Free The Camelot Code by Sam Christer Page A

third beep.
    ‘Stop!’ Owain pulls off his mask in despair. ‘You are still too good for me.’ He sounds breathless. ‘I can’t be humiliated any more.’
    ‘Then use your right arm,
mon cher ami
.’
    ‘If I do, then my left will never learn to be an equal.’
    Lance lifts his forearm to wipe sweat from his brow. ‘Your right is so good, your left will never need to hold steel.’
    Owain puts his arm around his friend and leads him back to the house, where breakfast is being prepared. ‘Did you hear anything further about last night’s activities in New York?’
    ‘Yes. We got intelligence around four this morning. Two captive. The Americans will interrogate them later today. One of the others, the bomb-maker and Antun escaped when CTU stormed the building.’
    ‘Antun is a good man. Is he injured?’
    ‘No, not at all and he thinks his credibility is good enough for him to stay in.’
    ‘That’s dangerous. Very dangerous.’
    ‘Isn’t everything that we do?’
    ‘Al-Qaeda is depleted in people, not in thought. Make sure he does not underestimate them.’
    ‘I will.’
    Lance raises his sword. ‘Would you like to try your luck one final time?’
    A glint comes into Owain’s eyes. ‘I would. But not with these knitting needles. I have broadswords and body armour. How about a brief session with those, before breakfast?’
    The Frenchman’s eyes twinkle. ‘I thought you would never ask.’
    They walk back, talking of their shared passion, of ancient swords and historic battles. Owain glances towards the old gatehouse. The black Jaguar has left. Myrddin has already gone.

30
     
WASHINGTON DC
     
    Irish briefs Mitzi over their airport breakfast.
    He tells her in detail about the two deaths, the witnesses who’ve been interviewed, what few forensic clues they have and the footage of the Cadillac Escalade hybrid and its tag-team chum, the Lincoln.
    When they’re done, he rolls her bag to the car and drops it in the Ford’s trunk.
    She climbs in the passenger side and lets out a yell. ‘Holy Christ, what a mess!’
    The footwell is filled with trash.
    ‘What you got down here, apart from dysentery and Ebola?’ She looks closer. ‘Old cans of soda. Screwed-up bags and wrappers from Subway and McDonald’s. A newspaper or ten.’
    ‘I like to read.’
    ‘I’ll buy you a book on hygiene.’
    ‘Not many people get in that side.’
    ‘I can see why. Where did you say we’re going first, embassy or to see the store girl?’
    ‘Embassy. It’s more important.’ He looks her way. ‘Outta interest, how did you end up in this weird FBI squad?’
    ‘I worked a case related to the Turin Shroud. You know what that is?’
    ‘Course. I was brought up Catholic. Used to be an altar boy. What d’ya reckon – is it fake or for real?’
    Mitzi laughs. ‘That’s a long story. Anyway, after dealing with a lifetime’s worth of history, religion, politics and tricky Italians we got a result. I used it for a wage hike and a ticket out of town.’
    ‘You like the new job?’
    ‘Too early to say. So far, it beats the hell out of chasing gangs across Compton and Linwood.’ She checks her watch. ‘I’ve got a researcher showing a picture of your cross to history professors and theologians this morning. Give her another hour or so and I’ll call in.’
    ‘I pray she strikes lucky.’
    ‘You not picked up any more?’
    ‘Only that it was worth a lot of money. Amir, the old man I told you about, was scraping together every dime he had and borrowing more to buy it.’
    ‘Looks like your bosses made the smart move calling us in then.’
    ‘Ha.’ He shakes his head despondently.
    ‘Ha? What does
“ha”
mean?’
    ‘Means my bosses don’t really approve of you being here. I made the request without asking them.’
    Mitzi raises an eyebrow. ‘Do you like having your ass kicked?’
    ‘It’s a tough old ass and it’s been kicked so much I don’t feel the pain no more.’
    They pull up at the main