The Heretic’s Treasure

He didn’t reply.

She smiled. ‘Thought so. The way you changed. Like a switch. You seemed so happy before, then the minute you got that call you started acting troubled, not saying much, drinking.’

‘Sounds like a good idea. Want a drink?’

‘Sure, I’ll go down and fetch the bottle.’

‘No need.’ He kicked his legs off the bed, stood up, and went over to the wardrobe dressed only in a pair of black boxer shorts. She watched him cross the room. He opened the wardrobe door, reached up to the top shelf and brought down a bottle of whisky and a glass. ‘Only one glass,’ he said, carrying them back to the bed.

‘I don’t mind sharing. You go first. You look like you need it more than I do.’

He didn’t argue with her. Sitting back down on the bed, he filled the glass halfway and took a long gulp before handing it across to her.

‘Cheers.’ She drank and passed it back to him. ‘Nice. I like a man who keeps a bottle of good malt in his wardrobe.’

He knocked back more whisky.

‘You going to be OK now?’ she asked him.

He chuckled. ‘I’m not a kid, you know.’

She touched his arm lightly. ‘I can see something’s wrong.’

‘I’ll be OK.’

She nodded, stood up hesitantly, stepped towards the door and paused with her hand on the handle. ‘Sure?’

‘Sure. Thanks, Brooke.’

‘See you in the morning, then.’

Ben shook his head. ‘I’ll be gone before you wake up. I have to be somewhere.’

She frowned. ‘I thought you were going to be here tomorrow.’

‘Not any more. Jeff will look after you.’

‘It’s the phone call, isn’t it? Something’s up.’

He nodded, but didn’t elaborate.

‘So where on earth are you disappearing off to all of a sudden?’

‘Italy.’

She looked surprised. ‘What’s in Italy?’

‘Colonel Harry Paxton.’

‘Colonel Harry Paxton,’ she echoed. ‘I’m guessing that’s the person who called earlier?’

Ben nodded.

‘And? What am I supposed to do, guess the rest?’

‘And he’s got a problem. He needs me to go to him, and that’s what I’m going to do.’

‘What kind of problem?’

‘He didn’t say.’

And he expects you to drop everything and go all the way to Italy? He couldn’t just have told you on the phone? Just who is this guy?’

Ben finished the whisky and was quiet for a moment.

Then he said, ‘He’s the man who saved my life.’

Chapter Five (#ulink_eefb8fd7-983b-5fb6-8342-b33bb6aee135)

San Remo, Italian Riviera Next morning

By 9 a.m. Ben’s plane had touched down at the Côte d’Azur International Airport outside Nice. He threw his worn old green military canvas bag into the back of the first taxi he saw, and less than an hour later the driver was dropping him off in the middle of the coastal town of San Remo, just across the Italian border.

He quickly found a hotel off a bustling square in La Pigna, the old part of the town, and booked a room for a single night. He guessed that would be long enough.

The hotel was pleasantly cool inside, with marble floors that echoed every footstep. Any other day, he might have stopped to appreciate the simple beauty of the old building, or taken in the spectacular view across the rooftops of the rambling city, the clusters of church spires, the hazy Alpine skyline on one horizon and the glittering blue Mediterranean seascape on the other.

But today his mind was elsewhere. He dumped his bag on the bed and headed downstairs, back through the lobby and out into the busy piazza. The sun was warm in the clear blue sky, and even the lightweight cotton jacket he was wearing was too heavy. He took it off and carried it over his arm.

The rendezvous point Paxton had given him was Porto Vecchio, one of San Remo’s two ports. The colonel had been precise. A motor launch was to pick Ben up at the westernmost jetty at 12 p.m., and would take him out to sea for the meeting on board Paxton’s yacht.

That part hadn’t come as a great surprise to Ben. He could remember how his old colonel had always talked a lot about sailing. In his downtime he would invariably be heading for some sunny port. Had he owned a yacht back then? Ben didn’t recall, and it suddenly struck him that he’d no idea what Paxton had been doing in the ten years since quitting the army.

It had been soon after his bravery award, when an already glittering military career had reached its highest peak of glory, that he’d suddenly and unexpectedly announced he was retiring. Ben had missed him, and had regretted that he hadn’t kept in touch.

He’d regretted it even more when he’d heard that Helen Paxton, Harry’s wife of many years, had died suddenly of a heart attack. He’d met her only briefly, years ago at some regimental function, but he could see how happy she and Paxton were together. Ben had been in the middle of a difficult assignment in South America when she’d passed away, and by the time he’d heard the news several months had gone by and it had seemed inappropriate to call Paxton out of the blue with commiserations. He’d let it go. That had upset him.

He might have lost touch with Harry Paxton, but he’d never forgotten-could never forget until his dying day-what the man had done for him. Ben had seen a lot in his life, and he generally had few illusions about human behaviour. He didn’t use the term ‘hero’ easily. But Harry Paxton was one man who deserved it. About that, there was no doubt in Ben’s mind.

And now he was going to meet him again, just like that. He wondered whether Harry would have changed much, and what he’d been doing all this time. But, more than anything else, he was wondering what this was all about.

His watch read just after eleven. He used the map he’d bought at the airport to orientate himself, and started walking west, towards the sea.

Beyond the crumbling stone archways and huddled buildings of the old part of town, San Remo had the buzz of any Italian tourist resort beginning to wake up at the start of another hot, crazy, hectic season. Ben made his way through the maze of streets, pausing here and there to check the street signs. He was deep in thought as he walked, feeling impatient and frustrated and wishing Paxton had told him more on the phone. Brooke had been right-it was strange that he’d been so evasive. Strange and worrying. He’d sounded downcast, nervous, distressed. Unless the years had done something dramatic to the man, Harry Paxton wasn’t someone too easily fazed.

Which meant that, whatever this meeting was about, it was something very serious.

Ben could tell from the tang of salt in the air that he was nearing the sea. Then, emerging from a winding little street, he found himself looking out across the harbour, the long curve of beach and the calm, glassy blue of the Mediterranean.