Jack returned the smile. ‘I was brought up in Windermere.’
‘Yes, I know, and Mr Sterling sends his regards, sir.’
Jack nodded slightly. ‘Ah, you’re with his team.’
‘That’s correct, sir. If you’ll follow me, please. We don’t need to go through this,’ he gestured towards the crowd waiting for Immigration.
As they bypassed the Immigration desks, Havers shook hands with a smartly dressed Immigration Officer, and said in perfect Arabic, ‘Shukran, sidi.’
The officer nodded. ‘Afwan, habibi.’
As they drove from the Terminal, the Embassy man turned to Jack, and said, ‘The Ambassador is attending a Government function this evening, sir. He sends his best regards and apologies for not meeting you.’
‘Please convey our thanks, when you see him next.’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘So, when do we fly out, Tony?’
‘You’re booked on Air France, this evening. Wheels up at twenty-three hundred.’
The ride through the busy streets was surprisingly swift. The driver, expertly weaving in and out of the cars, trucks and donkey carts, had them pulling up to the Embassy gates twenty minutes after leaving the Terminal.
‘We have some time before we depart for the airport, gentlemen. Dinner will be ready at twenty-hundred hours,’ said Havers.
‘I think we may skip that if you don’t mind, Tony.’
Havers smiled. ‘Ah, okay, sir. As you wish. The crossing is sometimes a challenge and tends to leave one without an appetite.
‘Da,’ said Bogdan, ‘no appetite for me until Moscow.’
Washington’s taxi arrived at the gates of his villa just after 9pm. The driver was surprised, when his passenger asked to be taken to the highway, north of the city. Thirty minutes later, at the first services-area on the A8 autoroute, Rick Washington watched as the cab drove off.
He knew there’d be strong security at the airport and rail station. Going by coach was not an option either. A rental car or taxi would still leave a footprint, someone would remember him. too. That only left bumming a ride on a long distance truck.
There were dozens of wagons parked and, although he knew there’d be many drivers settling down for the night, there would also be others who would be moving on. For almost half an hour he walked around the huge parking area, knocking on cab doors and talking to drivers of all nationalities. He was considering changing his plans, when at last he found a Polish driver who was heading north.
‘Sure, mister. I can take you to Lyon. For a hundred euro.’
Washington smiled. ‘You gotta a deal.’
Chapter Forty Five
At 3am Air France flight AF33 touched down at Heathrow. Both Jack and Bogdan had slept pretty much the whole way back. Neither had eaten anything, but Jack drank a couple of cokes and Bogdan his usual beer.
The London leg from Paris was quiet and the transition through Heathrow Immigration swift for once. As they came out of Arrivals, Jack looked for Mathew. A few seconds later he saw his brother standing a little way to the side of the main exit. ‘This way, big man,’ said Jack.
The two brothers hugged, and Mathew said, ‘Good to have you back.’
‘Matt, this is my great friend, Bogdan Markov. Bogdan, this is Mathew Sterling.’
The big Russian smiled, as he vigorously shook Mathew’s hand. ‘Is a pleasure to meet you, Mathew. I have heard much of you.’
‘And I you, Bogdan. And I you.’
‘Okay,’ said Jack. ‘Am I getting home tonight? I mean this morning?’
‘Of course. I’d have Nicole after me if I didn’t get you home as soon as possible. I thought I’d come out and stay at your place, Jack. If that’s okay? We can de-brief in the morning.’
‘Sure, no problem.’
‘And I have a meeting with the Director General for lunch tomorrow. I’d like you guys to join me?’
‘Sounds good, Matt. But let’s get home, eh?’
Mathew smiled. ‘My driver is right outside.’
As the big Jaguar pulled away from the Arrivals Terminal, Mathew turned to Jack, and said, ‘We had some news a little while ago, from our friends in Florence.’
‘Yeah?’ said Jack.
‘Washington’s vehicle was tracked.’
‘Really? They know where he is?’
‘Afraid not. The car was in an accident, on the motorway north of Monaco. Crashed into a bridge. Two bodies in it.’
‘Washington’s?’
‘No. Two youths apparently. Sounds like a couple of joy-riders.’
‘Not much joy for them, then.’
‘Yeah, just kids.’
‘So, Washington is on the move, but we don’t know where?’
‘For now, no we don’t. But there’s more.’
‘Yeah?’
‘We received a signal from Interpol, about a certain Mr Myles DeVere.’
‘Oh, that joker. What’s he been up to?’
‘We don’t have that information yet. But whatever it was, it can’t have been Kosher.’
Jack frowned. ‘Okay. So, what was the news?’
DeVere’s naked body was fished-out of the River Arno, on the outskirts of Florence, a little after midnight.
‘Poor bastard,’ said Jack.
The big Russian shrugged. ‘He was a bit of asshole though, boss.’
Jack shook his head at the big man’s comment. ‘Naked! That’s a bit weird isn’t it?’
‘There was an antique stiletto embedded in his chest. The handle had an ornate TI monogramed in gold.’
‘All very cloak and dagger,’ quipped Jack.
‘That’s not the strangest part. His forehead was branded with Roman numerals and his tongue had been cut out.’
‘Jesus… A ritual killing?’
‘Certainly looks like it.’
‘So what the hell’s he been up to?’
‘Whatever it was, he’s certainly pissed somebody off.’
Jack was silent for a while, then said, ‘What numerals?’
‘What?’
‘You said, Roman numerals. What were they?’
Mathew swiped his smartphone screen, A few seconds later he said, ‘MCCCVII.’
Jack nodded and smiled. ‘1307. The year the Knights Templars were rounded-up and killed.’
Chapter Forty Six
The big lorry made its way west, along the A8 autoroute. Washington relaxed into the comfy passenger seat next to the Polish driver and closed his eyes. They’d only been on the road for a little over twenty minutes, when the overhead signs flashed to indicate two lanes had been closed.
‘Looks like accident ahead, mister.’
Washington sat up and rubbed his eyes. ‘Bad?’
‘Don’t know. But it slows traffic a lot.’
It took almost thirty-five minutes for them to get to the accident site. As they approached the scene, a couple of police officers were supervising the removal of the wrecked vehicle. The third lane had been coned-off, and another two officers were waving the long line of trucks and cars through. As the Polish truck slowly edged past, Washington grinned when he saw the remains of his Audi being loaded onto the recovery truck.
It was after three in the morning when they pulled into the last services before the Lyon turn-off. Washington had managed to get a couple of hours of much needed sleep and after paying the driver his hundred euros, said, ‘Thank you and safe journey.’
‘Thanks, mister, but I’m nearly there. Ten minutes more to Lyon and then I sleep also.’