The Last Second (A Brit in the FBI #6)(14)

Nevaeh’s secretary knocked on her door, making the women jerk apart. They were always so careful in public, no slips allowed. Nevaeh knew there were rumors, but she didn’t care. Still, no sense flaunting her relationship with Kiera at work. She called out, “Come in, Alys.”

Alys was young, twenty-five, with a penchant for black leather jackets and a French boyfriend who was handsome as sin and picked her up from work every day on his motorcycle. Nevaeh watched them from the window sometimes, Alys kissing him deeply on the mouth and clinging to his back as he roared away, her ponytail streaming from under her helmet. They seemed happy, and Alys was never a slacker. She was smart, detailed, always diligent, never missing work or coming up with excuses for days off.

“Dr. Patel? Is now a good time? I have the launch schedule. You said you wanted to be at the spaceport in time to oversee the engine test.”

Nevaeh said smoothly, “Alys, I’ve received a call from the Quints manufacturing facility in China. They have discovered the issue with the metal used to make the fairing, as we suspected. I must meet with them and approve a new assembly. I will be at the spaceport Wednesday.”

“I will tell them not to expect you until then, Dr. Patel.”

“Excellent, Alys.” She smiled at her secretary, took the papers, and grabbed her bag. “I need to get moving, so much to do.”

“The plane is ready for you.”

“Oh, did I not mention I won’t need the plane? Quints sent theirs. It’s the least they can do if I have to go to them in person. I’ll have them fly me to the spaceport once we’re finished with our meetings.”

Alys said, “Very well. I’ll tell the pilots to stand down.”

She’d accepted the lie without blinking. No way she could know, Nevaeh was always so careful, but something about Alys’s smooth, perfectly blank face—no, she was being paranoid. Alys didn’t have the chops for betrayal.

“Thank you, Alys. That is all.”

With a nod, Alys withdrew.

One of Kiera’s eyebrows shot up. “Quints? Is that what you told the board?”

“I did, and they believed me. We needed a cover, now we have one. I’ve bought us time. No one will miss us until it’s too late.”





CHAPTER EIGHT


The Holy Grail is a vessel that serves as an important motif in Arthurian Legend. Different traditions describe it as a cup, dish or stone with miraculous powers that provide happiness, eternal youth or sustenance in infinite abundance. The term “holy grail” is often used to denote an object or goal that is sought after for its great significance.

—Wikipedia

The Griffon

Strait of Malacca

Off the Coast of Sumatra

Jean-Pierre stood on the marine deck with his feet braced shoulder-width apart and his arms crossed, his heart pounding, hoping, praying as he’d never before prayed in his life, trying to contain his excitement. He’d retrofitted this entire lower deck, a fifty-foot square, to be the salvage and recovery area for his dives. And now he was watching the retractable crane, its huge winch turning with a metallic groan, pulling a thick steel cable from the water. Would the cable hold? It was as if there was a monstrous fish on the other end of the line. The ballast at the bow of the yacht 350 feet away kept the boat steady, but Jean-Pierre could feel the stern list slightly toward the sea. Whatever they were bringing up was very heavy, as Cesar had said.

The winch suddenly caught with a metallic twang, and Cesar shouted, “Stand back, stand back.” He spoke into a walkie-talkie, “Try again. Go slower this time. Finesse it, lads.”

The winch groaned with effort, and the massive yacht swayed a bit, but the coil of metal rolled onto the cylinder, slowly, slowly. The surface of the water grew dark and broke.

A huge sphere rose from the depths. It was large enough for a man to step inside, black, made of what indeed seemed to be iron, just as Cesar had believed, rusted to the point of looking like snakeskin, flakes falling in the water drops onto The Griffon’s deck. The crane’s arm swung with a great metallic screech, and the sphere was guided into place between a quickly assembled set of bolted-down sawhorses.

Jean-Pierre walked slowly to the huge container that looked like an elongated ball. He gently ran his hand over the metal. Yes, it was iron. Very curious. He estimated the sphere to be ten feet high, perhaps eight feet wide, its surface pocked and scarred. He gave it a slight push. Nothing. It had to weigh a ton. Where had it come from? Who had built it? And why? Why in heaven’s name would the Holy Grail be inside?

Cesar said, “Do you want us to document everything first? Even though it might not be the Holy Grail, it’s an amazing find and we can get it all on camera. We might be making history here, boss. We can upload this and the world can watch with us as we discover what’s inside the sphere.”

Broussard immediately shook his head. “As you said, we’re not certain the Holy Grail is inside, but if it is, the last thing we want to do is announce it to the world. Remember the pirates. I don’t want to take any chances with its safety. No, we will keep it quiet, only amongst ourselves, all right?”

A team member came running up. “Sir, we can’t go live even if we wanted to. Something is interfering with the signal. Our Wi-Fi is down, ship-wide.”

Jean-Pierre said, “Is it possible the stone has its own electromagnetic field? Incredible.”