The Lost Key

by Catherine Coulter

  “Who was the diplomat?”

  “Well, he’s dead now. Callum Chatterton was his name. They were here to speak at the UN. He worked as a researcher in the office of Stuart Niles.”

  Nicholas whistled. “Stuart Niles is now a leading member of Parliament, and would have your heads if he knew his people had been spied upon.”

  “But he didn’t know. This is from the dossier: ‘The Highest Order was formed in 1714 before the death of Queen Anne by a small group of powerful Englishmen and Germans who did not want to see the son of the deposed James the Second make a grab for the crown when the crown should rightfully go to the Hanoverians because of the standing law forbidding Catholics to rule England, thus taking away the risk that England would again be plunged into bloody religious persecution. Through their efforts, the Jacobites were defeated in the rebellion of 1715 and the Hanoverian George the First was crowned king of England.

  ‘The Highest Order’s goal immediately shifted to stand as protectors of England’s supremacy. They were successful in maintaining England’s stability during all the revolutionary unrest throughout Europe in the mid–nineteenth century, an extraordinary accomplishment. They were succeeding admirably until the onset of World War One, which they fought to prevent but failed due to the extreme fanaticism of Kaiser Wilhelm the Second.

  ‘After the Great War, the group expanded to include members from America, and in the seventies and eighties, they added Israel, representatives from the Middle East, India, Russia, and China.

  ‘The members themselves are in positions of power in their respective countries, and are incredibly wealthy. They quietly effect change in their individual countries by open communication with other Order members, and exacting influence and pressure in the appropriate quarters.

  ‘Today, the Highest Order remains a small but powerful multinational group of fifteen high-powered men whose primary goal is to maintain the safety and security of the world by helping countries avoid wars and other destabilizing events.

  ‘In the beginning of the twenty-first century, however, it became obvious that a new element began to make inroads into the Order. Questionable actions were taken, deals were struck with questionable allies. They should be watched to ensure they don’t use their power to subvert the peaceful objectives of the Order.’”

  She looked up. “They sound like something like the Trilateral Commission.”

  He nodded. “And different as well, since the Trilateral Commission is a more public group and their actions are both well documented and incredibly controversial.”

  Mike was nodding. “But like this Highest Order, the commission is also a consortium of influential leaders who work together to help the world stay safe.

  “Nicholas, the Trilateral Commission doesn’t date back three hundred years, they’re newbies. Why do I have the feeling we haven’t even scratched the surface of what the Highest Order is up to?”

  He said, “Because they’re supposed to be working for good, and they have someone like Manfred Havelock involved with them?”

  “Exactly. You don’t seem terribly surprised by this.”

  “I don’t? I am, I assure you.”

  “Come on, Nicholas. I can see data running across that brain of yours like a stock ticker on crack. What’s going on?”

  He focused on her. “Very well, it was something my father said when I called to talk to him about Alfie Stanford’s death. He said if Alfie’s death was murder, and had been committed from inside Downing Street, as we suspect it must have, it was a bigger situation than anyone could imagine. Then he steered me away, told me the Brits had it well in hand, and to stop thinking about it.” He turned to stare out the window, then he pushed the green button. The pilot’s disembodied voice came through the air.

  “Yes?”

  “I need to make a call. A private call. Will our security measures do an appropriate job scrambling the signal?”

  “Absolutely. Use the phone in the arm. Hit nine. That will fully encrypt the call. Thanks for letting me know, it makes my instruments squirrelly while you’re connecting. By the way, we are now under two hours from landing.” He snapped off the speaker.

  Mike looked at her watch. It was only 8:00 a.m. “He is breaking airspeed records. It’s one p.m. London time. We’ll be there by three o’clock, and we should have plenty of daylight to get north to the loch. Assuming they haven’t left without us. Assuming Adam has given them the exact coordinates.”

  He reached into the arm and pulled out the secure phone. “I’ll bet anything he hasn’t.”

  “Who are you calling?”

  “The one person who might have some insight into what’s really going on here.” The phone clicked a few times, then he heard the familiar tinny double ring. He nodded to Mike. “I’m calling my dad.”

  53

  North of London

  12:30 p.m.

  Could she trust Alex? Even though he’d assured her the Order had only her best interest at heart, Sophie simply didn’t know. Her father was dead. What was the Order doing about that? And the murder of Alfie Stanford? If they did want her safe, why hadn’t they simply told her, rather than sending Alex Grossman—no, Shepherd—to kidnap her?

  Alex was driving a Vauxhall that waited for them in the airport’s short-term car park. Driving in downtown London was craziness, but he expertly maneuvered in and out of traffic until they hit the M40 and it became less populated, the city streets giving way to green fields.

  Near High Wycombe, he pulled to the side of the road and put the car in park. He looked at her.

  “Why are we stopping?”

  “I’m going to give you a choice.”

  “About what?”

  He dug in his pocket and pulled out a syringe.

  “Oh, no, don’t you even think about it, Alex whatever your name is. You try to stick me with another needle, it will be the last move you make.”

  He reached into the bag he had in the backseat and pulled out a length of black fabric. “This is your choice, the needle or a hood.”

  “A hood? Like terrorists use on people they’re going to behead? Are you nuts?” She yanked at the car handle, only to find it locked. By him. To keep her a prisoner. She didn’t look at him, she was too angry.

  “Either I can knock you out again or you can put the hood over your head. One or the other. No other choices.”

  She didn’t know much about guns, but she wished she had one right now. She held out her hand for the black hood. “And you expect me to trust you? Why should I believe you won’t kill me when you find Adam?”

  He crossed his hands over his heart. “I swear to you, Sophie, I would never hurt you. You may not believe me, but I promise I’ll keep you safe, or die trying. Now, would you please put the hood over your head so we can get this over with?”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Someplace safe.”

  She searched his eyes, but he said nothing more. “How long?”

  “Fifteen minutes, tops. And please lie down in the backseat. Wouldn’t do to have people staring as I drive past with a hooded woman in my front seat.”

  He grinned and she wanted to punch him. No choice. She climbed into the back and lay down. She pulled the hood over her head. Utter and complete black. She hated it. “Fine. Go.”

  “Don’t even consider peeking. If you fiddle with the hood, I’ll have to stick you with the needle.”

  He pulled back onto the road.

  Sophie hated this, hated the darkness, the suffocating feeling of the thick black material. She couldn’t breathe properly, started to raise the bottom edge so she could get a bit of air.

  “Sophie, don’t.”

  Of course he was watching. “I can’t breathe.”

  “Not long now.”

  Sophie had a general idea where they were. Now she had to co
ncentrate on which direction the car moved, the turns, anything.

  She counted in her head, left, left again, then a tight turn right, straight. She guessed they’d entered some sort of drive. Nearly there. Her heart was thudding. She was afraid, very afraid.

  “Can I take the hood off?”

  “You’ll have to keep it on until you’re in your room. You must be starved. I’ll make sure you’re given food and drink. Please, Sophie, don’t worry, we only want to keep you safe. I’ll be nearby.”

  The car stopped and Alex helped her out. She could make out no light, nothing. She began to feel claustrophobic. He heard her breathing quicken. “Relax. Not long now. Here’s the steps.”

  She stumbled once, but he steadied her. She listened, but heard nothing to give her a clue where they were.

  Up three flights of stairs, he walked her down a long hallway, then stopped. “This is your room. One second more.”

  She heard him open the door. Once they were inside, he pulled the hood off. He actually ran his fingers through her hair before she jerked away.

  He stood by the door and watched her look about the room. Dark walnut canopied bed, yellow-and-white striped wallpaper. It was beautifully appointed. She turned back to him. “What happens now?”

  “I’ll be back soon.”

  She grabbed his arm. “Don’t you dare leave me here, you bastard.”

  He pulled away her hand, squeezed it. “Sophie, you’ll be fine. Try to relax. I’m going to send someone up with food and tea.”

  When the door closed behind him, she heard the sound of a key turning.

  She wasn’t meant to be kept safe. She was a prisoner, pure and simple. He’d locked her in. He’d lied. She shouldn’t have pulled the hood over her head, she should have forced him to try to stick that needle in her, and she’d have fought him, maybe hurt him badly. But no, she’d trusted him, taken the easy way.

  She felt numb as she walked to the window. She had to keep it together, she had to stay calm and think.

  She was on an estate, and clearly the house was big. She looked out over a large expanse of gardens. She saw a fence running away from her, and a very long tree-lined graveled driveway. All she knew was she was north of London, in the country, locked in some rich person’s house.

  No phone, no computer, and no way to get out. The windows were locked. Even if she broke a window and shouted, who would hear her? She saw no one outside, not a single gardener to maintain those beautiful gardens.

  She was studying the ledge outside the window when someone knocked on the door. She heard the key turn, and the door opened. She ran into a young girl bringing in a tray. The tray went flying, scones and jam hit the carpet and the hot tea splattered both of them and the girl yelled, then ran.

  A chance. Sophie burst into the hallway. Not six feet away stood a large man. He wasted no time and was on her in an instant. “Get back in there, stupid bitch.” He grabbed her arm and pushed her back into the room. She stumbled against a wall as he slammed the door, locked it.

  He was armed, she’d seen the large gun at his belt. An armed guard, in the middle of nowhere.

  If Alex Shepherd had walked into the room at that moment, she would have tried to tear his throat out with her teeth.

  She was a prisoner, but Alex wasn’t. Even as she prayed, she knew this was not going to end well.

  54

  Over the Atlantic

  Harry Drummond answered the phone on the first ring. “Nicholas. Calling me twice in two days. If you keep this up I might think you’re doubting your decision to move to America.”

  “I’m glad you can still joke, Dad.” But he’d heard the tension in his father’s voice. Something was happening and his father knew what it was.

  Harry paused. “Is everything all right?”

  “No, I’m sorry to say it isn’t. I’m on a secure satphone on a plane on my way to London. I need you to be honest with me. I need you to tell me what’s going on over there.”

  “Nicholas, I told you we have Alfie’s murder well in hand. Why are you coming to London? You’re FBI now. You have no business here.”

  “On the contrary, I do. Which is why I’m calling, to tell you what’s bringing me to London with an official invitation from New Scotland Yard, as a matter of fact. A principal in my case was kidnapped and we know she’s been taken to England.” And he told his father all of it, including the break-in. “As if this weren’t enough, Dad, have you ever heard of a group in England called the Highest Order? Or simply the Order?”

  Absolute silence. “Dad? Are you still there?”

  “Where, exactly, did you hear the name Highest Order?”

  “So it does exist?”

  “The Order is a very secret organization, Nicholas. It’s not something bandied about in polite conversation. Where’d you see the name, Jonathan Pearce’s files?”

  “An old FBI dossier, actually.”

  Harry Drummond cursed.

  His father never cursed. “Dad, isn’t it time to tell me what’s going on over there? I’m coming. I’m going to be in the middle of it. Don’t make me come in blind. I’m on a line as secure as is humanly possible, and it’s scrambling from your end as well. We couldn’t be more private if we were sitting in the center of the labyrinth out back. So out with it. Please. Sir.”

  Harry said, “I must caution you, Nicholas, what I’m going to tell you, you must keep it between us. Do you agree?” He paused. “Of course I don’t want you blind, Nicholas.”

  “Yes, sir, of course I agree.”

  “Very well. The Order has been around hundreds of years. They’ve gone global now, and honestly, all I truly know for certain is it’s an organization of powerful men dedicated to keeping the world as safe as possible, which isn’t saying much, is it, given the violence in every part of the globe?”

  “Above the governments, above the people? How does that work?”

  “The Order has always worked for the common good. At first, admittedly, its purpose was to keep the English throne Protestant to avoid bloody war. It changed, of course, but still, the common good continued to benefit England only. That’s really all I can say, Nicholas. You have to trust me here, this isn’t the kind of conversation we want to be having on the phone, regardless of how secure it is.”

  “Dad, have you heard of a man named Manfred Havelock?”

  Dead-cold silence, then, his voice heavy, his father said, “I knew his father, Wolfgang. He passed away recently.”

  “I know that. I saw it when I was looking into Havelock the younger last night.”

  Now Nicholas heard urgency in his father’s voice. “May I ask why you were looking into Manfred Havelock?”

  “We believe he’s directly tied to the murder of Jonathan Pearce. We’ve also learned he’s been quietly gathering polonium from the black markets. The assassin he sent to kill Pearce had a brain implant which worked as a type of recording device. The man’s mad, it seems, a genius who’s toppled over the edge. We’re looking for him, beating all the bushes. His last known location was Berlin, but we believe he may be heading to Scotland. He’s looking for a submarine called Victoria, which went down in 1917.”

  “Nicholas.”

  Nicholas heard the alarm, the urgency in his father’s voice. “What is it?”

  “How far out are you?”

  “We should be on the ground in two hours. Dad, what’s going on?”

  “When you arrive, you need to see Oliver Leyland. Go directly to his home in Mayfair. Do not stop anywhere else. Do you understand?”

  “The head of the Bank of England? That Oliver Leyland?”

  “Yes. I will tell him you’re coming.”

  “Dad, what is going on?”

  Harry said, “Wolfgang Havelock was a member of the Order, too. High-ranking.”

  “Too?”
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  “Alfie Stanford, Nicholas. He was the head of the Highest Order, their leader for many years. And now Manfred Havelock’s been inducted. This is bad, very bad. Get to Leyland, Nicholas. He’ll tell you what’s happened. I do know the Order is under attack. Nicholas? Be careful, be very, very careful.”

  Harry hung up, and Nicholas stared at the phone. He didn’t like this, didn’t like it at all. Oliver Leyland, then. Very well.

  Mike was leaning toward him. “What in the world was all that?”

  Nicholas placed the phone back in the armrest. “All I’m sure of at the moment is that the first person we’re to see in London is the head of the Bank of England, Oliver Leyland,” and he told her what his father said.

  When he finished, she said slowly, “Alfie Stanford, Wolfgang Havelock, and Jonathan Pearce, all members of the Order, all murdered. I’d say they’re under attack.”

  “Yes, remember the diplomat’s dossier warned that the Order was changing, and not for the better. My father agrees. I think Alex Shepherd is now working for Havelock against the Order. That’s why he’s kidnapped Sophie, as leverage against Adam to get the final coordinates of the sub. I think it’s time we call Hamish Penderley, see if they’ve sussed out anything important.”

  But Mike wasn’t listening anymore. She was sifting through the files, tossing pages to find what she needed.

  “What are you doing?” Nicholas asked.

  “I saw something a few minutes before you called your dad. Give me a second, I’ll find it. Here it is. Now, it was reported that Wolfgang Havelock supposedly died of a stroke, following an aneurysm repair, right?”

  “That’s what Savich said. Why?”

  “His autopsy report is in here. Gray found it. I can’t believe I didn’t put it together sooner.”

  “Mike, take a breath and tell me what you’re thinking.”

  She shoved the paper at him. “Wolfgang Havelock didn’t have a repaired aneurysm. He had a brain implant. He had one of his son’s brain implants in his head.”