“Aside from the large cheque, you mean? Hopefully champagne and a little publicity. My solicitor is already up there checking the paperwork. Can’t be too careful!”
“You think the press will be here?”
“The British Museum’s marketing team! I’ve been keeping in close contact, you know.” He tapped his nose. “They have opening dates set for the summer. June, I think. Not sure which gallery yet. Guaranteed, though, this will draw a lot of attention. I intend that Temple Moreton will get lots of it.”
“Won’t that make your small, pretty village horribly busy?”
“We need the money. The church is desperate, and the local businesses will benefit from increased tourism. I will, of course, donate some of my money to the church for a new roof. We’ve already done some work in the crypt for accessibility.”
Harlan had fond memories of the pretty village in the Weald of Kent, although not the fight with the Knights of Truth and Justice, or being held captive. Or having to cross the death trap that was the map room with the trick-slabs. “I must admit that it will be good to see the chamber well lit, without fear of my life.”
“Oh, it’s all safe now. The mechanisms have been disengaged. The access secured. We’ve even repaired the broken tombs.” Theo’s eyes shone with excitement. “It’s quite something, you know. Obviously, it’s not half as impressive without the vast quantity of treasure in it, but it’s an impressive structure regardless. The other passage is still blocked, but has been secured with gates, and the roof has been repaired. Don’t want anyone scurrying about under my keep!”
“So, you were able to reach an agreement with the church?”
“After a bit of wrangling.” He rolled his eyes, and then his face cracked into a huge smile, directed behind Harlan.
Harlan turned to see Nahum and Olivia crossing the floor towards them, Barak, Estelle, and Lucien a few steps behind. Seeing Olivia and Nahum strolling side by side, relaxed and at ease, a certain closeness between them despite the fact that they weren’t touching, he realised they were already a couple. They just didn’t know it yet. He’d been worried that Nahum would do something stupid and abandon Olivia in a rush of fear or denial, leaving her alone. It had fuelled his own protective instincts. He now, however, realised how utterly stupid that was. Nahum wasn’t going anywhere. It both reassured Harlan and left him feeling disappointed. He’d envisaged that he and Olivia might eventually end up together, their lifestyle aligning them, but that door had firmly closed now.
As for Olivia’s job with The Orphic Guild, despite her protestations otherwise, that might well change, too. He smiled broadly as he greeted all of them, and he introduced Barak, Lucien, and Estelle to Theo.
“So, another brother,” Theo said to Barak. “I take it you three were busy in France at the time?”
“Oui! Rescuing me,” Lucien said as he shook Theo’s hand. “You don’t mind that I come to see the treasure?”
“Of course not. At least, I hope we’ll see it. I take it that you,” Theo addressed Estelle with a twinkle in his eye, “also have special skills?”
“You could say that.” She smiled enigmatically, no trace of sarcasm in her tone. Barak had indeed worked wonders.
“Playing your cards close to your chest! Wise. Well,” Theo said, all business, “now that we’re all here, we’d better head to the main desk.”
In a few minutes’ time, they were escorted by a young woman through a door marked Private, along corridors, and upstairs, all well away from the public spaces, finally ending up in a large, spacious meeting room with half a dozen men and women gathered in earnest conversation. Reams of paperwork were stacked on the table, and a couple of men with cameras hovered nearby. Champagne and glasses waited on the side, and even a few select treasures were in the room, along with security staff.
Once the paperwork was signed, it was obvious that the marketing of the Templar treasure was about to begin.
“This is impossible,” Maggie declared, throwing the list of names onto the table in Jackson’s office, and glaring at Jackson. “I can’t do anything about those! Have you lost your fucking mind?”
Jackson scowled. “I was hoping for some creative input!”
“I’m a police officer! I work with facts, not mumbo-bloody-jumbo!”
“They are not mumbo-jumbo! They are names of people who are involved with The Brotherhood!”
“Yes, Belial’s bloody henchmen, I know!” She stabbed viciously at the page. “First name! Last name! Incomprehensible name! Do you think I have a list of bad guys in my desk that I can mix and match?”
Jackson rubbed his face wearily. “I know it’s hard, but among those names we might strike gold. We already recognise the Lambertis.”
“Well, jolly bloody hockey sticks!”
“Maggie! I argued to bring you in on this, the least you can do is stop ranting.”
“And that’s another thing! Why couldn’t I be trusted with knowing about the Emerald Tablet?” That rankled more than anything. She had been so pleased to hear about it the previous night that she had just got on with it, but overnight she had seethed about it. “I should have been told straight away!”
“For fuck’s sake, Maggie. Will you shut the fuck up and sit down!”
Maggie stepped back, gobsmacked. Jackson had never raised his voice to her before. He hardly ever swore, either. It was that more than anything that calmed her down. She had really pissed him off. “Sorry. I’m frustrated.” She sat heavily in her chair, annoyance vanishing. “And thank you for arguing to include me. I just don’t like being the last to find things out.”
“You are not the last! Hardly anyone knows about this. It’s The Emerald Tablet! Something of inestimable value and power. You don’t just bandy it about in any old conversation. Your sergeants will never know about this, or I will never include you in anything again.”
“Of course they won’t! I’m not an idiot.”
Jackson glared at her. “Are you done, then?”
“Yes. But I’m still right. That list is impossible. The best we can hope to do with it is recognise names as they crop up during research. Didn’t you say that they could go back generations?”
“Yes.” Jackson also sagged back in his chair, looking suddenly exhausted and defeated. “And span countries. They only recorded a fraction of them, too.”
“I’m sorry. I really am. I know you’ve obviously put great store in these. Of course I’ll bear them in mind, but Irving and Stan are busy on other cases. You’ve only got me. Let’s focus on things I can do, like look at Jacobsen some more. Or look at the northeastern line, the direction the statues face. You say Barak wants to identify a city?”
“Yes, but that’s insanity as well. I have nothing to show you. It’s not like they took photos! Only Barak can help there.”
“But, say that line is important. We can at least narrow down cities on it. Historical or current.”
Jackson nodded as he pulled a folded map from the drawer in his desk. Like all the furniture in this room, it was of art nouveau design, complimenting the style of The Retreat. Maggie found the whole place suffocating, but the warm tones of the wood, and the soft light through the stained glass windows situated in the interior walls alleviated some of that. Mostly. When she wasn’t ranting about stupid lists.
After clearing space on the coffee table, Jackson unfolded the large European map, and Maggie saw he’d already drawn a line in pencil partway across it. “This,” he said, “is where the church is in Florence, and that spot is Amato’s country house. I’ve extended it to Venice, but stopped in Poland when I hit the coast. I find it hard to believe anything will be so far north, but I could be wrong.”
“Yorkshire is further north,” Maggie pointed out.
