The Hidden Key (Second Sacred Trinity)

by S E Holmes

  It was all spotless, crisp and perfumed. Leather chairs grouped a large ornate desk cluttered with their electronic equipment, a gleaming bathroom glimpsed through an ajar door. Andie sprung across the Oriental rug and threw herself onto the bed, giggling loudly as she sank into softness.

  Mrs Paget tugged his sleeve and he followed her via connecting doors into a similarly stylish and well-appointed apartment. She gestured at an antique armoire of carvings and mirrors. Hud checked filled drawers, surprised by the array of trendy surf-wear within. All of it was stuff he’d select for himself and most of it was better than his own clothing, now reduced to cinders in Andie’s pile of ash. On the pillow of his king-sized bed sat a trilby; an exact replica of the one Hugo had shot. He had no doubt everything would fit perfectly.

  “Get out of here!”

  Guilt his hat was so easily replaceable surged. Andie’s terrace wasn’t. And then he noticed the flowers and his jaw truly dropped. An amazing variety of rarest orchids sat in pots about the furniture, some so densely blossomed they dwarfed large floor-bound urns. His father had been a world expert and Hud experienced a powerful sense of events converging. Surely it couldn’t be a coincidence?

  “You’re responsible for these, Mrs Paget?” She smiled shyly and nodded. “If only my father was alive. He’d be thrilled to meet you. These are unbelievable!”

  She extended her palm and Hud knew exactly for what reason. He retrieved his seeds and the large folder on his research and entrusted them to her open arms.

  “You think you can get it to grow?”

  She winked and disappeared. Hud was left to ponder his surreal new reality. Until Andie disrupted the peace, entering via the open door to her room. She wore her standard edgy attire complete with lace-up floral Docs and high pigtails with colourful ribbons. He wondered how Bear’s guardians got it so exactly right, only having met him and Bickles briefly before, and never setting eyes on Andie.

  “Hurry up, Hud. A doped moose moves faster than you.”

  If they could just do something about her sassy mouth. After dressing, he trailed her to the kitchen, bringing his hat just so he could flaunt it in front of Hugo. The centre table was obscured by a smorgasbord of sandwiches, fruit and cake. In the other room, observable by an open doorway, Vee picked morosely at the plate of food in his lap, as Bear twisted herself in comatose knots. They needed to find a cure for her ailment, and fast. They scattered comfortably about the TV room, the dining-suite inadequate for their numbers.

  “Excuse me, please,” Bea said, waiting patiently until they filled plates and settled.

  Andie occupied a space on the floor with the cats either side vying for attention. She leaned against Bickles’ legs as he reclined on a chair next to the lounge, wolfing the last bites of an éclair. Mrs Paget faced them seated at the head of the room with Hugo to her right, while Fortescue cleaned the mess away and observed through the servery.

  Hugo eyed the blue trilby with a sneer, encouraging Hud to flip it on and off his head with a juggler’s flourish. If those blond nutbags didn’t get to him first, by his murderous expression, Hugo would enjoy the job. Daniel maintained his standard unrelaxed demeanour against the back wall. He’d switched the plasma on in anticipation of the six o’clock news, using the remote to silence the sound. Bea stood by him, a whiteboard and marker at the ready. Hud opted to sit as far as possible from the conniving assassins.

  Bea got straight to the point. “Andrea, how is your search on Maya progressing?”

  “Please, call me Andie. I always feel like I’m in trouble when anyone uses my full name. We have Maya’s identity, last name Monroe. She’s seventeen now. Her boarding school’s a few hours from Lafayette, but there’s no Maya. I hacked her accounts and a couple of her friends, just for good measure.”

  Hud refused to speculate on the penalty for international digital stalking. Andie and Bickles had skills he’d never imagined, nor could he decipher why they had them.

  “There’s a lot of worried chatter. Apparently, Maya missed the meal yesterday evening. They checked her room to see if she was ill, and she was gone.”

  “Gone, Bickles? What do you mean?”

  “Gone, Hud. No longer present. Departed.”

  “Enough with the Oxford, Poindexter. Anathema?”

  “I can’t say. She’s just not at school anymore. I’ll check bus schedules, that type of thing, but it’s going to take a bit of time. It’s early morning over there.”

  “If only more time was available. The single blessing in this mess is that any Trinity visuals on your phone, Jay, will have faded completely with the Ritual,” Bea said. “Other information, I’m not so sure. Is there any way of using your bee to wipe the phone?”

  Bickles shook his head. “Short of having Buzz physically destroy it, which would obviously give away our monitoring advantage, no. Sorry.”

  Bea took the bad news in stride. “Your job, then, is to retrieve that phone or prevent the knife-twins from obtaining the information, if they haven’t already. Keep anyone even vaguely associated with us from them. Do whatever it takes, but do not get seen. We shall trace Maya from Lafayette.”

  “Are your robots monitored by the company, Andie?” Daniel asked.

  “We’re only using an untried prototype that isn’t yet connected to the grid. And all our communications are encrypted, the source bounced and impervious to tracking. We have one more prototype micro-bot back at the lab and the surveillance equipment is there.”

  Daniel raised his eyebrow expectantly at her.

  “You want us to burglarise our own lab for the gear?” she said.

  “You must not be seen,” he asserted.

  Bickles interrupted. “Flitting about after the Spencers and even tracking those slice-and-dicers from the nut farm are relatively straightforward. But stealing from a secure facility is quite another. Why can’t we buy it from outside sources? And the Hornet hasn’t even had a virtual simulation, let alone a run in the real world—”

  Daniel gave an urgent stop sign for quiet, amping the volume on the TV and collective attention riveted to the bulletin. ‘Police are investigating the unconfirmed report of Sebastian Spencer Junior’s abduction earlier this evening. A witness claims a man fitting his description was pulled into a speeding van …”

  Daniel muted the sound. “He’s already dead. They will not discover it for weeks, believing him to have fled his problems. No further details will emerge.”

  “Why?” Hud didn’t understand the advantage of Spencer’s death. He thought supreme dislike was the most he’d feel for Tiffany Spencer, yet the ordeal of a parent’s death invoked his empathy. “What’s the point?”

  Hugo turned to him. “Point? Why must there be a point? Spencer Junior was in the way. The granddaughter is easier to manipulate for greater advantage. Particularly, distracted and grieving the loss of her father.”

  As the story continued onscreen, autobiographical images of Sebastian Spencer and his family unfolded. A shot of Tiffany showed her attempting to discourage reporters in need of a soundbite from her driveway at a harbour-side mansion. She looked wrecked, her eyes red and puffy. Prue and Priscilla preened in the frenzy of flashing bulbs. A hard, pale face loomed over the lens and the image violently skewed to the pavement.

  “Hugo,” Daniel said in a low voice. “The chance to act is narrowing. Andie, can you get us sound on them now with your bug?”

  She licked her fingers free of food and tapped away at the tablet in her lap. “Sound and visual. Turn up the volume.” Images streamed via the television. Buzz occupied a chandelier above their newest targets, providing a panorama aspect of a penthouse overlooking the Harbour.

  “Wow. This is a safe house?” Prudence exclaimed, following the knife twins and Tiffany inside. The suite was decorated in an edgy, retro seventies style.

  Priscilla joined them last, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. “Our tax dollars at work,” she said, peering around and seeming sceptical.
/>
  “She’s the only one amongst them who has any brains,” Hud said.

  Rebel folded into an armchair, throwing Priscilla a poisonous glare. Tiffany sat next to Riven on the tangerine velvet lounge. He patted her shoulder in sympathy.

  “That’ll get her killed unless she’s intelligent enough to say nothing,” Hugo growled. “Although given your blunders, your opinion is not a resounding endorsement.”

  It was blunders plural, now. Hud threw him the finger. Prudence wandered out onto the veranda, while Priscilla hovered behind her friend, her stance rigid. Riven leaned forward and placed Hud’s phone on the coffee table in front of the group.

  “How long am I to stay here, Detective Riven? And why isn’t my mother here, too?”

  “Please, Tiffany,” Riven replied in smooth gravel tones, “call me Vasyl.” He smiled winningly.

  “Freak can be charming when he wants to be,” Bickles muttered.

  Hugo said, “You haven’t seen anything, yet.”

  “Shh,” Daniel hissed.

  “Your mother has received no direct threat from the kidnappers.” Riven tapped the mobile. “This is your father’s phone. We retrieved it from his offices this evening. It is now a crime scene. Can you tell us about his recent contacts, this Cherie the Snake-charmer?”

  Priscilla frowned in recognition. The back of Hud’s phone sported a distinctive sticker from his surfboard manufacturer. Tiffany sniffed and shook her head. “That’s not daddy’s phone. He’s an Apple man. That’s a Galaxy.”

  “Are you certain?” Rebel asked. “Perhaps he has other phones for his liaisons that you are not privy to?”

  Tiffany’s expression hardened. She daubed her nose with a Kleenex. “My father is an Apple fanatic. It has to be the kidnapper’s.”

  “Could it belong to one of his lovers? The lovely redheaded secretary?”

  “No,” she shouted. “Stop talking about that home-wrecking tart! My mother is at her sister’s drowning in a bottle of Jack Daniels. I should be there.”

  “Quint,” Rebel barked. The girls flinched. “Get out here.”

  A mousy fellow with round glasses and a nervous tick that sent periodic spasms down the left side of his boyish face scurried out from an adjacent hallway into the lounge room. He appeared about as threatening as milk in his gaudy bow tie, tweed jacket and hand-knitted fingerless gloves, entirely out of place in an Australian summer. He pulled up short on spotting the newcomers, his cheek twitching.

  “What do you want, Rebel?” He spoke in a thick Irish accent, his voice high-pitched.

  “It’s Senior Detective Zhuk to you, little man.”

  “Yes, yes. What do you want? I detest this incinerator. I must return home or I’ll melt.”

  Gliding from her chair, Rebel picked the phone up on her way past. She gripped Quint’s collar and dragged him across to the dining area, jerking out a chair at the long table, which was littered with laptops. She pushed him down, bending low to whisper something in his ear. The small man went pale. Priscilla narrowed her eyes, watching them suspiciously.

  He swivelled to give them his back, plugged a lead attached to the computer into Hud’s phone, and hastily began working. Rebel turned to Priscilla, pointing. “You. Tell me what you know about this phone and our serpent handler.”

  All in the warehouse were silent in horror. Winnie stirred fitfully and Vegas reached for her hand.

  “Ty, steer Buzz over to get us a better view of what Quint’s working on.”

  “We know that, Andie. He’s hacking it for Hud’s name and account details. I wish they’d close the veranda doors.” Bickles held a controller, operating the joysticks. “There’s a cross breeze whipping through their apartment. Makes it difficult to navigate and might send him off course.”

  “Do it,” Hugo said.

  “Fine. But it’s on you if I lose him. Our bots are not good in open conditions. They’re indoor spies.”

  Buzz lifted from the light fixture, winging close to the ceiling. The wide angle perspective changed, zeroing in on Quint’s screen.

  “Don’t lose sight of Rebel,” Daniel said.

  “Well?” Rebel demanded, back in the safe house.

  “I can’t … can’t remember,” Priscilla said, appearing confused. “She performs after the fights. I think I know someone who she comes to town to see. But I just can’t get at the memory.”

  “What are these fights?”

  Tiffany answered Riven, beyond the camera’s view. “Street boxing. It’s a private club and only members know where and when the event is held. There’s usually entertainment, flame eaters, knife swallowers, jugglers, dancers, all manner of freak.”

  “It is illegal.” Riven stated in a most un-police-like way. Ty managed to bring the lounge back into the frame.

  “Naturally,” she said, staring him down, boldly unapologetic.

  “And are you at home with the freaks, lovely Miss Tiffany?” Riven bestowed another sly smile and she blushed. Splaying back on the lounge and linking his hands behind his head, his body language was an open invitation. In a daze, Tiffany inched closer.

  “Ick!” Andie said. “Did he actually make her blush?”

  “There’s no information on this phone. It’s been wiped somehow,” Quint said.

  There was a collective sigh of relief in the warehouse. Rebel towered over Quint, stroking his receding pate as though he were her cat. Sweat beaded his brow. He disconnected the leads, poised to dismantle Hud’s mobile for the sim card. Buzz circled closer, Bickles struggling to find an angle that kept the entire space visible. In the background, Riven fondled the thin strap of Tiffany’s dress. Priscilla scowled at him from behind.

  “Hmm, interesting,” Rebel whispered, out of earshot of the others. “There is something here, Ossie. I feel it.”

  “I pray you are right this time, Rebel.”

  “Man, don’t these arseholes ever give up?” Hud groaned.

  “This time?” She smacked the back of Quint’s skull, shoving him forward so his teeth clacked together.

  “I meant no disrespect,” he grovelled, cowering beneath one raised arm. “You must admit, there have been many false alarms.”

  “I felt a surge of power earlier. I am not mistaken. I can read his signature anywhere.” Rebel went misty-eyed. “That deceiving maggot, that black-hearted mongrel, is here, in Sydney.”

  “Seth?” Quint asked in alarm. “For what purpose?”

  “A purpose involving the use of his power. He must be desperate to do so, knowing full well that any members high in Anathema would detect his presence. He has risked exposing himself.”

  Bea and Grace glared at Daniel. He shrugged as if to say, “How else could I have intervened in preventing Anathema from tracking Hud back to Andie’s?” His deliberate use of power to flush Anathema into the open had been exposed and Hud was pleased the Trinity now knew. It seemed an unacceptably high risk to take with their lives.

  “That I aim to discover.” Rebel smiled. “I shall deliver his flayed hide and the Mistress will welcome us back into her favoured circle. We shall rule in a world of her design. Is there any news?”

  Hud failed to imagine what a world of the Crone’s design could look like. He didn’t want to try, either.

  “Nothing makes it all this way. No one bothers,” Quint grumbled. “Why can’t we work from Halcyon? I belong at home in London.”

  Rebel ignored his griping. “We are without reinforcements?”

  “As if anyone tells me.”

  “So it is just us. Good! It shall be our secret and we will take credit. Riv and I are attending these fights to see what we can shake from the tree.”

  “I still don’t see how it all connects. You’re sure it’s worth the effort?”

  Rebel grabbed Quint by the lapels again, squeezing the material to choke him. She hoisted him several centimetres high and brought him close to her face. Hud considered pointing out that throttling people by their clothes seemed an Anathema MO. />
  “Are you doubting me? I said I have a feeling about this.”

  “No,” he wheezed, his face bright red. “Never. Who do you think owns the phone?”

  She dropped him. He readjusted his bow tie and smoothed his jacket. “Our special friend, the office intruder. The one who got away. He will not be so lucky next time. I have very particular plans for our pinprick.”

  Hud’s hope it would all blow over disappeared. Threatening him only served to concentrate his disgrace for the added peril he had brought the Trinity. The single consolation was that Rebel and Riven’s greed for praise meant only three Anathema members were in Sydney, surely a manageable number.

  “I just don’t understand how a flower-delivery boy fits in the big picture.”

  “Nor do I. But there is something not quite right about him.”

  Bickles and Andie gazed over at Hud, nodding emphatically. He sighed. They’d never let it go.

  “Will you ice the girl, maybe the mother?” Quint croaked. He reminded Hud of a whipped dog, grovelling with a dead bird in its mouth. “We could blame the guy’s so-called abductors. The living ones always get in the way.”

  “For now we must keep it clean and draw no attention. Police are conspicuous, searching for her idiot father. Spencer Senior is on his way back from New York. I only hope dearest brother sticks with the programme. He has a weakness for blondes.”

  “Don’t we all,” said Quint, glancing over at her. He abruptly pointed and screamed, “Bee!” Floundering upright, his chair toppled and Rebel leaped from his windmilling arms. He flung the phone, which shattered on a nearby wall. “I’m allergic. I’m allergic!”

  Grabbing a thick diary from the table, Quint chased Buzz attempting to swat him. The drafts he created pummelled the bee randomly, bringing it within hitting range.

  “Soar. Soar up, Ty,” Andie yelled.