The Last Second (A Brit in the FBI #6)(9)

Mike said, “What about you, Kitsune?”

The breeze was tousling Kitsune’s black hair around her face. Her eyes were lighter and bluer than the sky. She looked relaxed and happy. Amazing, Mike thought, to think this elegant Madonna could turn into a tiger in an instant, a very deadly tiger. She said, “Actually, like Grant, I’m about to leave on an assignment as well. No, forget it, I’m not about to tell you what I’m going to do or where I’m going to be. Actually, I have to be completely off the grid for the next two weeks. I don’t like it, but no choice.”

Grant took her hand in his. “I’m not particularly thrilled about that last part.”

Nicholas knew if anyone could take care of herself, it was Kitsune. She was wily as her namesake, a fox. He asked, “How about one small hint, Kitsune?”

Her grin was cocky. “You mentioned Rembrandt, didn’t you?”

“Which one?” Mike asked, sitting forward. “Where?”

Kitsune threw back her head and laughed. “No more. Now, if you two would like, since we’re both leaving, you could postpone Rome and stay here. Finish convalescing, Mike, and wallow in the lovely water in the cove right below us. You and Nicholas could keep celebrating your anniversary.”

Nicholas finished the last bite of his lobster. “That’s very kind, but we’re expected at the Hassler in Rome this evening. I can’t wait to show Mike around.”

Grant said, “What do you want to see, Mike?”

“Everything. Full-on tourist mode for me—the Pantheon, the Colosseum, the Vatican, you name it, I’m game. Oh, Grant, I noticed your fitness tracker. I’ve been thinking it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get one, especially considering how lazy I’ve been. I need to ramp up my exercise again, and I love accountability. What do you think of it?”

“I’m with you, I like accountability, too. This baby measures all sorts of information, from steps to weight to heartbeat. This is a new version, costs less than a hundred dollars and even tells you the time and where you are on the planet.”

He took it off and handed it to her. She said, “I want one in blue. Hey, Nicholas, do you think we could find me one in Rome? I could get you one in macho black like Grant’s for our anniversary, instead of flowers. What do you think? Hey, what are you doing?”

Nicholas said, without looking up, “Checking out where we can find a fitness tracker like Grant’s in Rome. Ah, here we go. Now, Mike, we need to leave. I want to get to Rome before sundown.”

At the door, Kitsune hugged Mike and whispered against her ear, “Don’t worry, it’s not a Rembrandt, it’s something far more exciting, more esoteric, if you will. Ah, can’t you see me flirting in Russian? You can stay in touch with Grant, and I’ll be back here in two weeks. I hope.”

Mike called out as she climbed aboard behind Nicholas on their rented motorcycle, “Grant, be careful with all those pirates in Malaysia.”





CHAPTER FIVE


T-MINUS 110 HOURS

The Flor de la Mar or Flor do Mar (Flower of the Sea) was a Portuguese carrack of 400 tons that sailed the seas during the early 1500s. This ship was carrying a great amount of treasure when it sank somewhere off the coast of Sumatra, possibly at the northern end of the Strait of Malacca, during its voyage back to Portugal. . . . Whilst some have claimed that the ship has been found, these have not been supported with irrefutable evidence. Thus, the wreck of the Flor de la Mar, along with the treasure it was transporting, is still considered to be lost.

—Ancient-origins.net

The Griffon

Strait of Malacca

Off the Coast of Sumatra

Jean-Pierre Broussard stood at his desk holding the fragile piece of paper that had brought him here, a portion of a letter from the captain of the Flor de la Mar, Afonso de Albuquerque, to his son, detailing the doomed voyage. It was dated two weeks after the captain was rescued from these very waters back in 1511.

Jean-Pierre knew that nearly all the four hundred crew aboard the ship had died, but Albuquerque had gotten away and, miracle of miracles, now a portion of the letter was in Jean-Pierre’s keeping. He held the creased paper carefully, so worn and fragile it now was. It wasn’t an officially known letter, but one Jean-Pierre had discovered, translated, and kept to himself, knowing what it could mean to him, to Emilie. Surely the fates could not be so unjust as to give him the letter and not lead him to the ship.

As always when he read the words, he felt a leap of hope.

As sorry as I am to see the Flor de la Mar lost, I will be forever happy to have left behind the accursed black stone, which is clearly not of this world. It was bad luck from the start.

The black stone Albuquerque spoke of was the Heaven Stone—more commonly called the Holy Grail—he knew it to his soul. Why had Albuquerque considered the stone bad luck? Why hadn’t he realized what immense good fortune he’d found or been given? If only he’d realized what he had, he never would have been so cavalier about leaving it behind when he managed to escape from his sinking ship.

Soon, soon, he would find it. He had to find it. Time was running out for Emilie. He closed his eyes a moment in prayer, a daily ritual, and he saw Emilie three years ago, at eighteen, just after she’d been diagnosed. And it was for Emilie, beautiful, innocent Emilie, the daughter of his heart. No one was more worthy than she. He would have freely given everything he owned if it would help her, but nothing could help, no drug, no medicine, no operation. Only the Holy Grail. And it was on that day he knew he had to find the Grail, it was simply the most important thing in his life, now or ever. He had to find it, bring it to her, and she would be well. There was no more worthy an individual than his precious daughter. Then he saw her as she’d been a month ago, lying on her back in bed, her beautiful black hair spread around her head on the white pillowcase, her nurse sitting beside her. Her legs were now too weak for her to walk, and she had little strength left in her arms. It wouldn’t be much longer, the doctor had told him, and lowered his head in sympathy. Jean-Pierre had held Emilie close, kissed her temple. “Mon petit chou, I am still looking for your gift from God and I swear to you I will find it and it will cure you. You must be strong. You will live, you will be healthy, I swear it to you.”