The Sacred Sword. Scott Mariani
a lot more. The way things had gone between them since the terrible argument in September, Ben didn’t know how Brooke would react to his surprise visit. All he knew was how badly he’d missed her these last few months.
When the ferry docked at Dover, Ben headed down to the car deck. While the other passengers climbed into their shiny new Vauxhalls and Nissans and Daewoos, he creaked open the door of the battered and ancient ex-military Series II Land Rover that the guys he worked with referred to as ‘Le Crock’, slung his bag on the worn-out passenger seat and drove out into the late afternoon drizzle.
Le Crock wasn’t the kind of vehicle you could spur along in too much of a hurry – and as he headed for London, Ben wondered if that might have been his unconscious motive for taking the old Landy: he wasn’t in any particular hurry to reach his destination. Twice he was seriously tempted to give it a miss, bypass London altogether and head northwest straight for Oxfordshire. The second time that thought occurred to him he very nearly gave in to the temptation – but by then he was already entering the outskirts of the city and Brooke’s place in Richmond was just a few more miles away.
‘Fuck it,’ he said to himself, ‘I’m here now. Let’s see it through.’
Chapter Three
The rain was threatening to turn to sleet by the time Ben pulled up across the street from the large red-brick Victorian house where Brooke lived. He killed the engine, and for a few seconds his thoughts turned to the whisky flask in his bag that he’d topped up with fifteen-year-old Islay malt before setting out from France. Instead he reached for his crumpled pack of Gauloises and his Zippo lighter. Anything to delay the moment where he’d have to walk up to the door of Brooke’s flat on the ground floor.
As he sat and smoked and watched the rainwater streaming down the window, he wondered again whether turning up like this unannounced was the right thing to do. And he thought back again to the events of three months ago that had left his personal life in such a mess.
Life had never turned out as quiet as he’d have liked it, but the previous September had been an eventful time even for him. It wasn’t every month that you got wrongly accused of murder, dragged into an intrigue involving Russian mobsters and harried across most of Europe by an army of police commanded by a particularly determined, ambitious female SOCA agent named Darcey Kane.
But narrowly avoiding being tortured to death, crushed in a car wreck, getting incarcerated in an Italian prison or pulverised by a Russian attack helicopter hadn’t been the worst things that had happened to Ben that month. None of them had remotely compared to the shock of seeing Brooke in the arms of another man.
Injured and on the run, Ben had been heading for Brooke’s secluded holiday place in the Portuguese countryside, thinking it would be empty and he could lie low there for a while and recuperate. He’d been wrong. Approaching the cottage in darkness, he’d been surprised to see a light in the downstairs window, and peeked through the shutters. The sight he’d witnessed had made him recoil. Brooke and the unknown man had been sitting by candlelight, drinking wine, both obviously fresh from the shower. There was only one possible conclusion to draw.
Ben had slipped away unseen. From Portugal he’d beaten a hazardous path to Italy, from there to Monaco, then Georgia and back to Rome. Along the way, he and Darcey Kane had joined forces to defeat the gangsters who were trying to kill them, and unmask a conspiracy at the heart of British Intelligence. One of the toughest parts of the job had been escaping the amorous clutches of the – he had to admit it – extremely attractive and alluring raven-haired Darcey. When it was all over and they’d ended up at a loose end together in Rome, she’d made it very clear to him that her idea of a weekend in the eternal city wasn’t about visiting the Sistine Chapel and the Colosseum. ‘I won’t give up, you know’ had been Darcey’s disappointed parting words to him as he headed back home to France. ‘I always get my man in the end.’
The first thing Ben had done on his return to Le Val had been to check the diary for Brooke’s next lecture. He’d made sure he wasn’t around when she arrived, and as a pretext to stay away for the two days of her visit he’d made up a story about needing to drive to Nantes to check out a new security system for the armoury room, and from there to Paris to see a prospective client. In reality, he was lying low in a hotel just a few miles away in Valognes. He was all too aware of how weak and pathetic he was acting, but he couldn’t help it. He’d sooner have faced a charging bull than get into a confrontation with Brooke.
Jeff Dekker, the former SBS commando who was Ben’s right-hand man at Le Val, had finally cracked under the strain of having to cover for him all the time, and called him on his mobile. ‘Jesus, Ben. What the hell is going on with you two? She’s upset and confused. First she comes back from holiday to find out that her boyfriend’s been arrested and chased all around Europe by the cops, now you’re avoiding her like she’s got leprosy. You can’t go on like this, mate.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
Brooke’s flight home from nearby Cherbourg back to London had been booked for 7.15 on the evening of her second day. Just after eight, feeling quite miserable and shamefaced, Ben had come skulking back to Le Val and headed for the farmhouse kitchen to pour himself a glass of wine. He’d been so preoccupied that he’d failed to sense anyone else’s presence in the room.
‘Were you just going to sneak around behind my back?’ Her voice sounded taut with emotion.
Ben almost dropped his glass. He whirled around.
Brooke got up from the chair in the corner where she’d been waiting for him. Her face was flushed almost as red as the auburn of her hair, and there was a glint of fury in her green eyes. ‘Aren’t you even going to tell me who she is, then?’
‘Who?’ Ben managed, totally confused.
Brooke snorted. ‘Who? Do you think I’m stupid? I’ve talked to her, Ben. She called here. You were off sneaking around trying to avoid me, so I happened to pick up the phone.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Really? “Lovely time together in Rome? Must do it again sometime?” Not ringing any bells?’
Ben stared blankly for a moment, then it hit him. ‘You mean Darcey Kane?’ The instant it came out, he knew how feeble it sounded.
Brooke’s eyes had misted over and a tear rolled down her cheek. ‘Of all the guys in the world, Ben Hope, I never would have thought you would do this to me. And you didn’t even have the guts to tell me to my face.’
‘Stop right there. This is insane.’
‘What were you doing in Rome?’
‘You know what I was doing in Rome. Trying to stay out of jail. You saw the news, didn’t you?’
‘I know you had a terrible time, and I’m sorry,’ Brooke snapped. ‘I mean, what were you doing with her?’
‘Nothing. Absolutely nothing.’
‘Then what’s she talking about?’
‘It’s a long story.’
‘I’ll bet.’
‘I can’t believe you’re accusing me of this,’ Ben said, and then added, ‘You, of all people.’
Now he was in trouble. He regretted it instantly.
Brooke glared at him. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
He was committed. Point of no return. ‘You know perfectly well. I saw you and your fancy-man in Portugal.’
‘My what?’ Brooke exploded.
‘You heard me.’
‘You went to my place?’
‘I needed somewhere to go. I didn’t think you’d be there. I saw you through the