by Guy Roberts
Andrew nodded cautiously, while Cleo sipped from a fresh glass of champagne.
‘Let’s see.’ Jack grabbed a fresh piece of paper and wrote out the clues they had deciphered over the last few days.
A-1-4-5-2-2-3-8 – the clue from the Duke of Wellington’s statue.
M-6-1-3-4-9-7-9 – the clue from the Napoleon Statue at Apsley House.
O – 1-9-1-9-1-1-1 – the clue from Nelson’s Column.
O – 8-3-2-9-1-2-1 – the clue from Cleopatra’s Needle.
N – 2-7-3-9-1-1-7 – the clue from the Adventure of the Creeping Man.
Jack looked down at the page curiously. ‘Hang on,’ he wondered, ‘take these letters together and you get…’
‘Amoon.’ Cleo read the acrostic out uncertainty.
‘Amoon.’ Jack repeated the phrase, while Andrew joined in for good measure.
‘Ok…’ Jack frowned. ‘So… That highest temple and its eastward throne. Perhaps Amoon means literally a moon… So a moon temple? To the east?
‘With a throne,’ Cleo chipped in.
‘Perhaps it’s something to do with the ancient Greeks,’ Jack scratched his head for a moment. ‘Wasn’t Artemis related to the moon somehow?’
‘Something about moon cycles?’ Cleo suggested, then raised her hands in defence. ‘I meant about Greenwich Mean Time – something to do with the Observatory?
‘No, wait…’ Andrew’s voice was quiet.
‘Maybe David meant the Halfmoon Pub in Putney?’ Cleo spoke thoughtfully.
‘A pub? David?’ Jack shook his head. ‘Or a concert hall, or a church...’
‘Quiet, please,’ Andrew cut in once again.
‘Maybe there’s a church in London with a moon as a symbol?’ Jack frowned.
‘Temple Church!’ Cleo’s eyes lit up. ‘It’s a round church, like a moon, it’s known as the Temple and its east of every other clue on the map!’
‘Will you both shut up, PLEASE!’ Andrew shouted.
Silence reigned for a moment.
‘You’re both wrong, on two counts.’ Andrew looked at them both sternly. ‘The order of the clues is mixed up.’
‘What do you mean?’ Jack frowned. ‘That’s the order we found them in.’
‘Yes,’ Andrew nodded, ‘but not the order David wrote them. He put the Napoleon Statue first, then the Wellington Statue.’
Jack rubbed a palm against his face for a moment. ‘Of course.’ He bent over the page once more. ‘It’s not AMOON, it’s MAOON.’ His expression clouded. ‘Maoon? But that makes even less sense.’
‘Unless that’s wrong too,’ Andrew looked at them sternly. ‘The third clue, about Nelson’s column… Four times less one your visage found.’
‘What about it?’ Jack frowned. ‘There were four images of Nelson and four times four is 16, minus one is 15 and the 15th letter of the alphabet is O.’
‘Good output,’ Andrew smiled, ‘but wrong input. There’s not four images of Nelson…. There’s five. Four panels of Nelson… and one statue, at the top of the column. Five images,’ he smiled as Jack and Cleo realised their mistake, ‘five times four is twenty, minus one is 19… so the third clue is…’
‘S.’ Cleo finished for him.
Jack breathed out slowly. ‘Not Amoon or Maoon… but Mason. It makes sense now. That highest temple and its eastward throne…!’
‘Freemasons.’ Andrew blanched. ‘You really think they’re involved?’
Jack nodded slowly. It was not a surprise. David had been a freemason for years – he had tried to get Jack interested in masonry a long ago, but Jack had never had the time or inclination to get involved.
‘That means…’ Cleo leaned forward and put her finger on the map, ‘this is where we have to go next. The United Grand Lodge of England, on Great Queen Street – the most important Masonic Centre in the entire UK.’
‘Freemasons’ Hall…’ A crease of worry bunched itself onto Andrew’s forehead. ‘That’s not a statue in the middle of a park – you won’t be able to just saunter past… you’ll have to break in!’
Jack nodded in agreement, then looked at Cleo and smiled. ‘If only we had a cat burglar…’
Cleo flashed him a wicked smile, then reached over and patted Andrew’s hand. ‘Don’t worry Andrew, I think Jack and I can handle this.’
Andrew looked at them both, as if wanting to argue further. There was an electronic buzzing. Andrew grabbed at his pocket, then drew out a cell phone.
‘It’s COBRA,’ he muttered. ‘I’ve got to take the call.’ He dashed to the far end of the room with the phone clutched to his ear.
‘Well.’ Jack looked down at the scatter of pages. ‘Looks like we’re nearly there.’
Cleo nodded, but looked at him with a hint of caution. ‘But after that, what then?’
Jack looked across the room. Andrew was listening to the phone with a worried expression. Behind him, darkness had finally claimed the city of London.
‘Who knows?’ Jack smiled. Plans for the evening were already running through his head. He leaned back in his chair and looked at Cleo carefully, the smile fading from his eyes.
‘Why are you doing this?’ he asked candidly. Cleo’s face grew stern and she stared at him guardedly.
‘Doing what?’
‘Hunting for the gold… fighting Deschamps… risking your life?’ Jack shook his head. ‘You liked David – I can see that, even if I don’t get it… but I don’t see why you’d come all this way just because you owe him a favour or something like that. There’s got to be some other reason.’
Cleo’s eyes flashed for a moment.
‘Only one?’ She stared at him haughtily. ‘Not two or three, or a dozen?’
Jack didn’t flinch. ‘From what you’ve said about Deschamps and from what you haven’t said… I know he’s a bad piece of work.’ Jack watched her closely, trying to weigh up her reaction to his words. ‘I can also tell that you’re more scared than you’ll admit. I want to know I can trust you.’
‘As far as two people on the run from the law can trust each other?’ Cleo asked.
‘Yep. Exactly that far.’ Jack’s eyes were firm. ‘Can I?’
Cleo was still for a moment, thoughts about David, Deschamps and the gold twisting together – and thoughts about Jack, as well. She wasn’t going to try and explain what she felt. Nor, she realised, did she have to.
‘You’ll have to decide that for yourself,’ she said at last. ‘I’m not going to kneel down and beg for your trust. After all… why should I trust you, when it comes to it?’
Jack blinked in surprise.
‘True enough,’ he conceded the point. ‘Two people on the run from the law, following clues and chasing gold. I should have realised it would be stupid if we didn’t trust each other.’ His eyes twinkled with a smile.
‘That it would.’ Cleo nodded in return, her eyes guarded.
‘Well…’ Andrew sighed as he walked back toward them, slipping his phone into his pocket. ‘COBRA is still trying to understand what you two unleashed this afternoon… but are we good to go?’
Jack looked at Cleo one last time, then gathered up his notes and slipped them into his pocket. I don’t know much, he decided, but so long as Deschamps is out there… she’s on my side. He nodded, and was relieved to see her smile back, allies once more.
‘Yep,’ he said confidently. ‘We’re good to go.’
2230 hrs (2130 hrs GMT) 16 June 2015, Drontheimer Strasse, Berlin.
GR 52.561948, 13.377329
‘Ring-ring!’ Vano Gilauri shouted delightfully, ‘Sir Johnathon is on the phone!’ The hacker hunkered down over his computer, a smile on his face as he pulled an expensive set of headphones into place.
Watching from the stage, the Termite’s fingers twitched and he struggled to hide his nervousness. He and Vano were alone in the abandoned hall and a faint sense of tension had been slowly growing between the two men. The stress of the last few hours had been intense – several raging telephone
calls from Deschamps had left the Termite shaken and unnerved. Deschamps wanted results – something to show for the money he had delivered to the Termite’s Caribbean bank accounts. The result was that the Termite was playing for very high stakes indeed. He knew all too well that if Starling was not delivered to Deschamps within a very few hours then he, the Termite, would become the new target of Deschamps’ rage. For all his skills in political camouflage and evasion, the Termite knew such attention was a death sentence.
But the young hacker Gilauri had come through after all. The Termite sighed in relief as he watched the hacker nodding in understanding. Eventually Gilauri pulled the headphones away and leaned back in his chair, smiling insolently at the Termite.
There was a long silence.
‘Well?’ The Termite could not help but ask the question, but was immediately furious at himself for betraying his impatience.
Vano waited a moment longer before he condescendingly replied. ‘The old Englishman doesn’t know where Jack Starling has gone.’
It took every inch of the Termite’s self-control to keep his face still.
‘But he knows where Starling will be,’ Vano continued. ‘Freemasons’ Hall, 60 Great Queen Street. Jack Starling will be there eventually, all Deschamps has to do is wait.’ He paused, eyeing the Termite considering. ‘You should relax as well, Termite. It can’t be healthy for a man your age to be so stressed.’
The Termite shut his mouth with a snap. Over the last two days he had begun to increasingly resent the Georgian hacker, and the sense that the younger man was somehow laughing at him had begun to fester beneath the Termite’s urbane demeanour. A man of my age, indeed! The Termite fumed silently. Once their task was done it would be the Termite’s pleasure to see the last of Vano.
‘Thank you, Vano, thank you.’ The Termite forced an indulgent smile across his face. I’m only 48 you little pup, I could destroy you one handed! ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’ At least Nyx was out of the room. No doubt such an exchanged would have caused her a great deal of merriment.
He leaned back in his chair and waited for his cell phone to connect to Paris. This latest assignment was more trouble that it was worth. It would be good to hear Deschamps’ voice for the last time and a positive pleasure to get rid of Vano. Many of the young men who worked for the Termite were easily cowed and dismissed – the severity of their crimes was only revealed after the deeds had been done and the threat of jail time with hardened criminals was usually enough to assure the silence of most of the feckless young hackers that the Termite had beguiled. Nyx was used for those of stronger stuff. With her magnificent body and gift for psychological manipulation, her seductive techniques were irresistible. Dozens of young men had found themselves in love with her, mistakenly thinking that love was returned… that was followed by a week of drunken, drug-fuelled bacchanalia, Nyx carefully manipulating her target’s emotions into a fever pitch of lust, jealousy and, beneath it all, terrifying self-doubt. Once she was satisfied, Nyx would deliver them an unexpected and devastating rejection. Breakdown and suicide had been the inevitable result. She had no hesitation to engage in such lethal romance – to her it was a passion and an art. The Termite sighed happily in his chair as he thought about the future. Nyx would enjoy the opportunity to hone her lethal skills. The boy’s jibe would be repaid in full before they parted ways. He and Nyx would see to that.
Vano leaned back in his chair on the rubbish strewn floor of the factory, fully satisfied with the part that he had played. His dark black eyes glittered joyfully as he watched the Termite connect the call to Paris and relay the information that he had delivered. He smiled. I’ve got you now.
2350 hrs 16 June 2015, Freemasons’ Hall, London.
GR 51.514983, -0.121556
It was nearly midnight when the Vauxhall Astra puttered into the narrow street behind Freemasons’ Hall, wheezing to a reluctant stop in the darkest shadows to be found. Andrew exited the driver’s seat nervously, eyes darting everywhere as he opened the hatch on the back allowing Jack and Cleo to clamber out. The drive from the Shard had been uneventful – Andrew had left alone to collect his tiny Astra, then picked up Jack and Cleo from a side door of the gigantic building. No one had noticed the two tall figures with scarves around their lower faces clamber into the waiting car. An old beach blanket had covered them in the back as Andrew drove through the winding London streets to the masonic headquarters. Jack had kept still beneath the blanket, breathing calmly as he imagined the car driving down the Strand toward their destination. Twice he heard the sounds of a helicopter flying low overhead and once, crossing London Bridge, a police officer’s deep voice asking Andrew for identification. Once Andrew had shown his official COBRA card the voice had been suitably apologetic. Jack was very aware of Cleo’s body lying next to him in the dark. A slow, spring-like scent seemed to drift from her and Jack was amazed the police officer had not been able to smell it for himself. It had been a relief when Andrew had finally jerked the handbrake into place and opened the rear of the vehicle. The cool summer night felt good as they gathered together in the shadows.
‘Here we are,’ Andrew swallowed, trying to look everywhere at once. ‘Right at the back of Freemasons’ Hall.’
‘It’ll be all right.’ Cleo declared, grabbing Andrew’s hand and holding it tightly in both of hers. ‘Don’t be so nervous, we’ll be fine.’
Andrew paused, looking at them both. He drew a deep breath and nodded.
‘You’ll be fine,’ he agreed, thrusting the car keys into Jack’s hand. ‘Look, I’d better get back to the COBRA. It’ll be expected after what happened this afternoon – not even a family emergency would be allowed to interfere with that for very long.’ He eyed both of them carefully. ‘I’ll catch the tube home after that.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Look… are you sure you don’t want me coming with you?’
Jack shook his head. ‘No… we’ve been over this. You’ve done a lot, but you’d be more use at COBRA than here. The sooner you’re back, the less suspicion there will be.’
‘Ok...’ Andrew nodded reluctantly. ‘Hopefully, if anything happens, I can muddy the waters…’ He shook his head for a moment. ‘I can’t believe I’m working against my own team. If David knew what I was up to…’
Jack cut him off.
‘If David knew, then he’d approve,’ Jack spoke firmly. ‘David set us up together – remember the email and the postcard? Things have gone the way he wanted them to – keeping one step ahead of Deschamps and COBRA.’
Andrew nodded and straightened his back. ‘You’re right,’ he declared, then stuck out his hand formally. ‘Good luck.’
Cleo surprised both men by stepping forward and placing a kiss on Andrew’s cheek. ‘Thank you, for everything,’ she whispered into his ear.
‘See you soon,’ Jack declared, shaking Andrew’s hand firmly. ‘Keep a light out for us.’
Andrew nodded uncertainly.
‘Go on now, scoot.’ Jack chided him gently before Andrew turned and walked rapidly away into the darkness.
‘He was nervous.’ Cleo mused as Andrew’s footsteps faded into the distance.
‘He’s all right,’ Jack replied. ‘It’s not like we’re going into a war zone, we’ll be in and out of here in ten minutes tops.’
‘You hope,’ Cleo warned him gently.
‘I do,’ Jack agreed, suddenly feeling a chill in the air. They left Andrew’s car and walked further up the narrow laneway behind the Hall. A few minutes of silence passed companionably, occasionally broken by the sound of a distant car horn, or the heavy thud of a helicopter passing overhead.
‘Ok, here we are,’ Cleo murmured. They were standing by a recessed doorway at the back of the mammoth building. The darkness of the passageway was nearly complete.
‘God bless London,’ Cleo muttered. ‘There’s always a servant’s entrance.’ She knelt down by the doorway and Jack soon heard minute scratches of metal on metal as she began to pick the lock.
Jac
k realised that he was enjoying himself. They were onto the final step, the finding of the secret clue that would somehow make sense of everything they had discovered. Ten years in the USA had never brought him anything like this. This could be the moment where David’s clues all finally made sense. Who knew what they would find inside the headquarters of the mysterious Freemasons organisation. Jack realised he was pumping himself up for a fight, tapping out a rhythm against his legs and whistling softly through his teeth.
‘Jack.’ Cleo was looking up at him from the doorway, the white of her eyes visible in the darkness. ‘Top Gun?’ Cleo’s voice sounded amused. ‘Seriously?’
Jack stopped whistling.
There was a slight click and the door swung out ponderously. Cold air rolled into the summer night and Jack swallowed nervously. A moment later he had entered the building as stealthily as a cat, Cleo ghosting silently in his wake. Dressed in black, with a black beanie pulled low over her head, she merged effortlessly into the shadows; it was a struggle for Jack’s senses to believe there was another person in the room.
Jack led the way through a warren of storerooms to one end of a long corridor. A blue runner ran into the distance across a floor of black and white marble tiles. Emergency Exit signs hanging from doorways provided the barest of illuminations. A deep and dignified silence seemed to fill the corridors with respectability and tradition.
‘I think we’re the only ones here,’ Cleo whispered. Jack nodded in relief.
‘Which way do we go?’ she frowned.
Jack pointed overhead, where the words ‘Grand Temple’ and a hand pointing to the left had been carefully painted onto a discreet wooden sign. ‘Left,’ Jack whispered. ‘The poem said ‘That highest temple and its eastward throne’… The Grand Temple sounds like the right place to start looking.’ Cleo nodded to him cautiously then turned and moved forward swiftly. Jack watched the cat burglar slink before him in absolute silence. He felt awkward and lumbering compared to her lithe fluidity. They followed the corridor onward, passing chamber after chamber filled with looming bookcases and mysterious doorways.