Matt Drake 14 - The Treasures of Saint Germain (28 page)

Dahl watched his friends and team-members jump down from the chopper. From old comrades to new they all had their secrets.

But who fitted which ones?

He exited, knowing that, even now, he was running from a decision. Recently he’d learned he couldn’t juggle family life with a soldier’s lot. The two would never gel. So where did he go from here?

Outside, the German town was bathed in sunshine. Hayden herded them all into a hangar where a large vehicle waited and Lauren chose that moment of relative peace and quiet, and dim coolness, to transmit all she had learned during the flight.

“I believe I’ve found what Saint Germain was doing here. Apparently, he decided he would die here after arrival. He was weary of life, careworn and melancholy. Feeble. He died leaving nothing, not even a gravestone. He was the guest of a man called Prince Charles of Hesse-Kassel, who would later give no details of Germain’s death, or of what he had left behind, and turned the conversation every time he was asked. Further discrepancies exist. Reliable witnesses say he died here in 1784, yet the documents of Freemasonry, relatively reliable, say the French took him as their representative in 1785. The Comtesse d’Adhémar reports a long conversation with him in 1789, a matter of record.”

Lauren took a long breath. “But I digress. This Prince of Hesse-Kassel also had a vested interest in mysticism and was a member of several secret societies. Gems and cloths were passed around, it seems, and Charles was convinced that Germain could invent a new way of coloring the cloth and preparing the gems. He then installed the Count in an abandoned factory in Eckernförde.” Lauren grinned. “Which was later converted into a hospital.”

“How the hell did you learn all that?” Alicia asked.

“As I mentioned, it’s a matter of record. This is the greatest part of Saint Germain’s mystery—that all the facts are out there, in the public domain, and attested to by princes, kings, queens and heads of state. We’re not talking mysterious grails, legendary kingdoms or mythical weapons. We’re talking fact after fact after fact. Alchemy. Freemasonry. The arts. Diplomacy of the highest order. Councilor. Linguist. Virtuoso. Every title earned and documented. This mystery—” she shook her head “—runs deep.”

“To the Philosopher’s Stone and the secret of immortality?” Mai said wonderingly. “Now you’re back in fantasy land.”

“I’ve been to Fantasy Land,” Dahl laughed. “There’s no Saint Germain ride there.”

“Mock all you like,” Lauren said. “The facts, as they say, will out.”

“All right,” Hayden took up the reins. “So Germain’s final workplace was a laboratory, you say? Converted to a hospital. Where is it now?”

Lauren reeled off an address not thirty minutes from where they stood.

“We moving out?” Drake asked.

Hayden hesitated. Dahl knew she’d be wrestling with the facts. Hospital or gravesite? Or even this prince’s castle, where Germain had stayed? More importantly, were they even in the right country?

“Workplace,” she said. “So far, it’s all been workplaces. The bedroom in Versailles. The library. The first laboratory. The compositions were removed from where they were written, which was the initial clue.” She looked relieved. “It’s the workplace.”

Dahl liked her reasoning and was anxious to get into gear. “So wrestle it into the satnav and let’s go.” He took the shotgun seat whilst rummaging through the supplied holdall that held the real things.

“Do we think Amari’s cult will make it this time?” Alicia asked. “Missed those little weasels in London.”

“Could be they were watching the old theater,” Hayden returned as she fastened her belt. “Could be they don’t have all the details. Could even be they left London alone as it’s so well guarded and chose—” she nodded out at the hills that surrounded them, the big sky and the small town “—this.”

The vehicle set off, Smyth at the wheel. Forewarned by Hayden’s lateral thinking the team checked and readied weapons. The busy, narrow streets soon gave way to wider, less populated roads and a rolling hillside. Smyth turned the air conditioning up high and tapped at his communication device.

“This thing’s so friggin’ quiet I thought it was busted.”

Dahl agreed. “No help. No info. Not even DC chasing our tails. And Armand? Where’s he? On any normal day you have to make him shut up.”

Hayden double-checked her cell. “You shouldn’t say it out loud. Could be the calm before the storm.”

Drake stared out the window. “Since this is the penultimate clue I’d say you were right.”

“Fuck, yes,” Alicia said. “This would be a good time to stop him.”

“Perfect,” Drake said with satisfaction. “So close but so far. No closure for Webb, ever.”

“And here we are.” Smyth slowed outside the hospital and searched for a parking space. Dahl viewed the structure, finding it entirely incongruous to be at the tail end of what had been a varied but classical journey so far. The walls were square, rough gray concrete, spanning two floors, with dirty, draped windows in uneven lines and a small entrance out front. Patients, workers and visitors used the sidewalks and threaded through parked vehicles. An ambulance filled the road directly outside the entrance, awaiting some calamity.

Dahl pointed out the obvious problem. “Easy access,” he said. “For everyone. But only Webb knows where he’s going. Yes, it’s a small hospital, but where do we start?”

Lauren held up both hands and several sets of eyes swiveled toward her. “Beyond me, I’m afraid. Maybe Karin could have dragged up blueprints from the depths of the Internet. Maybe not. But I sure as hell can’t.”

Dahl blinked on hearing their missing companion’s name. He missed Karin Blake and wondered when she might return.

“Assuming the lab or factory was knocked down to make way for the hospital,” Hayden said. “Assuming Germain was savvy enough to know what might happen, the true lab would be underground. Hidden. And it would still be there.”

“Mahalo.” Kinimaka nodded. “My thoughts too.”

True as it was, it didn’t help them much. “We need the manager of the hospital,” he said.

“No,” Hayden said, now smiling. “We need the
janitor.
”

*

“Ah, so do you mean the tunnels? Or the secret passageways?”

Dahl stared and seconded Drake’s outburst: “Come again?”

“When you have an old site and you build on top, on top, on top.” The janitor used his arms and fingers to explain just as much as his words. “Soon get . . . many passages. Unused places. Forgotten storage and boiler rooms, sewers and access passageways. Soon—” he threw both arms aloft “—you have warren. Hidden warren.
Secret
warren.”

Dahl studied the man, who looked as old as the hospital. Rat-faced and clean-shaven from the top of his head to at least his chin, standing wrapped in a protective sheet, he looked a little like a missile. Oddly, he also resembled the manager from the Haymarket Theater to a certain degree. His fingers were uncomfortably long and Dahl wondered if some of the patients had nightmares after catching a glimpse of the janitor flitting up and down the corridors.

“The hospital don’t . . . police it?” Hayden asked, looking like she couldn’t find the right words.

“They have more important things on their minds. So, tunnels or secret passageways?”

Drake’s face took on an expression of intense excitement. “Let’s make it both.”

Dahl shook his head at the Yorkshireman. The child was never far from the surface.

“I am Lars,” the janitor said. “Follow me.”

Hayden fell in behind the odd apparition, Kinimaka not far behind. Dahl respected the two intensely for not letting personal problems get in the way of their work. It had to be tough. And if Hayden’s mind really was made up then she’d already be in another place.

Just like Johanna.

Dahl tried to compartmentalize the conflict of emotions, but struggled. For a short time their crumbling world had started to steady, but again the decline had set in. His heart ached for what it might do to the children.

You’re not the only couple ever to separate. Kids usually do just fine.

But . . . but . . .

Lars the janitor swooped down familiar passageways, passing open doors and locked storage rooms, at home in the clinical white sprawl. Predictably, he seemed to be working his way toward the back of the hospital. As they walked, Hayden quizzed him.

“Anyone else been sniffing around recently?”

The janitor spun with a flourish. “Sniffing?”

“Looking. For the tunnels?”

“Ah, no. It is just me and the ghosts back there, I’m afraid.” He bowed. “But don’t tell the management, eh?”

Dahl found the man more than creepy. Reminded him of some old horror movie, and definitely assimilated with the legend of Saint Germain. If this was the site where the Count worked in his final days then perhaps his specter still haunted these halls. Perhaps it judged them all even now.

He grunted, shrugging the weird feeling off. All about him was real, from the medical rooms to the receptionist’s desk and chair. Unused to the eerie, he concentrated on what he could see and feel. The janitor led them deeper into the bowels of the place, and the lights began to dim. Strip tubing fizzed and popped, and some were empty. Dahl was aware of the incredible weight of concrete above his head, in particular when he saw the wide cracks in the walls. The janitor made no comment, despite the many viewpoints that had a negative bearing on his job.

Through a large archive they walked, threading their way among tattered, dusty cardboard boxes and old desks, then came up against a heavy steel door with a chain and padlock across its pull bar.

Lars shrugged. “Keeps the undesirables out.”

Dahl wondered, but didn’t question. His first thought was:
And what does it keep
in
?
But such absurdities vanished from his thoughts in an instant. Lars produced a long key and unchained the door.

“Wait,” Hayden said. “Is there another way into the tunnels?”

Lars rolled his arms and shoulders. “Many ways. Once you get back here the old rooms all have access to the building’s former areas. Long-forgotten they may be, but potentially serviceable. It costs too much to keep them all properly maintained.”

“CCTV?” Kinimaka asked without hope.

“Only where it is crucial. Never back here.”

As Lars pushed through, the team unobtrusively prepped weapons and made ready. A narrow corridor, still clearly part of the hospital, led past several locked rooms with grimy viewing panels and one open area complete with padded sofas, a wall-mounted TV, and water cooler. Abandonment hung over the area like a stain.

“Love these old deserted places.” Lars smiled happily. “Gives you a sense of belonging. You know? To the past.”

Nobody commented as the man’s supersized fingers flickered toward the way ahead. “To the tunnels.”

“You mentioned secret passageways,” Hayden said.

“Oh yes. Around us now, inside the walls, are two parallel running passages, also leading to the tunnels and formed when the waiting area was built. Partitioned off—” he shrugged “—to make the space feel nicer.”

This put Dahl on his guard. Webb could be around them even now. Listening. Watching. Doing the thing he loved most in the world. A place like this was a stalker’s wet dream. They proceeded down the corridor and came to an intersection. Lars pointed to the right.

“An old staircase takes us to boiler rooms and other storage areas. Then wall access points give to the sewers, electrical inspection tunnels and forgotten corners bricked over and ignored by the new build. To the left are archives and disregarded offices. Which would you like?”

Hayden studied the janitor. “How well do you really know these areas?”

“The truth? I rarely go home.” He grinned.

Dahl swallowed the distaste. “You mentioned places that were bricked over. We’re interested in the history around here. Apparently there was once a factory?”

“You are correct and then you are not.” Lars gently swept his arms forward in a sliding motion. “The factory is still there.”

“Show us,” Hayden said with urgency. “Show us now.”

Dahl knew they could be as little as an hour behind Webb, or a day ahead. If the man had made it they’d be sure to find signs. He moved next to Drake.

“What of these Dubai-based fanatics?” he asked. “Do you believe they’re irrelevant now? Lost?”

“I can’t shake the feeling that they’re still in the running,” Drake said. “Yeah, they’re protected from it, aloof and seemingly unaware of the nightmares they sponsor, but these guys have been watching for years. They’re dedicated. Organized. Obsessive guardians. It doesn’t seem right that they wouldn’t know about Germaine’s deathbed factory.”

“On a brighter note,” Alicia butted in. “Whaddya think of the brand new secret base idea? How cool is that?”

Drake raised an eyebrow. “Dunno, love. Cool is relative. What if it’s in Antarctica?”

“And the new Secretary of Defense is a woman,” Lauren added. “An interesting change.”

At the end of the corridor a staircase rose out of the floor. Hayden stared at its base. “Ummm,”

“We have to go up,” Lars said. “To go down. I thought it odd too, but maybe it serves as a façade.”

Dahl blinked. An odd façade, considering it blended old secrets with new. Such concealments spoke of vast conspiracy and suppression. He shook his head at the follies of men. Always focused on the wrong things.

Up they went, winding around a spiral until Lars brought them onto a wide landing. Ahead a larger spiral twisted down and down, its handrails mostly thick with dust except where the janitor’s fingers had previously touched. To the right an old, forgotten, stained-glass window stared out across the landscape.

Kenzie stepped up to it. “See the patterns in the glass? This kinda thing
starts
conspiracy theories.”

Dahl approached her, supremely careful not to get too close. “We don’t have time for—” He paused. “Now that’s odd.”

The team halted in their strides, Drake coming over. “What you on about, mate?”

“The seven men stood watching the hospital from the far parking lot . . . they’re all Arabs.”