The Lost Relic

Chapter Fifty-Four

London

Mason Ferris had got to the office before seven that morning and been at the desk in his private office for nearly an hour when his secure line rang. The caller ID said Brewster Blackmore.

Ferris picked up. ‘I see we’re having little success apprehending Major Hope,’ he said coldly, without waiting for Blackmore to speak.

‘I’m not calling about that,’ Blackmore said. ‘I think we may have a problem with our man Lister.’

Ferris breathed out through his nose. ‘The park. You know where. Give me thirty minutes.’

Twenty-two minutes later, Mason Ferris had his driver drop him at Canada Gate, the south-side entrance to Green Park, just a stone’s throw from Buckingham Palace. He told the driver to circle for a few minutes, then straightened his tie and walked under the gilded gates, making his way through the wooded meadows to the prearranged location. They never met at the same place twice.

Blackmore was sitting on the end of a park bench reading the morning’s Times as Ferris approached him. There was no greeting. Ferris casually perched himself on the other end of the bench and took out his own paper. He waited for Blackmore to speak.

‘It seems that our boy is getting himself into trouble,’ Blackmore said quietly, without looking up from the page. ‘He was in his office yesterday afternoon when Lesley Pollock walked in on him making a call to someone he shouldn’t have. He hung up fast, acted extremely nervous with her, made his excuses and left in a hurry. Hasn’t been seen since.’

Ferris remained expressionless as he listened.

‘The problem is this,’ Blackmore went on. ‘As you know, we monitor Lister’s phone, as we do everyone’s in the department. And we now know with whom he’s been in contact.’

Ferris slowly turned and looked at him coldly.

‘The SOCA woman. Kane.’ Blackmore paused. ‘There’s something else. Something worse, I’m afraid. Lister’s copy of the operation file is missing. We think he’s taken it.’

Mason Ferris was silent for a long minute. ‘Do we have his location?’

Blackmore nodded. ‘Silly sod apparently didn’t learn a lot at GCHQ. Seems to think he can give us the slip by going to stay in some backwater hotel in Surrey. Should I issue the order?’

Ferris thought a little longer, then shook his head. ‘Not just yet. Let the boy run. See where he leads us. If this goes where I think it will . . .’ He pursed his lips. ‘Then you know what to do. And do it quickly.’

Salamanca

8.19 a.m.

After a fruitless night searching the city for a fugitive who seemed determined to evade and humiliate her at every turn, Darcey had finally returned in defeat to the police HQ in central Salamanca’s Ronda de Sancti Spíritus, where she’d knocked back four coffees and two aspirin before curling up exhausted on a couch in the top-floor office they’d given her.

In her dreams she was chasing Ben Hope. Just as she was about to catch him, her phone rang and woke her up.

‘Who is it?’ she asked sleepily, straightening up on the couch and brushing a strand of hair away from her eyes.

‘It’s Borg,’ came the whispered reply.

Darcey swallowed, waking up fast. ‘You again.’

‘Where are you?’

Darcey paused a beat. Maybe she ought to hang up right now, but what the hell. ‘Spain,’ she said.

‘I’m leaving for Paris in an hour,’ he said. ‘Can you make it there this afternoon?’

‘All right.’

‘Café de la Paix, three o’clock. Come alone.’