The Loch Ness Legacy tl-4 Page 16

  Marlo Dunham sat in a black Range Rover outside the University of Cambridge main library. If Locke or any of his group came, it would be to this building. Most likely it would be Grant Westfield and Alexa Locke, as Zim had just called to tell her that Tyler and Brielle Cohen had been sighted at Versailles. Zim was prepared to destroy the Apollo statue, knowing exactly where to place the explosive because of the three-dimensional computer rendering Laroche had acquired so that he could build a duplicate fountain on his estate.

  Dunham sat in the passenger seat next to a long-haired man whose name wasn’t important enough to remember. Two more men were behind her.

  Their ability to lay in wait for their prey was thanks to Laroche himself. When he escaped from his room, he must have realized he couldn’t leave the house without setting off the alarm and alerting her, but he had enough time to write his note on a computer and build his little code. After he locked himself away in the vault, Dunham found the files that Laroche thought he’d trashed, making it easy to reconstruct them.

  The guns she and the men were carrying had been supplied by local white supremacist contacts who had smuggled them in from Italy. The underground network of neo-Nazis made it surprisingly easy to get weapons. It took money, but she had plenty.

  If all she’d wanted to do was retire to a life on the beach, she could have done it months ago with the cash she’d siphoned from Laroche’s businesses. The fool had put so much trust in her that she transferred the money right under his nose, doctoring the ledgers on the computers to which she had unfettered access.

  But retirement alone wasn’t going to satisfy her. Not until she did something to earn it. If Ken had only known how ungrateful the people in Gaza could be, if he’d known how ruthless the Israelis were, he wouldn’t have taken her and their unborn child to such a hellhole. He’d want her to settle the dispute once and for all, and that’s exactly what she planned to do. The Muslim nations would finally have their rationale for the Israeli annihilation they craved.

  The key to making that happen was in allowing the Altwaffe poison to run its course. Once the Muslim leaders were dead, there would be no turning back, no negotiations, no peace. It would be a war that would live in infamy. She knew the Israeli government would take out their enemies’ leaders if they only had the balls, so Dunham was letting them borrow hers.

  Now she had to stop the Lockes from destroying her dream. She knew they would be looking for a book inside the library, but because she was missing the puzzle piece about Alexa’s favorite animal, she couldn’t decipher what book they were looking for. That meant letting them find the book, and then killing them here in Cambridge. If Zim didn’t take care of business at Versailles, she’d take back the balls she’d let him borrow and finish the job for him.

  * * *

  Geoffrey Ashburn, an affable man in his fifties with white hair and a shaggy beard, puttered behind a bus while continuing his ongoing narration, infuriating Grant with his sluggish pace. When Ashburn heard that Alexa was a biologist visiting the library to get information about Charles Darwin, the drive from the Cambridge train station became a tour of landmarks dedicated to showing them the university with an entire college named after the legendary scientist. Grant fumed silently in the back seat, his back stiffening up and his head pounding from the blood pressure that had skyrocketed during the trip over.

  Grant wanted to go directly to the library, but Ashburn insisted on showing them his city first. The place was undeniably charming with tea rooms and shops lining narrow alleys, stately stone buildings, and green lawns bordering a narrow river carrying visitors on flat boats called punts that were pushed along with poles by men standing on the back. They reminded Grant of Venetian gondoliers, except these men were dressed in casual tees instead of black hats and striped shirts.

  Gordian provided Ashburn, a mechanical engineering professor, with a good portion of the funding for his research into high-energy storage batteries to power low-emission vehicles, an offshoot of the university’s famed solar racing team. Grant knew that he and Alexa wouldn’t be given access to the library’s oldest documents without a sponsor, so he’d let Ashburn go on as long as it took to get the information from Tyler at Versailles.

  “As I’m sure you are aware,” Ashburn said, “Cambridge is the fourth oldest university in the world, after the universities of Bologna, Paris, and to our continued chagrin, Oxford. I find it refreshing to know we have some stability in this world. When I think of that awful attack at the Eiffel Tower or those vandals who spray-painted walls inside Windsor Castle to protest austerity measures last week, it’s comforting to know that our institutions can stand the test of time. Just a few years ago, Cambridge celebrated the eight hundredth anniversary of its founding.”

  “That is incredible, Professor,” said Alexa, who was sitting in the passenger seat. She patted Ashburn’s arm to punctuate her amazement. She sure knew how to butter up someone, but Grant felt a twinge of jealousy. Not because he thought she might be flirting with the professor, but because now he wasn’t sure if she had been flirting with him.

  Grant yawned. Insomnia wasn’t typically a problem for him. He could sleep almost anywhere. During the flight, Alexa had nestled against his shoulder as she slept, but Grant couldn’t get more than a few winks. It left him plenty of time to ponder the progression of the chemical weapon coursing through his system, noting the progressive deterioration of his body. His inability to do anything about it was maddening.

  “You say you’re a Darwin expert, Dr. Locke?” Ashburn asked.

  “Please, it’s Alexa. Well, all biologists are well-versed in his theories, but my expertise is in endangered species.”

  “Oh, really. What research brings you to our hallowed halls?”

  Alexa flicked her eyes at Grant, who shrugged in response.

  “I’m, uh, investigating his time in Scotland.”

  “At the University of Edinburgh or his trip to Glen Roy?”

  Alexa squirmed in her seat. She obviously hadn’t been expecting probing questions. “You know Darwin that well?”

  “I’m fascinated by all of the geniuses who have graced our campus. Darwin. Sir Isaac Newton. Watson and Crick. Charles Babbage. I hope to stand among them someday. Perhaps I’ll even have a building named after me like we did for Stephen Hawking. Speaking of our facilities, when you are finished at the library, I insist on showing you our laboratory, Mr. Westfield. The students would love to show off their progress.”

  “Please call me Grant,” he said through gritted teeth. “And yes, I’d love to.” What else could he say? The man knew their train schedule.

  “And do call me Geoffrey. In fact, we’re going to be putting the experimental vehicles through their paces in a race tonight if you’d like to stay and watch, though I don’t want to press you. There’s a track right outside of town.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “Brilliant. Now is it Darwin’s exploration of Glen Roy that you’re interested in, Dr. Locke?”

  “What happened at Glen Roy?” Grant asked. When he saw the questioning look from Ashburn, Grant added, “I don’t know what she’s talking about. I’m only along for the ride.”

  Ashburn looked from Alexa to Grant and said, “Oh, I see. I see.”

  “Yes, Grant’s my boy toy. He keeps me company on these research trips.”

  Grant gaped at Alexa, and she winked back.

  Ashburn cleared his throat. “I see.”

  “We’re just friends,” Grant snapped. When he saw Ashburn’s surprised reaction and Alexa’s hurt look, he took a breath and calmed himself. “I mean, her brother is Gordian’s chief of special operations, Tyler Locke.”

  “Of course! Alexa Locke. I should have made the connection. Please give him my regards.”

  “I will,” Grant said. “Now tell us about Glen Roy.” If Darwin’s visit to Scotland could support the idea that he had interacted with the Loch Ness monster, Grant wanted to hear it.

  “After D
arwin went around the world on the Beagle,” Alexa said, “he spent two years analyzing his data. Remember that this was still more than twenty years before he wrote On the Origin of Species. You’d think his next destination would be to the jungles of the Congo or the Sahara Desert. Instead, he went to the Scottish Highlands to develop a geological theory about why three parallel shelves ran the length of Glen Roy. Darwin spent a few weeks there gathering data and returned with the theory that the valley had actually been an inlet of the Atlantic Ocean, and the parallel shelves were formed as the sea level subsided when the land was thrust upward.”

  “Of course,” Ashburn said, “it turned out to be the biggest mistake of his scientific career.”

  “Why?” Grant asked.

  Alexa turned to face him. “Because Darwin didn’t know that glaciers had blocked the ends of the valley, causing water levels to rise and fall over the millennia. Darwin’s theory had been completely wrong and a source of some embarrassment for him.”

  Ashburn pulled into a parking spot in front of a huge brick building with an imposing central tower. They exited the car and walked toward the front entrance.

  “I’ll take you inside and get you set up with the librarians,” Ashburn said.

  “Where exactly is Glen Roy?” Grant asked.

  “It’s to the southeast of Loch Ness.”

  “Do you think the same thing could have happened to Loch Ness? That the glaciers dammed it up?”

  “It’s a possibility,” Alexa said. “That would cause it to be isolated from the open ocean. If his exploration found any unusual creatures up there, Darwin might have thought it would confirm or contradict his evolutionary theory.”

  “Yes, perhaps Darwin was searching for Nessie’s ancestors,” Ashburn said with a guffaw.

  Alexa and Grant looked at each other, then Grant halfheartedly laughed along with him, and Alexa joined in.

  “That would be funny,” Grant said. “Darwin looking for the Loch Ness monster? Crazy.”

  Ashburn held the door for them. “I don’t mean to make light of your research, Dr. Locke. I’m sure it’s focusing on something far more serious than mythical beasts.”

  As they went inside, Ashburn didn’t seem to notice that he was the only one laughing.

  TWENTY-SIX

  The fragrance of the garden’s floral bounty was overpowered by the stink of stagnant water. As she and Tyler entered the clearing in the center of the grove, Brielle could see that this fountain hadn’t been in operation for months, and the pond at the front of the statuary display was green with algae.

  Otherwise, the exhibit was largely as she remembered during her last visit. The same three statues from Laroche’s backyard were featured within the backdrop of a stone grotto designed like cave openings. When it was in service, water cascaded down the wide pedestal distressed to look as if it were a craggy rock face.

  The statues to the right and left depicted grooms attending to Apollo’s steeds, while the center marble composition portrayed the daily ritual of nymphs bathing the god. One was in the act of washing his right foot, the same that was missing back in Seattle. Scaffolding had been erected around the central statue. Brielle could see evidence of the moss-covered façade being scrubbed clean, and a bucket dangled from a rope attached to the top of the scaffold.

  She and Tyler were alone in the grove. He extracted his phone and a tape measure from his pocket.

  “Piece of cake,” he said.

  They edged around the pond and scrambled up to the statue.

  When they were next to it, Brielle could see how intricate the carving was. Even the portion of the statue not visible from the front was crafted to the last detail.

  “Magnificent, isn’t it?”

  “This whole place is amazing. I can see why Laroche is proud of his heritage. Here. Hold this next to the foot.”

  Tyler gave her the measuring tape. She unfurled it, knelt, and laid it lengthwise along the outer part of the sole.

  “Perfect.” Tyler got behind her and raised the phone, snapping several photos. “Got ’em.”

  Brielle stood and turned to leave, but Tyler continued looking at the foot.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The dimensions seem off. Hand me the copy of Laroche’s drawing.”

  She dug the sheet from her pocket and unfolded it before giving it to Tyler. He placed it beneath the extended foot.

  “What were the chromosome numbers again for the polar bear and harp seal?” he asked.

  She checked the notes on her phone. “Seventy-four and thirty-two. Why?”

  “Because they don’t line up. Look.”

  She bent over and saw that the dot next to seventy-four was aligned with the big toe, but the dot by thirty-two was nowhere near the little toe. She frowned at Tyler, who looked as puzzled as she was.

  “We’ve been had,” Tyler said. “Laroche did lead us on a wild goose chase.”

  “Do you really think he’d go to all that trouble?”

  “If he wanted us to spin our wheels on this instead of tracking down the Loch Ness monster some other way he would. The note very specifically said ‘the footstep of the Sun King’s Apollo.’ Then he chopped off the foot of his version of this statue. Unless there’s another Apollo around here, he’s pulled one over on us.”

  Tyler’s words jarred Brielle’s memory. “Bugger,” she said, and snatched the book on Versailles from her pocket.

  “What?”

  “There is another statue of Apollo. I was so fixated on this one that I didn’t even consider it.” She flipped through the pages until she found it.

  The image showed a bronze figure seated on a chariot being drawn by four horses through a pool of water. Fish and horn-blowing tritons surrounded the bucking stallions. The caption read, “The Fountain of Apollo.”

  “Laroche claimed he was being held prisoner and feared that Dunham would figure out a way to open the vault,” Brielle said. “Perhaps this was another way to throw her off, to make sure she didn’t decipher his code.”

  “We’ll only know if we can see the dimensions of his foot. Where is it?”

  “Straight in front of the Grand Canal.”

  “It looks like the only way to see the foot directly from above is to climb into the fountain.”

  Brielle shrugged. “What’s the worst that could happen? They throw us out?”

  “Or arrest us for trespassing.”

  “I’ll think of a distraction.”

  Tyler smiled. “Maybe you could fall in.”

  “Ah, another romantic dream of mine fulfilled. Getting dunked in a fountain at Versailles.”

  Brielle turned to climb back down to the clearing when Tyler said, “Huh. The cat got spooked again.” Before she could see what he meant, he grabbed her arm and yanked her off her feet, dragging her behind the statue. Bullets ricocheted off the stonework.

  “Bloody hell!” she yelled.

  “Zim’s men,” Tyler said, as he crouched back to back with Apollo. “They must have seen us enter.”

  “How did they know we were coming here?”

  “I’m not sure, but our feline friend gave that guy away. He must have been setting up to ambush us on the way out.”

  “How many men?”

  “Can’t tell.”

  “They’ve got us pinned,” Brielle said.

  “And it’s only a matter of time before they can get into position for a kill shot.”

  “Any ideas?”

  He looked around the cave, his gaze settling on the bucket, then following the rope up to the top of the scaffold.

  “You’re not thinking of climbing that?” Brielle said. “Those pistols may not have much accuracy at that range, but they’ll pick us off eventually.”

  “I was thinking more of a Tarzan escape.” He untied the rope from the bucket. “If we get some momentum, the trajectory should take us to the other side of the scaffold, and we can duck into the woods. Once we’re out of the grove and into the op
en, they can’t run around with guns drawn.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Unless you have a Smith and Wesson tucked in your shorts, I think this gun battle is a bit one-sided.”

  Brielle almost suggested they call the police, but the next round of bullet impacts made the notion absurd. They’d be dead before anyone arrived.

  “I’m in favor of not dying,” she said. “Are you sure the scaffold will hold our weight?”

  “No.”

  “All right then.”

  He took the rope in hand and wrapped it around his wrist.

  Brielle saw that there was no way for her to grab it as well. “Wait a minute—”

  “Climb on.” He knelt so that his back was to her.

  “You are deranged.”

  “I can handle it. You’re pretty light.”

  “Pretty light?”

  She peeked through the arms of Apollo. One of the men was running to a flanking position. The other one fired. More rounds pinged off the stones.

  “Very light!” Tyler shouted. “Get on!”

  Brielle climbed on his back. “Ready!”

  Tyler burst out of his crouch and dashed forward until the rope went taut. Brielle felt the heat of the bullets as they zinged past her. Tyler launched himself off the pedestal and the rope swung them around, the scaffold teetering on two of its legs. If it gave out or tipped over, they’d be thrown into the pond, where they’d be at the mercy of Zim’s men.

  The scaffolding held. They swung in a wide arc over the water and toward the side statue.

  “When we land, keep going!” Tyler shouted.

  The rope completed its arc, and his feet came down on the pedestal only a few yards from the trees. Brielle dropped and had her legs moving as soon as she touched the ground. They dived into the woods, bullets clipping branches and leaves behind them.

  They didn’t stop until they reached the outer fence. Tyler went first and heaved her over with him. They landed on the path in front of an elderly couple who gaped at them in astonishment.

  “Qu’est-ce que c’est…” said the woman.

  “Bonjour,” Tyler said, dusting the dirt from his jeans. He continued with his fractured French. “Ou est les toilettes, s’il vous plait?”