The Sacred Vault

Street.

A look back. The UN guards were stuck behind their own barrier, waving furiously for someone in the gatehouse to reopen it. He reached the far sidewalk and darted round the corner, ahead seeing—

The crowd. It was much bigger than before, the ranks of the paparazzi swollen by a legion of young women. Online rumours had spread that the object of their affection was in the hotel - and was neither alone nor with his girlfriend.

Eddie also saw an NYPD car parked across the street, a cop leaning against it keeping an eye on events, but he ignored her and pushed through the crowd to the doors. The doorman recognised him from earlier, and let him inside.

Zec was where he had left him - and a brief glance confirmed that Mac was too, standing as he saw Eddie. The Scotsman made his way to the doors, crossing in front of his friend - and passing him something while Zec’s view was momentarily blocked. Eddie slipped the object into his pocket and sat beside the mercenary as Mac left the hotel.

‘Do you have it?’ Zec asked.

Eddie opened the case. The Talonor Codex gleamed inside. With a slightly disbelieving look, Zec raised the cover to confirm that it was genuine. Scribed metal sheets were revealed within.

‘What?’ said Eddie. ‘Don’t look so fucking shocked, I told you I’d get it. Now . . .’ He closed the case and lifted it on to his knees - then pulled Mac’s revolver from his pocket. ‘A trade’s a trade. You get this; I get Nina. Sound fair?’

Zec didn’t appear surprised that Eddie had acquired a gun. ‘She is with Mr Khoil in his plane.’

‘And where’s his plane?’

‘A private airport, upstate.’

‘Then take me to it. We need to get moving - I attracted some attention at the UN. The quicker I’m out of here, the better.’

‘Give me the case,’ said Zec. Eddie stared at him coldly. ‘You still have the gun. But I take the case.’ After a moment, Eddie passed it to him. ‘Good. Now, let’s go.’

They both stood. Eddie pocketed the gun and started towards the exit, Zec following - just as a man and a woman emerged from an elevator across the lobby. Seeing them through the glass doors, the crowd outside responded with excited cries and camera flashes.

Grant Thorn was the man - and Macy Sharif was his companion, both of them dressed to party . . . with a slightly dishevelled look that suggested they had just come from a private event of their own. Another man hurriedly stood and joined them; a bodyguard, muscles bulging beneath his dark suit. He opened a door for the couple, holding up a hand to wave back Eddie and Zec. ‘Let ’em through, let ’em through, please.’ Annoyed, Zec tried to push past, but Eddie stopped in front of him.

The star and the student stepped out on to the street to be greeted by strobes, shrieks and shouted questions from paparazzi and fans alike. ‘Grant, Grant!’ one photographer called. ‘Who’s the babe?’

‘Where’s Jessica?’ another demanded.

‘Which one?’ asked the snapper next to him.

‘Any of ’em!’ He fired his camera in the couple’s faces. Grant blinked, and Macy flinched back. ‘She know about this, huh?’

‘Grant, over here!’ someone else yelled. ‘It’s me, Sally! I was at the premiere of Nitrous, remember? You said you liked my hair!’ Hands were thrust over the shoulders of the front row, more cameraphones flashing. The paparazzi exchanged irritated looks at having their pitch invaded by amateurs and tried to shove them back, arousing shrill complaints from the crowd.

‘Come on, let ’em through!’ the bodyguard growled. The hotel staff moved to part the crowd so they could reach the limo that had just arrived.

‘Fuck this for a game of soldiers,’ said Eddie impatiently. He went through the door and barged into the throng, elbowing a photographer out of his way. The man staggered and knocked over a young woman, who shrieked.

Her friends pushed back. The crowd became a scrum, arms and legs flailing. Eddie forced his way between them, Zec right behind. The heavy briefcase bashed against shins and thighs.

Grant and Macy reached the limo, the bodyguard and doormen pushing people back so its door could be opened. A ripple surged through the crowd, another fan tripping with a scream. A photographer stumbled over her to the pavement, glass cracking in his lens.

Eddie stopped, path blocked. Zec pushed up behind him - and a man fell against the Bosnian, almost knocking him over. The briefcase jolted in his hand as something bashed against it and dropped to the ground. He looked down sharply, but the handle was still firmly in his grasp as the man struggled to recover his own fallen case. Zec raised an arm to swat him away.

‘Hey, hey!’ yelled a woman before he could make the swing. ‘NYPD - everyone, move back!’

Eddie squeezed past the policewoman as she shouted more orders, reaching the edge of the crowd. Zec emerged behind him, angrily tugging the case free of the crush. ‘Jesus,’ Eddie said as the limo pulled away. ‘Who’d be fucking famous if you have to put up with that all the time?’

‘Who was that?’ Zec said.

‘Grant Thorn.’ He got a blank look in return. ‘The film star?’

Zec shook his head. ‘I don’t watch movies. No realism any more.’

‘You’re a fun guy, aren’t you? Okay, I hope you’ve got a car. I’m not paying for a bloody cab all the way upstate.’

15

The drive took over an hour, Zec at the wheel with Eddie beside him, gun in hand. The briefcase sat on the back seat, untouched by either man during the journey.

They reached a private airfield, where a security guard waved them through the gate. A jet waited on the runway, armed men standing nearby. Eddie steeled himself as Zec stopped beside the plane. He might be shot the moment the Bosnian turned over the briefcase . . .

‘Get out,’ said Zec. Eddie stepped into the cold wind blowing across the runway. The jet’s hatch was open; a figure appeared at the top of the steps. Pramesh Khoil.

The guns of the men around the car were all now aimed at Eddie. Shrugging, he pocketed the revolver and advanced as Zec retrieved the case. ‘All right, Khoil,’ he called, ‘where’s Nina?’

The Indian ignored him. ‘Do you have it?’ he shouted to Zec. The mercenary nodded, holding up the briefcase. ‘Bring it to me.’

Eddie reached the steps. ‘Hey! I asked you a question. Is Nina in there?’

Zec pushed past him. Khoil backed up to let him into the aircraft, then looked contemptuously down at Eddie. ‘No, Mr Chase, she is not. She is still in India, and now no longer necessary. Like you.’ He gestured to his men. They advanced on the Englishman.

‘Just a sec,’ Eddie said, covering a surge of cold fear with cockiness. Khoil, who had been about to retreat into the cabin, paused. ‘You might want to check your merchandise.’

Khoil whipped round to face Zec, expression accusing. ‘It’s in the case,’ the mercenary protested. ‘I looked before we left New York. It never left my sight.’

‘Open it now,’ Khoil ordered. ‘Open it!’

Zec set the briefcase down and flicked the catches. Khoil shoved him aside and yanked it open. He stared at the contents for a long moment . . . then ran down the stairs. ‘Where is it?’ he almost screeched.

‘No idea,’ Eddie replied, truthfully. ‘A mate of mine’s got it, and I told him to put it somewhere I didn’t know about. Just to be safe.’ His expression hardened. ‘So. Where’s Nina?’

The shocked Zec emerged from the cabin, holding the case’s contents: several dumbbell weights fastened together with duct tape. ‘I - I don’t understand,’ he told Khoil. ‘The Codex was inside! How did he do it?’

‘Doesn’t really matter now, does it?’ said Eddie. ‘But I thought you’d try something like this, and as soon as I heard the satellite delay when I was talking to Nina I knew I was right. So I wanted some insurance.’ He leaned closer to Khoil. ‘The deal still stands. I get my wife back, and you get your book. But fuck with me, and it’ll be