As Jake heard Gemma’s laughter, he knew Morgan’s heart would be breaking. Her niece was precious, and keeping Gemma safe and away from the danger of their missions was paramount. He didn’t have any family left, at least not blood relatives. His father, mother and two sisters were butchered by a drug-fueled gang in South Africa many years ago and although he still thought of his family, the detail of their faces had faded along with the photograph he kept in his wallet. Morgan would never ask him for this sacrifice, but he would make sure that Gemma returned safely home tonight.
“I’m coming out,” Jake called from behind the wall of the chapel.
He clenched his fists in anticipation of the inevitable violence ahead, but part of him relished the opportunity to face those behind the theft of the relics. The jeweler had been their only lead, but they really wanted the people he worked for. If Jake went with these men, he had no doubt that Morgan would be close behind.
He trusted his ARKANE partner — more than that; they shared a bond that went beyond work. They both knew it, but their feelings remained unspoken for the sake of the job and, perhaps, to prevent the pain of inevitable loss. ARKANE agents didn’t have a long life expectancy, and they had both lost people they loved.
Jake raised his hands to shoulder height, palms forward, and stepped out into the ambulatory.
The leader of the relic thieves turned, his expression masked by the balaclava, but his posture shifted to one of readiness. The men beside him pointed their weapons at Jake, although he was more than outnumbered. It would be suicide to try and disarm them, even with Morgan’s help.
Jake walked slowly to the front of the shrine, hands still raised in surrender. “You’ll leave the girl alone?”
The leader nodded and spoke a few words in what could have been Albanian, or possibly Bulgarian, before putting the phone back in his jacket. “It is done. Now we go.”
He gestured to the other men. They surrounded Jake and marched him double time down the nave. As the sound of police sirens grew louder outside, the leader followed at a jog, the padded box with the bones of the Magi safely in his pack.
Morgan stepped out from the chapel and watched them head toward the main door. She understood her partner and could almost imagine Jake’s thoughts as the men marched him away. He knew she would follow. Jake had put himself at the mercy of violent men for the sake of her family, and she would not stop until he was safe again.
A sudden break in the clouds and a beam of sunlight lanced in through the stained glass windows high above, catching the group of men at the door. For a moment, it looked as if Jake walked through a halo into the world beyond.
Morgan’s breath caught as a sense of foreboding rose within her. They had always found each other before, but what if their luck ran out this time?
A cry escaped her lips. “Jake, no!”
He turned back to face her with a calm smile, even as the men with guns at the ready surrounded him. Morgan couldn’t do a thing as one man put a hood over Jake’s head and pulled him roughly out the door, followed closely by the leader holding the relic box.
The last soldier fired his automatic weapon into the nave, a spray of bullets thudding into the pews.
Morgan ducked behind the chapel wall, her back against the stone, her mind reeling as she considered her next step.
A door slammed. Gunfire came from outside, then the screech of vehicles pulling away.
The bones of the Magi were gone — and so was Jake.
As the police entered the cathedral to process the incident, Morgan slipped away through the sacristy and chapter house to the public square beyond. She couldn’t be caught up in the red tape of a criminal investigation when every minute counted in tracking Jake.
The rain intensified as Morgan walked away into the maze of city streets. She pulled out her phone as soon as she was out of sight of the plaza, called Martin, and quickly explained the situation.
“You need to get on the German CCTV cameras and track those men out of here.”
Morgan heard the tapping of his fingers even before she finished speaking. She held the phone like a lifeline as she waited, every second stretching out for too long. She was desperate to move, to jump in a taxi and follow, but there was no point acting too soon.
“The men left in two cars and headed in different directions,” Martin said. “Jake’s in one, the guy with the box is in the other.”
“Follow Jake.” Morgan’s response was immediate. The dead bones could wait.
“The car headed south west… it’s pulling into Hiroshima-Nagasaki Park just minutes from you… there’s a helicopter. It’s touching down in the park.”
Morgan bit her lip as a heaviness descended upon her. There was no way she could prevent them from taking Jake now. Martin could track the helicopter, but they would be well ahead of her and could land pretty much anywhere in Europe. She didn’t know why they wanted him, but it certainly wasn’t for tea and cake.
“Follow the helicopter. What about the other car, the one with the bones?” And the leader of the group, who Morgan would dearly like to spend some quality time with.
More tapping.
“The helicopter carrying Jake is in the air. I’ve tagged it so we’ll know when it lands. The other car went northeast… Looks like they’re heading for a private airport, Flugplatz Leverkusen. I’ll monitor departing flights. We’ll find him, Morgan. By the time you get to the airport, I’ll have more of an idea which direction to go and I’ll have transport waiting.”
Morgan leaned back against the stone wall and turned her face up to the rain. The cold numbed her skin and trickled down into her jacket. She thought of Jake, hooded and bound, perhaps already beaten.
“Hold on,” she whispered. “I’m coming for you.”
Jake slowly emerged from a fog of whatever drug they’d injected him with, his head thumping, his limbs leaden. He lay on his back on a cold floor, hands and feet bound, hood still over his head. He tried to roll, but his feet were anchored to something, and as he drew his knees up a little, he heard a metal clank of chain.
He breathed in, sucking the hood against his mouth for a moment. It tasted of sweat and still held the stink of helicopter fuel. But it was loose enough, so they clearly wanted him alive. He also hadn’t been beaten, which was a nice surprise. But what was the fun of torturing an unconscious subject? He rather thought they were saving it for when he was awake.
Which meant the time was ticking closer.
He could only hope that Morgan made it before whoever it was did some serious damage.
Jake tuned in his other senses. It was quiet, as if the world was on mute. Either he was a long way from civilization or he was deep underground. The air was stagnant. There was no window, no crack in the stone for a fresh breeze to sweep the miasma away. It smelled of earth and wet stone and underneath, something metallic. Not just the metal restraints, but a hint of old blood and the marrow from broken bones.
The sound of footsteps came from above and drew closer down stone steps.
The door creaked a little and something metal scraped on the flagstones. Jake’s heart raced as he prepared to meet his captor, clenching his fingers and toes rhythmically to get his blood moving. If he had any chance to move, he would take it.
The click of a switch.
Light flooded the hood, and Jake screwed his eyes shut against the sudden glare. He sensed someone moving closer, and he readied himself to act, rehearsing a jack-knife and a head-butt in his mind that would leave his captor reeling.
A metal clank and the tension on his handcuffs changed. Whoever it was had attached something to his restraints.
The sound of hydraulics and his hands began to rise. The machine pulled him to a sitting position and then continued upward. With his feet still fastened to some kind of chain on the ground, Jake couldn’t move.
He didn’t fight it, saving his energy for when he might have a glimmer of hope of escaping. As his arms were tugged above his head, Jake went with the movement until he stood, arms attached above him, feet shackled below.
The noise of the hydraulic pump stopped and in the quiet, Jake could hear the breathing of the person in the room with him. He was determined not to speak first, and he would stall as much as he could. Every second of delay gave Morgan more time to find him. He knew she would come. The only question was whether he would still be alive by the time she made it.
The hydraulics pulsed again and pulled his arms even higher until he arched back, his toes just off the floor, suspended between his restraints. Any hope of head-butting his captor was gone. This was a well-practiced routine, and Jake wondered how many people had died here before him.
He breathed in and then exhaled, slowly relaxing his muscles, calming his racing heart.
The hood was snatched off his head in one movement, and Jake blinked in the bright glare. A man stood in front of him, silhouetted against two bright floodlights, the kind that photographers used to illuminate a subject.
As Jake’s eyes adjusted, he saw it was the jeweler, Henry Palarae. Clearly, there was a darker side to the artisan’s creativity.
He could see his surroundings more clearly now: a stone basement with thick walls and no windows. There were many such places in the heart of medieval cities, tunnels deep below the earth, perfect for storage or hiding places — or violent acts committed away from prying eyes.
Palarae remained silent as he assessed Jake’s body, tilting his head to one side as he circled his victim, staying well back. The jeweler was clearly no fool. Without these restraints, Jake knew he would be out of here in no time. Whatever drugs they’d given him had worn off and, in fact, his senses seemed heightened.
The jeweler walked behind one light and emerged holding a large pair of fabric shears, the silver blades flashing as he snipped at the air.
He nudged the hydraulics once more to make sure his victim could not move, then stepped close. He pulled Jake’s shirt out of his jeans and used the shears to cut the material away, exposing his muscled chest, and then chopped the sleeves until the fabric fell to the stone beneath. Jake shivered as the cold metal blades brushed his chest and the underside of his arm.
Once Palarae had removed the shirt, the jeweler reached out one hand and traced the musculature of Jake’s pectoral muscles. A flicker of a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth, but there was nothing sexual in the man’s touch. It was more like an anatomist’s appreciation for a physical specimen.
Palarae continued cutting until Jake stood only in a pair of boxer shorts, then the jeweler stood back, shears in hand as he examined his subject. After a moment, he nodded to himself and nudged the hydraulics until Jake’s feet touched the ground. His arms continued to descend until he sagged a little against the restraints. It would easily take his weight if he collapsed under whatever tortures came next.
The jeweler emerged once more from behind the light and Jake’s breath caught as he saw the weapon that Palarae held in his hands.