‘The whole poem’s a riddle. When Mr Spencer said he believed it hid the secret to a lost treasure, I thought he was crazy. But the more I’ve thought about it, the more I think he’s right. The taut parched ground is parchment, and the poet — Chrétien — is scratching at it with his reed pen like a plough. He’s sowing something in the parchment, hiding it in the poem.’
‘How?’
The first two lines sound as if they might be a clue to something. Mazy paths … noble turns … his right … maybe you’re supposed to find a maze and always turn right.’ He saw the look Ellie was giving him. ‘Or something.’
‘You’re cherry-picking words and trying to make them mean something.’ Ellie closed the map book, shutting the poems away. ‘Anyway, if your Mr Spencer was actually Michel Saint-Lazare, what’s he looking for? The treasure was already in his vault.’
‘Then why did he come to me?’
‘Because of me. Everything Blanchard’s done, he’s been trying to draw me in closer. He recruited me. He took me down to the vault. Getting you to look at the poem must have been part of the same plan. He knew we were together. He must have guessed you’d tell me about it.’
‘Why?’
It was the question she’d been asking herself ever since the stiff envelope dropped through her letterbox in Oxford. Why me? Now she had an answer.
‘He was using me as bait. He knew my father had been part of this brotherhood. He must have thought that by bringing me into Monsalvat, dangling all these pieces of the puzzle in front of me, he’d draw the brotherhood into revealing themselves.’
‘Which they did.’ Doug reached the top of the hill and shifted into a higher gear. His gaze fixed firmly on the road ahead, though it was wide and empty.
‘Except now you’re not the bait. You’re the quarry.’
It was odd being back in Luxembourg — the same feeling she used to get going home to Newport from university. Like visiting a ghost town, except that the town carried on and she was the ghost.
An eerie quiet gripped the Talhouett building. Ellie had seen the bid documents: she knew that in six months the building would be sold, half the employees out of work and the other half moved to an office park on the edge of town. She wore a black polyester skirt and a jacket that almost matched: they’d been cheap when they were new, and cheaper still in the charity shop where she found them. Tights from a service-station vending machine completed the outfit. It wasn’t much to look at, but that and her Monsalvat card got her past the front desk and into the Operations Manager’s office. She hoped the receptionist didn’t see her trembling.
‘Tell me everything you can about Mirabeau.’
Claude Doerner, the Operations Manager, sat back in his chair and frowned. He was a middle-aged man with a middle-aged sprawclass="underline" his toothbrush moustache was the trimmest thing about him.
‘What is Mirabeau?’ he asked.
‘Don’t mess me around.’ Fear sharpened her manner. What if Blanchard guessed she’d come there? What if they were watching? ‘I’ll be working on the integration team,’ she lied, ‘evaluating which personnel are going to be able to deliver the corporate synergies we need. Any cooperation you can give me will definitely be taken into account.’
‘Are you threatening me?’
With a confidence she didn’t feel, Ellie sat down and crossed her legs.
‘Just tell me about Mirabeau.’
‘I promise you, I have never heard of it.’
Perhaps he was telling the truth. Ellie glanced at the computer on his desk. ‘Can you log me in?’
Doerner swivelled the monitor around. He tapped his password on the keyboard, then pushed it across the desk to her.
‘Be my guest.’
Ellie found the search box and clicked. Doerner moved round the desk towards the door.
‘Where are you going?’
‘To the bathroom. Or do you have to sign a paper to allow that too?’
She blushed. ‘Of course.’
As soon as he was gone, she typed in ‘Mirabeau’ and set the computer searching. Doerner came back sooner than she expected. He settled himself in his chair and played with his tie.
‘Will there be much bloodshed?’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘The sackings.’ He made an effacing gesture. ‘Apologies. I should say, “the synergies”.’
She couldn’t see any point in lying. ‘It’s going to be bad. They — we — promised the Luxembourg government not to do anything until the next election, but after that they’ll swing the axe pretty hard.’
He grimaced. ‘You know, twelve hundred years ago Duke Siegfried built Luxembourg as a castle. I wonder how much has changed.’
Ellie watched the progress bar crawl across the screen. Every second was like a knot tightening around her throat.
‘For all our technology, the only organising principle we recognise is the dominance of the strong. Feudalism. Workers don’t want to be empowered. They want safety: a steady income and protection from the vicissitudes — this is the word? — of the world. For that, they allow themselves to be exploited. They know their lord only cares for them because they generate income, but it is better to be abused by one tyrant than by many. And when a new master takes over through war or conquest, they know they will suffer.’
He drained the last of his coffee. ‘I’m getting philosophical. Perhaps I should accept the no-doubt-inadequate early retirement offer they will make me.’
Ellie had stopped listening. She was staring at the screen.
Aucune légende correspondant aux critères de recherche n’a été trouvée
Translation: nothing.
She turned the monitor towards Doerner. ‘What is this?’
His phone rang. He held up a finger and took the call.
‘Oui? J’attends.’
When he put the phone down, his face had changed. He looked happier, almost eager to please.
‘Can I get you a cup of coffee?’ he asked.
‘Not unless you can tell me about Mirabeau.’
He shrugged. ‘No more than the computer.’
‘Michel Saint-Lazare has just spent over a billion euros buying this company because of Mirabeau. You can’t tell me no one knows anything about it.’
‘Of course, someone will know, if it exists. But to find this person, it is not easy. Talhouett is a big business: we have many operations in many countries. There is probably no one in the company who knows everything.’
‘I need you to let me in to your archives.’
‘All the files are still in the data room. It has been locked for the duration of the takeover battle.’
‘Then take me there.’
‘If you can just wait a few moments. My secretary has gone out with my keys.’
Ellie waited ten seconds — long enough to assure herself that the smile on his face was 100 per cent false. She rummaged through her bag as if looking for her lipstick, until she felt the handle of the kitchen knife she’d bought that morning.
In a single motion, she whipped it out of the bag and held the tip to Doerner’s throat. Doerner went very still.
‘You’re not really working for Monsalvat,’ he said.
‘No. I’m much nicer than they are.’
She watched him, wondering if there was any sort of panic button or alarm he might press. But these were administrative offices in one of the most boring cities in Europe: they didn’t expect people to walk in and hold knives to their throats. Not literally.
‘Who was that phone call from?’ She jerked the knife: she’d only meant to scare him, but she was so tense she broke the skin. He winced. A drop of blood seeped in to his starched shirt collar.
‘Your boss. Christine Lafarge.’