He stopped at a crossing and waited for the light to change, joined by four other pedestrians also wanting to cross the street—a young couple, an exec on his phone and a guy on his late afternoon run. The pedestrian crossing light turned green, and the jogger hurriedly pushed past Sam, bumping him out of the way and into the exec.
“Watch it mate!” the irritated executive shouted after the jogger before returning to his phone conversation.
The subway buzzed with commuters on their travels home from work and Sam patiently waited in line at the turnstile. His hand slipped into his pants pocket in search of some coins and pulled out a single silver key instead. Puzzled, he stared at the unfamiliar object in his hand and read the inscription: one zero four. It wasn’t his, and he had no idea how it got in his possession. He flipped it over to reveal the logo of a luxury hotel less than a mile from him. Most hotels used key cards so it couldn’t be to a room. A locker, perhaps, he concluded. He stepped away from the line and proceeded down the street in the direction of the hotel.
A few blocks further on the lavish hotel’s doorman tried hard to hide his uncertainty over whether Sam agreed with their clientele’s profile or not, but opened the door and welcomed him in, nevertheless. A strong exotic scent wafted through the tranquil foyer—a clever marketing tactic to lure its guests to their on-site spa.
“Checking in, sir?” the overly friendly concierge enquired.
“Not just yet, but could you show me to your lockers, please,” Sam said, holding up the key.
“Of course, sir. That will be in the fitness center, right this way.”
Sam followed the polite man through the hotel foyer and into the in-house fitness center, where he paused outside the men’s washrooms.
“You’ll find the lockers inside, sir. Is there anything else I can help you with today?”
“No thanks, that’s it for now.”
And as quickly as he’d appeared, he turned and left.
Sam briefly paused when he turned the key in the lock. He had since figured out that it must have been the jogger at the crosswalk who’d slipped the key into his pocket. For a moment, the thought had crossed his mind that it might be a trap, or worse, a bomb meant to kill him. He shrugged off the absurd notion. As far as he knew he wasn’t the one with the target on his back, Alex was. Still, his heart raced, and he took a deep breath as he pulled back on the key to open the locker. To his relief, nothing exploded in his face, nor could he hear any ticking sounds coming from the black gym bag that sat crammed into the small space in front of him.
He turned and looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was around. Pleased to see he was alone, he reached in and pulled the black bag from the locker. It weighed very little, and he set it down on a nearby wooden bench before carefully unzipping it. A silver-gray wig, matching fake mustache and a pair of sunglasses lay loosely on top of black sweatpants and matching hoodie. Underneath that was a single pair of sneakers with an envelope.
Intrigued by the surprise contents, he tore open the envelope to reveal a car key and a note that read,
Sam
I’m sorry you were dragged into this. Fate played its hand and you are now in danger. Change into this disguise. Take the hired vehicle parked in the hotel parking and drive to your parents’ seaside cottage—you should be safe there.
A
Sam stared at the note in his hand and dropped down onto the bench. Fear pulled his stomach into a tight knot making it hard to breathe. Through all the years of working together, this was the only time he had ever seen Alex go to such extreme lengths as using disguises and decoys—she wasn't one for the theatrical. Tiny beads of sweat broke out on his lip as he reread the note. If only he knew where she was, he could help her.
A nervous giggle erupted as he recalled how she had been the one to rescue him that morning. It certainly seemed he required her help instead of the other way around. She’d proved more than capable of looking after herself. He sat, staring at the note. What choice was there other than to comply and follow her instructions? He had no idea where to even start looking for her.
Suddenly conscious he might have been followed to the hotel he grabbed the bag and disappeared into the nearest cubicle. It took barely two minutes to change into the tracksuit. He fumbled nervously with the wig deciding it might be better to adjust it in front of a mirror. Although he had been paying attention to anyone who might have walked into the changing rooms, he cautiously opened the cubicle door and briefly popped his head out to make sure he was still alone. He was and quickly moved across the floor to the mirror.
The odd colored wig with matching strip of hair on his lip and brown sunglasses made him look like a Vegas Elton John impersonator. All he needed was a gold earring dangling from his ear, he thought while he inspected the final product in the mirror.
Behind him, the door to the changing room opened to one of the cleaning staff, and he hurriedly snatched up the bag and headed to the parking garage.
Several vehicles were parked in front of him when the elevator doors opened into the basement parking. He looked at the key in his hand. He was looking for a Mercedes. His eyes skimmed over the pool of luxury cars, and he pressed down on the remote button. A double bleep accompanied by a quick show of spotlights drew his attention to a bay on his right.
"That was easy,” he mumbled, making his way to the car.
It was eerily quiet. Sam wasn't one to scare in these situations, but given the circumstances, his nerves were on edge. Relieved when he reached the car, he sank into the leather seats behind the steering wheel and locked the doors. His eyes caught the written Post-it stuck on the rear-view mirror, which simply read glove box. He flipped the glove compartment open to reveal a 9mm pistol. The mustache scratched against his cheeks when the corners of his mouth curled up. How typical for Alex to have all the angles covered.
It was already dark when Sam arrived at his parents’ seaside cottage on the south-east England coast. The bungalow sat on the water's edge and was reasonably secluded. He knew no one had followed him, but he was cautious and paused next to the car, peering out into the darkness. Everything was deathly silent.
As always, the spare key lay in its usual spot hidden under his mother's favorite pot plant around the back of the house. Any other time of the year his parents would have been at the cottage, but as it happened, they were in the throes of celebrating their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary on a Caribbean cruise ship. Inside, the house was quiet. The full moon still lay low over the ocean's horizon and shone its bright light into the open-plan sitting room. He left the lights’ main switch off. Just in case. But it became evident very soon after that he was there on his own and there was no indication that Alex had been to the cottage at all. The thought of not knowing where she was or what trouble she was in left him anxiously pacing the front porch until well into the night.
He eventually dozed off in his father's recliner that stood in the small den that had spectacular views across the ocean. In the deep hours of the night, something woke him. Sure he heard a noise coming from the kitchen door behind him, he sat quietly listening. There it was again. Someone had entered the house. His hand tightened around the gun's handle that he had fallen asleep with and now lay in his lap. Sam listened as the floorboards creaked under the intruder's feet when he walked through the kitchen behind him.
Sam's temples throbbed under his pulsing heartbeat. His hand felt clammy against the pistol's stippled grip. With his other hand, he slowly stretched out to the nearby lamp, deciding he would surprise the prowler. Conscious of the intruder's whereabouts behind him, Sam readied himself. His stomach sank to his feet when he suddenly realized he hadn't switched on the electricity. But he quickly moved on to a plan B and quietly slid off the chair and onto the floor, hiding himself behind the recliner. The moonlight narrowly missed the chair, concealing Sam's hiding spot. When he cautiously popped his head out in an attempt to spot his visitor, there was no one there. A shred of doubt washe
d over him, but he quickly dismissed it when he heard the floorboards creaking in the bedroom. He straightened up and held the gun firmly out in front of his face.
His eyes searched the dark corners of the sitting room and then, he stealthily moved toward the corridor, careful not to trigger the squeaking floorboards under his feet. With his index finger barely touching the trigger, he lay his body back against the sitting room wall at the start of the corridor. He'd wait it out for the uninvited guest to come back down the passage and then surprise him from behind.
He waited, preparing himself for the possibility that it might be more than one intruder. It wasn't uncommon for burglars to prowl the small seaside village during the offseason. Most of the properties stood vacant this time of year.
The wooden floors warned him of the burglar's approach. Sam's arms and shoulders tensed up and he gripped the gun tighter. His reflexes kicked into high gear the moment he spotted a man wearing a dark hoodie moving past him. But the burglar was one up on Sam and instantly grabbed him by the arm and flung him forward over his shoulder, slamming Sam down on his back at his visitor's feet. The 9mm slid noisily across the floor and came to a halt against the kitchen island.
Determined to apprehend the intruder, Sam kicked the guy's feet out from under him which landed him face down onto the floor, affording Sam enough time to jump to his feet. Ready to throw the first punch, Sam took his boxing stance as the burglar followed suit.
At a good head and shoulders taller than his intruder Sam shouted, "Give it up, mate! There's nothing to steal here."
The burglar dropped his fists.
"Sam? It's me, Alex," she pushed her jacket’s hood back.
"Alex? What are you doing sneaking up on me like that?"
"I might as well ask you the same thing, Sam. You could've shot and killed me!"
"Well, you did leave me the gun, and you did tell me to meet you here. Where have you been? I've been worried sick.” He pulled her into his arms. "Are you okay?”
"I'm fine. What do you mean I told you to meet me here?"
"The note, the ridiculous disguise, the rental at the hotel."
Sam paused when the moon shone across her stunned face. "Wait, you don't know what I'm talking about, do you? I don't understand Alex. Someone slipped me a key to a locker in the Hilton which had a bag with a disguise and a note from you saying I should meet you here."
"I didn't send you a note, Sam. It wasn't me. I received one too, simply telling me to come here and to wait for further instructions."
Alex started pacing, biting her thumb as she often still did.
"Well, then who did? Alex, what on earth is going on? What's with all this secrecy? Who's after you?"
Chapter Five
"I have no idea, Sam. I've been trying to figure it out myself."
It was Sam's turn to pace the room.
"Why don't you start from the beginning, Alex? Whoever set this up did their homework. How else would they know to send us here? Better yet, why? We're almost two hours out of London, and why involve me now? I mean, it's not like we work together anymore."
Alex walked out onto the deck overlooking the ocean, desperate for the fresh night air to clear her mind that was now racing with questions.
"I don't know Sam. I'm not sure you were supposed to even be involved—at least not by whoever's been sending me these messages."
"What messages?"
Alex sighed, reasoning that it was probably unavoidable not to let Sam in on everything at this stage.
"It started about a month ago. I received an anonymous letter through the letterbox at my apartment. It stated only my name. No return address, no sender's details, nothing. Just a plain typed up envelope with the letter inside."
"Go on."
"He asked for my help. Said I was the only one he could turn to, and that he'd guide me through the entire process. He'd protect me but said that I couldn't tell anyone. I had to burn the letter and wait for further instructions."
"Help with what? Protect from whom?"
"I have no idea!" she blurted out with a combination of fear and frustration in her voice. "At first I didn't make anything of it. I thought it was just a prank by those silly teenagers next door. But then a couple of days later I got the bag with guns, money and counterfeit passports for both of us. Then I came home one day and, out of thin air the balcony with instructions on how to escape through it had mysteriously attached itself to the wall outside my window. A week later, someone slipped the next letter under my door at the office."
"Did you manage to see who delivered it?"
"I got to the door too late."
"What did it say?"
"Nothing, there was no note, just a newspaper cutting dated June 9, 1795."
"1795! You mean to say it was an original newspaper clipping over two hundred years old! Saying what?"
"I know. I was pretty excited to tell you the truth. And it was in pristine condition—written by one of the French news agencies back then. The word usage was a bit archaic, so I had to call in a favor to get it translated. Anyway, it was a news report on the death of King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette's son, Louis Charles de France."
"Wait, the Marie Antoinette who was beheaded in the French Revolution."
“The one and only."
"I didn't know they had a son."
"I didn't either, but there it was—black on pale yellow complete with a sketch of his face and everything. It said he was only ten years old and that he had died from tuberculosis."
"Okay, so what were you supposed to do with that information?"
"I don't know. The article went on to say that, because of the boy's death, the monarchy had been destroyed, thereby officially declaring France a republic."
"So nothing we don't know already. What's so significant about that? They had a son, and he died. So what? They all died. France was in chaos, and Europe was at war."
"That's what I had thought too, but then I did some research. Several theories claim that, in reality, King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette were beheaded to bring down the monarchy; that it was some plot against France and not because the people accused him of treason and that she lived a wealthy life while the rest of France starved to death. That was just a smokescreen to keep the people happy. An excuse to execute them. A group of historian theorists all believe that somebody had intentionally killed them off, targeted on purpose with the sole intent of doing away with the monarchy so France could become a republic: liberty, equality, fraternity, all that stuff."
"Yes, and all it meant was that their son inherited the crown after they died. Then he died of TB taking the monarchy with him, and the war carried on. The end and the rest is history."
"I guess that's what everyone thinks happened and maybe it's still true. Heck, until I received this a couple of days ago, I would have agreed."
Alex took a prepaid mobile phone from her bag and opened it up to a photo.
Sam frowned. "Is that what I think it is?"
"I have no idea what it is. I was hoping you'd know," she said, chewing at the dead skin on the side of her thumbnail.
Sam grinned from ear to ear. "Glad to know I'm still useful after that Mission Impossible stuff you pulled on me yesterday. Here I am under the impression that you need my help, meanwhile…"
"Focus, Sam. I can't get into that right now. What are we looking at here?"
Sam moved his fingers across the mobile's screen, zooming in on the photo of a dark brown leather-like object in a glass jar.
"Yep, it looks like a heart to me."
"A heart? As in a human heart? Are you sure?"
"I might have turned archaeologist, but I still have my medical degree, my love. Yes, it's a heart. Fossilized but very much a human heart nonetheless."
Alex slumped into one of the deckchairs and stared out to where the moon's light illuminated the ocean in front of them.
"Was there a message that came with the picture?" Sam asked as he sat down nex
t to her. He could see she was trying her level best to piece the puzzle together.
She shook her head.
"What do you think the heart has to do with the revolution and the boy's death?" Sam interrupted her thoughts.
"I'm not entirely sure. There is some speculation that the boy never died and that no one ever saw his body or knows where they buried him."
"They used to burn the corpses back then—to stop diseases from spreading. That's probably precisely what they did since the lad died of tuberculosis."
"Probably, but I also found out that for decades now several people have stepped forward professing to be descendants of the Dauphin; wanting to claim their inheritance. Of course, that meant that they believed the boy never died and supposedly lived to have children."
"The Dauphin. Was that a pet name?"
"It was the French title given to a future king. You should really brush up on your history."
"I have you to fill in the blanks for me, sweetheart. Bottom line is it might just be another nutcase thinking he's the little guy's offspring and now wants to use you to claim his fortune."
"Then whose heart is inside this glass jar? What is it supposed to mean? What does any of this have to do with my torture, huh? Makes no sense."
The pair silently stared out across the ocean. Each was trying to work out the enigma on their own.
It was Alex who eventually spoke again. "Do you think this heart was the boy's?"
"I'm not sure it would have been possible to keep it so well preserved for over two centuries, but you never know. Perhaps if the person knew what he was doing, but if it is his heart, what would Mr. Anonymous need you for? All it does is prove all these nutcases aren't his descendants and that the history books were right."
Alex turned and faced Sam. Fear lay shallow in her tired eyes. "What if the heart in the jar is meant to be a warning to me? You know, that they'll cut my heart out or something."
The Dauphin Deception Page 4