The Secret of Excalibur nwaec-3
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‘I’m hurt everywhere . . . but I think I’m okay.’ She tried to raise herself. ‘Ow, ow.’ Chase helped her to sit up. She caught sight of the mangled Suburban nearby. ‘Oh, my God! Where’s Jack? Is he all right?’
An arm waved from the open tailgate in reply. Mitchell wormed his way between the seats of the overturned SUV into the cargo space. ‘I’m fine,’ he called. ‘The sword! Have you still got the sword?’
Nina pawed at her open jacket. ‘Shit, it was right—’
‘It’s here,’ Chase told her, holding it up. ‘We’ve got it, don’t worry.’
Mitchell crawled from the Suburban. He looked at the nearby cliff edge, and the swathe of snow the truck had scraped from it. ‘Jesus! That was close.’
‘We’re not done yet,’ said Chase, as he looked back up the mountainside and saw reflected sunlight flash from one of the Russians’ SUVs as it rounded the first hairpin. ‘Got to keep moving.’
Nina eyed the snowmobile. ‘You’re not thinking . . .’
‘ ’Fraid I am, love.’ Chase pointed down the valley: the sheer cliff gradually shallowed, becoming a steep but traversable slope down to the valley floor - and the road leading through it. ‘We can get down that way, and we’ll do it a lot faster than those Russian twats. Did you call the police?’
‘I lost the phone,’ Nina admitted.
Chase looked back at the path of their wild ride down the mountain. ‘Suppose I can let you off, considering.’ Unzipping a pocket, he took out his own phone and gave it to her. ‘Call the cops. As long as we can stay ahead of those arseholes until they arrive, we’ll be okay.’
Mitchell joined them as Chase lifted Nina to her feet. ‘Three people on a snowmobile? We should split up. You two go on ahead - I’ll take the sword into those trees over here and call the embassy, get them to send a chopper.’
‘Do a lot of alpine survival training in the navy, did you?’ Chase asked. Mitchell looked irked.
‘We should stick together,’ Nina insisted as she dialled the Austrian emergency number. On getting through, she explained the situation as best she could in fractured German while Chase checked the snowmobile for damage. ‘Okay, the cops are on the way,’ she said, finishing the call. ‘They don’t know how long it’ll take to get here, though.’
Chase climbed aboard the snowmobile. ‘Call Mitzi, the number’s in the memory. If she picks us up we can drive back and meet ’em halfway. Okay, let’s go.’ He revved the engine. Nina clambered on behind him, Mitchell sandwiching her. ‘Hold tight!’
He set off in a spray of snow, pointing the snowmobile’s nose uphill at an angle for maximum traction on the treacherous surface. Nina glanced nervously up the mountainside. The Russian SUVs were still descending, but Chase was right: the snowmobile would reach the road below long before they could negotiate the winding route.
Mitzi answered the phone. ‘Hello?’
‘Mitzi, it’s Nina! Sorry, this is an emergency - we’re coming back from the castle and we need you to pick us up.’
The young Swiss woman’s voice filled with concern. ‘Are you okay? What’s happening? Is Eddie okay?’
‘Mitzi, sorry, there’s no time to explain right now - please, just meet us on the main road as quick as you can!’
‘I’ll be there in five minutes, less!’
‘Okay, thanks. See you soon.’ Nina rang off. ‘She’s on her way,’ she told Chase.
‘Great! Told you she was a top lass, didn’t I?’
It took them only a few minutes to reach the valley floor through the thickening stands of snow-laden evergreens. Nina looked uphill again as they crossed the road to the castle. The Russians were well behind.
‘There’s Mitzi!’ Chase cried. Ahead on the main road was her red SUV, flashing its headlights as it approached. He skidded to a stop beside the churned line of snow thrown up by the ploughs. ‘Everybody off !’
The Cayenne halted a short distance away. Mitzi jumped out. ‘What’s going on?’
‘Tell you on the way,’ said Chase as Mitchell and Nina hopped off the snowmobile. ‘The police are coming. We need to meet ’em, fast!’
Mitzi saw the cuts on Nina’s face. ‘You’re hurt!’
‘I’ll live,’ she replied as Mitchell opened the rear door for her.
Chase jumped over the snow bank and ran to the SUV’s passenger side. ‘Come on, Mitzi, let’s go!’
‘Okay, okay!’ She turned to climb back into the Porsche.
Nina was about to slide across the seat to let Mitchell in when she realised he wasn’t following her, instead looking back up the mountain. She followed his gaze. One of the Russian SUVs had stopped, a figure with hair of unnatural red standing beside it.
A flash of pure green light . . .
There was a flat, wet thump. Something drummed against the Cayenne’s windscreen like thick rain.
But it wasn’t water.
Mitzi fell against her open door, slamming it shut as she dropped to the ground. On the other side of the Porsche, Chase was frozen, staring in shock at the empty space where a second before there had been a beautiful young woman, then an explosive cloud of grey and red—
The crack of Dominika’s sniper rifle reached them, trailing behind the supersonic bullet.
Nina screamed and scrambled out of the back seat in terror and revulsion at the spray of blood and brain and bone and hair across the windscreen. She stumbled away from the Porsche, collapsing to her knees and spewing acid vomit into the snow.
Chase broke free of his paralysis, training and experience automatically kicking in as he dropped behind the cover of the Cayenne to avoid the next shot.
It didn’t come. Instead, the distant flame-haired figure leapt back into her SUV, which roared down the road after its twin.
The Russians were still coming after them. Chase knew he should take the wheel of the Cayenne and get Nina and Mitchell to safety, but instead he ran round the Porsche to Mitzi. Mitchell was crouching as if to lift her up—
‘Don’t touch her!’ Chase roared. Mitchell jumped back. Chase knelt beside her and checked for a pulse.
But he already knew he would find none. The entry wound was a scorched black circle just behind Mitzi’s temple, no wider than a pencil. He didn’t need to look to know that the exit wound on the opposite side of her skull would be far bigger, the size of his clenched fist. The nauseating splatter across the Cayenne’s windscreen confirmed his worst fears.
‘Jesus,’ he whispered. ‘No, shit, no, no . . . I promised, I fucking promised . . .’
In the distance he heard the echoing wail of a siren. The police.
The Russians reached the junction with the main road . . . and sped away up the valley, leaving behind the red Cayenne and the three figures next to it.
A smaller figure lay at their feet, unmoving.
The journey back to Zürich in the State Department jet was a sombre one, Chase barely saying a word the entire time. Mitchell took the sword hilt to the security of the US embassy, while Chase and Nina went on to the penthouse apartment of Erwin and Brigitte Fontana.
Nina watched from the door of the rooftop terrace as Chase spoke to Mitzi’s parents. She had wanted to stand with him, to share the blame, but despite her pleas he had refused, insisting he talk to them alone.
Mitzi’s father, a tall, stern man, had returned from Shanghai. He stood upright and silent with his hands on the back of Brigitte’s chair, knuckles slowly tightening. Brigitte too remained still, at first. Then her hands began to shake as she spoke. Nina was too far away to hear what she was saying, but her expression of disbelief, then anguish, spoke as clearly as any words. She stood, quivering hands to her mouth as Chase said something else. Erwin flinched, scraping the back legs of the chair against the balcony floor.
Brigitte let out a keening wail - then lashed out at Chase, slapping his face with a crack that echoed across the terrace. He stood there unmoving as she hit him again and again, screaming in German before staggering back and
slumping on to the chair, weeping. Erwin placed his hands on her shoulders and said something to Chase through tight lips.
Wordlessly, Chase turned and walked stiffly from the terrace. He passed Nina without speaking, unable even to look at her as a tear rolled down his cheek.
15
London
‘So, we’ve got two pieces of Caliburn,’ said Mitchell, gazing at the hilt and broken blade laid out on a table in the US embassy. He indicated the missing tip. ‘And Vaskovich has the third. Question is, is that enough to let him find Excalibur - and is what we have enough for us to find it?’
‘I know where we’ll need to look,’ Nina told him. She and Mitchell were alone in the room; Chase had stayed at their hotel. She had wanted to comfort Chase on the flight back to London, to assure him she was there to help in any way she could . . . but he had said nothing. Nothing at all.
She had never seen Chase act that way before, but knew him well enough to realise that Mitzi’s death - and the blame her parents had placed on him, and that he had accepted - had wounded him deeply. But she also knew trying to force him to respond to her would only make things worse. All she could do was wait.
Wait, and return to her research of Arthurian legend. And it had borne fruit. Nina knew she’d seen the symbol of the labyrinth inscribed on the sword before, and it hadn’t taken long to discover where.
‘Glastonbury,’ she continued, opening one of the books and placing it by the sword. The page showed the same labyrinth - distorted, stretched diagonally, but the winding line following exactly the same turns. ‘It’s a representation of the path to the summit of Glastonbury Tor in Somerset.’ Another book provided a colour photo of a small hill rising almost unnaturally from the surrounding flat English landscape, a stone tower at its peak. The hill had an unusual stepped appearance, a rounded grassy ziggurat. ‘These terraces run all round it, but if you follow the path up from the foot of the hill, it leads to the top along exactly the same route as the one on the sword.’
Mitchell examined the photo. ‘That doesn’t even look real. Is it man-made?’
‘The Tor’s natural, but the terraces have been shaped by man over millennia. The site’s been populated since the neolithic era, over six thousand years.’
‘What about the tower? Is that part of the Arthurian legend?’
She shook her head. ‘No, it’s a lot more recent - it’s what’s left of a medieval chapel called St Michael’s. But the Tor itself has definite links to Arthurian mythology.’
Mitchell tapped one of the symbols on the sword. ‘So you think these are some kind of clue to finding Arthur’s tomb, and Excalibur? A map?’
‘Of some sort, yes. I don’t know exactly how it works or what the dots on the labyrinth represent, but I’m sure I’ll be able to figure it out on site.’
‘You want to go to Glastonbury?’
‘Absolutely,’ said Nina. ‘Today, if we can.’
‘Better let the Brits know what’s going on, I suppose - if we’re going to dig up one of their country’s greatest legends, they’ll probably have something to say about it.’
‘What happens if we do find Excalibur? The Tor’s part of the National Trust, like a national monument. Anything we find there technically belongs to the British people.’
‘I think we can persuade the government to bend the rules,’ Mitchell said with a smile. ‘I’ll get them to find a local expert for us as well; it’ll be useful to have somebody who knows the place. You really want to go today?’
‘The sooner we go, the more chance we have of finding Excalibur before Vaskovich’s people.’
Mitchell nodded. ‘I’ll make the arrangements. Where’s Eddie?’
‘At the hotel.’
‘How’s he doing?’
‘I don’t know,’ Nina admitted truthfully.
‘I’ll phone you once I’ve arranged everything,’ Mitchell told her. He carefully placed the pieces of the sword inside a padded metal case. ‘You go see Eddie, check he’s okay.’
‘I will,’ said Nina as he picked up the case and left the room.
But she couldn’t help thinking that Chase wasn’t okay - and that nothing she said would improve matters.
‘Eddie? Are you in here?’
‘Yeah,’ came the flat reply.
At least he was talking, Nina thought as she closed the hotel room’s door. She found him lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. ‘What’ve you been doing?’
‘Nothing. Just . . . thinking.’
She knew what was on his mind, but didn’t want to bring it up yet, worried about his reaction. Instead she sat next to him and held his hand, stroking it softly. ‘Can I get you anything?’
‘No, I’m fine. Where’ve you been? The embassy?’
She nodded. ‘I think we figured out where Excalibur is.’
‘We? You and Jack?’
She picked up a new edge in his voice at the mention of Mitchell, but chose to ignore it. ‘It’s at Glastonbury. Probably somewhere under the Tor. We’re going to go and check it out.’
‘You and Jack.’
‘No, all of us,’ she insisted. ‘You and me.’
He looked directly at her for the first time since she entered the room. ‘No. I’m not going.’
‘What?’
‘I’m not going. And you’re not either.’
Nina stared at him. ‘Excuse me, what?’
‘I said, you’re not going. All of this, it’s over.’
‘What do you mean, “this”?’
‘I mean,’ said Chase, sitting up sharply, ‘all this running around the world, treasure-hunting, looking for bits of worthless old crap! Let this fucking Russian have his sword, who gives a shit?’
‘You know we can’t do that,’ said Nina, trying to keep down her own anger. ‘It’s a national security issue.’
‘I don’t know that! You said yourself, you thought this business about earth energy and ley lines and all the rest of it was bullshit!’
‘I’m not sure any more. Whether it is or not, Vaskovich obviously believes it - which is why we’ve got to find Excalibur before he does!’
He pulled his hand away and got off the bed. ‘Even if it means dying for it?’ he said, voice bitter.
‘Eddie, what happened to Mitzi wasn’t your fault,’ Nina protested.
‘Then whose fault was it? I promised Brigitte I’d look after her, that I’d take care of her, and now she’s dead! If I hadn’t got her into all of this, she’d still be alive! For fuck’s sake!’ His voice cracked. ‘She was just a kid! She wasn’t a professional, it wasn’t like when Hugo got killed - he was doing a job, he knew the risks. But it wasn’t her job to take risks, she didn’t even know there were going to be any risks! She just wanted to help me out - and it got her killed! I got her killed!’
‘You didn’t!’ cried Nina. ‘It was that bleach-haired bitch who shot Bernd who killed her! You - you are not to blame here, Eddie! You are not responsible for this!’
‘Yes I am. I was responsible for Mitzi, and I’m responsible for you. The whole thing’s got too dangerous. So you’re not going. And that’s that.’
Nina stood and faced him, almost toe to toe. ‘You don’t tell me what I can and can’t do, Eddie,’ she said, the coldness in her voice barely masking a trembling rage. ‘If that’s the way you think, then maybe it’s a good thing we hadn’t set a date yet.’
Chase regarded her silently, then his stone face returned. He snatched up his leather jacket and went to the door.
‘Where are you going?’ Nina demanded.
‘Out.’
‘Eddie, wait—’ But the door had swung shut behind him with a decisive clack.
Nina stared at the blank wood for a long moment, unsure what to do. Then, reluctantly, she backed away and returned to the bed. She perched on its edge, struggling to untangle her conflicted emotions.
‘Fancy meeting you here,’ said a warm Scottish voice over the lunchtime bustle of the pub.
‘I spoke to Nina a couple of hours ago, yes,’ said Mac, taking a seat opposite him and putting down his glass, ‘but she didn’t ask me to do anything. She just wanted to know if I’d seen you. I told her I hadn’t - but I had a feeling you might have come here.’ He surveyed the surroundings. The Jug of Ale was a fairly generic central London pub, lined with fake olde-worlde wooden beams and shelves of faux-antique bric-a-brac bought by the yard, but it held meaning for Chase. ‘This always used to be your bolt-hole when Sophia was being difficult at home. I see old habits die hard. It’s been a while since we had a drink together here, though. Five years?’
‘Something like that.’
‘It looks quite different since the smoking ban. I can actually see the back wall.’ He raised an eyebrow and turned back to Chase. ‘Good God, was the wallpaper always that hideous?’ Chase’s expression didn’t alter. ‘Hrmm. Not even a hint of a smile - things must be worse than I thought.’
‘Any particular reason you’re here, Mac?’ Chase asked impatiently.
‘Actually, yes. The first one is that I wanted to offer my condolences about Mitzi. I’m sorry. I only met her the once, but she seemed a very nice girl.’
Chase looked down at his drink. ‘She was,’ he said leadenly, taking another mouthful.
Mac regarded the half-empty glass. ‘Not like you to drink during the day. How many have you had?’
Another swig. ‘This is the fourth.’
‘So you’re drunk?’
‘What, on only four pints?’ Mac stared at him unblinkingly. ‘Yeah, a bit,’ Chase finally admitted.
‘Now I know something’s wrong,’ said Mac, his tone somewhere between amusement and mild concern. ‘You would never have owned up to feeling drunk so soon when you were in the Regiment.’
‘Things change,’ Chase told him dismissively, shaking his head. ‘I’m getting old.’
Mac picked up his drink and downed it in a single gulp. ‘I’ll join you in the ongoing march of the ageing process, then.’