The Lost Key

Sophie shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

Nicholas asked quietly, “Did Leo or William Pearce ever discover who betrayed the men in the Cotswolds?”

“No one ever was identified, but the Order wasn’t attacked again. It was commonly believed the betrayer was killed either in the war or in the influenza outbreak. He clearly was someone close to the kaiser. But William and Leo Rothschild Pearce did find the three men who killed the Order members in the Cotswolds, and eliminated them.”

Nicholas sat forward, his hands clasped between his knees. “We have got to get that key.”

Sophie said, “The key is important, yes, but it’s the book that’s critical. It contains Curie’s notes on how to make the weapon, and the directions to her secret lab.”

Mike said, “Adam sent us a note about Curie’s secret lab.”

“So you know the whole story,” Nicholas said.

“Quite a bit of it, yes. I know that after the war, the Order decided they had to find the sunken sub and destroy the key and Curie’s notebook. They didn’t want to take the chance that Curie’s special polonium would ever find its way into the hands of a hostile government.

“So now you understand why Adam and I are so important to the Order. We’re more than institutional knowledge. We’re also the last physical link to the Order’s past, to Josef and Ansonia Rothschild.”

“So Paris seems by far the best bet since this is where Curie lived and worked,” Nicholas said. “But the question is, where in Paris?”

“I honestly don’t know. But her book is the only way to find out the location of her secret lab.” Sophie sighed. “And now Havelock has it.”

83

Quai d’Anjou

12:30 a.m.

They’d blindfolded Adam on the plane, but he knew they were flying to Paris, where Curie’s secret lab had to be located.

He wasn’t a linguist like Sophie, so he didn’t understand what Havelock was saying to Elise. His specialty was all binary code and obscure numbers. Havelock’s rapid-fire German sounded incomprehensible to him.

Adam heard Havelock mention Weston several times and wondered what had happened to him. Weston couldn’t return to his life at MI5 since he and Havelock had both overplayed their hand, and were both wanted by the police. Havelock had probably killed Weston because he was of no more use to him. Havelock must also have realized the Order would never let him through the doors now.

They landed, got into a car, and drove for at least twenty minutes. When the car stopped, Adam heard the sound of water lapping against a wall. He managed to angle his head to he could see the street name. QUAI D’ANJOU. He was on the Seine.

They removed his blindfold and shoved him into an elaborate entryway. He saw high ceilings, antiques, an expanse of tile floor before Elise stuck a gun in his back and forced him up two flights of stairs, then put him into a dark room. A key grated in the lock. He was alone and, unfortunately, still handcuffed. Adam stumbled around in the dark before he managed to run his fingers along the wall by the door. He finally found a light switch, nudged it up with his shoulder, and the room lit up with a soft glow.

First things first. He had to get the handcuffs to the front so he could use his hands. He relaxed his shoulders and stepped back with one leg, working his foot between his hands and his butt. His hands were now scissored between his legs, and he stepped back with the other leg, and his hands were in front of him.

He saw a lighted keypad next to the door—the room was alarmed and that meant he had no chance of breaking out, not without alerting Havelock and the woman. He’d have to find another way.

He turned then and looked around at a maritime museum, the walls wainscoted in rich, warm walnut, painted white above the paneling, and covered with magnificent paintings of old ships, set beneath individual soft lights.

The room was full of naval memorabilia. As he walked through the long room, he realized the old maritime equipment was not only authentic, it all had been lovingly restored, set in vitrine cases with museum-style lights. He saw letters and old ships’ logs, sextants and astrolabes, even a full-size weathered wooden wheel with a gold roundel at its center.

This room would have been Christmas for his father. But Havelock? He couldn’t imagine him assembling, much less displaying and caring for this incredible collection.

He walked slowly around the room again, this time looking for anything he could use to communicate to the outside world. He went back to the alarm system, checked it thoroughly. There was a small button with a lowercase script letter I. It looked similar to the intercom system they had at home.

He pressed the button and heard Havelock’s voice, and he was speaking English. He was crowing, he was so pleased with himself. He was talking to Elise. Havelock said, “Who would have imagined Curie’s hidden address would be so simple? Nineteen G thirteen R. How very brilliant she was.”

Elise: “Nineteen G thirteen R—what do the numbers and letters mean?”

Havelock: “It always made sense to me her secret lab had to be here since this was her home. But you see, Elise, her lab isn’t in Paris, it’s under Paris. Her lab is in the tu

Then silence. Then he heard Havelock speaking French to someone. On his cell phone?

Adam felt adrenaline shoot through him. Those numbers and letters Havelock had discussed with Elise, they had to be directions to Curie’s lab in the tu

He saw two lights on the pad light up. Then there was a small beep, and the two lights went off. Havelock had left the house through the front door. Adam hurried to the window, and saw Havelock walking quickly down the street. He was going to get Curie’s weapon.

He had to work fast. He needed a computer or a phone. Anything.

He made another circuit of the room, looking under the cases, against the wall, for wires.

Then he saw it, in a case across the room—an old Morse code transmitter. It was in pristine condition, but that didn’t matter. Without something to transmit to, he’d never be able to use it.

But it gave him an idea. What other communication or navigation equipment was in this room?

It only took him a few minutes of searching to find an old hand-crank ham shortwave radio.

He needed to get both items out of their cases, then he had to crank the hell out of the ham radio, and start sending messages. Someone would be listening. They always were.

He had to break through the glass of the display cases and his fists wouldn’t do it.

He lifted the wooden wheel off its stand, muttered an apology, and smashed the spokes through the top of the vitrine case.

84

Near Paris

The pilot came over the intercom. “We will be landing in ten minutes. There is a call for you, Agents. From an FBI special agent in charge Zachery.”

“Thank you,” Nicholas said. “Please put him through.”

“I hope they’ve found Havelock,” Mike said. “It would make our jobs a lot easier.”

Nicholas’s armrest vibrated once, gently. He answered the phone. “Sir, we were about to call you, we’ve—”

Zachery interrupted him. “Quiet, Drummond. We’ve received a shortwave radio transmission on a private, secure frequency normally only known of, and used by, the American government agencies. Someone has managed to hack into the radio transmissions of Air Force One, the DEA’s evening broadcast, and the CIA’s feeds to Mumbai. Secret Service is understandably livid, the CIA is breaking down the director’s door. The DEA aren’t too happy with us, either, since they were in the middle of an op, which has since gone south.”