Behind them, a distant wail rose.
Sirens.
Duncan shared a worried look with Sharyn. Neither of them was under any illusion that they had made a clean escape—especially considering the murderous bastards who pursued them. The question remained:
Who the hell are they?
16
11:47 a.m.
Damn it all . . .
Keir Marchand grimaced as he watched theConfrérie’s efforts continue to be thwarted. As the founder of NeuVentis Pharma—a French biotech company—he was unaccustomed to having his ambitions stifled.
He leaned over a laptop at the end of a long reference table. He and the others had commandeered the library housed in the west wing of the Bishop’s Palace, which lay in the shadow of Exeter’s monumental Cathedral Church of Saint Peter. The arrangements were facilitated by Cardinal Tissot, who stood posted at the door, a phone at his ear, updating others in the group. For now, information was on a need-to-know basis, limited to only a few of the organization’s cells.
On the laptop screen, a live feed showed the arrest of two students, who were being pulled from a sleek SUV. An armed cadre of MO19 officers surrounded them and cordoned off the street. The team—part of the Specialist Firearms Command—had been pulled from London by the woman at Keir’s left side.
Saanvi Burman stood barely to his shoulders. Her diminutive size belied her power and ambition as a senior liaison officer with MI5. She worked under the deputy director and maintained a no-nonsense attitude. Of Indian descent, her dark hair had been cut efficiently to the shoulders of her crisp navy-blue suit. An earpiece was wired to a radio clipped to her lapel.
“We’ve confirmed the two young men are not our targets,” Burman reported aloud. “They claim to have been sent to fetch a breakfast order.”
“A purposeful misdirection,” Keir scoffed.
“No doubt.”
On another window on the laptop, a second feed showed a high-end flat being overturned by an investigative team, looking for some clue to a question that plagued them all.
Keir voiced it, allowing his frustration to show. “Thenwherehave the American and her allies gone?”
Burman straightened. “Maybe to ground locally. We’re continuing to monitor CCTV cameras. But I suspect they’re trying to make it out of the city.”
“And go where?”
The woman glanced over to the cardinal. “Hopefully, Tissot can shed some light on this. His contact within theGardiens du Livremay offer some insight.”
“We can’t lose this opportunity. Not after so long. It’s taken us decades to secure a mole in their organization. After this, we may never get another chance. This fumble of the book’s transfer may never happen again.”
“Understood, but no one suspected these students would prove so resourceful. In hindsight, we should’ve moved faster. We lost valuable time while framing the professor’s death so it could be pinned on his students. Still, by doing so, we’ve boxed our targets in and won’t underestimate them again.”
“That’s if we can find them.”
“Only twelve hours have passed, so it’s still early days.” Burman tapped at a row of folders on the laptop screen. “I had our specialists work up dossiers on all five. We’ll put pressure on any and all contacts. Surveilling the same. If our targets reach out, we’ll know.”
Keir paced away from the table, trying to dispel his anger. The failure here lay further back than this past night.
We’ve been too cautious.
Days ago, Keir’s group had learned the name of the Twelfth Keeper from a mole within theGardiens,along with the possible identity of the Thirteenth, but they could not be certain of the latter. Notoriously paranoid, theGardienscould have set a false trail. Fearing that—and hoping to secure the book before it got shipped off—he and members of his echelon had accosted Professor Haugen at his estate in Norway. While the journal had already been dispatched, they had been able to corroborate the name of the Thirteenth Keeper.
After that, it became a waiting game. Once in Exeter, Keir’s group had to sit tight until the shipment arrived. Unfortunately, once delivery was confirmed, they had to move faster than anticipated. Last night, their mole had sent frantic word that theGardienshad altered their plans. Worried the Twelfth Keeper might have revealed where the book was sent, theGardienshad arranged to move it again.
This warning forced Keir’s group to accelerate their plans. But unknown to them, upon learning this, Julian Wright had already taken matters into his own hands, perhaps fearingwhomight reach him first.
In doing so, the bastard ruined everything.
Still, a wariness iced through Keir.
