The Extraordinary Adventures of Alfred Kropp (31 page)

I stepped over the escort, opened the door, looked both ways before going into the hall, and closed the door behind me.

I took the back stairs to the main floor, praying there was a back door to the place. The Sword pooched out of the cloak on the left side, and its shape was kind of obvious.

The stairs ended just to the right of a glass door that opened onto the parking lot. I slipped outside and walked around, looking for the escort's wheels. There was a black Lamborghini Murciélago parked in the handicapped space right by the door. I knew it was the right car before I even tried the key. These guys liked their cars.

I couldn't sit with both swords jutting out, so I pulled them from my belt and laid both in the small backseat, throwing the gray cloak over them. I cruised the lot once before leaving, to see if any spooks or other black robes were hanging around, but saw nothing suspicious.

I had no idea where Tintagel was, so I pulled into the first gas station I saw, though apparently it isn't called gas in England; it's called petrol. The clerk gave me a funny look when I walked through the door in my gray cloak with the dragon-shaped pin.

“And what are you supposed to be?” he asked.

“The heir to Lancelot, the greatest knight who ever lived.”

One of his eyebrows went up and I said, “Yeah, it's a stretch. I've been having a heck of a time with it.”

“If you're Lancelot, I'd hate to see Guinevere.”

“I didn't say I
was
Lancelot. I'm
descended
from Lancelot.”

“Oh, right. And I'm the Queen of bloody Sheba.”

I told the clerk I needed a map of England and asked him where Tintagel was.

“Tintagel? That's in Cornwall.”

“About how far is it?”

“Around two hundred miles.”

He spread the map open on the counter and showed me where Tintagel was, on the southwest coast.

“Now here is Tintagel Head,” he said, pointing out a spot on the map right by the Atlantic Ocean. “Lots of Yanks go there. Spectacular view, sits on a cliff with a three-hundred-foot drop to the sea.”

“Is there a castle there?”

“Some ruins, yes. Not much to look at. King Arthur's castle is the legend, but you know that already, of course, being the descendent of Lancelot. Did you know he wasn't British? He was French.”

“Was he? Well . . .
très magnifique
. Nothing but ruins there, you said?”

“Above, yes. Now, in the cliffs directly below is a cave they say was the sanctuary of Merlin, the king's wizard. Some say when the tide is out and the wind begins to blow from the sea, you can hear the ghost of Merlin wailing for the kingdom that was lost—if you believe such things.”

“Oh,” I said. “You bet I do, mister.”

“Of course, sir knight,” he said. “You would.”

46

So I drove to Tintagel at ninety miles per hour, expecting any minute to hit a roadblock or to see a helicopter gunship swoop out of the night sky and take out my tires. But nothing like that happened. I tried to think. I really needed a plan. In fact, this was probably my last chance to come up with one, but all I felt was naked, like I was caught up in a tornado, every scrap of clothing torn away, naked in the screeching wind with nothing to hold on to.

After an hour and a half I could smell the sea. I slowed down because the road signs were different and I couldn't read them very well going that fast. I bore off the main highway at the turnoff for Tintagel and followed the signs toward Tintagel Head. I rolled down the window and could hear the ocean as well as smell it.

I came to a roadblock, just a couple of sawhorses painted red and placed in the middle of the lane. A sign beside them read: “Site Closed for Archeological Dig.” I backed the Lamborghini up about fifty feet and floored the gas. One of the sawhorses sprung into the air and smashed into the windshield, making a series of intricately laced cracks, like a spiderweb.

I cut the headlights and crawled along the lane, expecting any second for men in black robes to jump out of the dark onto the hood of the car. The road ended about fifty yards from the cliff's edge. I turned off the engine and got out.

A cold, icy wind was blowing in from the sea. I stood for a second in the biting wind and my eyes were watering up pretty bad, the tears running straight back across my temples and into my hair. I should put the swords in my belt and march off to my doom like Bennacio—and the world's doom, since losing the Sword now left nobody to get it back, if you didn't count OIPEP. But I wasn't sure about which side OIPEP was on. Mike Arnold was kind of a jerk and I wasn't sure about Abigail either, except she seemed nice and didn't like Mike, which was a point in her favor.

But instead of grabbing the swords, I got back in the car again. I asked myself, “Okay, Kropp, which is it, Natalia or the Sword?” and that made me get out again and throw the car keys as far as I could into the darkness.

I put the swords back in my belt, the black one on the right, Excalibur on the left. I threw the cloak over my shoulders. I patted my pockets, checking for the gun, and then remembered I had left it lying on the bed in the hotel room. Over my head, all right. Not very adept for sure.

I could see some squat, dark shapes silhouetted against the moonless sky, blocking out some of the stars. I hiked toward them, and I didn't see any sign of activity, just a bunch of whitish-looking blocks jutting out of the ground like gigantic discarded teeth. I couldn't quite imagine this as a gleaming white castle by the sea.

I noticed a path made of large white stones leading away from the ruins toward the edge of the cliff. I couldn't find any rope or handrails, nothing to hang on to as you descended. I skittered and slid on the wet stones as I crawled down sideways. Droplets of rain and sea spray clung to my cloak.

I stopped at the bottom of the path, wondering where Mogart's gang was. You'd think they'd be all over me by now.

About thirty yards away a light glowed from an opening in the cliff face. Merlin's cave.

I eased along the path, hugging the base of the cliff wall. The stones beneath my feet were smooth and wet, worn from centuries of the sea's coming and going. I let out my breath as I reached the edge of the opening. I could hear men talking quietly inside the cave, their voices echoing against the cave's walls. There was another sound too, a kind of high-pitched whistling that I guessed was the wind moving through cracks in the cliff. The cries of Merlin.

I didn't really have a plan. I'd never stormed a bad guy's hideout before, and all I knew about it came from movies and books—and those weren't real. I stood to the right of the jagged cave opening, my back pressed against the cliff wall. Directly across from me was another, slightly shorter cliff that formed the other wall of the inlet, so I couldn't see the ocean. I could hear it, though, and taste the salt on my tongue. You'd think carrying the greatest weapon mankind had ever known would have given me some courage, but all I felt was insignificant.

I took a deep breath and said aloud, “I'm going to die.”

Then I turned and stepped into the opening.

47

Two men sat by a small fire about twenty feet inside the cave. They stared at me for a second; then one of them stood up. He was wearing a black robe and held a thin black sword just like the one tucked into the right side of my belt.

“Where is the boy?” he snapped at me. “Where is the Sword?” He must have thought I was the escort.

“We're both right here,” I said, and drew out Excalibur.

It took him a second to get it, and then he came at me with a loud cry.

He fell at my feet. I looked down at him, startled, because he'd just dropped there; he hadn't even had a chance to raise his sword.

I stepped over him, fighting the feeling that I was going to throw up. I looked toward the second guy, who turned on his heel and made for the back of the cave, slipping on the wet rocks as he tried to run. He wasn't wearing a black robe, but a blue and gray Windbreaker, a pair of Dockers, New Balance running shoes, and a Chicago Cubs baseball cap.

I caught him at the back of the cave—it wasn't very deep, maybe fifty or sixty feet—spun him around, and held him against the wall with my left forearm while I pressed the tip of the Sword against his Adam's apple.

“Hey, Mike,” I said.

“Hi, Al.” He was smacking him gum and smiling, showing his large white teeth.

“Where's Mogart?”

“Dunno.”

I pressed the tip of the Sword harder against his flesh. His eyes grew wide and he said, “Look, I swear, kid, you just killed the one guy who knows where he is. He was going to take us to him once you got here with the escort. I swear to God I don't know!”

“You gave him Natalia.”

He didn't say anything. He was smiling, but his eyes were cold.

I said, “Tell me where she is.”

“Even if I did know, what're you gonna do, Al? Give him the Sword? He'll kill her anyway. And if you try to take him, he'll kill her before you can kill him. Don't you see you can't win? Time to cut your losses. You gotta step back and take a look at the big picture. We're talkin' the fate of the whole ding-dong world here, Al! You're going to sacrifice humanity for the sake of one person? I mean, let's be reasonable here!”

“Okay, Mike, I'll be reasonable. I'll make a deal with you. You bring me to Mogart and when it's over I'll give you the Sword.”