London
Mike and Ben snacked on the nuts and crackers Nigel had brought them and watched the news about the train bombing while waiting for Nicholas to come home.
She popped an almond, chewed, then, “Ben, it’s nuts, no pun intended. All these murders and now a terrorist attack on a Eurostar? Do we know yet if it was heading for the Chunnel?”
“Yep, it was.”
“What in heaven’s name is going on?” She hit her knee, winced.
Ben drank down some of his ale. “Don’t jump the gun, Mike. They haven’t said it was terror-related.”
“What else could it be?”
The dining room door opened, and Nicholas and Adam came in the room. “It’s not a terrorist attack, not ISIS or Al-Qaeda, anyway.”
“Then what is it?” But Mike knew what had happened even before Nicholas said, “A drone. Watch this. We’ve managed to keep it from the media, though I don’t know how long we have before it leaks.”
He set his laptop on the table and showed them the feed. Mike was amazed at the precision of the drone strike.
“Bombed by a drone,” she said, shaking her head. “No, not terrorism. It’s more of the same, all part of an insane script.”
“Script? Interesting you’d say that. And this train bombing is a splashy attack, draws everyone’s attention.”
Adam grabbed a handful of pistachios, out of the shell, so he couldn’t resist. “Are you saying all the murders, the computer glitches, and now the train bombing, these attacks are all tied together?”
Nicholas said, “I’m assuming there was someone on that train who was a specific target, someone who has ties to Donovan, Hemmler, Alexander, and Vittorini. We’re waiting on the manifests. Two people have died, tourists from Australia. No one related to the government. But I don’t understand, it’s always been one victim at a time, but now? A whole train of innocent people?”
Mike felt numb. “Maybe it’s a different message.”
Adam said, “Tell her the good news.”
“Good is a relative term. We’re all up late tonight. The hard drives of the victims’ personal computers are in. Let’s have some dinner and get started. We have to find a link between the murders, and find out who was being targeted on that train.” He looked at Mike. “If there was a specific target on that train.”
Mike shrugged. “Let’s go to Vittorini. We know she was running arms through the Govan Shipyards, maybe those are the bread crumbs we need.”
* * *
It was three in the morning when Mike saw it. She sat up, scratched her head, pushed her glasses up her nose, and shouted “Eureka!”
Tired, blurry eyes stared at her. Nicholas asked, “Eureka? Does this have something to do with the water level in the tub?”
“No, no, I have it. I’ve found the link between them. And you aren’t going to like it.”
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
Ambition is to the mind what the cap is to the falcon; It blinds us first, and then compels us to tower by reason of our blindness.
—Charles Caleb Colton, Lacon
Gradara Castle
Near Venice, Italy
1812
All knew the march to the Russian border would be long and hard, but there was excitement in the ranks, thoughts of pillage in this strange land, of killing heathens and those fierce warriors called Cossacks.
General Barclay de Tolly and General Bagration had planned to stop this fine day for provisioning in northern Italy. Napoléon was given hospitality at a grand castle with views of the Adriatic. It was called Gradara, old and wealthy and filled with treasures Napoléon would not take, for the master was an ally.
It was at Gradara Napoléon read the courier’s message from the front. He walked to the ramparts, gazed beyond, to the Adriatic Sea, a beautiful sight, opened the message, and smiled. Czar Alexander was mobilizing two of his armies to meet them. He said aloud, his words blown away by the wind, “Let him bring every cursed soldier in his lands, it matters not. I will prevail. I will burn Moscow to the ground and dance in its ashes and blood.”
He was still smiling when he walked back into the great hall of Gradara. He drank and dined on fresh pheasant and newly butchered boar, listened to his generals boast of the destruction they would visit upon the Russian upstarts.
At last, Napoléon struck his knife against the wooden table and shouted, “I wish no more talk of war this night. Entertain me.”
The generals glanced at one another, brows raised, not knowing what to do. Suddenly, an old man appeared and walked forward to stand before the emperor. “I am Gradara’s bard.”
Napoléon looked him up and down. “Look at you, your hair’s as white as snow, your beard nearly touches your bony knees, and your eyes are filmed to near blindness. You are so old, how can you remember a single song? A single tale?”
The old man said in a strong, firm voice, “Ah, but I do, sire, I have a grand tale for you.”
Napoléon nodded to one of his generals, who threw the old man several coins. “I do not wish to hear the usual swill of a fair damsel and a valiant warrior, bard. I want something dark, something to make my belly tight. I will give you another coin if you please me.”
The old man nodded and began, his voice strong and loud, reaching every corner of the great hall. “Sire, what I will tell you is true. It is about two brothers who lived not the normal life span allotted to most men, but for hundreds of years, perhaps more. They lived here, in this very castle, for a time.
“The brothers were born on the same night, arms linked together, in a shared caul. From birth, one was strong, and one was weak. The strong one loved his brother very much and would do anything for him, carrying him to the woods, saving the finest bits of meat from their suppers for him.
“One day, the strong brother went into the woods to hunt, hoping to kill something to please his brother when a great storm blew up. He was separated from his friends, forced to light a fire under a great oak tree and cook a squirrel from his game bag.
“A great falcon came down from the skies and ripped the dead squirrel from his hand. The brother called after the bird, ‘Please don’t go. I’m lost and hungry. I’ll share the squirrel with you.’
“And the great bird wheeled around and returned, dropping the squirrel at his feet. True to his word, he cut the squirrel in half, giving the bird the slightly larger piece. It was then the brother realized he could hear the bird’s thoughts.
“?‘Thank you for your kindness. I will share one with you, as well. I know of a cure for your brother. Spill my blood in a cup and give it to him to drink at the full of the moon.’
“The brother drew back, horrified. ‘I cannot kill you. You shared your meal with me.’
“The falcon thought to him, ‘You must trust me. Bring me back to your home, and when the time is nigh, spill my blood. Your brother will drink and be cured.’
“The falcon showed the brother the way home. And remained, a friend to both brothers, and they could hear the falcon’s thoughts, the falcon theirs.
“Moon cycle after moon cycle passed without the brother honoring his promise. Finally, on the third full moon, the bird thought to him, ‘You must kill me this night, or the cure will no longer work.’
“The weak brother, who by this time was barely able to move, heard the falcon. ‘Please, no, Brother. I do not want to lose our friend.’
“But the stronger had promised, and he knew his brother would die if he didn’t. So, when the moon was full, the falcon presented his neck, and the brother sliced it open, catching the ruby blood in a pewter cup. He gave the drink to his brother. He drank it down. The two brothers mourned the bird, buried it, and slept. In the morning, the weak brother was strong.
“He bowed to his brother. ‘I have long wanted a human body to live in. Thank you.’ And the stronger brother saw that his brother’s eyes now glowed red. And he realized his brother had spoken in the falcon’s strange tongue.