Walking into the main corridor, Dominic first looked to his left and then turned to his right. Ahead of him he could see through the windows the large green square of the inner court surrounded by the four sides of the palace building; at its centre a concrete memorial in the form of a column atop three raised hexagonal platforms. Upon the Doric column two lanterns, once gas powered but now electric, were placed.
A second glance to his left indicated that the palace was closed to visitors in that direction; a rope boundary blocked the path. These led to the Queen’s private chambers. The only way for visitors was via the corridor to his right, at the end of which was a door.
“Shall we,” suggested Dominic, taking Elspeth by the hand and leading her like an over-eager parent and their less-keen child.
Although The Daily Mail newspaper had noted month’s earlier that the diamond was going to be on display at Holyrood Palace, the actual diamond wasn’t to be found in any of the rooms open to the public within the Royal dwelling. Instead, it was on display within the Queen’s Gallery in a building adjacent to the entrance to the palace grounds, in a small room on the first floor, dedicated to its exhibition.
At the pay counter, Dominic helped himself to some leaflets and a colour guide and asked the cashier, a small dark-haired man wearing glasses and a Bluetooth headset: “Where will I find the big diamond?”
“It’s in a small room at the back of the main gallery,” he said. “You cannae miss it owing to the signs and the big security men hovering by the door.”
Dominic thanked the man as he paid his and Elspeth’s admission fee and then led Elspeth through to a large room where paintings were on display on the walls all around, and which he assumed was the main gallery. Paying little notice to the art, the former Director of Kaplan Ratcliff’s Security and Intelligence Division, albeit only for a very short period, strode through the hall directly for the small room in which he knew the precious stone would be found.
The Whisper of Persia, a large vivid yellow diamond, described within the guide brochure as ‘cushion shaped’ owing to its square cut and rounded corners, took pride of place upon a black velvet cushion (the same one that had been used the summer before when it had been stolen from the Masterpiece London Arts and Antiques Fair) within a large toughened glass case in the centre of the room. It was the only item on display.
Two brawny security men who likely moonlighted as nightclub doormen or Mr Universe competitors, floated around the room in close proximity, their eyes scrutinising everybody who stepped in to have a look or walked up to the exhibit, their poise alert for any trouble or suspicious behaviour that endangered the exhibit.
Another guard stood just outside the room’s door in the main gallery, equally big and just as ready to react were anything untoward to occur.
Dominic’s eyes surveyed the immediate surroundings. He shot a glance towards the doorway he’d just stepped through, noted the recess within the frame and the edge of a metal security door retracted above it. A look at the display case easily identified it as being constructed from toughened materials by the prism and magnification of the glass.
They’re not taking any chances this time, he thought.
“Wow! Is that the wee lass you’ve been makin’ me ears bleed over?” Elspeth said loudly. Her eyes grew wide in her head. “Makes the wee trin-ket you fest-ooned on meh look cheap...”
“It is cheap... by comparison,” replied Dominic. Although stolen, its intrinsic value was £7,500 − trifling against the diamond’s current insured value of nine million pounds. He moved steadily forward and was soon standing up close to the glass and peering in.
Alongside the stone pinned into the cushion was an information card which glowed under the bright halogen bulb built into the glass case. Dominic had read it before:
Very little is known about the origin of the Whisper of Persia; however it is thought to have once belonged to Cyrus the Great, founder of the Achaemenid Empire around 550BC. When he died in battle in 530BC, many of his treasures went missing, including a diamond matching the Whisper’s description. For a while, it was suggested the Whisper was the fabled Stone of Giramphiel owing to its unearthly appearance. In Arthurian legend, the stone was believed to be magical, granting the person who possessed it not only strength and bravery, but charm also. What is known about the Whisper of Persia is at 101.29-carats, it is one of the largest diamonds ever cut. It came into the possession of its current owner, the Viscount William Von Rothstainer, in 1988, who paid US $3,000,000 for it in a private sale from an anonymous proprietor.
Elspeth quickly scanned the information card, absorbing some of the facts detailed therein. “Hmpf,” she grunted, tearing her eyes away from the display and turning to Dominic standing next to her, still transfixed by the diamond on exhibition. “Yous not just interested cos it’s an expensive di’mond, is it? Yous b’lieve it somethin’ else...”
Dominic sighed. “If you knew what I believed, you’d think that I was stupid... or mad... and the look you’re giving me,” he playfully elbowed her, “almost confirms it,” he said.
One of the security guards glowered at them, a look of annoyance flashing across his face. Silently, he warned them to behave and walked casually around the display case to stand within a couple of feet of the two visitors.
Elspeth laced her arm around Dominic’s and pulled him reassuringly close. “I dinnae say that,” she said quietly. “Crazy, fo’ sure. Stupid... nah.” She turned back to the Whisper of Persia and drank in its beauty. “But,” she shrugged, “I can see why yous like it s’much.” The small ginger-haired woman looked back up to her companion. “Dom’nic,” she said seriously.
His eyes met hers.
“Yous DO know... nuttin good will come’ff havin’ t’is diamond.”
A guilty look flashed across Dominic’s face, like he was ashamed of how he felt, or that he had ever shared this secret with her. He was now starting to have regrets. He tore his eyes away from hers, his look falling upon the yellow diamond once again. “You’re probably right,” he conceded. “But in my heart... I feel it’s pull... it’s hard to explain. It’s like a... longing. Like it’s destiny.”
It is jus’ a stone, Dom’nic. The words were queued ready to speak, but by his expression, she thought better than to verbalise them. Instead, taking a long moment to form an alternative, all she could think of to say was:
“Maybe.”
Dominic did not notice the doubt in her voice.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Ryan
In a private office a fair walk down a series of corridors within the Norwich and Norfolk University hospital, Sophie and Emily sat ahead of a cluttered desk piled high with patient files and paperwork, the doctor who had called earlier on the phone was considering what to say next.
Staring past him, Sophie watched through the window as a flock of birds flew in a V in the distance. She wished she could be as free as them. Emily clutched her hand nervously.
The doctor cleared his throat. Unlike before when he was dressed in surgical scrubs, he was wearing a suit, shirt and tie combo; a pair of spectacles, slightly rectangular-framed, sat atop his nose. “Like I said on the phone,” he started, “we did all we could for your father. The operation to repair his heart went well, quite straightforward really, but there have been ‘other’ complications.”
“Is he going to die?” asked Sophie impassively.
The doctor smirked. “We all die,” he replied. Seeing his humour was inappropriate, he made himself look serious. “But, to answer the question you intended: no. He might,” he added, “wish that wasn’t the case. When I told you this morning we had removed the two bullets, we had failed to notice the small amount of damage sustained to Mr Barber’s spinal cord. Though slight, I’m afraid to say, it’s large enough to have caused irreparable damage to his central nervous s
ystem.”
“Yes, yes, you told me this on the phone. But WHAT are you saying?” Emily was growing frustrated with the man’s long-winded, softly-softly approach.
“Miss Porter, Ryan is now affected with something we call ‘quadriplegia’, which simply means he’s paralysed from the neck down.”
“Is it permanent?” asked Sophie.
The doctor tried to look sympathetic but floundered with his response. “That’s what irreparable damage means,” he said, slightly sarcastic.
Ryan was propped up in the hospital bed with a countless number of pillows placed behind him. He was awake and looked almost happy lying there as Sophie and Emily stepped into the room. An ECG monitor bleeped above the bed and various drips and leads were still pinned in or poked out from numerous points about his body, hidden beneath a crisp, white sheet that had been drawn up to just beneath the man’s neck.
“I bought you some grapes. And some kiwis,” said Emily distractedly, shocked at seeing the broken man lounged out in front of her. Bought from a convenience store en route, the offering sounded pitiful, cliché-like, and felt like a stupid joke in the grand scheme of things.
The lack of any movement by Ryan could easily have been translated as ingratitude to the unwise. The man was paralysed from the neck down.
“Sit down, please. Both of you.” Ryan barely moved his lips despite the quadriplegia not affecting his face muscles.
Emily looked for somewhere to place the fruit. To the left side of the bed was a large drugs’ cabinet (which was locked) atop which a vase had been placed with a bouquet of flowers; a large white envelope was secured beneath with Ryan’s name printed across it. Emily placed the fruit alongside it.
Together with Sophie, Emily did as demanded. They pulled up blue plastic chairs, the type that stacked easily and were often found in high schools and sat in silence.
“Forget about me for the time being. This...” he sighed, “... this doesn’t matter.” It sounded like a lie, his voice betraying his feelings. The fact that his life would never be the same DID matter, but for the moment the head of Emily’s SIS team didn’t want to dwell on it. There were more important things at stake. “Be so good as to bring me up to speed. Tell me everything that’s happened since...”
Since I was shot last night...
Sophie and Emily turned to each other, clarifying who was going to speak or seeking permission to take the lead. As always, Sophie gave Emily the stand. She was more a doer than a talker.
“I think you were supposed to have been drugged at the dinner last night, but you got in the way. Theo, his wife. Sophie, myself. The kids... we were all unconscious. Something had been put in our desserts to knock us out, something fast acting. When Sophie and I awoke, we found that you had been shot. Twice − though, from the looks of things, it appears you’d put up a struggle.”
“Yea, I remember,” confirmed Ryan. “I’d heard a noise whilst in the living room. When I came back, I found you − everybody actually − out cold. Instinctively, I knew what had happened.”
“Meredith, Stanley and Charlie are missing,” stated Sophie desperately, unrestrained.
“It looks like the whole thing was staged to kidnap Sophie’s siblings,” Emily finished for Sophie. “We searched the house after, but there was no sign of them, and no clues as to why they’ve been taken.”
Ryan sighed, disheartened.
“However, we’ve learnt that the kidnappers are Hector Degiorgio and Natasha Vincent, both are listed as current employees within Kaplan Ratcliff’s Intelligence Division, and both former military,” continued Emily.
“I know of the names,” said Ryan. “Field operatives. They took part in our mission in Nevada last year.”
“They were masquerading as caterers employed by Theo for his New Year’s Eve dinner, having stolen a catering van. They somehow intercepted Theo’s New Year’s Eve party order.”
“Kaplan Ratcliff... all along. Now it makes sense,” he said, cryptically.
Emily ignored Ryan and carried on. “Why Meredith and her brothers have been taken is anyone’s guess. So far, there have been no ransom demands or word from their captors. Our resources at MI6 − mainly Mac − have tracked the kidnapper’s van travelling north into Scotland, but the scent elaborately grew cold. We lost it on the M74, just past Paisley. So far, we’ve been unable to re-find it.”
Ryan sighed, though it sounded more like a wheeze. “I might’ve known she would pull a stunt like this.”
Sophie looked puzzled. If Emily was surprised she didn’t highlight it.
“What d’you mean?” asked Sophie.
“I’m guessing Emily never did tell you.” Ryan closed his eyes, as though pained by the information he now had to disclose. He considered for a moment how best to proceed.
How could he come clean without admitting that he was to blame?
In the end he decided to fess up and to hell with the consequences. “It started in Alamo, after you and Dominic liberated those ninety children... after you both decided to go against my orders to eliminate them. We needed to hide the kids somewhere, and it was clear from the offset that MI6 couldn’t be seen to have been involved.” A tickle in the back of his throat caused Ryan to start coughing. “Emily…” cough-cough, “can I trouble you,” cough, “for some water?”
“Sure.” Emily stood and reached over to a jug, pouring water into a plastic tumbler. She lifted it up to Ryan’s lips and gently tilted. He took some deep swallows, dribbling a little. Emily used a wad of tissues to mop the man’s chin dry.
“Thank you, dear,” he said. “Where was I? Oh yes. Sharing my concerns with Dominic,” he muttered to himself before going on: “The man quickly put forward an idea, it was quite simple really, and fantastic! Of course, I should’ve realised that he couldn’t be trusted, but at the time I had little option but to listen to him... and agree to his terms.”
“Go on,” urged Sophie wearily.
“We decided that Dominic would take the boys, and shoulder the blame for the attack on Area 51. It was imperative that MI6 NOT be linked to the incident as the repercussions would be catastrophic − not just for us − but for Great Britain; it would be a political nightmare. Dominic led me to believe that he would look after the children, oversee some of their training, but ultimately return them to MI6 when things had settled down and we were no longer under the spotlight. Imagine what we could achieve with ninety invisible soldiers!” Ryan trailed off as he fantasised over it. He blinked the thoughts away.
“But when Dominic forced Alby to fly him into Scotland without first clearing it with me, all but disappearing off the face of the earth, he crossed a line and I soon began to realise that things weren’t as he’d promised. Of course, he had help, I suspected as much: Jennifer Ratcliff. And I confronted her with it, which she happily admitted. I’ve spoken with her a few times since... but our last commune didn’t go so well, and she made some threats.”
“Threats? What threats?” Sophie demanded.
“Against Emily. Against you. Rhetoric, nothing too innocuous... so I thought.”
Sophie turned to Emily. “You knew about this, didn’t you?” she accused.
“Some of it,” Emily admitted, awkwardly. “But I couldn’t say anything. You mistrusted Ryan as it was, blaming him for your father’s death. I didn’t want to make things worse between you... he is your grandfather, after all.”
“Only biologically,” Sophie pointed out.
“Besides,” Emily ignored the comment, “until now, Ryan still believed nothing untoward would come of their arrangement. It was irrelevant.”
“Hmph! Some arrangement... Look where it’s got us.” Sophie turned and faced Ryan. Speaking softer, almost in pity, she said: “Look where it’s got you.”
Ryan looked solemnly at the young woman.
“I’m not going to make any excuses, Sophie. I made a judgement call which you and Dominic forced upon me; I’m not proud of myself, but I had sound reasoning. Sure, it was a risk, which I thought was worth taking. And now it’s backfired. Sometimes, things just don’t work out the way they should. Life isn’t scripted. It’s just a coin toss.”
“Okay, so what now? Where does that leave Meredith, Stanley and Charlie?”
Seeming not to hear Sophie’s question, Ryan appeared to change the subject. “On top of this cupboard next to me, beneath the pretty flowers, there’s an envelope. Go get it.”
Sophie looked towards Emily for approval.
Emily inched her head up, peering across to the vase of flowers and gave the slightest shrug. Emily had no idea where Ryan was leading with this though recalled seeing the envelope there when setting down the bag containing her gift of fruit.
Sophie stood and walked around the bed and crossed to the cabinet. Unsure of herself, she reached for the white envelope and dragged it out from beneath the vase, one hand holding the ceramic container by its base, the other pincer-gripping the envelope.
“Evidently, you aren’t the only visitors I’ve had today,” Ryan said. Seeing the envelope in Sophie’s hand, he smiled. “Okay, now bring the envelope over here and open it.”
Inside the envelope was a black and white photograph.
Sophie gasped but didn’t let go of the print. She handed it over to Emily.
“The nurse who opened the envelope thought there was going to be a ‘get well’ card inside. Instead, she found that photograph.”
The photograph was of three children in various poses. One was lying on a bed, another was just sitting on the edge of a second bed and the third, the eldest, was standing looking directly at the camera, fear within her eyes. The image had been taken from overhead and Emily assumed it was a still from CCTV footage. Printed in the bottom left-hand corner were a sequence of numbers which Emily easily deciphered as the time and date the picture had been taken.
The Whisper of Persia (The Girl in the Mirror Book 3) Page 26