He entered their room, close to the fire escape. Heads swiveled and a shadow moved to the side, but Drake knew immediately that the figure was Mai.
“Took your sweet old time,” Alicia commented.
“Hey, less of the old.”
Hayden rose from her seat by the window, the lighted-up skyscrapers shining beyond. “So, we’re all here. Thoughts?”
The group fell into a discussion relating to what had happened. Hayden fielded a call from Argento and the team considered what to do next. The mood was despondent; nobody liked losing. And whilst they hadn’t strictly lost, the outcome was not good. Drake consoled himself a little when he found three boxes of pizza, all half-eaten. With care, he fished out two slices of pepperoni and drank a full bottle of water.
Hayden called Dahl.
The Swede answered immediately, sounding out of breath. “I hope you have better news than us, Hayden, because we just damaged half of Zurich and lost Webb.” He paused.
Drake munched disconsolately.
“We screwed up big time,” Hayden said. “Lost Amari and his boys. They could be halfway to Europe by now.”
Dahl asked them to wait a moment whilst he gathered his thoughts, then said, “So, Webb was meeting with a High Master, some Adept and a big knob Mason, I guess. The lad was guarded to the max by some sword-wielding loonies who chased us down a bloody mountain.”
Alicia pursed her lips. “Sounds like you had a better time than us.”
“It had its moments,” Dahl admitted. “Anyway, Webb took off in a chopper which we tracked all the way to the city. Caught him close to a helipad, chased, rode through some red lights. Crashed.” He sighed. “I’d like to say it was Kenzie’s fault, flailing that bloody sword out of the window, but it was my hands at the wheel.”
Drake stopped mid-munch. “Kenzie has a sword now?”
“Yeah, I keep trying to get it away from her but…”
“You don’t have the balls?” Drake asked.
“Yeah, that’s the real risk.”
Drake winced a little as Dahl went on. “So, a crash, but we plowed on. Webb slammed through a shopping district and across a bridge and that’s when the police got involved. Argento asked them to let us take the lead but some local hothead ignored him and went head on with Webb. The outcome was not pretty.”
Hayden gauged the room. “Yeah, same here.”
“Webb’s mercenaries did not hold back and even though he only seemed to have three or four of them it was enough to help block the roads with police cars and make his escape. Luckily for us he has Sabrina with him.”
“She stayed?” Alicia looked impressed.
“She did. I have faith in her. And her information matches the merc’s list. Despite having the chance to escape, she remained with Webb. We have Interpol searching, but given Webb’s proclivity for disappearing, I believe she is still our best chance.”
“What did we learn about Webb’s trip?”
“Very little,” Dahl admitted. “Saint Germain helped found Freemasonry here, so maybe their secret chants or handshakes are what he needs to progress, but Sabrina intimated that it may well be something to help pave his future. An introduction to a million open doors, or something. Who knows? The point is — he’s on to the next place now and Sabrina already told us where that is.”
Drake cracked open another bottle of water. “My guess is Europe. The Count seems to have traveled further than bloody Boeing.”
“And you would be right. The next stop for Webb is London, and the Haymarket Theatre. Lauren is no Karin when it comes to computers but she did find that Germain composed songs, and performed there.”
Hayden scratched her head. “So now he’s a composer and actor too? Jeez, who the hell was this guy?”
“Interesting,” Beau spoke up. “You’re on the side of the ‘dead’ camp.”
“Whaa… say again?”
“You believe he is dead.”
“Of course he’s friggin’ dead. The man was born in 1712!”
Beau said nothing. Alicia looked like she wanted to get a huge and sarcastic comment off her chest, but reined it in as she met Drake’s eyes.
“Is it because you’re French?” Smyth rumbled bluntly. “You know, the romance of it all, the nostalgic passion and whatever?”
“Aye,” Drake nodded. “The French sure love a weepie.”
“What happened over there in Dubai?” They heard Kinimaka’s voice.
“We lost ’em,” Hayden said very simply. “But the guy has at least six primary followers and can’t handle weapons. I don’t know yet how he ended up obsessed with Germain but he is a fanatic, a crusader dedicated to his cause. Amari is different again though — pampered, affluent, out of touch. Believes everything happens at the click of a finger, probably because all his life, it has. I truly believe the man has no grasp of the consequences of his actions and no sense of human life. Of course, that doesn’t help us much.”
“Anything at his home?”
Hayden clucked. “Another mistake. We cleared out of there in fast pursuit and now the cops have the house cordoned off. Must have traced the trouble back to him already. Bottom line is — we can’t access the house.”
“So what next?” Dahl asked, more of a rhetorical question because everyone knew the answer.
“So we’re heading for London,” Hayden said. “We’ll meet you there, guys. But just remember, everything has changed now. It’s sped up. Grown more dangerous. Amari and his cult know they’re being hunted, but my guess is they’ll still stop at nothing to protect their precious Count and all his treasures. He’s totally invested now. This is where it really begins. This is where the shit really starts to happen.”
Drake nodded and rose to his feet. “Webb will follow his set of clues all the way to the end. If need be he’ll raze everything in his way. Same for Amari. At the very least we need to catch up with them.”
“See you in London,” Dahl said.
“See you, Torsty.” Alicia said with a smile. “And don’t forget — Kenzie’s a bitch. Don’t get on her sharper side.”
“Yeah, thanks. I think I’m already there.”
“Believe me,” Alicia muttered. “You’re nowhere near.”
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN
London was dismal the following morning, drizzle falling constantly from a gray slate sky. A cold wind whipped the lackadaisical Scotch mist to and fro, all over London Town, making the residents and the tourists miserable, cold and wet. Drake remembered thinking this kind of weather was “just for the sake of it”, something his mother used to say during the long, usually cold autumns north of Woolley Edge. The mood all around was dour, and wasn’t helped by the fact that Dahl’s team had been waiting for hours.
Piccadilly Circus buzzed with activity; its flashing signs grabbing what attention they could; its statues standing tall, hard and cold, as leaden as the skies; its bright stores and restaurants standing closed, a non-tourist hour this, allowing its residents brief respite so that they might take a breather from a relentless life.
Alicia looked up from underneath her hood. “You’ll have to wait for me,” she said. “I never, ever, pass a Cinnabon without opening my purse.”
Drake tried but couldn’t restrain a healthy guffaw. “Purse? As if.”
Alicia sniggered. “Yeah, that didn’t come out right. Chuck us a fiver, love.”
In the end, Hayden managed to fish some crumpled English money out of a zippered pocket, leaving Drake wondering about the last time he’d made a personal purchase. In truth, he couldn’t remember. Their lives did not revolve around comfort and belongings. As Alicia came back, lips covered in cinnamon-dusted icing, he wondered what it would be like to lick it off.