78
HMS Dover
9:30 p.m.
After a reluctant nod from his captain, the medic unhooked Nicholas from his IV and discharged him from sick bay. He and Mike went up onto the deck of the Dover to watch the rescue.
The lights of the chopper swung crazily along the coast of Loch Eriboll, the granite cliffs shining white in the beams of light. A small rescue craft scooted over the water, sending out ripples across the surface. The chopper hovered, spinning up debris and rocks, then set down next to the hut.
Five minutes later, the boat was headed back, no shots fired, no trouble at all. When the boat drew close enough, Mike let out a shout. “It’s Sophie Pearce!”
She was a mess, bedraggled, bruised, exhausted, still wearing Alex Shepherd’s shirt, the gauze bandage still wrapped tightly across her back, but she managed to climb the ladder to the deck of the Dover. Both Nicholas and Mike wanted to speak to her, but a medic said, “Nope, first we take care of her.”
Sophie smiled at the medic towering over her. “A moment, please.” Before he could answer, she grabbed Mike’s arm. “You have to go after Havelock. He took Adam with him.”
Mike said, “Please tell me you don’t mean Havelock took Adam down in the submersible.”
“No, no, he forced Adam to go with him on his helicopter.”
Mike’s blood pressure dropped back to normal. She’d been scared Nicholas would be too close to the submersible when she’d given the order to fire the torpedo. She hadn’t even thought of Adam.
“Okay, then, that means Havelock set the submersible on automatic and sent it back into the loch. And then the Dover blew it up—it was all a diversionary tactic.”
“Sophie, where did Havelock take Adam?” Nicholas asked her. “Where did they go?”
“To get Madame Curie’s weapon. Havelock has the key and the book, he can open the lock now. We have to stop him, please, you have to save Adam.”
“Sophie, what lock? A lock to a door? Where did they go?”
Sophie stopped cold. “You mean you don’t know where Curie’s weapon is?”
“No, do you?”
Sophie shook her head. “All I know is it’s probably somewhere in Paris.”
79
Quai d’Anjou
Paris
Midnight
Havelock arrived at his house on the Quai d’Anjou just before midnight. He hurried inside with his package, still unopened, his hands shaking in excitement. He couldn’t believe he finally had both the key and the book.
Elise forced Adam to a second-floor room, a Beretta against his spine, and locked him in. She joined Havelock in his study, and together they spread the mummified fingers. Havelock carefully, gently, pried the package from the palm.
He had no idea how a woman came to be on the sub, nor why she was sealed in the waterproof compartment, nor did he care. All he knew was she’d held in death the gift of a lifetime.
The package was wrapped in thick oilskin, protected as best they could manage. He eased the edges apart, but the old wrapping paper inside crumbled at his touch. And there was the key, long, heavy, brown with rust. It had an ornate bow with a series of interlocking four-cornered fleurs-de-lis, a thick, twisted shank, and a dual bit with a complicated series of bit wards etched into the metal. It wasn’t an everyday key for Curie’s time, it was a key meant to protect as well as deter.
Havelock caressed the key with long trembling fingers, felt its weight in his palm, then finally, he set it gently on the desk. He turned to the book, encased in a separate waterproof pouch. The cover was black, the book slender, the edges rounded. He slipped on soft white gloves. If there was anything he’d learned from Pearce, it was how to deal with very old pages.
He slid his finger beneath the cover and lifted gently. The pages inside were yellow and the words were in French. Curie’s handwriting was faded but legible.
His heart pounded. With the book and the microgram of intensely amplified polonium, polonium that she’d managed to make grow stronger over time, he was ready. It was waiting for him in her lab to formulate a new kind of atom to be added to his bombs. And then he would own the world, nothing and no one could stop him.
He wondered, what should he name his new compound? Curie had named polonium after her beloved Poland. He felt no such love of homeland.