The Isis Covenant

Epilogue

Jamie Saintclair was lying on a tropical beach with Danny Fisher’s endlessly long, endlessly lithe body broiling to a perfect tan by his side when the buzz of his mobile phone roused him from the dream. He awoke in a cramped seat on the Paddington to Oxford train. Danny had recovered quickly from her wound and flown back to New York three weeks earlier and he was still surprised at how big a hole she had left in his life.

He checked the screen, hoping it might be a message from the New Yorker, but the caller ID said ‘Det Shreeves’, which took him a moment to turn into the Met officer who’d loaned him the protective vest that had saved his life. The message was equally cryptic: ‘Daily Mail, page 17’.

The only newspapers available on the train were the brain-numbing free tabloids that littered the seats and luggage racks, so he had to wait until he reached the station before he could buy a Mail from the newsstand. He flicked to page 17 and was wondering why Shreeves wanted him to read an article on Britain’s Booze Culture when he noticed the headline at the bottom of the page:- ELECTRONICS TYCOON FOUND SHOT DEAD. The story said that the body of Howard Vanderbilt had been discovered in his tenth-floor apartment with a gun in his hand and a bullet wound in the head. It added that sources close to the investigation suggested that: ‘prior to his death Mr Vanderbilt was being investigated over allegations of tax evasion and for suspected links to neo-Nazi groups and organized crime.’ Jamie had a momentary vision from what seemed another lifetime of a portly figure with a pony-tail and a 9 mm automatic pointed at his heart, but he wasn’t quite sure how he should feel. He supposed it meant he could stop looking over his shoulder. No one was going to honour a contract put out by a dead man.

He threw the paper into the nearest bin and found his way to the taxi rank. Somewhere in there would be yet another story about the investigation at the Dornberger house, but he didn’t need to read it to know the details. The discovery of the underground temple and the horrors that had taken place there had created a sensation. Every day brought a new revelation about the search for bodies in the grounds or the discovery of human tissue in the waste system. DNA tests had already brought the number of Paul and Max Dornberger’s victims to at least twelve, although their identities remained a mystery. The boy intended to be their final victim was still in care. Overnight, Dmitri Samsonov had become the wealthiest child on the planet, and he was now the subject of a three-way tug of war between Irina’s parents, a distant cousin of Samsonov, who also happened to be a prominent member of the Russian Mafia, and President Vladimir Putin, who had generously offered to adopt his old friend Oleg’s son.

The taxi dropped him at the Ashmolean Museum. Inside, Athena was waiting exactly where she said she would be, among the artefacts in the Egyptian section. She smiled gravely when she saw him.

‘Thank you for agreeing to come to Oxford to meet me, Mr Saintclair. I apologize, but it would have been inconvenient for me to travel to London.’

‘I was a little surprised,’ he admitted, ‘until I remembered that Oxford has a long relationship with Isis.’

She laughed. ‘You mean the rowing team, of course. Isis is the ancient name for the Thames, Mr Saintclair. I’m afraid Oxford has nothing to do with The Lady, no matter how much I should wish it. My association with this city is because I have been a visiting lecturer at the Faculty of Oriental Studies for many years, and the Ashmolean is a valuable research facility.’

To cover his embarrassment, Jamie unshouldered the rucksack he’d carried from London and removed the black velvet bag it contained. Athena drew a sharp breath as he placed the bag in her hands and she felt its weight.

‘Is this …?’

He nodded and her eyes glistened. She leaned forward with a sharp movement, like a bird pecking grain, and kissed him on the cheek. ‘The Sisters of Isis will always be in your debt.’

‘There is no need. I am just glad that it is back where it belongs … and sorry that I couldn’t have done the same with the Eye.’

A sad smile touched her lips.

‘I believe you and your friend were doing The Lady’s work when you destroyed it, just as my daughter Klara was when she died trying to protect you. The Lady would not wish to be associated with something so defiled. There will be a new stone, clear and untarnished; untainted by the corruption of the old.’

Jamie covered his surprise with a smile of his own. The Eye of Isis had been beyond price. The cost of replacing it with a stone of similar quality was unthinkable, if such a thing ever came on the open market. ‘I can put you in touch with a diamond merchant in Antwerp.’

The offer was made half in jest and drew a laugh from Athena. ‘Oh, I doubt we will be buying it, Mr Saintclair. There are other ways of acquiring such things.’

He managed to suppress the image of another newspaper headline — one that said: MYSTERY RAID ON CROWN JEWELS — long enough to reach forward and shake her hand.

‘Goodbye, and thank you again, Mr Saintclair. I must find a safe place for this. And if you ever need the assistance of the Sisters of Isis again …’

‘I don’t intend to be in a position where I’ll need it,’ Jamie assured her. His future plans included a long, stress-free rest, and a sun-kissed beach. Maybe somewhere like Florida where a certain New York detective might be persuaded to join him.

With a last glance at Athena as she walked through a door marked ‘Private’ he headed for the exit. It was only when he was outside that it struck him. The doorway had been flanked by two Egyptian steles carved from black granite, each inscribed with a familiar symbol.

The Eye of Isis.