The young woman looked up at her, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, as she apologized. “I didn’t see him.”
“It’s not your fault,” Alexandra said, feeling sorry for her. She started to reach for the champagne bottle that had rolled into the corner by the potted palm. When she bent down to pick it up, she noticed something in the base of the potted palm. The cipher wheel.
She left the bottle where it was. “Let me help,” she said as she started scooping some of the ice into a small pile near the palm. “It really was our fault. We were arguing and didn’t see you.”
“No. You shouldn’t trouble yourself. I’ll clean this.”
Alexandra moved in front of the palm, blocking the maid’s view. She shoved the wheel into the dirt and covered it, then picked up the champagne bottle, holding it toward the maid.
“Thank you,” the girl said, taking the bottle from her as Fisk rounded the corner.
He stopped, appearing surprised to see Alexandra and the maid still there.
“Forget something?” Alexandra asked.
“Dropped something.” He walked around them, his gaze on the floor.
When he reached the palm, pulling back the fronds to look behind it, Alexandra tried to keep her breathing even.
He looked up at her. “You didn’t find anything here, did you?”
“No. What is it you’re looking for?”
“Maybe it’s in the room,” he said, then strode that way.
Alexandra smiled at the maid, worried about her safety if she happened to walk past their room at the wrong moment. “Whoever opens this is going to have quite a surprise. Have you ever seen a champagne bottle that’s been dropped?”
“I didn’t think of that. I should change it out.”
She left, and Alexandra returned to the room in time to see Fisk searching under the bed. “Maybe if you told us what you lost, we might be able to help look.”
He dropped the bedspread, then stood, looking her over, his gaze lingering on the pockets of her light jacket—making her grateful she’d left the thing in the palm pot. “Maybe it’s in the car,” he said.
“And if you can’t find whatever it is?”
“Doesn’t matter.” He took one last look around the room. “I have photos.”
She glanced over at Nigel. The poor guy was trying to loosen the zip tie binding his wrists, and she wanted to tell him to just stop. They’d kill him in a second if he tried to escape. Which reminded her exactly of what she wanted to talk to Fisk about.
She followed him into the hallway again.
This time, he didn’t look back. “I told you, not now.”
“I got the message,” she said, deciding it wiser to avoid him altogether. “I’m going up front to get a menu from the pub across the street. Thanks to our uninvited guest, we’re going to need to get our meal to go.”
They turned the corner, and he slowed his pace, undoubtedly searching for that lost wheel. Her gaze lit on the disturbed potting soil in the palm. It seemed so obvious to her, and when he walked up to the plant, she froze as he moved the branches to look behind it.
The fronds rustled as he let them go, and he cursed softly under his breath as he continued out into the lobby. She made a right to the front desk and asked for a menu from the pub, looking it over as he left. When she saw his car drive off, she returned to the hallway, dug her fingers into the potting soil, and pulled out the cipher wheel. She brushed it off, stuffed it into her pocket, then hurried to her own room, where she hid it in the lining of her suitcase.
She had no idea what she was going to do with it. She only knew that if the thing was so important that Fisk was carrying it with him, then she wanted it for herself.
Forty-seven
Sam parted the curtain in their darkened room, watching the road, until he saw a black Mercedes drive past. Fisk. One down, three to go, he thought, dropping the curtain, then returning to where Remi still sat, listening in with her low-tech glass pressed to the wall.
A knock at the door startled them both until he looked out and saw a maid with the complimentary champagne for the newlyweds. He took the bottle, tipped the maid, then closed the door, grateful she didn’t seem to notice he and Remi weren’t the couple who should have been in the room.
He put the ice bucket on the dresser. “Anything?” he mouthed.
She held up her finger a moment, then whispered, “Sounds like they’re discussing who’s going across the street for dinner . . . Alexandra and Jak are going over to pick it up. Ivan’s staying behind.”
“I like those odds much better.”
“Except . . .” She listened a moment, then said, “They’re calling their order in.”
Which meant they’d have less time than he’d hoped. At least for the plan he was formulating. Definitely a work in progress, as he thought about what could go wrong. No matter. They’d just have to work faster.
Remi was a quick study, and the moment they heard Alexandra and Jak leave, he went over his plan with her. A lot of luck was going to come into play. Although Remi was armed with her Sig Sauer P938, and Sam his Smith & Wesson, neither of them had foreseen anything beyond checking out a castle or two when they’d set out this morning.
Rescuing hostages had never entered their minds.
Couldn’t be helped now, he thought, as he gave Remi one of the Buck Knives from his backpack. The ultimate goal was to get in and out without any shots fired. If all worked as planned, he’d have Ivan disarmed while Remi freed Nigel.
He nodded toward Remi, who picked up the phone and called the office. “Room 103, please.” She gave him the thumbs-up. “Front desk,” she said into the phone a moment later in her best British accent. “Room service should be right there with your champagne . . . No, sir. I believe the woman in your party ordered it on her way out. She said something about bringing it by before dinner . . . It is complimentary, sir. You don’t have to drink it.”
She hung up and shrugged. “He was pretty insistent that they didn’t need it.”
“It’s all we’ve got. Let’s do it.”
Remi pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail, figuring that would be more maid-like. Sam grabbed his backpack, then opened the door. “Remember,” he whispered. “As soon as you have Nigel free, you both go out the window, get to the car, and meet me out front.”
As they left the room, she grabbed the ice bucket with the champagne bottle, stepped out into the hallway, then stood in front of the door. When Sam was in position to the side, she knocked, then looked down so that Ivan would only see the top of her head.
He cracked open the door and peered out. “Yeah?”
“Champagne, sir.”
She held up the bucket.
He opened the door wider. “I told you—”
Sam used the weight of the backpack, ramming it into the door. Ivan stumbled back as Sam leaned against the door, holding him tight. The entry to the room was a four-foot hallway. Remi scrambled past Sam, keeping tight to the wall, before running into the room.
Ivan leaned into the door, trying to push Sam out. Sam braced one foot on the doorframe, but Ivan, using his heavier weight, managed to push back. Sam slipped past just as the door slammed shut. He pivoted, kicking out, sending Ivan back into the corner. When Ivan tried to raise the gun, Sam swung the backpack up, slamming it against Ivan’s hand. The gun flew from Ivan’s grasp as Sam rushed him, using the advantage of his weight and strength in the close quarters of the entry. Ivan swung, hit him in the ribs, knocking the breath from his lungs. Sam was ready. He purposefully fell back against the wall while at the same time bringing his pack up, slamming Ivan in the face.
He ducked as Ivan swung. Ivan’s fist smashed through the plaster, his knuckles bloody. He swore, then turned slightly, drawing back, telegraphing his move.
Sam dropped, then darted to the side,
as Ivan slammed his shoulder into the wall. The maneuver trapped Sam in the corner by the door. Ivan turned like a mad bull, his eyes narrowed, his mouth grimacing. “I’ll kill you.”
Before Sam could make a move, Remi cracked the full bottle of champagne on Ivan’s head. He hung there a moment, stunned, and Sam slammed his fist into the man’s jaw, sending him crashing to the ground.
Remi stood there, holding the champagne bottle, a slight smile on her face. “You looked like you could use a hand.”
“Where’s Nigel?” he asked.
“Good question.”
Except for Ivan, the room was empty.
Remi spied his cell phone on the chair and held it up. “This explains things. They knew we were coming.”
“All the more reason to get out of here.” Ivan started to stir. Sam grabbed his backpack and Ivan’s gun. Sam helped Remi out the window before jumping down after her. They moved around toward the north end.
Sam heard the sound of someone running on gravel. He and Remi ran toward the front of the inn as Ivan jumped into the waiting car. The engine revved and tires screeched as Jak sped out of the car park.
Sam saw four people in the car as it drove off, one of them was Nigel.
He and Remi ran to their car, but by the time they pulled out, the BMW was long gone.
“On the one hand,” Remi said, “it was a good rescue operation.”
“Too bad Nigel wasn’t there.”
“We shouldn’t have put him in that position in the first place. At the castle . . . with all those people—I never thought they’d kidnap him in broad daylight.”
“What’s done is done.”
She turned toward Sam, saying, “It was about the translation. They were talking about it when Fisk arrived. Something about a letter missing.”
“You remember what they said?”
She nodded, her gaze fixed out the windshield. “At least we know where they’re going. Once they figure things out, that is.”
“Where?” Sam asked.
“Nottingham.”
He looked over at her. “How did you come to that conclusion?”
“From the words they asked Nigel to translate,” she said. “Wolf’s den and wolf’s head. Or, more accurately, head of an outlaw wolf.”
“How’d you get Nottingham from that?”
“Because wolf’s head happens to be another name for Robin Hood. So it stands to reason that the other words they were asking about, wolf’s den, would be his home.”
“Guess we’re going to Nottingham,” Sam said.
Forty-eight
Remi is absolutely correct,” Lazlo told them the following morning in a Skype call. Outside, the dark gray sky let loose with a sudden downpour, rain beating against the windows. Remi turned up the volume on her tablet, trying to hear what Lazlo was saying. After they’d fled the inn last night, Sam and Remi had driven straight to Nottingham, gotten a hotel suite under a new assumed name, and managed to get a few hours of sleep before making the early-morning call. “Wolf’s Head,” Lazlo continued, “is a name that Robin Hood has been known by. At least in the very early legends. And the missing f fits perfect. Had it been there to begin with, I might have been able to save you the trouble.”
“I’m sure you could have,” Sam said, steering Lazlo back to the point. “About the map ciphers.”
“Right-o. Wolf’s den and Nottingham. It’s brilliant. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it.”
Selma cleared her throat as she placed her hand on Lazlo’s shoulder. “Here’s what we found,” Selma said. “There is a connection between Sir Edmund Herbert and Nottingham. Specifically, the events surrounding his half brother, Roger Mortimer, and Queen Isabella after her husband abdicated the throne to their son. Mortimer was arrested and held in Nottingham Castle while Queen Isabella was banished to Castle Rising.”
Remi looked at the map spread out on the table as Sam asked, “So what does this have to do with Robin Hood and King John’s Treasure?”
“That,” Lazlo said, “is a good question. Especially considering how many legends of Robin Hood exist. Definitely some that place him in the time of King John, though usually at odds with the king. But our research is starting to come together. The key to our map is there.”
“Where?” Sam and Remi asked together.
“Nottingham. Or, to be precise, somewhere within Nottingham,” Lazlo replied. “Something about the ‘four chambers’ and ‘death below.’ Still working on that part. And that’s assuming that I’m translating this correctly. Since that portion of the wheel was also washed out in the photo, I’m making an educated guess.”
Sam’s phone buzzed on the table. He looked at the screen, his face registering surprise as he turned on the speaker function. “Nigel?”
“I don’t have long. He might come back any second, and my battery’s near dead.”
“Where are you?”
“No idea except somewhere near Nottingham. Got one hand free and managed to get my phone from the coat pocket of the guy watching me. He’s—they were talking about the four chambers. I told them they must mean the four caverns. That’s where we’re going. If they can find it.”
“Four caverns?” Sam said.
“I hear them,” he whispered. “Go to Professor Aldridge.”
The line beeped.
Sam stared at the phone a moment, then looked at Selma on the screen of Remi’s tablet. “You catch that?”
“Every word,” Selma said. They heard the sound of her clicking away on her computer keyboard. “There’s a Professor Aldridge at Nottingham University.”
Sam eyed Lazlo, saying, “Could the four chambers be the four caverns Nigel was talking about?”
“Could be. ‘Den of the wolf’ might indicate caves as long as one overlooks that Robin Hood was known to hide out in Sherwood Forest.”
Selma added, “I’ve got a contact number for Aldridge. I’ll see if I can’t get ahold of him.”
“Perfect,” Remi said. “Let’s give him a call.”
Professor Cedric Aldridge, a white-haired man in his late sixties, met them at his office at the History Department.
Once they were seated, Sam got right down to business. “I hope this doesn’t sound odd, but has anyone besides us ever contacted you about King John and his treasure?”
“Funny you should ask,” Professor Aldridge said. “I’ve only ever had one other person ask and that was quite some time ago. Former student of mine from King’s Lynn. Nigel Ridgewell. Wanted to know if it was possible that the story of King John’s Treasure being lost in the fens could be a ruse. Protect the treasure from enemy hands or some such. Can’t recall what it was for. A book or something, possibly. Never heard from him after that, though.”
The professor seemed oblivious to the scandal over Nigel stealing Madge Crowley’s papers, which was just as well, Remi thought. “What was your answer?”
“I know I’m in the minority,” the professor said, “but why not? I’m the first to admit we don’t know everything about history. Piecing it together from this historian or that. Sometimes we’re lucky and an event is documented so well, there’s no denying what happened. What we do know for certain is that the king died. Whether from dysentery, as believed, or something else altogether, hard to say. We know there are reports he separated from the caravan because of his illness. It’s what happened to the caravan afterward that is not so well known. Everything after that point is speculation based on stories passed down. So who’s to say that someone didn’t steal it after making up the story of it being lost in the fens just to throw off suspicion?” He furrowed his brow, pausing for a moment. “Eliminate witnesses, and you can make up any story you want.”
“Let’s say these rumors are true,” Sam said. “That the treasure wasn’t lost in the fens . . .” He left it open, to see the professor’
s reaction.
“You mean as Nigel theorized?”
“Yes.”
“It would be the historical find of the century.” He gave a slight shrug. “Assuming the treasure was located, that is. An archaeologist’s dream.”
Remi smiled at the professor. “Not your dream?”
“Mine?” he asked, smiling back at her. “Never gave it much thought. My fascination lies with the students facing me in the classroom. Seeing their expressions and hearing their theories. But you’re not here to talk about me. Unless I misunderstood, you’re looking for information on the origin of Wolf’s Head, or, as we call him around here, Robin Hood. According to some historians, he lived during the same time period as King John. According to others, centuries off—in both directions. Ever since my colleague Professor Percival Wendorf retired, I’ve added the history of Robin Hood to my syllabus. It’s one of my more popular classes. My students walk away with a greater understanding of the Middle Ages, using the hunt for Robin Hood as a backdrop.”
Remi had always admired professors who could muster interest with their students. “Definitely a class I would have taken. Was he as heroic as the movies have portrayed him?”
“A good question. This whole rob from the rich to give to the poor is legendary, but with an emphasis on legend. More pirate than hero, according to Percy. Hence the term Wolf’s Head.”
“How disappointing,” Remi said.
“Quite. The probable truth is that men like him were nothing more than highway robbers.”
“Landlocked pirate?” Sam asked. “Could he, or another like him, have set up the theft of King John’s Treasure?”
“An interesting theory, to be sure. That sort of secret would be hard to keep. Except the legends that have survived the centuries, via ballads or fireside tales, seem to be based on some kernel of truth, even Robin Hood. And the general consensus is that King John’s Treasure went down in the fens along with the men who were entrusted with it. It’s what became of the treasure afterward that leaves much to the imagination. Why hasn’t it been found? In fact, the only account of any physical trace of it was the rumor, several centuries later, that it had been found by Robert Tiptoft, Third Baron Tibetot.”