Hays Mews, London
The tasteful interior of the house Michael’s family owned in Westminster had become something else entirely. It was now a mess of broken furniture, overturned shelves, torn carpeting and dismantled cabinets.
‘It’s everything,’ Michael exclaimed, his shock increasing as he surveyed the wreckage. ‘They’ve destroyed everything.’
‘I’m afraid so, sir,’ a police officer answered, stepping over a broken lamp. ‘Every room, including the garage. There doesn’t appear to be anything the perpetrators didn’t touch.’ He attempted to offer a consoling look, failed in his effort, then walked away and resumed his duties.
Michael’s attention turned to the sofa, now bereft of its cushions with its backing slashed open. His mother had nursed him on that sofa; he remembered building forts from its pillows as a pre-teen. And earlier that morning, he had sat on it to console his wife at the loss of her cousin.
Emily stood in the corner of the room, unmoving. Her eyes took in the destruction through an expression that seemed to be looking past it.
A second official approached Michael’s side, this man a uniformed detective.
‘Truly sorry about all this, Mr Torrance,’ he said, rather pitifully. ‘I know it must be a shock. You’ve up-to-date insurance cover?’
‘Sure, of course.’ Michael barely registered the man’s questions.
‘At least that’s something. We can make a call into the assessors to help with the clean-up and claims filing, but it’ll have to wait. We’ve some complications to deal with.’
Michael’s attention coalesced on the word. ‘Complications?’
‘This is still a murder scene. The forensics team did most of its work this morning, but we’re going to have to treat this as an extension of the earlier crime.’
The detective stopped himself from going into too many details. ‘Any idea what an intruder or intruders might have been looking for, especially coming back a second time?’
Emily was suddenly at Michael’s side.
‘It could be anything,’ she said, a subtle glance commanding Michael’s silence. ‘There are plenty of valuables in here. Maybe something caught their eye during the night, and they came back to grab it.’
The detective reflected a moment, then politely nodded his head. ‘Again, my sympathies for all this, for both of you.’ He waited the obligatory moment, respectful, then stepped back into the disarray.
Emily grabbed Michael’s hand and drew him to the corner of the room. She spoke in a whisper, trying to keep their conversation unnoticed.
‘Do you believe me, now?’ She waved her hand over the scene before them. ‘Andrew’s dead, our home is in tatters. Like I told you before, Mike, they’re not going to stop looking for the second half of their map, or for the object it points to in Egypt.’
Michael’s attention was back on the wreckage of his family home. So many memories destroyed. So much security, stability, stolen away.
His wife was right. These men, whoever they were, were not going to stop searching for their keystone. But the fact that loomed in his mind at the moment was one that now felt far more threatening.
They weren’t going to stop looking for Emily, either.
It was suddenly possible that Emily’s plan to keep a step ahead of them wasn’t as crazy as it had sounded in the museum.
‘Yes,’ he finally said, turning to her. ‘I’m convinced. And one thing I’m sure about: I’d rather stay in front of these guys than meet up with them face-to-face on terms like these.’
Emily clenched his hand tightly.
‘But,’ Michael continued, ‘I’m not willing to go this route without some help.’
‘Who could possibly help us with something like this?’
Michael’s gaze showed a growing confidence, his hand already sliding into his jacket for his mobile phone. ‘There’s only one person I can think of.’