moved to pick up the money, but Mitchell shook his head. ‘Leave it. We got what we came for.’
‘You’re just going to chuck away ten grand?’ said Chase, reluctantly following him at a jog towards the edge of the village.
‘Uncle Sam’s paying for it.’
‘You mean me and Nina are paying for it. That’s come out of our taxes!’
Mitchell made an amused noise, and they continued along the road until they reached the camels. Karima and Nina had already mounted their animals, the sword blade protruding from one of Nina’s saddlebags. The other camels were standing, spooked by the gunfire.
The two men clambered on to their saddles. ‘Okay,’ Chase yelled to Nina, ‘we’re going to have to hoof it! Just grab on as tight as you can!’
Mitchell brought his camel round to head south. ‘Come on, move!’ he shouted, flicking the reins. His camel grunted and broke into a run, Karima right behind him.
‘I don’t wanna do this . . .’ Nina muttered through clenched teeth. But she followed Mitchell’s example and snapped the reins, clinging as tightly as she could to the saddle. The camel reared up, almost throwing her off its back, then started running. ‘Ow - ow - ow - son of a -
Chase set off, staying behind her so he could help if she got into trouble. But she was holding on well enough despite her staccato complaints. He looked back at the receding village. Some of the soldiers were recovering, the officer in charge limping out of the mosque and taking in the burning jeep with dismay before spotting his erstwhile prisoners disappearing into the desert.
‘Come on, shift your arses!’ Chase yelled to the others as thumping AK fire echoed off the buildings. Little geysers of sand burst up around them, shots smacking into the ground. But they were already beyond the AK-74’s effective range: the Russian weapon was valued more for its qualities as a near-indestructible bullet hose than its accuracy.
They kept riding, the ungainly gallop of the camels belying their impressive pace through the soft sand. Kafashta dropped away into the heat haze, the soldiers swallowed with it.
Nina was finally getting some degree of control over her charging camel, drawing alongside Mitchell. ‘Oh, my God, you’re hurt!’ she cried, seeing his bloodied arm.
‘It’s just a scratch,’ he said with a smile. ‘A flesh wound.’ Nina smiled back.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ Chase groaned from behind them. ‘More bloody Python.’
They kept up their pace until it became clear that there was no immediate sign of pursuit. Still keeping a watchful eye out for Syrian helicopters, they slowed the camels to a brisk trot as they continued south towards the border.
Chase drew level with Mitchell. ‘Got to admit,’ he said, slightly grudgingly, ‘you did all right back there. For a sailor.’
Mitchell gave him a thin smile. ‘I did more in my military career than just sit inside a steel tube.’
‘Oh? Like what?’ Nina asked.
The smile broadened. ‘Can’t say. Classified.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Great, another guy full of secrets. You’re as bad as Eddie!’
An hour and a half later, they crossed the border, Mitchell taking a GPS handset from a saddlebag to confirm they were safely back in Jordan. They had made it.
And they had the first piece of Caliburn. The first clue to the location of Excalibur.
12
Austria
The contrast could hardly be any more stark: from the stifling, parched desolation of the Arabian desert to the cool, clean air of the Tyrolean Alps. The view from the picture windows of the coffee house in the village of Rasbrucke was spectacular, looking up the valley at the towering peaks to the south. The valley floor was carpeted in forests so vividly green that they almost seemed fake, while above them rose the pristine white slopes of the little ski resort. Even the chill edge in the high-altitude air was a relief after the inescapable heat of Syria.
After returning the camels to Attayak, Karima drove Nina, Chase and Mitchell back to Amman and the State Department jet. Now, a day later, they were waiting to find out if Mitzi Fontana had discovered anything that might help them locate the second piece of the sword.
‘Here she is,’ said Chase as a bright red Porsche Cayenne pulled up outside. Mitzi, wrapped in a puffy skiing jacket that matched the colour of her SUV and carrying a satchel, climbed out and waved at him before entering the coffee house.
‘Hi!’ she said brightly, greeting Nina and Mitchell before sitting next to Chase and kissing his cheek. ‘How was Syria?’
Chase shrugged. ‘Kind of boring, actually.’
‘Oh,’ she said, disappointed. ‘Did you find what you were looking for?’
‘Yes,’ Mitchell told her in a clipped tone that made it clear he wanted that line of discussion to end as quickly as possible. ‘But what about you, Mitzi? Did you have any luck?’
She smiled and opened her satchel, taking out several large sheets of paper. ‘I did, actually! It took a little while, but I persuaded someone in the local records office to help me.’
‘A man, by any chance?’ Chase asked casually, looking at a point several inches below Mitzi’s face. Her jacket was only half fastened, revealing her scoop-necked sweater - and her cleavage within it.
‘Actually, yes. How did you know?’
He shrugged. ‘Oh, just a hunch.’
‘What did you find?’ Nina asked Mitzi, jabbing Chase with her elbow.
She unfolded the papers, revealing them as photocopies of old architectural plans, all the text written in a heavy Gothic script. ‘These are plans of Staumberg Castle from their archives. I was hoping to find older ones, but these were all they had. They were made in 1946, when the castle was returned to the Staumberg family after the war.’
‘These are great,’ Nina assured her. From the plans, the castle appeared to be T-shaped, the foot extending into a courtyard surrounded by high walls. Three floors above ground, and what looked like two levels of cellars . . .
‘So what exactly are we looking for?’ Chase asked.
‘That’s something I did find out about,’ said Mitzi excitedly. ‘There’s a story that when the Germans shipped stolen treasure back through southern Europe, some of it ended up at the castle. The commandant was supposed to have secretly hidden it. But nobody ever found it after the war, and now the owner refuses to let anyone else look.’
‘Maybe he wants to look for it himself,’ mused Mitchell.
‘Or maybe he just doesn’t want treasure hunters smashing up his home,’ Chase countered. He put on a German accent. ‘“You vant to tear ze place apart looking for Nazi gold?
‘Did you manage to contact the owner, Mitzi?’ asked Nina.
‘I spoke to him, yes. Briefly. I talked mostly to his butler.’
‘He actually has a
‘His name’s Roland Staumberg, and he’s one of the owners of this resort. The castle’s been his family’s home for generations. He seemed very nice - he just didn’t want any visitors.’
Nina picked up another page of the plans. ‘Did you find out anything about him?’
‘A little. He’s well liked around here, but the man at the records office said he is very private. He’s apparently quite a sportsman, though. Skiing, of course, but he also goes snowmobiling, scuba-dives, races yachts—’
‘Diving?’ Nina asked.
‘Yes. Is that helpful?’
‘Maybe. He might at least talk to us, if we’re lucky. But that won’t get us anywhere unless we can convince him we know exactly what we’re looking for.’ She examined the plans again, turning the sheet in her hands so that it was aligned along the castle’s long axis. The layout of the rooms was a perfect mirror image . . .
