The Lost Key

by Catherine Coulter

  Sophie was tended to, Adam had been rescued and brought to them, Elise arrested. They did a quick debrief with Commander Dendritte. When Mike’s stomach growled loudly, the commander grinned and suggested they eat something while she started on the mountain of paperwork.

  Over freshly baked croissants and hot café au lait, they talked. When Nicholas told Adam that not only Havelock was dead, but also März, Adam whooped and gave Nicholas a high five.

  Then Sophie and Adam talked about Ansonia and Josef and their son Leo. Sophie said, “I even owe my affinity for languages to Ansonia.”

  Mike raised her cup. “Here’s to the direct descendants of the Rothschilds.”

  Sophie raised hers as well. “Now Adam and I will do our share so there will be more descendants for the next hundred years. May Ansonia and Josef never be forgotten.”

  They clicked cups. Mike looked back and forth between brother and sister. “Amazing. All of it is absolutely amazing.”

  Adam said, “You’re pretty amazing, sis. Look at you, you destroyed Havelock. You saved the Order. Not to mention the world.” He paused for a moment. “I wish I could have seen him.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t, Adam. He looked like a monster out of a horror movie.”

  Adam looked over his shoulder, then leaned close across the table and whispered, “Did you get the weapon?”

  Sophie didn’t say a word.

  Nicholas fiddled with his spoon a moment, reached over and wiped a spot of foam from Mike’s chin. “You needn’t ever worry about the weapon again, Adam. It’s been taken care of. Something that powerful, that deadly, no person, no government should ever have control of it. I’ve destroyed Curie’s notebook and Havelock’s files.”

  Mike said, “For now, Havelock’s company’s been closed down. All the technology he’s discovered—it needs someone who isn’t mad as a hatter to guide it properly, to see it’s used for good.”

  Sophie said, “We can only pray there’s not another mad genius like Havelock to resurrect it all again.”

  Mike thanked the good Lord above Dendritte hadn’t known what Havelock had been after in Curie’s lab. If she’d known about the MNW, there’d have been hell to pay. She could hear the howls from French government loud in her head.

  Nicholas said, “I identified the man from Havelock’s files, code name Mr. Z. He was Mr. Stanford’s secretary, Trevor Wetherby, and he was the one who killed him. He was working for Weston, of course. Word leaked late last night that the inquest found Stanford’s death was murder. As you can imagine, the media is having a field day with this. Who knows where it will head?”

  Sophie asked, “What happens to Adam?”

  Nicholas sat back in his chair, his hands steepled in front of him. “I suppose it depends on Adam.”

  Nineteen, and the kid was already surpassing Nicholas’s own skills. It felt strange, he had to admit.

  “I’m willing to do whatever you want, sir.”

  “Are you? You’re willing to go to jail? Because that’s where you belong.”

  Adam’s face fell. Mike kicked Nicholas in the ankle under the table. “Quit torturing him, it’s not nice.”

  Nicholas said, “All right, so we’ll make a deal. But Adam, there will be some jail time, no way around that. You’ve hacked too many sensitive agencies, stepped on a lot of very big toes, thumbed your nose at too many important people. But if you’re willing to work with me, to tell me everything you’ve done, and how you did it—we may be able to get your jail time reduced.”

  Adam looked appalled. “Are you saying I’d have to work for the Man?”

  “Forever, probably,” Nicholas said, and felt ancient. “Don’t look like you’re going to throw up. Get used to it. We need minds like yours. So if you’re willing to cooperate, we could plead you out as a misdemeanor, and you’ll be out in well under a year.

  “Ah, I see Commander Dendritte waving to us. I believe she wants to speak more with you and Sophie, probably more grilling for Mike and me as well. Then it’s back to New York.”

  “And then? I know, I know, after the slammer, it’s the Man. Okay, I can do that.” He flashed a big smile. “Within reason, of course.” Nicholas paid for breakfast and they went to see Commander Dendritte. They made a date to come speak to the higher-ups in the Parisian Sûreté. Mike and Nicholas watched brother and sister follow the commander, Adam’s arm slung around Sophie’s shoulders. He turned and mouthed Thank you to Nicholas and gave him a thumbs-up.

  Nicholas smiled down at Mike. “They’ll both be okay now.”

  “Now that I’ve had sustenance, I need sleep, at least until we have to report in for more talk, talk, talk.”

  “I do as well.”

  Mike said, “And then we debrief for Zachery, and, and, and—”

  Nicholas took her hand. “All of that, but sleep first. Where shall we go?”

  “I was thinking of a little pension, maybe a bit on the seedy side, with no hot water—”

  He laughed. “Do you think instead you could put up with a shabby two-bedroom suite at the Ritz?”

  She slowly nodded. “Well, if you insist. I remember I liked that place okay—especially the soft bed.”

  91

  Early the next morning they were eating breakfast and watching the continuing media frenzy about Alfie Stanford’s and Oliver Leyland’s murders on the BBC when Mike’s cell rang.

  “It’s Zachery.”

  Nicholas groaned. “I knew he’d have more questions, but now? It’s midnight in New York. Doesn’t the man sleep?”

  “He probably wants us to get ourselves back to New York today. Hello, sir. It’s a lovely midnight in New York, right?”

  “No, it’s raining. Listen, you two,” Zachery said. “As you know, the world press is going nuts with all that’s happened. But since that isn’t your problem you will simply say to anyone who asks that you have absolutely no comment.”

  Mike met Nicholas’s eye. “Yes, sir, we know nothing at all.”

  “Good. Now, I have to tell you there is still no sign of Edward Weston. He appears to have disappeared off the face of the earth. Our agencies are beginning to believe Havelock killed him and buried him deep. No one knows.”

  Nicholas wished it were true, but he didn’t believe it. “No, sir, I know to my boots he’s out there somewhere. And he’s got money, from where, I don’t know, but he’s waiting, that’s all.”

  “Well, perhaps you’re right. You’ll be pleased to know you have three governments who are very happy with you right now. And one who is rather peeved.”

  “The Germans?” Nicholas asked.

  “How’d you guess? They’re claiming the gold belonged to Kaiser Wilhelm and want it back. I hear they’re cheering in Scotland, claiming all that gold belongs to them, right of salvage.”

  Nicholas said, “Well, it’s going to cost big bucks to clean up the pollution caused by Havelock’s blowing up the Gravitania.”

  “I haven’t heard Scotland use that argument yet, they’ve all still got golden bars before their eyes. In any case, it’s not your problem.”

  Nicholas said, “Oh, yes, have you seen to Adam Pearce?”

  “Yes. He’s agreed to our terms, so all is good in nerd land. Well done, you two. Both of you have done a wonderful job. You and Mike get back here pronto. The director wants to know what exactly happened to his plane.”

  Nicholas said, “Does that mean no SIRT review?”

  Zachery laughed. “No, there will still be an inquiry, for you both, but I’m sure we’ll find a way to make it as painless as possible.” Zachery laughed again. “When you save the world, those things happen.”

  “We’ll catch a plane this afternoon. Any chance of a ride home?”

  “After what you two managed to do to the director’s plane? It’s Air France for you. Enjoy the flight.”
/>   When Nicholas hung up, Mike said, “It was a good try.”

  “Perhaps I’ll give Penderley a call. We didn’t bung up the prime minister’s plane.”

  “What, you’re too good to fly commercial now?”

  He grinned back at her. “I really don’t care what we fly, I only want to go home.”

  And she thought, New York is home. She rose and stretched. “Time to pack my pathetic go bag.” She leaned down, laid her palm against his cheek, something Nicholas was getting used to, and quite liked. “No stitches to pull this time. That’s good.”

  His go bag was sitting beside the door of the suite. He heard her bedroom door shut. He had one more call to make.

  His father answered on the first ring, asked immediately, “Are you all right?”

  “I am.”

  There was a slight pause, then, “What’s wrong, Nicholas?”

  How did a parent always know? “Dad, what is your role in the Highest Order?”

  “You know this isn’t a conversation to be had over the phone.”

  “I need to know. Please, don’t put me off. Tell me.”

  “All right. Alfie named me to replace him. It was in his will, a private one, meant for me and the other members of the Order. And I’ve accepted. We’ve lost so many people, and several more are corrupt. I will see to it they are rousted, and the Order’s ranks are filled with men and women who want the best for their countries, who won’t pervert the power given them by wealth and privilege and society.”

  “In that case, Dad, I have something for you, something I know the Order didn’t ever want found because no person or government should ever have this sort of power.”

  Harry sucked in a breath. “I will send someone for it immediately. As far as the world is concerned, no one will ever know it even existed. Now that you’ve destroyed Havelock, the Order can refocus. Do what’s right for the world. When it’s time, Nicholas, I trust I’ll be able to count on you to do the same.”

  “Me?”

  “It is a hereditary organization, when possible. Alfie’s eldest grandson will be stepping in when he’s finished his tour of duty. When it is my turn to leave the group, you will take my place.”

  Him, part of the Highest Order? “But I have no influence.”

  Harry Drummond laughed. “You have more than you know, Nicholas. More than you know.”

  EPILOGUE

  Two weeks later

  New York

  Alex Shepherd’s shoulder still pulled and ached. It would be another two weeks, the surgeon told him, before he could consider lifting even a three-pound weight. But he was here, at last, in New York, resigned from MI5, and now exactly where he wanted to be, in Sophie Pearce’s living room. Today was the reading of her father’s will and she wanted him there.

  She appeared in the doorway, standing straight once more, her back mostly healed now. She looked absolutely beautiful, her dark hair loose around her face, and she wore not a black dress, but a soft yellow, her father’s favorite color. Alex walked to her, lightly took her arms in his hands, and told her the news. “The Order has asked me to replace your father as the Messenger. I accepted the offer and resigned from MI Five. My cover remains the same. A full-time barkeep and restaurant owner. What do you think?”

  She cocked her head to one side and considered. “I think you need a new chef. I really didn’t like my spaghetti the last time I ate there.” And she leaned up and kissed him, whispered in his ear, “Yes, oh, yes, it’s perfect. Dad would have been so pleased.”

  They stood awkwardly facing each other, since he was afraid to put his arms around her still-tender back and she was afraid to hug him because of his shoulder. He kissed her again, and sighed. “Actually, it was Agent Drummond’s father, Harry, now the head of the Order, who asked me to continue in your father’s place. Isn’t it a small world?”

  “If his father hasn’t already told him, you can tell Nicholas today at the reading. I asked both him and Mike Caine to be there. It seemed only right since they—”

  “Yes, since they went through everything with us.”

  As they walked out of Sophie’s building into an incredible June day, Sophie saw the forty-two-point headline of the New York Post: Treasure in the Tunnels—the True Story.

  “Another true story,” Alex said, and they simply shook their heads. Both knew the media would continue having a field day for months to come. The layer of tunnels beneath the tunnels of the catacombs had been world news, and tomb raiders and scientists and archaeologists and sociologists alike were flocking to the Paris underground to uncover the secrets of Les Quatre Chambres—the Four Chambers. The truth was that the other three doors hadn’t been locked and they’d all been empty, except for the very small antique ruby ring found under a clot of dirt in a corner, eighteenth-century, given the style of the ring. No one knew who it might belong to.

  Once in a taxi, Sophie said, “How I wish Adam could be with us. They’re doing a video feed from the prison.”

  Alex took her hand, rubbed his fingers over her knuckles. “Last time I spoke to Drummond, he said the prosecutor was recommending only six months.” He grinned at her.

  Sophie laughed. “And then when he comes out of the slammer, he works for the Man. He’ll still be only nineteen when he gets out.”

  The taxi pulled up five minutes late to the Elcott Building on Seventy-first Street. The building was old, but the plumbing and wiring had been updated and it was an excellent address. The sixteenth floor was a modern oasis with beautiful high ceilings and molding painted in soft cream. They were shown into a large conference room, a long glass table running along the center, a dozen black leather chairs cozied close. On the mahogany sideboard were carafes of coffee and tea.

  Sophie accepted a cup of coffee, went to the windows, stared out over Central Park, a stunning sight, green and gold and blue skies. It was a perfect early-June day. Alex joined her. She said, “Dad wanted his ashes spread over Loch Eriboll. Adam will go with me once he’s free. I couldn’t bear to do it alone.”

  Alex said, “All three of us will go.”

  They turned from the window when Nicholas Drummond and Mike Caine arrived, both looking vital, in charge of their world, a handsome couple. No, not couple, Sophie thought, they were partners, FBI agents. Still—Sophie hadn’t seen them since they’d returned to the States, on the prime minister of England’s jet, Alex had told her, and how had they managed that?

  Mike joined Sophie at the window. “I won’t hug you, not yet. How are you, Sophie?”

  “I’m good,” she said, then sighed. “It’s a difficult day. But Alex is here and you’re here and we’ll soon see Adam on video.”

  Mike touched her on the shoulder. “I know I’ve said this probably half a dozen times before, Sophie, but what you went through, it was tough, but you did it, saved all of us from Havelock.”

  “The nightmares,” Sophie said, never looking away from the view, “the nightmares hurt more than my back ever did.” She raised her hand. There was a small scar where the drop of muriatic acid had touched her skin. “I didn’t really believe what I’d read about muriatic acid, but it was true. His face melted off his bones. I see his face in my dreams, hear his screams.”

  Mike was silent a moment. “As you know, Nicholas and I spent only the one night in Paris. I woke up to hear his yells from the other room. He was dreaming about that fight with März in Loch Eriboll. He never told me exactly what happened, but I know it was bad, and it was close.” Mike smiled. “The nightmares will go away, Sophie. What’s important is you’re the one who saved us all. You’re the heroine. That’s what I told Nicholas as well—you won, he won, we all won.”

  Sophie drew a deep breath. Mike was right. It was over, they’d won. But she didn’t mention that her other nightmare was when she believed Alex Shepherd was dead. Nor did she mention the raw ache in her c
hest whenever she thought of her father.

  An assistant came in to set up the video feed with Adam, followed by Jonathan Pearce’s longtime friend and lawyer, Franklin Jones.

  “He looks happy,” Sophie said, when Adam came on.

  He was going to serve six months in a minimum-security prison, fixing the prison’s computer system, and, he’d told her, the warden wasn’t a bad guy at all. And when he came out he was going to be a part-time consultant for the FBI while he finished college, and then what? Who knew?

  Franklin Jones cleared his throat, nodded to Adam. “Jonathan’s will is straightforward. All his property is split evenly between his two children, you and Adam. Sophie, you are the executrix. You are responsible for his far-reaching financial holdings, he always wanted you to keep Ariston’s alive.” He paused a moment, looked over at her. “Do you plan to do this, keep Ariston’s thriving?”

  “Yes,” she said. “I will hire a manager, but both Alex and I will keep it flourishing.”

  Franklin Jones nodded. “Excellent. Your father would be very pleased. Now, I have a letter to you and Adam from your father.” He handed her a thick envelope. “Jonathan wrote this last year, and had it attached to his will. There is also another folded paper that is much older. I do not know who wrote it or its contents. Would you be so kind as to read both aloud? As per your father’s instructions, I will excuse myself for a moment.”

  Jones left the conference room and Sophie opened the letter from her father first.

  Dear Sophie and Adam,

  If you are reading this letter, it means I am gone, and I’ll never again be able to tell you again how much I have loved you both from the moment I felt you in your mother’s womb.

  Sophie paused a moment, choked down the tears, and cleared her throat.

  Adam, I had once believed you would replace me as the Order’s Messenger, but I’ve realized for several years now your path will be a very different one. Whatever you choose to do, do it well and always act for good. I imagine that eventually it is Alex who will follow me as the Messenger, he has the skills, the determination, plus he’s a book lover.