie, Smyth, Lauren and Yorgi, watching the rear. A tour bus rumbled by as they passed shops almost covered in scaffolding. A steak house and signs for Dover Street Market. Lauren pointed out a Planet Hollywood across the street for Kinimaka, but the Hawaiian turned his nose up at it.

“Not the same. I like rock with my burgers.”

“How is the shot glass collection going?” Drake asked as they walked and reconnoitered.

“Growing,” Kinimaka admitted. “My buddy Nigel posts them from all over the world. Either he’s better traveled than us guys, or has lots’a friends.”

A theater, another burger place, and then Drake could see six white pillars and multi-colored banner advertisements hanging down across the sidewalk and guessed they were nearing the Haymarket. Again the group slackened off, taking the time to scrutinize the area. Drake saw no threats and picked up nothing on his trusted inner radar. Within a minute the team were attempting to gain access to the theater, calling up the locals for clearance and then waiting for some to arrive. All the time the clock ticked and Webb grew closer to his goal. By mid-morning the team and half a dozen skeptical looking coppers were entering the sacred innards of the Haymarket Theater.

They spread out, searched the place. They asked the manager to open locked doors and old, unused rooms, archives. They searched for an hour and found no clue that anyone else had been there.

Drake paused at the balcony of the first tier, looking below at the seemingly small stage surrounded by gilded fittings, drapes and mirrors. To see it empty like this, embellished and adorned with finery but desolate, lacking the one thing that filled its rafters with life, was a little unsettling. He just hoped to God that Alicia didn’t take to the stage and break out in song. That would really bring the place down.

He leaned with hands clasping the tiny rail, staring into the distance. Had Sabrina ever been here? Was she playing them? Where in the world was Tyler Webb? More importantly—when would Mai actually come out and say she was unhappy with how things had gone?

And what then?

The last thing Drake wanted was two of the deadliest women in the world fighting over him. Hayden took that moment to use their comms system to admit there was no sign of Webb or Sabrina—or anyone else for that matter—and called the manager to the stage.

Drake headed that way himself, seeing Dahl and Beau and Kinimaka also striding toward the rendezvous. Hayden waited. The theater’s manager was an indeterminate man, tall, gangly and wearing a jacket that was too tight and a watch that was too big. Oddly, he also sported a ponytail too, which maybe he thought was rakish.

Alicia’s eyes were on it the moment she arrived. Drake warned her off with a raised brow. Hayden gained nothing from quizzing the man, not so much as a shifty sideways glance. Drake knew she believed he’d probably allowed Webb unfettered entry in exchange for a hefty paper wad—it was her CIA training—but saw no deceit in the man. After several minutes she altered her line of questioning.

“What do you know of the history of this place?”

“The last twenty years? Most of it. I have been manager a long time.” He looked happy with himself.

“Further back,” Hayden said. “I was thinking more mid-eighteenth century and a dude called Saint Germain.”

“Nah, I definitely wasn’t manager then.” He tried a smile that fell flat, then rubbed the back of his neck. Again Alicia’s eyes lit up as the ponytail started to bounce.

“But you know this place wasn’t the Haymarket then, surely?”

Hayden frowned. “It wasn’t?”

“Nah, the original building is a little further north. Same street, but redesigned in the early 1800s.”

“And its . . .” Hayden struggled for the right words. “Works of art. Paintings. Compositions. Songs.”

The manager creased his entire brow. “Well, those are always sent to the British Museum. In particular, if they were donated to the theater.”

“Saint Germain donated the songs,” Lauren affirmed.

Drake took it in. “And, my friend,” he moved closer. “You’ve told nobody else this in let’s say . . . oh, the last hour?”

“Umm . . . no. But if I did does it mean I’m in trouble?”

“Was he alone?” Hayden rubbed the bridge of her nose in frustration.

“No. He came with a young woman, his daughter I thought at first. But not so. They were entirely different.”

“No . . . bodyguards?”

“Nah.”

At that moment Hayden’s phone chirped. She held up the message for all to see.

Breaking into British Museum right now. Come quick!

“She is useful,” Alicia admitted.

Hayden spun to one of the local cops. “How far to the British Museum?”

“You can run it in less than fifteen minutes. Unmarked cars might take almost as long.”

“Then let’s go. And call for backup.”

“What kind?” The cop was running and digging his radio out at the same time.

“Everything. All of it. There’s no telling what this bastard has up his sleeve this time. Not to mention his enemies.”

“Look on the bright side,” Drake said. “This time we have guns.”

Kenzie huffed softly. “Mere curios. I’d do better with my katana.”

“Your world—” Dahl winced at her “—is not ours.”

Drake caught Alicia reaching out for the ponytail even as she started to run. “No,” he growled. “Do you have to tug on everything that dangles before your eyes?” The he cringed and started to sprint. “Don’t answer that, for God’s sake.”

Out into the drizzle they ran and then ran even harder; the man who would rule the world only minutes from their grasp, his wild and devastating plans on the brink of fruition; the men who would destroy him at any cost no doubt concealed and planning an attack.

Lives and livelihoods; war and peace; death and destruction:

It all hung in the balance.

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT

Hayden followed the lead cops out into the eternal drizzle and cast a glance at the gunmetal skies. The low-hanging clouds matched her mood, and she could see no change coming in the near future.

Alicia jogged along beside her. “Having fun?”

“What? No. For some time now life has been about as much fun as a bullet in the back.”

“Well, you would know.”

“I feel that I don’t know my own mind, can’t trust decisions that I make.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because every big decision I make is wrong.”

“So this is you. Running beneath a gray sky. Physically and emotionally.”

Hayden sent an inquisitive glance across. “Is that really Alicia Myles?”

“New and improved. I’ve changed, or rather I’m trying to change but it’s a lot harder than you think.”

“I get that you’ve stopped running. But you’ve found what you’re looking for. I haven’t.”

“Ah, bollocks. So I have.” She stared at Matt Drake for a moment.

“Maybe I’ll never find it because of the job we do.”

Alicia nodded. “Fighting. Running. Chasing. Never stopping. I guess I got lucky.”

Hayden managed a smile. “So I get the next pick of the bunch, huh? Who’s that? Smyth? Beau? Yorgi?”

Alicia whistled. “All damaged goods.”

“Yes,” Hayden whispered. “We don’t know the half of it. We’re all damaged goods. Once that childhood innocence lifts away—we’re all damaged goods.”

She put her head down as they passed the National Opera and then cut past the tube station at Leicester Square. Here, droves emerged onto the sidewalk with little care for those already walking past and the area turned into a free-for-all. Dahl found a way via the road and zipped between slow-moving cars. Hayden’s cell reverberated at that moment and she fished it out automatically whilst on the run.

“Jaye.”

“Hi, Miss Jaye, this is Bob Todd calling from the President’s office. Is this a good time?”

Hayden pulled the phone away to stare at the screen, doubting her ears. The number was not identified.

It could be better,
she thought and said, “Sure, we’re good for now.”

“I’ll be brief then. The President feels this business with Robert Price has opened a few doors.”

Hayden’s thoughts flicked back over the recent
ex
-Secretary of Defense and his betrayal of the United States. “It has?”

“Well, first there’s a new Secretary of Defense. And Price’s . . . bad decisions . . . give us opportunity to change.”

“They do?” Hayden was concentrating as they passed the Cambridge Theater, Foyles and then hung a sharp right down Denmark Street. She heard Kinimaka grunting something unintelligible about the old Forbidden Planet store, but tuned the Hawaiian out.

“In basic terms the President feels your team should be relocated. Somewhere new. Fresh. And secret.”

“A secret base?” Hayden blurted.

Bob Todd chuckled. “Exactly that, yes.”

Hayden bit her tongue, managing to cut off the
ooooohhh
sound only a second after it began. She thought she’d gotten away with it.

“Sounds good, yeah? We’ll be getting on that right away but be prepared to travel and let your team know in the next few days. In related news, our new Secretary has been chosen and she will be in office very shortly.”

“She?”

“Yes. Miss Kimberly Crowe is a woman.”

Hayden filed it all away as the Shaftesbury Theater passed by and then they were on Bloomsbury Street. The cops waved and pointed out an imposing building up ahead. Hayden opened her mouth to end the call but closed it quickly as Todd offered up a little more information.

“Miss Crowe has expressed an interest to meet you all very soon. We’re trying to arrange it even now.”

“That may be, um, tricky.”

“Understood. But that is part of what Secretary Crowe is all about. If she thinks somebody or something is worth taking the risk—nothing’s gonna stop her.”

Hayden shook her head.
Shit. How the hell do I explain the attributes of
this
crew?

“Maybe wait until we get back home,” she said tactfully. “It’s gotta be easier.”

“That sounds very amicable. It will be arranged.” Todd signed off before she could reply.

Hayden looked up. The British Museum was larger than she’d imagined. The truth that then settled was that it could take all day to find a determined man in there. She looked over at the cops.

“Can you get the curator down here? The manager?”

“Which one, ma’am?” One of the cops tried sarcastic.

Alicia still stood at her shoulder. “You can get Santa and all his fucking elves if they’ll help, boy. Just do it now.”

Hayden took a moment to relax and look over the imposing structure. Inside was a man who’d dogged her dreams and waking nightmares for far longer than she cared to remember. In addition, she remained certain that Amari or his cronies would make some kind of appearance. If they’d been watching the previous locations then they would be here too. She looked up as a man came running down the steps.

“The curator,” one of the cops said.

“What on earth is the meaning of this?” the tall, self-important man asked them, his voice a piercing wail. “I am a busy man, you know.”

Drake stepped into his face. “We ain’t exactly lounging around, pal.”

Alicia said it best. “Look, man, shut the hell up and answer her questions. The faster you do it the less chance there is of you getting shot.” She viewed the area. “Best be quick.”

“Shot?” The curator faltered.

Hayden pushed him toward the museum. “Move it, move it. Faster.” The team followed the now sprinting curator all the way up the steps.

And to whatever hell waited beyond.

CHAPTER THIRTY NINE

Splendorous hallways that merged the old with the new, the ancient with the cutting edge, led a multitude of ways inside the British Museum. Drake watched Hayden as she followed the curator, her attention focused on some volatile middle-distance, her body language as tense as ever he’d seen it. Like Alicia, Hayden could be a fiery package. He wouldn’t like to be the man on the wrong side of her.

Kinimaka plodded along beside him, concentrating as ever on walking straight and not knocking down ancient statues and filigreed pedestals on his way past.

“I can’t reach her anymore,” he told Drake.

“She still loves you, mate. Give her time.”

“She may still love me, but she’s already gone. She doesn’t waste her time once her mind’s made up.”

Drake tended to agree, but kept his own counsel. “Remember the good times, mate. If you’re sure that you could have done no more then . . .” He paused. Who the hell was he to be giving out relationship advice?

Kinimaka planted a huge arm across his shoulders and then leaned in. “Thank you, brah. But I’ll tell you this. You got a big reckoning coming. You. Alicia. Mai.” He pursed his lips and blew out a heavy breath. “Judgment Day.”

Drake felt the weight increase across his shoulders. “Thanks for that.”

The vaults were vast, dusty and incredibly disorganized. Hayden quizzed him about Saint Germain but it took time to boot up a computer and search the digital archives. Only after that was done could the man point them to the right area. “Two compositions,” he said. “Donated around the mid-1750s. Are they of significance? I do hope I haven’t missed anything.”

The team calmed him, then sent him back to relative safety. Drake was already prowling the dusty passageways, keeping to the darkest of byways and listening hard. Ancient tomes and curled scrolls lay on unending wooden shelving, the only movement they ever knew just the motes that sifted all around them. Bare bulbs flickered overhead, though most were dead. Drake found it in contrast to the sparkling halls above; down here it seemed the forgotten relics resided in age-old dreams. But then, like people, not all of them could be put on display all of the time.