by Mari Carr
Waited.
Chapter Twenty
The chamber on the other side was small, though perhaps intimate was a better word. It was dark, and the ceiling above was rounded, as if they stood inside a half dome or a cave. The entire chamber—walls, floor, and ceiling, was made of stone. It was lit by small spotlights that cast narrow cones of illumination onto the main features of the room.
Three high-backed wing chairs faced a large metal medallion in the center of the floor, each of them illuminated. In the floor, inset lines of paler stone marked paths leading from three doors, including the one they’d just come through, to the three chairs.
The bronze medallion, nearly two meters across, bore an engraving of the Trinity Masters symbol and motto. Rose was a fairly cynical person—she had reason to be, but the majesty of the room, combined with her tenuous emotional state, meant that the drama of the moment hit her hard. She was struck by what the Trinity Masters was meant to be—a way of protecting their nation. It wasn’t a shadow government, or a criminal organization, both of which she’d likened it to in the past.
The Trinity Masters was a living library. A place where knowledge and intellect was sheltered. Where artists and inventors were protected and nurtured.
Rose clutched Weston’s hand a little tighter. “Can you see okay?” she whispered.
“Not really.”
“Hold on to me.”
“I’m never letting go.”
She smiled in the dark, then stared forward, guiding him to the first chair. The three chairs faced the medallion in the floor, forming a semicircle.
Together, she and Weston stood in front of the first chair. The center one was empty.
And a man in a black robe, hood up, sat in the last chair.
“There’s someone else here,” she whispered to Weston.
“That I can see.” He looked around and the tension in his shoulders eased somewhat. “This is not going the way I expected.”
“Let’s be stupid and pretend everything is going to work out.” Rose reached up and pulled his hood up, so it shadowed his face. She saw the flash of white teeth as he smiled.
“Hope?”
“Hope.”
“Please take your seats.” The voice, male, came from the darkness on the other side of the medallion. There was a faint accent to it. Franco.
Rose headed for the center seat, but Weston stopped her. “I’ll go. If…if we’re wrong and this goes to shit, promise me you’ll run.”
“No. I’ll stay with you.”
“Tabby will want—”
“Don’t. Don’t do what they did. Don’t use her to control me.”
He leaned in and kissed her head. “I’m sorry.”
“We’re in this together, Wes.”
He slipped his hand into her hood to touch her cheek, then was gone.
Weston took the center seat, and Rose sat down in the first chair. She sat on the edge, feet staggered and weight forward so she’d be ready to jump up at any moment.
A figure stepped into the light. He was short, and wore a black robe trimmed in gold. A heavy chain was dropped over the shoulders, looping across his chest. Her chest. This had to be Juliette, but upon seeing the Grand Master in full robe and ceremonial dress, Rose had instinctively used the male pronouns.
Fucking patriarchy.
“Weston Anderson,” the Grand Master said. “You are a legacy to the Trinity Masters, but not a member.”
Weston looked forbidding in the dark robe, the hood hiding his face. All she could see were his hands and boots. His hands were curled over the arms of the chair, and they’d gripped tighter as the Grand Master spoke to him.
“If you wish to become a member, you may do so now. All debts will be forgiven, on both sides.”
Rose sucked in a breath.
“All debts,” Weston repeated.
“Yes.”
He turned to look at her. Rose didn’t move. He faced forward and nodded.
“I accept, Grand Master.”
“In the interest of time, we will skip the full ceremony. Repeat after me: Nitimur in Vetitum.”
Weston’s voice was strong and sure. “Nitimur in Vetitum.”
“Welcome to the Trinity Masters.”
“Thank you, Grand Master.”
The gold chain across her chest and shoulders glinted in the light as the Grand Master took a deep breath and started to speak.
“When you joined, you made a vow. You pledged your lives to our cause and our way. The time has come for you to meet your partners, your lovers, your spouses.”
Rose sucked in a breath. She’d been right. They were getting married. Her gaze jumped to the hooded figure in the third chair. Who was it?
If she were Juliette, she’d stick them with the most loyal, straight-laced member she could find on short notice. Someone who would keep an eye on her and Weston, and report everything back. Rose hid a grimace, then reminded herself that you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth. She and Weston were both going to get out of this alive, and they’d be together. That was something she wouldn’t have dared hope for only hours ago.
“When I call your name, stand and remove your robe. Rose Hancock.”
Rose stood and stripped off her white robe. Normally members were either naked or, in the case of the women, in elegant lingerie. When she’d been in high school, she and the other legacies would browse the internet, picking out sexy lingerie they’d wear when they were called to the altar. Rose had always stayed in the background of the conversations, since she was rarely allowed to wear underwear, and if she was, it was always lacy.
And unlike the other girls, she hadn’t been a virgin.
That girl, the one internally cringing as she’d pretended to be excited about the day she was called to the altar, would have been shocked to know that she’d one day be standing here, about to marry Weston.
And she’d be wearing a pair of jeans and a ripped shirt.
“Weston Anderson.”
Weston stood and shed his robe. She got to admire his profile, the way the light above made strands of his hair glint gold. She focused her attention on the third figure.
“Marek Lee.”
“What?” Weston demanded.
Marek stood, throwing his hood back and then removing the robe. He put his hands on his hips.
“You son of a bitch,” Weston snarled. “What did you tell them?”
“Language,” Marek said mildly. “I haven’t lied or betrayed you.”
Rose stared at Marek in shock, her mind racing.
Weston started toward Marek and Rose raced forward, grabbing him by the elbow. “Hold on, Wes, hold on.”
He stopped, but she could feel him vibrating with rage.
Marek looked at them, his expression seemingly as calm as ever, but the edges of his eyes were a bit tight, and as she watched, he swallowed.
“Marek, did you join?” she asked softly.
He nodded.
“But what about your grandparents in England? Your parents?”
Weston jerked slightly as he registered her words.
“You were neutral, working with both the Trinity Masters and the Admiralty. Why would you give that up?”
Marek frowned. “For you. You’re mine.”
Rose leaned into Weston. “Why would you tie yourself to us?”
“Because I love you.”
Rose turned her face into Weston’s shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her waist.
“I don’t expect you to love me yet,” Marek said. “But I love you, and I can love both of you enough for all of us.”
“I thought…I thought you decided to do the right thing. Even if that meant betraying us.”
“I wouldn’t betray you.” Marek opened his arms.
This was too good to be true. She didn’t trust it.
Hope.
It was Weston who moved first, dragging her toward Marek. They embraced, an awkward thing at first, but then they slid into pla
ce, fitting together as if they’d been meant to be. Rose closed her eyes, her cheek against one of Marek’s, Weston hugging him on the other side, their arms encircling one another.
They embraced for a moment, before the Grand Master cleared her throat. “You three now belong to one another. Stand on the medallion.”
Arm in arm, they took up their positions and extended their right hands when asked to do so. The Grand Master took the chain from around her shoulders and bound their hands together.
“You are bound together now by our laws.”
There was a pause, and Rose realized what they were supposed to do before either of her men. Her men. She leaned forward and kissed first Weston, then Marek. Weston smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and then he turned and kissed Marek.
“Normally there would be a waiting period before the marriage, but lately our trinities have each been given a task. And I have a task for you.” The Grand Master stepped back, into the shadows. “Take a moment, if you need it, then meet me in my office.” The next words were wry. “I assume you know the way.”
There was the quiet sound of retreating footsteps.
“I can’t believe it,” Rose said. “I’m not dead.”
“We’re married,” Weston added.
Marek smiled. “And if there was time, I would enjoy repeating the experience from the plane. But now it’s time for us to tell the Grand Master everything.”
Rose and Weston both went stiff. “Everything?” Rose hissed. “No. Then we’ll have no leverage.”
“Damn it, Marek, did you already tell them?”
“No. But we’re going to.”
“No, we’re not,” Rose spat.
Marek slid one arm around her, and looped the other around Weston. “Yes, we are.”
“Why?” Rose asked.
“Because it’s the right thing to do.”
“I knew it,” Rose groaned, as she looked at Weston. “I knew he was going to say that.”
* * *
“And that’s why we’re here,” Weston finished. “To find either the diaries I read through before to see if there’s anything that could point to the fate of the children, or to find the folder Rose remembers.”
Juliette was looking at him, but Marek, Rose, and Devon were all watching Franco, who appeared to be having a seizure. Or an orgasm.
Juliette sighed. “Go ahead,” she said, without looking at her husband.
Franco jumped to his feet. “That’s it! That’s it! It all makes sense.”
“Explain,” Devon demanded, but he was smiling.
Franco took a deep breath, then started speaking in rapid-fire Spanish.
“Uh,” Marek said. “Does he know he’s not speaking English?”
“This happens sometimes when he gets excited. Just wait him out,” Devon said.
Rose was frowning as she listened, but bit by bit, she sat up straighter.
“Do you speak Spanish?” he asked Rose.
“A little. He’s talking too fast for me to get all of it, but I think I understand.”
Weston felt a pang that he didn’t know that about her. The history they had might have shaped both their lives, but he didn’t know everything about her.
That’s okay, she’s your wife; you have a lifetime to get to know her.
“Franco, my love, could you please explain again? Slowly. And in English.”
Instead of responding, Franco ran to a bookshelf and pulled on a book. A compartment hidden by several false spines opened.
“Oh good,” Devon growled. “I would hate for us to have even one fucking secret Weston doesn’t know.”
Heh.
Franco pulled something out of the small compartment and brought it over to the table, setting it down gingerly. It was an old-fashioned folio.
“I don’t know about the diaries,” Franco said in a voice that sounded strangled from the effort of speaking slowly. “But this must be what you’re talking about. Devon, get the box of clippings too.”
Devon exited the office, while Franco opened the folio and started pulling things out. He laid pieces of paper on the conference table, and Rose, Weston, and Marek came around so they weren’t looking at them upside down.
“What are we looking at?” Rose asked.
“Fake baptismal certificates, issued during World War II, by the Catholic Church to Jewish children. And these over here are baptismal certificates issued by the Church of England.”
Weston’s heart leapt. “You found them together?”
“Yes.”
Weston was about to explain the significance, but Franco beat him to it. “It didn’t make sense because there weren’t Jewish children fleeing England. I assumed that these were real birth certificates, and they were added into the folder but they didn’t really go together.”
Weston cut in quickly. He’d done all this research, damn it. He wanted to explain some of it. “But they did go together. These Church of England records must be for the children who boarded the Esperanza in Poole.”
“But that means there were other children onboard.” Rose pointed to the fake certificates.
Weston nodded, his excitement over the corroborating evidence muted by the horror this represented. “It makes sense. I knew there was art from both Europe and Britain on board. If the art was meant to be financial security for children, it’s logical to assume that there would have been children for whom that art was intended to provide for security. We have an eyewitness account of children getting on in England, but that was probably the last stop, meaning there were already children on board.”
Devon returned with a box of papers. Franco ruffled through it and pulled out a newspaper clipping that said, USS Bluebird Sinks Spanish Ship. He handed the clipping to Weston.
He skimmed the article. “Where did you get this? I’ve never seen this news report, and I spent years finding every scrap of information.”
“It was in a box, hidden in a room, down a well,” Franco said cheerfully.
“It wasn’t down a well,” Devon murmured. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he stepped away from the table.
Juliette let her fingers hover over one of the certificates. “What happened to these children?” She shook her head. “I know the Trinity Masters has its issues, but I refuse to believe that my great-grandfather had a neutral ship gunned down so they could steal the art, and in the process willfully kill a bunch of children.”
Devon glanced at his phone. “Do any of you know a man named Tristan? Lee has him upstairs.”
“Sh— Shoot,” Weston muttered, changing the word at the last second with a glance at Marek. “We forgot Knight.”
Rose grinned. “He’s not going to be happy with you.”
“Knight?” Juliette asked.
Weston pointed up. “There’s one part of the story I haven’t quite covered.”
“What’s that?” Franco asked eagerly.
Weston flipped the folio closed and pointed at the lettering on the cover. “The kids were the children of members of the Masters’ Admiralty. The art belonged to them.”
“The Masters’ Admiralty,” Juliette breathed. “Shit.”
“Language.”
“I called Harrison, after we found this.” Juliette pointed to the folio. “He and I both remembered Grandfather mentioning it, and a few of our members have had contact with people who’ve claimed they were members of the Admiralty, but I don’t know much about them.”
“There’s probably a reason there isn’t any contact between the organizations.” Marek was frowning at the papers on the table. “Whether intentional or not, the Trinity Masters were responsible for either the death or kidnapping of these children.” He gestured at the table. “And to cover it up, they kept the art and wealth and used it for themselves.” He looked up. “Your great-grandfather was right to hide this information, Grand Master. You may be powerful on this continent, but the Masters’ Admiralty has history and power greater than you could imagine.”
>
Juliette stiffened.
Weston cleared his throat. “And it just so happens that a knight of the Masters’ Admiralty is waiting for us. Upstairs.”
* * *
Marek had to admire Juliette Adams. She could think on her feet.
He, Weston, and Tristan sat on one side of a conference table. Franco, wearing Juliette’s black robe, was seated behind the desk. The seated position hid how short the robe was on him, and if the shoulders seemed a bit narrow, Marek doubted Tristan would immediately think that it was because the robe was actually meant for a woman.
Juliette had twisted her ponytail into a bun and stuck pencils through it. She sat behind the desk, a laptop on her lap, as if she were taking notes. Devon, gun held plainly in one hand, stood to Franco’s right.
From here, Tristan wouldn’t be able to see that Juliette was actually dictating what Franco should say, the words appearing on the computer screen on the desk, the monitor angled away from the table.
Weston looked at his friend. “Congratulate me, man.”
“Why?” Tristan looked wary.
“I got married.”
Tristan’s brows rose. “To?”
“Rose and this guy.” Weston jerked a finger at Marek. He waved.
Tristan narrowed his eyes. “If you made me arrange a fucking private plane just so you could get married, I’ll kill you.”
Weston grinned, but then relented and shook his head. “No, though that would have been a good one.”
“Wait.” Tristan looked at Marek. “Did you join the Trinity Masters?”
“Yes.”
“I plan to be somewhere in Africa when your Grandmother finds out.”
Marek winced. She would not be best pleased.
“It’s time to discuss why we are here.” Franco’s accent was more pronounced. It was a good disguise. If Tristan tried to describe the Grand Master, the accent would be the most memorable and defining feature. Though it was more than likely that the Admirals had information about who the Grand Master was, if only the family name and a list of likely candidates.
“Mr. Knight. Do you have the authority to accept information on behalf of the Masters’ Admiralty.”