The Sacred Sword

Chapter Fifty-Three

A stunned silence in the hallway.

It was Wesley who broke it. ‘What do you mean, I was a friend of Simeon’s?’

‘He’s dead,’ Jude said tightly. ‘So is my mother. They were killed by the same people who are after you.’

Wesley suddenly felt unsteady on his feet. He staggered over to a chair and slumped heavily into it, dropping the sabre to the floor and sinking his face in his hands. ‘Oh, no. I warned him. I told him to be careful.’

‘We’ve come a long way to see you, Mr Holland.’ Ben picked up the fallen sabre, replaced it in its scabbard and propped it against the wall. ‘My name’s Ben Hope. I’ve known Simeon and Michaela Arundel for twenty years, and I was with them when they died. I was staying at their home the night you called there.’

‘How did you find me here?’

‘Not too easily, you’ll be pleased to know,’ Ben said. ‘You did a pretty decent job of covering your tracks.’

‘I was lucky, that’s all. They very nearly got me on the road.’

‘Have you told anyone where you are?’

‘You have to be kidding. Not even my lawyer knows.’

‘All the same,’ Ben said, ‘do you keep a gun in the house? Any kind of gun’ll do.’

‘There’s a Revolutionary War musket in the vault,’ Wesley told him. ‘It hasn’t been fired in centuries, though.’

‘Forget it.’

Wesley sighed. ‘I need a drink. Let’s go into the kitchen.’

Dinner was forgotten for the moment. Wesley settled onto a padded stool and emptied a third of his ’93 Bordeaux into a large wineglass. Both Ben and Jude declined the offer of a drink.

‘I’m so sorry for your loss, son,’ Wesley said after a few gulps.

‘Thanks,’ Jude muttered.

Wesley turned to Ben. ‘Can you tell me what happened?’

‘You tell him,’ Jude said to Ben. He walked over to the window and turned his back for a few moments. It was getting darker outside. The distant meteorological observatory tower was lit up, throwing a red light across the water.

‘Their car was forced off the road,’ Ben said. ‘It was set up to look like an accident.’

‘Did they suffer?’ Wesley whispered.

‘No,’ Ben lied. ‘It was very quick.’ He glanced over at Jude, paused, and then went on. ‘I don’t think it was as quick for Fabrice Lalique. But you already knew about that.’

‘I didn’t know whether to believe the suicide story or not,’ Wesley admitted. ‘At the time, it seemed crazy to start spouting conspiracy theories.’

‘In my experience,’ Ben said, ‘the truth is often crazier than what you read in the papers. I’m pretty certain the killers were the same people who planted the paedophile material on his computer. You have some very nasty and powerful enemies, Mr Holland.’

‘You got that right,’ Wesley grunted. ‘These ruthless sonsofbitches can track you from your credit card and God knows what else. Who the hell are they?’

‘That’s what I was hoping you could tell me.’

‘How should I know who they are?’

‘Because of the sword.’

Wesley drained his glass, set it down and looked long and hard at Ben, then at Jude. ‘You know about the sword?’ he said slowly.

‘We’ve just come from Jerusalem,’ Jude told him.

The billionaire’s eyes widened in amazement. ‘You found Hillel?’ Then a terrible thought struck him. ‘He’s not-?’

‘He’s alive and well and still enjoying his semi-retirement,’ Ben said. ‘He drove us to Masada and showed us where he made his discovery back in 1963. We know how much you paid him as a reward for finding it. We know just how important it is to you, and how important it was to Simeon and Fabrice. We know everything about the sword, except what really matters. What is it, where is it, and who would want it so badly they’d kill you, us, or anyone else to get it?’

Wesley hesitated. ‘You have to realise, it’s very hard for me to trust you. You don’t understand how important this is.’

‘You have no choice but to trust us,’ Ben said. ‘You’ve been pretty clever so far, not to mention lucky, but these people won’t give up so easily.’

‘I’m safe here,’ Wesley insisted. ‘And I can hold out for a long, long time.’

‘You can’t stay hidden for ever. You’re all over the TV and internet. It’s just a question of time before someone recognises you and word gets out that the mysterious billionaire is holed up on Martha’s Vineyard. Then these people are going to come for you. They’ll torture you until they have the sword, and then if they’re feeling merciful they’ll put a quick bullet in your brain.’

‘Or else they’ll feed you to the great whites,’ Jude added, jerking his thumb in the direction of the ocean.

It seemed to have the desired effect. The billionaire gulped, then gave a reluctant nod. ‘All right. The sword is here. Come with me, and I’ll show it to you.’