The Grey Falcon

by J. C. Williams

  “Where did you learn that?” Chad asked.

  “Some Knights are still active military. Some call us mercenaries. Some call us agents. We have a wide network.”

  ” What next?” Chad asked.

  “I can get you off the island of Malta.”

  “Do you know a boatman?”

  “Me. My boat. Before I was twelve, my grandfather Vittor taught me, I know all of these islands. We won’t be followed. I can take you to Ghawdex. Do you know it? Maybe as Gozo? It is a smaller island than Malta. There is a small airfield there. Can you arrange transportation? Or should I?”

  Chad had been thinking about their second assailants, their one-time rescuers. Maybe they were the letter writers? It didn’t matter. Once again, it pointed to a leak in the Minister’s office. Calling the Minister for help was no longer an option.

  “I know someone.” He made a call to a number that was routed two more times to a number in Scotland. A man answered whom Chad did not know. He was called Duncan. Chad explained he needed to go from Gozo to Belgrade. He also asked for two other things.

  Anton led Harry and Chad to the basement museum. He found a soft blanket to wrap the sword. Chad held it close. Anton opened the Research room. At the back of the room, he accessed an electric panel full of circuit breakers. He flipped a breaker to an Off position. One of the cement panels that made up the walls of the room slowly swung open.

  “There are tunnels that lead from this fortress, under the cliffs, to docks just out of sight of the harbor. They were built when the city was built. My boat is there. This electronic entry replaced a trap door and ladder used for four hundred years.”

  The tunnels triggered a small idea for Chad. He filed it away.

  Anton was as good as he bragged. His boat was quiet and dark. At Gozo, A friend of Anton ’s took them to the airfield. A helicopter provided by the phone call to Scotland met them and flew to a small airport outside of Lamezia Terme in Italy. Then a private jet carried the two men to Belgrade. As they went through customs, Chad hoped whoever it was in the Minister’s office that betrayed them did not have instant access to custom s data. Finally, a taxi delivered them from their all night trip to a hospital. Chad carried a large Nike duffel bag stuffed with various clothes and hiding one sword and scabbard. The bag was one of the two items that he requested.

  As Harry spun a story about his cut and received the proper treatment and re-stitching, Chad watched from a window as the sun rose.

  June 23

  5 days to Vidovdan

  Chapter 40

  Chad opened the door to the hotel room and held on to Harry’s arm as they walked in. The room was in the name of the new ID Chad was given in Italy. That was the second request he had made of Scotland. Even if they were discovered to be back in Serbia, even if they were traced to the hospital, the hotel reservation allowed them to disappear.

  “Still loopy, Harry?”

  “Loopy?” Harry asked with some confusion. He laughed and added. “Chicago. The Loop. Are we going to Chicago, Doc?”

  Chad smiled at Harry’s fuzzy logic, a result of the pain medication they gave him at the hospital. Doc? No one called him Doc. It reminded Chad of his good friend and mentor Doc Clark. Dr. Henry Clark.

  Chad steered Harry to a bed. “No, Harry. We’re staying here in Belgrade. I need to go out. You need to sleep. I’ll be back in a couple hours.”

  “Okay. Okay, Doc.” Harry flopped on the bed. Then he raised himself up. Whispering, he asked, “Do you have the sword, Chad? Don’t tell anyone. Somebody wants it.”

  He was right about that, Chad thought. Several people want it. If the Minister was available this morning, Chad could pass on the sword and the danger connected to it. “Don’t worry, Harry. It’s safe. You take a short nap.”

  “Short?” Harry muttered. “Are you making fun of me, Doc?”

  “No, Harry. That would be small of me. Okay, well maybe a little bit of fun.”

  “Small. Little. Funny, Doc. Funny.” Harry’s voice trailed off.

  Chad grabbed the duffel bag, gave Harry a last look, placed the do not disturb sign on the door, and left.

  -----

  Archer called the Minister’s office. It was nearly ten. He hoped the Minister kept normal working hours. Chad expected his pursuers had figured out by now or assumed that he had left Malta. They knew his next stop would be the Minister. Would they intercept him on the way to the government building? Maybe. He stood in a doorway, a block away watching the front of the government offices.

  “Is Minister Brajkovic available? This is Chad Archer.”

  “Just a moment. I will find him.”

  Chad hoped his name would create a sense of urgency.

  Nearly a minute passed.

  “Dr. Archer?” the Minister asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Thank God. Where are you? I was worried. Your pilot said you did not contact him last night or this morning. He checked and you were not in your hotel last night.”

  “I am in Belgrade.”

  “Where?”

  “I’d rather not say. There has been some trouble. Can we meet?”

  “Certainly. Where and when?”

  “How about coffee at the Café Porta? Twenty minutes?”

  “I can be there.” It was only ten minutes away.

  “Will you drive or do you have a driver? Parking is bad here.”

  “I use a driver. No worries. See you soon.”

  So far, so good. If someone tapped the Minister’s phone, listened in, or if the Minister told his assistant where he was going, there was most likely an enemy now on their way to the Café Porta.

  Chad waited for a chauffeured car to pull up to the government building. There had been no frantic movements on the street in the last ten minutes. And, there didn’t seem to be anyone loitering in ambush for him. He hurried across the street, on the same side and a half block ahead of the car. He stayed near the building.

  The Minister exited the large glass doors and climbed into the rear seat.

  Chad made his move, darting to the car, slamming his hand on the hood, keeping to the side.

  It worked. The car stopped abruptly. Chad grabbed the rear door handle. Just like the movies, he thought. Cool.

  Until he pulled the handle. Locked. Not so cool.

  The driver started to accelerate away. Very un-cool, Chad thought, as he stood exposed staring after the auto.

  Then it stopped. The rear door opened. Chad hurried after it and jumped in.

  “Rather dramatic, Dr. Archer. Has this something to do with your troubles?”

  “Yes. Thanks for stopping.”

  The Minister looked expectantly at Chad. Archer motioned his head toward the driver.

  The Minister understood. “Goran, can be trusted.”

  “Maybe. Keep going. I’ll tell you when to turn.”

  The route that Chad laid out on a city map with the help of the hotel concierge worked perfectly. Three turns and seven minutes later, just over the Sava River, they were passing the new, seven-year-old mall, the USCE Shopping Center, a huge 140-store and supermarket complex.

  “Let us out here,” Chad said. “We’ll call you where to pick him up.”

  The driver looked at the Minister. Chad noticed the driver’s right hand reaching under his coat.

  “It’s alright, Goran. I’ll call.”

  Chad steered the Minister to the entrance doors, while looking for any cars stopping abruptly. They seemed to be clear.

  Inside, the Minister let Chad maneuver them to a second level. Chad saw a men’s clothing store and hustled them in. He located the changing rooms and pulled the minister in behind him.

  The Minister looked amused. “You’ve done this before?”

  Chad had but now was not the time to recount past pursuits and escapes.

  “Sorry, Minister Brajkovic. Someone, actually two someones tracked us to Malta. Two different groups attacked us. Both tried to kill us. It could have bee
n someone in your office, or someone spying on you, or maybe they found out from your pilot or his flight plans. I don’t know. But, I could not take any chances.”

  “Okay. I understand. Tell me what happened.”

  “I will. But first, I have something for you.”

  Chad opened the duffel bag and withdrew the scabbard and sword.

  Chapter 41

  “Is this,” the Minister began, but then looked at Chad. Expectantly. Warily. A man who hoped, but did not want to hope too much.

  “We think so,” Chad said. “Look at the pommel. It’s Cyrillic for Lazar, correct?”

  Minister Brajkovic looked where Chad pointed.

  “Read the inscription on the scabbard.”

  He did so and translated it for Chad. It agreed with Harry’s reading.

  Brajkovic held the scabbard and sword gingerly, despite its five pounds. Tears filled his eyes. Chad watched. If ever there was a man whose eyes were the windows to his soul, it was Mihajlo Brajkovic. Chad had seen the same look in Doc Clark’s eyes when their long, hard, and dusty work on a dig found a treasure. Maybe they were not treasures of monetary value, but they were treasures for an archeologist. Chad even had that feeling himself from time to time. These days his heart and eyes misted with thoughts of Saundra Moffat. Today he felt the satisfaction of helping another realize a dream. He felt good.

  “Dr. Archer, this is wonderful. Beyond wonderful. I hoped, but did not really believe, that the note was true. I never expected you to succeed.”

  “Awe, really?” Chad pretended disappointment. Then he smiled.

  “Allow me to correct myself. I did expect success. Just not so quickly.”

  Chad responded, “Neither did I.”

  He allowed the Minister time to withdraw the blade and inspect it. After a few minutes, he said, “Minister, you should call for your car. And for some additional guards. You now have what others want. They won’t necessarily stop looking or stop trying.”

  “You’re right.”

  He called for a pickup at a different door to the mall. Then he turned to Chad. “Can we drop you someplace? If you consider that those who want this may still think you have it, well, you and Harry are still in danger. Where is Harry? I want to thank him as well.”

  “Thank you for your concern and offer. I will go my own way. I squirreled Harry away in a hotel, nursing a wound.”

  “What? What happened?” the Minister asked with alarm.

  “A knife fight. He’ll be okay.”

  “Harry was in a knife fight? I don’t picture Harry fighting.”

  Chad chuckled. “You are right. It was a bit one - sided, since he didn’t even have a knife. However, Prince Lazar’s sword evened things out.”

  “Amazing. I will have to hear the story. From both of you when Harry is better. Perhaps on Vidovdan? Can you stay or come back?”

  “I may be here. If it is okay with you, I’d like to continue searching.”

  “For what?”

  “For the Buckle mentioned in the letter. In addition, I noticed that in paintings of medieval times, royalty would typically have a ceremonial sword belt with a lavish buckle. I have a couple ideas where Prince Lazar may have stashed them.”

  “Stashed?” the Minister asked, not understanding the word.

  “Put aside. Stored. Kept safe.”

  “Ah. Really?” The Minister became excited. “Where?”

  “If it is alright, I’d like to keep that to myself. If I don’t tell anyone, I won’t worry about others showing up again.”

  “Agreed. You will stay in touch? And, Chad. If you need anything, let me know. Do you need these clothes?” he asked looking in the duffel bag.”

  “Not mine. Keep them for padding.”

  They left the dressing room receiving a disapproving look from a sales lady. Chad went one direction, the Minister went another.

  Chapter 42

  Archer left the elevator at the hotel and almost reached their room when his cell phone rang.

  “Archer.”

  “Chad, it’s Adrien. Good morning.”

  “Good morning, Adrien. How is the museum investigation going?”

  “Have you spoken to Sandy recently?”

  Chad felt a ping of guilt. “No, what’s up?”

  “Good news and bad news. They found the person who leaked word of the London robbery to the pawnbroker. Bad news is that the pawnbroker was worked over and tortured. And, more bad news. Whoever did that beating found the talkative one before they could. In Liverpool. He’s dead. They are investigating.”

  Chad absorbed that. “Maybe a dead end there, just like the Dresden Museum.”

  “That’s why I was calling. There has come to light some additional information about Dresden. In fact, the German detective working the case is here in Lyon. Are you still in Belgrade?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “What is the possibility of coming to Lyon or meeting in Dresden? I think a face-to-face would be best to discuss this since we have three different primary languages.”

  An idea struck Chad.

  “I think Lyon? I should go back to London, even if just for a night.” He needed to see Sandy. Yesterday’s close calls made him appreciate what was most important.

  “Great. Here’s a thought. I looked and there is a thirteen hundred flight from Belgrade. We could meet at the airport. Then there are several flights from Lyon to London, so with the time change we could have an hour to meet and get you to Heathrow by nineteen hundred. If you wish, Interpol can afford the four or five hundred euros for your airfare. We’ll also supply you with expedited security.”

  “That worked well the last time we did it. Consider it a plan,” Chad told the Interpol agent, remembering his quest of Moffat’s Secret.

  Inside the room he found Harry siting at the table with a tray filled with two or maybe even three meals.

  “Hungry, Harry?” Chad looked at his gorging friend.

  “Recovery therapy, Chad. Feed a wound is what they say.”

  “They who?”

  “Experts. Panels of experts and researchers. Many of them. They called me here personally. Doctor ’ s orders and what.”

  “I see.” Chad took up a fork and ate a bite of chicken. “Taking the pain meds?”

  “Yes, I will. And, that’s another reason for all the food. I need to take the meds on a full stomach.”

  “Looks like you have it all reasoned out, Harry. I’m going to call Anton on Malta and ask that he send our luggage to Belgrade. I don’t think here, though. It might tip off someone trying to find us.”

  “Chad, you know Belgrade is my second home. As I have heard you Americans say, I know a guy who knows a guy. I’ll call Anton and take care of getting it to Belgrade and then to here. No worries.”

  “Good. I’m going to fly to London today. I leave at thirteen hundred. I’ll be back tomorrow night. I have an idea to find a few other items of Prince Lazar ’s . Could you contact Dr. Maric and ask about monasteries or buildings that were built by Prince Lazar ? Also, where was home for him? I’d like to chart a path to Kosovo. In particular I’m looking for places on hills or mountains.”

  “Why hills and mountains?” Harry asked.

  “Caves. Like in Malta, Harry. Caves.”

  -----

  Sandy saw the call from Chad. She let it go to voicemail. The desk phone was at her ear. “Uh-huh. Yes. I see.”

  The district coroner on the other end launched into more detail using technical terms that went past Sandy, even though she had studied hard in York with its medical examiner to learn a bit more than the basic terminology. She always needed to be one step above the males to stay even in promotional considerations.

  She interrupted the doctor. “Can I recap what you’ve told me so far? Our victim definitely drowned but you feel he was unconscious at the time. There is a wound on the back of the head with fragments of rock still in it, not washed away by the river. Time of death cannot be pinpointed. Becaus
e we do not know how long he may have laid on the rocks before entering the water.”

  She paused as the doctor interjected, “That is an unconfirmed assumption, but you are correct.”

  “Speaking of the rocks, doctor, did you get an analysis of the blood sample from there?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  Sandy kept her sigh to herself.

  “What were the results?” she asked patiently.

  “It was a match.”

  Okay, she thought, the blood matches and there are rock fragments still in the wound. What was she missing? The doctor was definitely giving a vibe that there was more, but she was making Sandy think. And, ask.

  “Did the rock fragments in the wound match the rocks where the blood was found?”

  “Yes they did.”

  “So, doctor, what makes you hesitant about the fall-off-the-bridge-while-drunk scenario?”

  “It’s the bruises.”

  Bruises. Sandy thought. She fiddled with the stuff on her desk. All clutter. Folders in disarray. Little scraps of paper with notes. Even the one she was writing on now she had torn off the bottom of a letter that wasn’t important to keep but she had not tossed. Across from her the desk was the one Dickie was using. It was uncluttered, organized and clean. Was that the way he was? H-m-m, she thought. Wonder if we’ll work out. Maybe some of his orderliness would wear off on her. She doubted it. Chad had the most organized mind that she knew and in a year of living with him, she had not changed. Thinking of living with him, she should call her tech friend and install some surveillance in her flat.

  Sandy realized her mind had wandered. The doctor had been quiet.

  “Inspector?”

  The bruises. That’s what she had said. Something about bruises. Sandy looked at the prelim-autopsy photos lying on her desk.

  “Doctor, wouldn’t you think a fall onto the rocks would cause bruises on his back? After all he didn’t fall directly on his head. Or, did he?”

  “No. Of course not. Don’t be a twit. It would have smashed his head terribly. Look at the photos, again. Look closely.”

  “I’m lost, doctor. Why is that an issue?” She tried to think what that meant. The victim falls backward lands on his back. Then his head bounces. Wait. Got it.