The Secret of Excalibur

The Secret of Excalibur

ANDY MCDERMOTT

For my family and friends

Prologue

Sicily

The little church watched over the village of San Maggiori as it had every sunset for seven centuries. The dusty road up from the village was steep and winding, but the local faithful were proud enough of their place of worship and its long history not to complain about the trek. At least, not too frequently.

Father Lorenzo Cardella was the most proud of the church. He knew pride was technically a sin, but this place belonged to God, and surely even the Creator would allow Himself a moment to appreciate it. Modest in appearance and size, it had for all that withstood weather and wars, invaders and insurgents, since the days of the Holy Roman Empire. God, the priest mused, clearly liked it enough to keep around.

He took a last moment to appreciate the splendour of the setting sun before turning to the church’s time-scoured oak doors. He was about to lock them when he heard the slithering crunch of a vehicle coming round the road’s final hairpin. A large black SUV pulled itself through the turn, tyres scrabbling for traction even with four-wheel drive.

He suppressed a sigh. The truck - American, he guessed, from its sheer bulk and gaudy chrome - had a foreign registration plate. The idea that churches had opening hours just like any place of business always seemed to escape tourists, who treated the world as their own personal amusement park. Well, this group would have to go away disappointed.

The truck rumbled to a standstill. Father Cardella put on a polite face and waited for its occupants to emerge. The windows were tinted so darkly that he couldn’t even tell how many people were inside. He held back another sigh. Who did they think they were, Hollywood stars?

The doors opened.

Definitely not Hollywood stars. While Father Cardella didn’t want to be uncharitable, he couldn’t help thinking it had been a long time since he’d seen such a concentration of ugliness. First out was the driver, a shaven-headed man with a sallow, almost sickly complexion. He had the look of a soldier - or a convict. From the other side emerged a giant, a mass of muscle unfolding himself with difficulty even from this oversized vehicle’s interior. His wiry beard failed to camouflage a face pock-marked with scars, the biggest a gnarled knot of skin in the centre of his forehead. Whatever injury he had sustained there, he had been lucky to survive it.

The third person to exit was a woman, whom Father Cardella would have considered attractive if not for her hard, scowling expression and lurid blue-dyed hair, which seemed to have been more hacked than cut as if she had done it herself using a knife, without the aid of a mirror. She quickly turned in a full circle, eyes scanning the surrounding landscape before locking on to him with an uncomfortable intensity.

For a moment the three stood still, regarding him. Then the woman tapped twice on the SUV’s window. The last occupant emerged.

He was older than the others, close-cropped hair grey, but had the same hardness to him, an armour forged by the batterings of a brutal life. Somehow, Father Cardella could tell this man was used to treating others as he had been treated himself. His nervousness increased as the man strode towards him, the others automatically falling in step behind like soldiers on the march. He backed up slightly, one hand reaching for the door handle. ‘Can . . . can I help you?’

The leader’s broad, almost frog-like mouth unexpectedly broke into a smile, though his piercing blue eyes remained as cold as ever. ‘Good evening. This is the church of San Maggiori, yes?’ His Italian was reasonably good, but he had a strong accent - Russian, the priest thought.

‘It is.’

‘Good.’ The man nodded. ‘My name is Aleksey Kruglov. We have come to see your . . .’ He paused, frowning briefly as he struggled to find the right word. ‘Your reliquary,’ he finished.

‘I’m afraid the church is closed for the night,’ Father Cardella told him, still with one hand on the door handle. ‘It will open again at ten o’clock tomorrow morning. I can show you round then, if you like?’

The humourless smile returned. ‘That is not convenient for us. We want to see it now.’

Masking his rising concern with dismissiveness, Father Cardella opened the door and backed through it. ‘I’m sorry, but the church is closed. Unless you want to make a confession?’ he added, the words coming out unbidden in a failed attempt at levity.

To his horror, Kruglov’s smile became genuine, a sadistic leer. ‘Sorry, Father, but even God would be shocked by everything I have to confess.’ His hand jabbed forward in a signal for action.

Father Cardella threw the door shut, closing the bolt as someone slammed against the wood. He leaned against the oak to hold it shut as he fought rising panic, trying to think. His mobile phone was in his small study at the back of the church; help from the village could be here in minutes—

Another blow to the door, so hard that Father Cardella was thrown to the ground as the bolt sheared in half. A gnarled, plate-sized hand reached around the edge to shove the door wider.

He kicked as hard as he could. The door crashed shut, smashing the hand against the frame. A low gasp came from outside, an intake of breath. He waited for the scream of pain.

It didn’t come. Instead, he heard laughter.

He scrambled upright. Stumbling down the aisle, he looked back to see the huge man almost filling the doorway, bared teeth glinting in a demented smile.

Outside, the woman yelled something in Russian. Father Cardella raced desperately for his study.

‘Get out of the way, Bulldozer !’ shouted the blue-haired woman. ‘And stop laughing, you retard!’

‘That felt good!’ growled the giant, ignoring her insult. He stepped back, examining his hand. A gash had been torn across its back, blood matting the thick hair covering it. ‘Ha! The old man kicks like a donkey!’

Kruglov clicked his fingers impatiently. ‘Dominika, Yosarin, get the priest.’ He gestured to the giant. ‘Maximov, come with me.’ The woman and the shaven-headed man nodded obediently and ran into the church.

Maximov wiped the blood from the back of his hand with a final grunt of pleasure. ‘Where are we going, boss?’

‘The reliquary. If the German’s research was right, what we want is in there.’ He gestured through the door. Maximov grunted again, this time in acknowledgement, and ducked to go inside. Kruglov followed.

The priest had reached a door at the far end of the church, and slammed it shut. Kruglov frowned. Either he meant to barricade himself inside until help arrived, or . . . ‘Dominika, if he gets outside, stop him,’ he called, new strategies instantly clicking into place inside his head. ‘Maximov, break the door down.’

Dominika turned and ran back the way she had come as Yosarin reached the other door. As Kruglov had expected, it was locked from inside. Maximov broke into a lumbering run down the aisle and barged into the wood shoulder-first. It was far less solid than the sturdy oak at the church’s entrance - the force of the impact ripped it clean off its hinges. Man and door ploughed into Father Cardella’s desk, tipping it over and spilling its contents across the floor.

Yosarin ran in after him, just in time to see the frightened priest scurry through another door at the rear of the study. ‘He’s gone out the back!’ he warned Kruglov.

‘Go after him!’

Yosarin took off, passing Maximov as he untangled himself from the wreckage of the desk. ‘You want me to go too, boss?’ the big man asked.

‘No,’ said Kruglov. ‘Let’s get what we came for.’

The phone was clutched tightly in his hand, but Father Cardella couldn’t spare even the moment he needed to look down and punch in a number as he ran along the narrow path between the back of the church and the steep, rocky slope below.

He heard a bang - the door being thrown open. They were coming after him.

Who were they? And what did they want? The reliquary, the leader had said: they wanted something from the church’s repository of relics. But why? The items there were significant only in regard to the church’s history, not for their monetary value - at most they would be worth a few thousand euros.

Nothing worth coming all the way from Russia to steal . . .

He emerged from behind the church, risking a glance back as the path widened. The shaven-headed man was running after him, fists and feet pumping almost robotically. At the top of the road he saw the black truck, the woman throwing open the rear door and pulling out a long cylindrical case.

That escape route was blocked, then, but there was another, an old path winding steeply down through the woods to the village—

Heart thudding, he headed for the gap between the scrubby bushes marking the start of the trail. It had been a few years since he’d last taken it, but he knew the route well, and unless the man chasing him had the agility of a goat he too would find it tricky to negotiate. Father Cardella just needed him to be slowed for a few seconds, enough of a respite to use the phone. One call would bring the entire village to his aid; the people of San Maggiori wouldn’t take kindly to strangers threatening their priest.

He reached the bushes. The hillside opened out below him.

Footsteps behind, getting closer—

Father Cardella leapt over the edge, black robes flapping behind him like a cape. His foot thumped down amongst the rocks and roots. The path was a blur, only memory guiding him. Arms flailing, he fought to bring his descent under control.

A shout from behind, a foreign curse followed by an explosive crackle of branches. Father Cardella didn’t need to look back to know what had happened - his pursuer had slipped and tumbled into a bush.

He had the few seconds he needed.

Raising the phone, he stabbed at the keypad to bring up the directory. Anyone in the village would do. He selected a name, pushed another button. A message on the screen told him the phone was dialling. A few seconds to make a connection, another few to get an answer . . .

He looked back up the slope as he held the phone to his ear. It was ringing. The bald Russian was still entangled in the bush.

Come on, pick up . . .

Another figure at the top of the hill, a silhouette against the sunset. The woman.

A click in his ear, the phone being picked up. ‘Hello?’

He opened his mouth to speak—

The fat cylindrical suppressor attached to the barrel of the rifle Dominika was holding reduced the sound of the gunshot to little more than a flat thump. It was so quiet that Father Cardella never even heard the shot that killed him.

The reliquary was a cramped chamber behind the altar, low enough to force Kruglov to duck his head. He ignored the inconvenience as he hunted for his objective. The other items in the reliquary, carefully arranged on blood-red velvet inside a glass-topped case, were little more than junk. A very old Bible, the Latin text illuminated by hand rather than printed; a silver plate with a crude illustration of Jesus etched into the metal; a golden cup . . . the rest of the pieces didn’t even merit more than a cursory glance. He knew what he was looking for.

There it was. The last item, tucked away in a corner of the case as if even the priest considered it insignificant. It certainly looked it, just a shard of metal barely ten centimetres long, the broken tip of a sword. A circular symbol was inscribed on it, a labyrinth, marked with small dots. Apart from that, it appeared utterly unremarkable.

But the sight of it made Kruglov smile his cold smile once more. He had to admit that he’d believed the German was either a fraud or deluded, spouting nonsense. But Vaskovich thought otherwise . . . and only a fool would dismiss his beliefs.

He pointed at the case. Maximov, practically crouching to fit in the room, clenched his fist and banged it down on the glass. It shattered over the relics. The huge man’s beard twitched with an involuntary smile, and Kruglov wasn’t surprised to see a sliver of glass poking from his hand. He ignored it, long used to his subordinate’s peculiarities.

Instead, he reached past him into the case, carefully prodding the glass fragments aside until he could lift out the sword piece. After everything Vaskovich had told him about it, he half expected something extraordinary to happen. But it was just metal, inert, cold.

Maximov plucked the glass from his hand, then looked more closely at the golden cup. ‘Do we take the other things too?’ he asked, already reaching for it.

‘Leave it,’ snapped Kruglov.

The scar on Maximov’s forehead twisted with his look of disappointment. ‘But it’s gold!’

‘You can buy better from any goldsmith in Moscow. This is all we came for.’ He took a slim foam-lined metal case from inside his jacket, carefully placing the broken piece of the sword inside before closing it with a click. ‘That’s it.’

Dominika peered into the reliquary. ‘I took care of the priest,’ she announced in a bored tone.

Maximov’s scarred forehead furrowed again. ‘You killed him?’

She snorted sarcastically. ‘Duh.’

‘But he was a priest!’ he protested. ‘You can’t kill a priest!’

‘Actually, it’s easy.’ After rolling her eyes, she looked at the case in Kruglov’s hand. ‘Did you get it?’

‘I got it. Let’s go.’ Kruglov looked past her. ‘Where’s Yosarin?’

Another eye-roll. ‘He fell in a bush.’

Kruglov shook his head, then slipped the case back into his pocket and ducked through the low door. ‘Start the fire over there,’ he decided, pointing at the first row of pews. ‘No need to make it look like an accident. The Sicilian Mafia will take the blame, it’s their kind of thing.’ He strode up the aisle as Dominika sprayed lighter fluid over the pew, then lit a match and tossed it into the puddle of liquid. Flames instantly leapt up with a whump.

The trio left the church, joining Yosarin and climbing back into their black SUV. As they drove down the winding road, the first curls of smoke drifted from the door of the little church, catching the last light of the dying sun as they rose.

1

Washington, DC: Three Weeks Later

‘Nervous?’ asked Eddie Chase, nudging his fiancée as they approached the door.

Nina Wilde fingered the pendant round her neck, her good-luck charm. ‘Er, yeah. Aren’t you?’

‘Why? We’ve met the guy before.’

‘Yes, but he wasn’t the frickin’ President then, was he?’ An aide opened the door, and they were ushered into the Oval Office.

They were greeted by applause as they entered. Waiting for them were former US Navy admiral Hector Amoros, their current boss at the United Nations’ International Heritage Agency; several White House officials and representatives of Congress; the First Lady . . . and Victor Dalton, the President of the United States of America.

‘Dr Wilde!’ he said, stepping forward to shake her hand. ‘And Mr Chase. Good to see you both again.’

‘Good to see you again too. Uh, Mr President,’ Nina added quickly.

Chase shook hands next. ‘Thank you, sir.’

The others took their seats while Nina, Chase and Dalton remained standing. Dalton waited for everyone to settle before speaking, standing half-turned to face the White House photographer recording the event as much as his guests of honour. ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he began, ‘distinguished members of Congress, members of my Cabinet. It is truly a great privilege to present this award to a woman whose unflinching bravery in the face of extreme danger has saved countless lives, both in America and elsewhere in the world. And at the same time, a woman whose dedication to science and discovery has changed our view of history for ever, restoring to the world long-lost treasures that until now were thought only to be myth. In a way, she is responsible for protecting both our past and our future. I am honoured today to introduce Dr Nina Wilde, the discoverer of the lost city of Atlantis and the buried Tomb of Hercules, and also the saviour of this nation from a monstrous terrorist act, and to present her with the highest accolade this office can bestow - the Presidential Medal of Freedom.’

Nina blushed, simultaneously fighting the pedantic urge to correct Dalton - Atlantis was the name of the island, not the city - as he carefully took a medal on a blue ribbon from a velvet tray. ‘Dr Wilde, this nation is in your debt. I would be honoured if you would accept this symbol of our eternal gratitude.’

‘Thank you, Mr President,’ she said, lowering her head. Dalton raised the medal and placed it round her neck. He then shook her hand once more before turning her to face the strobing flashes of the camera, leaving her momentarily dazzled. The speech she had worked out earlier melted away to nothing under the onslaught of light and renewed applause. ‘Thank you,’ she repeated, struggling to come up with something intelligent to say. ‘I’m . . . I’m very grateful for this award, this honour. And, um, I’d also like to thank my fiancé, Eddie -’ She cringed mentally at that. I’d also like to thank? This isn’t the goddamn Oscars! - ‘without whom I’d probably be, well, dead. Several times over. Thank you. Everyone.’ Cheeks now as red as her hair, she moved back.

‘Dr Wilde stepped on my toes a little there,’ said Dalton jovially, raising a polite laugh and making Nina wish the Oval Office had a secret trapdoor she could disappear down. ‘But yes, the second person we’re here to honour today is Eddie Chase,’ he gestured for Chase to step forward and take Nina’s place, ‘who as a former member of the United Kingdom’s elite Special Air Service has chosen to eschew public recognition for security reasons, which is a decision we can all respect. But this nation owes him as much as Dr Wilde a tremendous debt of gratitude for his role in preventing a terrorist atrocity.’ He shook Chase’s hand. ‘Mr Chase, on behalf of the people of the United States of America, I thank you.’

‘Thank you,’ said Chase as the applause began again. When it became clear that he wasn’t going to add anything else, the sound quickly died down. This time, only a single picture was taken: unlike the photos of Nina, which would be attached to a press release and sent out to news agencies worldwide within the hour, this was solely for the White House’s official records. Dalton’s slight turn away from Chase acted as an unspoken signal that the formal part of the presentation was over, and the audience stood, the politicians quickly seizing the opportunity to approach the President.

‘So, that was your big speech?’ Chase said quietly to Nina. ‘Thought it was going to be all about “the wonder of great treasures from the past”?’

Nina’s face screwed up at the reminder. ‘Don’t start. God, I was so embarrassed. You’re lucky I managed anything more coherent than “Duuuhhh ...” ’

Amoros stepped up to them. ‘Well, congratulations, to both of you. Eddie, are you sure you don’t want any kind of recognition? I’m sure something could have been arranged.’

‘That’s okay,’ said Chase firmly. ‘I’ve pissed off a lot of people over the years - last thing I need is to remind them that I shot their scumbag brother or whatever by getting a medal.’ He looked down at Nina’s neck. ‘Speaking of which, that suits you. You should wear it at the airport, see if it gets us a free upgrade to first class.’ Nina gave him a sarcastic smile.

‘You’re still rushing off to England tonight?’ Amoros asked.

Chase nodded. ‘Wednesday, meet the President of the United States at the White House. Thursday, meet my nan for tea and biscuits in Bournemouth. Not quite in the same league.’

‘We’ve been engaged for nearly a year,’ said Nina. ‘We thought it was time I met Eddie’s family.’

‘You thought it was time,’ Chase said pointedly.

Nina held back her response as Dalton joined them, hangers-on moving into position around him. ‘So, Dr Wilde. You found Atlantis and the Tomb of Hercules - what’s next on your agenda? Discovering the Temple of Solomon, or maybe Noah’s Ark?’ He finished the sentence with a small chuckle.

Nina didn’t laugh. ‘Actually, my current project for the IHA goes back much farther than anything I’ve done before - before Atlantis, even. What I’m trying to do is take advantage of the IHA’s access to worldwide archaeological and anthropological data to track the spread of humanity around the world in prehistory.’ The words came out faster as her enthusiasm mounted. ‘The general pattern of the expansion of mankind out of Africa across Asia and Australasia, and then later into the Americas and Europe, is pretty well established. The lowering of sea levels during ice ages allowed ancient humans to travel overland and settle in places that are now under water - there’s a very promising site in Indonesia we’re planning to explore later in the year.’

‘I can’t wait,’ said Chase. ‘It’ll be great to finally get out of the office and see some action!’

‘Careful what you wish for,’ Nina joked. ‘But my goal is to pinpoint the exact origin of humanity; the cradle of civilisation, so to speak.’

Dalton raised an eyebrow. ‘Sounds to me like you’re looking for the Garden of Eden.’

‘You could say that, yes. Although not in the Adam and Eve, talking snake sense. Actually finding the place where Homo sapiens branched off from other ancient hominids won’t make the Creationists happy!’ She realised Dalton had tensed slightly, and Amoros cleared his throat in a tone of soft but definite warning. ‘Oh God, sorry, they’re part of your - your “base”, aren’t they? Sorry.’

‘That’s okay,’ said Dalton, smiling thinly. ‘My base is broader than just the Creationist wing, fortunately. Why, some of my supporters even believe the earth revolves around the sun!’ He forced a laugh, his entourage joining in; after a moment, Nina followed suit in a mixture of embarrassment and relief. ‘It all sounds fascinating, Dr Wilde. Although it’ll be a tall order to top discovering Atlantis and the Tomb of Hercules - and both before you were thirty! You turned thirty just recently, am I right?’

‘Yeah, I did,’ said Nina, not happy to be reminded of the fact.

‘Well, I’m sure you’ve still got time for plenty more accomplishments!’ Dalton laughed again, as did Nina, though this time it was her turn to be forcing it.

He was about to turn away when Chase spoke. ‘’Scuse me, Mr President - can I ask you about something? Sort of in private?’ He tipped his head to indicate a spot a few feet away from the rest of the group.

Dalton exchanged looks with his staff, then smiled and stepped over, the ever-present Secret Service agents watching from the side of the room. ‘Of course. What can I do for you, Mr Chase?’

‘I wanted to ask what’s going on with Sophia.’

‘You mean Sophia Blackwood?’

Chase very nearly replied, ‘No, Sophia Loren,’ but managed to hold back the sarcastic retort. The former Lady Blackwood - the UK parliament had recently stripped her of her title in absentia - was Chase’s ex-wife . . . and also the mastermind behind the planned act of nuclear terrorism that he and Nina had just barely foiled. ‘Yeah, Sophia Blackwood. Last I heard, she’d been moved to Guantánamo Bay. When’re you going to put her on trial?’

‘She was moved to Guantánamo for her own safety,’ Dalton answered. ‘If we put her in the normal prison system, she’d be dead long before we could hold a trial.’

‘It’d save all those lawyers’ fees. We all know she’s guilty, and you’re going to execute her anyway, right?’

Dalton gave him a cold smile. ‘I have faith in the justice system to do the right thing.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ Chase raised his hand. ‘Thank you, Mr President.’

‘Thank you, Mr Chase.’ The President shook the offered hand, then raised his voice. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to take care of a small difference of opinion with our Russian friends. The USS George Washington is already on station, but hopefully a second carrier group will help make our point.’ The muted laughter the comment provoked was very much of the dark kind: the ongoing disagreement between the West and Russia over the extension of the latter’s territorial claims in the Arctic had taken an ominous turn just a few days earlier, when Russian warships forced an American survey vessel out of the disputed waters at the point of their guns. ‘Dr Wilde, Mr Chase - and Hector,’ Dalton added, nodding to Amoros, ‘thank you.’

With that, Nina, Chase and Amoros left the Oval Office, a young aide escorting them through the White House corridors. ‘Thought that went okay,’ said Chase. ‘Well, my bits did, anyway.’

Nina ground a fist against her forehead. ‘Oh, God! I can’t believe I made an ass of myself in front of the President!’

‘Twice in two minutes, an’ all,’ Chase commented.

‘Not helping!’

‘Don’t worry about it, Nina,’ Amoros said reassuringly. ‘You did fine.’

Chase waved a thumb at the medal round her neck. ‘And you got a nice piece of bling out of it.’

‘Eddie,’ Amoros chided, ‘the Presidential Medal of Freedom is not “bling”!’

Nina felt mildly affronted as well. ‘Yeah, come on, Eddie. I wouldn’t make fun of you if you got a medal from the Queen.’

‘Who says I haven’t?’ Chase replied, deadpan.

Nina regarded him suspiciously. Even after having known him for over two years, she still wasn’t quite able to tell whether he was being serious or, as he called it on the frequent occasions when he was doing so, ‘taking the piss’. ‘Nah,’ she said at last. ‘If you’d really got a medal from the Queen, you’d have told me by now. Even you couldn’t keep that a secret.’

He shrugged. ‘Suit yourself. I’ve got medals, though. I just don’t make a big deal about them. They’re in a box somewhere.’

‘Well, maybe you can dig them out and show them to me when we get home. We’ve got time before the flight.’

Chase grinned. ‘I didn’t say the box was here, did I?’ He flicked Nina’s medal, making a faint metallic ting. ‘I think you should wear that on the train back to New York. See if anyone recognises you.’

Nina was indeed recognised on the Acela high-speed train to Penn Station, but it wasn’t because of the medal, which she returned to its presentation case before leaving the White House.

The discovery of Atlantis had not taken place under ideal conditions - the backer of Nina’s expedition had ulterior, genocidal motives. So the Western nations behind the founding of the International Heritage Agency, under the auspices of the United Nations, had in large part set it up in order to devise a much more innocuous cover story.

Such a story had finally been agreed upon, and a carefully staged programme of media coverage arranged to reveal it to the public, with Nina, fittingly enough, at its head. As a result, she had recently been doing the publicity rounds in newspapers, magazines and even TV - hence her being spotted by a man who asked for her autograph. ‘Bit more of this,’ said Chase as they left the train, ‘and you’ll be in all the tabloids.’

‘God, no! I don’t want that much recognition,’ Nina moaned. Though she had to admit, being recognised by a complete stranger had been a flattering, if bizarre, experience. ‘It’s not like I’m a movie star.’

‘You’re a star to me, love,’ said Chase, putting a hand round her waist before casually sliding it down to grope her butt. She bumped her hip against his to push him back as a reminder that they were still in public. ‘So if they made a film about our lives, who do you reckon’d play us? Shame Cary Grant’s dead, he’d be perfect for me.’

Nina gave the squat, balding, broken-nosed Englishman a sidelong look. ‘Riiiight,’ she said, running a hand through his close-cropped hair. ‘You just keep on dreaming.’

While Chase returned to their apartment to finish packing, Nina took a cab to the United Nations building on the bank of the East River. She rode the elevator up through the tall Secretariat Building and made her way to the IHA’s offices.

‘Dr Wilde!’ said Lola Gianetti, standing up from her post at the reception desk to greet her. ‘I didn’t expect to see you here today. How was the White House? Did you meet the President?’

‘I did.’ Lola let out a muffled squeak of excitement. ‘And I’m sure I made an ass of myself, but Hector told me not to worry about it, so it can’t have been that bad.’ She turned for her office. ‘Sorry, I can’t hang around - I promised Eddie I’d be quick. If we miss the flight, he’ll . . .’ She considered it. ‘Huh. He probably wouldn’t be too bothered, actually.’

‘You’re meeting his family in England, aren’t you? Good luck with that. The first time I met my boyfriend’s family, I was petrified. His mom hated me!’

‘Yeah, thanks for that, Lola,’ said Nina with a pained smile as she walked away.

It only took a few minutes to copy the files she wanted from her computer on to a flash drive, and a couple of phone calls reassured her that the IHA operations she was overseeing would be in safe hands for the few days she was away. Gathering up her notes, she left her office - only to encounter an unexpected face in the corridor.

‘Matt!’ she said. ‘How are you?’

‘Fine, thanks!’ replied Matt Trulli, giving her a hug. The spike-haired, slightly overweight Australian submarine designer had helped Nina on her previous adventures, risking his own life to do so, and on her recommendation had decided to accept a somewhat quieter job in one of the IHA’s sister agencies. Nina still wasn’t used to seeing him in a suit, although he retained some vestiges of his old beach-bum look - today his shirt had three open buttons and his tie’s knot was about level with his heart. ‘Heard you and Eddie just got given the keys to the country. Nice one!’

‘Thanks. What’re you doing here? I thought you were in Australia with UNARA.’ The United Nations Antarctic Research Agency was gearing up to explore the unique ecosystems of the prehistoric lakes beneath the ice sheets of the South Pole.

‘Nah, got a while yet. We’re waiting for winter to finish down there. I’ve been on a bit of a world tour, though - came up from the UNARA office to tell your sub guys about my trip to Russia. The Russians are the experts at getting subs to work under ice, so I picked up a few pointers. Handy being an Aussie - if I’d been a Yank, they probably wouldn’t even have let me into the country, the way things are at the moment. Even got to go aboard one of their nuclear missile boats. Pretty cool, in a terrifying this-could-blow-up-the-world sort of way.’

‘Let’s hope that doesn’t actually happen.’

‘Too right.’ Trulli looked towards Nina’s office. ‘Is Eddie around?’

‘No, he’s at home. We’re flying to England later.’

‘Oh, meeting his family?’ Nina nodded. Trulli pursed his lips. ‘Good luck with that! This girl I was once seeing? Going fine, until I met her family. They couldn’t stand me!’

‘Thanks for the reassurance, Matt!’ said Nina in not-entirely-mock despair. ‘Anyway, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go. We’ll catch up properly when I get back.’

‘Will do,’ Trulli said as she walked away. ‘Oh, and don’t worry about the meet-the-family thing. It’ll be fine, probably!’

‘Thanks again, Matt!’ Nina replied through her teeth as she entered the reception area.

‘Dr Wilde,’ called Lola as she passed, ‘I just remembered there’s some mail for you. What do you want me to do with it?’

Nina paused at the door. ‘Is there anything important?’

‘Memos, mostly. Nothing urgent. Oh, and some stuff for the crank file.’

‘Great,’ Nina sighed. Since becoming the public face of the IHA, she had to her annoyance also become the locus for seemingly every crackpot on the planet with a theory about UFOs, lost civilisations, sea monsters, psychic powers . . . ‘Maybe I should take something to read on the plane in case I need a laugh. Anything good?’

‘The usual. Crystals and black helicopters and pyramid power - oh, and someone who says he knew your parents.’

Nina felt an unpleasant twinge in her stomach: her parents had died twelve years earlier, murdered while on their own quest to find Atlantis. If some crank was just using them to get her attention . . . ‘What’s his name?’

‘Bernard somebody. Hold on, I’ve got it here . . .’

‘Bernd?’ Nina said, suddenly intrigued. Maybe it wasn’t a crank after all. ‘Bernd Rust?’

‘Yes, that’s right,’ Lola replied, surprised, as she plucked a padded envelope from a sorting tray. ‘You know him?’

‘Only vaguely - but he was a friend of my parents.’ Nina took the envelope, opening it to find a DVD-R disc in a plastic case and a single sheet of paper. She unfolded it and read the crisp handwriting.

Dear Nina,

Firstly, I hope you still remember me - it is some time since we last met, at the memorial service for Henry and Laura. Even though it has been over a decade, their loss is still felt, as they were both good friends of mine.

It is vital that we meet in person to discuss the contents of the enclosed disc. Please contact me when you receive this. It is a matter of extreme importance, and it concerns your parents.

Bernd Rust

A telephone number was written at the bottom of the page, but there was no address. Nina checked the envelope. It had been sent by air mail within the last few days, and the postmark appeared to be German.

For a moment she considered returning to her office to examine the disc’s contents on her computer, but a glance at her watch deterred her. Besides, she was taking her laptop; she could check the disc on the flight.

It concerns your parents. What had Rust found? The German was a historian, Nina remembered, and she had learned years after the fact that her parents’ doomed expedition had relied upon secret Nazi documents to follow the trail to Atlantis. Had Rust been the one who provided the papers?

‘Are you okay? Nina?’

She blinked at Lola’s question, for a moment lost in thought. Then she hurriedly stuffed the disc and letter back into the envelope. ‘Fine, thanks. Just . . . yeah, I know him, just haven’t spoken to him for a long time.’ The blonde receptionist still seemed concerned. ‘It’s fine, Lola, really. I’ll have a look at it on the plane. And speaking of which,’ she went on, glad of the conversational segue, ‘I’ve got to get going. I’ll see you when I get back.’

‘Good luck with the family!’ Lola called after her.

This time, Nina didn’t react. She had something else to concern her.

Chase tilted back the seat as far as it would go, then stretched out with a contented sigh. ‘Ah, this is more like it. But I bet if you’d worn that medal at the check-in desk, we would have been upgraded to first class.’

‘I’ve got a gift horse here,’ Nina said mockingly. ‘You wanna look at its mouth?’ As far as she was concerned, business class was more than a good enough free upgrade from their original economy tickets - though she had to admit that when the woman at the counter recognised her and offered to upgrade their seating, the luxuries of first class had been what sprang to mind.

‘Neigh, lass. I’m just going to get some kip. I don’t want to get straight into a hire car after only having two hours’ sleep on a transatlantic flight.’

‘Well, I’m not tired yet.’ They were under half an hour into the overnight flight, and Nina was still very much on New York time. ‘Can you get my bag down?’

Chase grunted. ‘Great. First you demand the window seat, now you’re going to make me get up and down the whole flight.’ But he stood and opened the overhead locker, handing Nina her carry-on bag. She took out her MacBook Pro and the envelope containing Rust’s letter and disc, then handed the bag back to Chase.

‘If you wake me up five minutes after I get to sleep to go to the loo,’ he grumbled as he shoved it back into the locker, ‘I’m going to chuck you out of the emergency exit.’

‘Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve gone out of a plane without a parachute, would it?’ They shared a smile, then Chase returned to his seat as Nina opened her laptop and inserted the disc. After a few seconds it appeared on the desktop. She copied the single file on the disc to her hard drive, then double-clicked it . . . but to her surprise was presented with a password prompt.

So what was the password?

Nina looked back at the letter. Nothing suggested itself - except the telephone number. She typed it in and hit return. The laptop made a warning bleep, then cleared the prompt, ready for another attempt. If the password were some variation of the eleven-digit number, that meant - she quickly did the mental arithmetic to work it out - almost forty million combinations. Never mind the rest of the flight, it would take the rest of the year to try them all. So much for that.

She tried again, using her own name. No result. Then she moved on to her parents’ names, then Rust’s. Still nothing. She’d briefly met Rust’s wife at the memorial service - what was her name? Sabine? Sabrina? Not that it mattered, since neither worked.

‘Are you going to keep binging and bonging on that thing all night?’ Chase complained.

Nina muted the speakers. ‘It’s encrypted, and I don’t know the password.’

‘Why, who’s sending you encrypted files? Is it porn?’

‘No, it’s not porn,’ Nina snapped. ‘I don’t know what it is, actually.’

‘Then it might be porn! Here, let’s have a look.’ He sat up, Nina batting his eager hands away.

‘It’s from an old friend of my parents. He said he needs to talk about whatever’s on the disc - and about them. See, he gave me a phone number.’

‘So call it.’

‘What?’

‘He’s obviously not going to give you the password until you talk to him.’ Chase indicated the side of Nina’s seat. ‘There’s an airphone, give him a bell. Only do it on your own credit card, ’cause it’ll probably be about ten dollars a second.’

‘Cheapskate,’ Nina said with a smile. But it was a good idea, so she found her credit card and made the call. The phone rang several times, then:

‘Hallo?’ said a sleepy yet wary German voice.

‘Hello,’ Nina replied. ‘Is this Bernd Rust?’

‘Who is this?’ All tiredness was suddenly gone, but the voice was now more cautious than ever.

‘It’s Nina, Nina Wilde. I got your letter.’

‘Nina!’ His relief was clear even through the echoing crackle of the satellite link. ‘Yes, this is Bernd Rust, yes! Thank you for calling!’

‘I got your disc as well, but I can’t access it. The file on it is encrypted.’

‘I know. I wanted to be sure that the wrong people could not read it.’

‘So now that the right person’s got it, what’s the password?’

There was a pause. ‘I . . . I can only give it to you in person. Not over the phone.’

Nina immediately became suspicious. ‘Why not? What’s going on?’

‘Everything will make sense when I see you. But I must see you, face to face. Where are you now?’

‘On a plane, actually. I’m flying to England—’

‘England!’ Rust exclaimed. ‘That is perfect, I will take the first Eurostar this morning. Will you be in London?’

‘No, no,’ said Nina, trying to slow things down. ‘I’ll be in Bournemouth, I’m going to meet my fiancé’s family—’

‘Bournemouth, I see. I will meet you there, then.’

‘What? No, I mean—’

Rust laughed. ‘Nina, I know this must all seem rather strange.’

Nina’s own laugh was rather more desperate. ‘Uh, yeah! Kinda!’

‘Do not worry. I will not take up much of your time. But I promise you, you will want to hear what I have to tell you.’

‘About my parents?’

She heard nothing but static for a moment. Then: ‘Yes. About your parents.’

Chase was looking decidedly quizzical by now, and Nina wanted to wrap the call up before Rust invited himself into their hotel room. ‘Look, I’ll give you my cell number, it’ll work in Europe. Call me after nine o’clock, English time. We should be out of the airport by then.’ She recited the number.

‘Very good. I will call you then. Oh, and congratulations on your award. And on your engagement. Goodbye!’

‘Uh, thanks,’ Nina said to the click of disconnection.

‘So,’ said Chase, ‘sounds like this bloke really wants to meet you.’

‘I guess.’

‘So we won’t be able to meet my family? Oh, what a shame! Maybe next time, then.’ He seemed quite pleased at the idea.

‘No, we’re still meeting them.’

‘Tchah!’

‘Wait, I’m the one who’s nervous about it, why am I . . .’ Nina shook her head. ‘Oh, whatever. Anyway, he wants to come to Bournemouth to see me.’ She stared at the icon of the mysterious disc on the laptop screen. ‘Why’s he being so secretive? And what’s it got to do with my parents?’

‘How did he know them?’ Chase asked.

‘He’s a historian, so I suppose they met when my parents were doing archaeological research. I don’t really know - I only met him a couple of times. The last time was at their memorial service.’ She sat back, closing her eyes. ‘Funny. I’d been thinking a lot about them recently, and now this . . .’

‘How come?’

‘You know, with us getting engaged. It’s sad that they’ll never get to meet you. They would have liked you.’

‘Well, everybody likes me,’ Chase said smugly. ‘Apart from the arseholes who want to kill me, anyway.’

‘At least there haven’t been any of them around for a while.’

‘Don’t say that, you’ll jinx it!’ he protested. ‘But yeah, everything you’ve told me about your mum - mom, I mean - and dad, they sounded like really great people.’

‘They were.’ Nina sighed, for a moment lost in memory. ‘What about you?’

‘What about me?’

‘You never talk about your parents. I mean, you told me what happened to your mother, but—’

‘Nothing to talk about. I left home to join to the army after my mum died and haven’t been back since.’ He shifted in his seat, turning slightly away from her.

‘Why not?’

‘Hmm?’

Nina knew Chase well enough to recognise the tone of his non-reply: a mock-casual I wasn’t listening disguising a Can we change the subject? ‘I said,’ she went on, mildly needled by his attempt at evasion, ‘why haven’t you been back home since then?’

‘Because there’s nothing I want to go back for.’ The tone in his voice was now irritation.

‘Yeah, but why?’

He looked round at her, frowning. ‘Jesus, is this a fucking interrogation? Why’re you suddenly so interested in my family?’

She gave him a disbelieving look. ‘Come on, Eddie! We’re going to get married, so they’re going to become my relatives as well. You can’t claim that part of your past is a state secret! I just want to know what they’re like, and why you don’t talk about them.’

‘If there was anything important to tell you, I’d tell you.’

‘What, like Sophia being your ex-wife? Took you long enough to bring that up—’

‘I don’t get on with them, all right?’ Chase snapped. ‘’Cept for my nan. To be honest, if my sister didn’t live in the same town, I wouldn’t have gone out of my way for you to meet her as well.’

They sat silently for several moments. ‘That’s a shame, Eddie,’ Nina said finally.

‘What is?’

‘I don’t have any family any more, except for some distant cousins I last saw when I was maybe twelve. You still do, but you don’t want to see them? To me, that’s just . . .’ She let the words tail off, unspoken.

Chase turned his back to her and pulled his blanket up over his broad shoulders. ‘Not every family’s as close as yours. Now, any chance I can get some kip?’

Nina leaned over and kissed the back of his head. ‘Good night, Eddie,’ she whispered, before looking back at the mystery on the laptop screen.

2

England

‘So, this Bournemouth place,’ Nina asked as Chase brought their rented Ford Focus on to the M3 motorway. ‘What’s it like? What’s there?’ She’d looked at a map of southern England before leaving the States, but aside from the town’s being about a hundred miles from London on the country’s south coast, it hadn’t revealed a great deal.

‘Fuck all,’ said Chase. ‘There’s a pier, and that’s about it.’

Nina smiled. ‘This isn’t one of those English “north-south divide” things I’ve heard about, is it? I mean, I know you’re big on the whole “roof, toof, Yurkshahman from oop narth” thing—’

‘We’ve been together over two years, and that’s the best Yorkshire accent you can manage?’ Chase interrupted incredulously.

‘Hey, it’s better than your American accent. We don’t all sound like John Wayne with severe blunt force trauma. Well, maybe in Alabama. Anyway, this place must have something going for it for your grandmother and sister to have moved there in the first place.’

‘Lizzie moved ’cause she married this ponce from there,’ said Chase. ‘Nan moved after my granddad died because the weather’s better, that’s all.’

‘And she wanted to be near your sister. And your niece.’

‘Maybe. Whatever, the place is still dead boring.’

Any further comment of Nina’s was interrupted as her phone rang. She glanced at her watch as she answered it. Not even one minute past nine. ‘Hello?’

‘Hello, Nina! This is Bernd Rust.’

‘I thought it might be,’ Nina said, giving Chase a resigned smile. ‘Where are you?’

‘In London. I am trying to find out how best to get to Bournemouth. Are you on your way?’

‘Yeah, we’re on the freeway. Motorway, I mean.’

‘Excellent! I shall meet you there, then. Where are you staying?’

‘The Paragon Hotel. But look, Bernd, I’ve got other commitments. I’m meeting my fiancé’s family. I can’t just drop everything to see you as soon as you arrive.’

‘I understand. When will you be able to see me?’

‘Well, we’re having lunch, so . . .’ Nina looked across at Chase for suggestions, but he only offered her a don’t-ask-me shrug. ‘Okay, how about if you meet me at the hotel at three o’clock?’

‘Three o’clock, the Paragon Hotel. I shall see you there. Goodbye!’

‘Couldn’t you have made it two o’clock?’ Chase grumbled. ‘That way, we’d have a guaranteed escape route.’

‘But you’re not meeting Bernd.’

‘Yeah, but they don’t know that.’

‘Aw, come on, Eddie,’ said Nina. She realised that Chase was, for once, barely exceeding the speed limit. Clearly he was in no rush to reach their destination. ‘They can’t be that bad.’

‘Well,’ he said, voice flinty, ‘we’ll see.’

Nina’s previous visits to England had only taken her to London, so she wasn’t sure what to expect outside the capital - especially after Chase’s disparaging description. But Bournemouth turned out to be a quite attractive seaside town, the pedestrianised main street an appealingly random jumble of architectural styles and eras above the standardised shop façades of the national chains.

They had arranged to meet Chase’s family in the middle of town, another pedestrian zone called the Square. A park stretched away down to the beach and the pier; Nina and Chase had strolled through it to the town centre after checking into their seafront hotel, passing a large tethered balloon offering tourists an aerial view of the resort.

To Nina’s delight, the Square was playing host to a street market, stalls selling a wild and wonderful range of foods from all over Europe, everything from German sausages to exotic fruit. The air was filled with mouth-watering scents, forcefully reminding her that the only thing she’d eaten was an airline breakfast. Only the knowledge that she would soon be having lunch stopped her from sampling everything - although she was still sorely tempted.

She had an odd feeling in her stomach, but it wasn’t solely from hunger. ‘I’m . . . I’m a bit nervous,’ she admitted to Chase.

‘Why?’

‘Y’know, meeting your family for the first time. It’s just a weird thought, getting a whole new set of relations all of a sudden. And what if they don’t like me?’

‘If you’re that worried, we can just leave,’ Chase suggested, almost hopefully. ‘Get a head start on that trip to Indonesia. I’m up for it - I’d rather be somewhere exotic having an adventure than pissing about here.’

Nina smiled. ‘Tempting, but you’re not getting out of this that easily.’

‘Arse chives. Oh, there they are,’ he said unenthusiastically. The centre of the Square was occupied by a circular café topped with a clock tower. Outside it, Nina saw three people: a small, grey-haired old lady, a girl whom she guessed to be in her mid-teens, and a woman of around forty with a rather severe haircut. The old lady and the girl waved at Chase; the woman did not. ‘Well, here we go,’ he said. Nina touched her pendant, wanting all the luck she could get.

They met the trio by the café’s outdoor tables. ‘Uncle Eddie!’ cried the girl, running to him. She hugged him. ‘I haven’t seen you for ages!’

‘Hey, Holly,’ said Chase, returning the hug and smiling. His pleasure on meeting his niece again seemed completely genuine to Nina. ‘I’ve been busy.’

‘I know! And I know why!’ Holly released Chase and turned to face Nina, long brown hair swishing. ‘I know who you are,’ she said, beaming.

‘You do?’ Nina asked.

‘Of course! Come on! You discovered Atlantis! It was so great when it was announced, ’cause it meant my history teacher had been totally wrong about it not being real. That was fun, seeing his face when he had to admit it. I’m Holly, by the way. Holly Bennett.’

‘Nina Wilde. Hi.’

‘Hi! So, you’re going to be my aunt! That’s so cool. When’s the wedding?’

‘Yes, when’s the wedding, Edward?’ said the old lady, tottering up to Chase. ‘Ooh, let me have a look at you. It’s lovely to see you! My little lambchop. Come on, give your nan a kiss.’ Chase, to Nina’s amusement looking decidedly sheepish, bent down so his grandmother could kiss him noisily on both cheeks, then pinch them. ‘It’s so good to see you again!’

‘Hi, Nan,’ said Chase, cheeks pink, and not solely from the pinches. ‘Nan, I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Nina Wilde. Doctor Nina Wilde. Nina, this is my nan - my grandmother, Catherine.’

‘Call me Nan: you’re going to be family.’ She shook Nina’s hand vigorously. ‘And you’re a doctor! Holly tells me you’re famous too. It’s wonderful that Edward’s getting married again. And you seem so much nicer than his first wife. I never liked her, she was very uppity. Where is she now, Edward?’

‘She’s in prison at Guantánamo Bay, Nan.’

‘Best place for her. Oh, it’s good to meet you.’ She shook Nina’s hand again, then turned back to Chase. Nina belatedly realised she hadn’t been able to get in a single word. ‘So, when is the wedding?’

Holly also moved back to crowd Chase. ‘So why aren’t you famous too, Uncle Eddie? I wanted to show my friends pictures of you finding all these amazing things, but you’re never in any of them!’

‘You know me, love,’ he said. ‘Just naturally modest.’ That provoked a sarcastic snort from the third woman in the party. Chase’s expression tightened. ‘Oh, and Nina, this is my sister, Lizzie.’

‘Elizabeth,’ the woman said firmly, stepping forward to greet Nina. ‘Elizabeth Chase. I changed back to my maiden name after my divorce.’

‘Nice to meet you,’ Nina replied, not sure how to respond to being given an answer to a question she hadn’t asked. Elizabeth was clearly related to Chase in looks, but while he was only of average height and quite stocky, she was a couple of inches taller, thin and rigidly upright. Her expression was just as closed as her brother’s. Whatever Chase’s problem with his older sister, the feeling was apparently mutual.

‘You too. So, how long have you two been engaged now?’

‘Nearly a year.’

‘And Eddie still hasn’t committed to a date.’ It was a statement, not a question. ‘Well, that doesn’t surprise me.’

Nina felt obliged to defend him. ‘We’ve been busy. But now the discovery of Atlantis has been officially announced, we should have more time together, so we can decide what we want to do.’

‘Speaking of deciding what to do,’ said Chase, looking up at the clock, ‘are we going to have lunch? They do drinks in this place, right? Lizzie, you could have some whine. Or maybe a pint of bitter.’

‘Yeah, let’s have lunch,’ said Nina hurriedly, trying to defuse the situation by taking hold of Chase’s arm and resting her head on his shoulder. ‘Let’s sit out in the sun, it’ll be nice. Won’t it, Eddie?’

His response was distinctly lacking in enthusiasm. ‘Yeah, I suppose.’

Holly, on the other hand, was energised at the prospect. ‘So you’re going to tell us about all the cool places you’ve visited, aren’t you?’ she asked. ‘You’ve been all over the world - you must have seen tons of amazing stuff. Much better than being stuck here in boring old Bournemouth.’

‘Told you,’ Chase said to Nina. He led the way to the café’s entrance, walking slowly to let his grandmother keep pace. ‘Well, when we started looking for Atlantis, the first place we went was Iran . . .’

Chase - with help from Nina, to correct the historical inaccuracies and tone down his more fanciful recountings - told Holly and Nan about the hunt for Atlantis and the discovery of the Tomb of Hercules over a leisurely lunch. Elizabeth, meanwhile, sat on the sidelines, disinterested. It wasn’t until they’d finished eating and were wandering up another pedestrianised shopping street curving uphill out of the Square that she offered Chase anything more than a perfunctory response. ‘I suppose I have to give you some credit. That’s the first time lately Holly’s seemed interested in anything that didn’t involve text messaging.’

‘Well, you know,’ said Chase, ‘if the subject’s interesting, kids’ll pay attention.’

Holly pouted. ‘I’m not a kid.’

‘Okay, so, what? Young lady?’

She shrieked. ‘Oh, God! That’s even worse! That sounds like you’re telling me off !’

Chase shrugged helplessly. ‘So what do you call fifteen year olds?’

‘We used to call you “trouble”,’ offered Nan. ‘Edward and Elizabeth were such rivals when they were young! Always fighting, they were.’

‘Thank God that’s stopped, huh?’ Nina chirped, wishing she hadn’t when she saw Chase’s and Elizabeth’s expressions.

Fortunately, Holly provided a distraction. ‘So, you know you said you broke your arm when you saved New York, Uncle Eddie?’ She gestured at his left sleeve, voice dropping in part-fearful, part-gleeful anticipation. ‘Was it, like, snapped in two? Or did it get sort of . . . squashed?’

‘You want to see it?’ asked Chase.

Holly winced, hands over her mouth. ‘Oh, no, no! I don’t know. Is it still gross? Not if it’s gross. Is it?’

‘Tell you what,’ Chase said, taking off his leather jacket, ‘why don’t you judge for yourself ?’ He rolled up his sleeve and held out his left forearm. Holly recoiled, then moved back for a closer look. A crooked, X-shaped scar ran almost from wrist to elbow, smaller lines of wounded skin branching out from it.

‘Does it hurt?’ she asked, one hand hovering above his arm, afraid to touch it.

‘It bloody did at the time!’ Chase assured her. ‘Smashed both the bones, had a great jagged spike three inches long sticking out right through the skin there.’ He pointed, Holly making a high-pitched Eeeeeeew! ‘They had to bolt it all back together with titanium. So I’m sort of bionic now. Freaks ’em out when I go through the scanners at airports.’

‘Edward, that’s terrible!’ cried Nan, looking appalled. ‘You poor thing! Does it still hurt? How long did it take to mend?’

‘It was in a cast for nearly two months,’ Nina told her.

‘Yeah,’ Chase added. ‘When it finally came off, I had one arm bigger than the other.’

‘Just like when you were fifteen and had all those magazines under your bed,’ said Elizabeth, with the air of someone who’d just scored an unbeatable point.

Chase held back a rude reply and turned instead to his grandmother. ‘It still hurts a bit sometimes, but it’s more or less fixed now. Had to be careful when I was training back up, though. Didn’t want to overdo things and have a bolt pop out through my arm.’

Holly remained fascinated by the scar. ‘So now you’re okay again . . . could you beat just about anyone in a fight?’

Chase nodded. ‘Why, got someone you want me to sort out?’

‘No, no!’ She paused, thinking. ‘Although there’s this absolute cow at school . . .’

‘Nah, I don’t hit girls,’ Chase told her. ‘Unless they’re a really, really bad person. But if you ever have any bloke trouble, just let me know and I’ll have words.’

‘Eddie,’ snapped Elizabeth, an angry warning.

‘So who could you beat?’ Holly asked, ignoring her. ‘Could you beat . . . Jason Bourne?’

Chase laughed mockingly. ‘Doddle. He’s CIA, he’s a spook. They’re all wimps.’

‘What about Jack Bauer?’

‘Hmm. Tougher, but . . . yeah. No problem.’

‘James Bond?’

‘Which one?’

‘Any of them.’

He pretended to consider it. ‘All of ’em except . . . Roger Moore,’ he said at last. ‘He’s the one I wouldn’t want to mess with. That eyebrow, I just can’t match it.’

Holly giggled. ‘You used to be in the SAS, right? Could you beat the SBS?’

‘Course I could. The SAS is the best fighting force in the world. No contest. Why?’

‘Because there’s a girl in my class whose big brother is in the SBS, and she says that he says that the SAS are just a bunch of gayers.’

‘Holly, don’t say things like that,’ Elizabeth chided, although she was clearly amused by Chase’s affronted expression.

‘I’m just saying what she said he said!’

‘Some SBS guy said that, did he?’ Chase growled, irked not so much by the insult as its source.

‘What’s the SBS?’ Nina asked.

‘Special Boat Service,’ Elizabeth told her. ‘They’re supposedly much tougher than the SAS.’

Chase scowled. ‘Oh, fu—’ His gaze flicked between his niece and his grandmother. ‘. . . sod the SBS.’

‘Fusod?’ Nina teased.

‘It’s . . . a military term.’

‘Oh, it is, huh?’

‘Well,’ said Elizabeth, pointing up the hill, ‘the SBS are based just up the road in Poole, so maybe you could go and challenge them to an arm-wrestling contest or something as pointlessly macho.’

‘Maybe I could,’ Chase replied scathingly. ‘ ’Cause that’s all serving your country’s about, being macho. I’m sure there’s all kinds of other worthwhile stuff I could have done instead in the last eighteen years. Any suggestions, Lizzie? I mean, with all your accomplishments . . .’

Recognising that the siblings were about to reach a critical mass and explode, Nina desperately tried to change the subject. ‘So, Holly, you, uh . . . like sending text messages, huh?’

To her astonishment, Holly didn’t consider the question to be as hopelessly lame an attempt at distraction as Chase and Elizabeth obviously did. ‘Oh, yeah! I mean, I prefer instant messaging, because who doesn’t? But Mum won’t let me on the computer much any more because I’ve got exams coming up, so I have to use texts, but my phone’s so old and rubbish.’ She held the offending item out as proof. To Nina, it looked a perfectly capable piece of technology, but she imagined someone half her age would have a very different idea of a good phone. ‘I mean, it doesn’t even have video! All my friends have better phones than me. It’s embarrassing.’

‘It’s just a phone, Holly,’ said Elizabeth, exasperated. ‘It makes calls, it does texts, that’s all you need. Anything else is just an expensive gimmick.’

‘But gimmicks are part of the fun, right?’ Chase said, winking at Holly. He pointed at a mobile phone shop up the street. ‘Tell you what, seeing as I didn’t bring you a present, how about I get you a new phone? Something flashy, with all the bells and whistles. Including video.’

Holly’s eyes widened. ‘Really?’

‘Yeah, course! Wouldn’t be much of an uncle if I couldn’t do something cool for my niece, would I?’ He led her towards the shop, looking back at Nina. ‘I’ll give you a call when we’re done, come and find you. Shouldn’t be too long, we’ll just get whatever’s the most expensive!’

Nan watched them go with an admiring smile. ‘He always was such a nice lad. It’s lovely to see him again. Don’t you think, Elizabeth?’

Elizabeth’s only answer was silence, but Nina didn’t need to hear any words to know that she could have quite happily killed Chase at that moment - and probably his fiancée as well. ‘So, ah,’ she said weakly, unable to endure her future sister-in-law’s thunderous glare any longer, ‘what’s the view like from that balloon?’

The view from five hundred feet up was actually quite impressive, Nina decided. The park below was a long finger of grass and trees with a small river running down its length, angling away to the glinting sea a quarter of a mile to the south. It was encircled by weaving, narrow roads - apparently the broad avenues and straight lines of Manhattan were anathema to English town planners. She could even see her hotel, a recently built octagon of pinkish stone overlooking the pier to the west of the park’s far end. The only blot on the landscape was a hulking glass-fronted block dominating the pier approach, a disused Imax cinema which, according to Nan’s ongoing and increasingly vitriolic tirade against it, had once been voted the ugliest building in England. Nina nodded and made ‘Uh-huh’ sounds at appropriate moments, though she had to concede that Chase’s grandmother did have a point.

But even that rant was preferable to the alternative. The view had done nothing to defuse the argument between Chase and his sister. And in the confines of the balloon’s gondola, there was no way to escape it.

‘I am so mad at you right now,’ Elizabeth hissed to Chase. Holly and Nan were at the opposite side of the gondola, just out of earshot, but Nina was an unwilling eavesdropper.

‘For fuck’s sake, Lizzie,’ Chase replied irritably. ‘I bought my niece a present. So fucking what?’

‘Because you didn’t ask me, and if you had bothered to ask me, I would have told you not to, because the last thing Holly needs right now is yet another distraction when she needs to concentrate on her schoolwork.’

‘Nan said she was doing fine. So did you. Sounds like she’s doing okay.’

‘I don’t want her to do “okay”! She can do so much better than “okay”, Eddie! But she’s a teenager, there are a million other things she’d rather be doing. It’s hard enough to get her to pay attention to what’s actually important without you giving her toys!’

‘Jesus Christ, Lizzie. What is this, some kind of overcompensation thing?’

Elizabeth’s eyes flashed with fury. ‘No, it’s an irresponsibility thing.’

‘Eh?’ Chase looked at her, confused. ‘When did I say you were irresponsible?’

‘I meant you’re being irresponsible, Eddie!’ She was barely able to keep her voice down. ‘You have no idea how hard it is to be a parent - Holly’s fifteen, for Christ’s sake, so right now to her I’m like bloody Hitler always on her back about everything. And then you come along, being Cool Uncle Eddie the hero, running around playing bloody Indiana Jones and encouraging her to be just like you!’

Chase angrily held up his left arm, exposing part of the scar. ‘Yeah, this was playing. Never mind that I saved thousands of lives, huh?’ He pulled the sleeve back up, voice taunting. ‘This isn’t about me at all, is it? It’s about you being jealous. Must be killing you, mustn’t it? Your useless little brother’s actually accomplished something worthwhile, but the one who got into Oxford’s stuck selling insurance. Sorry, Lizzie, but that’s not my fucking fault.’

‘We both know exactly whose fault it is, Eddie,’ Elizabeth said coldly.

‘Well, what the fuck ever.’ He turned away, walking around the gondola as the balloon began its descent, steel cables pulling it back to earth.

‘Oh, same old story,’ said Elizabeth, this time loudly enough for everybody to hear. ‘Whenever things go bad, Eddie Chase just turns his back and walks away!’ She flung her hands out theatrically, striding after him. ‘Well, where are you going, Eddie? You’re in a balloon! Can’t just walk out on me here.’

‘Mum!’ Holly through gritted teeth, cheeks bright red. Nina shared her embarrassment.

‘Well, that was a lovely ride,’ Nan piped up, turning away from the view to face Chase and Elizabeth. ‘It’s so nice to see things from a new perspective.’ For a moment Nina couldn’t believe she’d missed Elizabeth’s rant, but the briefest of exchanged glances told her that she’d heard it perfectly - and probably not for the first time. She pinched Chase’s cheek again. ‘So good to see you again, my little lambchop! I wonder, could you do me a favour? You said you’d hired a car. You wouldn’t mind taking me to the supermarket so I can do a big shop, would you?’

‘No problem at all, Nan,’ said Chase. ‘The car’s at the hotel - it’s not far. Although Nina’s meeting a friend soon, so she won’t be able to come.’ Nina looked at her watch, realising she’d completely forgotten about Rust - it was already after two thirty.

‘Oh, that’s a shame. Well, hopefully I’ll see you again later, Nina - I can tell you what Edward was like when he was little. I’ve got photos.’

Now it was Chase’s turn to look embarrassed. ‘Aw, Nan!’

‘ “Little lambchop”?’ Nina whispered to Chase as the balloon touched down. ‘That’s so sweet!’

‘Yeah, yeah . . .’

‘I’ll show you his medals, as well,’ said Nan. ‘He gave them to me after he left the army, even his Victoria Cross. He got that from the Queen, you know!’

Nina looked at Chase, open-mouthed. ‘Now you know where the box is,’ he told her, smiling slightly. The attendants secured the gondola and opened its gate, and the passengers stepped out. ‘Okay, you go and meet this bloke and I’ll take Nan on her supermarket sweep.’ He hugged Holly.

‘Thanks for the phone, Uncle Eddie,’ she said.

‘Glad you like it. Just don’t spend too much time on it, okay? Wouldn’t want to distract you from your schoolwork.’

Holly tutted. ‘God, now you sound like Mum!’

‘I hope not.’ Chase shot Elizabeth a cutting look, then kissed Holly on the cheek and joined Nina and Nan. ‘I’ll see you again before we go, okay?’

She waved. ‘Bye, Uncle Eddie!’

‘Bye, Holly.’ Chase turned away.

‘Nice to meet you both,’ said Nina pointedly, before following Chase and his grandmother in the direction of their hotel. ‘What was that all about?’ she whispered to him.

‘Family stuff.’ When it became obvious he wasn’t going to elaborate, all Nina could do was sigh and make the most of a pleasant stroll through the park.

3

After Chase and his grandmother left, Nina returned to the hotel room to get her laptop and the encrypted disc. Making her way back through the maze of softly lit corridors, she wondered again what secrets it held - and why Rust could only reveal them to her in person.

Rust was waiting for her in the Paragon’s ‘Vista Lounge’, an elevated, semi-circular, glass-walled extension overlooking the seafront. Above it on the western cliff was a large brick building proclaiming itself as the Bournemouth International Centre, the beach and pier to the south. With the bright afternoon sun shimmering off the waves and holidaymakers ambling about, it was an attractive view, marred only by the looming Imax building east of the pier. Nina found herself agreeing with Nan about its being an eyesore.

So, to her surprise, was Rust. When she’d met him previously, the German had been smartly dressed, almost dapper. The dishevelled figure who stood up to greet her, on the other hand, looked as though he’d spent the night sleeping in a ditch. His jacket was crumpled, unkempt grey hair sticking up at angles as if he’d received an electric shock. With his thick-framed glasses, he looked almost like a cartoon of a mad scientist.

He still had his manners, however. ‘Ah, Nina!’ he said, standing and bowing as she approached. ‘So good to see you again. And I am grateful you agreed to meet me.’

‘Well, you didn’t leave me much of an option,’ she replied as she shook his hand. ‘I got the feeling you would have camped out on the UN’s doorstep if you had to.’

She meant it as a joke, but Rust nodded. ‘Perhaps. But we are both here! Come, sit down.’ He directed her to his table near the back of the room. Nina realised he had chosen to sit as far from the lounge’s other occupants as possible, most of them opting for a clear view of the sea. Rust pulled out a chair for her, then regarded the other people present suspiciously before sitting himself.

She followed his darting glances: an elderly couple sharing tea and biscuits, a young man with over-gelled hair talking animatedly on his phone, a large bearded guy with an ugly scar carved into his forehead concentrating on his newspaper. Nina felt briefly sorry for him - whatever caused his disfigurement had clearly been a serious injury - before turning her attention back to Rust. ‘So, what’s the big secret?’

Rust leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial near-whisper. ‘Nina, tell me . . . what do you know about King Arthur?’

Had Nina prepared a list of potential subjects for Rust to bring up, she doubted that would even have appeared in the top thousand. ‘Er . . . in the historical sense, or as mythology?’

‘Historical, of course.’

‘Of course,’ she said, trying to conceal her bewilderment. ‘It’s not really my area of expertise, but I know enough to know there’s not much to know. He was the leader of the ancient Britons in the sixth century, he united the tribes of Britain following the withdrawal of the Romans, and fought against the Saxons and the Picts until the Saxons finally conquered England by the seventh century. Beyond that . . .’ She shrugged. ‘That’s when legend and Monty Python take over.’

Rust nodded approvingly. ‘And what of King Arthur’s sword? Do you think that is just legend also?’

‘I don’t know. There are some historical accounts, but they’re very sketchy. I mean, there isn’t even agreement over whether it was one sword or two. Excalibur’s the name everyone knows, but in some sources he had another one before it, although I don’t remember what it was called—’

‘Caliburn,’ Rust cut in.

‘Caliburn, right. So Excalibur might have been another name for Caliburn, or they might have been two completely different swords. If you go by the legends, then Caliburn was the sword in the stone, which only Arthur was capable of removing as proof that he was the true king of Britain, and Excalibur was forged for him by Merlin after Caliburn was broken in battle.’ She gave the German a look. ‘But you know all this already, so why are you asking me?’

‘Yes, I know it,’ Rust admitted. ‘The story of Arthur has been an . . . an obsession, I suppose, of mine for many years. But I wanted to be sure you were the right person to tell what I’ve discovered.’

Nina raised an eyebrow. ‘What you’ve discovered? I thought this was about my parents. What’s King Arthur got to do with them?’

Rust’s lips pursed as if he were chewing a lump of something indigestible. ‘Actually, the truth is, Nina . . . nothing.’

‘What?’

‘If I had told you why I really needed to see you, you might not have been interested. This was the only way to be sure. I am sorry.’

‘What?’ Nina repeated, now with anger. ‘Wait, you lied to me? You just wanted an excuse to talk to me?’

‘Please, I am sorry, I really am! But I had to talk to you. You are the only person I could turn to for help.’ He glanced around the lounge again, voice a hissing whisper. ‘My life is in danger!’

‘Yeah, from me!’ Nina stood, grabbing her laptop.

Rust jumped up too, hands flapping as he begged her to sit back down. ‘Please, please! Your parents were great friends of mine, your father especially. We had a lot in common. Including a passion for unfashionable theories.’ His look of pleading suddenly sharpened. ‘Like Atlantis.’

‘That still doesn’t give you the right to use my parents as a way to get my attention.’

‘Do you know why I lost my job?’ Rust asked, his tone hardening. ‘Because I helped your father. I secretly gave him the recovered Nazi documents that brought him and Laura closer to Atlantis than ever before. When what I had done was discovered, I was fired, disgraced - and in the end I lost my marriage because of it. Sabrina left me.’

‘If you’re looking for sympathy, you’re looking in the wrong place,’ Nina told him coldly. ‘My parents died because of what you gave them.’

‘Your parents were prepared to take any risk to prove that they were right,’ countered Rust. ‘You know this is true - you knew them. The search for Atlantis was their passion, their obsession, and it became yours too. And you would never have found Atlantis without them. Your work built on theirs.’ Nina couldn’t deny that; she had made extensive use of her parents’ notes in her research. ‘And like them, you took great risks to prove your theories. Well, I too have a theory. Nobody believes it - but nobody believed your parents either, yet they were right.’ Having said his piece, he seemed to sag, the tension of waiting for Nina’s response the only string holding him upright. ‘Please,’ he said quietly. ‘At least hear what I have to say.’

Nina hesitated. She knew full well that Rust was playing on her emotions, and resented the manipulation as much as his deception. But he would not have given the Nazi documents to her parents without knowing the risk he was taking in helping them . . . and he had paid the price, with his career, his marriage.

‘All right,’ she said reluctantly, her anger still there, but subsiding. ‘All right, I’ll listen. But that’s all.’ She sat down. ‘I’m not promising anything else.’

Rust returned to his own seat, relieved. ‘That is all I ask.’

Arms folded, Nina regarded him through narrowed eyes. ‘So. Tell me your theory.’

‘My theory,’ Rust began, again lowering his voice, ‘concerns Arthur’s sword, Excalibur. I believe it is real - and that it still exists. What is more, I know how to find it.’

‘Okay, so where is it?’

‘I do not know.’

Nina blew an aggravated breath out through her teeth. ‘But you just said—’

‘I said I knew how to find it; that is not the same as knowing where it is. I have always had a keen interest in the Arthurian legends, just as your parents did about Atlantis. And like them, I have devoted a great deal of time and effort to piece together every last scrap of historical fact that I could discover. The story of King Arthur stretches far outside just Britain, you know.’ He looked at the sea beyond the windows. ‘It goes as far as the Middle East - which is where one of the clues that will lead us to Excalibur lies.’

‘There’s no “us”, Bernd,’ Nina reminded him. ‘Not unless you convince me you’re right.’

Rust’s eyes flicked down at the disc. ‘And I will do so - all my research is there.’ He looked back at her. ‘You know, of course, of King Richard the First?’

‘Richard the Lionheart,’ said Nina, nodding.

‘When Richard set out on the Third Crusade in 1190, he took with him a very special item, a gift from the monks of Glastonbury Abbey in the west of England. They gave him a sword - a sword that once belonged to Britain’s greatest king.’

‘Excalibur?’

Rust smiled. ‘No. Richard thought he carried Excalibur - but the monks had given him Arthur’s first sword, Caliburn. This is my theory - my unfashionable passion.’

Nina found herself starting to become intrigued, however unwillingly. ‘Go on.’

‘Caliburn was broken in battle by King Pellinore, according to legend. This may or may not be true, but the sword was broken, I have no doubt of that. The pieces were kept, and, as a weapon of great importance, attempts were made to reforge it. But a mended weapon can never have the same strength as a newly forged one - and I believe that Arthur’s swords were more than mere steel. I will come to that later,’ he went on, catching Nina’s quizzical expression. ‘So Merlin, who had made Caliburn, forged a replacement.’

‘You believe Merlin was real?’

‘There are too many historical references to him for me to doubt it, yes. Though he was not a wizard - at least, not in the magical sense.’ Rust gave Nina a knowing smile. ‘He created a new weapon for Arthur, a sword even stronger than Caliburn - Excalibur. Now, legend says that Arthur was buried with it in the grounds of Glastonbury Abbey. But the monks also had Caliburn in their possession, along with many of Arthur’s other treasures.’

‘So where does Richard the Lionheart come into it?’

‘Glastonbury Abbey was one of the wealthiest monasteries in England,’ Rust explained. ‘Much of that wealth came from its connection to the legend of Arthur. Of course, wherever there is wealth, there will always come those demanding tribute. Richard was no exception.’

‘So the monks gave him Excalibur,’ said Nina, before she realised where Rust was heading. ‘Or rather, they told him it was Excalibur - because they had no intention of giving up the real sword.’

‘Precisely! Excalibur was buried in Arthur’s tomb, a black stone pyramid which the monks discovered in 1191 - one year after Richard left on the Crusade. Though “discovered” is not the right word - they knew where it was all along.’

‘They unveiled it,’ Nina realised. ‘Like opening a new attraction at a theme park.’

‘Yes. The abbey had been damaged by a fire, and even that wealthy monastery’s resources would have been strained by the cost of repairs. But the tomb of Arthur would bring them many visitors . . . and their money.’

‘So what happened to the tomb? I know for a fact that King Arthur’s bones aren’t on display anywhere.’

‘No, they are not. After the tomb was discovered, the bodies of Arthur and his queen, Guinevere, were moved to within the abbey itself. But when Henry the Eighth dissolved the monasteries around 1539—’

‘By “dissolved” you mean “destroyed”, right?’ Nina cut in.

‘Quite so. When the abbey was destroyed, so was the tomb, and nothing of it was ever found.’

‘So the only thing left of Arthur was Caliburn?’

Rust was smiling again. ‘Not quite. This is what my research has told me, this is my theory. Think about it - the monks of Glastonbury were willing to risk tricking the king to protect their treasure. So when they revealed - unveiled, as you say - the tomb of King Arthur to the world, I believe they had already moved the real contents of the tomb to another place, somewhere that fire or robbers, or kings, could not find them. Only the monks knew where this place was - and when the monastery was destroyed, the knowledge was lost. But there was one place it remained - inscribed on Caliburn!’

Nina was sceptical. ‘Why would the monks do that? It’d be like giving the key to Fort Knox to Goldfinger!’

‘They did not expect Richard to take the sword with him on the Crusades. And they would never have expected him to do with the sword what he did.’

‘Which was?’

‘On his way to the Holy Land Richard stopped in Sicily, where in the manner of kings of that time he started a small war over some trivial matter.’ Rust shook his head dismissively, unruly hair waving. ‘The ruler of Sicily at that time was Tancred of Lecce, and when he signed a peace treaty with Richard in 1191, Richard presented him with a token of their new friendship . . .’

‘Caliburn,’ Nina realised.

‘Though both Tancred and Richard thought it was Excalibur.’

She was still dubious. ‘I never heard that story before.’

‘It was not exactly something Richard wanted widely publicised at home, that he had given away one of England’s greatest treasures. But when Richard continued on to the Holy Land, Tancred was left with the sword, which passed down to his successors until it reached Frederick the Second.’

‘Ah!’ said Nina, recognising a historical figure with whom she was far more familiar. ‘The Holy Roman Emperor.’

‘And another Crusader - although a very different kind from Richard.’

‘Making alliances with the Muslims so he could just walk into Jerusalem and claim it without a single life being lost wasn’t quite what the Pope had in mind,’ she said with a grin.

Rust smiled back. ‘No. But it was through those alliances that the sword found its way to the Middle East. When Frederick took over Jerusalem in 1229, many Crusaders actually refused to follow him - he had been excommunicated by Pope Gregory IX, and they feared that allying themselves with him might earn them the same fate. But Frederick was able to persuade a few Crusaders to support him, including a young knight called Peter of Koroneou - though that title came later. As a reward for his loyalty, Frederick presented Peter with the sword. Then in 1231, when Gregory lifted Frederick’s excommunication, it was seen as vindication for Peter’s actions, and he gained considerable influence as a result. As well as territory in the Holy Land, he was also granted a castle on Koroneou, in the Greek islands.’

‘So Caliburn is on Koroneou?’ Nina asked. Although she still had doubts, Rust’s research was definitely becoming interesting.

Rust shook his head. ‘If only. Peter was killed when he returned to the Holy Land to defend his territory against the Mamelukes in 1260. His sword, the one presented to him by Frederick, was broken in battle - as I said, a reforged sword is never as strong as a new one. Peter’s men returned his body to Koroneou for burial, along with pieces of the sword. I believe I have located one of these pieces, surprisingly close to home . . . but the current owner of the castle in which it may be hidden refuses to let me search for it. Perhaps someone of your fame would be more persuasive.’ He gave her a wry smile, which quickly evaporated as he spoke again, gaining urgency. ‘But I know exactly where the tip of the sword, is - or rather, where it was, until three weeks ago. This is why I could trust only you.’ He tapped the disc case. ‘Why I had to destroy all my notes except this one copy - I could not risk anyone else getting hold of them.’

‘Bernd, what’s going on?’ Nina asked. ‘You said your life was in danger - why?’

‘Through my research, I learned that the tip of the sword found its way back to Sicily,’ Rust told her, ‘to a church with a historical connection to Frederick, in the village of San Maggiori. I would have gone to see it for myself, but ever since Sabrina left me money has been a problem. I could no longer go to academic sources to fund my research, so I had to look elsewhere. I tried private sources across Europe, but nobody was interested - until I was approached by a Russian. He seemed very interested.’ He glanced cautiously around the room again. ‘Unfortunately, I told him too much - and just two days later, the priest at San Maggiori was murdered - shot - and his church burned to the ground.’

‘You think this Russian tried to get the piece without you? And he killed to get it?’

‘I am sure of it,’ Rust insisted. ‘The local police think it was the Mafia, but the timing . . . it cannot be a coincidence. That is why I went into hiding, why I could not let anyone but you see my work. This man cannot be allowed to find the rest of Caliburn, to find Excalibur. The risk to the world is too great.’

Nina was back to being sceptical. ‘Why? I mean, it would be an incredible archaeological find, but Excalibur’s still just a sword.’

‘Excalibur is more than just a sword,’ said Rust, his eyes deadly serious. ‘In the ancient Welsh text called the Mabinogion, Arthur’s sword is said to have a design of two snakes on the hilt, and when he drew it . . .’ He paused to recall the exact words. ‘“What was seen from the mouths of the two serpents was like two flames of fire, so dreadful it was not easy for anyone to look.” And in Le Morte d’Arthur, when Arthur drew his sword, “it was so bright in his enemies’ eyes that it gave light like thirty torches”. It is no ordinary blade. Everything you need to know is in my notes. Please, see for yourself.’

She opened up her laptop and double-clicked on the file she had copied from the disc. ‘Okay, but I have to say this does sound a bit . . .’ She wanted to say ‘crazy’, but instead settled for ‘paranoid. So what’s the password?’

‘Zum Wilden Hirsch. All one word, no capital letters.’ Nina looked at him oddly. ‘It was the name of the guest house where I was staying when I encrypted the files. I needed something the Russians would never guess, even if they somehow got the disc.’

‘Russians, plural?’ Nina asked dubiously as she carefully typed in the letters. The computer chimed - the password had been accepted, giving her access. A folder opened, revealing dozens - no, hundreds - of files within. ‘Wow. You’ve, ah, made a lot of notes.’

‘Another security precaution,’ said Rust. He tapped his forehead. ‘The only index is in here. Without it, it will take days for anyone to sort through it all. But with my help, you will be able to see what I have found very quickly - and I hope it will convince you that I am right, that I know how to find the pieces of Caliburn . . . and that Caliburn will lead us to Excalibur.’

‘Well, we’ll see.’ Nina looked up at Rust. ‘So which file should I read—’

She froze.

An intense pinprick of pure green light had appeared on Rust’s chest, unnoticed by him. It slipped across his crumpled clothing, stopping directly over his heart . . .

The high-pitched crack as a small hole was blown through the window beside Nina was drowned out by the crash as Rust flew backwards, a vivid gout of blood exploding from the bullet wound in his chest.

4

Nina leapt to her feet - partly in shock, but also in case the sniper was lining up a second shot on her.

But the laser spot flashed away and was gone. Nina ran to the window. A hole as wide as her finger had been punched through the glass. Beyond it, on the roof of the International Centre, she saw the sniper - a woman, hard-faced, ragged hair dyed bright orange - swing up her rifle, then duck away behind the edge of the building.

‘Hey!’ someone shouted from behind her. ‘He’s stealing your laptop!’

Nina spun to see the big man charging for the exit with her MacBook and the disc, his huge hand making the machine seem no bigger than a paperback.

Rust—

One look told her that he was dead, eyes wide and still, mouth half open as if about to speak. But he would never speak again - and whatever he had been about to share with Nina was now heading out of the door.

‘Call 911!’ she shouted as she started after the bearded man. ‘I mean, whatever number it is here, call the police!’

The hulking thief ran deeper into the hotel. Nina pursued him. The young guy followed, eager to prove himself a hero. But his steel faltered somewhat when he realised just how big his target was. ‘Did you call the police?’ Nina demanded, seeing the phone still in his hand. He fumbled with the keypad, slowing slightly as his attention was diverted.

Ahead, the big man reached a junction. He too slowed, looking each way, first in confusion, then frustration, before going right.

Nina rounded the corner to find herself in a clone of the corridor she’d just left. A maid was closing the door of one of the rooms, her housekeeping trolley angled across the passage. The bearded man yelled something in a foreign tongue - Russian? Nina thought - as he stumbled into it, scattering spray bottles of cleaning products. The maid shrieked.

The man looked back, saw Nina and her companion running after him—

And picked up the entire trolley, hoisting it almost effortlessly and flinging it down the corridor at them.

‘Jesus!’ Nina threw herself against a door. The slight recess gave her just enough space to dodge the angular missile - but the young man was less lucky, looking up from his phone a moment too late. The trolley smashed into him and knocked him down, its remaining contents flying everywhere.

Nina straightened, but the bearded man wasn’t finished. Now he picked up the maid and hurled the screaming woman at her. This time Nina had nowhere to go. Both women tumbled to the floor amongst the debris.

Their attacker let out a satisfied grunt at the chaos, then turned and ran again.

‘Son of a bitch!’ Nina gasped as she struggled upright. The maid seemed more shocked than hurt, but the young man was moaning, clutching a broken wrist. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked the woman, getting a confused nod in reply. She pointed at the injured man. ‘Help him!’

His phone lay amongst the scattered soaps and shampoos, screen glowing. Nina snatched it up and broke into a pained run after the giant.

He reached another junction, frustration now evident as his head snapped from left to right and back again. He was lost, Nina realised - trapped by the bland conformity of the corridors, and apparently unable to read the signs directing guests through the maze.

He looked back at her and scowled, the scar on his forehead twisting the lines of his skin. Nina slowed. If he changed tactics and attacked her instead of running, she wouldn’t stand a chance.

But instead he turned away, going left. Wrong way, she thought, reading the sign as she ran after him. If he couldn’t find the exit, there was a chance he could be caught before he got away or hurt anyone else.

But she needed help, someone who could take down the overmuscled giant . . .

Chase was guiding the Focus through the traffic, his grandmother sitting beside him with a bag of shopping on her lap and several more lined up on the back seat, when his phone rang. He sighed and fumbled in his pocket. ‘Can you answer that for me, Nan?’ he asked, handing it to her. ‘Don’t want to get in trouble with the police on my first day back in the country.’

He expected it was Nina calling, as he doubted Holly would have got her new phone charged up so quickly, and the likelihood of Elizabeth’s phoning him for a chat was extremely small. ‘Ooh, hello, Nina,’ Nan said, proving him right, before adding unnecessarily: ‘It’s Nina.’

‘Thought it might be,’ he replied, opting not to treat his grandmother to any of his usual sarcasm. ‘What’s she want?’

A procession of increasingly surprised oohs and aahs followed, Chase glancing sideways to see Nan’s expression turn to one of utter disbelief. ‘What?’ he asked.

‘She says the man she went to see was just assassinated, and she’s chasing another man who stole her laptop round the hotel.’

‘Oh, sh . . . oes,’ blurted Chase. He shoved down the accelerator.

‘You know, I didn’t get the impression she was the type for practical jokes.’

‘She’s not,’ he told Nan grimly. ‘I can’t bloody take her anywhere!’

Nina rounded another corner - to find herself facing a dead end. The bearded man lurched to a stop ahead of her, letting out another angry exclamation. He turned and glared at Nina.

‘Er . . . hi,’ she said, horribly aware that their roles in the chase had suddenly reversed. He took a step towards her. ‘Okay, how about you keep the laptop? It’s insured . . . I think . . .’

The man took another step. Nina fearfully backed away, passing a bright red fire extinguisher attached to the wall.

A weapon—

She yanked it from its clips, and hurled it at him with all her strength.

He brought up a hand, but too late, taking the blunt end of the extinguisher on his face with a flat metallic blong. He reeled back . . .

And smiled at her.

‘Daaaa,’ he moaned almost ecstatically through bloodied teeth. His demented grin widened, eyes fixing on Nina.

‘Aw, crap . . .’

He grabbed the fire extinguisher, and flung it back at her. She dived out of its path, the end of its hose slashing across her back. The extinguisher hit the opposite wall with a bang and punched straight through it like a giant bullet, wood and plaster splintering.

Nina expected him to attack while she was down, but instead she heard a crack of breaking wood. Looking up, she saw he had kicked a door off its hinges and entered an emergency stairwell.

Wincing at the cut on her back, she went after him. The smell of food wafting up from below told her she was heading for the hotel’s kitchens. There was a loud crash of doors being flung open followed by angry yelling, then a metallic cacophony of cascading pans and a shriek of pain.

Nina reached the bottom of the stairs. The doors were still swinging wildly like the entrance to a Wild West saloon. She barged through them, seeing a man in chef’s whites - now spotted with red from his broken nose - sprawled on the tiled floor amongst pans from an overturned trolley. Other staff were desperately trying to get out of the bearded man’s way as he ran for another set of doors at the kitchen’s far end.

She jumped over the battered chef, her heel catching one of the pans and sending it clanging across the aisle. The man glanced back and saw her. Another foreign curse - and then he yanked a cleaver out of a side of beef and threw it at her.

Nina yelped and dropped to the floor as the razor-sharp slice of steel whistled over her head and buried itself two inches deep in the wall. She took a cautious look over the edge of the nearest counter, hurriedly ducking back as the hefty chunk of meat itself bounced off the metal just above her. More heavyweight culinary missiles followed - a bucket-sized can of baked beans, a whole turkey, and a glass jar that exploded on impact and showered her with pickled onions. Vinegar splashed the cut on her back, stinging.

‘What is this, a goddamn food fight?’ she cried.

More shouts came from the other end of the kitchen, followed by a colossal crash of breaking crockery. Nina risked another look over the counter, seeing the doors swinging and thousands of fragments of plates and bowls skittering over the tiles where another trolley had been overturned. The man was gone.

‘Shit!’ She jumped up and ran past the kitchen staff, skidding and slithering over the smashed china into the hotel’s dining room. The bearded man had seemingly got his bearings, and was racing towards the exit to the reception area. She followed.

Chase powered down the hill alongside the Imax, triggering a speed camera in his haste to reach Nina. He just managed to hold in an obscenity on seeing the double flash in his mirror. Beside him, Nan clung tightly with one hand to the door handle, her other arm hugging her bag of shopping.

He swept over the elevated road above the broad pierfront esplanade and back up the hill towards the International Centre. As he braked sharply to turn into the Paragon’s car park, he saw he wasn’t the only one in a hurry - a gleaming black Jaguar XK convertible screeched in ahead of him from the opposite direction, a woman with punkish orange hair at its wheel.

Somehow, he knew she was connected with whatever trouble Nina had got herself into. If Nan hadn’t been with him, he would have rammed the Focus into the Jag to stop the woman from making a getaway, but instead all he could do was watch helplessly as a huge bearded slab of a man ran out of the hotel, swatting a doorman aside with a sweep of one arm.

He had an Apple laptop in his other hand. It had to be Nina’s . . . The Jaguar skidded to a halt. The man vaulted the door and landed in the passenger seat, the car visibly tilting under his weight. The woman stamped on the accelerator, skidding the car round to head back the way it had come.

Nina charged out of the hotel and ran to the Focus. ‘That’s them, they killed him!’ she shouted, pointing after the disappearing XK. She was about to open the front passenger door when she realised the seat was occupied. ‘Oh!’

‘You remember my nan, don’t you?’ Chase said sheepishly.

‘Yeah, ah . . .’ The Jaguar disappeared from view; she stared desperately after it, then pulled open the rear door and jumped in, shoving shopping aside. ‘They’re getting away, go go go!’

Chase gave her a despairing look. ‘Nina, my grandmother’s in the car!’

To their mutual surprise, Nan spoke up. ‘Go after them, Edward!’

Chase’s eyebrows shot up. ‘What?’

Nan shoved the bag on her lap into the footwell and gripped the door handle with both hands. ‘I always wanted to see what my grandson does for a living.’

‘But—’

She glowered fiercely at him. ‘Edward, they’re getting away! Go on, get after them!’

He revved the engine. ‘This is such a fff . . . lippin’ bad idea . . .’ And with that, Chase brought the Focus screaming round after the Jaguar.

5

Chase flung the Focus out of the car park into a sharp right turn. ‘What’s going on?’ he asked Nina.

‘I don’t know,’ Nina said tersely.

‘That helps!’

‘The woman shot Bernd, and the big guy stole my laptop. I think he’s Russian.’

Ahead, the Jaguar slewed the wrong way through a roundabout. Another car swerved to avoid a collision and crashed on to the pavement. ‘Why’d he steal your laptop?’

‘That disc Bernd gave me - whatever’s on it, they want it!’

Chase braked hard and skidded round the roundabout. The shopping bags in the back seat spilled their contents over Nina. ‘So what’s on the disc?’

‘I don’t know! Something to do with finding Excalibur.’

The Jaguar was pulling away up a hill. Chase wished he’d hired something more powerful than a family hatchback. ‘What, King Arthur’s sword?’

‘No, the John Boorman movie!’ she snapped sarcastically. ‘Yes, King Arthur’s sword!’

‘All right, Jesus Christ!’ His grandmother gave him a stern look. ‘Sorry, Nan. Where does this road go?’

‘The top end of town,’ Nan told him - but Chase was no longer listening, his attention caught by a skirl of tyres and a flash of movement in the mirror. A black Jeep Grand Cherokee swept in behind them from a side road.

Someone was leaning out of the passenger-side window—

‘Get down!’ Chase screamed, left arm snapping across to shove his grandmother’s head down. The rear window burst apart, glittering fragments of safety glass showering over Nina as she ducked.

Another bullet plunked through the Focus’s hatchback door, cracking against the hard plastic of the seat back. Hunching low, Chase caught a glimpse of the shaven-headed gunman in the wing mirror. He was only armed with a pistol, but at such close range it was enough.

‘Who the hell are these guys?’ yelled Nina.

‘More Russians!’ Chase guessed. One group to carry out the hit and get the disc - and a second team to make sure nobody stopped them from escaping with their prize.

‘Oh, great! I don’t suppose you picked up a gun from the supermarket?’

‘This is England! The only people with guns are farmers and hoodies!’

Traffic waited at a set of lights ahead, an approaching truck filling the other lane. The Jaguar braked hard and made a sharp right turn, going the wrong way down a one-way street. Chase followed suit, slamming down through the gears into a screaming, barely controlled drift after it. Nina was thrown bodily against the left-hand door, loose bottles and boxes battering her. The Focus juddered as its tyres struggled for grip, Chase battling with the wheel to hold it on the road.

He looked ahead - and saw a bus rounding another tight corner. The Jaguar’s brake lights flared as the orange-haired woman swerved and slammed it up on to the pavement to guide it into a narrow gap between the shopfronts and a line of bollards. People screamed and dived aside as the XK raced down the hill.

‘Hold on!’ Chase shouted as he aimed the Focus after it.

‘It’s too narrow!’ Nina protested.

‘If they can fit, so can—’

The passenger-side wing mirror clipped a signpost and flew off in a shower of glass and plastic. Nan gasped in fright.

‘Okay, I should’ve gone a bit further over,’ Chase admitted as he guided the car through the line of bollards and on to the pedestrianised area beyond. He recognised where they were - at the top of the street where he’d bought Holly her phone. Behind him, the Grand Cherokee slowed to squeeze through the gap, its bodywork scraping against the shopfronts.

Nina looked ahead in horror as Chase accelerated again and blasted a frenzied tattoo on the horn. The street was still busy, shoppers reacting in panic as the cars raced at them. ‘Eddie, stop before we kill someone!’

‘If we stop, we’ll get killed!’ he countered. The black SUV had cleared the bollards, the shaven-headed man raising his gun again.

The Jaguar weaved down the road, horn blaring - less out of concern for the lives of pedestrians than because hitting them would slow it down. Past the XK, Chase saw the clock tower overlooking the Square almost straight ahead, another road curving away to the left - but more bollards blocked the way, and the end of the pedestrian zone was blocked by a large metal gate—

With nowhere else to go, the orange-haired woman aimed the Jaguar to the right of the gate and speeded up. People jumped aside, but one man was too slow and bounced off the bonnet to crash through the window of a Burger King. Chase grimaced, both his passengers reacting in shock.

They cleared the gate. Chase glanced in the mirror. The Grand Cherokee was gaining, but the gap was tight even for a car, never mind an SUV - maybe too tight . . .

The Jeep suddenly fell back, braking hard. But again the gap was just wide enough for it to fit through - it would be back in the chase very quickly.

The Jaguar roared into the Square, smashing several chairs outside the café before ploughing into a cart and sending brightly coloured pashminas spinning into the air like butterflies. The market stalls formed a channel through the plaza, limiting options for escape. Somewhere in the distance, Chase heard a siren - the police.

The woman heard it too, and started hunting for an exit route. All were clogged with people trying to flee the cars. Chase increased speed, intending to swipe the Jag’s rear end and force it into a lamppost. ‘Hang on!’

She saw him coming and floored the accelerator, swinging right - and sending the Jaguar headlong through a fruit stall, an explosion of colour erupting in its wake. ‘Oh, fff . . . ruit!’ Chase gasped as he pursued it through the demolished stall, more varieties than he could name bouncing and splattering on the windscreen. Through the mush he saw the XK turn again, clipping a bus shelter and blowing out a pane of glass before flying off the kerb on to a road.

He sent the Focus after it, the suspension bottoming out with a horrible crunch. Finding the wiper controls, Chase managed to clear his view and saw he was on the road running round the park. The Jaguar was already racing away.

The siren suddenly became much louder. A police car, a Volvo V70 emblazoned with squares of Day-Glo yellow and blue, tore round the corner ahead of them, headlights flashing. The orange-haired woman changed direction, slamming over the kerb to drive the Jaguar into the park. Chase followed, another bone-jarring impact crashing through the tortured Focus.

‘The police are here!’ Nina protested. ‘Let them handle it!’

‘You know who they’ll arrest first? Us!’ Chase shot back. The police car fell in behind them, strobe lights pulsing - and the Grand Cherokee swept through the park entrance right behind it.

The narrow path forked. The left route headed through the trees along the park’s eastern side, but the Jaguar went right, towards a bridge over the river. It was barely wide enough for a car, the XK losing one of its wing mirrors to the metal railings. A man jogging across in the other direction stared in disbelief as the Jag roared at him, coming to his senses just in time to fling himself into the water.

Sparks flew up from the Focus’s flank as it scraped against the bridge, the remaining wing mirror going the same way as the Jag’s. The XK reached a crossroads, the path directly ahead blocked by an ice-cream van, to the right only the balloon and the way back to the crowds of the Square. It went left, towards the seafront—

Shots!

Three, four, five cracks from behind. But the shaven-headed man in the SUV wasn’t aiming at Chase, but at the police, trying to get them out of his way.

Blood splattered the Volvo’s windscreen as the driver was hit. The V70 veered sharply, hitting the bridge railings sidelong so hard that it folded around them, all the windows exploding. The Grand Cherokee’s driver saw that his path was blocked and slammed on the brakes, but not fast enough to stop the SUV from T-boning the police car and crushing it even harder against the metal posts.

The Jeep wasn’t out of the pursuit, though. Tyres smoking, broken chunks of grille and bumper trailing beneath it, it shrieked in reverse back up the hill before reaching the fork and lunging along the tree-lined path.

Chase performed a powerslide through the crossroads to follow the Jaguar. More people hurled themselves away from the cars, tumbling on to the neatly mowed grass. A crazy golf course whipped past, trees and another fork in the path ahead—

‘Go right!’ Nan ordered.

‘What?’ The Jaguar went left.

‘Right, it’s shorter!’

Hoping his grandmother’s local knowledge was up to scratch, Chase swerved the Focus on to the right-hand path, one hand pounding on the horn. He glanced left, seeing glints of black through the bushes and trees.

And further back, the Grand Cherokee powering down a hill to a second bridge, about to rejoin the hunt.

Nan had been right - this route was shorter. They were gaining on the Jaguar. Ahead, Chase saw the elevated road over the pierfront esplanade, their hotel to the right. ‘We’re going round in bloody circles!’

Both cars raced under the raised roadway, the pier entrance directly ahead. Stalls channelled them towards the beach, but these were semi-permanent structures backed by brick and concrete, no way to simply smash through. The Jaguar’s driver frantically looked for an exit as more sirens approached.

Chase’s mirror suddenly filled with broken chrome teeth, the Jeep’s mangled grille snarling at him. The more powerful Grand Cherokee had caught up.

A shot punched through the roof directly above his head and blew a hole in the windscreen. Nan screamed. ‘Eddie!’ Nina cried as he swung the car over to the driver’s side of the Jeep to deny the gunman a clear shot. Cans and bottles clattered against her. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah!’ was all he had time to say. The Jaguar reached the end of the stalls, skidding round them to head up an access road beside the Imax. The Jeep’s engine roared right behind the Focus. If Chase turned to follow the XK, he would put everyone in the car in the gunman’s line of fire, at almost point-blank range . . .

Some mad inspiration struck Nina, and she hurled a tin out of the shattered rear window. It hit the Jeep’s windscreen, crazing it. Startled, the driver instinctively swerved away.

Chase saw his chance and hauled on the wheel to bring the Focus round the stalls after the Jaguar. The Grand Cherokee went wide, tilting heavily on its suspension before coming after them again.

Nina grabbed the heaviest item she could see, a bottle of Pimm’s. The amber liquid sloshing as the car juddered round to pursue the Jaguar up the hill, she prepared to throw it—

A man directly ahead jumped away - revealing a woman with a baby in a pushchair right behind him. Chase braked, desperately swinging the Focus . . . back into the gunman’s sights.

Caught unawares by the sudden braking, Nina threw the bottle. It fell short, smashing on the paving.

The gunman aimed—

The Jeep’s front wheel ran over the jagged shards.

The tyre exploded. The driver lost control, sawing at the wheel as he tried to bring the two-ton-plus SUV to a stop, but it was too late.

The Grand Cherokee flipped over and barrel-rolled through the glass façade of the Imax building. It slammed into a wall - and exploded.

The raging fireball roiled through the foyer, every pane of glass shattering and raining down on to the esplanade. ‘Bloody hell!’ said Chase, looking back at the smoking structure.

‘It’s an improvement,’ his grandmother said quietly.

The Jaguar made another turn, into the exit road from a small car park. On the far side, Chase realised, was the road where he’d been caught by a speed camera less than five minutes - though it felt like five hours - earlier. From there, the dual carriageway out of town was only a couple of roundabouts away.

He threw the Focus round the corner after the Jag, knowing that once the convertible was free of the twisting urban roads he would never catch it. The orange-haired woman turned right to head uphill, out of the town centre. He followed, a car coming down the hill barely missing him.

More police sirens, growing louder . . .

A roundabout ahead. The Jaguar went left - but racing straight for Chase were two more police cars, the lead one swerving the wrong way round the roundabout to block his path as the second went the other way, boxing him in—

‘Fuck a duck!’ Nan shrieked.

‘Nan!’ yelped Chase shocked, as he yanked the handbrake—

The skidding Ford smashed headlong into the side of the first police car. The airbags deployed with a bang, cushioning the occupants of the front seats. Nina threw herself flat just before impact and was flung into the rear footwell, groceries ricocheting around her.

It had been a relatively low-speed collision, but Chase was still shaken. He sat up as the airbags deflated, and saw his grandmother bent over beside him. ‘Nan! Are you okay?’

She slowly raised her head. ‘I think . . .’

‘What?’

‘I think I just wee’d a little bit.’

Chase almost laughed, before remembering Nina. He looked round for her . . . and found himself staring down the barrel of an MP-5 sub-machine gun.

Not just one. Four policemen in flak jackets surrounded the car, weapons raised, fingers on triggers. An Armed Response Unit.

‘Armed police!’ one of them screamed. ‘Put your hands up! Now!’

Chase carefully raised his hands, nodding for his grandmother to do the same. ‘Nice one, lads. You stopped the wrong car. We’re the good guys.’

‘Shut up!’ The policeman looked into the rear of the car. ‘You in the back! Show me your hands, slowly! Get up!’

Nina obeyed, shaking glass out of her hair as she spoke to Chase. ‘And you said Bournemouth was boring . . .’

6

‘Well, well,’ said a familiar voice. ‘If it isn’t Eddie Chase. Or should that be Mad Max?’

Chase looked up as the cell door opened. ‘You took your time,’ he said with a tired grin. Jim ‘Mac’ McCrimmon, Chase’s former commanding officer in the SAS, had been the person he’d contacted with his phone call after being arrested.

‘I ended up burning a lot of midnight oil at MI6.’ The grey-haired Scotsman entered the cell, and Chase stood to shake his hand. Mac was dressed in a dark tailored suit, which gave away no clue that one of his legs was artificial below the knee, and carried several folded newspapers under one arm. ‘You seem to have stirred up something rather large - the Yanks are very interested in it.’

‘How come?’

‘No idea, but Peter Alderley’s giving me an update soon.’

‘Alderley?’ Chase groaned at the mention of the MI6 agent. ‘Oh, God, you got that twat involved? He must be laughing his arse off at the thought of me spending the night in a police cell.’

‘There was some amusement, yes. But he also wants to know when he’s going to get his wedding invitation.’

‘Why would he even want to come? He can’t stand us.’

A smirk crinkled Mac’s craggy face. ‘Oh, he likes Nina just fine. It’s you he can’t stand. He wants to give Nina his commiserations.’

‘The cheeky bastard! And after he got promoted because of us . . . Where is Nina, anyway? Is she okay?’

‘She’s fine.’ Mac gestured at the door. ‘She’s waiting in reception. Along with your grandmother.’

‘What, I call you and then I’m the last one you get out?’

‘Ladies first, Eddie. Where are your manners?’

A policeman led them to the police station’s reception area. ‘Eddie!’ said Nina as he entered, jumping up to embrace him. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Just got worked over with a rubber hose, but apart from that I’m fine,’ he joked. He looked past her to see his grandmother sitting on a bench nearby. ‘Nan! Are you all right?’

She nodded. ‘I’m fine, Edward, thank you. I’ve never been arrested before, it was all very strange! Everyone was very nice, though, and they even brought me tea in my cell. It’ll be quite a story to tell the other girls next time we play bridge.’

‘Thank God. If anyone’d been nasty to my nan, there really would have been trouble.’ He became aware of activity outside the glass front doors. ‘What’s going on?’

‘Press,’ Mac replied disdainfully. He handed Chase and Nina the newspapers. ‘You’ve become big news, unfortunately. Don’t worry about that lot outside, we can slap a category five DA notice on them to shut them up now the security services are involved, but it happened too late to stop this morning’s papers.’

‘Aah!’ Nina cried in dismay, seeing her official IHA publicity photo smiling witlessly back at her from the front page of the Guardian under the headline ‘Chaos in Bournemouth: discoverer of Atlantis arrested following murder’. ‘I wasn’t arrested for it, I witnessed it!’

‘You think that’s bad . . .’ said Chase. He held up the Sun, the tabloid bearing the banner headline ‘THE BOURNE-MOUTH IDENTITY’. Some tourist with a quick shutter finger - and a canny commercial sense - had caught the Focus as it smashed through the remains of the fruit stall, and the picture now dominated the page. Chase was just a shadow in the driving seat, and most of his grandmother’s face was obscured by the windscreen pillar, but Nina was clearly visible in the back. The paper had even helpfully included an inset of her shaking hands with President Dalton.

Chase read out the opening paragraph. ‘“One day, she was at the White House to accept the highest honour in America from the President. The next, she was in a high-speed car chase and gun battle through a quiet seaside town. Famed archaeologist Nina Wilde, discoverer of the lost city of Atlantis, was arrested yesterday after a trail of destruction through Bournemouth left three dead and dozens injured . . .” Yeah, this isn’t good.’

‘Oh, ya think?’ Nina wailed. ‘And Atlantis isn’t a city, it’s the whole damn island! Why does everyone get that wrong?’

Chase hugged her. ‘Priorities, love.’

‘I know, I know. But aaargh!’

A fusillade of camera flashes from outside caught everyone’s attention. Elizabeth Chase stormed up the steps and threw open the door, furious eyes locked on to her brother. ‘You!’ she yelled. Holly scurried in behind her, worried.

‘Hi, Lizzie,’ said Chase with false breeziness. ‘You saw today’s papers, then?’

She shoved past him and crouched before her grandmother. ‘Nan, are you okay?’

‘I’m all right, love,’ Nan assured her. ‘A bit shaken up, that’s all.’

‘Oh, thank God.’ She bowed her head in relief, then whirled to confront Chase. ‘What the hell were you thinking? You stupid bastard! You could have killed her!’

‘Yeah, I’m fine too, thanks,’ Chase replied with chilly sarcasm.

‘Actually, Elizabeth, I’m afraid this is all my fault,’ said Nina.

Elizabeth snatched the newspaper from Chase’s hand, jabbing a finger at the picture. ‘Oh, so you were driving the car from the back seat?’ She crumpled the paper into a roll and batted it angrily against Chase, prompting the policeman to politely but firmly pull her away. ‘I thought you couldn’t possibly do anything more selfish and irresponsible than you already have, but this, this . . .’ She stood silently for a moment. ‘God! I have never been more . . . disgusted with you in my entire life.’

‘Elizabeth!’ Nan snapped, standing up with an obvious effort. Holly hurried to help her. ‘I’m all right, and so are Edward and Nina. That’s all that matters.’

‘No, it’s not all that matters, Nan!’ Elizabeth said. ‘People were killed! And it’s all his fault! You think he’s going to explain why to their families?’

‘Actually,’ said Mac, raising his voice with authority, ‘the two men who died while trying to kill Eddie and Nina - and your grandmother, I might add - are the reason my colleagues are so interested in what happened.’

‘And who the hell are you?’ Elizabeth demanded.

‘Ma’am,’ said Mac, bowing slightly. The gesture somewhat disarmed Elizabeth. ‘Jim McCrimmon, at your service. I used to be in the SAS, but I’m now . . . well, let’s say associated with Her Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Service. Or MI6, if you prefer.’

‘MI6?’ said Holly, eyes widening. ‘You’re a spy?’

‘Mac,’ said Chase, ‘this is Holly, my niece . . . and you just met my sister, Lizzie.’

‘Elizabeth!’

Mac turned to address Holly. ‘No, I’m not a spy - your uncle would probably think a lot less of me if I were. I’m more of a consultant.’

‘Who saves people’s lives occasionally,’ Nina added.

‘And my house still isn’t fully repaired because of it . . . But these two raised quite a stir at Vauxhall Cross once their identities were discovered. Not so much from us, but we share intelligence with the Americans, and they got very excited about it.’ He looked through the glass doors at the reporters outside. ‘But I think we should discuss this somewhere more private.’

‘We can just leave?’ Nina asked in surprise.

Mac smiled. ‘You’re free to go, for the moment. The Home Office has arranged for all charges to be dropped. It seems the American government is quite keen to talk to you about these men - and about your friend, Herr Rust.’ He lowered his gaze. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Thank you. But why do they want to know about Bernd?’

‘I have absolutely no idea - but I’ll hopefully find out soon. Is there somewhere we can go?’

‘We can go to my house,’ Holly suggested. Elizabeth seemed about to object, but a look from Nan silenced her.

Mac nodded. ‘That sounds ideal.’

Chase gazed out of the front window of Elizabeth’s house, taking in what Mac had just relayed to Nina and himself after a phone conversation. ‘So this guy Yosarin and his mate the Jeep driver, if they’re working as security goons for some Russian billionaire, why are they in Bournemouth shooting at my nan?’ He turned to face Mac. ‘Alderley doesn’t know a fucking thing, does he?’

‘Mac, I know this is kind of classified,’ said Nina, ‘but is there any chance Catherine or Holly could sit in? Eddie’s so much more polite when they’re around.’

‘Afraid not, but I share your sentiments,’ Mac replied. ‘No, I get the impression that Alderley’s been shoved aside by the Americans, and he’s not happy about it.’

‘Yeah,’ said Chase, toying with Nina’s ponytail. ‘I know how annoying it is taking orders from Yanks.’

‘Hey!’ Nina said.

Mac smiled, then sat up, seeing something outside the window. ‘But I think these people might be able to provide some more illumination.’

A car had stopped outside, a large black Lincoln limousine. Chase could see its number plate, the unusual format classifying it as a diplomatic vehicle. ‘Oh, ’ello, here come the Feds.’ Nina got up to join him, watching as two men emerged from the car and marched up the drive. The doorbell rang; after a brief exchange, the living-room door opened and Elizabeth peered cautiously inside.

‘There’s some people here to see you,’ she said. ‘They said they’re from the US embassy.’

Mac stood. ‘Please, show them in, Ms Chase.’

Elizabeth led two suited men into the room. The first was in his fifties, with a thatch of thinning brown hair and a harried air. He extended a hand to Nina. ‘Dr Wilde,’ he said, before looking uncertainly between Chase and Mac. ‘Mr . . . Chase?’ Chase pointed at himself. ‘Thanks.’ Shaking hands with Chase, he introduced himself, his accent Bostonian. ‘I’m Clarence Peach, from the Department of Security Cooperation at the US embassy in London.’

‘Peachy,’ said Chase, suppressing a smirk. From Peach’s weary expression, he’d endured endless jokes about his name.

The second man was younger, in his mid-thirties, and to Nina far more impressive to look at. He was a well-built six foot plus, square-jawed and handsome with intense green eyes and jet-black hair. ‘Dr Wilde?’ he asked, deep voice betraying a distinctive New Orleans drawl. ‘I’m Jack Mitchell, from DARPA - Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency,’ he clarified, seeing her puzzled look, before his voice changed to a pitch-perfect imitation of Troy McClure, the washed-up actor from The Simpsons. ‘You may remember us from such inventions as the Internet - not just for pornography any more!’

Nina laughed. ‘Hi! Good to meet you.’

‘And you must be Eddie Chase.’

‘Guess I must,’ said Chase, not nearly as impressed as Nina by the newcomer. ‘So why’s DARPA interested in finding Excalibur? Thought you were just into building killbots and microwave pain beams these days.’

‘There’s a lot more to Bernd Rust’s research than ancient relics, and I’ll explain why in a moment. But unfortunately, that information is need-to-know classified.’ He turned to Mac. ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to leave the room while I discuss it. Sorry, sir.’

Mac was surprised. ‘I have a level five security classification.’

‘I know, sir.’

Shooting Nina and Chase a look, Mac left the room. Mitchell gestured for Nina and Chase to sit down, then opened his slim metal briefcase and removed a folder. ‘Do you recognise any of these people?’ he asked, handing several photographs to them.

Nina immediately spotted the bearded man whom she had chased through the hotel. ‘That’s the guy who stole my laptop!’

Mitchell nodded. ‘Oleg Maximov, AKA “the Bulldozer”. Former Russian Spetsnaz special forces trooper, noted for extreme physical strength and also extremely limited intelligence - even before he got shot in the head in Chechnya.’ He indicated the expansive scar on the man’s forehead. ‘Nobody quite knows how he survived it, but he did, and he’s now got a metal plate holding half his skull together . . . and a seriously screwed-up nervous system.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He suffered some sort of brain damage that affected his pleasure-pain response,’ Mitchell explained. ‘Basically, when he experiences pain he feels it as pleasure.’

‘Ew!’ Nina said, wincing. ‘That explains why me hitting him in the face with a fire extinguisher turned him on so much, I guess.’

Chase gave her an admiring look. ‘You smacked a Spetsnaz bloke with a fire extinguisher?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Good for you!’ He pointed at one of the other photos. ‘Hey, she was the getaway driver.’

Nina examined the picture. ‘She was the one who shot Bernd as well - only she had orange hair.’ The sullen woman in the picture, who looked about thirty, had hair that was mostly purple, with long green-dyed strands hanging down over her face.

‘Her name’s Dominika Romanova,’ said Mitchell. ‘She used to be a sniper for the FSB - the successor to the KGB - until she decided she could get more money in the private sector.’ He took the photos back, shuffling through them. ‘She and Maximov worked with Yosarin and Belenkov, these two charmers -’ he held up two more photos, both showing unattractive and menacing-looking men - ‘who got blown up in the Bournemouth Imax theatre yesterday afternoon. Fortunately, their IDs were more fireproof than they were.’

‘So why did they kill Bernd?’ Nina demanded. ‘What was in his files that they wanted so bad?’

Mitchell took another pair of pictures from his case. ‘All four of them work for this man, Aleksey Kruglov.’ The picture revealed another unappealing man, older than the others, with a wide mouth and cold eyes. ‘Kruglov’s old-school KGB, but he now works as a “security specialist”, by which I mean head thug, for this guy.’ He gave them the last photo.

Nina frowned. The man in the picture appeared to be in his late forties, with a trim brown goatee beard and narrow rectangular wire-framed glasses. He also seemed vaguely familiar. ‘I’ve seen him somewhere . . .’

‘Probably in the news,’ said Peach. ‘That’s Leonid Vaskovich. He’s a Russian energy baron - one of the new breed of oligarchs. Personal fortune of about eight billion dollars.’

‘Major player in Russian oil and gas,’ Mitchell added, ‘and currently working very closely with the administration in Moscow with an eye to becoming part of it. He’s a hardline ultra-nationalist, who wants to make Mother Russia the number one world power, and is willing to do whatever he thinks is necessary to achieve that.’ His gaze fixed on Nina. ‘He’s also the man your friend Rust made the mistake of trusting when he went looking for backers.’

Nina stared at the picture. ‘What does finding King Arthur’s sword have to do with a Russian oil baron?’

Mitchell retrieved the pictures and returned them to his case before answering. ‘Dr Wilde . . . have you ever heard of something called “earth energy”?’

Nina’s heart sank. Was that what Rust thought he’d found? ‘Are you serious?’

‘Extremely.’

‘What’s earth energy?’ asked Chase. ‘Sounds like some hippiedippie thing.’

‘It is,’ Nina sighed. ‘It’s things like ley lines, dragon lines, feng shui - the idea that there’s some kind of energy that’s channelled along specific paths around the earth.’ Her disappointment grew even as she spoke; she couldn’t believe Rust had wasted his time on such nonsense - and that it had somehow got him killed. ‘It’s crap, basically. Crackpot pseudoscience.’

‘Actually,’ said Mitchell, ‘that may not be entirely true.’

Nina regarded him in disbelief. ‘What?’ A lone, disgraced historian spending his time on such a theory was one thing . . . but one of the US government’s most advanced scientific departments?

Mitchell leaned forward. ‘Have you ever heard of HAARP?’

‘Brother of Grouch, Chic and Zepp?’ Chase said. Nina groaned.

‘High-frequency Active Auroral Research Program,’ said Mitchell, faintly amused. ‘It’s a US government project based in Alaska that uses a directional antenna array to selectively heat parts of the ionosphere into plasma: the idea was that we could turn the upper atmosphere into a kind of mirror for directed energy, which would let us increase the range of radio signals or radar by thousands of miles, even tens of thousands.’

‘So you wouldn’t be affected by line of sight limitations,’ said Chase thoughtfully, interested now the subject had developed a military aspect. ‘You make this mirror, then bounce signals off it so they can go over the horizon.’

‘Exactly. The Russians had a similar project, called SURA. But the HAARP researchers found something unusual - for some reason, the antenna array was putting out energy . . . even when it wasn’t powered up. So DARPA started trying to work out why.’

‘And what did you find?’ Nina asked dubiously.

‘Something that could only be described as “earth energy”.’

‘Riiight.’

He held out his open palms to her. ‘It’s not such a stretch, Dr Wilde, really. The entire planet is in some ways just a massive electric motor - we wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t, because without the field generated by the earth’s core to protect us from the sun’s radiation, we’d all be dead. But what we found was that there are also lines of energy at ground level, not just above the atmosphere. The HAARP array happened to be situated close enough to one of these lines for it to generate power through induction, much more than could be accounted for by normal telluric processes. We did tests, and found that if you built an array at a point where several of these lines converge, and you created a magnetic field that channelled and focused them, you could theoretically generate a significant amount of energy - basically for free. The earth puts out more power in a day than has been produced in the whole of human history. If we could tap into even a tiny percentage of that . . .’

‘You’d put this Vaskovich bloke out of business,’ Chase said. ‘No wonder he wants to keep it quiet.’

Nina still wasn’t convinced. ‘I don’t see how that connects to Excalibur.’

Mitchell’s expression became more intense. ‘Excalibur isn’t just connected to this theory, Dr Wilde. It’s the key. Vaskovich has already built an earth energy generator in northern Russia, and is trying to make it work as we speak.’

‘How do you know what he’s doing?’ Chase asked.

A half-smile. ‘We’ve got a reliable source inside Vaskovich’s organisation. We know what he’s up to. But his generator . . . it’s not working. Yet. Our research found that creating the magnetic fields you need to channel the earth energy requires a lot of power to be put in - more than the generator has managed to put out.’

‘In other words,’ said Nina scathingly, ‘it’s completely pointless.’

‘The theory’s sound,’ Mitchell insisted. ‘But to break that barrier, you need a superconducting material at the focal point - something that allows energy transfer with near as dammit one hundred per cent efficiency. With conventional technology, you create superconductors by cooling them down to near absolute zero with liquid nitrogen or helium. But to do that in an earth energy generator you’d need a massive, constant supply of coolant - so much that you’d need an entire chemical plant right there on site making the stuff. It’s just not practical. So you need a superconductor that can work without coolant. And that’s where Excalibur comes in.’

Nina raised an incredulous eyebrow. ‘You’re saying that Excalibur was made of a superconductor?’

‘That’s exactly what I’m saying. And it’s what Rust said, too - and what he told Vaskovich. Your friend’s theory was that Merlin forged Excalibur from an alloy with high-temperature superconducting properties.’

‘Oh, come on!’ protested Nina. ‘In the sixth century?’

‘Ever heard of Wootz steel?’ Mitchell asked, obviously prepared for the objection. ‘It’s an ultra-hard form of steel that gets its strength from a matrix of carbon nanotubes within the metal. It’s difficult for us to make even now - but incredibly sharp blades were being forged from it in China and India in 500 BC. It was probably a fluke that the technique was ever discovered . . . but it was discovered. Whether by chance or genius, Merlin accomplished something even more incredible with King Arthur’s swords. He really was a wizard - just not in the Gandalf sense.’

‘Wait, swords, plural?’ Chase cut in.

Mitchell nodded. ‘Arthur’s original sword, Caliburn, was the same metal, but not quite as effective. Call it Merlin’s prototype for Excalibur. But Arthur had a weapon that acted as a natural channel for earth energy - and according to legend, he made use of it. Nothing could stand against Excalibur when Arthur wielded it, and it even glowed when he used it in battle.’

Nina remembered what Rust had told her at the hotel. ‘Bernd said that Excalibur shone with the light of thirty torches, and lit up with flames.’

‘It’d be one hell of a psychological weapon,’ said Mitchell. ‘Imagine having the king of the Britons charging at you with his sword on fire, cutting through everyone in his path? It’d be the sixth-century equivalent of a Spectre gunship or a daisy-cutter bomb. Once you see it coming, the last thing you’d be thinking about is fighting. You’d just want to run away like brave Sir Robin.’

Nina laughed at the Monty Python reference, then became serious again. ‘You really believe this, don’t you? You really think King Arthur’s sword was made of this magic metal?’

‘I do,’ Mitchell told her firmly. ‘But the problem is, so does Vaskovich.’

‘Why’s it a problem?’ asked Chase. ‘He gets the sword, his generator works, zap! Free ’leccy all round.’

‘What, apart from the fact that he’s murdered people to get it?’ Nina said disapprovingly.

Mitchell’s expression became grim. ‘There’s more to it than just generating electricity. Excalibur was a powerful weapon in Arthur’s time . . . but today it could be used to create an even more powerful weapon. With the right superconductor in place, the earth energy generator becomes self-sustaining, so the external energy source you need to kickstart the process can be switched off. And the generator can then build up enormous amounts of energy - which can be released in a single burst.’

‘So the thing blows itself to bits,’ said Chase. ‘Can’t see the downside there.’

‘No, it doesn’t,’ Mitchell said, shaking his head. ‘The system uses a HAARP-style antenna array to draw in earth energy. But the array was also designed to put energy out - and it still can. Vaskovich could use the array to heat the ionosphere just like HAARP was designed to do - and then bounce the entire output of the generator off it in a single blast, and hit a target thousands of miles away. From the Arctic coast of Russia, he could destroy any target in the northern hemisphere.’

A chill ran through Nina. ‘Just how powerful is this thing?’

‘The force of a nuclear bomb, channelled through a lightning bolt,’ Mitchell told her. ‘And there’s no defence against it. No warning it’s coming, no way to stop it. And all Vaskovich needs to make it work is the right superconducting metal. Which is why I’m here.’ He straightened. ‘This is a matter of national security - not just for the United States, but for every country in the world. Dr Wilde, we want you to find Excalibur - before Vaskovich does.’

‘Me?’ said Nina, shocked. ‘Why do you think I can find it?’

‘You were the last person to speak to Rust. You said in your police statement that he told you where to find the pieces of Caliburn, which contain the location of Excalibur.’

‘He didn’t exactly give me map references,’ she protested. ‘He just told me he thought he knew where they were - and then he got shot!’

‘It’s all we’ve got. Now Vaskovich’s people have got Rust’s research, you’re the only person who stands a chance of beating them to the sword. After all,’ he said, with an encouraging flick of his eyebrows, ‘you’ve got some experience in this kind of thing.’

‘But what if Bernd was wrong?’

‘Then Vaskovich has nothing. But the United States can’t take the chance that he was right. If Vaskovich can make his weapon work, it’ll be the most destabilising threat to the world since the Cold War. Russia’s already rattling its sabre over the Arctic; this would give them the power to back up their threats by force.’ He stood. ‘I’d like you to come back to the embassy in London to work out a plan of action.’

‘Wait a minute,’ said Chase. ‘We work for the IHA, not DARPA.’

Again, Mitchell had clearly anticipated the objection. ‘The IHA has already agreed to co-operate with DARPA on this mission.’

Nina was surprised. ‘It has? But the IHA’s a civilian United Nations agency, not part of the US military.’

‘The IHA was set up to ensure historical artefacts didn’t fall into the wrong hands,’ Peach piped up. ‘I think this qualifies.’

‘It’ll officially be an IHA operation,’ said Mitchell. ‘But the United States, specifically DARPA, will be backing it. The director of the IHA has already authorised it.’

‘I’d like to discuss this with Hector myself,’ said Nina, tight-lipped.

‘I thought you would. That’s why he’s on his way to England right now - he might even be at the embassy already. You can talk to him in person.’

‘Bloody hell,’ muttered Chase. ‘Bit quick off the mark, aren’t you?’

‘Vaskovich’s people will be ready to move as soon as they figure out where the sword pieces are,’ Mitchell said. ‘So we need to move faster.’

‘Huh,’ said Nina. ‘I guess we’re going to London, then.’

Chase stood and looked out of the window at the limo. ‘We’d better take your car - ours is a bit knackered. Good job we took out the damage insurance . . .’

The American embassy dominated one end of London’s leafy Grosvenor Square. It was, Nina thought as the limo rounded the anti-terrorist security blockades to pull into a guarded side gate, a singularly unattractive structure: a brutalist block of concrete and glass, completely at odds with the elegant Victorian and Georgian townhouses nearby. But for all that, the sight of the Stars and Stripes flying outside gave her a momentary swell of pride. A piece of home away from home.

Their departure from Elizabeth’s home had been hurried, with Holly and Nan surprised and sorry to see them leave, and Elizabeth saying very little, frustrated at being unable to vent her remaining anger at Chase. Mac had also been surprised; though Mitchell’s reiteration of the classified nature of the mission meant Chase couldn’t tell him anything, the brief exchange of glances between the two former SAS men reassured Chase that Mac would use his own contacts to help if he could.

Now, Peach brought them to an office overlooking Grosvenor Square, where Amoros was waiting for them. ‘Hector,’ said Nina. ‘My God, you look exhausted!’

‘I’ve had a hectic twenty-four hours,’ he said grumpily. ‘It’s not every day that my Director of Operations - and her Special Assistant,’ he added, glaring at Chase, ‘get arrested for destroying half a town. Then, as if dealing with the press wasn’t enough, suddenly I’m told it’s now a national security issue and I get hustled on to a State Department jet and flown to England without even being given time to pack a toothbrush!’

‘Sorry about that, Admiral,’ said Mitchell, stepping forward to shake Amoros’s hand. ‘Jack Mitchell, DARPA. We spoke on the phone.’

Amoros regarded Mitchell as if he wasn’t what he’d expected before turning back to Nina. ‘They’ve filled me in about the situation. I imagine you’re not entirely happy about it.’

‘Hardly,’ Nina snorted. ‘Hector, I appreciate that yes, if what Mr Mitchell says is true then there are national security issues. But if that’s the case, surely this is now a job for the CIA, not the IHA. If we’re seen to be taking sides or actively working for one particular government, it could make it a lot harder to get cooperation from other countries in the future.’

‘I hear what you’re saying, and to a certain extent I agree. But this situation is different.’

‘Yeah? How come?’

Amoros was not pleased to be challenged. ‘Because, Nina, the chickens have come home to roost. The IHA might have been set up under the flag of the UN, but it was the NATO nations, and especially the United States, that funded it. The US has put a lot of money and resources into the IHA - and over seventy lives, I’m sure I don’t need to remind you. So now Uncle Sam is asking the IHA to do something in return.’ On seeing Nina’s disapproving expression, he went on: ‘Jesus, Nina! This is exactly why the IHA was created in the first place, you know that! If this Vaskovich gets Excalibur, we could have another Atlantis on our hands - and not that sanitised fairytale version we put out to the public, but the real story, the one that almost ended with millions of people dead!’

‘But we’ve got almost nothing to go on!’ Nina objected. ‘Bernd told me that the priest at that church in Sicily was murdered by the Russians, but the local police said they suspected the Mafia. And maybe they were right, maybe the death was just a coincidence.’

‘And if this thing was there,’ Chase added, ‘wouldn’t that mean Vaskovich has got what he needs already?’

‘The murder was three weeks ago. If he’d been able to use it to get his system working, we’d know about it by now,’ said Mitchell. ‘It’s possible the piece was too small to be useful - or that Caliburn isn’t an effective enough superconductor.’

‘Or,’ Nina countered, ‘Bernd could have been wrong about the whole thing.’

‘But he might not,’ said Mitchell. ‘Which is why we have to make sure - and why we’re asking you to help us, Dr Wilde. After everything you’ve accomplished in the past few years, you’re clearly the best person for the job.’ He nodded at the picture of President Dalton on the office wall. ‘We need you. Your country needs you.’

‘This has all come from higher up,’ Amoros said, glancing at Mitchell. ‘The IHA is committed to helping DARPA find these artefacts before this Russian can.’

‘I’m convinced your friend was right about Excalibur - that it exists, and that he was on the right path to finding it,’ Mitchell said to Nina. ‘If Vaskovich uses his research to find Excalibur before we can, then he’ll have died for nothing . . . and a lot of other people might die as well.’

For the second time in two days, Nina knew she was being emotionally blackmailed - but she also knew there was no way she could say no. Not when the security of the country - of the world - was at stake.

And if Excalibur did exist, if the Arthurian legends were actually true, then she would be the one to prove it. Another great accomplishment, turning thirty be damned . . .

She turned to Chase. ‘What do you think, Eddie?’

‘Me?’ he said, shrugging. ‘Sounds like fun. Get some action and save the world at the same time - I’m up for that.’

Nina was silent, weighing her options. ‘All right,’ she said finally, ‘I’ll do it. But it’s going to be an IHA operation. Not some kind of split jurisdiction affair where somebody’s second-guessing everything I do, and definitely not a military mission. If I’m doing it, then I’m in charge.’

‘That was actually going to be the plan anyway,’ Mitchell told her, ‘so we took care of that without any problems! There are just two provisos - only little ones,’ he said with a perfect white grin as Nina opened her mouth to protest. ‘The first is that when we find Excalibur, DARPA gets to analyse it so we can figure out exactly how Merlin made a high-temperature superconductor about fifteen hundred years early. It’ll go back to the IHA as soon as we’re done.’

Nina nodded. ‘And the second?’

‘The second . . . is that I’ll be going with you.’

‘Oh, you will, eh?’ Chase said, raising an eyebrow.

‘I’ll be DARPA’s representative - but it’ll still be an IHA operation,’ Mitchell assured Nina, before snapping her a sharp salute. ‘At your service, ma’am.’

‘That was a proper salute,’ Chase realised. ‘You didn’t mention you were in the forces.’

‘Commander, United States Navy,’ Mitchell said proudly. ‘Before I transferred to DARPA.’

Nina was impressed; Chase rather less so. ‘A matelot, huh?’ he said.

‘Nuclear submarines - USS Jimmy Carter.’ Chase made a face. ‘You wouldn’t get me on a nuclear sub. Not without a lead codpiece.’

‘They’re not that bad. Well, ours aren’t - I don’t know about the Russians’. But what we need to do now is figure out where to go next. Dr Wilde, I need you to tell me absolutely everything you can remember about what Rust told you.’

‘Nina.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘If we’re working together, I think it should be on a first-name basis. So call me Nina.’

Mitchell smiled again. ‘That suits me fine, Nina.’

‘Okay . . . Jack.’ They smiled at each other.

Chase rolled his eyes. ‘So where are we going?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Nina, shaking her head. ‘The only place Bernd actually gave me a name for was Koroneou, in the Greek islands . . . but he said the sword pieces weren’t there.’ She thought for a moment. ‘But there must have been something there that led him to where he thought they were. And he said one of them was “close to home” - I think he lived in southern Germany, near Munich.’

‘That doesn’t exactly narrow it down,’ Chase said wryly.

‘It’s better than nothing,’ said Mitchell. ‘I’ll arrange us priority transport to Koroneou, then - it’s the only lead we’ve got.’

Chase grinned. ‘So, I guess Greece is the word.’

7

Greece

‘Priority transport’ turned out to be a brand-new US State Department Gulfstream G550 jet. Although the aircraft was fitted out to accommodate sixteen people in luxury that put even first class on most airliners to shame, Nina, Chase and Mitchell were the only passengers - which made Nina feel slightly guilty that the three of them were waited on by an equal number of cabin staff during the flight as she used the plane’s satellite link to research Arthurian legend. From the way the crew hovered obsequiously, it was clear they were used to attending to considerably more demanding and self-important fliers, like politicians and bureaucrats.

But she soon forgot about the extravagant use of her taxes once they arrived at their destination. Surrounded by the glittering blue of the Aegean Sea, the small rocky island of Koroneou possessed a rugged beauty, greenery clinging to every surface able to support it.

The natural attractions of the island weren’t what concerned her, however. She was far more interested in Koroneou’s man-made delights - in particular, the one that greeted her when Mitchell drove their black SUV round a corner of the road along the island’s southern coast to reveal a headland beyond. A village was strung out along the narrow tongue of land, white-painted buildings shining like beads under the sun, but it was the much larger building at its tip that commanded her attention.

Though its crenellated outer walls and some of the outlying structures had fallen into ruin, the castle of Peter of Koroneou was still intact, a block of pale stone flanked by a pair of taller cylindrical towers. Given the idyllic surroundings, Nina couldn’t help thinking the place had a certain fairytale quality to it.

Mitchell had the same thought. ‘Funny, we’re trying to find the sword of King Arthur, and the first place we visit looks like Camelot.’

‘Camelot?’ said Nina with a smile. ‘You know, I’ve heard . . .’ She put on an English accent, ‘that it’s a very silly place.’

Mitchell grinned back at her. ‘The kind of place you might find . . . a shrubbery!’

Chase buried his head in his hands. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. Bloody Monty Python quotes? It’s like I’m trapped in a car with a bunch of students!’

‘Jack, help me, I’m being oppressed!’ Nina trilled. ‘What’s wrong with Monty Python? It’s classic British comedy, I thought you’d love it!’

‘It’s all right, but not when everyone thinks they’re being so bloody clever by reciting bits over and over again. And how come you’re both so big on Monty Python anyway? You’re Yanks!’

‘Come on, Eddie,’ she said. ‘Python 101 is practically compulsory at American colleges. Well, among certain types of students, anyway.’

‘You mean nerds?’

‘I was not a nerd!’ Nina protested. ‘I was just . . . very focused on my studies.’

‘Well, I sure as hell wasn’t a nerd, and I watched it too,’ said Mitchell. ‘Matter of fact, Monty Python and the Holy Grail was the first movie I saw with the girl I ended up marrying.’

‘Thank you, Jack.’ Nina stuck out her tongue at Chase, prompting him to roll his eyes again.

Mitchell gave her an amused look before regarding the view ahead once more. ‘You think this castle might be the one Rust mentioned?’

‘I don’t think so. It’s owned by the Greek government, but Bernd implied that the one he was talking about was privately owned. Besides, this isn’t exactly close to his home.’

‘Good point.’

Mitchell had made arrangements in advance; after passing through the village, the SUV was met at the castle gates by a representative of the Greek Ministry of Culture, a tall, hook-nosed man in his fifties with skin that practically matched the island in its weather-beaten ruggedness. When his visitors emerged from their vehicle, he briefly greeted Mitchell before turning his attention with rather more enthusiasm to Nina. ‘Dr Wilde! A great honour to meet you, a great honour!’ He clasped her right hand in both of his and squeezed it forcefully.

‘Thanks,’ she replied, wondering if she would get her hand back before he cut off her circulation. ‘Nice to meet you - and I’m glad you agreed to help us.’

‘I would hardly turn down a chance to meet the discoverer of Atlantis! You have already done wonders for our tourist industry - anything to do with Plato or Hercules is now very popular!’ He finally released her, then shook hands with Chase. ‘Petros Georgiades. Good to meet you all.’ He gestured in the direction of the castle. ‘So, what would you like to know about Peter of Koroneou?’

Surprisingly little of the castle’s interior was accessible to tourists, several sections being blocked off by scaffolding. ‘Restoration work,’ Georgiades explained as he led his visitors past a cordon and deeper into the building. ‘Until about ten years ago, parts of the castle were in the same condition as the fortifications outside. The walls have mostly been repaired, but there are still unsafe areas. It is a slow process.’

Chase glanced up at the ceiling. ‘It’s not going to collapse on us, is it?’

‘I hope not! But try not to bang your head on anything, eh?’ He chuckled, then stopped at a low arched doorway. ‘This is Peter’s tomb. Please, go inside.’

Nina ducked through the entrance, finding herself inside a cool, musty chamber. A pair of lamps on metal stands provided illumination, the only natural light coming from three small stained-glass windows high on the south wall. At the centre of the room was what was unmistakably a stone coffin. ‘Is his body still here?’ she asked as the others entered.

Georgiades shook his head. ‘The castle has been occupied and robbed many times.’ He indicated the lid of the coffin; a jagged diagonal split showed where it had been smashed open in the past.

‘Even though the people of the village sometimes managed to hide the most valuable relics, eventually almost everything was taken.’

Nina was about to ask another question, but Mitchell got in first. ‘Was he buried with a sword?’

‘Oh, yes - the sword presented to him by the Holy Roman Emperor.’ Nina, Chase and Mitchell traded looks; at least part of Rust’s research had apparently been accurate. Georgiades noticed the exchange. ‘The sword is why you are here?’

‘It’s one of the reasons,’ Mitchell said smoothly. ‘Do you know what happened to it?’

‘It is part of local legend. Look.’ The Greek indicated the central window. Nina craned to get a better look at the mottled glass, making out the figure of a man in armour bearing a red Crusader cross on his chest, a sword raised in his right hand.

‘Is that Peter?’ she asked. Georgiades answered in the affirmative. She looked more closely. ‘Is this an original window?’

‘Yes - the one on the left was broken and has been restored, but the others are both thirteenth or fourteenth century, as far as we know.’ Georgiades had a slight smile, as if waiting for her to spot something.

‘The sword . . .’ she said, frowning at the image, before glancing at the coffin. ‘Is it okay if I climb up for a better look?’

‘Peter is long gone. He will not mind.’ Nina nodded, then carefully climbed on to the end of the coffin.

Closer up, the window revealed more, though the poor condition of the glass made resolving the finer details difficult. There seemed to be small symbols on the sword’s blade, ornate circular patterns, but it was the weapon as a whole that had caused

Nina’s puzzlement - and attracted her interest. ‘Why’s his sword on fire?’ she asked.

That was clearly why Georgiades had been smiling. ‘That is the legend!’ he crowed as Nina used her digital camera to photograph the window. ‘It was said that on dark nights here at the castle, when Peter held the sword a fire could be seen running through its blade. Supposedly, this was the source of his strength in battle - his sword was said never to go blunt.’

‘Until it broke, anyway,’ said Nina. Chase was about to help her down, but Mitchell moved in first. ‘Thanks.’

Chase gave Mitchell a look of mild annoyance before turning his attention back to the window. ‘So what happened to the sword after it broke? Was he buried with it here?’

‘Only part of it,’ explained Georgiades, moving to the coffin. ‘Peter was buried here with the hilt. The tip was returned to Sicily in honour of Frederick.’

‘What about the rest of it?’ Chase asked, raising an eyebrow. ‘You’ve got the hilt, you’ve got the tip . . . what about the blade?’

Mitchell looked back at the stained glass. ‘Wait, so it broke into three pieces? Rust never told you that.’

‘He was kind of interrupted,’ Nina reminded him.

‘The blade stayed in the Holy Land,’ said Georgiades. ‘In fact, Peter was killed with it. He had returned to the Holy Land to defend the territory under the control of his order from the Mamelukes.’

‘In 1260,’ said Nina, remembering what Rust had told her.

‘Yes. After the Mamelukes drove back the Mongols invading Syria, they turned their attention to the lands occupied by the Christians. The region under Peter’s control was small and quite isolated, along what is now the border of Syria and Jordan, so it was an easy target. Peter had no choice but to travel to the Holy Land to defend it. The story goes that he fought bravely against great odds until he faced the Muslim leader, a man called Muhammad Yawar. When they fought, Peter had the upper hand - until Yawar struck a lucky blow that broke both their swords. Yawar took Peter’s broken blade and used it to kill him, then kept it as a trophy.’

Nina couldn’t help but feel a twinge of excitement; despite her misgivings, the long shot of their visit to Koroneou was already producing results, as well as vindicating Rust’s research. ‘Do you know where the blade is?’

‘No,’ said Georgiades, shaking his head. ‘Somewhere in Jordan or Syria, perhaps. A historian there might know more about Yawar, but our knowledge here all comes from Peter’s surviving men. Nobody is even sure exactly where the battle took place - as you know, the maps of the time are not very accurate.’

‘I see.’ Her excitement was quickly deflated . . . but they had still learned something, not least that there were two pieces of Caliburn they needed to find before the Russians. And if the picture within the stained-glass window were an accurate representation of Peter’s sword, she would recognise the blade when she saw it.

If she saw it.

‘So, what do you think?’ Mitchell asked. They had thanked Georgiades for his help and left the castle, and were now sitting outside a small café in the village square to reflect upon what they’d learned. ‘Convinced that Rust just might have been right yet?’

Nina grinned at the joking challenge. ‘Okay, I admit that what he told me about the trail the sword took seems to be panning out. So far. But it’ll take a lot more to convince me that it had some sort of magical power.’

‘It’s only magic in the sense of Clarke’s Law.’

She smiled again. ‘So you’re saying DARPA’s developed technology that’s indistinguishable from magic?’

‘I’m not at liberty to discuss that,’ said Mitchell, a hint of humour behind his poker face.

‘What’s Clarke’s Law?’ Chase asked distractedly, looking away from a monument across the square.

‘“Any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic,”’ Nina quoted. Chase gave her a blank look. ‘Arthur C. Clarke? Famous author and scientist? Wrote 2001: A Space Odyssey? Invented the communications satellite?’

‘Oh, hang on, I know who you mean,’ Chase said. ‘He used to present this TV show when I was a kid, about crystal skulls and the paranormal and all that. He was always walking along a beach under a golf umbrella saying it was actually a load of bollocks.’

Nina sighed exaggeratedly and turned to Mitchell. ‘I guess it’s true what they say about Britain and America. Two nations separated by a common language. And weird TV shows.’

‘But the Brits came up with Monty Python, so they can’t be all bad,’ Mitchell replied. This time it was Chase’s turn to make a sarcastic noise. ‘But getting back to why we’re here, you saw the picture in the window. I’d say a flaming sword counts as something out of the ordinary. And it matches what you said Rust told you about Excalibur lighting on fire when Arthur held it.’

‘But why would Peter be able to make it light up and not anyone else?’ said Nina. ‘You’d think Richard the Lionheart or the Holy Roman Emperor would be attributed with that kind of power, not some obscure knight.’

‘Something to do with the lines of earth energy, maybe?’ Mitchell wondered, almost to himself. ‘Maybe there was one near here . . . But,’ he continued, ‘none of that matters if we can’t find the thing. So, what have we got?’

‘Well, the blade’s somewhere in the Middle East, and . . . that’s about it,’ said Nina. ‘I think we’ll have to go there and speak to someone with local historical knowledge, like Petros suggested.’

‘We shouldn’t have any trouble getting what we need in Jordan,’ said Mitchell. ‘Syria might be more of a problem, though. They’re not exactly our biggest fans.’

‘But we’d be going as an IHA mission, not American,’ Chase reminded him.

‘I don’t think it’ll make much difference,’ Nina replied ruefully. ‘Syria and the UN have had disagreements recently - an archaeological team had its permission to enter the country revoked just a couple of weeks ago.’

‘Let’s hope the sword’s in Jordan, then,’ Chase said. ‘But if it isn’t, and knowing our luck it won’t be, I can get us into Syria some other way.’

‘You know people there, I suppose,’ said Nina.

Chase looked smugly secretive. ‘Might do.’

‘Attractive women, I bet.’

Now he was just smug. ‘Could be.’

‘What, one beautiful woman isn’t enough for you?’ Mitchell asked, indicating Nina. ‘Man, that’s just greedy!’ Before Chase could respond, he continued, ‘So, if we can find the life story of this Muhammad Yawar there’s a chance we can find one piece of the sword. But what about the other piece, the hilt? Once the Russians make sense of Rust’s notes they’ll have a clear run at it, while we’ve got nothing.’

‘There must be something, though,’ said Nina. ‘Bernd said he’d spoken to whoever owns the place where he thought it was. Somewhere “close to home” - close to Munich, I suppose. So there has to be a link between Koroneou and Germany.’ She realised that Chase had leaned back in his chair, grinning smugly once more. ‘What?’

‘I know what the link is,’ he said.

‘What is it?’

‘First you’ve got to tell me how great I am.’

‘Eddie!’

‘Come on, would it kill you? At least say how fantastic I am in bed.’

‘Eddie!’ She swatted at his arm before giving Mitchell a sheepish look.

‘Oh, all right,’ Chase grumbled, standing and pointing across the square. ‘See that monument?’

Nina saw a modest slab of dusty black stone inscribed with Greek lettering, a Star of David at its top. ‘Looks like a Jewish memorial.’

‘Yeah, it is. Come on.’ He crossed the square, Nina and Mitchell following. As she approached, Nina saw that the memorial bore a list of about a dozen names as well as a date: 1944. ‘I might not have a degree in it, but I know some history too - military history, anyway.’ They stopped before the black stone. ‘The Greek islands were occupied by the Nazis in the war, and they treated the Jews there the same as they did anywhere else . . . by shipping them off to places like Auschwitz. But people weren’t all they shipped - a lot of places, they nicked everything valuable they could get their hands on before the Allies kicked them out. There’s your link.’

‘You think the Nazis took the sword?’ Mitchell asked.

‘Why not? It fits with what Nina’s friend told her.’

‘It used to be part of Bernd’s work as a historian,’ Nina realised. ‘Of course! He would already have the information he needed. The Nazis kept paperwork on everything. The German government’ll still have those records - hell, they’ve probably been computerised by now! We just need to find anything concerning the castle -’ she glanced in the direction of the fort beyond the village - ‘and follow the trail from there, see what comes up around southern Germany.’

Mitchell looked thoughtful. ‘We’ll be able to get access to the German records via the State Department. We can use the satellite link on the plane.’

Nina regarded the memorial again, then looked at Chase, impressed. ‘Go on, you can say it,’ he said, grinning broadly.

‘Okay, I admit it - you’re pretty great. Sometimes . . .’

The computer aboard the Gulfstream revealed the information Nina was after even more quickly than she had hoped. The German government database was clearly extremely efficient.

‘Well, whaddya know?’ she said, reading her discoveries off the screen to Chase and Mitchell. ‘Peter’s castle was actually used as the local SS headquarters during the war. That’s why it needed rebuilding - the Allies and the local partisans shelled it during the assault on the island. But the SS commandant had already cleared out, and it seems he left with a lot more stuff than he arrived with. Maybe he took the sword with him as well.’

‘Where did he go?’ Mitchell asked.

‘Austria. It looks like a lot of looted treasure from the Mediterranean and the Aegean went through there on its way back to Berlin. The commandant took over another SS regional headquarters. A place called Staumberg Castle.’

‘A castle, eh?’ said Chase. ‘Just like your friend said.’

‘Right. And get this - it’s less than sixty miles from Munich. I’d call that “surprisingly close to home” from Bernd’s perspective. Worth checking out?’

‘Definitely,’ said Mitchell. ‘But where do we go first - there, or the Middle East?’

Nina rested her chin on her hands, thinking. ‘We’ve got nothing to go on in the Holy Land apart from the name of the man who killed Peter of Koroneou. The longer we leave it before we go there, the more time it’ll take us to find anything out - and the Russians might already have got the location from Bernd’s notes.’

‘So we go to Jordan first,’ Mitchell decided. ‘I’ll make the arrangements.’

‘What about the castle?’ asked Chase. ‘What if the Russians go there first?’

‘They won’t know what to look for,’ realised Nina. ‘Bernd said the owner refused to let him search the place.’

‘Yeah, but even if they don’t know, we don’t know where to look either.’ Chase looked thoughtful. ‘Unless we get somebody to do some research while we’re in Jordan.’

‘Let me guess,’ said Nina. ‘You know an attractive woman in Austria who can help us.’

‘Actually, no.’

‘Really? I’m surprised.’

He grinned. ‘But I know one in Switzerland.’

Nina sighed. ‘I’m not surprised.’

Mitchell regarded him dubiously. ‘This whole operation’s classified, remember. I’d prefer not to get anyone else involved if I can avoid it - especially not civilians.’

‘Don’t worry, you can trust her. Besides, we don’t have to tell her anything about this earth energy business.’

‘But you’ll need to warn her about the Russians,’ Nina said. ‘What if they turn up while she’s there?’

‘Don’t worry!’ Chase repeated. ‘All she needs to do is check the place out and see if she can persuade the owner to see us, then wait for us to get back from Jordan. There’s no way I’m going to ask her to do anything dangerous.’ He frowned slightly. ‘Although knowing Mitzi, she’ll probably want to do it anyway.’

8

Switzerland

After the State Department jet landed at Zürich airport the following morning, rather than heading for the city itself Mitchell drove another waiting SUV up into the surrounding mountains, guided by its satellite navigation system to where Chase’s friend Mitzi Fontana had agreed to meet them. Surprisingly, it turned out to be nothing but a steep alpine pasture . . . which was playing host to a very unusual sporting event.

‘What the hell are they doing?’ Nina asked, regarding the scene in amazement - and not a little worry for the health of the participants.

Chase let out a disbelieving chuckle. ‘I told you she’d want to do something dangerous. But bloody hell, this is something new.’

Stretched across the bottom of the pasture was a high net, a white paper tape running between two poles a few metres in front of it. Beyond that, a rough path of flattened grass wound about a hundred metres up the bumpy hill to a relatively level area where the competitors were waiting. It was a racecourse, but those taking part were neither on foot nor in any kind of vehicle. Instead, they were strapped inside giant inflatable spheres resembling transparent golf balls.

Chase couldn’t see Mitzi among the spectators, so wasn’t the least bit surprised when he saw that one of the first two contestants had long blond hair. ‘Oh, Christ,’ he moaned as a man yelled out a countdown from three in German.

‘She’s in a ball?’ Nina asked nervously.

‘She’s in a ball.’

‘Go!’ the man shouted. The plastic bubbles began to roll down the hill, picking up speed with alarming rapidity. As far as Chase could tell the occupants had absolutely no control - they were just along for the ride, whirling around like clothes in a tumble dryer as the balls bounced off bumps, boulders and even each other.

It was over in about fifteen seconds, Mitzi’s sphere breaking the paper tape just ahead of the other ball and careering onwards into the net, rolling up into the air before dropping back to earth and coming to a stop. People hurried over to hold the spheres steady as the occupants unstrapped themselves and slithered out. The defeated racer, a scrawny young man with a goatee beard, immediately slumped to the grass, while Mitzi managed to stand, if rather unsteadily. She spotted Chase and the others standing nearby and waved excitedly, only to wobble and almost fall backwards before someone supported her.

‘I’ll give your friend this,’ said Mitchell, ‘she makes one hell of an entrance.’

They walked over to her. Nina realised that the curvaceous and pretty blonde was somewhat younger than any of Chase’s other international ‘girlfriends’, only in her early twenties. ‘Eddie!’ Mitzi cried, beaming broadly as they approached and hurrying, still a little off balance, to embrace him.

‘Hi, Mitzi!’ Chase replied enthusiastically. ‘Steady on,’ he added as she kissed him full on the lips. ‘Don’t want to make my fiancée jealous.’

Still hugging Chase, Mitzi looked round at Nina. ‘Hello. You’re engaged to Eddie? Congratulations! And congratulations on discovering Atlantis, too. I read the article about you in Time.’ She released Chase, then regarded him questioningly. ‘You were hardly even mentioned! What happened?’

‘Ah, I’m not bothered - fame’s not really my thing,’ said Chase with a dismissive shrug. ‘Now fortune, I wouldn’t mind that!’ Mitzi giggled.

Introductions were made, then Chase glanced at the inflatable spheres, which were being lifted on to large hoop-shaped trolleys to be winched back up the hill. ‘So what’s all this?’

‘It’s called Zorbing,’ Mitzi told him. ‘It’s a lot of fun.’

Chase grunted. ‘Looks like a load of balls to me.’

Mitzi giggled again. ‘So what brings you to Switzerland? You know I’ll always do anything to help you. Even though you’re now off the market.’ She smiled at Nina. ‘You’re very lucky.’

‘Yeah, sometimes I think so,’ said Nina, noting with amusement that Chase actually seemed faintly embarrassed by the younger woman’s attention. ‘How do you two know each other? Did you work together?’

‘No, nothing like that,’ Mitzi answered. She squeezed Chase’s arm. ‘Eddie rescued me. And my mother, too, about four years ago.’

‘Just doing my job,’ Chase said modestly.

‘It was much more than that. You changed my life - I mean, as well as saving it! I used to be rather quiet,’ she said to Nina, ‘a stay-at-home sort of girl. Kind of a geek.’

Mitchell nudged Nina. ‘Nothing wrong with that, huh?’ She smiled.

‘But after meeting Eddie,’ Mitzi continued, ‘I realised that life is there to be lived, that there was so much out there to experience. I wanted to do everything - just like him.’

‘I haven’t done everything,’ said Chase. He looked up the slope, where the spheres were being unloaded from the trolleys. ‘I’ve never rolled down a hill inside a big plastic ball, for a start.’

‘Maybe you should,’ Nina suggested mischievously.

Mitzi’s face lit up. ‘Yes, you should! Come on, you can race me.’ She grabbed his hand and tried to pull him up the pasture.

Chase stayed put. ‘Don’t be daft!’

‘It won’t take long. I’m friends with the organisers, I can get you in the next race.’ She tugged at his arm again, more insistently. Chase looked helplessly at Nina, who grinned and gave him a go-on nod. With a sigh, Chase acquiesced and allowed Mitzi to lead him up the slope.

‘So how long have you and Nina been engaged?’ she asked.

‘About a year. Not long after I last saw you, actually.’

She let out a comically exaggerated sigh. ‘So I missed my chance.’

‘Nah, you deserve better than an ugly old sod like me.’

‘I don’t know. All the men I meet who are my own age? They’re such . . . boys!’

Chase laughed. ‘I still owe you the money for that parachute, by the way.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Mitzi insisted. ‘Although Mama was not very happy when I told her about it.’ She huffed, the universal sound of exasperation with parents. ‘You should come and see her while you’re here. I know she’d love to see you again.’

‘Well, we’re in a bit of a rush, but . . . yeah, we can pop in.’

‘Where are you going next?’

‘Jordan.’

‘Jordan!’ Mitzi said excitedly. ‘I’m going there later in the year, to see the ruins at Petra. Why are you going?’

‘Can’t say much, I’m afraid - top secret. But you’ll be doing us a huge favour if you can help us out with something in Austria.’

‘Top secret? It all sounds very mysterious. Is it something like finding Atlantis?’

‘Something like that. I’ll tell you all about it after we’re done.’

She smiled. ‘I can’t wait.’

They reached the level area of pasture where the spheres were waiting. Mitzi spoke in German to one of the organisers, who agreed to let her and Chase go next, then used her smile - and low-cut top - to disarm the two young men whose places they had usurped. That done, they began their preparations.

‘A neck brace?’ said Chase as he was handed a stiff padded black collar with Velcro fastenings. ‘Most sports don’t need these until after you’ve fucked yourself up. You sure this is safe?’

‘Of course!’ Mitzi said as she fastened her own collar. ‘Don’t tell me you’re nervous.’

‘I’ve just got a thing about modes of transport with nobody in control. I’ve been in ’em a couple of times, and it usually ends with an explosion.’

Mitzi grinned, then clambered into her sphere. Grimacing, Chase entered his own, squeezing through a narrow tube into a second, smaller sphere within held in place by hundreds of taut nylon cords attached to the outer skin. Lying against the inner wall, he fastened a harness round his chest, then gripped a pair of straps above his head. Spread-eagled, he looked across at Mitzi, who smiled back at him. ‘Ready?’ she called.

‘Nope.’

‘Er ist bereit!’ she said to the organiser, who immediately began the countdown.

Chase scowled at her. ‘Buggeration and fuckaagh!’ he yelled as his sphere was shoved over the edge of the slope.

The world suddenly became nothing more than a dizzying whirl of sky and grass and sky flashing through his vision, faster and faster. Plastic creaked and nylon twanged as he hit a bump, then for a moment he was airborne before the sphere bounced back down to earth and continued its descent, now barrelling him along on his side rather than head over heels. Another noise, a squeal of plastic on plastic as he collided with the pale blur of Mitzi’s sphere, then suddenly he felt himself rising sharply into the air, only to roll back down the net at the bottom of the field. The sphere was grabbed and pulled to a standstill, but to Chase the spinning sensation showed little sign of stopping. He blearily unfastened his harness and slithered out through the tube, seeing Nina and Mitchell seeming to zigzig towards him as the world spun.

‘You lost,’ said Mitchell. ‘Tough luck.’

‘How was the ride?’ Nina asked.

Chase just about managed to stand upright, the ground still swaying under his feet. ‘Jesus, I’ve done parachute drops in thunderstorms that were smoother than that.’

‘Maybe you’re getting old,’ Mitchell suggested. Chase glared at him.

A beaming Mitzi reeled over to Chase and supported herself on his arm. ‘Woo! Didn’t I tell you it would be fun?’

Chase made a non-committal noise. ‘You know, if you want a real adrenalin rush, you should join the army. None of this extreme sports bollocks.’

‘You’re just saying that because I won,’ she said, pouting. ‘Besides, people might shoot at me!’

‘You don’t have to be in the army for that to happen,’ Nina told her ruefully.

‘So will you help us?’ Mitchell asked.

‘Of course! Just tell me what you want me to do,’ Mitzi said. ‘We can talk about it at my parents’ apartment.’

An impatient look crossed Mitchell’s face. ‘We need to get moving.’

‘It’s okay,’ said Chase. ‘It’s more or less on the way back to the airport anyway.’ He rubbed his head again and groaned. ‘And I could do with a nice long sit down . . .’

Zürich gleamed in the morning sun, the crisp light shimmering off the lake to the south of the city. A line of clean white snow capped the surrounding peaks in postcard-perfect fashion, evergreen forests sweeping down to the red-roofed urban fringes. The view was quite beautiful, Nina thought - and all the more impressive because she was seeing it from the heart of the city itself.

The penthouse’s rooftop terrace was larger than Nina and Chase’s entire New York apartment. Considering where they were, she guessed its owner was extremely high up in the financial world - which turned out to be the case.

‘I’m sorry my husband couldn’t be here,’ said Brigitte Fontana, handing her a cup of steaming café crème. She was practically a more toned and tanned version of her daughter, though her clothing was decidedly less revealing. ‘He’s in China at a financial conference, in Shanghai.’

‘Shanghai?’ said Chase. ‘I was there last year.’

‘On business or pleasure?’

‘Business.’

‘Ah.’ Brigitte gave him a knowing look. ‘It went well, I hope?’

Chase made a pained face. ‘It was . . . mixed.’

‘So when’s the wedding day, Eddie?’ asked Mitzi, handing two more cups to Chase and Mitchell. ‘I hope we’re all invited.’

‘Course you are! We just haven’t settled on a date yet.’ Chase squeezed Nina’s hand. ‘It’s been kind of a busy year.’

‘But it obviously worked out well for both of you,’ said Brigitte. ‘Congratulations!’

‘Thank you. So,’ Nina asked, ‘how did you meet Eddie? Mitzi said he rescued you?’

‘That’s right. He—’

‘We were kidnapped!’ interrupted Mitzi with surprising enthusiasm.

‘Mitzi,’ Brigitte warned, pained by the memory.

Her daughter ignored her. ‘A gang took us hostage to force Papa to give them access to his bank’s computers. But he hired Eddie and his friend Hugo to rescue us instead. And they did.’ She gazed admiringly at Chase as she sat.

‘What happened to the kidnappers?’ asked Mitchell.

‘Oh, Eddie kil—’

‘They didn’t hurt anyone again,’ said Brigitte quickly. ‘But Eddie and Hugo saved our lives.’ She looked across at Chase. ‘I was so sorry to hear what happened to Hugo. I didn’t even know he had died until I read about the discovery of Atlantis.’

‘Thanks,’ said Chase uncomfortably. The official story concocted by the IHA had his partner Hugo Castille dying in a diving accident at Atlantis; while that was technically true, it omitted the very much premeditated chain of events leading to it.

‘Poor Hugo,’ added Mitzi sadly. ‘He was so nice.’

Brigitte nodded, then sipped her drink. ‘So Eddie, Mitzi said you have a favour to ask; you know we will always be happy to give you anything you need.’

‘It’s not so much a thing as a person,’ Chase answered. ‘I’d like to borrow Mitzi for a while. Don’t worry, I’ll bring her back in good nick.’

Mitzi giggled, but Brigitte’s mouth tightened into a hard line. ‘Oh. Actually, that’s something I’m not happy about. Not after what happened last year.’

‘Last year?’ Nina asked Chase. During their search for the Tomb of Hercules he had gone to Switzerland to find his ex-wife, but Sophia’s involvement had made it a part of the adventure about which she had not enquired too deeply.

‘I asked Mitzi to help me with some stuff,’ he explained. ‘She got me some gear, and gave me a lift.’

‘She got you guns and explosives, and then you jumped off a bridge from the roof of her car at a hundred kilometres an hour!’ Brigitte snapped.

‘I had a parachute . . .’

She regarded him disapprovingly. ‘Ever since you rescued us - and I am grateful for that, and always will be - Mitzi has turned into an adrenalin junkie. Skydiving, or waterskiing, or - or bungee-jumping, even. She can’t enjoy herself without risking her life!’

‘Oh, Mama!’ cried Mitzi, exasperated. ‘I’m a grown woman, I can take care of myself. I’m just having fun!’

‘Don’t worry, she won’t be doing any of that,’ Chase assured Brigitte. ‘Not unless it’s the world’s most extreme library.’

‘Library?’ asked Mitzi, crestfallen.

‘Yeah. We need someone to do some research for us, about some castle in Austria.’

‘Oh.’ She sounded hugely disappointed. ‘Well, of course I’ll help you, but . . . are you sure that’s all you want me to do? You don’t need me to help you climb a mountain or anything?’

‘Nah, just check out this castle and persuade the bloke who owns it to talk to us. Are you up for that?’ He looked at Brigitte, who still didn’t seem happy. ‘And you?’

Brigitte sighed. ‘As she says, she’s a grown woman.’

‘Because if it bothers you, we can do it ourselves,’ Chase offered. ‘I mean, I wouldn’t want to make you mad at me or anything.’

She managed a faint smile. ‘After everything you’ve done for us, I think that would be hard.’

‘Of course I’ll do it, Eddie,’ Mitzi insisted. ‘It might not be as exciting as the last time I helped you, but who knows? Maybe I’ll discover something that surprises you.’

Chase smiled at her. ‘Knowing you, you’ll have found what we’re looking for before we even get back. And don’t you worry, Brigitte. She’ll be fine, I promise.’

Mitchell opened his case and handed a sheaf of papers to Mitzi. ‘These are what we have on the castle and its owner, and what we’d like you to find out for us, if you can.’

‘I’ll have everything you need by the time you get back,’ she told him confidently.

‘Great stuff,’ said Chase. He finished his drink and put down the cup. ‘Well, sorry to have to rush off, but we’re kind of working against the clock.’

‘Exactly what are you looking for?’ Brigitte asked.

‘I’m afraid we can’t tell you at the moment,’ said Mitchell, ‘but it’s very important to the IHA and the United Nations.’

‘We really appreciate you helping us out,’ Nina added. ‘Thank you. Both of you.’

Brigitte nodded. ‘I wish you a safe journey, then. And I hope you find whatever it is.’

‘Good luck!’ Mitzi chimed.

Chase stood and kissed her cheek, then did the same to Brigitte. ‘We’ll be back in a couple of days, no problem. See you then.’ He waited as Nina and Mitchell shook hands with the two women, then swept an arm theatrically towards the horizon beyond the lake. ‘Okay. Jordan, here we come!’

9

Jordan

Where Zürich had been clean, neat and above all orderly, the Jordanian capital of Amman was by contrast a living monument to organised chaos. One of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world, each new stage of civilisation had been built around - or sometimes on top of - that which went before, resulting in a gloriously jumbled mix of ancient and modern, centuries-old structures separated from brand new apartment blocks by no more than the span of a man’s arms. The metropolis rippled under the baking sun of the Arabian peninsula, tinted a soft orange by sunlight, sand and smog.

Nina would have loved to explore the city, but she had work to do. Mitchell had arranged for her to meet the curator of the University of Jordan’s Center for Documents and Manuscripts, the bureaucratic name only hinting at its true purpose: to act as a vast archive, cataloguing the history of a large part of the Middle East. She wanted to delve into the wealth of ancient texts even more than the city, but for now she forced herself to concentrate on one very specific slice of the past.

‘Muhammad Yawar,’ said their host thoughtfully. Adeeb al-Jafri was a middle-aged man with oversized glasses and a neat black moustache; although he was Jordanian, his clipped accent was still very much that of the English university where he had studied. ‘Yes, I remember the name.’

‘You remember him?’ Nina asked. ‘Why, has someone else been asking about him?’

‘Yes, about six months ago, by phone. I think he was German. He asked if we had any material in the archives concerning him, and we told him that we did, but matters never progressed any further than that.’

‘It must have been Bernd,’ Nina said, with a look at Chase and Mitchell. ‘But nobody else?’ Al-Jafri shook his head.

‘At least they haven’t figured out his notes yet,’ said Mitchell.

Al-Jafri’s eyebrows rose quizzically over the thick frames of his glasses. ‘They?’

‘The man who contacted you was murdered,’ Nina told him. ‘To stop him from telling the IHA how to find what he was searching for.’

‘Really?’ He sounded more intrigued than shocked, as if hearing about a plot twist in a detective novel. ‘And for what was he searching?’

‘That’s classified, I’m afraid,’ Mitchell said. ‘But it’s for safety reasons, trust me. The people who killed him won’t hesitate to kill again.’

Curiosity was replaced by concern on al-Jafri’s face. ‘Ah. I see.’

‘That’s why we need to find what he was looking for first, so nobody else gets hurt,’ said Nina. ‘And to do that, we need to find out everything we can about Muhammad Yawar.’

‘He’s not really a terribly important figure, historically speaking. Are you sure he is the right person?’

‘He’s all we’ve got to go on,’ she admitted. ‘He supposedly killed a Crusader called Peter of Koroneou in AD1260 - what we want to know is where that happened.’

‘Peter of Koroneou . . .’ said al-Jafri, brow knitting as he consulted his memory. ‘Ah, yes. He occupied an area of land close to what is now the Jordanian-Syrian border.’

‘Which side of the border?’ Chase asked.

‘The Syrian side.’

‘I bloody knew it!’

‘Will your archives have the exact location?’ asked Nina.

‘Perhaps,’ said al-Jafri, ‘but as I said, Muhammad Yawar is a very minor figure - I doubt he rated much more than a footnote.’

‘Anything that you have will help us enormously,’ she assured him.

Al-Jafri nodded. ‘In that case, if you’ll follow me to the archives, I’ll show you what I can.’

‘Tell you what,’ said Chase to Nina, ‘while you’re doing your reading, I’ll go and sort out everything we need.’

‘The US embassy can take care of all that,’ Mitchell told him.

Chase was unimpressed. ‘They’ve got a local guide who can get us across the border, have they?’ He turned back to Nina. ‘Give me a call when you’re done. I’ll come and meet you.’ To Nina’s surprise, he pulled her close and gave her a rather more intense kiss than she’d expected before releasing her. ‘See you later.’