The Sacred Vault

‘So do I. I don’t want that bastard to walk free any more than you do. But it might be the only way to recover all the stuff he stole.’

‘I suppose . . .’ she admitted reluctantly.

‘At least we don’t have to worry about him nicking the Codex any more.’ He looked round as Kit entered and gestured for him to follow. ‘Got to go - they’re about to start.’

‘Okay,’ said Nina. ‘See you soon. Love you.’

‘Love you too. Bye.’ He disconnected and followed Kit from the room. ‘Don’t suppose he’s cracked already, has he?’

The Indian shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. But our lawyers have come up with an offer, so we’ll see if he takes it.’ They reached the elevators, and rode up to the Interpol building’s seventh floor. A steel-barred security gate was opened for them once their identities had been confirmed by a guard, and they entered the interrogation area.

Kit led Eddie into a darkened room. A lanky female officer in her forties was checking a video camera. ‘Eddie, this is Renee Beauchamp,’ said Kit. ‘She’ll be conducting the interrogation with me.’

Eddie shook her hand. ‘Good cop, bad cop, eh?’

‘We are both good cops,’ she said with a small smile as she gave a folder to Kit. ‘This is the agreement - it’s as we discussed. All he has to do is sign it.’

‘What’re you offering him?’

‘In exchange for testifying against his employer, and providing all the stolen treasures are safely returned, he will get reduced charges and trial in only a single country - of his choosing. Since the Chinese have said he will get the death penalty for stealing the terracotta warriors, and the Saudis would almost certainly have him secretly executed to cover up the theft of the Black Stone, I think he will respond favourably.’

Eddie regarded the interrogation room’s occupant through the two-way mirror. Fernandez, though bruised and with his hands cuffed behind his back, didn’t seem worried. If anything, he appeared almost smug. ‘Find out in a minute, I suppose.’

Eddie sat and looked on as the two Interpol officers entered the interrogation room, uncuffing Fernandez before facing him across a table. The French woman spoke first, explaining the terms of the deal. Fernandez sat in silence until she finished, a smirk curling the corners of his mouth.

‘Thank you for that,’ he said at last, ‘but now, here is my offer. In return for total immunity from prosecution, signed by every country in which I am alleged’ - the smirk widened - ‘to have committed these crimes, and also being granted a new identity and witness protection in a country of my choosing, I will give you the name of those who I believe’ - he raised a finger theatrically - ‘are in possession of the missing treasures. Until I get that, I have nothing more to say.’

‘You seriously expect us to arrange full immunity?’ asked Kit.

‘As I said, I have nothing more to say.’ Both cops shot more questions at him, but his only response was a self-satisfied silence. After a few fruitless minutes, they gave up, handcuffing him back to the chair before returning to the observation room.

‘Well,’ said Kit, ‘that didn’t go as well as I hoped.’

Beauchamp sighed. ‘The arrogance of the man! How can he not see that this is his only chance?’

Kit regarded Fernandez through the mirror. ‘He must be very scared of his employer to make such big demands in return for giving him up.’

‘Are Interpol likely to meet them?’ asked Eddie.

‘It’s not really up to us. It depends how desperate the countries involved are to get back their national treasures. Even the Saudis might agree to his terms if they can recover the Black Stone without anyone knowing it was stolen.’

Eddie looked at the prisoner for a long moment. ‘I’ve got an idea,’ he said at last. ‘I’ll need to go in there, though. Alone.’

‘I am not sure that would be wise,’ said Beauchamp doubtfully.

‘I won’t lay a finger on him, if that’s what you’re worried about. Honest!’ He held up his hands. ‘I’ll just try a different angle. Something he might respond to better.’

Kit also appeared unconvinced. ‘It isn’t exactly standard procedure . . .’

‘It isn’t exactly a standard case, either. Come on, let me try. Worst that can happen is that he tells me to piss off.’

The two Interpol officers exchanged looks, then Kit nodded. ‘All right. But we’ll be watching from here.’

‘I’ll try not to block your view with all the blood on the glass. Kidding!’ Eddie added as he opened the door.

He went into the neighbouring room. Fernandez looked up at him with a flash of recognition, then concern.

‘Yeah, it’s me again,’ said Eddie with a cold grin. ‘Thought I’d pop in for a chat. Maybe finish what I started in San Francisco.’ He slapped a fist into his open palm, then sat facing the Spaniard across the table.

Fernandez glanced at the mirror. ‘Not quite standard Interpol procedure.’

‘I don’t work for Interpol.’

‘So who do you work for?’

‘Doesn’t really matter. What I’m interested in is, who do you work for? See, when someone tries to kill me and my wife, I take it personally. Not very professional, I know, but I’m an emotional sort of bloke. And you really don’t want me to be pissed off at you.’

‘Professional?’ said Fernandez, raising an eyebrow. ‘You’re not a cop, and you don’t seem the intelligence type, so . . . a mercenary?’

‘Ex. Settled down now.’

A faint smile. ‘You never really leave. However hard you try, if you are a natural fighter, you always get pulled back in. And I can tell you are a natural fighter. What is your name, by the way? I prefer to know who I am being threatened by.’

‘Chase. Eddie Chase.’

Another flick of an eyebrow, this time at a memory. ‘Chase . . . Algeria, yes? About seven years ago? You blew up the warehouse of Fekkesh, the arms dealer.’

‘Might have done.’

‘And Fekkesh himself did not fare much better. I heard that he lost his—’

‘I’m not here to talk about me,’ Eddie interrupted sharply, deciding Interpol didn’t need to hear the details of a mission that, while justified, had not been entirely legal. ‘Let’s talk about you. And your dead mates. Especially Gennadi Sklar. Used to work out of Zimbabwe, didn’t he?’

The tiniest twitch of Fernandez’s eyes revealed his unease that Eddie knew the background of his late associate. ‘He worked from many places,’ he said dismissively, trying to cover the fact. ‘It is part of the job, as you know.’

‘But he mostly worked from Zimbabwe. Which means he would have been getting jobs through Strutter. Been a while since I’ve seen him, but I’m sure he’d remember me. Now, I don’t like Harare, it’s a shithole, and Strutter’s a scumbag, but if I had a couple of drinks with him I bet I could catch up on the grapevine very quickly. Who’s where, doing what . . . and for who.’

Fernandez’s discomfort was now far more evident. ‘Everybody knows something,’ Eddie pressed on, ‘and they’ll tell me stuff that a cop’d never find out. I might have been out of it for a while, but I’m still part of that world - and it’s a small world. Lots of little bits of information floating about . . . all I’ve got to do is put them together, and I’ll know who hired you.’

‘Nobody will ever tell you that,’ Fernandez insisted, but perspiration had started to bead on his thin moustache.

‘I dunno, I can be pretty persuasive.’ He leaned forward, gaze hard. ‘If I find out who your boss is, then any deal Interpol’s offering you goes straight out of the window. They won’t need you any more. And then you, mate, will be fucked. You want to go on trial in China? Or Saudi Arabia? Hell, you killed two cops in California - they’ve still got the death penalty there.’ He stood. ‘If I were you, I’d think about it. But do it quick. I’ve got a plane to catch.’

He left, returning to the observation room. The two investigators were waiting for him, both seeming