The Relic Hunters

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

The train down to London was a rattler. Once a grumpy CIA handler had relieved them of the unconscious prisoner, the team caught a cab to York railway station and bought six tickets to Kings Cross. The two-hour journey would enable them to rest and start a little research.

“Y’know what bugs me?” Jemma said, shivering on the exposed platform. “This poor archaeologist. We know nothing of him, of his motivations. Not even what happened to him. We don’t even know how the map came to be at Olympia.”

Jeff nodded. “That’s been worrying me too. It’s all good information, but what’s the story?”

“We may never know,” Jemma said as Cross came up the platform, loaded with sandwiches, energy bars and bottles of water purchased from the cluster of shops inside the station. “Send the oldest for the heavy load,” he said cheerfully. “I know the drill.”

“Sorry, dude,” Jemma said peering past him. “But that’s what I’m waiting for.”

Bodie had been listening to them whilst turning the operation over in his mind, letting it mold and remold like a soft piece of clay. Now he turned and saw Cassidy walking along the platform toward them. A comment almost leapt out of his mouth until he saw what she was carrying.

Coffee.

“Lifesaver,” he said, and took a cup. The wind was indeed a scythe inside the station, whipping around as it sought victims. A pre-dawn light was breaking in the snatch of sky they could see as they waited for the first train to Kings Cross.

“Where are we with the map?” he asked Jeff.

The archaeologist nodded around a mouthful of sandwich. “Good… hang on… good.” He swallowed, sat on a metal bench and pulled his thoughts together. “Obviously the further we get the less I remember. I started at the beginning and didn’t get much past York. We know the waypoint. The footnotes are a slice of history, nothing more. A way of backing up the writer’s claims. I mentioned before there’s something about Liege mentioned, we should check that. It says that the statue was moved to the Illuminati base of operations in the early 1900s, a mistake I think. Also that this next waypoint is the last.” He looked around. “It should point us to the location of the statue.”

“And more importantly,” Bodie said. “The Illuminati HQ.”

“Yeah, sure.”

Bodie shook his head at the archaeologist, guessing his thoughts. Since they’d saved his life though, Jeff had proven invaluable. Maybe a relic hunter needed an archaeologist as a friend. Another gust of wind scoured the platform, testing their mettle.

“Following an ancient relic, seeking it out, to locate a modern-day version of an ancient murderous, secret organization is a little unorthodox,” Cross said. “But you gotta hand it to Agent Moneymaker, she’s driven, committed and good at what she does.”

Bodie nodded. “Yeah, she’s impressive.”

Cassidy tipped her cup at them. “Get a fuckin’ room, boys. All three of you. Shit.”

Jemma chipped in. “Cassidy’s right,” she said with a huge leap of intuition. “We don’t know jack about her. She’s CIA. A government employee. She may have saved your ass, Bodie, but she could easily shove you right back down the crapper.”

The Londoner brushed at the stubble around his chin. “Ah, thanks for the image, Jemma. So far, we shouldn’t doubt her, but you should all know by now that I rarely trust, and I vet my friends very, very carefully. Don’t worry about me losing sight of the whole picture.”

“Which brings us around to yet another rather large elephant in the room,” Cross intoned gently. “Jack Pantera.”

Bodie took a moment to check his feelings. This whole mission had been a whirlwind, keeping everything else on hold. He found that, despite all that had happened, he wanted to talk to Pantera — question his old mentor seriously about what had happened. Revenge wasn’t Bodie’s style. He needed to understand the situation and the motivations behind it.

“Jack is our next op,” he said softly. “Make no mistake.”

Cassidy cracked ten knuckles in a row. “Just choose a bone, my friend.”

“Not like that, Cass. I went through hell with Jack. We bled together. I have to know why.”

“He threw you in prison and left you to die.” It was black and white for Cassidy Coleman.

“He was my father for more years than my real dad,” Bodie said. “That counts for something.”

Cassidy shrugged, sticking her face into a sandwich. The train pulled up and the team stepped aboard, locating their seats and falling silent. The train was at least half-full, and they knew ears always pricked up when a juicy conversation began.

Jeff sent a group message to say he was researching the Antiquity Lodge in London. Gunn piped up too, by text, to say he was already on it. The train rattled through some pre-dawn English countryside, the fields often uniform and flat, the roads narrow and twisting. A barely discernible announcement went out regarding the food cart, stops and arrival times, but Bodie was wholly unaware, sifting through the snippets and patches of life that he had been a part of this last few days and weeks. Life could certainly turn on a dime. Whoever said that got it spot on.

Live your life while you can. Who knows what’s around the corner?

He wondered if he’d actually been doing that. Foster families had poisoned him against friendships, turned him into a singular man that shunned social media and found socializing quite tough. He was standoffish, closed about his past with anyone except the tight circle that was his team.

Was that living?

They were winging it now, he knew. Heidi was away on some kind of side-mission, God knew what. Jeff’s memory of the map was imperfect. The best thing in their favor was that the Illuminati were unaware of how far they’d progressed.

Otherwise, Hell would be waiting for them.

Bodie tried to relax as the train carved through the coming day.