Alicia watched him take out his cellphone and contact Rolland Sadler, their benefactor. Crouch explained the situation in terse terms and then listened closely to Sadler’s decision.
“I agree. It should be outed. The solicitors can worry about the legalities and the precedents and wrongdoings later. And let’s face facts — the bloody thing might even have moved on.”
Alicia judged Sadler’s reply to be of a doubtful nature. Crouch finished up with a promise. “We’ll find it if it’s there, Rolland. Be assured of that.”
Then he scrutinized his team. “Looks like we’re about to vandalize an English Heritage site. Any objections?”
They paid an entrance fee, Crouch grumbling about the cost and waving away a woman offering headsets. Alicia asked the way to the Adam Staircase.
“Just through the door there.” A bespectacled woman pointed. “And don’t forget to take the stairs to the first floor for the Waterloo Gallery. And the basement.” She pointed ahead.
Crouch knit his brow. “There’s a Waterloo Gallery too?”
“Yes. The Duke collected many paintings of his victories. Are you sure you wouldn’t like a headset? Just one maybe?”
Caitlyn held back a sigh and offered her hand. When the headphones and machine were duly handed over and operations revealed the woman backed away. Alicia led the way to the Adam Staircase and then exclaimed: “Oh my!”
She stared at the enormous marble nude, fascinated. Napoleon appeared to be walking, with a robe of some sort thrown over his upraised left arm, the hand clasping a staff. In his right hand rested a victory standing on an orb, the pose making him appear to be offering the victory to someone.
Russo nudged her. “What do you think?”
“Me? I just wonder how often Napoleon really wore a fig leaf strapped to his bollocks.”
Crouch shook his head despairingly. “Only you, Alicia. Only you.”
“What?”
“In this house? Amongst these works of art and wonder and magnificent sculptures. As I said, only you.”
“You get what you see.” Alicia indicated herself rather than the statue.
“And don’t we know it.”
Russo grunted softly at her side, stifling laughter. Alicia realized she’d been duped. “Ahh, Robster. You’ll pay for that.”
Crouch quickly turned his attention to the surface on which the large statue rested. Flagstones, some cracked, surrounded it. No carpet. No wooden flooring. Caitlyn, listening to the recording, pointed out that the floor actually had to be strengthened to accommodate the weight of the statue. He checked the walls all around it, rapping his knuckles against the surface, but it was all continuous plaster. It was only when he walked around to the rear that his gaze settled on something.
“An air-con unit?” he wondered, pointing out a large, scruffy white box seemingly bolted to the wall.
Alicia came around to look but was immediately taken with Napoleon’s perfect buttocks. “Now that’s an ass,” she said. “If only Kenzie were here. I’d tell her. Maybe even stuff her head between them.”
Crouch winced. “I’d like to get a closer look at that—” He paused as a group of tourists came in and paused to admire the sculpture.
Alicia whispered. “Say the word. I’m sure I can say something that’ll make them move along at a faster pace.”
Crouch held up a hand. “Not necessary. I often find the art of lingering and mulling to be quite successful.”
“Oh yeah.” Alicia moved away. “Me too.”
Crouch walked to the front of the room, taking in the entire picture. The tourist group moved on and then so did another. Several sniggering schoolboys on a school trip clattered by and, as they climbed the winding staircase, tried to reach out and touch the victory. Crouch returned at last, pointing now to Alicia’s left.
“You see the blue unit there? It’s what? A heating unit? A housing? See the black mesh.”
Alicia stared toward the unit he indicated. It was large, affixed to the wall, with a flat top on which stood another carving and a plaque explaining the painting that hung above. “It’s larger than the air-con box,” she said. “Easily big enough to admit a person.”
“Right. But let’s not forget the basement.”
Alicia stood bored as Crouch and Caitlyn dragged them downstairs and examined every inch, every painting and display case that resided at the bottom of Apsley House.
In the end it was easy for Crouch. “You spoke of coincidence.” He rounded on Alicia quite suddenly. “You?”
“All right, calm down, Mikey. I’ll take that one on the chin.”
“No,” he said, excitement making him tremble a little. “No. Look!”
He waved at the final display case placed in the furthest corner of the basement, between two walls, a square container running from floor to ceiling like a shaft.
“It’s all in here. The display. Do you see? A print of Napoleon. The original victory from the hand of the statue upstairs. That one is a fake, so schoolboys can touch it without fear of damage. And here… Napoleon’s death mask. And a print of St Helena, where he died. This is the display, the victory shelf. This is our X, the real triumphal shrine to everything Napoleon lost.”
Caitlyn was on her knees, examining the pieces as closely as she could.
Alicia dropped beside her but concentrated on the floor instead. “Drag marks,” she said. “Faint. It doesn’t happen often but this cabinet comes away from the walls.”
Crouch looked around. The room was otherwise empty, the basement and its several flights seemingly a step too far for most of the visitors. Of course, the majority of the house’s riches were on the first floor.
“Do it,” he said. “This is what we’re here for. This is the end. We already have mercenaries and tyrants up our asses. Might as well have the local cops too. And if this leads to what I think it does… we’ll be walking right on out of here with nothing to fear.”
Alicia and Russo hooked their fingers over the cabinet’s metal frame at the top and bottom. Together, they pulled, gently at first. When nothing happened and a camera-touting tourist wandered in, Healey caught his attention by stumbling over an uneven piece of flooring. The group waited a few minutes and then tried again.
“Steady,” Crouch mouthed. “Steady.”
Gradually, inch by inch, the cabinet moved. It had been designed to be a problematic shift.
“Maybe this isn’t the true entrance at all,” Crouch said. “I can’t see Mr. and Mrs. Dandy Upper-Class Rich Person taking the shaft, can you?”
Alicia grimaced, still pulling hard and wishing she had enough breath left to answer that one. The possibilities were endless, stunning, as attractive as a desert sunset. But then the cabinet pulled free and they were left looking at the perfect square of a black hole that disappeared into the earth underneath Apsley House and London. A waft of age and earth floated up, not entirely unpleasant.
Crouch practically capered to the front. “All right. Bloody hell, I’d give my right arm for a flickering torch.”
Alicia had to grin at his geekish fervor. Russo puffed at her. “I s’pose we could use a rolled-up painting from upstairs,” he dead-panned. “But that might land us in even more bubbling liquid.”
Healey handed out powerful torches from his backpack, giving Crouch an actual lantern flashlight to help lead the way. Alicia descended second, the barrel of her torch held between her teeth and illuminating the rough walls in haphazard fashion. She estimated an easy descent of about ten feet before a tunnel opened out below. Crouch was already turning in place like a dog marking its territory.
“What’s up?” She jumped down to find they were standing at a three-way tunnel junction.
“Just getting my bearings.” He checked his Special Forces watch. “This is the tunnel we found earlier,” he said. “Stretching into Hyde Park.” He pointed. “And then that way to the Wellington Arch.” He motioned. “Everything’s in a straight line as per Paris and the Arc de Triomphe. Everything lines up.”