“I know,” she said, putting on what she hoped was a smile. “It’s a crazy habit. Only child. I spent a lot of time alone.”
“Uh-huh. If you say so,” said Dafydd. “The wetsuit looks pretty good on you.”
“Thanks,” she said. “Neoprene complements my skin tone, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely,” said Dafydd. “Let’s talk about tomorrow.”
“Yes,” she said. The fog of her last inhalation of the manuscript was starting to creep back at her. “Sunset is at nine forty-eight tomorrow night. So we should try to get everyone into position by no later than nine. What time do you figure we should push off for the island?”
“It’s at least thirty minutes to get over there,” said Dafydd. “We’ll need to drop you at the boat ramp, which is on the east side of the island. One of you needs to walk over to the west side, the other to the apple tree. I’ll show you on a map in the morning. I’ll take the boat around to the west side as close as possible to where I think the line of the setting sun will be. The cell service is dodgy at best on the island. I’ll get some radios. The pagans will be out in force. They’ll be right down by the water—that’s where they tend to congregate every year, bloody freaks. The land slopes down pretty sharply to the cliffs on that side, so whichever of you two is at the cliff edge needs to get in front of the crowd. They need to make sure they can see both me and the person next to the apple tree.”
“You’ve thought a lot about this,” she said.
“It’s an interesting challenge isn’t it? Navigation from an ancient book. Literally the only things that we can be sure didn’t move on that island since Roman times are the tree and the setting solstice sun, so we’re lucky those are the points of reference…”
“And hopefully the cave hasn’t moved,” said Carys.
“Yes, hopefully,” said Dafydd He looked at her for a moment, then another. She started to squirm.
“These caves have been explored for hundreds of years. If you’re looking to find something hidden in one of them, it’s probably not there anymore.”
“I know,” she said, her voice wavering slightly. Dafydd pounced.
“What are you looking for?”
“A cave,” she said. “Isn’t that what I’ve been telling you?”
“You’re lying.”
“It occurs to me that I might as well pay you now, before we go,” she said. She got up and walked over to the bureau underneath the picture window overlooking the sea. All she could see outside was the white foam on the waves crashing on the shore below, lit up by the lights from the hotel. Her purse was on the bureau, and she reached in. When she turned around, Dafydd was holding the monk’s manuscript, which she’d left on the bed.
“Don’t…” she said. He moved it out of her reach.
“If you’re in danger, then so are your father and I,” he said, slowly opening the book.
“That’s a very delicate artifact…don’t open—”
“I for one would like to know what I am risking my arse for,” he said, and began leafing through the book.
She froze, eyes on the manuscript. She could see Lestinus rise up from the bed, a look of fear on his face, his eyes glued to the book as well.
“It’s Arthur, isn’t it?” Dafydd asked after a long minute. Carys did not answer and willed her face not to betray her. “You’re an Arthur hunter.”
She kept her eyes on the manuscript.
“That river you were asking me about,” said Dafydd. “Afon Gamlan. Come on. We’re weaned on that legend here. Bardsey? People have been looking for him there forever. It’s like looking for the Loch Ness Monster or El Dorado. What I don’t understand is why you’d be in danger from chasing some silly old legend.”
Lestinus’s nostrils flared, and her anger unexpectedly spiked. The words flew out of her mouth before she even had time to think about what she was saying.
“What if it’s not a legend?” she barked as she lunged forward and grabbed the manuscript out of his hands and shook it at him. “This book was written in the sixth century. It’s about a leader who lived and fought in Roman Britain during the Anglo-Saxon invasions. And if you know the legend so well, then you tell me who this sounds like—victorious at Badon, routed the invaders time and time again, slain by the Usurper in a battle on the Camlann. It’s all in here. And it says that he’s buried in that cave.”
Lestinus lifted his hand to her.
“Stop,” whispered the ghost.
Dafydd’s eyes went wide at her outburst, and he stepped back slightly.
“He’s in the cave?” asked Dafydd.
“But you know, you’re right,” she said through gritted teeth. “It’s probably all just a silly myth. This ancient book could be just a story about any old Romano-British leader—maybe it’s the Arthur of legend, and maybe it’s not. It doesn’t matter. If he’s still down there, I’m going to find him before someone else does. It’s the only way to stop him from coming after me and my family.”
“Who?” asked Dafydd. “Who is after you?”
He should know, Carys thought. He had as much right to the truth as her father. They both were now in as deep as she was, and Dafydd was the only one who didn’t yet know what he’d signed up for.
“I don’t know his name, but he’s already killed a woman who helped translate and guard this book. I’m pretty sure he’ll kill again if he has the chance.”
“Someone’s already been killed?” asked Dafydd, his eyes wide. “Why?”
“Because she wouldn’t tell him where the manuscript was,” she said. “And the manuscript leads to the tomb. And he and his employer really, really want to find the tomb.”
“This isn’t about finding a tomb,” said Dafydd. “People don’t kill for skeletons.”
“If you don’t want to help me, tell me now and I’ll find someone else,” she said.
“It’s treasure, isn’t it? There’s treasure in that tomb. That’s why people kill.”
She put the manuscript in its bag, grabbed her wallet, pulled out five hundred pounds, and shoved it at him. “This is all I have right now. I can get you more tomorrow before we head out. I’ll give you two thousand pounds total.”
Carys swallowed hard. This is what happened when she let her anger bubble up.
Her head started spinning. She grabbed the edge of the bureau to steady herself.
“If you don’t die tomorrow, you mean,” he said. He looked at her for a long moment. Finally he said, “I’ll need one hundred pounds for the boat rental tomorrow.” He plucked the cash from her hands, counted out two of the fifties and put the rest on the bureau.
“Thank you,” she said, the relief nearly washing her legs out from under her. She honestly had no idea what she would have done if he’d bailed.
“And I’ll take a portion of whatever we find in the tomb. Ten percent of the value.”
Her anger began to rear up, and she opened her mouth to say…well, she had no idea what. Dafydd smiled. “Or you could try to find someone else to bring you out there tomorrow, on the solstice.”
She had no choice. She couldn’t do this dive without him.
“Fine,” she said. “Ten percent. Do you want me to put it in writing?”
“No. I trust you,” he said. “I’m off to bed. Breakfast tomorrow morning?”
“I’ll get room service,” she sneered, not meeting his eyes.
“Good night, love. Sleep well,” he said as he walked out and closed the door quietly behind him.
Carys stood still in the bedroom, seething. And she had no idea how she was going to get the wetsuit off.
◆ ◆ ◆ ◆ ◆
Frank had parked just up the road from the hotel where Carys Jones and her entourage were staying. For the past three hours, he’d stared at the hotel’s warm, brightly lit windows beckoning him t
o come inside. As the night wore on, they flicked out, one by one. Now, the rain hammered the roof of the car and cascaded in sheets down his windshield. He could have yelled at the top of his lungs and it wouldn’t have been as loud as the rain.
During the drive up from Mumbles, he had made some decisions. He knew Gyles was going to kill him as soon as this was done. He would be very surprised if there wasn’t one of Gyles’s contract men—maybe even Tommy—waiting at the dock tomorrow when he returned from this assignment.
So, tomorrow, he was going to follow this group out to the dive site and retrieve whatever they found, and then he’d bring them back to the hotel and convince them to hand over the manuscript and translation. If they didn’t find anything, then at least he’d have the books. But no one was going to die. Then he would drive to Cardiff and hop on the first flight to anywhere but London, taking his bargaining chips with him. He’d need them when Gyles, or his hired assassin, came looking for him.
He was never going to kill anyone else ever again—well, except for Gyles if it came down to it, which it probably would. But then that was it. He was done with it. Carys Jones he would just scare. He would leave his gun’s safety catch on. He’d let the sight of the weapon do the talking. She didn’t deserve the same fate as the maid, not that the maid had deserved it either. I’m sorry about that, old woman, he thought.
Jones deserved to just go about her life, look back at this all as a big adventure, go get married and have babies or whatever it was she was going to do before she set off on this ridiculous chase. She was brave, he’d hand her that. But also incredibly stupid if she thought she’d outsmart them. Maybe she and her father would reconcile, although it sure didn’t look likely based on their conversation at the bus stop. But it would be good if she did. A daughter needs a father, same as a son does, but for different reasons.
As soon as he had the books and whatever they brought up from the tomb—if they found it—he would head directly for his island in the sun. No need to wait for the big payday. He’d socked away enough. The chasing, the rain, the violence—he was done. Although he might make a call to Scotland Yard—tell them some stories about his friend Martin Gyles.
Frank leaned back in the car, closed his eyes, and dozed for the first time in over twenty-four hours. He dreamt, as he so often did these days, of his mother.
5
Thursday, the Solstice
Carys lay on the bed, letting the sun stream in. The day had dawned bright and clear. The wetsuit lay in a heap at the foot of her bed. She’d wrestled with it for ten minutes before she’d been able to grab the zipper strap dangling down her back.
Her first waking thought was of Dafydd. She should never have brought him into this. How was she going to explain this to Harper? Yes, sorry, John, but not only does he know all about our top-secret search for King Arthur, but he’s also an equity partner. That work for you? Who knew what other demands Dafydd would make once they found the tomb? She smiled bitterly. As if that would actually happen. She never pegged him as a mercenary, but that was just foolishness on her part. He salvaged wrecks for a living. He made his money retrieving what other people couldn’t. He’d told her that from the beginning. No surprise that he saw this dive the same way. It wasn’t a sacred cause to anyone but her, Harper, and Nicola.
And her father…god, this whole thing was just going to shit. But what choice did she have?
If she was honest with herself, she’d had plenty of choices. She could have used a computer and solstice charts and a map to figure out where on the island’s coast the line would fall. But that would have involved research and time and, frankly, knowledge that she did not possess, even with Lestinus’s help. Doing it manually, on the scene, just seemed like the fastest way, and time was entirely of the essence.
She rolled out of bed naked; she’d been too exhausted to put on her pajamas after doing battle with the wetsuit. She threw on some clothes, went to the hotel restaurant and ordered coffee and some scrambled eggs, and brought them back to her room to eat. And then she had to figure out what she was going to do all day.
As the morning trod on, she watched groups of people, some in long tunics like monks, others in various stages of undress or re-creations of what they imagined ancient pagans dressed like, milling around down near the water. The ferry to Bardsey left packed with them, rounded the headland to the right, and came back empty. It was going to be an absolute carnival over there. Which was probably good. Easier to stay hidden if the bad guy was following them.
At around noon, her father rapped on her door and asked if she wanted to go out for lunch. She declined and strongly recommended that he not venture out. There was no telling who was waiting for them outside. They were going to go out once today, and it was going to be to get into the boat Dafydd had rented and get the hell to Bardsey as fast as they could manage. He said he’d bring a couple of box lunches up to her room and they could just talk. She said no. He said he was doing it anyway.
Anthony came back at one o’clock with two lunches and coffees. He fumbled in, hands filled with an array of sweeteners, milk, and cream.
“I didn’t know how you take it,” he said, smiling wanly.
No shit, she thought. They sat at the small table by the window.
“How do you like your job?” he asked as they nibbled on their sandwiches.
“Fine,” she said. “I like the books.”
“Your mother loved to read,” he said.
She shot him a hateful glance. His back stiffened.
“Is there anyone special back home?” he asked. She chewed slowly on her sandwich.
“How’s your new family?” she asked, staring out to sea.
“All healthy,” said Anthony.
“You’re still at the university?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said. “I love it.”
“I’m so glad for you,” she said.
Anthony stopped chewing and put down his sandwich. Slowly, he took the napkin and brought it to his lips, wiped, and put the napkin down. He took a sip of his coffee and put the cup down.
“I know you’ll never forgive me for leaving,” he said. “I’m not asking for your forgiveness. I’m asking you to consider maybe, one day, trying to understand.”
She glared at him.
“Fathers leave all the time,” she said. “Happens a million times a day. That’s easy to understand. You weren’t happy. You bolted.”
He started to speak. She raised her hand.
“What I’ll never understand or forgive is you leaving me behind when my mother died,” she said. “But I’m sure you already know that.”
Anthony lowered his head.
“I know,” he said. “It was wrong. But things were so confusing. I had a new wife and a baby and a new job at the university. We just couldn’t bring a grown teenager into the house. We thought you’d be better off if you just stayed where you were, finished school. You’re American—the citizenship issues alone would have…. You belonged there. Priscilla agreed it was the best thing for you.”
“She got a say and I didn’t?” she asked.
“You were a kid,” he said.
“Your kid.”
“I wrote you every week, and I called. Remember that? For a year. And remember how awful my two visits were. You barely communicated with me. Then you just stopped responding or coming to the phone when I called. It was pretty obvious you didn’t want anything to do with me. It’s not like we’d had much contact before your mother died.”
“I was the child,” she said. “You were the parent.”
He shook his head, as if he were shaking her words from his mind.
“I supported you and your mother financially,” he said. “I worked two jobs while I was going for tenure so you could go to all the best schools. You never wanted for anything.”
“No. Just everything,
” she said. She pushed her sandwich away. “We’re done.”
She stood up and went into the bathroom, seething yet more exhausted than she could ever remember being. The ache in her abdomen was back, and a raging pain beat between her eyes. She would kick him out and never see him again if she didn’t need his help. She was just going to have to deal with it for the next twenty-four hours. She splashed water on her face and opened the door. He was still sitting there, staring out the window. She stood in the doorway, looking at this man whom she didn’t know and knew completely.
“Let’s talk about tonight,” he said. The remnant of a tear smeared his cheek.
“You should go,” she said. “I’ll come by your room before we leave. I can tell you the details on the boat.” She walked over to the door and held it open for him. “Dress warm.”
He didn’t bother collecting the food off the table. He stood and left.
Carys closed the door and returned to bed. She wanted to sleep for a year. The smell of the sandwiches on the table was cloying. Their beige, half-picked-over triangles reminded her of lunches with her mother. They made her want to cry—she looked out to the bright sunshine to stop the tears. She needed to talk to Annie.
“Did your father find you?” Annie asked without saying hello.
“Yes,” she said. “You shouldn’t have contacted him.”
Annie didn’t respond.
“Have you had any luck with that business card I left you?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Annie. “We got a hit on the bloody fingerprint on the card. Hottiecakes ran it through the fingerprint database internationally—on the sly, not an official inquiry yet. He also pulled the surveillance footage from the Mass Pike’s toll plaza camera. I found the car the thug was driving the night he followed you to your house. Rented, of course. The name came back as a deceased English guy, so he used a fake ID and credit card to rent it. But we got a pretty good photo of him on the Pike cameras. Between that and the bloody fingerprint, we should be able to find out who he is, provided that print belongs to him. I also did some checking about the man whose name was on that business card—Roger Plimpton. He’s a pretty well-known antiquities dealer in Birmingham, England—his photo doesn’t match the thug’s shot from the Pike camera. I have no idea how he’s tied up in all this, but I’m going to call him today, see if he’ll take a look at the photo of the goon. Hopefully he can tell us something about the guy. I’m getting more info on the fingerprint hit tomorrow. I’m pulling a lot of strings to get info without throwing up an official red flag, Carys, but at some point, people are going to start asking questions. I can’t keep this secret much longer.”
The Ghost Manuscript Page 23