Eden Relics (A Zac Woods novel #1): Author royalties for Cancer Research

by N Williams

  Zac laughed. ‘Not bloody likely! I remember this from my childhood. I guess it was something played sometime in the past, one of those songs you hear then forget about until you hear it again.’

  Sally nodded as she listened to the crackling recording of the soprano. ‘It’s astonishing that we can hear the voice of the greatest soprano of the time. To think that she made this over a hundred years ago.’

  ‘From what I read in the guidebook, she might have made this recording in this very place. She wasn’t too happy about recording her voice, but it’s said that she made at least one recording in the castle.’

  ‘Makes sense. If you had her wealth would you bother travelling when you could demand they came to you?’ Sally flicked through the diary as the recording came to the end of the third verse. There was nothing in the diary referring to the song.

  Zac borrowed Sally’s iPad, clicked onto Wikipedia and found an entry for the recording. He clicked on a link to the printed version of the lyrics. Quickly scanning them, he suddenly sat up straight. Sally jumped. ‘What is it?’

  Shaking his head, he reached for the handle of the player and wound it again and set the needle to play once more.

  ‘What is it, Zac?’

  Holding his hand up for silence, Zac sat motionless until the recording played through to the end. Sally looked about to burst. ‘Tell me, you insufferable man.’

  Zac smiled and turned the iPad towards Sally. ‘Tell me what you see.’

  Sally began reading through the page. ‘I can see the title of the song, along with the date. I can see the words to the verses…’

  ‘And how many verses can you see?’

  Sally couldn’t see where this was leading. Then it dawned on her. ‘I can see two verses. But we just heard three.’

  ‘Exactly, my impatient little firebrand. Three! So why aren’t the lyrics for the third verse listed?’

  A quick trawl through the internet confirmed that Home Sweet Home did indeed only have two verses. ‘That means, for some reason, our lady has recorded a version with an extra verse.’

  Looking confused, Sally failed to see why Zac had begun to smile. ‘What?’

  ‘This could be worth a small fortune to a collector. Could set eBay alight.’

  ‘You can forget making a quick buck from this, Zac. It’s not ours to sell.’

  ‘That’s not the real reason I’m smiling. If Adelina added a verse to the recording we found with her diary then there’s a chance that the extra verse might be relevant to our search. Play it again Sal.’ Zac’s impression of Humphrey Bogart wasn’t lost on Sally.

  Returning the needle to a point mid-way through the recording, Zac sat on the bed whilst Sally emptied the contents of her handbag out next to him. Fishing a pen and Post-it from the mess, she quickly began scribbling the words to the mysterious extra verse.

  “Where in God’s name we wander,

  In the fellowship of Rome

  May our kith and kin be ever,

  ‘neath the sacred soil of home.

  ‘It can’t be…’ Sally looked incredulous.

  Nodding his head, Zac was sure they had both made the connection at last.

  The iPad flashed to life as Sally clicked onto the email link to Mac and Handel Fenwick. She quickly typed in the verse from the song and appended a brief explanation of their theory before pouring the last of the wine. ‘Here’s to us.’

  *

  Fenwick picked up the phone on the first ring. Zac quickly filled his friend in on the discovery and was more than just a little surprised that Fenwick seemed to have the heads-up on it already.

  ‘I’ve got some news for you,’ he chuckled. ‘I found a schematic of the cave system on the local club site. It seems there are drawings of passageways that end very close to the site of the castle. If they have gone down there, I’d guess that there’s some link been made from the castle into the main passageway. The only problem I see is that there are two tunnels leading from the castle area into the mountain. One is a good deal shorter than the other but is marked up as a “crawl.”

  ‘Shit!’ Zac sighed. ‘That’s one I’ll steer clear of. Can you email the map to me?’

  Fenwick had anticipated the request and assured Zac it was winging its way to the iPad as they spoke.

  Ending the call, Zac opened the image file and placed the device on the bedside table for Sally to see. The map showed a circuitous cave system, coming within a hundred metres or so of the castle, not a difficult dig for anyone wanting to break into it from the old building. But that would mean Adelina knew of the proximity of the tunnels. But those marked on the map were only discovered in the 1980s. It didn’t make sense.

  CHAPTER 57

  Bourse and Tourrain gathered their backpacks from the rear of the hire car. Parked in a lay-by off the main road, just yards from the castle, the car looked inconspicuous between family saloons awaiting the return of owners from the trekking centre opposite.

  Night had closed in early, the sun slipping down below the edge of the valley, but Bourse had lost any inclination for stealth. He would finish this today. Now they were sure of the location of the relics it was an easy matter of following the plan their contact had texted through to them. Another couple of hours and it would be all over and both he and Tourrain would be sipping Champagne in the south of France tomorrow evening.

  Two full magazines of nine-millimetre rounds were taped together and stuffed into a Velcro strap holder on the webbing he wore around his chest. The stubby automatic machine gun was clipped to the belt around his waist.

  The two men hurried towards the main entrance of the castle. Bourse clumped up the entrance ramp, barged through the double doors and pushed through the huddle of guests at the reception desk. He turned right and strode off along the corridor, following the drawing on the map downloaded on his iPhone. The door to the cellar was a little further on the left. The mighty oak and glass-panelled door was locked. Bourse stepped back and dropped his shoulder, smashing into the door above the lock. The door burst inwards.

  *

  Ffion the receptionist stood to welcome the new guests. Her immaculately prepared smile quickly dropped from her face as she saw the heavily armed men walk purposefully down the corridor and smash through the door leading to the cellars.

  ‘Fucking hell!’ she cried as she fumbled for the desk phone.

  ‘Hello? Is that the police? I think we're being robbed.’

  After the call, Ffion switched her immaculate smile back on and addressed the now nervous-looking group of guests.

  ‘Please exit the building immediately.’ She pointed to the exit like an airline stewardess. ‘There seems to be an issue, which is out of our control. Don't return to your rooms, just exit via the front door.’

  ‘But what about our dinner?’ an irate elderly woman demanded.

  There was no time to debate. With the smile still fixed Ffion spoke loud and clearly. ‘Would you all just do as I ask, as soon as you can? Any complaints can be dealt with later. Now please just...FUCK OFF!’ she yelled.

  Stunned into silence, the old woman turned to her husband. ‘I think we’d better fuck off then, Reg.’

  Ffion rushed through the bar and into the kitchen.

  *

  Bill Gates had just polished off a superb fillet steak when he heard the crash. He was still sitting at his table in the dining room as Ffion ran through into the kitchen. Something was clearly wrong.

  Dropping his napkin onto the empty plate, he followed the woman through the still-swinging door.

  ‘Thank God,’ she said over her shoulder as Gates entered behind her. ‘Someone just broke into the cellars. I don’t think they’re after the wine or anything...they've got guns.’

  The wine they kept in the castle was good but certainly wouldn’t warrant the unwelcome attentions of armed thieves. He knew only too well what they were after, and he knew he had to stop them.

  ‘Call this number and tell him what's happened...�
�

  ‘I've already called the police,’ said Ffion.

  ‘Shit! That's just what I don't need.’

  Ffion looked confused.

  ‘Don't worry,’ assured Gates, patting her on the shoulder. ‘You probably did the right thing. Now just stay out of the way. Call Zac and Sally and tell them what’s happened. Get everyone else out of the castle and don't come back in until the police arrive and tell you it's safe.’

  Ffion nodded and ran behind the bar to make the call to Zac’s room.

  Peter the chef, who preferred to be called Pierre, grabbed a vicious-looking meat cleaver from a rack above the kitchen counter. ‘Leave the bastards to me, Monsieur Gates,’ he declared. ‘Did some time in the Foreign Legion. I'll sort the bastards.’

  The chef’s time in the army was a standing joke within the castle. It had amounted to nothing more than eighteen months in the Catering Corps, but he was a good chef and he amused Gates with his attempts to sound French. Even his best efforts came out like the British airman in the eighties comedy “Allo Allo.”

  ‘No. Leave it to me.’

  Peter looked crestfallen.

  ‘Thanks for the offer but this is something I have to do. Take that fucking big blade and stay with Ffion and the others.’

  Peter nodded. ‘Oui, Monsieur!’ Then he strutted off after the receptionist.

  Sprinting out of the kitchen and across to the bar, Gates pulled an old hunting rifle down off the wall. It looked antique, but Peter had assured him it still worked perfectly well, oiling and cleaning it on a regular basis, just in case. Breaking the barrel of the 12-gauge gun, he popped in two cartridges he found in a box in the safe below the bar. Six other rounds were dropped into his jacket pocket, and the side-by-side barrels slammed shut.

  The last of the guests ran down the corridor and out into the front courtyard of the castle. Gates was caught between feeling frustrated and relieved that the police had been called. Now everyone would know of the secrets under the castle, but perhaps that was a good thing. It was time to end this once and for all.

  *

  The two thugs entered the subterranean chapel and retrieved a flashlight from a large black canvas bag. Bourse clipped the small circular light to a Velcro headband and tugged it down over his head. Tourrain followed suit and pulled the altar cover off the entrance to the cave below. Everything was as they had been told it would be. It was just as it was drawn on the fax he had received from his contact. He checked the fax, peeled off a copy for his partner and dropped down the iron ladder. Tourrain’s boots splashed into the little stream running through the middle of the passageway. Bourse struggled to squeeze his bulk down the first few feet of the shaft. ‘I fucking hate tight places,’ he complained.

  ‘Depends what they are,’ joked his partner. ‘You’re not going to like the next couple of hours, I think.’

  Tourrain shone his head light along the narrow tunnel. Ahead he could see the junction of the two diverging passages. ‘Which way do we go?’

  The faxed map was tucked between Bourse’s teeth as he clambered down the ladder and splashed into the stream behind his partner. He took a moment to study the drawing. ‘The right one! They both go to the same place, but the right one is bigger, a bit longer, but we won’t get through the other way.’ He tucked the map into a small pocket on his sleeve.

  The two men waded off along the tunnel and squeezed through into the right hand branch of the cave system. Bourse snagged his arm on a sharp outcrop of rock, the map falling from his pocket to the cave floor. The big man strode on unaware.

  *

  Smiling as the last of the old bricks thumped down into the small stream, Bradley Farrell kicked the broken pieces to one side. He paused for a moment to catch his breath. Just a month ago he’d never have believed he’d be now standing in a cold and wet cave deep in the bedrock of the Swansea Valley. He didn’t like Wales. It always rained. The drive down from London had taken just over two hours in the borrowed Aston Martin. He’d been determined to make it back before Zac Woods and his friends. The intercepted email had confirmed their belief all along. The moments of doubt that had bothered him over the past few weeks had quickly been replaced by a sense of anticipation. It was only a matter of time. All the pieces had finally fallen into place, and the prize was just ahead.

  Not wanting to waste time, he had parked the car, made a call to his contact - someone even his employer wasn’t aware of - and gone straight to the cave without stopping to change. His suit was soaked and caked with mud, and he was chilled to the bone. At least the crawl through the tunnel had been quicker this time, probably because he was so cold and scared.

  The weather had been a serious stumbling block in his attempt to break through the man-made obstructions. Any rain, however light, seemed to collect on the mountains before rushing through the cave without warning. On two occasions in the last week, he had nearly been caught out, the rumbling of the water the only warning of the torrent to follow. Whoever built the walls had left two sizeable drain holes at the bottom of each. These measured eighteen inches square and seemed to cope with most of the flood water from the ground above, yet there were signs that even these had begun to suffer from the pressure of the water building up behind. Chunks of stone had fractured off and been carried away at some time in the past.

  Farrell had enlarged the holes, big enough for him to pass through both by crawling. He didn’t want to be trapped behind them if the floodwaters caught him by surprise.

  The left hand passage led to a small letterbox-shaped chute that turned up and disappeared out of sight. There was no way anyone could ever have passed through there and no one could have got to this place before him.

  Retracing his steps from an earlier expedition, he bounced along the cave floor, splashing through the constant stream of rainwater until the tunnel opened out into a wider cauldron. From there he would have to climb to continue his journey to the prize.

  The rope was still in place, exactly where he had left it tucked behind some rocks. He pulled at one end and watched as the rest of the rope was revealed, tracing a line up the wall of the cave to the passageway above. The rope would make the climb much easier than the first time he came here.

  Grabbing the rope, Farrell moved to the edge of the waterfall and placed his Armani leather shoe against the slippery wall; then he stopped. Something was behind him. The first glow of a light began to appear in the passageway he had just exited. He had to be quick and started frantically climbing towards the top of the waterfall.

  *

  The men called Bourse and Tourrain aimed their weapons at the dark figure climbing the rope suspended from the top of the waterfall.

  ‘Hold it there,’ shouted Bourse.

  Farrell stopped his climb just short of half way up the waterfall.

  ‘Don’t even think about going any further. Just drop down here and be a good boy.’

  Looking over his shoulder, Farrell could see the black silhouettes of weapons piercing the glare from the pair of helmet lights below. There was nowhere to go. Suspended halfway up the rock face he was the proverbial sitting duck. Dropping to the floor, Farrell stood and turned to face the intruders. ‘You were a lot swifter than I imagined your considerable bulk would allow you to be, gentlemen.’

  Tourrain lowered his weapon and walked forwards. ‘You always did underestimate us, Bradley. We thought you’d double-cross us. I never thought for a moment you were giving us the full picture, so we decided it was time to end this now.’

  Feeling exposed and out-thought for the first time in his life, Farrell needed time to think. The thugs had been useful - keeping the others off track for a while - but he knew it had only been a matter of time before they’d guess his game. ‘How did you find the cave?’

  ‘You’re not the only source we have.’

  ‘I guess the Alliance is a bit miffed?’

  ‘You’ve thoroughly pissed them off,’ Bourse chipped in smugly. ‘They are not happy with
you at all.’

  ‘I’m sure they aren’t, but I’m also sure we could come to some sort of new arrangement... just us three…’

  Bourse laughed. ‘Like we’ll fall for that piece of shit…’

  Tourrain raised his free hand. ‘Wait, my ugly fat friend. Let’s hear what this little piece of weasel-turd has to offer.’

  New hope began to pulse through Farrell’s veins. There was a chance to win this game after all. Greed was a wonderful ally.

  CHAPTER 58

  The room phone broke the sense of euphoria. It all made sense. The verse of the song seemed to suggest that whatever it was they were looking for had to be close at hand and was probably somewhere beneath their feet - but where?

  ‘Yeah? This is Zac.’

  The colour drained from Zac’s face like water from a toilet cistern.

  Sally was worried by Zac’s tone. ‘Zac, what is it?’

  Setting the phone back onto the cradle with a thump, he quickly scanned the room for the bag of weapons he had carried with him since Gates’ arrival. He dumped the bag onto the bed next to Sally’s assortment of cosmetics and made a quick check of the contents.

  ‘Jesus, Zac. What’s wrong?’

  ‘We’ve got a problem. Looks like someone else has worked out the puzzle before us and has come to claim the prize.’

  ‘Shit. What are we going to do?’

  ‘We’re not going to do anything. I’m going after Gates. Looks like he’s following them.’

  ‘But you’re not going to leave me out of this. I’ve as much right to be a part of this team as anyone…’

  Holding his hand up to silence any further argument, Zac’s expression left Sally in no doubt that there would be no further discussion. ‘I want you to call the copper who’s dealing with Rachel’s murder - call the pervy one if you have to. I’m going after Gates and need you to make sure they understand what we might be dealing with.’