The Grey Falcon

by J. C. Williams

  “What do you want to talk about?”

  “I’d like to talk about Paul Temple.” Sandy gave Baywater’s new name assuming Baywater used that with the boatman.

  Cattrel hesitated, took a half step back, then calmly said, “Don’t know any Paul Temple. Who is he to you?”

  Sandy showed her warrant card. “He’s someone we want to talk to.”

  “We?”

  “Hey, mate. We’re the we,” Popper said from behind Cattrel.

  The seaman whirled and saw he was cutoff.

  “We can talk here, Cattrel, or the office,” Popper explained.

  Cattrel weighed the options.

  “I have nothing to say. You’ve trespassed. You have a search warrant? I doubt it.”

  He stepped toward the boat. Sandy blocked his way.

  “Never set foot on the dear girl,” Popper said.

  “Still, I’ve nothing to talk to you about.”

  Popper came closer and got into Cattrel’s face.

  “Look, shithead. You can talk with us or I plan to be here everyday, inspecting your hunk of crap. I’ll check every tourist and fisherman you try to put on this boat. I will hold them pending background inquiries and checks against the database. I’ll have the fishing license people here after each haul to check what you’ve caught. We’ve checked your records , Cattrel. You think your business has a hard time now, just wait until I cut into it.”

  “Hey, that’s harassment,” Cattrel complained.

  “Call the police,” Dickie said. “Need the number?”

  Cattrel shut up. They waited. He broke.

  “What did Temple do?” Cattrel asked.

  “Nothing we know of, do you?” Popper replied.

  “No. Look. What if he were a… say, a client of mine. How would it look if I gave him up to your lot?”

  “Why would it be giving him up?” Sandy asked. “Why would a tourist or fisherman need to be protected?”

  “Some of these guys like to be anonymous. You know how it is with them more famous people.”

  Dickie grunted a “H-m-m-f-f.”

  “We just need to know how to get hold of him,” Popper told Cattrel.

  Cattrel was thoughtful again.

  “If you find him, and take him, I’ll lose his fare,” Cattrel schemed.

  Popper started to speak, “How much…”

  Dickie grabbed Cattrel’s arm but Sandy stepped in. “I’ve got it, Dickie,” she said.

  Williams backed away. Sandy took Cattrel by the arm and steered him down the dock. It had stopped raining.

  “I think, Gus, that if you don’t help us, you may lose something other than a fare. My fellow inspector isn’t much for patience. Or, negotiating.”

  She waited a beat. “We both know you have the fare already. At least half of it, I’m sure.”

  Cattrel took a look back at Williams with steam rising behind him as the recent rain rose back into the air from the dock.

  Cattrel folded. “Here’s his number. I also gave him an address where he could get a quiet room. He didn’t have a place.”

  “Is he there now?” she asked.

  “I suppose. I even took him some food yesterday. He wanted to stay inside. He must have sensed you were looking for him.”

  “Maybe,” she responded.

  With the phone number, address, and Cattrel’s number, they started to leave.

  “Don’t think about calling him, Cattrel. I wouldn’t want to get there and find him gone,” Popper said.

  Sandy turned back with a sudden thought. “Gus, was there anyone else that came looking for him?”

  “No.”

  She didn’t believe him.

  -----

  There was no answer at the flat, but there was a smell, so they broke in the door. It was a cheap room. Enough space for a sofa, a TV, a small kitchen area, and a bed. Lying across the bed fully clothed was Alfred Baywater.

  “I’ll call it in,” Popper said. Dickie and Sandy nodded.

  They knew enough to stay back from the scene. From their vantage point they could not see any blood.

  “Heart attack? Natural causes?” Dickie quipped.

  “Right. Suffocation, maybe. Broken neck?” Sandy asked.

  “There will be a detective inspector, here shortly.” Popper reported. “Will you be fighting over jurisdiction?”

  “No. It’s yours. We can stay on to help if your lot would like. I’d like to stay and coordinate information from our end and compare our crime with yours,” Dickie said.

  “I’ll go back to London, in the morning,” Sandy said. “We still have that death down in Welton to rule on. I can follow up on that.”

  Dickie nodded. “Okay, but let’s step outside. I’d like a word.”

  It was drizzling again. Dickie began, “Inspector Moffat, have you thought about this case and the …”

  “Danger?” she finished for him.

  “I guess you have,” he said.

  “Right. I haven’t figured out the cause of it all. I know Best was tortured to get information about Baywater and me. Why me? Baywater was killed. Why? He knew something that could lead to the thieves. What do I know?”

  “I don’t know, Sandy. If Baywater was a loose end, and a lead to the team , it was probably a link to the electrician that cut the power. That probably makes him or her a loose end as well. We’ll see what Baywater’s phone has and I’ll track him backwards.”

  “Okay,” she agreed.

  “Do you have security on your flat? These guys seem sophisticated enough to bypass a system. I know some people who can wire up a second hidden system. Cameras, recorders, and such.”

  “I know some people, too. I’ll do that. Thanks, Dickie. By the by, I have a feeling that Cattrel is holding something back. I think he was aware someone else was looking for Baywater.”

  “I saw that, too. I’ll lean on him tomorrow. Let’s see if we can wrap up this scene and still have time for a pint. I want to know how Popper got his name.”

  Chapter 38

  “Anton said to leave the car here,” Harry said as they walked away. “Maybe our followers will think we’re here inside the MCC. Who were those guys?”

  “Two choices,” Chad replied. “Either Albanian Muslims associated with those that threatened Valmir Siliki , or if Minister Brajkovic is correct, they are the ones who already possess the sword. If it is, maybe we are getting close to identifying them. Though, I have no idea how that could be. I don’t think we are close at all.”

  “I didn’t think this quest was a matter of life or death.”

  Chad detected the concern. “Harry, you don’t have to stick around.”

  “I’m still in. Besides, you may need a driver again.”

  “Yeah. About that,” Chad began. “Where did you say you learned to…?”

  “Oh, you know what the traffic in London is like. Let’s go look inside Our Lady again.”

  “I should call Anton or Vittor and see if they can get us in.”

  “Let’s wait on that call. It may be open.”

  They turned the eleven-minute walk into fifteen by ducking down and around side streets and alleyways. As they turned the last corner, Harry tugged Chad’s arm and said, “Let’s wait a bit here.”

  Harry pulled Chad back into the shadows.

  “What are we waiting for?” Chad asked.

  “Oh, maybe to be sure our fellow travelers didn’t know where we were headed. Or, to time the street traffic.”

  Chad kept his thoughts about Harry to himself and waited and watched. Across the street it was quiet. An occasional car passed. A block away, at the cafes and bars, patrons were wrapping up their evening.

  “I think it’s okay now,” Harry said.

  He hurried across the street. Chad followed looking back and forth and over his shoulder. Harry led them to a side door.

  Chad later swore it was less than ten seconds. A set of lock picks appeared. Harry squatted down, inserted the picks, and the door l
ock clicked. Harry stood and turned the knob.

  “Like I thought, it’s open,” Harry said.

  “Okay,” Chad said. “You have some skills beyond lawyering. Are you even a lawyer? Where did you learn this stuff?”

  “MI6 training,” Harry said flatly.

  “You’re MI6?” Chad asked. “I should have known. Serbian descent. Half English. Interpreter. Perfect setup.”

  “No, I’m not MI6. I flunked out. C’mon.”

  Using only their flashlights, they found the door leading to the chapel below. Chad pointed out the door with the eight-point Maltese cross. It was locked.

  Harry immediately set to work on the lock. Chad stepped back and looked around.

  “Harry, let me try.”

  “I’m trained, Chad.”

  “But…”

  “Just another minute,” Harry insisted.

  “I found…”

  “S-h-h. I need quiet.”

  “Harry,” Chad said pushing Barrison out of the way. “There was a key on the wall.” Chad inserted it and turned the key. The door creaked open.

  “Right. That will work, too.” Harry said.

  “This is bigger than I thought,” Chad commented, looking around a large room formed from a natural cave and widened by unnatural means. Pick axe? Shovels? A lot of hand work, he thought.

  They moved crate-to-crate checking numbers. Of course, it was the last one.

  “This is the number in the ledger,” Chad said checking his phone photo.

  They pulled the large crate off the stack and set it on the floor.

  “What do you have to open this?” Chad asked.

  Harry reached in his pocket and withdrew a multi purpose pocketknife. “Ta-da.”

  Slowly, Harry worked the knife around the box lid.

  “I wonder when this was last opened. These nails look very old.”

  A few minutes later, Harry said, “Time to give it a push.”

  He pried hard on one of the short sides. The knife blade broke. But, the lid lifted enough for them to get their hands under it.

  The box was filled with straw layers between the four-foot candleholders. They removed three sets of candleholders. There was nothing else in the box.

  “I felt so sure about this,” Chad said with disappointment.

  “Don’t give up yet,” Harry said tapping the bottom of the box. “False bottom.”

  “I’ll be back,” Chad said. “There’s construction tools upstairs. I’ll find a hammer, or something. I should have thought of this earlier.”

  He was back shortly with a small sledgehammer, a claw hammer, and a chisel.

  A few minutes later they stared down at a scabbard with a sword handle extending from one end.

  Chad carefully removed it from the crate and drew out the sword. Even after hundreds of years the wool lining and its natural oils was not dried out. He held a thirty-six inch blade with two sharpened edges. An eight-inch hilt separated the blade from a ten-inch, two-handed handle.

  Chad asked. “How will we know if it’s Lazar’s?”

  Harry was examining the scabbard. “Let me see the pommel.”

  He turned it over and back. Then he looked at the scabbard.

  Harry’s voice was a whisper. “It’s his, Chad. It’s Prince Lazar’s sword.”

  Chad was excited but knew from his years of digging to ask questions first. “How do you know?”

  “On the pommel, there is an engravings. Actually, one is in relief. See, on the one side is the Orthodox cross.

  Chad looked and saw the raised but worn cross.

  “Okay. But, I imagine there were many like this.”

  “True. Now look at the other side.”

  He saw the engraved Cyrillic letters:

  Лазар

  “What does it mean?”

  “It is Serbian for Lazar.” Harry looked solemnly at Chad.

  Chad allowed a little excitement to creep into his feelings.

  “Anything else?” Chad asked.

  “The scabbard. The inscription on one side says Stefan Lazar Hrebeljanović. In Cyrillic. Stefan is a title that the strongest of the lords, kings, and princes used. The other side of the scabbard says Knez of Morava Rivers. Lazar’s lands were in between the three Morava rivers, the Great, the West, and the South. Knez is a title, like a prince.”

  Chad stared at Harry and nodded his head up and down. Harry did, too. Then they were jumping up and down. They grasped arms and jumped up and down together.

  “Okay, okay.” Chad said, calming himself. “We need to get to the hotel and then Belgrade tomorrow. We’ll have to call for the Minister’s plane. We can’t say anything. Not over the phone. I’ve been thinking about those following us. How do they know we are in Malta? Someone in the Minister’s office is leaking information.”

  “That makes sense. Let’s just say we are returning because we have a lead in Belgrade.”

  “Good idea.”

  Still jubilant, they cleaned up the room, replaced the candleholders and straw in the crate, and restacked it the way they had found it. They took a piece of tarp to wrap the sword, not wanting to be seen walking the streets with it.

  Harry led them out of Our Lady of Victories Chapel. They stuck to shadows where they could. The street lighting, resembling old lamps, cast shadows. Bands of darkness connected the circles of light each lamppost.

  Their path led down a hill. As they turned the corner, two figures emerged from the shadows below them.

  “Damn. It’s them,” Chad said.

  He and Harry hurried back up the street. They heard shouts behind them and the footsteps of running men. Chad led, turning at every corner. His training and daily runs would enable him to escape. But Harry was struggling.

  “Here,” Chad said as he turned the next corner. “We’ll split up. Go ahead of me and turn again. When they come up behind me, I’ll make certain they see I have the sword. They will follow me and I can outrun them.”

  Their timing was perfect. The two men turned into the street behind Chad. He looked back ensuring the sword was profiled against the streetlight. Then he ran.

  He turned the next corner, ran a half block and stopped. He listened. He couldn’t hear them behind him.

  Good, I lost them, he thought. But his instincts said something different. He started back. It could be a trap. Were they waiting around the next corner?

  Chad didn’t think so. He felt they went after Harry. Why?

  Because they could catch him, stupid. Chad ran fast. He flew through the next intersection just in case they were at the corner. They weren’t. He stopped, turned, and ran back to the street Harry took.

  Two blocks ahead he saw Harry. They were closing in on his friend. Chad ran hard. It was uphill.

  One of the assailants held back. The other had a knife. Harry had some piece of debris and was trying to deflect the knife.

  Hang on, Harry.

  The assailants were shouting. Chad didn’t know the language. He heard Allah mentioned several times.

  They didn’t hear Chad coming.

  Thirty more yards.

  The man with the knife grabbed Harry’s weapon with one hand and slashed at Harry with the other. Harry raised his arm in time, but the knife blade sliced into his forearm. Harry screamed.

  Chad lifted the sheathed sword above his head. He threw all of his weight forward and came down hard with his weapon across the back and shoulders of the knife fighter. All three crashed to the ground.

  Chad rolled and started to rise, looking for the other assailant. The man stood ten feet away and drew a gun from behind his back. Chad froze.

  What to do?

  Attack.

  Chad was still in a crouch when he heard the gunshot.

  Chapter 39

  Chad remained frozen in astonishment as the assailant with the gun oozed blood, knees buckled, and toppled forward. Before the man even hit the ground, Chad was telling himself Run, Run, Run.

  He moved fa
st, stealing a glance up the street. Three men with guns were hurrying toward him. Harry was sitting up, his right arm dangling and bloody.

  Chad placed Harry’s good hand on the wound.

  “We have to go. Put pressure on it Harry.”

  He helped Harry stand and quickly they went around the corner.

  “How are you doing, Harry?”

  “It hurts.”

  “We’ll get you help soon. Hang in there.”

  They moved another block. They heard the sound of a single shot behind them. Was that a bullet for the knife-wielding assailant?

  “Harry, I thought you were trained by MI6? What happened? Did you miss the hand-to-hand combat? They shorted you on your training.”

  “Ha, ha. I’m hurt. Please no short jokes. I told you I flunked out. It was the fighting stuff. Never got the hang of it.”

  “Great.”

  Chad stopped at the next corner.

  “Wait,” Chad said. “Our rescuers. They have to be the protection the Minister promised. They came anyway and were keeping us under surveillance. They can help. Stay here a minute.”

  Chad hurried back around the corner. He saw three men down the street. Waving his arms, one holding the sword, Chad called out. “We’re here. We’re here.”

  All three men trained their weapons on Chad. Instinct saved his life. He jumped out of the street and back to Harry just as bullets zinged off the building on the corner.

  Under the sound of gunfire, Chad grabbed Harry and started running again. Up one block. Left. Another block. Right.

  Harry was panting and grimacing but didn’t say a word.

  At the next corner, Chad leaned Harry up against the glass of a fine arts store.

  “Rest a minute,” Chad said. “Maybe only twenty seconds,” he added, trying to joke. Harry did not laugh.

  Chad looked carefully around the corner. He was jerked back by a strong hand around his mouth.

  “Quiet. It is I. Anton.”

  Chad relaxed. “Harry’s hurt.”

  “I know. We will get him help.” Anton held a Glock in his hand.

  Anton steered them two more blocks to a side door of the MCC. Inside, he took them to a first aid office. Expertly, he cleaned the wound, applied stitches, and bandaged it.