Tomb of Relics, page 8
“It’s OK, he’s out,” Jake said softly. “Help me down from here.”
Morgan threw the crossbow into a far corner and clambered off the jeweler, pushing down her rage as she took in the scene.
Jake hung from chains, wearing only a pair of green boxer shorts, his feet shackled to the ground. His muscular chest was a match for Palarae’s sketch, and a crossbow bolt pierced his leg, blood trickling from the wound.
“Nice timing.” Jake grinned, the corkscrew scar twisting away from his eyebrow. “Although ten minutes earlier would have been preferable.”
Morgan strode over, relieved by his wisecracks, even though she knew his leg must be agony. “I stopped for a slivovitz on the way over. Didn’t want you to think I was worried.”
As she stood close to Jake’s shackled body, Morgan wanted to wrap her arms around him. There was so much unsaid between them and, to be honest, she had imagined his naked chest pressed against hers, but this was hardly how she’d pictured it.
She pressed the button on the hydraulic hoist and lowered him down. Jake took his weight on his uninjured leg while Morgan unhooked his hands and helped him to a chair.
She knelt down in front of him, focusing on the wound in his leg rather than his semi-naked muscular frame. The crossbow bolt was lodged deep. “You need proper medical attention. I can’t deal with this myself with whatever basic first aid supplies we can find.”
Jake nodded, his face pale with shock. “Sorry I can’t help with Palarae, but I trust you’ll find out where the relics might be. If I get some good drugs, I’ll be ready by the time you figure out where we’re going next.”
He looked down at his almost naked body and grinned up at her. “Any chance you can find me a shirt or something?”
Morgan flushed a little and stood up to look for something other than the scraps of fabric on the floor. “I saw a coat rack upstairs. Don’t go anywhere.”
She darted back up to the workroom and grabbed one of Palarae’s trench coats and the razor-tipped cane, taking them back down to Jake.
“Just don’t wave this around at the hospital or they’ll get a nasty shock.”
He hobbled up the stairs, leaning on the cane while Morgan ran up to the shop in front of him and called Martin Klein, ignoring the muffled cries of the old woman.
Morgan explained the situation and by the time Jake made it up to the entrance, the flashing blue lights of a private ambulance came from the cobbled streets beyond.
As a paramedic wheeled a gurney toward them, Jake reached for Morgan’s arm. His face was pale with pain, but his amber-flecked eyes were set with determination.
“Don’t go without me.”
She hesitated a moment and then nodded. They had managed missions while injured before. They could do it again. “I’ll find out where we’re heading. I’m sure the jeweler will be happy to tell me now.”
Jake lay back on the gurney, and within a minute, the ambulance was speeding away. Morgan was grateful for ARKANE’s contacts all over the world and she knew he was in the best hands. It left her free to deal with Palarae and after seeing what he’d done to Jake, perhaps the jeweler needed a taste of his own medicine.
She went back into the shop and past the little office. The old woman had fallen silent, her eyes wary, like an animal whose instinct drives them to stillness in the presence of a stronger predator. Morgan retraced her footsteps back to the workshop and then further down into the basement.
Henry Palarae lay unconscious on his back, his face bloody, lit by the powerful photography lights he’d set up for his macabre reenactment of Saint Sebastian’s torture. The bent and broken sketchbook lay next to him, the pages stained crimson. Fragments of Jake’s clothing littered the floor by the shackles that had restrained him, and Morgan wondered how many others had suffered in this room.
While part of her wanted to enact appropriate judgment for Palarae, Morgan knew there were crimes he needed to answer for. The police would tear this place up looking for evidence once they knew about the fake relics. She would hand this whole thing over to Director Marietti and he could facilitate the next steps, but right now, she needed to find out who had the Becket reliquary and the bones of the Magi.
She looked down at Palarae. His breath rasped through a broken and bloody nose, and bruises already formed around his eyes. The heavy sketchbook had been a remarkably effective weapon and Morgan appreciated his dedication to quality art materials.
Right now, the jeweler was of no use to her. He was out cold and would probably emerge with concussion. However, Palarae was organized and meticulous in his art, so perhaps he would be similar in his record-keeping.
Morgan returned to the workshop and searched the shelving for invoices related to the business. She pulled out boxes of paperwork going back years, rifling through them for any sign of the fake reliquaries. They were truly precious works of art in themselves, so the payments must have been substantial.
After hunting in several boxes, she found a slim folder containing sketches of the Becket reliquary and other similar projects, the pencil lines drawn with Palarae’s distinctive style. Between the pages, there was an invoice made out to Dr. Kelley Montague-Breton.
Morgan smiled as she traced the name with a fingertip. Once Martin Klein set his algorithms on her, the woman would have nowhere to hide.
12
Northumberland, England
As the winter sunlight faded to dusk the next day, Morgan drove through a landscape that couldn’t be more different from the medieval heart of Kraków.
Northumberland had a history of invasion from the Romans and the Angles, to the Danes and the Normans, and the eternal battles between the Scots and the English, whose conflict still echoed in modern times. It was a wild place with a sparse population where rugged hills and moorland hid valleys of ancient woods. Shades of dull rust tinged the clouds above, like bloodstains upon the sky. A result of some pollutant rising in the air, no doubt, but Morgan couldn’t shake the lingering feeling of dread as they drove further north.
Jake sat in the passenger seat beside her, fueled by painkillers, his wounded leg bandaged under his jeans. Neither of them were strangers to pain and injury sustained on missions and Morgan trusted he would be at her side whatever lay ahead — limping, for sure, but they had managed with worse. Jake scrolled through his phone, reading notes on Dr. Kelley Montague-Breton that outlined her public persona as CEO of Breton Biomedical, her connections to the cadaver trade, and her private visits to the estate they drove toward. Martin had discovered helicopter flight plans indicating she would arrive in Northumberland today, perhaps to take delivery of the bones of the Magi. They would make sure she had an appropriate welcome.
“This estate has been in her family for generations,” Jake said. “The financials of Breton Biochemical are also entwined with Anchorite Holdings, which has links to government and a web of companies going back hundreds of years.” He frowned down at the notes. “There are also references to the Black Anchorite. Some kind of figurehead, perhaps? There are no photos, but conspiracy websites claim the estate has links to the occult.”
Morgan swerved around a bend, shifting gears and speeding away as they drove uphill toward a dense forest on the edge of an escarpment. “Relics and the occult are certainly an interesting hobby for the CEO of a biomedical company, but body parts are body parts, I guess, no matter how old they are.”
She switched her lights to full beam as the forest canopy closed in overhead, blocking out the last rays of the sun. The trees were dense on either side of the road, but now and then a view opened up of the deep crevasse to one side with jagged rocks and a rushing river below.
Morgan was used to the soft green and welcoming woods of the south of England, tamed by generations into clean lines and bounded by neat stone walls. Up here the land was wild and in this forest, the tree branches loomed over them with seeming malevolence. The dark limbs twisted overhead and crowded the edge of the road, leaving them no path of escape. It seemed as if the trees were not separate things, but part of a single organism that ruled this domain, pressing down upon them and turning dusk into night. Their leaves were mottled and pockmarked with black poisonous sacs like the slimy skin of a toad, and the smell of the forest was more like dank moldering meat than the expected fresh scent of pine needles after rain.
“Locals say there’s a curse on this forest,” Jake said. “Those who walk here find their limbs softening until they sink to the forest floor and the land devours them, dissolving their flesh into mulch.” He looked out the window. “No doubt a legend spread to keep people away from the estate.”
“No doubt.” Morgan heard the hesitancy in her own voice as she wound up the window to shut out the smell. She concentrated on the road, which narrowed as it headed up the escarpment and the forest clustered even closer.
A flash of silver struck the trees as the headlights caught something moving to one side.
Morgan frowned and feathered the brakes, suddenly aware of shadows shifting between the gnarled trunks. Wild dogs hunting in a pack, keeping pace with the car as rising moonlight glinted on silver fur and sharp teeth.
“I see them. Just keep driving.” Jake’s voice was calm even as he reached around into the back seat and pulled open the heavy case Martin had provided. Two pistols, plenty of ammunition. Knives and climbing gear.
An enormous beast suddenly darted out in front of the car.
In the headlights, Morgan glimpsed misshapen muscled haunches and an oversized powerful jaw that could rip off a limb within a heartbeat.
She braked lightly and swerved around it.
The car skidded, tires shrieking on the road as they spun around, fishtailing as she fought for control.
Jake held his gun ready to engage, but in her rearview mirror, Morgan saw something even bigger step out of the gloom. Its sleek black coat shimmered like oil, tight on powerful muscled limbs tipped with claws that trailed the dirt of the forest behind it.
This was an ancient creature, bred as a weapon.
It snarled, revealing yellow teeth with scraps of flesh between. Behind it, more creatures gathered, shadows upon shadows.
They would have no chance if they stepped out of the car.
“Hold on.” Morgan gripped the steering wheel and pressed the accelerator, pushing the car to its limit as they sped up the hill.
The creatures gave chase, loping after their prey as they howled in a feral sound of violent joy in the hunt.
The twisted trees closed around them, but up ahead, Morgan thought the shadows grew lighter. A break in the forest, perhaps? She accelerated toward it as the pack closed in, foamy lather dripping from their sharp teeth as they snapped at the rear wheels.
The dense green forest ended abruptly in a short tarmac drive in front of a pair of gigantic iron gates. They blocked the road ahead, flanked by towering stone walls and a sheer drop to one side down the cliff.
Morgan braked hard, and they skidded to a halt only millimeters from the metal barrier.
The feral pack bayed for blood behind them.
Morgan reached behind for the comfort of her SP-21 Barak pistol, her hand tight around the weapon. If the creatures surrounded them, she and Jake would have little choice but to fight.
But the beasts stayed within the shadows of the forest, their territory bounded by the trees. Minutes later, they disappeared, and the forest fell silent in their wake. No birdsong, no crack of branches, only the eerie sound of wind rushing up the escarpment.
Jake exhaled slowly. “That was fun.”
Morgan opened the door and climbed out, her body flushed with the adrenalin of the chase. A carpet of dry leaves lay underfoot, cracking and crunching like the breaking of tiny bones as she walked over to the metal barrier.
The gates were fashioned with filigree letters entwined with images of castle turrets. Weathered stone pillars stood on either side carved with medieval longswords, while above them loomed creatures of legend, part lion, part serpent, with open jaws and blank eyes. Lichen covered each one with patches of green and yellow, like living skin on dead stone. A gigantic wall made of enormous blocks barred the way either side of the gate, cracked and fissured with the ravages of time, but standing unbowed against the elements.
Jake joined Morgan in front of the gate. “This looks like it hasn’t been opened for centuries. Do you think Martin’s intel might be wrong about the place?”
Morgan shook her head. “There must be another way in.”
She reached out and grasped the metal — then pulled back quickly. It was so cold that her flesh would fuse to it if she held on too long, slivers of skin ripping away to leave bloody wounds.
Jake leaned his weight against the gates, pushing hard, but they didn’t move.
Morgan looked up at the thick ivy twisted amongst the filigree letters with sturdy branches and deformed leaves, anchoring the metal so it was part of the land.
“Think you can manage a climb?”
“Last one over buys the beers.”
Morgan laughed as Jake hobbled to the car, exaggerating his limp as he pulled the bag from the back seat. Martin’s images of the estate had led them to expect some difficulty, so they’d packed climbing axes and ropes, but this ancient wall had plenty of broken masonry for footholds and the thick winding branches of ivy would be easy enough to navigate.
As Jake filled a smaller pack with items they might need, Morgan clambered up the side of the wall, relishing the tension in her muscles as she climbed. She paused at the top, crouching down behind a crenellation to peer into the estate beyond.
An apple orchard with gnarled mature trees stretched out toward a jumble of buildings. An ancient citadel with stark walls and slit windows stood in the middle, surrounded by structures from different periods, including a modern guard tower and a helipad where a helicopter sat waiting.
Jake climbed up beside her. “I vote we use that later and avoid our friends in the forest.”
“Seconded.” Morgan pointed at the guard tower and then down at a ring of cameras with blinking green lights. “But we might have company soon. They must know we’re here.”
They clambered down the other side of the wall and walked through the orchard, the twisted trunks evidence of how long the trees had provided for the estate. But nothing grew upon the path that wound toward the citadel. Where tendrils of the wild forest outside the gates had broken through the tarmac in an unstoppable march of life, something in the ancient stone held them back here. The roots of the apple trees nearest the path were blackened, curling back on themselves in a cage of twisted branches.
There was no one waiting as they entered the boundaries of the buildings, so they kept walking toward the citadel. It wasn’t the biggest structure in the compound, but it exuded a dark gravitational pull, as if everything orbited around it, a fortress from medieval times that retained its imposing military strength. The relics would be held at the heart of the place, and Morgan knew they had to get inside.
She looked up to the slit windows, slivers of black opening into the dark heart of the building. Something waited in there, something that drove nature to turn away in horror. She gripped her gun more tightly and walked on.
As they entered the courtyard in front of the citadel, security guards stepped out from shadowed doorways.
The leader had bulging muscles that stretched his uniform and a face that was mightily improved by the balaclava they’d last seen him in. He held a metal bar in one hand.
“Didn’t think you’d make it through the forest, but don’t worry, we’re sending you back out there.” He thumped the metal bar against his other palm and grinned. “After we’ve had a little fun.”
Five other men stepped out to join him, three with guns and two more with metal bars, cruel smiles on their lips.
13
As Jake tensed next to her, Morgan shifted her position. They stood back to back, sighting the security guards down the barrel of their guns. She knew they could take down at least three of the men, but they were outnumbered and the leader knew it.
“If you surrender now, you’ll have a chance with the dogs in the forest.” He hefted the weight of the metal bar. “I’ll even give you this after I’ve finished.”
Morgan felt Jake lean back against her a little, his weight shifting. She knew her partner. He was in no mood to let these men anywhere near.
So be it.
Morgan readied herself, her target on one guard holding an automatic. These men might be ex-military, but it was likely a while since they’d been in an actual fight.
She prepared to fire.
“Stop!” A woman’s voice rang out across the courtyard.
The leader held up his fist, stopping his men from attacking. Morgan considered firing first to take advantage of the pause, but then Dr. Kelley Montague-Breton emerged from the shadows.
She was petite in stature, but her authority was clear as the men stepped back to let her pass. She walked in front of the guns and assessed the scene. There were dark shadows under her clear eyes and a depth of pain that seemed unusual for such a wealthy heiress and powerful CEO.
Morgan kept her gun raised, aware that everything could change in a second. “We’re here for the Becket reliquary and the bones of the Magi.”
“And whatever else you have hidden here,” Jake added. “ARKANE will have a team up here soon to investigate what the hell you’ve been doing.”
Kelley laughed softly and shook her head. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with. Your Director Marietti will find only obstacles and those in power will pressure ARKANE to close any investigation. Anchorite is untouchable.”
Morgan knew she wasn’t bluffing. Martin’s notes had implied Anchorite was bound deep into the corridors of government and its power went back generations. It held the kind of influence that remained in the shadows, but could wield both immense wealth or a silent blade as required.
