His fingers reached to touch the weapon concealed in its shoulder holster.
67
Delphine slid her key card into the reader on the main office door and waited for the faint buzzing that would inform her of the lock’s release.
The door opened and she pushed through, Ash following close behind. While Delphine was still scanning the room, Ash placed an ear against Haelstrom’s door and listened for several moments. By the time she joined him, he was convinced the room beyond was empty. He relaxed and tried the brass doorknob. It wouldn’t budge.
‘What now?’ Delphine whispered anxiously.
Dipping his hand into a pocket on the inside of his jacket, he produced a small, buttoned-down leather wallet.
‘Tools of the trade,’ he told her. ‘Sometimes necessary.’
He opened out the wallet pocket to display both sides arranged with a selection of thin metal sticks. Ash knelt and placed the lockpicker’s tool-case on the floor, each instrument kept in a separate holder. He slid one out that was slightly thicker and stronger-looking than most of the others. Its end was angled at about forty-five degrees, its shaft a little wider for easier handling.
‘We call this the wrench,’ he explained to her in soft tones. ‘And this,’ he showed her another, thinner metal stick, with a curved end coming to a point, ‘is the pick.’
He held both instruments up to the door lock. ‘Looks like a pin-and-tumbler lock, so it shouldn’t be too difficult,’ he said, sliding the wrench into the key opening. This was followed by the pick, which he pushed further into the keyhole, using the lever wrench to support it as he twisted. ‘There are five pins inside which I need to push up till they click – you’ll hardly hear the sound, but I’ll feel the release of pressure. I’ll do two at a time, leaving the one at this end for last.’
It took but a few seconds before he twisted both appliances and a small but audible click told them the door was open.
Ash hesitated, still holding the wrench and pick in place. He looked up at Delphine. ‘You don’t think this door has an alarm, do you?’
She froze, having no answer, and he grinned as he gently turned the knob and pushed the door wide open.
‘Okay, so I checked it for a contact strip when I was in here earlier,’ he said, still grinning. She frowned back at him chidingly. Cautiously, they entered, and although they both knew the room would be empty they breathed a sigh of relief when it proved to be so.
‘You’d make a good burglar,’ Delphine commented as she looked about her.
Ash pointed beyond Haelstrom’s broad desk at the slim grey cabinets that lined the wall. ‘Right. This is where the fun starts.’
They walked around the desk, the investigator sweeping his eyes across its surface in the vague hope of finding the keys to the filing cabinet, but seeing only the usual office clutter. He tried the cabinet drawers anyway, but they remained firmly shut.
‘You don’t think Haelstrom could have left his keys in a desk drawer, do you?’
‘I doubt it,’ replied Delphine going back to the desk. She pulled at each of its drawers but none would budge. ‘Can you pick the locks? On these filing cabinets, I mean.’
‘No. I don’t have the patience. But they don’t look too tough to me.’
Ash went to the cluttered desk and picked up a metal ruler, smacking it lightly against the palm of one hand.
‘I’m hoping this’ll do the trick.’
Still tapping the ruler against his open palm, he inspected the curious, custom-made units. He reached inside his jacket for the notebook in which he’d written down the numbers from the graveyard.
‘Which cabinet to start with?’ he wondered aloud. He showed Delphine the sets of numbers in his notebook. ‘Can you find any connection to them?’
She studied the numbers, then looked at the cabinets again. She looked between the two twice more, before finally saying, ‘You’ve made a mistake in what you’ve written down. Look, where at the start of the figures you’ve written an 8, it should have been a B. See there, on that cabinet there’s a B just above the handle.’
Ash forced the tough steel ruler through the thin space between the narrow drawer and the frame of the cabinet. It took some effort, and for a moment it seemed the plan wasn’t going to work. Then, its lock suddenly breaking as he and Delphine used the ruler as a lever, the drawer flew out several inches. Triumphant, they paused to inspect its contents before pulling it out as far as it would come.
Row upon row of stamped memory sticks lay inside like dominoes, their markings plainly visible. There were still several empty spaces, obviously waiting to be filled by fresh arrivals.
Ash consulted his notebook and removed a stick bearing a matching number. ‘Okay, let’s plug this one into the computer and see what comes up on the screen.’
Delphine took the flash drive from him and went over to the computer, putting on her glasses as she did so. Meanwhile, Ash browsed through the other sticks in the cabinets, checking codes against those he’d hastily scribbled into his notebook, then turned to look over Delphine’s shoulder. When she tried to access the file, a box appeared requesting a password for access.
She twisted to look up at Ash. ‘I was afraid of that.’
‘Me too. I suppose it would be too simple for Haelstrom to use his own name? He’s self-important enough.’
‘I’ll try, but I doubt it.’ Delphine tried SIR VICTOR HAELSTROM and a number of variations without success. ‘No, that’s not going to work,’ she said, staring at the screen. ‘Much too easy.’
‘Yeah, it was a silly idea.’ Ash rested a hand on her left shoulder, as if lending support. ‘COMRAICH?’
She typed it in, three ways, one in caps, next in lower case, lastly with only an initial C. Failure.
Unwilling to be beaten, she began to try random words: COURT, GULFSTREAM, REFUGE. All wrong. Her shoulders slumped, but REFUGE had given Ash pause for thought.
‘Not REFUGE. But try . . .’ he started to say, but she was ahead of him.
‘SANCTUARY,’ she said, feeling a buzz of excitement.
But it was wrong, yet again.
‘This is hopeless, David. We could be here all night long and still not come up with the correct password.’
But her last attempt had jogged something in his memory. Somebody – he couldn’t remember who – had given Comraich Castle another name.
‘Sanctum.’ He stood straight, staring into space as if trying to remember more. ‘Inner Sanctum, that was it! But just try SANCTUM.’
She did and instantly the screen faded to black, then came back with the words PASSWORD ACCEPTED.
He bent over and hugged her and Delphine smiled when the once-blank screen was suddenly filled with information:
BETTERFIELD, BERTRAM: B61074
ARRIVAL: 21st JUNE 1886
DECEASED: 7th FEBRUARY 1906
APPROPRIATE PARTIES INFORMED
BODY CREMATED: 8th FEBRUARY 1906
There followed a truncated life history, but what interested Ash and Delphine was the reason for Betterfield’s incarceration at Comraich for twenty years. It seemed he – although British through and through and thought to be a champion of British imperialism and trade at the time – had secretly been an agent of Germany, which had been trying to break Britain’s trading and manufacturing dominance. Betterfield had helped in Germany’s struggles to gain power and territory in Africa.
So, confidential arrangements were made with the Inner Court.
Well, there was some justice in that, reflected Ash as he skimmed through the more formal notes displayed on the computer screen. When questioned by senior security figures, Betterfield had collapsed and confessed all. Ash wondered what interrogation methods were used in those days. Pretty brutal, he imagined.
Bertram Betterfield agreed to disappear from society – he was warned that it was only because Queen Victoria herself would not sanction his execution that he remained alive. Ironically, the fortune Betterfield
had accumulated went to help pay for his unwanted stay at Comraich.
‘And so here he died eventually,’ said Ash, stretching his shoulders after leaning over the computer for so long.
‘Shall we try some more?’
Ash shook his head. ‘I’d like to find someone more recent, or at least a person we might know of.’
He returned to the filing cabinets and studied his notebook again. He picked one at random.
‘There’s one here that looks as if it has seven digits, which should be more recent but I’m guessing that rather than eleven, as I’ve put down, the middle has worn away and it should be an M.’
He forced open the ‘M’ drawer with the ruler, reached in and brought out a memory stick at random. Delphine removed the first stick and inserted the one Ash handed to her.
‘Fingers crossed,’ she said as the request for a password was demanded on screen. ‘Let’s pray it’s not a different password every time.’
She typed SANCTUM again and smiled as access was granted.
‘Holy Jesus . . .’ breathed Ash as the name came up, blasphemy not usually part of his dialogue.
MAXWELL, (IAN) ROBERT
orig. JAN LUDVIK HOCH
‘We’ve hit the jackpot, Delphine,’ Ash said in awe.
‘Robert Maxwell – the newspaper magnate?’ Delphine swung back to look at the screen.
‘He was a publishing tycoon, his only rival as a media giant was Rupert Murdoch, and Murdoch won out in the end. Eventually, they say, Maxwell committed suicide or died of a heart attack after fraudulent financial deals he’d set up to bolster his collapsing empire began unravelling. He’d even dipped into his employees’ pension funds to shore up his newspaper empire. Look at the screen
MAXWELL (IAN) ROBERT
orig. JAN LUDVIK HOCH
BORN: CZECHOSLOVAKIA
ARRIVED COMRAICH: 6th NOVEMBER, 1991
DIED: 9th AUGUST 1996
Ash was shaking his head. ‘This can’t be right.’ But he and Delphine read on, discovering more about the man.
On 5 November 1991 it was reported that Robert Maxwell had fallen from his yacht the Lady Ghislaine while cruising close to the Canary Islands. When his body was recovered three days later it was almost unrecognizable, bloated and damaged by fish. A hasty autopsy by a Spanish pathologist concluded that death was caused by drowning. The body was quickly cremated. The official story was that he had suffered a heart attack and had fallen unconscious into the sea, although many believed it was the suicide of a man in ruin both financially and politically. Maxwell was also rumoured to have been assassinated by Mossad agents.
‘So far,’ murmured Ash to Delphine, ‘all in the public domain. Maybe he was killed by Mossad. Israel’s secret service is highly regarded among intelligence agencies worldwide, but it’s never been known for its subtlety.’
He pointed at the next piece of information as Delphine scrolled down.
‘No, look, there it is,’ he said, quickly reading through the fresh lines that came up and giving Delphine a summary. ‘It was the Inner Court working with our own security forces that had Robert Maxwell kidnapped by the Special Boat Service. He knew so much about so many people in so many countries that it became a race to take him out first when his business empire started to crumble. He was left vulnerable; all those government officials and businessmen had washed their hands of him.’
Ash rose for a moment and stretched his aching back. ‘He’d stolen as much as £400 million from his companies’ pensions investments. It looks like the Inner Court and the British government struck a dodgy deal between them. If the SBS could secretly capture him and hand him over to the IC, all his secrets could be dragged out of him using sodium pentothal—’
‘And other, more dangerous drugs I wouldn’t care to name,’ Delphine cut in.
‘Right,’ said Ash, ‘the ideal solution. Then he could be left alone to live out his days here, sedated by lithium, or whatever.’
‘But the body pulled from the sea three days later?’
‘It could have been anyone of the right age and build, some down-and-out or drunk who wouldn’t be missed. There was never a proper post-mortem and the corpse was quickly cremated. No one ever made a proper identification.’
‘That’s horrible.’ Delphine was shaking her head in disgust.
‘It’s a wicked world.’ Ash leaned over her again as more type came up.
‘Jesus,’ he whispered again in wonder. ‘Would you look at this.’
The psychologist’s eyes widened when she read further. ‘Maxwell’s eventual death on 9th August 1996 was the result of suicide . . .’
‘I suppose he couldn’t stand the idea of being cooped up, no matter how luxurious the prison.’
The next line came up and they both gasped at what was displayed onscreen.
‘. . . following an overdose of yew-tree berries.’
‘Yew berries? How—’
Delphine stopped him. ‘Yew seeds are toxic. A lethal dosage would be fifty to a hundred grams. I’d guess he wandered through the woods one day, perhaps part of his exercise regime. Found himself among the crematorium plaques and assumed that one day this was how he’d end up, far from the public eye and, of course, his precious sons and daughters. Whether he cared for his wife, who knows? He’d left her in 1991.’
‘So he chose his own way out,’ said Ash, a trifle sadly. ‘He must have visited the area over the weeks, each time collecting and taking the berries back with him to the castle, hiding them in his clothes, which would be easy enough . . . He was a self-made man from what was then Czechoslovakia, who used to claim – or boast – that he never wore shoes until he was seven years old. He fought in the Czech army, rising to captain. Something of a hero if you believe what he said. In a way, his nemesis was Rupert Murdoch, who managed to outwit him in taking over two big-selling newspapers – the Sun and the now defunct News of the World.’
Delphine suddenly became anxious. ‘David, we’ve been in Sir Victor’s office a long time . . .’
‘You’re right. We don’t want to push our luck. Let’s get going.’ He hastily took a handful of memory sticks from each of the drawers he had broken open and stuffed them into his jacket.
‘I’ve no idea who we’ve got, but I imagine some of the names will interest the police. Maybe even puzzled historians.’
‘Surely you’re not thinking of showing them to the authorities. My God, it could bring the Inner Court down if it were exposed! You – we’ll – be in terrible danger if Sir Victor finds out.’
He returned to her and kissed her cheek. ‘Exactly. In any case, something tells me tonight Comraich Castle will be a risky place to be. That’s why I’m so keen for us to be gone.’
She stood, slipped her spectacles inside her coat pocket. ‘But how?’ she pleaded. ‘How are we going to get away from here?’
‘Like I said, I’ll go to Shawcroft-Draker and explain the situation to him. Not that we’ve pilfered Haelstrom’s special files, but, first, to warn him he needs to evacuate the place, and second, if he should refuse, I’ll ask his permission for just us to leave.’
‘He’ll never allow that.’
‘We’ll see. Don’t forget Maxwell’s memory stick,’ he said.
She handed it to Ash and it joined the others in his jacket.
‘Now let’s go!’
As they walked back through the main office Ash noticed that, even though no window was open, the papers on the desks were moving, as if touched by a breeze. Ash frowned and paused. He could feel a faint rumbling beneath his feet.
It’s beginning, he thought.
68
Delphine carefully closed the main office door, then looked up and down the reception hall. It was still and silent, like some vast underground cavern.
‘David,’ she said, touching his arm, ‘Placid Pat’s gone.’
‘The old guard? Yeah, I noticed.’ Maybe Placid Pat had felt the underground rumbling too and had gone to investiga
te.
‘He rarely leaves that spot,’ said Delphine, indicating the empty chair. ‘Occasionally, he might patrol the building, but not at this time.’
‘Let’s move away from here,’ Ash suggested. ‘I don’t want anyone wondering what we’re doing. So far we’ve been lucky and I don’t want to push it.’
They began walking down the hallway, the sound of their shoes echoing off the walls and high ceiling. Ash couldn’t shake off the feeling of being inside a cathedral, only there was nothing holy about Comraich Castle.
The investigator drew Delphine to a halt, peering around to make sure there really was no one else to hear him.
‘Delphine, d’you mind if we drop by your office?’ he whispered.
‘No, but why?’
‘I’ll tell you inside.’
They were already close to her room. Once they were inside the anteroom, he closed the door softly behind them.
‘What did—’ she began, but he cautioned her with a rigid first finger to his lips. ‘Let’s go through to your office.’
She shot him a doubtful look. Her thoughts were easy to read and he gave her an innocent smile. ‘Don’t think it’s not on my mind, but this will be less fun.’
Looking mystified, she unlocked the door to her consulting room, where Ash almost collapsed on her comfortable couch.
‘Delphine, I don’t know about you, but after yesterday’s near-fatal plane journey, the episode with the flies, last night’s vigil, the sea caves this morning, and then those bloody wildcats, I’m just about all in. Now something tells me that tonight things are going to get worse around here. Whether we stay or leave, I can get through it, but . . .’
‘But you’d like something that could help keep you going.’
He turned his palms upwards, managing a tired grin as he lifted them from his knees.
‘I noticed earlier that you had a drugs cabinet in this room, and I thought if you had any Benzedrine or something . . .’ He looked sheepish.