Surreptitiously, William had left his phone on so that Sarah could listen in to the conversion from the office. It would save him having to update her later and she could get straight to work on her research.
‘Maybe the painting really is worth something after all,’ Ella said.
‘Maybe,’ William agreed. ‘Until we work out what is going on you need to keep a low profile. You can’t stay at home, you can’t contact your friends.’
Ella was about to protest, but she thought better of it. Instead, she folded her arms and shook her head.
‘You’ll also need a temporary change of appearance, just in case.’
‘How exactly?’ she quizzed.
William smiled. ‘What’s your dress size?’
*
The sat-nav directed William to the Hotel du Vin, a luxury boutique hotel in the centre of Cambridge. William rolled his eyes when he realised where he was. Coincidentally, the hotel was situated on Trumpington street on the other side from the Fitzwilliam Museum. Ella, however, who was desperate to see Darren, was over the moon.
‘It’s too dangerous to go there now,’ William explained. ‘Someone could be watching it, waiting for you to return. Even just calling Darren may put him in danger.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ Ella said. She sunk into her seat and sulked.
After parking up they checked in using the cover names. They walked up the stairs to Ella’s room first, she was in the grand suite, the best room in the hotel. William was quietly impressed with Sarah’s choice. Ella was less quiet about it. The room was spacious, stylish and beautifully presented. The interiors had an intriguing blend of modern vibrancy and period charms.
‘Wow,’ she said as she looked around it. ‘There’s two bathrooms!’ There was also a lounge area with a large flatscreen TV and two sofa’s. ‘This is bigger than my entire flat.’
The trials of the day were quickly forgotten just as William had hoped they would be. After she had freshened up and eaten, William had no doubt that Ella would be ready to help him work out what was going on.
‘Why don’t you get yourself cleaned up, relax in the bath for a while, then meet me in the restaurant at seven prompt,’ William said. He was looking forward to a taste of the fruits of the wine cellar. It had been a long day; they both deserved a little indulgence.
‘But I’ve nothing to wear,’ she said. ‘And look at me.’ She looked down at her filthy, ripped clothes.
‘Oh, but you do,’ he said. ‘Have a look in the wardrobe. It’s all yours, take your pick. And one other thing, there’s some hair dyes and make-up in the bathroom. See what you can do with them. Just try to look . . . different.’
‘Different?’ she said with a frown, not sure what to make of the comment.
William shrugged. ‘See you at seven. Prompt, okay,’ he said and left the room.
When Ella looked in the wardrobe she was suitably impressed. It wasn’t often that she had new clothes. In the bathroom she found plenty of make-up and two hair dyes, a red one and a blonde one. There was also a toilet bag with everything she needed. When she found a small travel bottle of Channel No.5 she laughed with joy. A small piece of card fell out from one of the bags. She picked it up and turned it over. There was a handwritten note on it, all it said was, “With compliments from Ajax Security”.
After a long soak in the bath, Ella put on a white robe and jumped on the double bed. She snuggled up and rested her head on the large soft pillow, the Egyptian linen smelled fresh. Somehow the events of the day quickly faded to a distant memory.
*
The hotel restaurant was quiet, there were only a few other guests seated at the tables. The dimly lit room was small, but elaborately decorated. Murals of diners on the walls made it look busier than it really was. There was a welcoming, sophisticated atmosphere to the place. Calming classical music played quietly in the background, William recognised it as Brahms third symphony in F.
In his pocket his phone vibrated. He checked it, it was another email from Sarah, her end of day report detailing the latest findings. William read the details of the research into Ella’s father. As he read he frowned at the text in disbelief and surprise.
Debating to himself whether he should tell Ella the odd details about her father, he looked at his watch and noted that she was late. Beginning to worry, he was just about to get up to check on her when an attractive, elegant young woman confidently strode into the restaurant. She immediately caught his, and most of the other men’s, attention. Slim and well dressed in leather boots, tight blue jeans and a silky pastel top, the captivating young red-head walked confidently towards William’s table. When she pulled out a chair and sat down opposite him, William was pleasantly surprised. The other men in the room reluctantly dragged their eyes away back to their own worlds.
‘So, what do you think?’ Ella said nonchalantly picking up a menu. ‘Different enough?’
William’s mouth hung open before he caught himself and straightened up. ‘Wow. You look beautiful,’ was all he could muster.
‘I scrub up well,’ Ella said and suppressed a grin. After much deliberation, she had decided to copy a glamorous look from one of the fashion magazines that was in her room. She’d made an excellent job of it and was relatively unrecognisable from a distance.
‘But you know when going incognito you’re supposed to blend in with the background. Be ordinary. Invisible,’ William said with a smile. ‘Not attractive and eye catching. We need to work on your undercover skills.’
Ella laughed and blushed. ‘Thanks for the clothes. I’ve been in dire need of a new wardrobe for ages,’ she said sheepishly. ‘Everything fits perfectly. Who did the shopping?’
‘A local retired operator did us a favour,’ William said. ‘Will they do?’
Ella frowned. ‘Oh yes, they’ll do all right. I take it I can keep them?’
‘Of course. Compliments of the tax payer.’
‘So what’s Ajax Security then?’ she said and showed him the business card.
‘Ah,’ William said looking awkward. ‘Perhaps I should explain a few things. But first, let’s order.’
William nodded to the waiter who trotted over with the French sommelier in tow. The menu was full of delicious, tempting dishes. William settled on a foie gras and carpaccio starter followed by medallions of venison for his main. The sommelier, who was only just on the right side of condescending, picked out an award winning bottle of claret from Saint Emilion to go with his meal. When William agreed to go with his choice, the sommelier smiled smugly and nodded appreciatively. Ella opted for a blue cheese salad to start with and an exotic wild mushroom risotto for her main. She ignored the advice of the sommelier, much to his dismay, and opted instead for an Australian Viognier; her favourite grape.
After their drinks were brought out, William explained his role in Ajax Security while his dinner guest listened intently. He maintained much of the cover story, but still felt he had said more than he should have. But there was something about her, something trustworthy. And she was a good listener, which in William’s experience was rare.
‘I shouldn’t be telling you this you know,’ William admitted. He took another sip of the claret.
Ella smiled at him, she was hanging on his every word. William put it down to the quantity of wine that she was putting away.
‘Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me,’ she said with a sparkle in her eyes. ‘So you investigate national security issues?’
‘Yes. They’re usually brought to our attention through anonymous tip-offs, informants, but sometimes it’s from things picked up by Echelon.’ William noticed Ella’s frown. ‘There’s nothing secret about Echelon any more. It’s a colossal data processing project. Almost all UK based electronic communications, such as phone calls, emails and Internet traffic, are sniffed by the systems filters. Any patterns or key words of interest are flagged and sent to an analyst for research. If they have the time to bother looking at it that is. Then th
ey send some of it to us to look into.’
Ella gasped. ‘That really happens?’ she said.
‘Oh yes, and you should see what the American’s have. But the problem is the sheer scale of the information. Not all of it can be analysed. Artificial intelligence helps, but there’s nothing as good as the grey matter and gut instinct.’
‘So what do you with these tip-offs?’
‘We have a look at the people involved, see what they’re up to, check their backgrounds and make an assessment.’
‘So you’re a secret soldier then . . . A spy.’ She found herself grinning at him like a schoolgirl. She took a sip of her wine and tried to calm herself.
William laughed. ‘After we’ve done our bit we pass the case on to another agency so they can find the all important evidence. We’re just the dogsbody’s.’
‘Another agency? That sounds suitably vague. So you do all the hard work and then someone else gets all the glory?’
‘That’s a fair assessment. But I don’t care for the glory.’
‘So why do you do it?’
Why did he, he wondered. It certainly wasn’t for the money. Deep down he knew the truthful answer, but no one would ever understand it.
‘Believe it or not, I only joined the Army to appease my father,’ he admitted. ‘At school all I ever wanted to be was a skipper on my own charter yacht.’
Ella tried to stop herself from laughing but failed miserably. A dribble of wine escaped from her mouth, embarrassed she wiped her chin with a napkin.
‘It’s true. I come from a long line of military men. It would have brought shame on the family name if I’d done anything else. And I’d probably have been written out of the will.’
‘A skipper?’
‘Yeah. Fishing trips, charters for divers, private parties. Somewhere in the Caribbean would have been nice. Maybe Cuba.’
Ella cackled, but stopped when she thought he looked hurt.
‘What’s wrong with that?’ he asked innocently.
‘Nothing. Everyone needs a dream.’ She smiled.
William raised his glass to her, Ella followed suit and they clinked together.
‘To dreams of a better life,’ he said.
The waiter arrived with their meals. Each was superbly presented. William and Ella wasted no time in tucking in and the conversion lulled while they ate. William noticed Ella’s impeccable table manners, she even used the correct cutlery without question.
‘So what do you do, Ella?’ William enquired. ‘When you’re not embroiled in an international mystery, that is.’
‘I’m a post graduate student,’ she said looking less than impressed. ‘Doing a PhD in Egyptology and ancient civilisations.’
‘Impressive,’ William remarked. ‘You must be bright. Bright and good looking. A lucky girl.’
Unused to such flattery, Ella didn’t know what to say. She ran her fingers through her hair. Then she remembered where she was and why she was there. Her smile faded.
‘I don’t feel lucky at the moment,’ she said looking down.
‘You’re with us now,’ William reassured. He placed his hand gently on hers. She looked up at him. ‘We’ll figure this out, then you can go back to being a post grad student. Everything will be fine. I promise.’
‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep, William.’
After the meal they retired to the near empty hotel library and continued their analysis of the case. Not one to waste a good bottle of wine, William had taken the claret with him. Ella, taking full advantage of the situation, had moved on to a very decent glass of champagne. Ella sat down and laid the copy of the painting on the table. William sat opposite and read over the poem from her father.
‘So your father’s last request was for you to spread his ashes next to his mother’s grave, which is in a church called St Mary the Virgin,’ William surmised.
‘It’s in a village called Everton in Bedfordshire, apparently.’
‘Then he mentions the Biblos Aletheia, whatever that is.’
‘It’s Greek, means the Book of Truth, or something like that. I Googled it and some weird Web site came up,’ Ella said dismissively, she’d forgotten all about the odd site.
‘A Web site?’ William asked with a tone of concern.
‘Yes. It was weird, there was just one sentence on the whole page and some kind of weird symbol.’
‘A symbol? What, like the one in the portrait?’ William moved across and sat next to Ella.
Together they examined the painting. Sitting only inches from her, William could smell her hair and perfume. Looking at her profile as she studied the works, he realised just how attractive she was. She turned to look at him, he felt his pulse quicken slightly, his breathing deepened.
‘No, the Web site had a triangle with a pentagram and an eye in it. The triangle in the book in the painting just has numbers in it,’ she said. Her eyes darted across William’s face.
‘Oh, wait,’ she said and reached into her handbag. ‘I forgot about this.’ She pulled out the ring and showed it to William. ‘It was stuck to the back of the painting. See the symbol on it? The Web site had the same symbol as this.’
William pulled Ella’s soft hand closer and examined the ring. He looked up at her to say something, but when their eyes met he stopped. They looked at each other for a moment in silence. Her lips parted ever so slightly, her pupils widened.
‘What did the text say?’ William asked breaking the silence. He moved back to his seat. ‘On the Web site.’
‘It just said, “The Truth is Coming”.’
‘The truth?’
Ella nodded, she shrugged her shoulders.
‘Let’s take a closer look at that poem shall we,’ William suggested. ‘So your father tells you where to spread his ashes, mentions this Greek book, then asks that you undertake the task in secret. “Forgive me my dear, All will soon become clear.”‘
‘What are you thinking?’ asked Ella.
‘The poem must be the key,’ he said.
‘Why?’
Something troubled William, he stroked his chin thoughtfully before he replied. ‘You’re sure you’ve never seen or heard about any of this before your father died? The portrait or the Greek book?’ he asked.
‘I told you, I never knew him. He left years ago when I was a kid,’ Ella explained. ‘Mother has never said anything about him of any substance. She hates him, even now.’
‘Do you know anything at all about him? Like what he did for a living?’
‘No and I really don’t care.’ But her eyes gave her away.
William regarded her, then said, ‘Look, Ella, there’s something I need to tell you about your father.’ He saw a worried look develop on her face. ‘Our people have done some research on him and, believe it or not, he was sort of one of us.’
‘What do mean, one of us?’ she asked.
‘He worked for MI6,’ William said.
Ella’s mouth and eyes opened wide. Never before had she even considered what he used to do. ‘When? What years?’ she asked trying to put the pieces together.
‘He was recruited during his latter student years at Cambridge.’
‘He went to Cambridge?’ She was dumbfounded.
‘Seems he took Russian which was a key skill back then.’
‘Why didn’t she tell me, she must have known,’ Ella said angrily looking into space. ‘My mother, she must have known.’
‘Maybe, but maybe not. Don’t beat her up about it. Even if she did know I can imagine it was tough on a family back then. The secrets, late nights, overseas postings. A lot of pressure during the cold war. He may have kept it from her, for her own safety.’
Unconvinced, Ella chewed her lip and shook her head.
‘Look, whatever happened in the past, look back only long enough to learn. Then look forward,’ William added.
‘That’s very philosophical, but how exactly does it help us now?’ she snorted. She knocked back the rest of her cha
mpagne and waved the empty glass at a waiter who was clearing a table.
‘Well, we now know that your father was exposed to the trade-craft of espionage. He knew how to keep secrets. And how to pass them on securely.’
‘You mean codes?’ Ella blurted out, suddenly interested. ‘That’s something I wondered about before. Look.’ She ran her finger over the lines of the poem. ‘See the smudges?’
‘Do you think it’s a sort of clue?’ William was impressed with her thinking. He grabbed the hotel notepad and pen he’d placed on the table and wrote down all the smudged letters in the order he found them.
‘Damn. It makes no sense,’ he concluded.
‘Maybe there’s a special order they need to be in?’ Ella suggested.
‘Maybe. Or, instead of the letters, let’s try the whole words first.’
‘You’ve seen something haven’t you?’ Ella said smiling.
William copied down the whole word of anything that was smudged. The first three words were, find, and then my, followed by mother’s. The next line of the poem had two smudges, headstone, then trace. When he wrote down the next two words, her, and code, he sat back and looked at Ella.
‘Find my mother’s headstone trace her code,’ William said.
‘Come on, do the rest,’ Ella said excitedly. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, she felt dizzy with anticipation. Or perhaps it was the wine and champagne.
Quickly scribbling down the rest of the words that contained smudges, William was oblivious to the way Ella was looking at him. When he finished he looked up at her.
‘What does it say?’ she asked.
‘Find my mother’s headstone. Trace her code then find the Biblos Aletheia. It’s yours. Follow this guide in secret.’
Chapter 19
2130hrs – Cambridge
It was getting dark, the streets of Cambridge were quiet. Cossack ran down the white stairs of the Fitzwilliam Museum and crossed over the main road. He walked around the corner into a side street. His Range Rover was parked on the side of the road. On the window, held down by one of the wipers, was a yellow note. A parking ticket. He snarled, ripped it off the windscreen and threw it to the ground. He jumped in the driver’s seat, took out his phone and made a call.
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