Ava felt sick.
This could not be happening.
She looked across at Ferguson. He was flushed, and she could see a light sheen of sweat breaking out on his face. He caught her eye, and nodded his head, almost imperceptibly.
So he was ready to take the fall.
Her mind was racing.
“You have three seconds to make up your mind.” Malchus cocked the gun. He began to count. “One … .”
She knew that above all she had to stop Malchus and Saxby from holding the ceremony. And keeping the manuscript from them was the best chance she was going to get.
But even without looking again at Ferguson, she knew she could not do it.
He had been there for her since the beginning, had put his neck on the line in getting her information about her father, and had saved her life from both DeVere and Malchus. Without him, she would have died in Stockbridge House and on Malchus’s chair.
At least if they both stayed alive for now they might be able to find another way of sabotaging Saxby’s plans.
She breathed out heavily, signalling defeat. “I’ll get it.”
“Good,” Malchus crowed. “That’s better.”
“Call the operator, and get me a connection to the Oxford University Security Department,” she instructed him. “Then pass me the phone.”
Malchus pulled a slim mobile out of his pocket, and did as she asked. After a moment, he held the phone up to her ear.
“I need to speak to Dr Hendey, the librarian at Duke Humfrey’s Library.”
“Do you know what time it is?” the voice replied lazily. “The library closed hours ago.”
“I’m quite aware. Please put me through,” she replied.
“It’s closed,” the voice informed her. “You’ll have to call back in the morning.”
Ava had to struggle to keep her voice calm. “Instead of arguing with me, which we can do all night, please just connect me to his home address. Tell him it’s Dr Curzon from the looted artefacts project in Baghdad. He’ll want to speak to me, I assure you, and will be very unhappy in the morning if he finds out you hung up on me. I wouldn’t count on still having a job by this time tomorrow if I were you.”
There was a pause at the other end of the line as she was put on hold. There was no jaunty music. After a few moments, she heard the librarian’s sleepy voice. “Dr Curzon? Is there any news? The police aren’t telling us anything.”
“No. Nothing,” she answered. “But tell me, do you have remote access to the library’s archival database?”
“Yes.” he sounded hesitant. “Why? Is there another problem?”
“I need you to send me a digital file of your manuscript, the Oxford copy, of the work we were discussing this morning,
The Sword of Moses
.”
There was an intake of breath. “I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible,” he replied. “The manuscript is only to be consulted in the reading room. I’m afraid I have no authority to send anyone a copy.”
“Look.” Ava had no time for this. “Unless you want two more people to end up like your friend Professor Stone in the next five minutes, I’m asking you please to send the copy of the manuscript.”
There was a pause.
“I haven’t lied to you, have I?” Ava coaxed. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but you’re the only person who can help. I’m not requesting the original manuscript—just a digital copy.”
There was another pause, before the voice came back again, resigned. “Okay. Give me the e-mail address. It’ll be with you in two minutes.”
Ava gave him an internet e-mail address, and indicated for Malchus to hang up.
Her calves were now on fire. It was as if someone had taken out the tibia in each leg and replaced it with a red-hot poker.
Malchus walked back to the bench and put the phone down beside his battered leather bag. Opening it, he pulled out a slim black laptop.
“Give me your e-mail logon and password,” he ordered Ava.
“No,” she answered bluntly, the word ringing out clearly around the room.
Malchus and Saxby both stared at her in astonishment.
“Let me down off here. I’ll do it,” she added.
Malchus shot her a blazing look. “Let’s not play games. Just give me the—”
Ava interrupted him. “Unless you’ve suddenly learned to read ancient Hebrew and Aramaic, you’re going to need someone to go through the files to check they’re genuine copies. Or do you have someone else in mind?”
Malchus glanced over to Saxby, who was leaning against the far wall. The older man nodded to the guard, who walked over to Ava and unlocked her hands, taking the cuffs off, and dropping them into his pocket.
Her calves were agony as she crossed the room, but she had no intention of letting it show.
Sitting on the bench between Malchus and his bag, she took his laptop from him and found an unlocked internet network. Clicking open a browser window, she quickly logged into her internet e-mail.
Malchus and Saxby were standing beside her, eyeing her every keystroke.
She had half hoped they would leave her the opportunity to send an emergency e-mail calling for backup.
No chance.
They were watching her like hawks.
As the e-mail pane opened, the message from Dr Hendey was already there.
Clicking on the file, she enlarged it on the screen so they could all see it.
The manuscript itself was physically small. Five inches high by four wide according to the first image, which showed the aged brown leather cover sitting between two white plastic rulers placed at right angles.
Although there were other manuscripts bound into the ancient volume, Dr Hendey had sent her just the pages of
The Sword of Moses
.
She clicked onto the first page of text and the screen filled with a sheet of brown vellum. It had some minor water damage, but the small medieval writing was firm and clear, running in perfectly straight lines right to left with no smudges.
She began to read out loud, translating it as she went.
“In the name of the mighty and holy God, four angels are appointed to the Sword given by the Lord … .”
“But does it have the names?” Malchus hissed, interrupting her excitedly. “The magical names of Yahweh that were missing from the London version—the core of the conjuration. Are they there?”
Ava skimmed through the files.
As she got towards the end, she found them—a list of dozens of magical names: a standard feature of ancient magical rituals.
She nodded, pointing to the image. “Here they are.”
Malchus and Saxby peered closely at the screen, staring at the minute Hebrew characters.
She doubted they meant anything to them, but keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the writing, she took the opportunity to stretch her right hand out behind her. Feeling her way over Malchus’s bag, her fingers at last brushed the cold metal of his mobile phone.
Pulling it slowly towards her, she slipped it into the back pocket of her jeans.
Seeing her move, Malchus stood up and walked round to where his bag was.
Oh God.
Ava’s heart was hammering.
That was stupid. What had she been thinking?
She braced herself for whatever blow was coming.
But none came. Malchus opened his bag and pulled out a small black USB stick. “Save the file to this,” he instructed her, handing over the stick.
She did it quickly, her pulse racing. It was now or never.
Malchus took the stick and walked across the room. “I’ll be back,” he informed Saxby, pushing open the heavy wooden door and striding out.
“Well, Dr Curzon,” Saxby looked down at Ava. “As you are the only Hebrew and Aramaic reader among us, it seems we have another use for you tonight. The earthly representative of Anat will conjure Yahweh, then immolate herself on his altar.”
Ava was barely listening. “I need to go to the washroom.”
Saxby looked at her suspiciously, his eyes boring into her.
She kept her voice low and calm. She could not blow this. “What am I going to do? Jump out of a third floor window?” She started walking towards the door.
“Stay with her,” Saxby ordered the guard. “It’s down the corridor, on the right.”
Ava strode confidently out of the room. She did not dare put her hand in her pocket to check if the phone was still there. But she could feel it against her hip—that was reassurance enough.
At the end of the dark corridor was a simple door marked: ‘TOILETTE’.
She pushed it open, and stepped inside.
It was not a medieval hole in a bench hanging out of a window, but it was not far off—a damp, cramped stone room with most of the space taken up by an unstable-looking seatless lavatory and a tiny stained corner sink.
Sliding the bolt on the door, she pulled out Malchus’s phone.
Flicking it on, she was greeted by a locked screen:
ENTER PASSWORD
She had to try hard not to shout with frustration.
She did not have time for this.
Staring at the small screen, she was surprised to see it wanted only three characters.
She tried what she had once heard were the two most common passwords in the world, each of which only had three characters—‘GOD’ and ‘SEX’.
Nothing.
Slamming her fist hard against the cold stone wall, she wracked her brain for three-letter words that Malchus might have chosen.
She entered ‘DEE’.
Again nothing.
If she did not get this cracked fast, she was going to lose her opportunity.
Come on.
She ordered herself.
Think!
It was corny, but she typed in ‘666’, at the same time aware it was hardly the type of secure code she would expect from a former Stasi agent.
To her amazement, the password prompt melted away to reveal the phone’s home screen.
Yes.
She breathed a loud and rapid sigh of relief.
She was in.
Flicking to the browser, she pulled up the homepage of the United Grand Lodge of England.
Clicking the CONTACT US tab, she found a pane where she could leave a message.
She typed in short bursts:
TO MR L CORDINGLY — AT WEWELSBURG CASTLE — FRIENDS ARE FALSE — PARTY TO END ALL PARTIES — TONIGHT — SOME OF US WILL NOT MAKE IT TO SURVIVORS’ BREAKFAST — MAX NEEDS TO BRING FRIENDS AND FIREWORKS URGENTLY — KATE ADAMS
She signed herself using the name she had first given at Freemasons’ Hall, hoping he would remember.
She was taking a big gamble.
Saxby might not be the only rotten Templar. It was possible Cordingly was in it with him, too. Maybe that was why Ferguson had arrived with Saxby and Malchus’s paramilitaries instead of Max and his men.
But she had no choice.
There was no one else she could contact who would believe her story and react in time. It was Cordingly or no one. Besides, if Cordingly passed the message back to Saxby, she doubted her position was going to be any worse than it was at the moment.
She was interrupted by the guard hammering on the door. “What are you doing in there? Hurry up.”
There it was again. The unmistakable hint of an Israeli accent.
“Just a minute,” Ava called, trying to keep the tension from her voice.
She hit SUBMIT, and watched the screen disappear, replaced immediately by the United Grand Lodge of England’s homepage.
She frowned.
Had it sent?
The guard pounded on the door again. “Don’t make me break it down.”
She had to pray the message was now winging its way to Freemasons’ Hall.
She quickly opened up the phone’s control panel and found the internet settings. She cleared the browser’s history, cookies, and cache. When Malchus found it all wiped, he would probably assume there was a fault with his phone. At worst, he would suspect someone had tampered with it. But at least he would not know that it had been her—or what message she had sent.
She prayed the phone had not kept a record of her activity anywhere else. She did not know the model well enough to be sure.
“Okay. Have it your way,” the guard announced. Hearing a massive crash as he slammed into the flimsy wood, she flushed the loo and opened the door, glaring at him.
“Come on,” he ordered gruffly, shoving her at gunpoint back towards the room.
She entered at a fast pace, heading straight for the bench where she had been sitting.
There were two other guards in the front room now, and Ferguson was no longer pinned to the far wall. They had unshackled him, and were holding him between them. Saxby and Malchus were sitting on the bench.
Before anyone could stop her, she sat down quickly between Malchus and his bag and computer, knocking them both sideways.
She tutted as she reached out to stop the bag and computer falling to the floor. At the same time, she dropped the mobile phone softly onto the bench beside the bag, her body obscuring Saxby and Malchus’s view of what she was doing.
She glanced across at Ferguson. The two guards either side of him had not noticed what she had done. But he had. He blinked slowly in acknowledgement.
Good.
She only prayed that someone would pick up the message and get it to Cordingly—and also that he was not in league with Saxby and Malchus.
He was her one and only hope.
“It’s nearly time,” Saxby announced. ‘We all need to prepare. Dr Curzon, the guard will take you downstairs, where you will ready yourself.”
Saxby turned to Ferguson. “And you’ll be pleased to know, Major Ferguson, that I have found a use for you.” He wandered over to the metal-framed window behind which he had been standing, and opened it. “You’ll assist Dr Curzon in keeping up her motivation.” He nodded at the two guards. “Take him.”
Malchus pushed Ava towards the window. After a few minutes, she saw Ferguson emerge into the castle’s moonlit courtyard below, frogmarched by the two guards either side of him.
As the three approached the castle’s well, Ava gasped in horror as the guards lifted Ferguson up, holding his feet over the stone-rimmed edge of the hole. Although his arms were free of the handcuffs, he had no time to land any punches. He tried kicking, but his legs were already disappearing down the deep shaft.