by David Wood
“Your girlfriend seems upset,” Sarah observed as Dane headed back in her direction. The smile on her face said that she, by contrast, was anything but unhappy at this turn of events.
“Not my girlfriend.” Dane leaned easily against the counter and grinned. “My ex. It’s complicated though. We still have to work together, which isn’t exactly easy. You saw how she is.”
“Some women just don’t know when it’s time to let go.” Sarah ran the tip of her tongue across the bottom of her upper lip. So ostentatious was her attempt at flirtation that Dane nearly choked. “So,” she continued, “what else can I do for you?”
Why couldn’t Bones have been the one to hit on her? He was a natural with this stuff. Nothing to be done for it now, so Dane plunged in. “I need a recommendation of a nice, intimate place for dinner tonight, and a phone number for someone to join me.”
He flashed his most winning smile, feeling all the while like a buffoon. Surprisingly, it worked. Sarah hastily jotted her name and number on a slip of paper and tucked in into his pants pocket. He forced himself not to react when her fingers roved a bit too far afield. This girl would be perfect for Bones, but then again… Realizing his thoughts were drifting, he refocused his attention on the task at hand.
“I do have one other, much less important, request. Can you tell me if a friend of mine visited here sometime in the last year or so?”
“I’m not supposed to do that.” Sarah looked at him uncertainly. “Those records are private.”
“And I’m not supposed to make dinner dates with beautiful women when I’m supposed to be conducting research.” He gave her a wicked grin. “I don’t want any private information; just tell me whether or not he was here.”
“All right, but if you get me sacked, you owe me two dinners. What’s the name?”
“Thomas Thornton.” He watched as she typed in the name. She was actually kind of cute in a lush, full-figured sort of way. Perhaps he should make time for dinner tonight. What was he thinking? He already had one girl mad at him. He didn’t need any more complications in that area.
“Ah! Here he is. Thomas Thornton. I can’t tell you exactly when he visited, but I can confirm he was here.”
“That’s perfect. You’ve been a big help. I’ll just head up and meet my friends.” He turned and headed back toward the staircase.
“Dane?” He glanced back at her. “I get off at five o’clock. No pun intended.”
“Gotcha.” He hurried up the stairs, already wondering if he should make an excuse, or just not call her at all.
He found Bones and Kaylin checking out the original painting of which Thomas had left them the picture, which hung between two more traditional portraits of the famed explorer.
“He looks like he’s made of old leather,” Dane observed. “Hard to believe he never came back from his last expedition. He always seemed like the kind of guy nothing could stop.”
“Not much to see here, I’m afraid.” Bones said. “No small, semi-hidden images that we couldn’t see in our picture. No secret codes.” He glanced at the other two portraits. “Both of these have little plates at the bottom. Let’s see, Donated by Andrew Wainwright, grand nephew of Percy Fawcett. No brass plate on our painting, though.”
They looked at the portrait a little while longer. Finally, agreeing there was nothing else to be found here, they headed for the Foyle Room.
The Foyle Reading Room was a pleasant surprise—a contemporary oasis inside this classic Victorian structure. Sunlight shone through wide plate glass windows that angled inward, illuminating the counter that ran the length of the wall, wrapping around the bends in the oddly-shaped exterior wall. Workstations were set up along its length, with permanent computer setups in the center and laptop connections on either side. Bookcases lined the wall to his right, and various cabinets, counters, and worktables were arranged throughout the room. It had the feel of a university library.
A short, stocky man, with blue eyes and short brown hair looked up as they entered the room. “What can I do for you?”
“We’re looking for Benjamin,” Dane said, giving the room a quick scan. “Can you tell us where we might find him?”
“You just did.” He smiled and shook hands with Dane. “Expected an old fart, did you?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but motioned for them to take seats around a nearby table.
“If you’re looking for me,” he said with a sigh of resignation as he settled into a chair, “you must be interested in Fawcett. We’ve had quite a bit of that lately. People looking for the lost city, trying to track his last expedition. Those are the normal ones. Then there are the weirdoes…” He dismissed the thought with a wave, propped his feet on the table, and folded his hands on his chest. “So, into which category do you three fall?”
“Technically, we’re searching for someone who falls into the first category,” Dane said. “We are looking for information on Fawcett’s last expedition, but only in order to find a friend who went off in search of him.”
Benjamin’s face remained impassive.
“We’re not making this up.” Kaylin showed him a copy of the missing person’s report she had filed with the Charleston Police. He scanned it with bored eyes, made to hand it back to her, then snatched it back.
“This chap looks familiar.” He held the paper close, scrutinizing the photo of Thomas which Kaylin had paper-clipped to the report. “I remember him. He didn’t want to look at any of the usual Fawcett documents. He only wanted to see Fawcett’s copy of The Lost World.”
Dane sat up a little straighter. “Did he find anything in it?”
“Couldn’t say.” Benjamin shrugged. “Truth be told, he seemed a bit disappointed. Looked at it for over an hour. He wasn’t reading it, mind.”
“How could you tell?” Dane didn’t understand. What else would Thomas have been doing?
“He was flipping through too fast, looking at the margins and the spine through a magnifying glass. Even turned it upside-down a few times. I don’t know what he was hoping to find, but whatever it was, I don’t believe he found it. Left here quite down.”
Dane felt hope draining away, but as long as they had come this far, they might as well take a look at the book. “Could we see it? Is it still on display?”
Benjamin frowned, the lines in his forehead deepening. “Sorry, but it’s gone missing. It was gone from its display when I arrived yesterday morning.”
“Someone stole it?” Kaylin’s voice was soft with dismay.
“I assume so. Odd, though. No alarms, nothing on the security cameras.”
Dane’s heart sank. “Can you tell us; was there anything… unusual about the book? Was there anything written inside of it?”
“It is one of a kind. It was inscribed to Fawcett by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle himself. Beyond that, I couldn’t say. It’s not like I handled it on a regular basis.” Benjamin frowned. “As long as you’re here, is there anything else you want to take a look at?”
A cool sense of conviction flowed through Dane’s mind. This was no coincidence. It couldn’t be. Someone had gotten here first and taken the book.
“Did Thomas say anything about where he might be going, or what he had planned?” Bones had reversed his chair and sat with his chin resting on his arms. “Maybe the dude had something more in his head than just following Fawcett’s last expedition.”
“Not that I recall. As I said, I only remember him because I thought it odd that an American would come all the way to London simply to look at a copy of one of Fawcett’s personal possessions.” He flashed them a knowing grin. “But I see now that it’s not as unusual as I had thought.”
“Is there anything…” Kaylin bit her lip. “Sorry, I don’t exactly know how to ask this. We think this might be more than just a simple matter of someone getting lost in the Amazon. Are there any stories that connect Fawcett to something that might interest people today? I mean, interest them enough to…” She swallowed hard.
“I
understand what it is you’re asking. There are more legends surrounding Fawcett than I care to know. To call them far-fetched would be an understatement. Fawcett found Z and lives there as a white king like Prester John. Fawcett found a lost white race that has preserved the secret knowledge of the ancient civilization of your choice. Even if one of them were true, it would be of great academic interest, but nothing more.” He raised his head and pondered the ceiling for the span of three heartbeats. “If your friend has gone chasing after Fawcett, and has not returned, the most likely explanation is that the same thing happened to him that has happened to too many Amazon explorers in the past. I am sorry.”
Dane ground his teeth in frustration. The stolen book couldn’t be the end of the line. The book was significant—he was certain of it. But Benjamin had said that Thomas had examined the book, yet seemed disappointed, as if he had not found what he was looking for.
“Do you know of any museum or library that has Fawcett’s personal items on display?” Dane asked.
“There is no Fawcett museum. Most of the items of interest relating to Fawcett are here. Is there anything aside from the book that I can show you?”
“I don’t suppose so,” Dane said. For some reason, he did not feel comfortable asking about the Fawcett painting, and, in any case, it was the book they wanted, and the book was not here.
“You might look up Andrew Wainwright and give him a ring.”
“The guy who donated the portraits downstairs?”
“Yes. He’s a descendant, and has probably forgotten more about Fawcett than I’ve ever known. At any rate, good luck with it.”
They shook hands with Benjamin, thanked him for his time, and made their way back to the entrance.
“Bummer,” Bones said as they descended the stairs and passed through the lobby. “I thought we’d get a little farther than that.”
“Me, too,” Dane agreed.
Sarah hailed them as they approached the exit. “That was a short visit. Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Benjamin was a great help,” Dane said.
“You’ll call me about dinner, then?” She eyed him like a tigress contemplating exactly how she wanted to play with her food before eating it.
Before Dane could answer, Bones sidled up to the counter.
“You didn’t steal the Fawcett book, did you Sarah?” He grinned lasciviously. “We really wanted to see it. Maddock might have to frisk you…”
“Thanks, Bones!” Dane grabbed his friend by the arm and steered him toward the door. “I’ll talk to you later, Sarah. Thanks again.”
As soon as they were out the door, Sarah left the front desk and hurried to the nearby break room. Terry looked up as she entered, and gave her a hopeful smile. Sooner or later she would have to break down and go on a date with the poor tosser, but for now, the occasional flirtatious smile or touch on the arm was enough to make him as helpful as she needed him to be.
“Terry, would you be a dear and mind the front for me? I need to phone someone, and it’s rather private.”
“Not a boyfriend, I hope.” He tried to play it off as a joke, but failed.
“No, it’s nothing like that.” She forced a laugh. “I just need a chat with my doctor—female stuff, you know.”
Red-faced, Terry assured her that he understood completely. She doubted he knew much of anything about female anatomy or the issues relating to it. In fact, she harbored a suspicion that he still lived with his mum, but he could be counted on to do what she asked of him, and that was what mattered.
She hurried back to her office, took a card from her purse, and punched up the number on her cell.
“Yeah?”
“Hi, this is Sarah from the R.G.S.”
“Yeah.”
Not a great talker, this one. “You asked me to call you if anyone came around asking after Fawcett’s copy of The Lost World.”
Silence.
“Are you there?”
“I am.”
Five hundred pounds, she reminded herself. She could put up with rudeness for that. And it wasn’t as if she was doing anything wrong—just passing along a bit of information. She quickly gave the man on the other end the names of the three visitors, and a brief description. She felt a pang of guilt when she mentioned Dane’s name. She rather liked him and he was quite handsome.
“Okay, good. Are they still there?”
“No, they just left.” She looked out the break room window, and was surprised to see that the three were standing on the pavement, engaged in a serious discussion. “They’re just outside the building, though.”
“Good. Keep an eye on them until I get there. There’s another five hundred in it for you.”
The call ended. Sarah took a deep breath and peered outside again, hoping Dane and his friends had departed, but no, they were still there. She had a sinking feeling that she had just made a terrible mistake.
Chapter 9
They had almost reached the street when Dane hesitated. Something was bothering him—a feeling that he was right on the verge of making a connection. But what? He was sure it was important, if only he could put a finger on just what it was.
Turnin back to look at Lowther Lodge, his eyes fell on the entrance and the bust next to the door.
And it struck him.
“Kaylin, what was it that Thomas wrote on the back of the picture?”
“Let me see.” She fished in her purse, looking confused. She pulled out a sheet and handed it to him.
There were five letters at the top, and then a series of number pairs.
MRKHM
2-5 1-17 1-1 2-13 4-10 3-3 1-10 1-22 1-12 3-3 1-19
1-23 1-6 1-8 4-6 4-11 6-9 7-1 7-10 8-16
Could it be that simple?
“Did either of you catch the name on the bust by the front door?”
“Markham!” Kaylin’s eyes widened as realization dawned on her face. “Do you think it could refer to the bust?”
“I think it’s worth a look. Let’s go.”
They hurried back to the front door and Dane read the inscription aloud.
“This monument to the memory of Sir Clements Markham, KCB, FRS, and for 12 years President of the Royal Geographical Society, was erected in the year 1921 by the Peruvian Nation in gratitude for his services as historian of their country.”
“And this means… what, exactly?” Bones rubbed his chin and peered doubtfully at the sculpture of Markham.
“I wonder,” Dane said, looking again at the numbers Kaylin had written down, “if these pairs of numbers correspond to lines and letters in the inscription.” He knelt to take a closer look. “If I’m correct, the first letter would be…” He consulted the paper, and then counted over to the letter L. The next number pair gave him the letter E. As he continued, his certainty that he was on the right track grew. His heart beat faster as he called out each letter. When he was finished, he stood to look at the paper on which Kaylin had recorded the letters, though he already knew what the message said.
“Let Albert be your guide.”
“Great,” Bones said. “Now we just need to find this Albert dude and ask him where to go next. Any idea where to start looking?”
“Across the street.”
At first, Dane thought Kaylin was joking, but her expression was deadly serious. She arched her eyebrows in an ‘Are you doubting me?’ look, and put her hands on her hips.
“Okay,” Dane said. “I’ll bite. Who or what is Albert?”
“Just across the street, in Kensington Gardens, is a well-known memorial to Prince Albert.”
“Seriously?” Bones crowed. “Is he in a can? Do we need to let him out?”
“I’ll wager that’s what the message is referring to,” Kaylin said, rolling her eyes at Bones’s weak attempt at a joke.
“Sounds good to me. Let’s check it out.”
The Albert Memorial consisted of an ornate canopy, nearly two hundred feet high, set above a gilded statue of a seated Prince A
lbert. Mosaics decorated portions of the exterior, and sculptures devoted to the arts and sciences sat atop the pillars and in corner niches. Around the base was a marble frieze, and at each corner a sculpture representing one of the Victorian era industries: Agriculture, Commerce, Engineering, and Manufacturing. Steps on each side led up to the memorial, and ringing the base were decorative railings, with even more elaborate sculptures at each corner. It was this set of sculptures that caught Dane’s eye. Each displayed a group of figures on and around a beast of burden, and was named for a region of the world: Africa, Europe, Asia, and America.
The America sculpture featured a bison, with three figures, one male and two female, all rendered in the classic style—European facial features, flowing robes and, as Bones put it, “topless.” Each wore a headdress that reflected Native American stylings, and two of the figures held stylized spears.
“It’s got to be the America sculpture, right?” Bones asked, walking over to lay his hand on the bison’s head. “I mean, we’re looking for connections to the Amazon, so what else could it be?”
They scrutinized the sculpture with care, examining every last detail, but none of them could infer even the most tenuous connection to Fawcett or his expedition. Finally, they were forced to conclude they were on the wrong track. They circled the base of the memorial, first examining the other sculptures, then stepping back and taking in the memorial as a whole, hoping something would leap out at them. It did not.
“I don’t understand.” Kaylin, usually so positive, hung her head. “It says to let Albert be our guide. How could it not be this memorial? It’s right across the road from the R.G.S., and there’s Albert just sitting there. This has got to be it.”
Dane agreed with her. He was convinced a clue of some sort was right there for them all to see, but, for the life of him, he could not see what it might be. He looked up at the gilded figure of Prince Albert, as if the answer lay in his lifeless gaze.