The Lost Key (36 page)

Two weeks later

New York

Alex Shepherd's shoulder still pulled and ached. It would be another two weeks, the surgeon told him, before he could consider lifting even a three-pound weight. But he was here, at last, in New York, resigned from MI5, and now exactly where he wanted to be, in Sophie Pearce's living room. Today was the reading of her father's will and she wanted him there.

She appeared in the doorway, standing straight once more, her back mostly healed now. She looked absolutely beautiful, her dark hair loose around her face, and she wore not a black dress, but a soft yellow, her father's favorite color. Alex walked to her, lightly took her arms in his hands, and told her the news. “The Order has asked me to replace your father as the Messenger. I accepted the offer and resigned from MI Five. My cover remains the same. A full-time barkeep and restaurant owner. What do you think?”

She cocked her head to one side and considered. “I think you need a new chef. I really didn't like my spaghetti the last time I ate there.” And she leaned up and kissed him, whispered in his ear, “Yes, oh, yes, it's perfect. Dad would have been so pleased.”

They stood awkwardly facing each other, since he was afraid to
put his arms around her still-tender back and she was afraid to hug him because of his shoulder. He kissed her again, and sighed. “Actually, it was Agent Drummond's father, Harry, now the head of the Order, who asked me to continue in your father's place. Isn't it a small world?”

“If his father hasn't already told him, you can tell Nicholas today at the reading. I asked both him and Mike Caine to be there. It seemed only right since they—”

“Yes, since they went through everything with us.”

As they walked out of Sophie's building into an incredible June day, Sophie saw the forty-two-point headline of the
New York Post
:
Treasure in the Tunnels—the True Story.

“Another true story,” Alex said, and they simply shook their heads. Both knew the media would continue having a field day for months to come. The layer of tunnels beneath the tunnels of the catacombs had been world news, and tomb raiders and scientists and archaeologists and sociologists alike were flocking to the Paris underground to uncover the secrets of
Les Quatre Chambres—
the Four Chambers. The truth was that the other three doors hadn't been locked and they'd all been empty, except for the very small antique ruby ring found under a clot of dirt in a corner, eighteenth-century, given the style of the ring. No one knew who it might belong to.

Once in a taxi, Sophie said, “How I wish Adam could be with us. They're doing a video feed from the prison.”

Alex took her hand, rubbed his fingers over her knuckles. “Last time I spoke to Drummond, he said the prosecutor was recommending only six months.” He grinned at her.

Sophie laughed. “And then when he comes out of the
slammer, he works for the Man. He'll still be only nineteen when he gets out.”

The taxi pulled up five minutes late to the Elcott Building on Seventy-first Street. The building was old, but the plumbing and wiring had been updated and it was an excellent address. The sixteenth floor was a modern oasis with beautiful high ceilings and molding painted in soft cream. They were shown into a large conference room, a long glass table running along the center, a dozen black leather chairs cozied close. On the mahogany sideboard were carafes of coffee and tea.

Sophie accepted a cup of coffee, went to the windows, stared out over Central Park, a stunning sight, green and gold and blue skies. It was a perfect early-June day. Alex joined her. She said, “Dad wanted his ashes spread over Loch Eriboll. Adam will go with me once he's free. I couldn't bear to do it alone.”

Alex said, “All three of us will go.”

They turned from the window when Nicholas Drummond and Mike Caine arrived, both looking vital, in charge of their world, a handsome couple. No, not couple, Sophie thought, they were partners, FBI agents. Still—Sophie hadn't seen them since they'd returned to the States, on the prime minister of England's jet, Alex had told her, and how had they managed that?

Mike joined Sophie at the window. “I won't hug you, not yet. How are you, Sophie?”

“I'm good,” she said, then sighed. “It's a difficult day. But Alex is here and you're here and we'll soon see Adam on video.”

Mike touched her on the shoulder. “I know I've said this probably half a dozen times before, Sophie, but what you went through, it was tough, but you did it, saved all of us from Havelock.”

“The nightmares,” Sophie said, never looking away from the view, “the nightmares hurt more than my back ever did.” She raised her hand. There was a small scar where the drop of muriatic acid had touched her skin. “I didn't really believe what I'd read about muriatic acid, but it was true. His face melted off his bones. I see his face in my dreams, hear his screams.”

Mike was silent a moment. “As you know, Nicholas and I spent only the one night in Paris. I woke up to hear his yells from the other room. He was dreaming about that fight with März in Loch Eriboll. He never told me exactly what happened, but I know it was bad, and it was close.” Mike smiled. “The nightmares will go away, Sophie. What's important is you're the one who saved us all. You're the heroine. That's what I told Nicholas as well—you won, he won, we all won.”

Sophie drew a deep breath. Mike was right. It was over, they'd won. But she didn't mention that her other nightmare was when she believed Alex Shepherd was dead. Nor did she mention the raw ache in her chest whenever she thought of her father.

An assistant came in to set up the video feed with Adam, followed by Jonathan Pearce's longtime friend and lawyer, Franklin Jones.

“He looks happy,” Sophie said, when Adam came on.

He was going to serve six months in a minimum-security prison, fixing the prison's computer system, and, he'd told her, the warden wasn't a bad guy at all. And when he came out he was going to be a part-time consultant for the FBI while he finished college, and then what? Who knew?

Franklin Jones cleared his throat, nodded to Adam. “Jonathan's will is straightforward. All his property is split evenly between his
two children, you and Adam. Sophie, you are the executrix. You are responsible for his far-reaching financial holdings, he always wanted you to keep Ariston's alive.” He paused a moment, looked over at her. “Do you plan to do this, keep Ariston's thriving?”

“Yes,” she said. “I will hire a manager, but both Alex and I will keep it flourishing.”

Franklin Jones nodded. “Excellent. Your father would be very pleased. Now, I have a letter to you and Adam from your father.” He handed her a thick envelope. “Jonathan wrote this last year, and had it attached to his will. There is also another folded paper that is much older. I do not know who wrote it or its contents. Would you be so kind as to read both aloud? As per your father's instructions, I will excuse myself for a moment.”

Jones left the conference room and Sophie opened the letter from her father first.

Dear Sophie and Adam
,

If you are reading this letter, it means I am gone, and I'll never again be able to tell you again how much I have loved you both from the moment I felt you in your mother's womb.

Sophie paused a moment, choked down the tears, and cleared her throat.

Adam, I had once believed you would replace me as the Order's Messenger, but I've realized for several years now your path will be a very different one. Whatever you choose to do, do it well and always act for good. I
imagine that eventually it is Alex who will follow me as the Messenger, he has the skills, the determination, plus he's a book lover.

Sophie, membership in the Highest Order is hereditary, as you know. I wish you to take my place. I can see you saying, but Dad, there's never been a woman in the Order. You're wrong, there have. Madame Curie, for one. Ansonia Rothschild, for another. You are the first woman in the new millennium, true, but not the last. It seems to me the women of the Order are the true heroes. We men have sat back and blathered for a century.

—

SHE SMILED, LOOKED
at her brother, all spiffy in his jumpsuit, sitting in a chair behind a small table, the walls behind him blank, painted a bilious green, and he was grinning.

“Are you okay with this?”

“Of course. Dad always understood both of us very well.”

Sophie said, “Nicholas, are you a part of the Order as well?”

“Eventually, it seems. Alfie Stanford named my father to lead the Order. You'll meet him when you fly to London for an Order meeting next week. You'll like him. And you'll be able to trust him completely.”

She nodded, then read the rest of her father's letter.

If there is such a thing as reincarnation, I will ask to come back as a first-edition Mark Twain. Sophie, take care of me if you chance upon me. Good-bye, my children.

—

“HE'LL MAKE A
great first edition,” Sophie said, and swallowed down the curious mix of laughter and tears. She picked up the other letter, yellowed with age. She opened it carefully, and saw the date, written in a curly, old-fashioned script, and the words, in German, which she could translate easily.

She looked up and a huge smile bloomed. “Adam, Dad never showed me our great-grandmother's final letter to Josef, and now he's passed it down to us.”

She read:

26 August 1917

My darling Josef:

I have little time. The kaiser's men are nearly here. We leave as I put this letter in Leo's pocket and send him on his way to Denmark then to Edinburgh with his old nurse, since now it is far too dangerous for him to travel with me. You know where they will be. There is no choice now, I must be the one to get Madame Curie's key and instruction book to England, to William Pearce, and the wondrous gift of the kaiser's gold bars.

I will sail immediately on the
Victoria,
and will meet you in Scotland. When you see me I will be wearing your spare uniform and you and Leo will laugh and we will be together again. We will beat the kaiser, I know it in my heart, and what we do will end this unspeakable war.

Josef, I love you more than my life. Soon now we will be together again and safe—

Ansonia

—

THE ONLY SOUND
in the room was the crackle of the old paper as Sophie slowly refolded Ansonia's letter.

Adam said, “I knew she was a hero, but I never realized—it's because of her that we're all still walking this earth.”

Sophie said, “It's so sad, to have it all end for her, dying entombed on that submarine.”

Alex said, “No wonder your dad was so passionate about finding the sub. He was a brave and good man. He always did want to right the world's wrongs.” He took Sophie's hand. “It's in the blood, Sophie, it's in the blood.”

Nicholas said, “It wouldn't surprise me if there's a first-edition Mark Twain making its way to Ariston's as we speak.”

—

AS THEY RODE
the elevator down, Mike said, “This has to be the most incredible story I've ever heard.”

Nicholas smiled at her. “The most incredible story you've heard—so far.”

“Maybe you have some lovely mysterious skeletons in the Drummond closet?”

“Oh, Agent Caine. You have no idea.”

As they walked out of the building, Nicholas's mobile screamed out the Rolling Stones' “Sympathy for the Devil.”

He glanced at the screen, arched an eyebrow at Mike, and answered quickly. “Savich? Is everything okay?”

Savich's deep voice came through the speakers. “No, Nicholas, it's not. I've cleared it with Zachery. I need you and Mike to fly to D.C. right away. We have a big case for you two.”

“Both of us?” Mike asked.

“Oh, yes,” Savich said. “Both of
you.”

—

For a complete list of this author's books click here or visit www.penguin.com/coulterchecklist

I have frequently been asked how I could reconcile family life with the scientific career. Well, it has not been easy.

MARIE CURIE

Marie Curie was an intensely private and brilliant woman, winner of two Nobel Prizes, in 1902 and 1911 (in Physics and Chemistry), who discovered both radium and polonium and developed the theory of radioactivity. Her husband and collaborator, Pierre, an extraordinary physicist himself, helped to make sure she got the credit she deserved for her discoveries. She gave birth to a future Nobel Prize winner as well.

Marie Curie was born in Warsaw, Poland, in 1867, studied in Paris, barely surviving on very little money, met a professor at the Sorbonne who was a confirmed bachelor, and together they dazzled the world. She died of aplastic anemia, brought on by her exposure to radiation in 1934.

Curie also worked on the front lines in World War I to help bring the benefit of X-rays to the wounded. She was one of the first modern “open-source” scientists, who didn't trademark her
discoveries because she believed knowledge should be shared. And to top it off: she was the first woman professor at the Sorbonne.

A derivative of one of Curie's discoveries, polonium-210, is famously used for political assassinations. It is a sure and painful death. And this is where truth and fiction diverge. Curie never created any sort of weaponized polonium, but for the sake of the story, she does. When she realizes the enormity of its destructive power, she stops work immediately and hides it away where no one will ever find it. Nor was she a member of the Highest Order, since, alas, the Order did not exist.

The actual Marie Curie was far more impressive. She was an incredible scientist, an incredible human being.

Marie Curie is, of all celebrated beings, the only one whom fame has not corrupted.

ALBERT
EINSTEIN