Poseidon's Ransom

Chapter Forty Five

At 3am Air France flight AF33 touched down at Heathrow. Both Jack and Bogdan had slept pretty much the whole way back. Neither had eaten anything, but Jack drank a couple of cokes and Bogdan his usual beer.

The London leg from Paris was quiet and the transition through Heathrow Immigration swift for once. As they came out of Arrivals, Jack looked for Mathew. A few seconds later he saw his brother standing a little way to the side of the main exit. ‘This way, big man,’ said Jack.

The two brothers hugged, and Mathew said, ‘Good to have you back.’

‘Matt, this is my great friend, Bogdan Markov. Bogdan, this is Mathew Sterling.’

The big Russian smiled, as he vigorously shook Mathew’s hand. ‘Is a pleasure to meet you, Mathew. I have heard much of you.’

‘And I you, Bogdan. And I you.’

‘Okay,’ said Jack. ‘Am I getting home tonight? I mean this morning?’

‘Of course. I’d have Nicole after me if I didn’t get you home as soon as possible. I thought I’d come out and stay at your place, Jack. If that’s okay? We can de-brief in the morning.’

‘Sure, no problem.’

‘And I have a meeting with the Director General for lunch tomorrow. I’d like you guys to join me?’

‘Sounds good, Matt. But let’s get home, eh?’

Mathew smiled. ‘My driver is right outside.’

As the big Jaguar pulled away from the Arrivals Terminal, Mathew turned to Jack, and said, ‘We had some news a little while ago, from our friends in Florence.’

‘Yeah?’ said Jack.

‘Washington’s vehicle was tracked.’

‘Really? They know where he is?’

‘Afraid not. The car was in an accident, on the motorway north of Monaco. Crashed into a bridge. Two bodies in it.’

‘Washington’s?’

‘No. Two youths apparently. Sounds like a couple of joy-riders.’

‘Not much joy for them, then.’

‘Yeah, just kids.’

‘So, Washington is on the move, but we don’t know where?’

‘For now, no we don’t. But there’s more.’

‘Yeah?’

‘We received a signal from Interpol, about a certain Mr Myles DeVere.’

‘Oh, that joker. What’s he been up to?’

‘We don’t have that information yet. But whatever it was, it can’t have been Kosher.’

Jack frowned. ‘Okay. So, what was the news?’

DeVere’s naked body was fished-out of the River Arno, on the outskirts of Florence, a little after midnight.

‘Poor bastard,’ said Jack.

The big Russian shrugged. ‘He was a bit of asshole though, boss.’

Jack shook his head at the big man’s comment. ‘Naked! That’s a bit weird isn’t it?’

‘There was an antique stiletto embedded in his chest. The handle had an ornate TI monogramed in gold.’

‘All very cloak and dagger,’ quipped Jack.

‘That’s not the strangest part. His forehead was branded with Roman numerals and his tongue had been cut out.’

‘Jesus… A ritual killing?’

‘Certainly looks like it.’

‘So what the hell’s he been up to?’

‘Whatever it was, he’s certainly pissed somebody off.’

Jack was silent for a while, then said, ‘What numerals?’

‘What?’

‘You said, Roman numerals. What were they?’

Mathew swiped his smartphone screen, A few seconds later he said, ‘MCCCVII.’

Jack nodded and smiled. ‘1307. The year the Knights Templars were rounded-up and killed.’