But Webb had no time for that now. Scuffles again sounded outside the room door and now a cry that sounded decidedly English in tone. What on earth…?
Unless…
Quickly, he tucked the scroll away, safeguarded the phone with the photo of the cipher on it and searched the room. Of course, there was an interconnecting door, this one surprisingly obvious for such an old chateau. Oh, how the French used to love their intrigues and secret passageways. Germain must have loved those times.
Hold nothing dear, for all fades away.
Webb ran those words through his head as he approached the door, understanding their deeper meaning and what they stood for where Germain was concerned. As he reached for the handle, the door at the other end of the room crashed open.
The Englishman fell through, face bloodied.
Webb paused, startled, unused to seeing such sudden violence. A life of pampering never helped in these situations.
Someone pushed the Englishman into the room. A thug, Webb thought. But it was a thug he recognized. This was the group who’d been dogging him since Transylvania, the group he had people investigating.
Beset by a strange fear and confusion, he pulled hard at the door handle.
The Englishman tried to rise, but the thug and one of his colleagues kicked at his skull, sending him reeling, sprawling across the polished floor. The blood leaked faster now. Webb experienced an insight into the world he used to help create as the men kicked out again and the Englishman stopped moving.
Now they locked eyes with him.
“You stay right there,” one said, a local judging by the accent.
“The group wants a word with you,” another said, this man swarthier, possibly of eastern origin.
Webb wrenched the door open, thankful it wasn’t locked, and ran through. He wasn’t a fit man, never worked out, but he wasn’t overweight either and had already told himself that if these men caught him his lifelong dream was over.
Adrenalin fired his heart and his limbs. Webb raced through another bedroom where the bed was separated from the rest of the room by a golden railing lined by footstools and then twisted back toward the outer corridor, pausing at the door before peeking out.
Coast clear. Only two pursuers then.
He sprinted, arms flapping, knees pumping. He would be no match for anything short of a fit school mom, he knew, but need galvanized him. The halls were clear, each sweeping expanse of magnificent architecture blurring past so fast he felt a little giddy, until the shout was barked out from behind.
“Don’t make me run after you, homme.”
Webb pushed it, already seeing the side door up ahead and knowing all he needed to take from this place was the cellphone in his pocket. Once clear, he’d accelerate the investigation and put an end to this annoying group once and for all.
How dare they?
For now he smashed against the outer door and raced into the night, a chill breeze cooling the sweat on his forehead, the distant chiming of bells giving the city a solitary air. Not what he needed right now. What he needed was a crowd, a busy road, a parade of shops. What he needed was not to be chased into the streets as his, so far, very careful avoidance of CCTV would then be rendered ineffectual. Many of them were so good these days they’d ping your face over to Interpol in a matter of seconds.
Webb heard the pursuit gaining ground. Despite the shadow-jamboree he managed to spy the outer gate, the same he’d been spirited through. He lengthened his stride, almost tripping in the process and tried to stop the endless flap of his arms. It wasn’t easy with his heart threatening to burst through his chest. And no respite was upcoming. The palace sat amid a great expanse of flat courtyard, stretching far and wide. Webb chanced a glance over his shoulder.
Hurry!
He knew the way by heart. Out of the gate and hang a left, past the Orangerie toward the train station. He already knew where the scroll would take him to next. The scroll provided the places, the ciphers the exact locations; the locations themselves provided the ongoing and unraveling wonders of Saint Germain.
Webb wrenched the gate closed behind him, spitefully hoping it might catch one of his pursuers in the mouth. A dreamlike moment hit him then, when he saw the same man and wife, hand in hand, hurrying the other way across the street — the woman staring at him. A small smile broke out across her features when she saw the panic in his face and the two large brutes chasing him down.
Webb puffed hard and continued on. But he was fighting a losing battle. As the train station finally came up ahead, one of the chasers came close enough to snag his outer jacket. A vicious tug and he was spinning, falling, going down to one knee.
He overbalanced, not realizing but actually helping himself as a haymaker smashed through the empty space where he’d been. The brute grunted, slipping. Webb shuffled away on his knees, looking for a place to stand. The jeans of his knees were scraped raw, and possibly his skin, a new experience. A low wall gave him purchase and helped him stand, and then he stood there, panting hard, taking in deep lungfuls of air whilst he still could.
One of the men crouched low, hands on knees, also panting. “We… told you not to run. But you ran. Now… now we have to hurt you as well as take you to our leader.”
Webb would have laughed if he’d been able. “What are you, aliens?”
The man looked surprised, then angry. He went to sucker-punch Webb in the gut, but Webb stepped back out of the way and the blow whistled by.
Both the thug and Webb looked surprised that he had managed to dodge.
“Stand still.”
“Why? So you can hurt me?”
“So I can break your skinny ribs and use them as a toothpick, homme,” the Frenchman growled. “Make me run, will you? We’ll see…”
The dangerous bully moved in again. Webb saw no reason to stand around, spun and tried to make off. Smashed into the second man’s chest. Grunted.
“Don’t you know who I am?”
It slipped from his mouth before he could rein it in.
The swarthy man laughed. “Not yet. But we will soon.”
“Why are you chasing me?”
“Are you stupid? I already said the group want to speak with you.”
Which group? Webb opened his mouth to ask, then found it filled with a bunch of knuckles. The pain came a split second later, then the blood, and a decidedly loose feeling in one of his teeth. I could have made Beau train me. I could have fought my way out of this. He moaned in pain as another fist connected with the side of his head. The train station now seemed so far away.
“Let’s get him back to the car.”
They hefted Webb, each one taking an arm, ignoring the stares of passersby. Webb struggled weakly, but even the threat of another punch doused his ire. The cell remained in his pocket along with the picture of the Baconian cipher, but anyone worth their salt would soon find it.
“That’s better,” the Frenchman said as Webb quit his resisting. “Know your place, homme.”
That infuriated Webb all the more, but again he was no fighter. Best to wait… wait for an opportunity.
“Hey! Stop right there!”
It came sooner than expected.
CHAPTER THREE
Two policeman came warily toward them, hands hovering over the holsters that contained their guns. On guard at the train station, they must have spotted the altercation and seen Webb being dragged away.
Both his captors turned instantly, the sight of the approaching cops fazing them not one bit. Several passersby stopped to watch and, as if Webb didn’t know already, the street cams would have spotted them. What happened next shocked every onlooker, including Webb.