Gunn looked up. “Drake? Why do I recognize that name?”
“Everyone knows that name,” Jeff muttered. “He’s exclusively associated with England.”
“Okay then.” Gunn plucked at his hair, using the airplane window as a mirror.
“Francis Drake,” Jeff said. “The antiquarian, not the sailor it seems, gave proof that the York Lodge dated back beyond 600.” He paused. “I wonder if we can date any of the buildings in the identified areas. Anyway, Drake was Grand Master. Ah, wait. It tells of the lodge at no. 259 Stonegate as ceasing in 1767, so that one’s out. There’s talk of worship at a church in Coney Street and feasts at the Guildhall.”
Gunn spoke up now. “York Minster dates back to the 7th century,” he said. “In a rudimentary state. A church built in a hurry, then later a stone building, both of which fell into disrepair. Fires and rebuilds plague it right through twelfth century and in the thirteenth it began to take shape right into the fifteenth. I doubt the Minster’s our place.”
“Agreed,” Bodie said. “The Illuminati would have wanted a quiet place, clear of controversy, something that would go unnoticed.”
“York was founded as Eboracum in 71 AD,” Gunn said. “By the Romans. It was the capital of the province of Britannia and of the kingdoms of Northumbria and Jorvik. Occupied by a tribe named the Brigantes, later hounded by the Roman Ninth Legion. They started building York Castle at that time; the focal point of which now lies under the foundations of York Minster. Okay, on to more pertinent matters. Stone buildings were ordered by King Edwin of Northumbria around 630, so we can assume several were built around our target time. Now listen to this.” Gunn’s voice went high with excitement. “Alcuin of York came to a cathedral school of York… a teacher and scholar… first at St Peter’s School founded in 627 AD… Alcuin was also known as Charlemagne’s leading advisor. There’s our link to the statue. Of course in the eighth and ninth centuries York was captured by the Vikings and came under their rule, notably a guy called Eric Bloodaxe. I guess, if the statue came here, it was removed before that.”
“Olympia to Rome to France to Bavaria to York,” Cross muttered, waking up. “This wonder of the world is more traveled than I am.”
“Granddad’s awake,” Cassidy said. “Better put a cup of tea on.”
“I have some of York’s oldest streets, but the Shambles, called England’s most medieval street, only dates back to the fourteenth century. We have to dig deeper.”
The jet crossed the English Channel and started to head up country. Bodie didn’t ask how Heidi and the CIA guaranteed secrecy. He knew they’d never tell, and anything they said in that regard couldn’t be completely trusted. It seemed only minutes had passed before the plane started descending.
“Time to shine,” Heidi repeated. “We’re counting on you now.”
CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR
Confident that they weren’t being pursued, that no horrific event was in store, Bodie’s team exited the plane and said goodbye to Heidi Moneymaker. The CIA agent closed the door and the jet immediately taxied away, tail light blinking in the cold dawn light.
They now had to deliver.
Bodie spied the waiting car. The York city walls were a ten to twenty minute drive away, depending on the density of traffic.
“Where the hell are we?” Cross asked, taking his time shrugging into a jacket and zipping all three fasteners.
“Elvington Airfield.” Bodie shrugged.
“So we know where we’re going?” Cassidy asked, walking off toward the warm car.
“Not a clue.” Jeff went with her.
“How about a library?” Jemma suggested with an ironic smile. “Quiet and resourceful.”
“Good call,” Bodie said.
Twenty minutes later the team were climbing the stairs and entering a large, hushed room with long rectangular desks placed around the interior. The exterior and rear was a collection of bookshelves. The front occupied by a desk and more bookshelves. The team filed through in silence to the farthest table with a large shelf at their back and a window to keep watch out of. Jeff unzipped his laptop bag as Gunn pulled out an iPad.
Cassidy sat back, barely refraining from putting her boots up on the table. “Fuck,” she said.
Jemma looked over. “That’s not appropriate for a library.”
“You’re joking, right? It’s one of the best places to do it.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Seriously,” Cassidy said. “You and me are gonna have to sort a night out on the town. Live a little.”
“With you? That’s sounds scary.”
“It is. That’s part of the fun.”
Gunn looked up. “You don’t have to be a party girl to have fun.”
“Says the Goat Whisperer,” Cassidy grunted.
The tech team became absorbed by their work, using history and contacts they’d built up through the years. University connections became useful for Jeff, especially when his York acquaintance was told about the murder of Jeff’s mentor and teacher. The man had known her also. After that, there was another remote member of the team and whomever he chose, though they were told little detail.
Slowly, through Gunn and Jeff, a network of help was built.
Bodie always knew the maxim ‘it’s not what you know, it’s who you know’ was among the most significant slivers of advice ever offered. The team used it to full effect now. Gunn was in his element with the networking, and Jeff was wholly gripped and totally committed. In the end it was a painstaking matter of narrowing down the known location with old records and archives, establishing when each area was built. The simple fact was their initial thoughts were wrong — nothing could be found that was built in the 7th century. What they did find, however, was an area of York built around the time that the Grand Lodge of All England was recharged with a new energy. The time it defied London and attracted the most notable members.
The area centered on St. Saviourgate.
It took many hours, many trips in turn to the lower floor coffee shop, many sighs of boredom and many false leads before they narrowed it down to a particular street with a building fashioned in a particular style.
It had wrought-iron railings and a nondescript exterior. A front yard that, though already gated off, could be viewed by all the front windows, both top and bottom. A rear garden that couldn’t be accessed through the front yard, but only by going through the house and again, easily surveilled.
Bodie’s team looked at each other. “Now we go in for a closer look,” Bodie said. “Check their tech. Finally, this is what we do, people. This is what we do.”
“You planning a break in?” Cross asked.
“Yeah, the best one yet. We have to break into the Illuminati lodge, find the waypoint and then get out again without them ever knowing we were there.”
“Security’s gonna be intense,” Cross said.
Bodie smiled. “Damn, I really do hope so.”
As darkness slowly started to fall they decided they didn’t want to waste any more time. This was a night job, a fluid job, and speed was of the essence. Jeff informed them the house off St. Saviourgate was a good ten-minute walk, which was perfect.
Together, they left the library and stepped into the frost-dusted city of York. Bootham Bar sat near them, its intact castle walls stretching left and right. The entrance to the city was one large arch slightly wider than a car and two paths, one to each side. Bodie led the way with Jeff, guided by a cellphone and Google Maps. Ahead, they saw the impressive Minster, an awe-inspiring construction that never seemed free of scaffolding, stretching up until Bodie had to tilt his head backward to take it all in. Tourists milled around the area and filled the streets in between, checking out souvenir wagons and ice cream vans, sampling the nectar in the pub or walking to hotels. Bodie and Jeff threaded through carefully, with the rest of the team following.